i must belong somewhere - brendon/audrey/keltie
brendon/audrey/keltie
r, 1858 words
Six months after Brendon moves in, he and Keltie walk down block after block with duct tape instead of staples, sticking up roommate requests. It’s a shitty apartment but it’s one of the cheapest, with just enough room for three (as long as everyone is willing to sacrifice a little personal space) - they’re expecting another practically broke, desperate tenant. They’re not expecting Audrey Kitching.
title taken from the song of the same name by bright eyes
It’s probably stupid, but Brendon doesn’t believe in fate until the day he meets Keltie.
She puts up a flyer right beside his bench, on a telephone pole, lugging around a massive stapler to pin up sheets wherever she can. He’s busy trying not to cry his eyes out, homeless and practically broke in fucking New York, but she smiles at him even though he looks pathetic. It’s the warmest gesture he’s gotten since he arrived thirty-four hours ago, and to return the sentiment he decides to read her flyer even if she’ll never know it.
He barely glances over the paper - photocopied handwriting in capital letters begging for a roommate - before he’s yelling after her and running half a block to catch up.
--
After he tells her he wants to be a hair stylist, Keltie shows him the tricks you don’t learn in beauty school (as if he could afford it anyway); how to give the best styles to specific face shapes, how to offer better suggestions to clients who want something that’ll make them look ugly as fuck. She stops cutting her friends’ hair for extra cash and instead lets him do it - in return she demands Brendon give her free guitar lessons.
Her passion is dance but jobs are few and far between - her parents wire cash to her bank account every month, though, enough to pay her share of the rent. (Keltie insists on splitting it 70/30 instead of 50/50. She knows what Brendon can afford when he’s too embarrassed to admit it himself.) He tries not to think about it, but the corners of his eyes prickle with jealous tears every time he hears Keltie tell her mother ‘I love you’ through the paper-thin walls.
--
They sleep together more often than they sleep alone, just to stay warm (and maybe feel a little less lonely). Brendon never touches her until Keltie gets frustrated and tugs his arm around her waist, making him hug her tight.
It’s one of those nights that he tells her about his parents, about how he left, about why he doesn’t believe in God anymore. Instead of offering up his whole fucking life story, he lets her ask questions and answers them shakily against the back of her neck while she holds his hand.
--
Six months after Brendon moves in, he and Keltie walk down block after block with duct tape instead of staples, sticking up roommate requests. It’s a shitty apartment but it’s one of the cheapest, with just enough room for three (as long as everyone is willing to sacrifice a little personal space) - they’re expecting another practically broke, desperate tenant. They’re not expecting Audrey Kitching.
She’s tiny, short and petite, and her hot pink hair is like a punch between the eyes. There are rings on her fingers and braids in her hair and heels on her feet and Brendon nearly laughs when she knocks on their door, asking to see the place before she makes things final. He hasn’t showered in three days, Keltie’s curled up on their ratty couch in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, and the neighbors above them are playing action movies at an unnecessary volume.
Audrey says it’ll be perfect.
--
Brendon never fights with Keltie, but Audrey is like a magnet for disagreement. She watches him cut Keltie’s ex-boyfriend’s hair and starts talking before the door even shuts behind the guy, “You know you’re shitty at this, right?”
“What,” Brendon sighs, too flat to be a question, and Audrey shrugs.
“You’re never gonna go anywhere with ten dollar trims and no real experience. Do you even like cutting hair?”
“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t do it,” he huffs. His temper is shorter with her than anyone he’s ever met - he crosses the miniscule living space to grab the broom, hoping to avoid the conversation, but Audrey presses on anyway.
“Plenty of people do shit they don’t like just cause they think they can’t do anything else.” She sounds smug but looks unaffected when Brendon glances up at her, twitching his head to get his bangs to flop away from his eyes. “You can’t even style your own hair, seriously,” she says, but smiles this time.
Brendon stares at her and almost wants to yell, to tell her she has no fucking clue what he’s good at, she hardly knows him. Instead he finds himself snorting quietly and bending down to sweep the curling ends of hair into the dustpan.
--
By the time he gets back from his first shift at a new job (at the post office; better than nothing), it’s 5pm and dark as fuck. All the lights are off in the apartment and he stays quiet just in case the girls are sleeping - there’s a soft glow coming from a crack in the bathroom door, though, and he tiptoes over curiously.
Brendon doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see, but Keltie’s teeth against Audrey’s collarbone isn’t it. They’re in the bath together, still dressed (but barely) - he can see Keltie’s body between Audrey’s spread knees, protruding from the bubbles. They look golden in the warm light from a tiny lamp on the bathroom floor, but Brendon makes himself back away when Keltie slides the strap of Audrey’s bra off her shoulder, following the motion with her tongue.
He lets himself into his bedroom and wants to laugh, but he’s surprised by his jealousy. He claws the dirty sheets off his bed for something to do with his hands (and considers playing the ragged guitar in the corner, but a few strings would probably be broken); even though he tries, he can’t figure out who he’s jealous of.
--
The next morning, literally nothing is different. Audrey tells him his shirt looks stupid and Keltie hugs him around the neck before she leaves to go jogging and they both giggle together like they’ve done since he can remember - it’s fucking unsettling.
“Go back to bed or something,” Audrey says, tugging his hair out of affection (or just because she can, Brendon can never really tell). Her fingernails are acrylic and blunt against his scalp - he thinks about how that must’ve felt to Keltie last night, with Audrey’s heartbeat under her tongue, and he nods.
In bed, he stretches out and lets himself think about them how he’s wanted to for months (on his knees for both of them, two different hands tugging his hair) and comes so fast he blushes, even though he’s alone.
--
Just as Brendon’s starting to forget about it - that is, accepting it was probably a one-time thing they tried that didn’t work out - they prove him wrong.
Keltie demands a monthly movie night, and December is no different. It always goes the same - she sits in the middle, Brendon to her left and Audrey to her right, now. Movies are picked at random and tonight it’s The Wizard of Oz; Brendon drags the biggest blanket into the living room and tucks them all into it, curling up with his forearm resting on Keltie’s thigh.
Their couch is actually a loveseat, made for two people, not three - the fit with all of them is comfortable but snug, pressed together in more places than one. Brendon can feel each breath Keltie takes, the length of each inhale and exhale; it’s so soothing and rhythmic that he notices immediately when there’s a hitch in her breathing.
It doesn’t even out again. Brendon finds himself involuntarily noticing her breaths, listening to them quicken and stutter and stop altogether, almost too soft to hear. He doesn’t understand right away, frowning in confusion - one particularly sharp sound from Keltie, though, coupled with her squirming beside him, tips him off. Both girls look back at him when he faces them - Audrey almost looks smug and Brendon remembers her first weeks with them, how she told him he was going nowhere. He stares at her so long he loses track of the seconds between his thoughts and almost misses how Audrey’s arm starts moving again under the blanket, how Keltie’s eyelids flutter shut. Her breath speeds up immediately - it’s less muted but more frantic, like now that she has an audience she can’t decide whether to put on a show or run away.
Brendon can’t see anything below Keltie’s shoulders, and the fluorescent glow of the television is his only light - still, her quiet whimpers and Audrey’s eyes on both of them are enough to make his dick ache. When Keltie starts moving her hips, Brendon breaks the silence and murmurs to her, “Are you close?” Her moan surprises him - he can see Audrey’s hand speed up, and Keltie fists the loose material of his sweatpants, tugging the fabric when she groans her way through orgasm.
He notices he and Audrey are panting just as hard as she is.
--
They agree on no presents for Christmas, but Brendon wakes up on the 25th to Keltie and Audrey carrying a massive box wrapped in newspaper into his bedroom.
“No,” Brendon says (or whines), pulling his blanket up over his head.
Keltie climbs on him despite his grunt of discomfort and yanks it back down over his face - “Shut up. We’re surprising you right now!”
“You make me feel like a dick, though,” Brendon frowns. “We said no presents and I seriously didn’t get you guys anything! I don’t have any surprises!”
“This is really a present for us as much as it is for you,” Audrey says, and Brendon raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Open it and you’ll see, come on.” She sets the box down beside him on the bed and Keltie sits up on his hips, grinning in anticipation.
“I’m mad at you,” Brendon assures them both, twisting to tear away the newsprint - his anger sort of evaporates when he opens the cardboard box inside to reveal a guitar case.
“You have to open that, too,” Keltie clarifies, and Brendon tries to appear guilty even as he unfastens the clips as fast as his sleep-tingly fingers will let him. Inside is a simple, polished acoustic with a bough of mistletoe tied to the neck - it’s not fancy but it’s infinitely better than the piece of shit he managed to grab before he left home. This guitar isn’t held together by superglue and the strings aren’t brittle with age and he can’t fucking wait to play it.
“I think your songs sound better than your haircuts look,” Audrey tells him before he even gets a chance to say thank you, and Brendon sighs.
“And I think you love music a little more than you love style,” Keltie adds. He knows they’re right - music feels permanent, and it always has. Instead of admitting he’s been misguiding himself for months on end, though, Brendon gently grabs the guitar, lifting it out of its case and up over his head.
“Okay,” he grins, making sure the mistletoe is dangling right above him, “someone come here.”
r, 1858 words
Six months after Brendon moves in, he and Keltie walk down block after block with duct tape instead of staples, sticking up roommate requests. It’s a shitty apartment but it’s one of the cheapest, with just enough room for three (as long as everyone is willing to sacrifice a little personal space) - they’re expecting another practically broke, desperate tenant. They’re not expecting Audrey Kitching.
title taken from the song of the same name by bright eyes
It’s probably stupid, but Brendon doesn’t believe in fate until the day he meets Keltie.
She puts up a flyer right beside his bench, on a telephone pole, lugging around a massive stapler to pin up sheets wherever she can. He’s busy trying not to cry his eyes out, homeless and practically broke in fucking New York, but she smiles at him even though he looks pathetic. It’s the warmest gesture he’s gotten since he arrived thirty-four hours ago, and to return the sentiment he decides to read her flyer even if she’ll never know it.
He barely glances over the paper - photocopied handwriting in capital letters begging for a roommate - before he’s yelling after her and running half a block to catch up.
--
After he tells her he wants to be a hair stylist, Keltie shows him the tricks you don’t learn in beauty school (as if he could afford it anyway); how to give the best styles to specific face shapes, how to offer better suggestions to clients who want something that’ll make them look ugly as fuck. She stops cutting her friends’ hair for extra cash and instead lets him do it - in return she demands Brendon give her free guitar lessons.
Her passion is dance but jobs are few and far between - her parents wire cash to her bank account every month, though, enough to pay her share of the rent. (Keltie insists on splitting it 70/30 instead of 50/50. She knows what Brendon can afford when he’s too embarrassed to admit it himself.) He tries not to think about it, but the corners of his eyes prickle with jealous tears every time he hears Keltie tell her mother ‘I love you’ through the paper-thin walls.
--
They sleep together more often than they sleep alone, just to stay warm (and maybe feel a little less lonely). Brendon never touches her until Keltie gets frustrated and tugs his arm around her waist, making him hug her tight.
It’s one of those nights that he tells her about his parents, about how he left, about why he doesn’t believe in God anymore. Instead of offering up his whole fucking life story, he lets her ask questions and answers them shakily against the back of her neck while she holds his hand.
--
Six months after Brendon moves in, he and Keltie walk down block after block with duct tape instead of staples, sticking up roommate requests. It’s a shitty apartment but it’s one of the cheapest, with just enough room for three (as long as everyone is willing to sacrifice a little personal space) - they’re expecting another practically broke, desperate tenant. They’re not expecting Audrey Kitching.
She’s tiny, short and petite, and her hot pink hair is like a punch between the eyes. There are rings on her fingers and braids in her hair and heels on her feet and Brendon nearly laughs when she knocks on their door, asking to see the place before she makes things final. He hasn’t showered in three days, Keltie’s curled up on their ratty couch in an oversized t-shirt and nothing else, and the neighbors above them are playing action movies at an unnecessary volume.
Audrey says it’ll be perfect.
--
Brendon never fights with Keltie, but Audrey is like a magnet for disagreement. She watches him cut Keltie’s ex-boyfriend’s hair and starts talking before the door even shuts behind the guy, “You know you’re shitty at this, right?”
“What,” Brendon sighs, too flat to be a question, and Audrey shrugs.
“You’re never gonna go anywhere with ten dollar trims and no real experience. Do you even like cutting hair?”
“If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t do it,” he huffs. His temper is shorter with her than anyone he’s ever met - he crosses the miniscule living space to grab the broom, hoping to avoid the conversation, but Audrey presses on anyway.
“Plenty of people do shit they don’t like just cause they think they can’t do anything else.” She sounds smug but looks unaffected when Brendon glances up at her, twitching his head to get his bangs to flop away from his eyes. “You can’t even style your own hair, seriously,” she says, but smiles this time.
Brendon stares at her and almost wants to yell, to tell her she has no fucking clue what he’s good at, she hardly knows him. Instead he finds himself snorting quietly and bending down to sweep the curling ends of hair into the dustpan.
--
By the time he gets back from his first shift at a new job (at the post office; better than nothing), it’s 5pm and dark as fuck. All the lights are off in the apartment and he stays quiet just in case the girls are sleeping - there’s a soft glow coming from a crack in the bathroom door, though, and he tiptoes over curiously.
Brendon doesn’t know what he’s expecting to see, but Keltie’s teeth against Audrey’s collarbone isn’t it. They’re in the bath together, still dressed (but barely) - he can see Keltie’s body between Audrey’s spread knees, protruding from the bubbles. They look golden in the warm light from a tiny lamp on the bathroom floor, but Brendon makes himself back away when Keltie slides the strap of Audrey’s bra off her shoulder, following the motion with her tongue.
He lets himself into his bedroom and wants to laugh, but he’s surprised by his jealousy. He claws the dirty sheets off his bed for something to do with his hands (and considers playing the ragged guitar in the corner, but a few strings would probably be broken); even though he tries, he can’t figure out who he’s jealous of.
--
The next morning, literally nothing is different. Audrey tells him his shirt looks stupid and Keltie hugs him around the neck before she leaves to go jogging and they both giggle together like they’ve done since he can remember - it’s fucking unsettling.
“Go back to bed or something,” Audrey says, tugging his hair out of affection (or just because she can, Brendon can never really tell). Her fingernails are acrylic and blunt against his scalp - he thinks about how that must’ve felt to Keltie last night, with Audrey’s heartbeat under her tongue, and he nods.
In bed, he stretches out and lets himself think about them how he’s wanted to for months (on his knees for both of them, two different hands tugging his hair) and comes so fast he blushes, even though he’s alone.
--
Just as Brendon’s starting to forget about it - that is, accepting it was probably a one-time thing they tried that didn’t work out - they prove him wrong.
Keltie demands a monthly movie night, and December is no different. It always goes the same - she sits in the middle, Brendon to her left and Audrey to her right, now. Movies are picked at random and tonight it’s The Wizard of Oz; Brendon drags the biggest blanket into the living room and tucks them all into it, curling up with his forearm resting on Keltie’s thigh.
Their couch is actually a loveseat, made for two people, not three - the fit with all of them is comfortable but snug, pressed together in more places than one. Brendon can feel each breath Keltie takes, the length of each inhale and exhale; it’s so soothing and rhythmic that he notices immediately when there’s a hitch in her breathing.
It doesn’t even out again. Brendon finds himself involuntarily noticing her breaths, listening to them quicken and stutter and stop altogether, almost too soft to hear. He doesn’t understand right away, frowning in confusion - one particularly sharp sound from Keltie, though, coupled with her squirming beside him, tips him off. Both girls look back at him when he faces them - Audrey almost looks smug and Brendon remembers her first weeks with them, how she told him he was going nowhere. He stares at her so long he loses track of the seconds between his thoughts and almost misses how Audrey’s arm starts moving again under the blanket, how Keltie’s eyelids flutter shut. Her breath speeds up immediately - it’s less muted but more frantic, like now that she has an audience she can’t decide whether to put on a show or run away.
Brendon can’t see anything below Keltie’s shoulders, and the fluorescent glow of the television is his only light - still, her quiet whimpers and Audrey’s eyes on both of them are enough to make his dick ache. When Keltie starts moving her hips, Brendon breaks the silence and murmurs to her, “Are you close?” Her moan surprises him - he can see Audrey’s hand speed up, and Keltie fists the loose material of his sweatpants, tugging the fabric when she groans her way through orgasm.
He notices he and Audrey are panting just as hard as she is.
--
They agree on no presents for Christmas, but Brendon wakes up on the 25th to Keltie and Audrey carrying a massive box wrapped in newspaper into his bedroom.
“No,” Brendon says (or whines), pulling his blanket up over his head.
Keltie climbs on him despite his grunt of discomfort and yanks it back down over his face - “Shut up. We’re surprising you right now!”
“You make me feel like a dick, though,” Brendon frowns. “We said no presents and I seriously didn’t get you guys anything! I don’t have any surprises!”
“This is really a present for us as much as it is for you,” Audrey says, and Brendon raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Open it and you’ll see, come on.” She sets the box down beside him on the bed and Keltie sits up on his hips, grinning in anticipation.
“I’m mad at you,” Brendon assures them both, twisting to tear away the newsprint - his anger sort of evaporates when he opens the cardboard box inside to reveal a guitar case.
“You have to open that, too,” Keltie clarifies, and Brendon tries to appear guilty even as he unfastens the clips as fast as his sleep-tingly fingers will let him. Inside is a simple, polished acoustic with a bough of mistletoe tied to the neck - it’s not fancy but it’s infinitely better than the piece of shit he managed to grab before he left home. This guitar isn’t held together by superglue and the strings aren’t brittle with age and he can’t fucking wait to play it.
“I think your songs sound better than your haircuts look,” Audrey tells him before he even gets a chance to say thank you, and Brendon sighs.
“And I think you love music a little more than you love style,” Keltie adds. He knows they’re right - music feels permanent, and it always has. Instead of admitting he’s been misguiding himself for months on end, though, Brendon gently grabs the guitar, lifting it out of its case and up over his head.
“Okay,” he grins, making sure the mistletoe is dangling right above him, “someone come here.”