Lines in the Sand, B/R, S/J [1/2]
Lines in the Sand (are meant to be crossed) | Panic! at the Disco | Brendon/Ryan, Spencer/Jon (mentions of various others) | R | ~11,000 words
“Hey,” the Sultan grinned, stretching out a hand that Ryan shook. “Nice to meet you.” He eyed Ryan’s boots, jeans, jean jacket and bandana uncertainly. “Are you in costume?” A University of Illinois AU, written for strangecobwebs as part of the (Turning) Tricks or Treats challenge at bandslashmania
Thanks to txtequilanights, siryn99 and hatoyona for the swift and helpful betas.
Lines in the Sand (are meant to be crossed)
“Why do I have to go to this thing again?” Ryan asked, pulling his jean jacket tighter around himself.
Spencer rolled his eyes and pressed the pedestrian walk sign to get across Green Street. “Because not going out on Halloween would be pathetic?”
“I had plans with Gabe and Ryland,” Ryan said. Granted, they were vague, and kind of just boiled down to getting stoned in that cemetery off of Florida Avenue, but Spencer didn’t have to know that.
“Hanging out with Gabe Saporta on Halloween? That’s just asking to get your kidney carved out and sold on the black market or your face eaten off.”
It was Ryan’s turn to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deny that Gabe gave off a weird vibe, but aside from the string of broken hearts left in his wake, the guy was mostly harmless. Ryan had even hooked up with him a few times, but was smart enough to end it before becoming another member of the Saporta Lonely Hearts’ Support Group. (Vicky-T, one of Gabe’s roommates, started it last April when she got sick of sopping up the tears of all of Gabe’s jilted former boy-or-girlfriends/fuckbuddies/one night stands. They met at the Espresso Royale in the Union on Tuesdays.)
“Whatever,” Ryan replied. “All I’m saying is that you need to have sex with Jon and get it over with, instead of dragging me to this stupid party. You’re wearing a costume, for fuck’s sake. You haven’t done that since you were a Ninja Turtle in fourth grade.”
James Bond wasn’t the most original costume, but Ryan had to admit that the smooth lines of the tuxedo and the way he slicked and styled his hair suited Spencer.
“First of all, Jon’s parties are not stupid. Second,” Spencer countered, smirking, “what fun would that be?”
Ryan blanched. “Why do I have to watch your weird foreplay ritual? And don’t say threesome.”
“Please,” Spencer scoffed as they turned onto White Street. “He lives in the second building on this side.”
Ryan jogged up the steps, eager to get inside the warm apartment. In Champaign the weather seemed to go from summer to winter overnight, without the buffer of autumn, and by the end of October it was already freezing.
Spencer pressed the buzzer that read Walker/Urie. They didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Jon’s tinny voice came through the speaker with the sounds of music and laughter behind it.
“Spencer Smith, it better be you!”
Spencer leaned towards the speaker. “How many people have you said that to today?”
“Today?” Jon responded. “That’s how I answer the door every day.”
“It’s true!” a voice cried out in the background.
“I’m an eternal optimist, Spencer,” Jon said.
Spencer grinned and dipped his head, and it would have been adorable if Ryan didn’t have to see the same besotted look any time they were in a one hundred foot radius of Jon Walker.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Ryan said, and then louder, “Can you let us in, please?”
“Hey, Ryan, glad you could make it,” Jon said. The door clicked open.
“No problem. It should be fun,” Ryan replied, almost against his will. He steadfastly ignored Spencer’s smirk as they made their way through the darkened hallway to the elevator.
“Not even you can resist the power of Jon Walker,” Spencer said after a moment.
“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, even though it was kind of true. Jon was the friendliest, most easygoing guy Ryan knew, and he seemed to be friends with everyone. Hanging out with Jon was like walking into The Breakfast Club.
The ride up to the fifth floor was a short one, and when the doors slid open, Jon was waiting on the other side. He wore a pirate costume, complete with eye patch and fake parrot on his shoulder. When he saw Spencer, he greeted him with an appreciative once over that left even Ryan hot under the collar.
“Hi, Jon,” Spencer said, and the extra cant to his hips wasn’t Ryan’s imagination.
“Hey,” Jon said. “So. Shaken, not stirred?”
“Surprise me,” Spencer said, and wow. Gayest James Bond ever.
“Okay, I’m going inside now,” Ryan said, walking around Jon and Spencer just as Jon’s door opened and a laughing Sultan came tumbling out.
“Spencer!” the Sultan cried, grinning, as he came to stand next to Jon. “Who’s your friend?’
“My roommate, Ryan,” Spencer said. “Ryan, this is Jon’s roommate, Brendon.”
“Hey,” Ryan greeted, already bored with the conversation and itching to get his hands on a beer.
“Hey,” the Sultan grinned, stretching out a hand that Ryan shook. “Nice to meet you.” He eyed Ryan’s boots, jeans, jean jacket and bandana uncertainly. “Are you in costume?”
Spencer snorted as Ryan scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
“Oh. I’m Aladdin,” he said. Brendon made a quick turn to show off his loose, billowy pants and tight leather vest.
“Of course you are,” Ryan said. “Nice meeting you. I’m going to head inside.”
The keg, which was obviously the centerpiece of the party, was even easier to spot with Ray Toro and his enormous hair manning it.
“Hey,” Ryan said. Ray passed him a cup and a marker and Ryan wrote his name in his usual lazy scrawl. “How do you know Jon again?”
“How does anyone?” Ray answered with a shrug as he filled up the cup. “His roommate was dating my singer for a while.”
Ray was in a well-known local band. Local as in Chicago, but the members transplanted to Champaign, which was still close enough to get them some sweet gigs around the city. Their music was played more than the Red Hot Chili Peppers or the Dave Matthews Band on the Central Illinois radio stations, and that was saying something. The last update Ray had given Ryan in their shared Biology 101 lab put My Chemical Romance second only to Rascal Flats in popularity in Champaign County.
Ryan had caught a few shows at the Canopy Club in the past. They were awesome. Ray could shred like no motherfucker Ryan had ever seen, which was only right since his crazy hair was made for head banging.
“Aladdin?” Ryan asked, disbelieving.
Ray laughed as he handed Ryan his drink. “Yeah, I know. So. Spencer made you come?”
“If he came alone, it would look like he was just here to see Jon,” Ryan recited.
“It’s kind of fucked up how much those two get off on dancing around each other,” Ray said.
“Kind of? It’s been almost two months. Two months when they could have been getting laid,” Ryan said. He chugged back half of his beer in one gulp and grimaced. “Ugh, god, what is this, Pabst?”
“Icehouse,” Ray corrected. “Hey, if cheap American beer isn’t good enough for your delicate palate you should have brought your own.”
“My favorite kind of beer is the free kind,” Ryan countered.
“In that case, I’ll fill you back up and then come hang out with you,” Ray answered. “Bill said he’d take over at ten-thirty, which is right…now. Hey, Beckett! Get your drunk ass over here!”
“Hang on!” Bill called from the couch where he was tangled with Vicky-T and Sisky.
“Krista’s not with you?” Ryan asked Ray.
Ray rolled his eyes. “That’s what I get for dating a smart chick. She has some big paper to turn in tomorrow. Said she’ll call me when she finishes. What kind of asshole makes a paper due the day after Halloween?”
“The big kind,” Ryan said.
“I know. She’s got the cutest little nurse’s costume too. With the stockings and the little hat? It’s fucking unbelievable. Seriously, Bill, five seconds!” Ray shouted.
“Okay! God!” Bill yelled, peeling himself off the couch in the graceful way he had even while flushed and stupid drunk. “Ryan Ross!” he said, delighted. “I didn’t know you were one of Jon’s loveable misfits!”
“I’m not,” Ryan said.
“He’s Spencer Smith’s friend,” Ray explained.
“Ohhhh…” Bill said, comprehension dawning. “The Spencer Smith? The one that our little Jonny met in his Statistics class who’s made of ponies and chocolate and rainbows?”
Ryan raised an amused eyebrow. “Well, that’s not how I’d describe him, but yeah.”
Bill clapped his hands together. “Excellent! This party was distressingly drama-free without Gabe.”
“Don’t even get me started!” Vicky-T yelled from the couch. “I was on the phone with some kid named Kevin for forty-five minutes today listening to him cry about what a jerk Gabe is. How do these people get my number?”
“Gabe gives it to them so he doesn’t have to deal with their whining,” Ryan said, grinning when she narrowed her eyes and dug her Sidekick out of her purse.
“You’re getting him in trouble now,” Ray said.
Just then Aladdin popped up at Ryan’s elbow, handing his empty cup to Bill. “Getting who in trouble?” he asked Ryan.
“Gabe Saporta,” Ray answered.
“Oh, that guy. I met him a few times. I heard there’s all this crazy shit in his basement, like whips and chains and stretch racks and stuff.”
“There’s a pair of handcuffs and some throw pillows,” Ryan said. “Don’t believe all the rumors. Most of them were started by him or one of his exes.”
“Oh. That’s kind of a let down,” Aladdin said as he bounced along to the song playing, his face creased in an expression suspiciously close to a pout.
“Most things are,” Ryan said.
“Ross, you getting emo on us again?”
Ryan turned around to see Travis McCoy watching him, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Well, this party just got a lot more fun.
“I’m never emo,” Ryan said.
Travie took a drag from the cigarette and ashed it in an empty Pepsi can. “That’s right. I must be confusing you with a different skinny white boy I’ve fucked.”
“I guess it would be hard to keep track of them all,” Ryan said, taking a challenging step forward, “but I’ve been told that I’m pretty fucking unforgettable.”
“TMI,” Ray said, wandering out of the kitchen with his hands covering his ears.
“Are you kidding?” Bill replied. He hopped over the counter separating the kitchen and the living room and wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Not enough information. Ryan, feel free to expand on the details.”
Ryan smirked and spread his hands out in front of him. “Long fingers,” he explained mischievously. “And that’s all you’re getting to fill your spank bank.”
Bill groaned and leaned his long body against Ryan’s. “That’s all I’ll need.”
Ryan smoothed a hand down the front of Bill’s shirt, grinning as Bill’s lips parted and his tongue peaked out to trace his lower lip. “You’re welcome.”
***
“Motherfucker,” Travie growled twenty minutes later in Jon’s bathroom when Ryan reminded him of just how good his fingers were.
He licked a tattoo on the side of Travie’s neck. “You’ll never forget me.”
“Why’d we stop doing this again?”
“Got bored,” Ryan admitted, softening the blow with a flick of his thumb over the head of Travis’s cock.
“You’re a little bitch,” Travis managed. He tipped his head down and caught Ryan’s mouth with his own.
***
“Did you just have sex in my bathroom?” Aladdin asked when Ryan slipped out after Travis.
“Um, yes?” Ryan said. “Sorry.”
***
“I cannot believe we’re going home,” Ryan said. It was after three in the morning. Travis left hours earlier with Disashi and Eric to smoke a bowl in Eric’s car and never came back. Bill was asleep on Ryan’s lap, his long legs draped over the back of the couch. Ray and Joe Trohman were on the floor playing Halo 3, and from where he was sitting, Ryan couldn’t see the television through the combined forces of their hair. The only other person still hanging around was Vicky-T, who had disappeared into Aladdin’s room with him a while ago to debate the finer points of Meat is Murder.
He had assumed that he’d be crashing on the couch, since Spencer had disappeared into Jon’s room hours ago, but apparently not.
Spencer grinned and shook his head. “It’s time to go.”
“Tell me you at least made out,” Ryan said.
“We watched Rocky Horror,” Jon said, squeezing past Spencer in the doorway and deliberately bumping their hips together.
“Have you discovered some kind of aversion to sex that I don’t know about?” Ryan asked. “Your hair’s not even messed up.”
Spencer ran a hand over his perfectly slicked hair. “Let’s go.”
Jon leaned against the wall and said, “Call me when you guys get home. Don’t die, Spencer, it would break my heart.”
“I won’t,” Spencer said.
Bill lifted his head from Ryan’s lap to let him stand. “It was nice meeting you, the Spencer Smith.”
“You too, Bill,” Spencer said. “You’re a nice guy. Try not to let Gabe turn you into a serial killer.”
“Every day’s a struggle,” Bill intoned as he hugged a pillow and his eyes slipped shut.
“Seriously,” Ryan said when they got outside.
“It’s a matter of pride now,” Spencer explained.
Ryan gaped at him while he struggled with the buttons of his jean jacket. “It’s a matter of pride to NOT have sex? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”
“He thinks he can break me by being adorable and friendly and hot. It’s not going to work.”
“Clearly,” Ryan said.
***
The following Monday, Ryan stopped in the Illini Bookstore to pick up a copy of Ethan Frome for his American Lit class. Even though it was almost three, the streets were empty while all the kids slept off their weekend partying.
He resisted the urge to run upstairs and check out the cheap paperbacks and instead headed downstairs to the textbook section. He went into the English aisle and scanned the class numbers. He came to 256 and groaned when he saw that there was an orange “Ask an IUB employee!” sticker where his book should be.
A bored looking student sat behind the help desk, but he perked up when he saw Ryan approach.
“Hey,” Ryan said, “I’m looking for a book for English 256.”
“Ethan Frome?” the guy asked, and when Ryan nodded, continued, “Yeah, it’s been out of stock for a week. I think we may have gotten a new order in though. Let me check.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said. He drummed his fingers along to the song piping out over the speakers as he waited for the guy to come back.
He returned a moment later looking triumphant and waving a small, blue book. “Success!”
“Oh man, thanks so much,” Ryan said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Sure thing,” the guy said, smiling. “Anything for a friend, right?”
Ryan shot him a confused look. “Yeah,” he said when nothing else came to mind.
The guy studied Ryan’s expression a moment and his smile dipped. “We met on Halloween,” he clarified. “I’m Jon’s roommate.”
And now that he said something, Ryan recognized him out of the parachute pants and red vest. “Aladdin?” he asked.
Aladdin’s smile slipped further. “Brendon. My name’s Brendon.”
“No, right,” Ryan fumbled. “I knew that. What’s up? How was your weekend?”
“Awesome,” Brendon said, gaining back some of his earlier enthusiasm. “Though, no offense, but it would have been even more awesome if I didn’t have to hear your friend’s name every five seconds.”
Ryan laughed. “Tell me about it. You know how when you say a word too many times it stops making sense? Well, that’s what the word ‘Jon’ is like to me now.”
“Do you like hot chocolate?” Brendon asked out of nowhere.
“Um…” Ryan said uncertainly. “What?”
“My shift’s over in five minutes and I was going to run down to Moonstruck. Want to come with?”
“Uh…” Ryan started. “I guess?”
“You don’t have to,” Brendon said. “I mean, if you’re busy or whatever, it’s cool.”
“No, no,” Ryan said quickly, still feeling guilty about not recognizing him sooner. “I can go. You got my book, after all.”
“That’s true,” Brendon agreed. He scooped his backpack up from under the desk. “You owe me.”
***
“At the party, were you telling the truth about Gabe’s basement?”
They’d been sitting and drinking their hot chocolate for a good twenty minutes, but Brendon still hadn’t gotten past all of the whipped cream in his. When they’d entered, the girl at the counter, Greta, knew Brendon’s order, which seemed to consist of half chocolate and half whipped cream, without him having to say anything.
“Yeah,” Ryan confirmed. “There are some Christmas lights strung up and a CD player in the corner for mood music or whatever, but it’s nothing great. Pete Wentz, on the other hand? That dude’s bedroom is like a porn store.”
Brendon sputtered and wiped white foam off of his lip with the back of his hand. “Pete? Isn’t he dating Patrick Stump?”
“You know Patrick?” Ryan asked. “He wasn’t dating him last year when we first met, but he is now, thank god. You think Jon and Spencer are bad? At least Jon’s not talking about soul mates and adopting babies from China and shit like Pete was. He even called me Patrick once, you know, during?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Brendon cried. He slapped his leg and put his cup on the table. “He did not.”
“He DID,” Ryan said. “Like, mid-blow job.”
“Wait, giving or receiving?”
“I was giving,” Ryan clarified.
Brendon covered his mouth with his hand. “What did you do?”
Shrugging, Ryan took a sip of his own mint hot chocolate for the dramatic pause. “I finished, but it was out of pity. The guy had it bad. Plus, he apologized after.”
“You’re a better man than I am, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said.
“If I was a really good man, I wouldn’t have told Patrick about it,” Ryan said.
“You told him about it? I take it back, you’re pure evil,” Brendon said, looking impressed.
“The next day. I expect to be the best man at their inevitable commitment ceremony.”
Brendon’s eyes widened. “God, Pete Wentz’s commitment ceremony. I bet his dog would be the ring bearer.”
”I would not bet against that,” Ryan said.
“So are you and Spencer going to Cute Is What We Aim For on Friday? They’re playing at the Courtyard Café.”
“Yeah, I like them. Not that it even matters. If Jon’s going then I’d get dragged along either way,” Ryan admitted.
“Awesome!” Brendon beamed. “We could hang out after.”
“Sure,” Ryan said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. Sure, Brendon was really energetic. Like really. But he was also hilarious and he seemed to enjoy Ryan’s stories. There was nothing Ryan loved more than a captive audience. “I’ll talk to Spencer and figure out a time.”
***
As predicted, Spencer demanded that Ryan go to the concert with him. He made a show of being annoyed about it before giving in, because he didn’t want to make it easy on Spencer.
They found Jon and Brendon in line outside of the Café doors a few minutes before they were let in, their $6 collected and hands stamped on the way. Brendon managed to launch himself at a table and they sat down.
“Spencer, do you want some coffee?” Jon asked once they were situated.
“A small one,” Spencer said, reaching into his pocket.
“I’ve got it,” Jon said. He waved off the five-dollar bill that Spencer tried to hand him. “Ryan, anything?”
“No, thanks,” Ryan said.
“I’ll have some coffee, since you’re offering,” Brendon said, smiling sweetly.
“You can have decaf,” Jon said.
Brendon wrinkled his nose. “I’m not familiar with this word ‘decaf.’”
“Get a dictionary, I’ll help you spell it. In the Walker/Urie household we’ve implemented a caffeine ban after seven o’clock,” Jon explained to Spencer and Ryan.
“Except during midterms and finals week,” Brendon said.
“It’s just better that way,” Jon assured them before heading into the long line in front of the counter.
“I’m not really that bad,” Brendon said, once Jon was out of earshot. “He likes to be dramatic. There was one incident involving his favorite Cubs mug that made him very upset, that’s all.”
***
“So, you’re a Music major, Brendon?” Spencer asked.
“I am,” Brendon said. “Mostly piano.”
“But that’s not the only instrument he plays,” Jon said. He balanced the three cups of coffee like a pro, before sitting down and distributing them out.
“What other instruments?” Spencer asked.
Brendon took a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little. “Is this black, Jon? Are you trying to kill me? Guitar, bass, cello and I’m learning the drums.”
“Ryan plays the guitar,” Spencer said, and Ryan glared at him.
“Really?” Brendon asked, perking up immediately.
“Um,” Ryan said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Not really.”
“He can play like three Blink 182 songs,” Spencer said. “Didn’t you say you wanted to take lessons this year, though?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He could tell a set up when he saw one.
“Interesting!” Jon said. “Brendon happens to teach guitar in his spare time.”
“I could give you lessons,” Brendon said.
“I don’t…” Ryan began.
“I won’t charge you for it. Call it the friend discount.”
Ryan sighed. He really did want to get better on the guitar, and if Brendon was going to give him the lessons for free?
“Yeah, okay. Yeah.”
***
They decided to meet on Monday, so after his classes were over Ryan found himself at Brendon’s door holding his secondhand acoustic guitar.
“Ryan or pizza?” Brendon asked through the intercom.
“Ryan,” he answered.
“Ryan! I ordered pizza for us!” Brendon said as he buzzed Ryan in. “Hope you like cheese.”
He was waiting with the door opened when Ryan came off the elevator. “Hey!” he said. “Come on in!”
Ryan followed him into the decent-sized apartment. On the left of the living room was Brendon’s bedroom.
Ryan took one step in and marveled at the sheer chaos. The place looked like a Guitar Center had thrown up on it. There was a stand in the corner with five guitars balanced in it. Next to the bed was an elaborate keyboard hooked up to a laptop. Sheet music and picks and even the occasional tambourine were littered all over the floor. Every available inch of the walls were covered in band posters. Ryan recognized most of them, but some he’d never heard of.
“Wow.”
“I know,” Brendon said. “Sorry it’s kind of messy. Let me clear off a spot for you.” He pushed over a few textbooks and highlighters before gesturing for Ryan to sit.
Ryan folded his legs under him and tugged his guitar self-consciously onto his lap.
“My guitar is shitty,” he said. “I bought it when I was like twelve, so.”
Brendon frowned. “No, hey, it’s fine. It has character.”
“It’s missing a string,” Ryan said.
“Dude, you’ve come to the right place,” Brendon said, rummaging in his bedside table and pulling out a plastic sleeve of guitar strings. “Tada! Let me see it.”
Ryan handed over the guitar and watched as Brendon began fixing the string.
“I don’t know how you want to do this,” Ryan said while he worked. “I’ve never taken lessons before.”
“We can start with the basics, if you think you need to refresh yourself. Or I have the tabs for a bunch of songs, if you want to pick a few to learn,” Brendon said. He waved his hand at a stack of booklets and papers piled on his desk.
“Do you have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Ryan asked.
“Do I have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Brendon repeated. He looked pointedly at the west wall of his room, which was covered with Pumpkins posters. “A few, yeah.”
***
“Are we going to Brothers on Friday?” Ryan asked Spencer a few weeks later. They were sitting at the kitchen counter sharing a package of chicken flavored Ramen and a couple of beers for dinner.
Spencer laid his fork down and looked at Ryan, his eyebrow raised. “Usually it’s me asking that question,” he said.
“Brendon mentioned on Monday that a whole group was going,” Ryan said.
Spencer smirked. “During your date.”
“During my guitar lesson,” Ryan said with a roll of his eyes. “Look, he’s a nice kid…”
“He’s older than me,” Spencer pointed out, sounding amused.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s boyfriend. And he’s that type, you know? I can already tell,” Ryan said. “Plus, he’s almost too nice. No one could be that nice without bodies rotting under the floorboards.”
Spencer dumped almost half a bottle of lemon juice into his bowl and stirred it with his fork. “You were in his room, did you smell anything?” he asked. “I guess if he’s not ignoring you or fucking your friends or in love with someone else then you can’t be bothered.”
“You make it sound so fucked up,” Ryan mused. “Jesus, don’t use all the lemon juice! That has to last the rest of the week!”
***
On Friday, Spencer texted Ryan.
jon and i will meet you @ bros. pick up brendon @ piano practice in music bldg rm. 312 7pm.
Ryan read the text and wrote back while making his way across the quad to catch the bus after his Spanish discussion group let out.
why he cant walk?
he turns off his phone during practice and jon says he forgets the time. just do it asshole!
fine, he texted back, have sex w/ him!!!
Spencer didn’t respond to that, but then Ryan didn’t expect him to. He went home to eat Fritos for dinner and then headed to the Music Building. Sure enough, Brendon didn’t answer his cell when Ryan tried to call him and let him know he was coming.
Even though Ryan had never been in the Music Building before, the halls and staircases were easy to navigate, and he found his way to the right room quickly. He couldn’t hear any music coming from inside, which confused him until he realized that the rooms were soundproof. He knocked once, lightly, and when he received no answer twisted the knob and poked his head in the room.
Immediately music poured from the room, slow and rich and sad. Brendon sat at a black baby grand piano, playing furiously. Ryan could see his back and the way his t-shirt clung damply to the curve of it, the way the hairs on the back of his neck were wet and spiky with sweat, and Ryan felt his mouth go dry. Instead of doing the smart thing and announcing his presence, Ryan moved farther inside the room. It gave him a better view of Brendon’s agile fingers stretched across the keys, shifting smoothly from one chord to the next. His eyes were open and he studied the movement of his hands intently. Ryan’s own hands flexed open and shut restlessly at his sides.
Brendon looked different than Ryan was used to seeing him, more serious, more focused. And hot. He looked - wow. Really fucking hot.
Ryan stayed frozen, heart racing wildly, until the last strains of the song swelled and died. “Hey,” he said, wincing at how shaky his voice sounded.
Brendon whipped around and placed a hand on his heart, grinning. “Ryan! I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been there?”
“A few minutes,” Ryan said. Long enough. “I’m supposed to pick you up so that you don’t forget about coming to Brothers.”
“Is it seven already?” Brendon asked. He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Wow, ten after. Good thing you came.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said dumbly. “You were. I mean. It sounded really good. The song.”
Brendon grinned happily at the praise, looking genuinely thrilled. “Thanks! I mean, you’re wrong, I sucked, but that’s okay. I appreciate the effort.”
“No,” Ryan argued. “No, you were. I liked it. The way that it sounded.” Ryan could not, literally could not, remember a time when he was so tongue-tied around anyone. And for it to be Brendon Urie, of all people. Aladdin, really?
“There’s something not right about it, I just can’t put my finger on it,” Brendon said.
“It was - ” Ryan snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “Whatever. Let’s get going.”
“Sure, I just need my bag,” Brendon said. He picked up his backpack and pulled the strap over his head to lie across his chest.
“Come on,” Ryan said, already halfway out the door. He was eager to get out of the too-small room and clear his head. God, Spencer could never, ever find out about this.
***
Ryan and Ray were walking out of Bio Lab when Ryan cleared his throat and asked casually, “So Brendon dated your friend, right?”
“Gerard? Yeah,” Ray said. “Why?”
“Just wondering. How long were they together?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know. A couple months over a year ago.”
“Cool,” Ryan said. “So you’ve been friends with Brendon for a while then?”
Ray narrowed his eyes. “Where’s this going, Ross?”
“I’m kind of interested, and I thought you’d know if maybe Brendon would be into…” Ryan let himself trail off, knowing that Ray would understand his meaning.
Ray grimaced. “Dude, TMI. And no, Brendon doesn’t just hook up like you do. The kid’s Mormon, for god’s sake.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, sighing. “That’s what I thought.”
“Whatever. Don’t call me today. I’m gonna go hang out with my three straight friends, and we’re going to talk about tits and it’s gonna be awesome.”
***
“If I were any 80s movie character, I would definitely be Lloyd Dobbler,” Brendon said.
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon were squished together on Ryan and Spencer’s couch watching Weird Science on TBS.
“You would pick the best one for yourself,” Ryan said.
“I don’t know,” Jon said contemplatively. “I’ve always liked the friend from Pretty in Pink. The one that takes her to the prom.”
“Even though she’s dressed in a pink potato sack,” Spencer said.
“You are way too fixated on that dress,” Ryan remarked.
“The first time we saw that movie together I was seven years old, and even then I was like, ‘Really?’” Spencer said.
“That’s because you’re really gay,” Ryan said.
Spencer gave him an unimpressed look from around Jon. “Dude, the guy wearing roses on his shirt unironically does not get to judge the level of someone else’s gayness.”
“How do you know it’s unironically?” Ryan countered.
“Um, because I was there when you sewed them on?” Spencer suggested.
“You did this yourself?” Brendon asked. He reached over to finger the one on Ryan’s lapel. “I like it.”
Ryan coughed, feeling his face flush. “Uh, thanks.”
“He should have hooked up with Molly Ringwald in the end,” Jon said, pulling the conversation back on track.
“Ryan hated the ending too,” Spencer said.
“He did hook up with her,” Brendon said. “Wait, didn’t he? They went to the dance together.”
“But then she gets back together with the rich guy,” Ryan said.
“Oh.” Brendon looked kind of put out.
“And on that note,” Spencer said, slapping his legs and standing up, “Jon and I are going to sleep.”
“We are?” Jon asked.
“It’s like four,” Spencer said. “I’m fucking exhausted. You can stay out here if you want, but…”
“No, no,” Jon said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
“Good night,” Spencer said to Brendon and Ryan.
“Night,” Ryan responded. “Have fun not doing it.”
“You too!” Spencer called back. Jon laughed softly behind him as the door to Spencer’s room shut.
Half the couch was free with the other two gone, but Ryan didn’t move over and Brendon didn’t seem to notice.
“How long do you think they’ll hold out?” Brendon asked.
“I don’t understand it at all, so what do I know?” Ryan asked.
“Good point,” Brendon said.
On the television, a commercial came on for the remake of A Christmas Carol. Brendon hummed happily beside him. “I love Christmas movies,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked. He couldn’t say he was surprised. “I like The Christmas Story.”
“Who doesn’t?” Brendon asked. “A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, It’s A Wonderful Life, Charlie Brown Christmas, all of them. They’re the best. And Christmas episodes of television shows? Love those too. We should have a Christmas movie marathon before we go home for break.”
“You have to convince Spencer of that first,” Ryan said.
“No, I have to convince you, and then you’ll convince Spencer,” Brendon said. “I have a plan, Ryan.”
“That sounds vaguely ominous,” Ryan said.
“It’s Christmas movies, Ryan. What’s ominous about that? Nothing. They just want to wish you peace and joy. Hand me that blanket.” Brendon pointed to the afghan balled up at the other end of the couch. Ryan stretched out and grabbed it. “Thanks. It’s freezing in here.” Brendon covered them both with it.
When they were settled, Ryan picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels.
“Stand up!” Brendon cried.
Sure enough on Comedy Central, instead of infomercials or public access, they were playing a stand up routine by a female comedian. Ryan tossed the remote on the couch and leaned back to get comfortable.
Twenty minutes into the program, with the warmth of the afghan and Brendon’s body heat surrounding him, Ryan found it harder and harder to keep his eyes opened. Finally he gave in and let them slip shut, tipping his head against Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon shifted a bit so that Ryan could burrow in further, and Ryan murmured his approval into Brendon’s shirt. Slowly, he felt himself begin to drift into sleep.
Right as he hit that pleasant place where his limbs went from feeling heavy and clumsy to impossibly light, he had the stray, sleep-cloudy thought about how comfortable it was pressed against Brendon’s body. That realization brought him back from the cusp of sleep. He untangled himself from Brendon and awkwardly stood up.
“Yeah,” he said, palming the back of his neck, “I can barely keep my eyes open, so I think I’m going to go to bed.”
“Okay,” Brendon said slowly. He looked confused and faintly hurt as he watched Ryan fidget.
“Okay,” Ryan agreed. “Is that blanket enough for you, or do you want something else?”
“This is fine,” Brendon said. He stretched out on the couch and snatched the remote from where Ryan left it. “Good night.”
“Night,” Ryan said. He went into his room without looking back once. Then he jerked off, hand between his legs and face mashed into his pillow.
Part Two
“Hey,” the Sultan grinned, stretching out a hand that Ryan shook. “Nice to meet you.” He eyed Ryan’s boots, jeans, jean jacket and bandana uncertainly. “Are you in costume?” A University of Illinois AU, written for strangecobwebs as part of the (Turning) Tricks or Treats challenge at bandslashmania
Thanks to txtequilanights, siryn99 and hatoyona for the swift and helpful betas.
Lines in the Sand (are meant to be crossed)
“Why do I have to go to this thing again?” Ryan asked, pulling his jean jacket tighter around himself.
Spencer rolled his eyes and pressed the pedestrian walk sign to get across Green Street. “Because not going out on Halloween would be pathetic?”
“I had plans with Gabe and Ryland,” Ryan said. Granted, they were vague, and kind of just boiled down to getting stoned in that cemetery off of Florida Avenue, but Spencer didn’t have to know that.
“Hanging out with Gabe Saporta on Halloween? That’s just asking to get your kidney carved out and sold on the black market or your face eaten off.”
It was Ryan’s turn to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deny that Gabe gave off a weird vibe, but aside from the string of broken hearts left in his wake, the guy was mostly harmless. Ryan had even hooked up with him a few times, but was smart enough to end it before becoming another member of the Saporta Lonely Hearts’ Support Group. (Vicky-T, one of Gabe’s roommates, started it last April when she got sick of sopping up the tears of all of Gabe’s jilted former boy-or-girlfriends/fuckbuddies/one night stands. They met at the Espresso Royale in the Union on Tuesdays.)
“Whatever,” Ryan replied. “All I’m saying is that you need to have sex with Jon and get it over with, instead of dragging me to this stupid party. You’re wearing a costume, for fuck’s sake. You haven’t done that since you were a Ninja Turtle in fourth grade.”
James Bond wasn’t the most original costume, but Ryan had to admit that the smooth lines of the tuxedo and the way he slicked and styled his hair suited Spencer.
“First of all, Jon’s parties are not stupid. Second,” Spencer countered, smirking, “what fun would that be?”
Ryan blanched. “Why do I have to watch your weird foreplay ritual? And don’t say threesome.”
“Please,” Spencer scoffed as they turned onto White Street. “He lives in the second building on this side.”
Ryan jogged up the steps, eager to get inside the warm apartment. In Champaign the weather seemed to go from summer to winter overnight, without the buffer of autumn, and by the end of October it was already freezing.
Spencer pressed the buzzer that read Walker/Urie. They didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Jon’s tinny voice came through the speaker with the sounds of music and laughter behind it.
“Spencer Smith, it better be you!”
Spencer leaned towards the speaker. “How many people have you said that to today?”
“Today?” Jon responded. “That’s how I answer the door every day.”
“It’s true!” a voice cried out in the background.
“I’m an eternal optimist, Spencer,” Jon said.
Spencer grinned and dipped his head, and it would have been adorable if Ryan didn’t have to see the same besotted look any time they were in a one hundred foot radius of Jon Walker.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Ryan said, and then louder, “Can you let us in, please?”
“Hey, Ryan, glad you could make it,” Jon said. The door clicked open.
“No problem. It should be fun,” Ryan replied, almost against his will. He steadfastly ignored Spencer’s smirk as they made their way through the darkened hallway to the elevator.
“Not even you can resist the power of Jon Walker,” Spencer said after a moment.
“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, even though it was kind of true. Jon was the friendliest, most easygoing guy Ryan knew, and he seemed to be friends with everyone. Hanging out with Jon was like walking into The Breakfast Club.
The ride up to the fifth floor was a short one, and when the doors slid open, Jon was waiting on the other side. He wore a pirate costume, complete with eye patch and fake parrot on his shoulder. When he saw Spencer, he greeted him with an appreciative once over that left even Ryan hot under the collar.
“Hi, Jon,” Spencer said, and the extra cant to his hips wasn’t Ryan’s imagination.
“Hey,” Jon said. “So. Shaken, not stirred?”
“Surprise me,” Spencer said, and wow. Gayest James Bond ever.
“Okay, I’m going inside now,” Ryan said, walking around Jon and Spencer just as Jon’s door opened and a laughing Sultan came tumbling out.
“Spencer!” the Sultan cried, grinning, as he came to stand next to Jon. “Who’s your friend?’
“My roommate, Ryan,” Spencer said. “Ryan, this is Jon’s roommate, Brendon.”
“Hey,” Ryan greeted, already bored with the conversation and itching to get his hands on a beer.
“Hey,” the Sultan grinned, stretching out a hand that Ryan shook. “Nice to meet you.” He eyed Ryan’s boots, jeans, jean jacket and bandana uncertainly. “Are you in costume?”
Spencer snorted as Ryan scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”
“Oh. I’m Aladdin,” he said. Brendon made a quick turn to show off his loose, billowy pants and tight leather vest.
“Of course you are,” Ryan said. “Nice meeting you. I’m going to head inside.”
The keg, which was obviously the centerpiece of the party, was even easier to spot with Ray Toro and his enormous hair manning it.
“Hey,” Ryan said. Ray passed him a cup and a marker and Ryan wrote his name in his usual lazy scrawl. “How do you know Jon again?”
“How does anyone?” Ray answered with a shrug as he filled up the cup. “His roommate was dating my singer for a while.”
Ray was in a well-known local band. Local as in Chicago, but the members transplanted to Champaign, which was still close enough to get them some sweet gigs around the city. Their music was played more than the Red Hot Chili Peppers or the Dave Matthews Band on the Central Illinois radio stations, and that was saying something. The last update Ray had given Ryan in their shared Biology 101 lab put My Chemical Romance second only to Rascal Flats in popularity in Champaign County.
Ryan had caught a few shows at the Canopy Club in the past. They were awesome. Ray could shred like no motherfucker Ryan had ever seen, which was only right since his crazy hair was made for head banging.
“Aladdin?” Ryan asked, disbelieving.
Ray laughed as he handed Ryan his drink. “Yeah, I know. So. Spencer made you come?”
“If he came alone, it would look like he was just here to see Jon,” Ryan recited.
“It’s kind of fucked up how much those two get off on dancing around each other,” Ray said.
“Kind of? It’s been almost two months. Two months when they could have been getting laid,” Ryan said. He chugged back half of his beer in one gulp and grimaced. “Ugh, god, what is this, Pabst?”
“Icehouse,” Ray corrected. “Hey, if cheap American beer isn’t good enough for your delicate palate you should have brought your own.”
“My favorite kind of beer is the free kind,” Ryan countered.
“In that case, I’ll fill you back up and then come hang out with you,” Ray answered. “Bill said he’d take over at ten-thirty, which is right…now. Hey, Beckett! Get your drunk ass over here!”
“Hang on!” Bill called from the couch where he was tangled with Vicky-T and Sisky.
“Krista’s not with you?” Ryan asked Ray.
Ray rolled his eyes. “That’s what I get for dating a smart chick. She has some big paper to turn in tomorrow. Said she’ll call me when she finishes. What kind of asshole makes a paper due the day after Halloween?”
“The big kind,” Ryan said.
“I know. She’s got the cutest little nurse’s costume too. With the stockings and the little hat? It’s fucking unbelievable. Seriously, Bill, five seconds!” Ray shouted.
“Okay! God!” Bill yelled, peeling himself off the couch in the graceful way he had even while flushed and stupid drunk. “Ryan Ross!” he said, delighted. “I didn’t know you were one of Jon’s loveable misfits!”
“I’m not,” Ryan said.
“He’s Spencer Smith’s friend,” Ray explained.
“Ohhhh…” Bill said, comprehension dawning. “The Spencer Smith? The one that our little Jonny met in his Statistics class who’s made of ponies and chocolate and rainbows?”
Ryan raised an amused eyebrow. “Well, that’s not how I’d describe him, but yeah.”
Bill clapped his hands together. “Excellent! This party was distressingly drama-free without Gabe.”
“Don’t even get me started!” Vicky-T yelled from the couch. “I was on the phone with some kid named Kevin for forty-five minutes today listening to him cry about what a jerk Gabe is. How do these people get my number?”
“Gabe gives it to them so he doesn’t have to deal with their whining,” Ryan said, grinning when she narrowed her eyes and dug her Sidekick out of her purse.
“You’re getting him in trouble now,” Ray said.
Just then Aladdin popped up at Ryan’s elbow, handing his empty cup to Bill. “Getting who in trouble?” he asked Ryan.
“Gabe Saporta,” Ray answered.
“Oh, that guy. I met him a few times. I heard there’s all this crazy shit in his basement, like whips and chains and stretch racks and stuff.”
“There’s a pair of handcuffs and some throw pillows,” Ryan said. “Don’t believe all the rumors. Most of them were started by him or one of his exes.”
“Oh. That’s kind of a let down,” Aladdin said as he bounced along to the song playing, his face creased in an expression suspiciously close to a pout.
“Most things are,” Ryan said.
“Ross, you getting emo on us again?”
Ryan turned around to see Travis McCoy watching him, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Well, this party just got a lot more fun.
“I’m never emo,” Ryan said.
Travie took a drag from the cigarette and ashed it in an empty Pepsi can. “That’s right. I must be confusing you with a different skinny white boy I’ve fucked.”
“I guess it would be hard to keep track of them all,” Ryan said, taking a challenging step forward, “but I’ve been told that I’m pretty fucking unforgettable.”
“TMI,” Ray said, wandering out of the kitchen with his hands covering his ears.
“Are you kidding?” Bill replied. He hopped over the counter separating the kitchen and the living room and wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Not enough information. Ryan, feel free to expand on the details.”
Ryan smirked and spread his hands out in front of him. “Long fingers,” he explained mischievously. “And that’s all you’re getting to fill your spank bank.”
Bill groaned and leaned his long body against Ryan’s. “That’s all I’ll need.”
Ryan smoothed a hand down the front of Bill’s shirt, grinning as Bill’s lips parted and his tongue peaked out to trace his lower lip. “You’re welcome.”
***
“Motherfucker,” Travie growled twenty minutes later in Jon’s bathroom when Ryan reminded him of just how good his fingers were.
He licked a tattoo on the side of Travie’s neck. “You’ll never forget me.”
“Why’d we stop doing this again?”
“Got bored,” Ryan admitted, softening the blow with a flick of his thumb over the head of Travis’s cock.
“You’re a little bitch,” Travis managed. He tipped his head down and caught Ryan’s mouth with his own.
***
“Did you just have sex in my bathroom?” Aladdin asked when Ryan slipped out after Travis.
“Um, yes?” Ryan said. “Sorry.”
***
“I cannot believe we’re going home,” Ryan said. It was after three in the morning. Travis left hours earlier with Disashi and Eric to smoke a bowl in Eric’s car and never came back. Bill was asleep on Ryan’s lap, his long legs draped over the back of the couch. Ray and Joe Trohman were on the floor playing Halo 3, and from where he was sitting, Ryan couldn’t see the television through the combined forces of their hair. The only other person still hanging around was Vicky-T, who had disappeared into Aladdin’s room with him a while ago to debate the finer points of Meat is Murder.
He had assumed that he’d be crashing on the couch, since Spencer had disappeared into Jon’s room hours ago, but apparently not.
Spencer grinned and shook his head. “It’s time to go.”
“Tell me you at least made out,” Ryan said.
“We watched Rocky Horror,” Jon said, squeezing past Spencer in the doorway and deliberately bumping their hips together.
“Have you discovered some kind of aversion to sex that I don’t know about?” Ryan asked. “Your hair’s not even messed up.”
Spencer ran a hand over his perfectly slicked hair. “Let’s go.”
Jon leaned against the wall and said, “Call me when you guys get home. Don’t die, Spencer, it would break my heart.”
“I won’t,” Spencer said.
Bill lifted his head from Ryan’s lap to let him stand. “It was nice meeting you, the Spencer Smith.”
“You too, Bill,” Spencer said. “You’re a nice guy. Try not to let Gabe turn you into a serial killer.”
“Every day’s a struggle,” Bill intoned as he hugged a pillow and his eyes slipped shut.
“Seriously,” Ryan said when they got outside.
“It’s a matter of pride now,” Spencer explained.
Ryan gaped at him while he struggled with the buttons of his jean jacket. “It’s a matter of pride to NOT have sex? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”
“He thinks he can break me by being adorable and friendly and hot. It’s not going to work.”
“Clearly,” Ryan said.
***
The following Monday, Ryan stopped in the Illini Bookstore to pick up a copy of Ethan Frome for his American Lit class. Even though it was almost three, the streets were empty while all the kids slept off their weekend partying.
He resisted the urge to run upstairs and check out the cheap paperbacks and instead headed downstairs to the textbook section. He went into the English aisle and scanned the class numbers. He came to 256 and groaned when he saw that there was an orange “Ask an IUB employee!” sticker where his book should be.
A bored looking student sat behind the help desk, but he perked up when he saw Ryan approach.
“Hey,” Ryan said, “I’m looking for a book for English 256.”
“Ethan Frome?” the guy asked, and when Ryan nodded, continued, “Yeah, it’s been out of stock for a week. I think we may have gotten a new order in though. Let me check.”
“Thanks,” Ryan said. He drummed his fingers along to the song piping out over the speakers as he waited for the guy to come back.
He returned a moment later looking triumphant and waving a small, blue book. “Success!”
“Oh man, thanks so much,” Ryan said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.
“Sure thing,” the guy said, smiling. “Anything for a friend, right?”
Ryan shot him a confused look. “Yeah,” he said when nothing else came to mind.
The guy studied Ryan’s expression a moment and his smile dipped. “We met on Halloween,” he clarified. “I’m Jon’s roommate.”
And now that he said something, Ryan recognized him out of the parachute pants and red vest. “Aladdin?” he asked.
Aladdin’s smile slipped further. “Brendon. My name’s Brendon.”
“No, right,” Ryan fumbled. “I knew that. What’s up? How was your weekend?”
“Awesome,” Brendon said, gaining back some of his earlier enthusiasm. “Though, no offense, but it would have been even more awesome if I didn’t have to hear your friend’s name every five seconds.”
Ryan laughed. “Tell me about it. You know how when you say a word too many times it stops making sense? Well, that’s what the word ‘Jon’ is like to me now.”
“Do you like hot chocolate?” Brendon asked out of nowhere.
“Um…” Ryan said uncertainly. “What?”
“My shift’s over in five minutes and I was going to run down to Moonstruck. Want to come with?”
“Uh…” Ryan started. “I guess?”
“You don’t have to,” Brendon said. “I mean, if you’re busy or whatever, it’s cool.”
“No, no,” Ryan said quickly, still feeling guilty about not recognizing him sooner. “I can go. You got my book, after all.”
“That’s true,” Brendon agreed. He scooped his backpack up from under the desk. “You owe me.”
***
“At the party, were you telling the truth about Gabe’s basement?”
They’d been sitting and drinking their hot chocolate for a good twenty minutes, but Brendon still hadn’t gotten past all of the whipped cream in his. When they’d entered, the girl at the counter, Greta, knew Brendon’s order, which seemed to consist of half chocolate and half whipped cream, without him having to say anything.
“Yeah,” Ryan confirmed. “There are some Christmas lights strung up and a CD player in the corner for mood music or whatever, but it’s nothing great. Pete Wentz, on the other hand? That dude’s bedroom is like a porn store.”
Brendon sputtered and wiped white foam off of his lip with the back of his hand. “Pete? Isn’t he dating Patrick Stump?”
“You know Patrick?” Ryan asked. “He wasn’t dating him last year when we first met, but he is now, thank god. You think Jon and Spencer are bad? At least Jon’s not talking about soul mates and adopting babies from China and shit like Pete was. He even called me Patrick once, you know, during?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Brendon cried. He slapped his leg and put his cup on the table. “He did not.”
“He DID,” Ryan said. “Like, mid-blow job.”
“Wait, giving or receiving?”
“I was giving,” Ryan clarified.
Brendon covered his mouth with his hand. “What did you do?”
Shrugging, Ryan took a sip of his own mint hot chocolate for the dramatic pause. “I finished, but it was out of pity. The guy had it bad. Plus, he apologized after.”
“You’re a better man than I am, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said.
“If I was a really good man, I wouldn’t have told Patrick about it,” Ryan said.
“You told him about it? I take it back, you’re pure evil,” Brendon said, looking impressed.
“The next day. I expect to be the best man at their inevitable commitment ceremony.”
Brendon’s eyes widened. “God, Pete Wentz’s commitment ceremony. I bet his dog would be the ring bearer.”
”I would not bet against that,” Ryan said.
“So are you and Spencer going to Cute Is What We Aim For on Friday? They’re playing at the Courtyard Café.”
“Yeah, I like them. Not that it even matters. If Jon’s going then I’d get dragged along either way,” Ryan admitted.
“Awesome!” Brendon beamed. “We could hang out after.”
“Sure,” Ryan said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. Sure, Brendon was really energetic. Like really. But he was also hilarious and he seemed to enjoy Ryan’s stories. There was nothing Ryan loved more than a captive audience. “I’ll talk to Spencer and figure out a time.”
***
As predicted, Spencer demanded that Ryan go to the concert with him. He made a show of being annoyed about it before giving in, because he didn’t want to make it easy on Spencer.
They found Jon and Brendon in line outside of the Café doors a few minutes before they were let in, their $6 collected and hands stamped on the way. Brendon managed to launch himself at a table and they sat down.
“Spencer, do you want some coffee?” Jon asked once they were situated.
“A small one,” Spencer said, reaching into his pocket.
“I’ve got it,” Jon said. He waved off the five-dollar bill that Spencer tried to hand him. “Ryan, anything?”
“No, thanks,” Ryan said.
“I’ll have some coffee, since you’re offering,” Brendon said, smiling sweetly.
“You can have decaf,” Jon said.
Brendon wrinkled his nose. “I’m not familiar with this word ‘decaf.’”
“Get a dictionary, I’ll help you spell it. In the Walker/Urie household we’ve implemented a caffeine ban after seven o’clock,” Jon explained to Spencer and Ryan.
“Except during midterms and finals week,” Brendon said.
“It’s just better that way,” Jon assured them before heading into the long line in front of the counter.
“I’m not really that bad,” Brendon said, once Jon was out of earshot. “He likes to be dramatic. There was one incident involving his favorite Cubs mug that made him very upset, that’s all.”
***
“So, you’re a Music major, Brendon?” Spencer asked.
“I am,” Brendon said. “Mostly piano.”
“But that’s not the only instrument he plays,” Jon said. He balanced the three cups of coffee like a pro, before sitting down and distributing them out.
“What other instruments?” Spencer asked.
Brendon took a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little. “Is this black, Jon? Are you trying to kill me? Guitar, bass, cello and I’m learning the drums.”
“Ryan plays the guitar,” Spencer said, and Ryan glared at him.
“Really?” Brendon asked, perking up immediately.
“Um,” Ryan said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Not really.”
“He can play like three Blink 182 songs,” Spencer said. “Didn’t you say you wanted to take lessons this year, though?”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He could tell a set up when he saw one.
“Interesting!” Jon said. “Brendon happens to teach guitar in his spare time.”
“I could give you lessons,” Brendon said.
“I don’t…” Ryan began.
“I won’t charge you for it. Call it the friend discount.”
Ryan sighed. He really did want to get better on the guitar, and if Brendon was going to give him the lessons for free?
“Yeah, okay. Yeah.”
***
They decided to meet on Monday, so after his classes were over Ryan found himself at Brendon’s door holding his secondhand acoustic guitar.
“Ryan or pizza?” Brendon asked through the intercom.
“Ryan,” he answered.
“Ryan! I ordered pizza for us!” Brendon said as he buzzed Ryan in. “Hope you like cheese.”
He was waiting with the door opened when Ryan came off the elevator. “Hey!” he said. “Come on in!”
Ryan followed him into the decent-sized apartment. On the left of the living room was Brendon’s bedroom.
Ryan took one step in and marveled at the sheer chaos. The place looked like a Guitar Center had thrown up on it. There was a stand in the corner with five guitars balanced in it. Next to the bed was an elaborate keyboard hooked up to a laptop. Sheet music and picks and even the occasional tambourine were littered all over the floor. Every available inch of the walls were covered in band posters. Ryan recognized most of them, but some he’d never heard of.
“Wow.”
“I know,” Brendon said. “Sorry it’s kind of messy. Let me clear off a spot for you.” He pushed over a few textbooks and highlighters before gesturing for Ryan to sit.
Ryan folded his legs under him and tugged his guitar self-consciously onto his lap.
“My guitar is shitty,” he said. “I bought it when I was like twelve, so.”
Brendon frowned. “No, hey, it’s fine. It has character.”
“It’s missing a string,” Ryan said.
“Dude, you’ve come to the right place,” Brendon said, rummaging in his bedside table and pulling out a plastic sleeve of guitar strings. “Tada! Let me see it.”
Ryan handed over the guitar and watched as Brendon began fixing the string.
“I don’t know how you want to do this,” Ryan said while he worked. “I’ve never taken lessons before.”
“We can start with the basics, if you think you need to refresh yourself. Or I have the tabs for a bunch of songs, if you want to pick a few to learn,” Brendon said. He waved his hand at a stack of booklets and papers piled on his desk.
“Do you have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Ryan asked.
“Do I have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Brendon repeated. He looked pointedly at the west wall of his room, which was covered with Pumpkins posters. “A few, yeah.”
***
“Are we going to Brothers on Friday?” Ryan asked Spencer a few weeks later. They were sitting at the kitchen counter sharing a package of chicken flavored Ramen and a couple of beers for dinner.
Spencer laid his fork down and looked at Ryan, his eyebrow raised. “Usually it’s me asking that question,” he said.
“Brendon mentioned on Monday that a whole group was going,” Ryan said.
Spencer smirked. “During your date.”
“During my guitar lesson,” Ryan said with a roll of his eyes. “Look, he’s a nice kid…”
“He’s older than me,” Spencer pointed out, sounding amused.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s boyfriend. And he’s that type, you know? I can already tell,” Ryan said. “Plus, he’s almost too nice. No one could be that nice without bodies rotting under the floorboards.”
Spencer dumped almost half a bottle of lemon juice into his bowl and stirred it with his fork. “You were in his room, did you smell anything?” he asked. “I guess if he’s not ignoring you or fucking your friends or in love with someone else then you can’t be bothered.”
“You make it sound so fucked up,” Ryan mused. “Jesus, don’t use all the lemon juice! That has to last the rest of the week!”
***
On Friday, Spencer texted Ryan.
jon and i will meet you @ bros. pick up brendon @ piano practice in music bldg rm. 312 7pm.
Ryan read the text and wrote back while making his way across the quad to catch the bus after his Spanish discussion group let out.
why he cant walk?
he turns off his phone during practice and jon says he forgets the time. just do it asshole!
fine, he texted back, have sex w/ him!!!
Spencer didn’t respond to that, but then Ryan didn’t expect him to. He went home to eat Fritos for dinner and then headed to the Music Building. Sure enough, Brendon didn’t answer his cell when Ryan tried to call him and let him know he was coming.
Even though Ryan had never been in the Music Building before, the halls and staircases were easy to navigate, and he found his way to the right room quickly. He couldn’t hear any music coming from inside, which confused him until he realized that the rooms were soundproof. He knocked once, lightly, and when he received no answer twisted the knob and poked his head in the room.
Immediately music poured from the room, slow and rich and sad. Brendon sat at a black baby grand piano, playing furiously. Ryan could see his back and the way his t-shirt clung damply to the curve of it, the way the hairs on the back of his neck were wet and spiky with sweat, and Ryan felt his mouth go dry. Instead of doing the smart thing and announcing his presence, Ryan moved farther inside the room. It gave him a better view of Brendon’s agile fingers stretched across the keys, shifting smoothly from one chord to the next. His eyes were open and he studied the movement of his hands intently. Ryan’s own hands flexed open and shut restlessly at his sides.
Brendon looked different than Ryan was used to seeing him, more serious, more focused. And hot. He looked - wow. Really fucking hot.
Ryan stayed frozen, heart racing wildly, until the last strains of the song swelled and died. “Hey,” he said, wincing at how shaky his voice sounded.
Brendon whipped around and placed a hand on his heart, grinning. “Ryan! I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been there?”
“A few minutes,” Ryan said. Long enough. “I’m supposed to pick you up so that you don’t forget about coming to Brothers.”
“Is it seven already?” Brendon asked. He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Wow, ten after. Good thing you came.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said dumbly. “You were. I mean. It sounded really good. The song.”
Brendon grinned happily at the praise, looking genuinely thrilled. “Thanks! I mean, you’re wrong, I sucked, but that’s okay. I appreciate the effort.”
“No,” Ryan argued. “No, you were. I liked it. The way that it sounded.” Ryan could not, literally could not, remember a time when he was so tongue-tied around anyone. And for it to be Brendon Urie, of all people. Aladdin, really?
“There’s something not right about it, I just can’t put my finger on it,” Brendon said.
“It was - ” Ryan snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “Whatever. Let’s get going.”
“Sure, I just need my bag,” Brendon said. He picked up his backpack and pulled the strap over his head to lie across his chest.
“Come on,” Ryan said, already halfway out the door. He was eager to get out of the too-small room and clear his head. God, Spencer could never, ever find out about this.
***
Ryan and Ray were walking out of Bio Lab when Ryan cleared his throat and asked casually, “So Brendon dated your friend, right?”
“Gerard? Yeah,” Ray said. “Why?”
“Just wondering. How long were they together?” Ryan asked.
“I don’t know. A couple months over a year ago.”
“Cool,” Ryan said. “So you’ve been friends with Brendon for a while then?”
Ray narrowed his eyes. “Where’s this going, Ross?”
“I’m kind of interested, and I thought you’d know if maybe Brendon would be into…” Ryan let himself trail off, knowing that Ray would understand his meaning.
Ray grimaced. “Dude, TMI. And no, Brendon doesn’t just hook up like you do. The kid’s Mormon, for god’s sake.”
“Yeah,” Ryan said, sighing. “That’s what I thought.”
“Whatever. Don’t call me today. I’m gonna go hang out with my three straight friends, and we’re going to talk about tits and it’s gonna be awesome.”
***
“If I were any 80s movie character, I would definitely be Lloyd Dobbler,” Brendon said.
Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon were squished together on Ryan and Spencer’s couch watching Weird Science on TBS.
“You would pick the best one for yourself,” Ryan said.
“I don’t know,” Jon said contemplatively. “I’ve always liked the friend from Pretty in Pink. The one that takes her to the prom.”
“Even though she’s dressed in a pink potato sack,” Spencer said.
“You are way too fixated on that dress,” Ryan remarked.
“The first time we saw that movie together I was seven years old, and even then I was like, ‘Really?’” Spencer said.
“That’s because you’re really gay,” Ryan said.
Spencer gave him an unimpressed look from around Jon. “Dude, the guy wearing roses on his shirt unironically does not get to judge the level of someone else’s gayness.”
“How do you know it’s unironically?” Ryan countered.
“Um, because I was there when you sewed them on?” Spencer suggested.
“You did this yourself?” Brendon asked. He reached over to finger the one on Ryan’s lapel. “I like it.”
Ryan coughed, feeling his face flush. “Uh, thanks.”
“He should have hooked up with Molly Ringwald in the end,” Jon said, pulling the conversation back on track.
“Ryan hated the ending too,” Spencer said.
“He did hook up with her,” Brendon said. “Wait, didn’t he? They went to the dance together.”
“But then she gets back together with the rich guy,” Ryan said.
“Oh.” Brendon looked kind of put out.
“And on that note,” Spencer said, slapping his legs and standing up, “Jon and I are going to sleep.”
“We are?” Jon asked.
“It’s like four,” Spencer said. “I’m fucking exhausted. You can stay out here if you want, but…”
“No, no,” Jon said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
“Good night,” Spencer said to Brendon and Ryan.
“Night,” Ryan responded. “Have fun not doing it.”
“You too!” Spencer called back. Jon laughed softly behind him as the door to Spencer’s room shut.
Half the couch was free with the other two gone, but Ryan didn’t move over and Brendon didn’t seem to notice.
“How long do you think they’ll hold out?” Brendon asked.
“I don’t understand it at all, so what do I know?” Ryan asked.
“Good point,” Brendon said.
On the television, a commercial came on for the remake of A Christmas Carol. Brendon hummed happily beside him. “I love Christmas movies,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked. He couldn’t say he was surprised. “I like The Christmas Story.”
“Who doesn’t?” Brendon asked. “A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, It’s A Wonderful Life, Charlie Brown Christmas, all of them. They’re the best. And Christmas episodes of television shows? Love those too. We should have a Christmas movie marathon before we go home for break.”
“You have to convince Spencer of that first,” Ryan said.
“No, I have to convince you, and then you’ll convince Spencer,” Brendon said. “I have a plan, Ryan.”
“That sounds vaguely ominous,” Ryan said.
“It’s Christmas movies, Ryan. What’s ominous about that? Nothing. They just want to wish you peace and joy. Hand me that blanket.” Brendon pointed to the afghan balled up at the other end of the couch. Ryan stretched out and grabbed it. “Thanks. It’s freezing in here.” Brendon covered them both with it.
When they were settled, Ryan picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels.
“Stand up!” Brendon cried.
Sure enough on Comedy Central, instead of infomercials or public access, they were playing a stand up routine by a female comedian. Ryan tossed the remote on the couch and leaned back to get comfortable.
Twenty minutes into the program, with the warmth of the afghan and Brendon’s body heat surrounding him, Ryan found it harder and harder to keep his eyes opened. Finally he gave in and let them slip shut, tipping his head against Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon shifted a bit so that Ryan could burrow in further, and Ryan murmured his approval into Brendon’s shirt. Slowly, he felt himself begin to drift into sleep.
Right as he hit that pleasant place where his limbs went from feeling heavy and clumsy to impossibly light, he had the stray, sleep-cloudy thought about how comfortable it was pressed against Brendon’s body. That realization brought him back from the cusp of sleep. He untangled himself from Brendon and awkwardly stood up.
“Yeah,” he said, palming the back of his neck, “I can barely keep my eyes open, so I think I’m going to go to bed.”
“Okay,” Brendon said slowly. He looked confused and faintly hurt as he watched Ryan fidget.
“Okay,” Ryan agreed. “Is that blanket enough for you, or do you want something else?”
“This is fine,” Brendon said. He stretched out on the couch and snatched the remote from where Ryan left it. “Good night.”
“Night,” Ryan said. He went into his room without looking back once. Then he jerked off, hand between his legs and face mashed into his pillow.
Part Two