Different Ways to Get to Where We Are (2/3), Ryan/Brendon, NC-17
Part One
II
Ryan
March, 2004
Ryan had a turkey sandwich and a can of Pepsi sitting on his desk as he pulled up iTunes and checked his email He had three comments to some pictured he'd posted on LiveJournal, which he responded to and then deleted from his inbox. On ap.net there was a new Pete Wentz interview. Ryan had enough time to weigh in on that as well as a thread about the best albums of the last five years - Take This To Your Grave, obviously, plus Revenge and Hard Candy by the Counting Crows - before his cell phone rang.
“You home?” he asked Spencer by way of greeting.
“Yeah, and Brent said ten minutes.”
“Is the new kid coming too?” Ryan asked.
“He has a name,” Spencer said.
“I’ll learn his name once he lasts a week.” The past month had been a revolving door of shitty guitarists who stuck around for a practice or two before disappearing again, and Ryan was tired of bothering.
“Yes, the new guy is gonna be there,” Spencer said. He didn’t disagree with Ryan, though, which was as good as admitting he felt the same way.
“Okay, be there in ten,” Ryan said and clicked his phone shut.
*
June, 2006
“Oh, please,” Ryan said, lacing his fingers together over his knee and giving Pete a disbelieving look.
“It’s true,” Pete insisted.
“Lindsey Lohan did blow off your stomach in New York City.”
“Swear to god.” Pete raised his right hand solemnly. “With a ten dollar bill.”
Ryan eyed his speculatively before shaking his head. “Total bullshit.”
Pete kept his earnest expression another second and then dissolved into laughter.
“I knew it, you fucking liar,” Ryan said over Pete’s stupid donkey laugh.
“It could have happened, though,” Pete said. “She went to the bathroom, like, four times.”
“Maybe she just didn’t want to hang out with you,” Ryan suggested. “In fact, I might run to the bathroom myself.”
“Fuck off, Ross. I own your ass. You’re contractually obligated to hang out with me.” Pete pressed a hand to Ryan’s chest when Ryan jokingly tried to move around him to leave.
“Are you that desperate for friends?” Ryan asked.
“Please,” Pete scoffed. “I have a million friends. It’s you I’m desperate for.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered.
“I’m so flattered,” Ryan deadpanned.
“You should be,” Pete said. “I can see you’re being sarcastic right now, but you totally should be.”
Ryan was flattered, still had trouble believing it sometimes, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Pete. His ego didn’t need any more stroking.
“Seriously, though,” Pete continued, dropping the leer and draping an arm over Ryan’s shoulders. “How are you guys doing?”
“We’re…fine,” Ryan said slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth. It had only been two months since they’d fired Brent, but the first shows had gone well.
“Jon working out okay?”
Playing with Jon was awesome, even though he could still feel the loss of Brent whenever they were onstage. Spencer had taken a while to warm up to him, but that was how Spencer was with everybody.
“Yeah,” Ryan responded honestly. “Yeah, it’s good. Things are good.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Pete said, and Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Is that why you came all the way across the country to ‘hang out’?” Ryan asked.
“Well, I’m your boss, I’ve gotta be all responsible and shit. At least that’s what Patrick tells me.” Pete flashed a self-deprecating grin. “Plus, my girlfriend broke up with me, so, you know. I have some time on my hands.”
Ryan winced. He liked Jeanae and everything, but he tried to avoid talking to Pete about her, especially during one of their off periods.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry. That’s fucked up. When did it happen?” Ryan asked.
“Last week.” Pete rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “It’s cool.”
If there was one thing Ryan knew about Pete and Jeanae’s epic, doomed romance, it was that they were never cool.
“Okay,” Ryan said, instead of pushing it. “Is there anything…” His completely innocent question was interrupted by Pete leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Ryan didn’t have time to process any farther than Holy shit, Pete Wentz is kissing me! before Pete pulled back to stare at him expectantly.
“Um,” Ryan said. He knew he had to be gaping like an idiot, but what else could he do?
“Shit,” Pete said, pulling away from Ryan and running a hand through his bangs. “Sorry, sorry, just. Look, okay, you’re pretty much the only gay guy I know.”
Ryan was torn between laughing hysterically and asking, you’ve met Spencer, right? Instead he settled for a stuttered, less than convincing, “I’m…not.”
Pete scoffed. “Please, you like dick more than any dude I’ve ever met.” He held his hands up when Ryan glared. “No, man, no, that’s not an insult, okay? I know this is, like, the lamest shit ever, but I think I might be gay too. How fucking stupid am I that it took me twenty-seven years to figure it out, and even then it wasn’t me who figured it out, it was my girlfriend. I don’t even know, man, but, like, I think she might be right.”
“Um,” Ryan said again, completely at a loss. He couldn’t help but think about how a couple years ago that would have been all the encouragement he’d have needed to drop to his knees for Pete fucking Wentz. “I guess it’s cool that you’re, like, finally understanding yourself, or whatever.”
“It is, right? Like, I might be a little late to the game, but I could be a fucking awesome gay dude.”
“Every scene kid would want to be one,” Ryan agreed.
“Yeah, so. So I’m going to kiss you again. I’m giving you advance warning so that you don’t punch me or sue me for sexual harassment. Are you ready?” Pete asked, and then took a step forward and pulled Ryan’s head down to meet his mouth halfway before he had a chance to reply.
Ryan sighed into the kiss and placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder to steady himself. It was a pretty good kiss. His lips parted automatically to let Pete deepen the kiss and slip his tongue into Ryan’s mouth.
When Brendon hopped on the bus, Ryan almost expected him to yell, gotcha! but the horrified expression on Brendon’s face and the way Pete stiffened under his hands blew those thoughts out of the water. They broke away from each other hastily, and Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” Pete said, after a moment of awkward silence. “I’m gonna go. See you, Brendon.” Pete practically dove around Brendon and off the bus.
When he was gone, Ryan debated how much to say. Despite his enthusiasm, Pete obviously didn’t want people know about his sudden bout of gayness. “We were just…”
Ryan didn’t know where he was going to go with that sentence, but it didn’t matter, because Brendon held up a hand to stop him, a venomous expression on his face.
“No, it’s cool. I was coming to catch a quick nap before the show, so…” He pushed past Ryan out of the lounge and into the bunk area, slamming the door as he went.
*
March, 2004
The newest New Guy came to his second practice wearing an SHS Jazz Band!! t-shirt, complete with both exclamation points. He stood at Brent’s side, shifting from one foot to the other as he bounced with excitement, a guitar case held in each hand. Ryan remembered from their first meeting that the kid was almost painfully enthusiastic about everything. So much so that Ryan wanted to point out that they, you know, pretty much sucked, so could the guy maybe tone it down? Like, one exclamation point excited instead of two?
“Hey, Ryan. Hey, Spencer,” the New Guy said.
“Hey,” Ryan replied, eyes focusing back down on his fretboard.
“You mentioned on Saturday that you wanted to try some acoustic stuff. I think you said ‘Boys Will Be Boys’? I brought both guitars just in case you wanted to try.”
Ryan looked up, impressed despite himself. At the last practice, the New Guy hadn’t done much more than prove he could play their three songs. Most of the kids that they’d recruited could barely handle that, never mind having an actual second guitar to their names.
“We could,” Ryan said, turning to get confirmation from Spencer, who nodded. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“Awesome!” the New Guy said.
“Why don’t we work on learning the songs the way they’re actually written before fucking around with them?” Brent suggested, and he had a point.
“We’ve got two hours before my grandma comes home from work,” Spencer said. “We could do both if we hurry.”
*
June, 2006
“You’re assholes,” Ryan said to Zack and Kylie and lowered his Sidekick.
Kylie had both hands wrapped around Zack’s bicep and was crying with laughter against his shoulder. Ryan should have guessed those two were fucking with them after last week when they managed to convince Jon that fans snuck onto the bus during sound check and stole all of his underwear. It was pretty hilarious when it wasn’t happening to Ryan.
“What were you going to do, Ryan?” Zack asked him. “Hold the phone to her ear until she got cancer?”
Ryan glared and crossed his arms over his chest. It was too early for this shit, and he’d barely gotten any sleep between answering Pete’s texts and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with Brendon.
“Who fell out of bed?” Kylie asked. “Was it Brendon? Oh, please tell me it was Brendon.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Brendon said when Jon raised his hand.
“Brendon didn’t fall out of his bunk,” Ryan couldn’t stop himself from saying. “He was too busy hiding in it like a little girl.”
Brendon mumbled something about strategy and grabbed the Lucky Charms out of the cupboard. When Zack and Kylie left a few minutes later and Spencer and Jon went back to bed, Ryan decided to take advantage of the situation and talk to Brendon alone.
*
April, 2004
“Okay, okay,” Ryan said, stepping away from the microphone and sighing. “Okay, that sucked.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Brendon argued.
After the last four practices Ryan knew that they had to keep Brendon around. He was great on both guitar and bass, and, at their last practice, also admitted to playing the piano. Head and shoulders above any of the other kids they’d tried out since Trevor left, Ryan was starting to think that Brendon was even better than Trevor.
Despite finally finding the fourth member for the band, they still couldn’t get the songs to sound the way that they did in Ryan’s head, no matter how many times they tried. Ryan had the sinking suspicion that it was his fault and the other three, Spencer especially, didn’t want to tell him.
“This is pointless,” Ryan said, lifting his guitar over his head and propping it against the keyboard.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Spencer suggested.
“Whatever,” Ryan said, and walked outside to sit on the front steps.
The screen door slammed, and Ryan turned around expecting Spencer. Instead, he saw Brendon fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie and looking uncomfortable.
“What?” Ryan asked. He curled his legs up and leaned back against the railing.
Brendon looked at him a moment before shrugging and coming to sit beside Ryan. “I like the songs.”
Ryan put his head in his hands and laughed. “You like everything, Brendon.”
“That’s not true,” Brendon answered, sounding contemplative. “I don’t like a lot of shit. Waking up early, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Korn the band, carrots the vegetable, sushi, horses, gym class.”
“What do you have against horses?” Ryan asked.
“My parents sent me to this camp every summer until I was thirteen. There was horseback riding.” Brendon shook his head ruefully. “It never ended well.”
Ryan laughed again at Brendon’s haunted expression. He could only imagine the kind of damage Brendon could cause with a skittish, thousand pound animal under him.
“If you’re curious, that’s also where my hatred of carrots comes from,” Brendon continued.
Ryan shook his head in amusement and stood up. “Okay, let’s go back inside,” he said.
“Sure.”
They walked in together and saw Brent and Spencer, who stopped talking when Ryan approached. Spencer raised a questioning eyebrow, and Ryan shrugged, picking up his guitar.
“Hey, so,” Brent said, “I was just telling Spencer that instead of me doing back up, we should try it with Brendon, since he can actually, like, sing.”
Ryan looked at Brendon, who seemed to be trying to hide behind the keyboard.
*
Three hours later, Ryan thought he might be a little bit in love with Brendon Urie.
He’d never seen Spencer so fucking thrilled, and he could only guess what the expression on his own face looked like. Turned out Brendon could sing as well as he could play - maybe even better.
It didn’t take more than two songs before Ryan handed over lead vocals to Brendon. It was a relief, if he was honest with himself. Plus, it was obvious that Brendon was meant for the job. When he got in front of the microphone, all that barely contained energy had a focus. Even in the empty living room, with only Spencer’s cats as an audience, it took Ryan’s breath away.
“That was awesome,” he said later, after Brent had been called home and Spencer roped into setting his grandma’s table for dinner.
Brendon beamed at him and flicked his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “Thanks!”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything earlier,” Ryan said.
“It’s your band,” Brendon answered, hefting his guitar into its case. “I’m just the new guy.”
Ryan surprised himself by wanting to disagree with Brendon’s assessment. Instead, he stared somewhere over Brendon’s left shoulder and said with forced nonchalance, “You and I could hang out tomorrow, if you wanted, and talk about what I have in mind for the songs. Maybe get lunch or something?”
Brendon took a step backward and he said, “I can’t. I have church and then teen group after. It’s kind of a whole day thing.”
He had church - he was Mormon, for fuck’s sake. “Oh.” Ryan felt his whole face flush. Stupid, so stupid, what had he been thinking? The only thing he had going for him was that Brendon didn’t recognize Ryan’s clumsy attempt at hitting on him for what it was. “That’s cool.”
“But Tuesday at practice…?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Ryan responded quickly.
*
June, 2006
Brendon watched the television with a rapture that was obviously faked. Normally, he couldn’t focus on one show for more than five minutes at a time without channel flipping, but now he stared at The Price Is Right as if Bob Barker was sharing the meaning of life. Not even Spencer’s grandmother was that interested in Plinko.
Ryan had just gathered the courage to speak up when the Sidekick still clutched in his hand vibrated. With equal parts relief and annoyance, he opened the text message.
tryoing to decide whats gayer: butter pecan or choclate chip cookie dough? patrick wont weigh in. help me obi gay kenobi your my only hope
Ryan stifled a laugh and typed back, dumb question. butter pecan is fuckin lame why do you even have it?
“Pete?” Brendon asked.
Ryan flipped closed his phone and bristled at the accusation in Brendon’s question. He thought that Brendon had stopped being his parents’ son years ago.
“Yes. So is this how things are going to be from now on?” he asked.
Brendon tossed his bowl onto the table, pink milk sloshing over the sides. “Since when are you gay?” he asked.
The disgust hurt, Ryan admitted to himself as something burning and tight made its way up his throat. “Since when are you a homophobic asshole?” he retorted.
“I’m just asking a question, Ryan, god,” Brendon said, sounding exasperated as he got up off the couch.
“So was I,” Ryan answered. His blunt fingernails were digging into the flesh of his thigh, even through the material of the shorts he’d worn to bed. “Is this some Mormon freak out?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Brendon said. He always hated the implication that he was acting Too Mormon. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
Ryan pried his hands off his thighs in order to cross his arms over his chest. He let his face show how much he believed Brendon.
“It doesn’t,” Brendon said again. “But, what, are you and him, like…boyfriends now?”
The way he spit out the word boyfriend made Ryan want to punch him in his fucking judgmental face. “Yeah, we are,” he said instead, and then added, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Brendon looked, for a moment, like he was about to throw up. Ryan jutted his chin out and stubbornly decided not to set the record straight. Let Brendon be uncomfortable. He’d pretended to be okay with Spencer for years, but apparently all it took was him walking in on his friends doing something actually gay to make his real feelings known.
“You’re right,” Brendon said. “It’s none of my business. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to hear anything else about it. Keep your brand new gay relationship to yourself and just…fuck.”
He stormed out of the lounge and Ryan dropped his head into his hands, his breathing shallow.
*
May, 2004
“I looked over those lyrics you gave me yesterday,” Brendon said. They were still waiting for Brent. His car had broken down the week before, and he had to have his mom drive him to practice while it was in the shop.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked. He tried not to fidget, but it was tough. “Harlequin Girls” wasn’t really a song yet, and he hadn’t shown it to anyone but Spencer.
“Is it about your, um, your girlfriend?” Brendon asked, sounding uncertain.
Ryan shook his head at Brendon’s hesitant question. “Ex. Ex-girlfriend. She’s a bitch.”
“How long were you guys together?” Brendon asked.
“Almost a year. We broke up in January, because she cheated on me with a guy named Dana.” Just thinking about it put a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Oh, wow, so not that long ago, huh?” Brendon asked. He cleared his throat. “Wait, the guy’s name was Dana?”
“Don’t get me started.”
“Dana.”
“Fuck off, Urie.”
*
June, 2006
Sitting on an uncomfortable couch at the station of some top forty radio station in Virginia while they waited to start their interview, Ryan watched Brendon flirt with the female DJ. It didn’t make him feel any better that Brendon was hopelessly bad at it.
He and Jon were recounting the story of the time they accidentally bought two live chickens off the Internet and had them delivered to Jon’s parents’ house in Chicago. Brendon had his showman smile on, but the girl didn’t seem into it. She had her body angled towards Jon, her hand on Jon’s elbow.
It had been a week since Ryan’s fight with Brendon, and he was still pissed, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to Brendon’s presence until it wasn’t there anymore. It didn’t occur to him that he and Brendon ate breakfast together every morning until the first day after when he ate his Cheerios alone. He’d taken it for granted that Brendon would sit with him and watch movies, constantly shifting position on the couch and peppering each scene with comments, until Brendon found somewhere else to be. And on stage? Ryan might as well not have been there for how much attention Brendon paid him.
Spencer sat down next to him and bumped his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Ryan folded his arms around both knees. “Brendon.”
Spencer followed Ryan’s line of sight and made a pained sound. “He’s a prick.”
Ryan turned to him in surprise. “What?” he asked. Spencer made it a point over the years to never get involved in Ryan’s Brendon Issues.
“To you,” Spencer added.
As far as Ryan knew, Spencer didn’t know about what happened with Pete, since Ryan hadn’t said anything. He must have noticed the tension between them, and his default position in any fight that didn’t directly involve him was always Ryan’s. In this particular case, though, Ryan knew that at least part of the blame was his for lying to Brendon in the first place.
God, how sad was it that Ryan’s first impulse was to defend him? “I don’t know, maybe I’ll talk to him later.”
*
June, 2004
Ryan slept on Spencer’s floor every other night, on average. He knew his way to the bathroom in the dark better in Spencer’s house than his own. Mrs. Smith bought a green toothbrush for Ryan that was kept in the cup with all the others. If he woke up at seven, it gave him enough time to get back home to take a shower - he loved the Smiths, but he didn’t want to fight with the five of them for use of the bathroom - get dressed, grab a Pop Tart or some cereal for breakfast and get to class by ten.
Ryan had just gotten comfortable under the covers when his cell phone went off. Reaching out, he looked at the caller ID and saw it was Brendon.
“Answer it, douche bag,” Spencer said groggily.
“Hello?” Ryan said, while giving Spencer the finger.
“Hey, Ryan, it’s Brendon,” he said, his voice shaky. “Were you asleep?”
Ryan sat up against his pillow and nestled the phone more securely to his ear. “No, Spencer and I were talking,” Ryan lied. “What’s up, Bren?”
“If you’re busy…” Brendon said.
“I’m not,” Ryan interrupted and asked again, “What’s up?”
Above him, Spencer flicked on the lamp on his nightstand and hung his head over the bed to watch Ryan.
“I had a fight with my parents,” Brendon admitted, after a moment of silence.
Ryan had known since Brendon started coming to practices a couple month before that his parents weren’t happy with him spending so much of his free time on the band. Ryan hadn’t met the Uries, but they didn’t seem like the most easy-going people.
“About what?” Ryan asked cautiously.
“Nothing, just stuff.” The cagey way he said it confirmed Ryan’s suspicion that it was about the band.
“Do you want…” Ryan started, but Brendon cut him off.
“Never mind, it’s stupid, I’ll let you go.”
“No,” Ryan said. “Where are you, Brendon? Do you want us to come pick you up?”
There was a pause, and then Brendon answered, “I’m at the twenty-four hour Laundromat on Windsor.”
Ryan had his jeans pulled halfway on before Brendon finished speaking. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t want to bother you guys,” Brendon argued, but he sounded relieved. “Will Spencer be mad?”
“He won’t mind,” Ryan said, watching Spencer step into his gym shoes, following Ryan’s lead.
“What about his parents? I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“Brendon, they don’t care,” Ryan answered. “We’ll pick you up and grab something to eat.”
“Okay, cool,” Brendon said, and his voice sounded small. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. “I’ll call you when we get on Windsor.”
He clicked off his cell phone and turned to Spencer. “He had a fight with his parents. He’s at that Laundromat by the Wendy’s.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, grabbing his keys off the nightstand.
When they got into the car, Spencer started the ignition and then looked at him. The CD player blasted Radiohead, Thom Yorke singing about God loving his children, and Spencer thumbed it off with a practiced flick.
“Ryan,” he said.
The look he gave Ryan was so knowing that Ryan could only glance down at his hands and shrug.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“All right,” Spencer agreed after a long pause, putting the radio on again and backing out of the driveway.
Ryan lolled his head against the headrest and stared up at the street lamps whizzing past.
*
June, 2006
Ryan got his chance to talk to Brendon the next day. After some detective work, he found Brendon sitting in the lounge of their hotel, strumming on his acoustic guitar.
“Hey,” Ryan said.
“Hey, Ryan,” he responded.
“What are you playing?” Ryan asked. Brendon had gone back to fiddling with the same melody, the tune slow and a little sad.
“Something that’s stuck in my head,” Brendon said.
Ryan walked into the room to sit beside Brendon, smiling cautiously. “I like it,” he said.
“Thanks,” Brendon said.
His expression, the way he looked at Ryan, made Ryan’s shoulders relax a bit. It also gave him the courage to ask, “Are we good?” Brendon stopped strumming to stare at him and he continued nervously, “You and me. I know some shit’s going on, but. We’re friends, right?”
Ryan held his breath as Brendon glanced down at the ground before answering, “Yeah, Ryan, we’re friends.” Then he ran out of the lounge so fast that Ryan could practically feel the wind.
So fast, in fact, that he left his guitar behind, leaning against the sofa cushions. Ryan picked it up and pulled it into his own lap.
*
He didn’t know how long he played for - long enough that an older lady wandered in, tried to read, gave up with a sour look in his direction and left again. Eventually, the sun set outside the picture windows behind him, dusk sliding smoothly into night.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Ryan looked up from playing to face Brendon in the doorway, in an unconscious, if spot-on impression of Brendon from earlier.
“You’ve been looking for me?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah.” Brendon walked over, and Ryan noticed the inelegant stagger in his steps that he only got when he was either drunk, stoned, or some hilarious combination of both.
“You’re having fun,” Ryan said.
“Jon Walker is a good man,” Brendon answered seriously. “You know who else is a good man? Whoever invented vodka. Love that guy.”
Brendon was a mellow drunk. More often than not, he’d end the night sprawled across the nearest willing body, and this time was no different. He fell down onto the cushion beside Ryan and cuddled in, barely avoiding catching himself on the end of the guitar to lay his head on Ryan’s shoulder and draping half of his body over Ryan’s.
Despite the stench of the alcohol and the understanding that Brendon was so blown Ryan could have been a total stranger for all that it mattered to him, he was still embarrassingly grateful for the attention. If Brendon wasn’t so drunk, he’d have noticed the heavy thumping of Ryan’s heart beneath his arm.
“What did you have?” Ryan asked.
“There’s nothing mini about our mini-bar, Ryan,” Brendon answered, making Ryan snort.
“Tiny little bottles.”
“Mmm, but oh-so delicious,” Brendon said. “Jon’s been trying to keep me from you.”
“Why would he do that?” Ryan asked.
“I’m beginning to think that he might be an evil overlord,” Brendon said, with the air of one imparting sensitive information.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ryan said.
“I was looking everywhere,” Brendon said.
“For what?” Ryan asked.
“You,” Brendon answered.
“I’ve been right here,” Ryan told him.
“Is that my guitar?” Brendon asked.
“You left it,” Ryan answered.
“It’s cool, you can use it,” Brendon said. “Mi guitar is su guitar. I’ve missed you, Ry.”
Ryan sucked in a breath and gripped the neck of the guitar tightly. “I’ve missed you too.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re too busy with Pete,” Brendon said.
Ryan coughed. “Brendon,” he said, feeling his face color. “Brendon, I’m not dating Pete.”
Brendon looked up at him, his eyelids fluttering shut. “What?” he asked, laying his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“We’re not dating. I told you that because I was mad at you.”
“That’s stupid,” Brendon said.
“I know,” Ryan said, scratching a hand through Brendon’s hair and making him hum happily. “Believe me, I know, but…”
“Jesus, there you are!” Jon walked into the lounge with Spencer at his heels. “We thought we were going to find you wandering around in traffic or something.”
“Why would I do that?” Brendon asked blurrily from where his face was tucked into Ryan’s neck.
“Because you’re an idiot,” Spencer answered, “especially drunk.” He gave Ryan a concerned look over Jon’s shoulder and Ryan shrugged helplessly back. “Here, let me grab him.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it,” Jon said, loping forward and wrapping one of Brendon’s arms around his shoulders and one of his own arms around Brendon’s waist. “This is my fault anyway.”
“I love you, Jonny,” Brendon said, going limp against him. “For real, let’s have babies.”
“You do have childbearing hips,” Jon answered and then laughed at Brendon’s drunken indignation. He looked back at Ryan and Spencer and saluted with his free hand. “Night, you guys.”
“Night,” Ryan said, watching wistfully as Brendon stumbled away with Jon supporting him.
“I’m going to write a song about how awesome you are,” Brendon was promising. “It’s going to be called ‘My Friend Jon The Evil Overlord.’”
“I’m an evil overlord now? I thought you just said I was awesome. That’s not very nice.”
“You’re not very nice,” Brendon volleyed back.
“That doesn’t make any…why am I arguing?” Jon asked as they rounded the corner towards the elevators.
“You okay?” Spencer asked when they were out of sight.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, smiling slightly. “I’m pretty amazing, actually.”
*
July 2, 2006
“Hey, Pete,” Ryan yelled into the phone, over the ruckus of The Hush Sound’s soundcheck. “Hang on, it’s too loud in here, I can’t hear you!” He gestured at Spencer and rolled his eyes.
“-ink…gay…” Pete said into the phone.
“Pete?” Ryan called into the phone. “What? Seriously, I can’t hear you. Wait like five seconds!”
He cupped one hand over his ear, but that didn’t make much of a difference. The hum of Pete’s voice was audible, but not the actual words.
“What?” Ryan asked again, exasperated. “Hold on, I’m almost out.” He pushed through the closed double doors and walked into the empty lobby where abruptly Pete’s words rang crystal clear.
“I said, I think I’m gay for Patrick!”
Ryan pulled the Sidekick away from his ear and stared at it in horror. He wasn’t sure how Pete got it into his head that Ryan was the person to talk to about all his gay personal problems. In fact, Ryan could, off the top of his head, think of four people that would be better suited to talking about these kinds of things. At least this time Pete hadn’t shown up in Michigan to try and wrestle Ryan into a pair of glasses and a trucker hat to work out his newest issues.
“Um,” Ryan said when he tentatively brought the phone back to his ear.
“I opened my eyes this morning and it was just - Patrick, you know? Patrick everywhere - in my head and my heart and the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how I didn’t see it all this time.”
“Me either,” Ryan said. He stared up at the ceiling, hoping that Pete wouldn’t go into detail about what he did after he woke up with that revelation.
Pete sighed and said, “Oh man, lead singers, huh?”
*
It took almost fifteen minutes of vague, affirmative responses before Pete finally hung up, muttering to himself about John Cusack and where he could find a boom box. By that point, Ryan could feel a throb starting in his temples. His stash of aspirin was in their dressing room, so he headed there instead of going back to Spencer.
The Avalon wasn’t big, but the halls twisted in odd directions and turned into dead ends without any warning. He’d been getting lost all day, and this time was no different as it took him almost ten minutes to find their dressing room - enough time that the throb morphed into a full blown headache.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he turned down the right hallway and saw the door appeared in front of him, as if by magic. Then the air caught in his throat, trapped, when he opened the door and came face to face with Brendon, getting sucked off by some blonde guy in the middle of the room.
Ryan froze, his eyes meeting Brendon’s. There was a long, tense pause where Ryan tried and failed to get his limbs to move, before Brendon’s head snapped back and he let out a soft, agonized groan. Ryan swallowed hard, carefully closed the door and felt his legs take him out of the zig-zagging hallway, into the lobby and past the ticket booth. He’d nearly made it outside before a hand grabbed him.
“Ryan, I’ve been calling you!” It was Kylie, wearing one of the fourteen or so Throwing Muses shirts she owned and looking confused.
“Sorry,” Ryan said, pulling out of her grip. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” she answered. “Where are you going?”
“Outside,” Ryan said, and made his way to the doors.
“There are dozens of girls out there, Ryan,” Kylie said. “At least take Zack.”
Ryan ignored her and stepped out, squinting, into the late afternoon sun. A group of girls waited against the south side of the building. It took a moment for them to notice Ryan’s presence, but when they did, they surrounded him in a second. He fielded the tickets, papers and CD booklets thrust under his nose and the flash going off in his face as best he could.
A girl around his age snuck an arm around his waist and posed for a picture without any warning, and Ryan was momentarily blinded.
“Okay, okay, back up. Hey! Back up!” The voice came from behind him, and Ryan turned to see Zack pushing a path through the throng of screaming girls and their indulgent parents. “He’ll go inside if you don’t get back!”
The crowd around him loosened, and Zack slapped a hand on his shoulder and gripped too hard. “You and I are going to have a talk about the rules tonight.”
Ryan took hold of a green Converse shoe in front of his face and scribbled his signature on it with the black Sharpie he’d taken from the first girl to reach him.
“Ryan, hi,” the girl at the other end of the shoe said, sounding breathless.
“Hi,” Ryan greeted.
”I’m so excited for tonight! I saw you guys with The Academy Is…and you were awesome!”
“Thanks so much,” Ryan said, handing back her shoe.
“Hey, where’s Brendon?” she asked.
*
“What happened?”
The with Brendon was implied, because with Ryan it was always about Brendon.
Harsh, bitter anger and hurt flared through him, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I walked in on him in here with…”
He couldn’t finish that sentence, he couldn’t because admitting that he caught Brendon fucking another guy meant admitting to himself that Brendon liked guys, he just didn’t like Ryan. Instead, he let the righteous indignation build up, because who the fuck was Brendon Urie to pass judgment on him, the hypocritical jerk.
Spencer nodded like he understood and stepped close to Ryan, a comforting warmth against his side.
“I didn’t know he was gay,” Ryan said sadly. “I didn’t even know, Spence.”
“Come on, look at him,” Spencer urged.
Ryan reluctantly let his eyes travel to Brendon across the room and took in Brendon huddled next to Jon in a pink hoodie and those dopey red glasses and had to admit that Spencer had a point.
*
That night during the show, Brendon stayed on Jon’s side of the stage, occasionally turning around to include Spencer but never once looking at Ryan. Ryan played his guitar and belted the hell out of his back up vocals.
What he really wanted to do was grab Brendon by the shoulders and yell, Look at me, dammit! I’ve been here this whole time!
*
The fight, when it happened, did not go the way Ryan expected at all.
“I can fuck anyone I want, just like you. It’s none of your business.” Brendon tried escaping out the door, but Ryan’s arm shot out to stop him.
“It is my business. This is my band!” Ryan shouted, feeling unhinged and shaky, all the anger and hurt from earlier bubbling up. “You’re so fucking selfish, Brendon, god.”
“Everything’s fine, okay? Stop being such an asshole.” Ryan stepped in front of Brendon when he tried to pass again, his heart thundering in his ears. “Move, Ryan!”
“No,” Ryan said desperately. He could feel his hands shaking. “I’m the asshole? I’m the asshole? How can you say that when…Brendon.”
Suddenly, shockingly and without warning, Brendon’s mouth was against his, lips a little damp and very still. Ryan’s eyes widened, and it wasn’t until Brendon pushed him away that he realized he was the one who initiated the kiss. In fact, he was the only one who had kissed at all. Oh god.
“What?” Brendon asked, and Ryan could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. Then they were kissing again, and this time it was definitely Brendon who grabbed Ryan, Brendon whose hands were clenched tightly over his shoulders, pulling Ryan down.
Ryan didn’t think - couldn’t have if he wanted to, with Brendon’s mouth against his - just fisted his hands in Brendon’s shirt and hung on, kissing back and kissing back and trying to convince himself it was real.
Brendon leaned away and raised his arms above his head, telling Ryan, “Take it off.” His voice was deeper than usual, the way it got on stage sometimes when he was really into it.
“Yeah,” Ryan croaked, feeling his mouth go dry. He dragged the shirt off of Brendon, pretending it was an accident when his fingers brushed against the smooth skin of Brendon’s sides and smiling at the way he’d skewed Brendon’s stupid glasses in the process.
*
Kissing Brendon was never going to get old, Ryan thought, even as he wrenched his mouth away to breathe deep and murmur, “You need to take off your pants, and then we need to move to your bed.”
Brendon seemed to agree with this idea, because he undid his tight girl jeans with a practiced movement and wriggled out of them. Ryan took the time to enjoy the view and try to get his ragged breathing normalized. His dick, still rock hard from Brendon’s enthusiastic sucking, gave another twitch at the sight of Brendon stepping out of his underwear.
“Shit,” Ryan whispered. Brendon gave him a look from under his bangs that was almost shy, and Ryan lost any control he might have gotten back a moment before. “Come here.”
They stumbled back to Brendon’s bed, Ryan’s hands framing Brendon’s jaw and Brendon’s gripping Ryan’s waist.
“God,” Brendon mumbled between kisses, tugging Ryan forward insistently.
Ryan jerked with him and accidentally stepped on an errant magazine. His foot slid out from under him and his arms windmilled to try and regain his balance.
Brendon tightened his hands around Ryan’s waist and heaved him so that at the last second they ended up tumbling onto the mattress instead of the floor. Brendon stared at him while they both got their breath back, and then kissed him again, laughing against Ryan’s mouth.
“Shut up,” Ryan said, but didn’t untangle himself from under Brendon.
“Sorry, sorry,” Brendon said, not sounding it. He balanced his hands on either side of Ryan’s head and grinned down at him, wide and bright. Ryan felt himself smile back helplessly. “Just, your face.”
With one hand, he brushed Ryan’s hair off of his forehead and stared down at him. Slowly, his grin slipped into an expression that was soft and serious. “This is real,” he said firmly. “It is.”
He kissed Ryan again before he could respond. God, Spencer was going to kill Ryan, because every song he wrote from then on was going to be about Brendon’s mouth, his hair, the sweaty heat of his cock against Ryan’s.
Brendon pulled away and Ryan whined embarrassingly, stretching up to follow. “I want…” Brendon panted. His tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip and Ryan followed the motion greedily. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Shit, I want to do everything.”
“What first?” Ryan asked, bending his leg and making Brendon rub against him in a way that sent sparks up his spine.
“Fuck me,” he answered immediately. “Ryan, please.”
Ryan shut his eyes and clenched his hands into the sheets. “Yeah, okay.”
*
When Ryan’s cell phone went off later that night he rolled his eyes, knowing that there was only one person with that kind of timing. Scrambling through the pockets of his discarded pants, he found the Sidekick and answered it, making sure Brendon was still asleep.
“Hey Pete,” he whispered.
“Ryan, Patrick’s totally in gay love with me!” Pete hollered, and Ryan laughed despite his irritation.
“That’s great.”
“Fuck yeah, it is. Why are you whispering?” he asked.
Ryan hesitated, casting a look at Brendon’s sleeping form. He hadn’t known that Brendon was into guys until literally walking in on him with one, so he didn’t think Brendon would appreciate Ryan telling Pete.
“We’re just watching a movie,” he said. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“It’s cool. I’m going to try blowing Patrick now. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please don’t,” Ryan said, though he laughed a bit despite himself. He knew better than to encourage Pete, though. “See you.”
Ryan disconnected the phone and then shut it off for good measure before crawling back into the comfortable warmth of Brendon’s bed.
*
Waking up in Brendon’s bed was a little anti-climactic since Brendon wasn’t in it with him. Pushing himself up, Ryan noticed the bathroom door was closed and the knot of worry in his stomach loosened.
He laid back down on the mattress and waited for Brendon to get out of the bathroom. When five minutes turned to fifteen, he made himself get out of bed. His clothes were in a heap on the ground, but he grabbed Brendon’s bag and took out a pair of gray flannel boxer briefs instead. Biting his lip against a smile, he pulled those on before knocking on the bathroom door.
“Brendon?” he called. “You in there?”
There was no reply, and for a minute Ryan thought he’d been wrong about where Brendon went. Then he heard Brendon say softly, “Yeah.”
The toilet flushed and the faucet ran before the door opened and Brendon appeared.
“Hey,” Ryan said, grinning.
“Hi,” Brendon returned. Half of his hair was flattened to his head, and his eyes were still glassy from sleep. He looked so fucking ridiculous that Ryan had to lean forward and kiss him, without regard to morning breath.
The kiss felt forced, like that first accidental one the night before, and nothing like the ones that had followed. Ryan pulled away and frowned as that nervous, paranoid part of his brain kicked back in.
“What?” he asked, already dreading the answer.
Brendon didn’t say anything, though, which was almost worse. He walked around Ryan and into the room, rifling through his bag until he came out with a shirt to wear. That was an answer in itself, since Brendon would go on stage naked if he could. He never felt the need to cover up, especially not with them.
“I think you should leave.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Ryan. It shouldn’t have, with the way Brendon was acting, but his stomach still dropped to somewhere around his knees.
Hot pressure pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he ruthlessly pushed it away. “What?” he asked, hating himself for the tremulous way the word came out.
“This was a bad idea,” Brendon continued.
“You didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea when you were begging to suck my dick,” Ryan replied, managing to squeeze the words out of his suddenly tight throat. He knew this was a bad idea two years ago, god, what how fucking stupid was he? “I can’t believe myself. I can’t believe I did this,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said. He seemed so sincere that Ryan felt a traitorous hope build in his chest. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe - “I just…I can’t do it. Whatever fucked up thing you think is going to happen. Not with you.”
Wow, awesome. Brendon always did know the perfect words to say to destroy Ryan, and he used them every single time. Not with you.
Ryan began collecting his clothes off the floor, pulling on his shirt and pants, deliberately ignoring the fact that he still wore Brendon’s underwear. “Sure, fine. Whatever you want, Brendon. Whatever’s easier for you. God, you fucking asshole.”
Ryan didn’t remember walking to his room, but he made it somehow. Brendon didn’t follow.
*
Fucking Spencer. Ryan had managed to go two days without saying a word to Brendon, but Spencer couldn’t mind his own business. God only knew what he told Brendon in his misguided attempt to defend Ryan’s honor or whatever.
Now he was standing in front of a very uncomfortable looking Brendon, having a conversation that Ryan had planned to avoid forever.
“Spencer said, um. That you…you know. That you like me.”
Ryan didn’t laugh at the absurdity of that answer, but it was a damn close thing. “I thought grabbing you and kissing you was a pretty good indication of that.”
Brendon shrugged. “Yeah, but, you know, with Pete and everything. I mean, you can’t blame me for being confused, Ryan,” he said.
Wait, wait - Ryan stared at Brendon while the pieces came together rapidly in his mind. He laughed sharply.
“What’s so funny?” Brendon asked, looking pissed.
“You’re a liar, you’re such a fucking liar,” Ryan said. He laughed again, this time at himself and how fucking slow he was.
“What? How am I the liar here?” Brendon demanded.
“You don’t remember what I said.”
“Remember what? What are you even talking about?” Brendon asked. He dug both hands into his hair and glared daggers at Ryan. “You make me fucking crazy sometimes.”
“Last week when you got drunk with Jon and then came and found me,” Ryan said.
The look of confusion and mild horror was enough to set Ryan off again. “See? You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Fine, then maybe you should tell me and quit with the superior act already, because I swear to god, Ryan, I’m like five seconds away from -“
Ryan grabbed Brendon and kissed him, cutting off him off before he could finish his threat. Brendon was mad because he still thought Ryan was dating Pete. Brendon was jealous about it, which Ryan could definitely work with.
“Hey, hey,” Brendon said, backing out of the kiss and sounding put out. “You can’t keep ending conversations you don’t like by kissing me. It’s cheating, for one thing. I’m crazy about you, which you obviously already know, and that’s not fair.”
The fizzing and swooping inside Ryan’s stomach was making him grin stupidly. He was about to reach out and stop Brendon (with his lips, because despite what Brendon might think, it was an awesome way to end an argument), but Brendon backed away and kept talking.
“For another, what if we’re fighting in front of your boyfriend next time, huh? Are you going to make out with me then?” Brendon took another step back, and Ryan quickly made up the distance between. It felt like he was always doing that.
“Hey, stop,” he said. “I’m so stupid, god, Brendon. Stop talking about Pete, okay? Just…stop talking and let me enjoy this a minute.” He touched Brendon’s cheek reverently.
Brendon swallowed and glanced down at Ryan’s lips. “Okay,” he said faintly before leaning forward. Ryan ducked down and their mouths met again.
Ryan shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the kiss for a long moment, then dropped his forehead to Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon responded by cupping a hand around the nape of Ryan’s neck.
“Brendon,” Ryan said, taking a deep breath. “Brendon, I’m not dating Pete. I was never dating Pete.”
Brendon took a step back and said, “What?”
“I told you that night you were drunk, but I guess you don’t remember.”
“But you were kissing him,” Brendon said, his eyes narrowing in accusation. “I walked in and saw you.”
“Not really,” Ryan explained. “Pete just, he was curious. It’s not going to happen again.”
Brendon crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what you told me when I asked you about it. You told me you two were dating and having phone sex every night.”
“I didn’t say that,” Ryan argued.
“Well that’s what I heard!” Brendon shouted. “What the hell, Ryan?”
“I thought…I didn’t know,” Ryan stuttered. “I thought you were mad about the gay thing. I got kind of defensive, and it slipped out.”
“It slipped out,” Brendon repeated. “It slipped out. You’ve been breaking my heart every day for a month over something that just…slipped out.”
Ryan winced. “I’m sorry, Brendon. I swear to god, I’m so sorry. But I did tell you.” He stepped forward and Brendon took a stumbling step back.
“But not for weeks,” Brendon argued. “And when you did, it was when I was so drunk I could barely stand up on my own.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Ryan admitted. “I was embarrassed.”
“I don’t care about Spencer being gay, so why would I care about you?” Brendon asked.
Ryan shrugged. “It was probably…” He looked down at his fingers, tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. “I mean, it was definitely my issues and not yours.” He bit the bullet, figuring Brendon deserved a little honesty. “I like you, you know, a lot. Always have.”
Brendon looked at him another moment and then put his face in his hands. Ryan thought for a horrifying second that he was crying, until he realized his shoulders were shaking with laughter. After a moment, Brendon lifted his head again and gifted Ryan with a crooked smile.
“We’re the gayest band in the world, do you know that?” he asked, surprising Ryan into a loud bark of laughter.
“We are,” Ryan agreed. “I mean, Spencer alone.”
“I’m telling him you said that,” Brendon said. He took a tentative step towards Ryan.
“I’m not afraid of Spencer,” Ryan countered, reaching out and cupping Brendon’s elbow. His heart was going to beat its way out of his chest with the way it was slamming against it.
“That is a lie, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said, still grinning up at him. “That is a flat out lie, and in order to make up for it, you should kiss me right now.”
*
“What the fuck is going on?” Spencer shouted when he and Jon returned to the bus.
Brendon stopped kissing Ryan long enough to smile at Spencer and say, “We figured stuff out.”
Ryan knew the expression that came over Spencer’s face then. He’d seen it on the playground after some kids made fun of his sister, and at the skate park when a couple assholes called them fags. Ryan hadn’t lying about not being afraid of Spencer, but he also knew firsthand that his anger wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
“Brendon…” Ryan said nervously as he watched Spencer’s narrowed eyes and tightened lips.
“What?” Brendon asked, turning obliviously away from Spencer to look at Ryan.
He didn’t have time to warn him before Spencer closed the few feet between them laid Brendon out with one swift punch.
“Jesus!” Ryan cried, diving to his knees and checking to see if Brendon was all right. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, but mostly he just looked shocked. He wasn’t the only one.
“Hey, whoa!” Jon said. He grabbed Spencer’s arm and held him back even as Spencer surged against his grip.
“What the fuck, Spencer?” Brendon yelled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared. “I said we talked, didn’t I? This whole thing was a misunderstanding.”
Ryan glanced between Spencer and Brendon, confused. Spencer couldn’t possibly think he was dating Pete too. Not after listening to him talk about Brendon just last week.
“What’s to misunderstand?” Spencer asked, looking as mad as Ryan had ever seen him. Jon must have noticed too, because he put himself between Spencer and Brendon.
“Spencer, calm down,” Jon said.
Spencer squinted at him incredulously before gesturing at Ryan and Brendon. “Are you kidding me? How are you not pissed about this?”
“About what?” Jon asked.
“It’s none of his business,” Brendon cut in, pushing himself to his feet.
Ryan agreed. Hell, it wasn’t even Spencer’s business, and he said as much.
Spencer gave them both a disgusted look, then asked, “How could it be none of Jon’s business that his boyfriend has his tongue down someone else’s throat?”
There was a long pause wherein Ryan’s mind went completely blank with incomprehension.
“Wait,” Brendon said finally, breaking the silence. “What?”
“No seriously,” Ryan said when Spencer crossed his arms and rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Finally, Spencer jabbed an accusing finger at Brendon and said, “We talked about this two days ago. Why would you…He’s amazing.” He spun around to Ryan. “And you can’t tell me you didn’t know what was going on when you walked in on them together!”
“Um…” Ryan answered, his mouth gaped as he tried to come up with a reply to that.
“No, he didn’t.” It was Jon who spoke, and Spencer and Ryan swung in tandem to face him.
Spencer looked uncertain for the first time since he walked back onto the bus. “I mean. Jon?”
Jon put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and took a step closer to him. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Spencer?” he asked softly, sounding awed, and tightened his hold when Spencer tried to shrug him off. “Spence.”
Ryan looked over at Brendon, who appeared equally baffled by what was going on. They obviously both missed something important here.
Epilogue: Spencer
II
Ryan
March, 2004
Ryan had a turkey sandwich and a can of Pepsi sitting on his desk as he pulled up iTunes and checked his email He had three comments to some pictured he'd posted on LiveJournal, which he responded to and then deleted from his inbox. On ap.net there was a new Pete Wentz interview. Ryan had enough time to weigh in on that as well as a thread about the best albums of the last five years - Take This To Your Grave, obviously, plus Revenge and Hard Candy by the Counting Crows - before his cell phone rang.
“You home?” he asked Spencer by way of greeting.
“Yeah, and Brent said ten minutes.”
“Is the new kid coming too?” Ryan asked.
“He has a name,” Spencer said.
“I’ll learn his name once he lasts a week.” The past month had been a revolving door of shitty guitarists who stuck around for a practice or two before disappearing again, and Ryan was tired of bothering.
“Yes, the new guy is gonna be there,” Spencer said. He didn’t disagree with Ryan, though, which was as good as admitting he felt the same way.
“Okay, be there in ten,” Ryan said and clicked his phone shut.
*
June, 2006
“Oh, please,” Ryan said, lacing his fingers together over his knee and giving Pete a disbelieving look.
“It’s true,” Pete insisted.
“Lindsey Lohan did blow off your stomach in New York City.”
“Swear to god.” Pete raised his right hand solemnly. “With a ten dollar bill.”
Ryan eyed his speculatively before shaking his head. “Total bullshit.”
Pete kept his earnest expression another second and then dissolved into laughter.
“I knew it, you fucking liar,” Ryan said over Pete’s stupid donkey laugh.
“It could have happened, though,” Pete said. “She went to the bathroom, like, four times.”
“Maybe she just didn’t want to hang out with you,” Ryan suggested. “In fact, I might run to the bathroom myself.”
“Fuck off, Ross. I own your ass. You’re contractually obligated to hang out with me.” Pete pressed a hand to Ryan’s chest when Ryan jokingly tried to move around him to leave.
“Are you that desperate for friends?” Ryan asked.
“Please,” Pete scoffed. “I have a million friends. It’s you I’m desperate for.” He waggled his eyebrows and leered.
“I’m so flattered,” Ryan deadpanned.
“You should be,” Pete said. “I can see you’re being sarcastic right now, but you totally should be.”
Ryan was flattered, still had trouble believing it sometimes, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Pete. His ego didn’t need any more stroking.
“Seriously, though,” Pete continued, dropping the leer and draping an arm over Ryan’s shoulders. “How are you guys doing?”
“We’re…fine,” Ryan said slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth. It had only been two months since they’d fired Brent, but the first shows had gone well.
“Jon working out okay?”
Playing with Jon was awesome, even though he could still feel the loss of Brent whenever they were onstage. Spencer had taken a while to warm up to him, but that was how Spencer was with everybody.
“Yeah,” Ryan responded honestly. “Yeah, it’s good. Things are good.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Pete said, and Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Is that why you came all the way across the country to ‘hang out’?” Ryan asked.
“Well, I’m your boss, I’ve gotta be all responsible and shit. At least that’s what Patrick tells me.” Pete flashed a self-deprecating grin. “Plus, my girlfriend broke up with me, so, you know. I have some time on my hands.”
Ryan winced. He liked Jeanae and everything, but he tried to avoid talking to Pete about her, especially during one of their off periods.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry. That’s fucked up. When did it happen?” Ryan asked.
“Last week.” Pete rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “It’s cool.”
If there was one thing Ryan knew about Pete and Jeanae’s epic, doomed romance, it was that they were never cool.
“Okay,” Ryan said, instead of pushing it. “Is there anything…” His completely innocent question was interrupted by Pete leaning in and pressing their mouths together. Ryan didn’t have time to process any farther than Holy shit, Pete Wentz is kissing me! before Pete pulled back to stare at him expectantly.
“Um,” Ryan said. He knew he had to be gaping like an idiot, but what else could he do?
“Shit,” Pete said, pulling away from Ryan and running a hand through his bangs. “Sorry, sorry, just. Look, okay, you’re pretty much the only gay guy I know.”
Ryan was torn between laughing hysterically and asking, you’ve met Spencer, right? Instead he settled for a stuttered, less than convincing, “I’m…not.”
Pete scoffed. “Please, you like dick more than any dude I’ve ever met.” He held his hands up when Ryan glared. “No, man, no, that’s not an insult, okay? I know this is, like, the lamest shit ever, but I think I might be gay too. How fucking stupid am I that it took me twenty-seven years to figure it out, and even then it wasn’t me who figured it out, it was my girlfriend. I don’t even know, man, but, like, I think she might be right.”
“Um,” Ryan said again, completely at a loss. He couldn’t help but think about how a couple years ago that would have been all the encouragement he’d have needed to drop to his knees for Pete fucking Wentz. “I guess it’s cool that you’re, like, finally understanding yourself, or whatever.”
“It is, right? Like, I might be a little late to the game, but I could be a fucking awesome gay dude.”
“Every scene kid would want to be one,” Ryan agreed.
“Yeah, so. So I’m going to kiss you again. I’m giving you advance warning so that you don’t punch me or sue me for sexual harassment. Are you ready?” Pete asked, and then took a step forward and pulled Ryan’s head down to meet his mouth halfway before he had a chance to reply.
Ryan sighed into the kiss and placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder to steady himself. It was a pretty good kiss. His lips parted automatically to let Pete deepen the kiss and slip his tongue into Ryan’s mouth.
When Brendon hopped on the bus, Ryan almost expected him to yell, gotcha! but the horrified expression on Brendon’s face and the way Pete stiffened under his hands blew those thoughts out of the water. They broke away from each other hastily, and Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Yeah,” Pete said, after a moment of awkward silence. “I’m gonna go. See you, Brendon.” Pete practically dove around Brendon and off the bus.
When he was gone, Ryan debated how much to say. Despite his enthusiasm, Pete obviously didn’t want people know about his sudden bout of gayness. “We were just…”
Ryan didn’t know where he was going to go with that sentence, but it didn’t matter, because Brendon held up a hand to stop him, a venomous expression on his face.
“No, it’s cool. I was coming to catch a quick nap before the show, so…” He pushed past Ryan out of the lounge and into the bunk area, slamming the door as he went.
*
March, 2004
The newest New Guy came to his second practice wearing an SHS Jazz Band!! t-shirt, complete with both exclamation points. He stood at Brent’s side, shifting from one foot to the other as he bounced with excitement, a guitar case held in each hand. Ryan remembered from their first meeting that the kid was almost painfully enthusiastic about everything. So much so that Ryan wanted to point out that they, you know, pretty much sucked, so could the guy maybe tone it down? Like, one exclamation point excited instead of two?
“Hey, Ryan. Hey, Spencer,” the New Guy said.
“Hey,” Ryan replied, eyes focusing back down on his fretboard.
“You mentioned on Saturday that you wanted to try some acoustic stuff. I think you said ‘Boys Will Be Boys’? I brought both guitars just in case you wanted to try.”
Ryan looked up, impressed despite himself. At the last practice, the New Guy hadn’t done much more than prove he could play their three songs. Most of the kids that they’d recruited could barely handle that, never mind having an actual second guitar to their names.
“We could,” Ryan said, turning to get confirmation from Spencer, who nodded. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“Awesome!” the New Guy said.
“Why don’t we work on learning the songs the way they’re actually written before fucking around with them?” Brent suggested, and he had a point.
“We’ve got two hours before my grandma comes home from work,” Spencer said. “We could do both if we hurry.”
*
June, 2006
“You’re assholes,” Ryan said to Zack and Kylie and lowered his Sidekick.
Kylie had both hands wrapped around Zack’s bicep and was crying with laughter against his shoulder. Ryan should have guessed those two were fucking with them after last week when they managed to convince Jon that fans snuck onto the bus during sound check and stole all of his underwear. It was pretty hilarious when it wasn’t happening to Ryan.
“What were you going to do, Ryan?” Zack asked him. “Hold the phone to her ear until she got cancer?”
Ryan glared and crossed his arms over his chest. It was too early for this shit, and he’d barely gotten any sleep between answering Pete’s texts and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with Brendon.
“Who fell out of bed?” Kylie asked. “Was it Brendon? Oh, please tell me it was Brendon.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Brendon said when Jon raised his hand.
“Brendon didn’t fall out of his bunk,” Ryan couldn’t stop himself from saying. “He was too busy hiding in it like a little girl.”
Brendon mumbled something about strategy and grabbed the Lucky Charms out of the cupboard. When Zack and Kylie left a few minutes later and Spencer and Jon went back to bed, Ryan decided to take advantage of the situation and talk to Brendon alone.
*
April, 2004
“Okay, okay,” Ryan said, stepping away from the microphone and sighing. “Okay, that sucked.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Brendon argued.
After the last four practices Ryan knew that they had to keep Brendon around. He was great on both guitar and bass, and, at their last practice, also admitted to playing the piano. Head and shoulders above any of the other kids they’d tried out since Trevor left, Ryan was starting to think that Brendon was even better than Trevor.
Despite finally finding the fourth member for the band, they still couldn’t get the songs to sound the way that they did in Ryan’s head, no matter how many times they tried. Ryan had the sinking suspicion that it was his fault and the other three, Spencer especially, didn’t want to tell him.
“This is pointless,” Ryan said, lifting his guitar over his head and propping it against the keyboard.
“Maybe we should take a break,” Spencer suggested.
“Whatever,” Ryan said, and walked outside to sit on the front steps.
The screen door slammed, and Ryan turned around expecting Spencer. Instead, he saw Brendon fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie and looking uncomfortable.
“What?” Ryan asked. He curled his legs up and leaned back against the railing.
Brendon looked at him a moment before shrugging and coming to sit beside Ryan. “I like the songs.”
Ryan put his head in his hands and laughed. “You like everything, Brendon.”
“That’s not true,” Brendon answered, sounding contemplative. “I don’t like a lot of shit. Waking up early, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Korn the band, carrots the vegetable, sushi, horses, gym class.”
“What do you have against horses?” Ryan asked.
“My parents sent me to this camp every summer until I was thirteen. There was horseback riding.” Brendon shook his head ruefully. “It never ended well.”
Ryan laughed again at Brendon’s haunted expression. He could only imagine the kind of damage Brendon could cause with a skittish, thousand pound animal under him.
“If you’re curious, that’s also where my hatred of carrots comes from,” Brendon continued.
Ryan shook his head in amusement and stood up. “Okay, let’s go back inside,” he said.
“Sure.”
They walked in together and saw Brent and Spencer, who stopped talking when Ryan approached. Spencer raised a questioning eyebrow, and Ryan shrugged, picking up his guitar.
“Hey, so,” Brent said, “I was just telling Spencer that instead of me doing back up, we should try it with Brendon, since he can actually, like, sing.”
Ryan looked at Brendon, who seemed to be trying to hide behind the keyboard.
*
Three hours later, Ryan thought he might be a little bit in love with Brendon Urie.
He’d never seen Spencer so fucking thrilled, and he could only guess what the expression on his own face looked like. Turned out Brendon could sing as well as he could play - maybe even better.
It didn’t take more than two songs before Ryan handed over lead vocals to Brendon. It was a relief, if he was honest with himself. Plus, it was obvious that Brendon was meant for the job. When he got in front of the microphone, all that barely contained energy had a focus. Even in the empty living room, with only Spencer’s cats as an audience, it took Ryan’s breath away.
“That was awesome,” he said later, after Brent had been called home and Spencer roped into setting his grandma’s table for dinner.
Brendon beamed at him and flicked his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. “Thanks!”
“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything earlier,” Ryan said.
“It’s your band,” Brendon answered, hefting his guitar into its case. “I’m just the new guy.”
Ryan surprised himself by wanting to disagree with Brendon’s assessment. Instead, he stared somewhere over Brendon’s left shoulder and said with forced nonchalance, “You and I could hang out tomorrow, if you wanted, and talk about what I have in mind for the songs. Maybe get lunch or something?”
Brendon took a step backward and he said, “I can’t. I have church and then teen group after. It’s kind of a whole day thing.”
He had church - he was Mormon, for fuck’s sake. “Oh.” Ryan felt his whole face flush. Stupid, so stupid, what had he been thinking? The only thing he had going for him was that Brendon didn’t recognize Ryan’s clumsy attempt at hitting on him for what it was. “That’s cool.”
“But Tuesday at practice…?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Ryan responded quickly.
*
June, 2006
Brendon watched the television with a rapture that was obviously faked. Normally, he couldn’t focus on one show for more than five minutes at a time without channel flipping, but now he stared at The Price Is Right as if Bob Barker was sharing the meaning of life. Not even Spencer’s grandmother was that interested in Plinko.
Ryan had just gathered the courage to speak up when the Sidekick still clutched in his hand vibrated. With equal parts relief and annoyance, he opened the text message.
tryoing to decide whats gayer: butter pecan or choclate chip cookie dough? patrick wont weigh in. help me obi gay kenobi your my only hope
Ryan stifled a laugh and typed back, dumb question. butter pecan is fuckin lame why do you even have it?
“Pete?” Brendon asked.
Ryan flipped closed his phone and bristled at the accusation in Brendon’s question. He thought that Brendon had stopped being his parents’ son years ago.
“Yes. So is this how things are going to be from now on?” he asked.
Brendon tossed his bowl onto the table, pink milk sloshing over the sides. “Since when are you gay?” he asked.
The disgust hurt, Ryan admitted to himself as something burning and tight made its way up his throat. “Since when are you a homophobic asshole?” he retorted.
“I’m just asking a question, Ryan, god,” Brendon said, sounding exasperated as he got up off the couch.
“So was I,” Ryan answered. His blunt fingernails were digging into the flesh of his thigh, even through the material of the shorts he’d worn to bed. “Is this some Mormon freak out?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Brendon said. He always hated the implication that he was acting Too Mormon. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that.”
Ryan pried his hands off his thighs in order to cross his arms over his chest. He let his face show how much he believed Brendon.
“It doesn’t,” Brendon said again. “But, what, are you and him, like…boyfriends now?”
The way he spit out the word boyfriend made Ryan want to punch him in his fucking judgmental face. “Yeah, we are,” he said instead, and then added, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Brendon looked, for a moment, like he was about to throw up. Ryan jutted his chin out and stubbornly decided not to set the record straight. Let Brendon be uncomfortable. He’d pretended to be okay with Spencer for years, but apparently all it took was him walking in on his friends doing something actually gay to make his real feelings known.
“You’re right,” Brendon said. “It’s none of my business. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to hear anything else about it. Keep your brand new gay relationship to yourself and just…fuck.”
He stormed out of the lounge and Ryan dropped his head into his hands, his breathing shallow.
*
May, 2004
“I looked over those lyrics you gave me yesterday,” Brendon said. They were still waiting for Brent. His car had broken down the week before, and he had to have his mom drive him to practice while it was in the shop.
“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked. He tried not to fidget, but it was tough. “Harlequin Girls” wasn’t really a song yet, and he hadn’t shown it to anyone but Spencer.
“Is it about your, um, your girlfriend?” Brendon asked, sounding uncertain.
Ryan shook his head at Brendon’s hesitant question. “Ex. Ex-girlfriend. She’s a bitch.”
“How long were you guys together?” Brendon asked.
“Almost a year. We broke up in January, because she cheated on me with a guy named Dana.” Just thinking about it put a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Oh, wow, so not that long ago, huh?” Brendon asked. He cleared his throat. “Wait, the guy’s name was Dana?”
“Don’t get me started.”
“Dana.”
“Fuck off, Urie.”
*
June, 2006
Sitting on an uncomfortable couch at the station of some top forty radio station in Virginia while they waited to start their interview, Ryan watched Brendon flirt with the female DJ. It didn’t make him feel any better that Brendon was hopelessly bad at it.
He and Jon were recounting the story of the time they accidentally bought two live chickens off the Internet and had them delivered to Jon’s parents’ house in Chicago. Brendon had his showman smile on, but the girl didn’t seem into it. She had her body angled towards Jon, her hand on Jon’s elbow.
It had been a week since Ryan’s fight with Brendon, and he was still pissed, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d gotten used to Brendon’s presence until it wasn’t there anymore. It didn’t occur to him that he and Brendon ate breakfast together every morning until the first day after when he ate his Cheerios alone. He’d taken it for granted that Brendon would sit with him and watch movies, constantly shifting position on the couch and peppering each scene with comments, until Brendon found somewhere else to be. And on stage? Ryan might as well not have been there for how much attention Brendon paid him.
Spencer sat down next to him and bumped his shoulder. “What’s up?”
Ryan folded his arms around both knees. “Brendon.”
Spencer followed Ryan’s line of sight and made a pained sound. “He’s a prick.”
Ryan turned to him in surprise. “What?” he asked. Spencer made it a point over the years to never get involved in Ryan’s Brendon Issues.
“To you,” Spencer added.
As far as Ryan knew, Spencer didn’t know about what happened with Pete, since Ryan hadn’t said anything. He must have noticed the tension between them, and his default position in any fight that didn’t directly involve him was always Ryan’s. In this particular case, though, Ryan knew that at least part of the blame was his for lying to Brendon in the first place.
God, how sad was it that Ryan’s first impulse was to defend him? “I don’t know, maybe I’ll talk to him later.”
*
June, 2004
Ryan slept on Spencer’s floor every other night, on average. He knew his way to the bathroom in the dark better in Spencer’s house than his own. Mrs. Smith bought a green toothbrush for Ryan that was kept in the cup with all the others. If he woke up at seven, it gave him enough time to get back home to take a shower - he loved the Smiths, but he didn’t want to fight with the five of them for use of the bathroom - get dressed, grab a Pop Tart or some cereal for breakfast and get to class by ten.
Ryan had just gotten comfortable under the covers when his cell phone went off. Reaching out, he looked at the caller ID and saw it was Brendon.
“Answer it, douche bag,” Spencer said groggily.
“Hello?” Ryan said, while giving Spencer the finger.
“Hey, Ryan, it’s Brendon,” he said, his voice shaky. “Were you asleep?”
Ryan sat up against his pillow and nestled the phone more securely to his ear. “No, Spencer and I were talking,” Ryan lied. “What’s up, Bren?”
“If you’re busy…” Brendon said.
“I’m not,” Ryan interrupted and asked again, “What’s up?”
Above him, Spencer flicked on the lamp on his nightstand and hung his head over the bed to watch Ryan.
“I had a fight with my parents,” Brendon admitted, after a moment of silence.
Ryan had known since Brendon started coming to practices a couple month before that his parents weren’t happy with him spending so much of his free time on the band. Ryan hadn’t met the Uries, but they didn’t seem like the most easy-going people.
“About what?” Ryan asked cautiously.
“Nothing, just stuff.” The cagey way he said it confirmed Ryan’s suspicion that it was about the band.
“Do you want…” Ryan started, but Brendon cut him off.
“Never mind, it’s stupid, I’ll let you go.”
“No,” Ryan said. “Where are you, Brendon? Do you want us to come pick you up?”
There was a pause, and then Brendon answered, “I’m at the twenty-four hour Laundromat on Windsor.”
Ryan had his jeans pulled halfway on before Brendon finished speaking. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t want to bother you guys,” Brendon argued, but he sounded relieved. “Will Spencer be mad?”
“He won’t mind,” Ryan said, watching Spencer step into his gym shoes, following Ryan’s lead.
“What about his parents? I don’t want to get him in trouble.”
“Brendon, they don’t care,” Ryan answered. “We’ll pick you up and grab something to eat.”
“Okay, cool,” Brendon said, and his voice sounded small. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Ryan said. “I’ll call you when we get on Windsor.”
He clicked off his cell phone and turned to Spencer. “He had a fight with his parents. He’s at that Laundromat by the Wendy’s.”
“Okay,” Spencer said, grabbing his keys off the nightstand.
When they got into the car, Spencer started the ignition and then looked at him. The CD player blasted Radiohead, Thom Yorke singing about God loving his children, and Spencer thumbed it off with a practiced flick.
“Ryan,” he said.
The look he gave Ryan was so knowing that Ryan could only glance down at his hands and shrug.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“All right,” Spencer agreed after a long pause, putting the radio on again and backing out of the driveway.
Ryan lolled his head against the headrest and stared up at the street lamps whizzing past.
*
June, 2006
Ryan got his chance to talk to Brendon the next day. After some detective work, he found Brendon sitting in the lounge of their hotel, strumming on his acoustic guitar.
“Hey,” Ryan said.
“Hey, Ryan,” he responded.
“What are you playing?” Ryan asked. Brendon had gone back to fiddling with the same melody, the tune slow and a little sad.
“Something that’s stuck in my head,” Brendon said.
Ryan walked into the room to sit beside Brendon, smiling cautiously. “I like it,” he said.
“Thanks,” Brendon said.
His expression, the way he looked at Ryan, made Ryan’s shoulders relax a bit. It also gave him the courage to ask, “Are we good?” Brendon stopped strumming to stare at him and he continued nervously, “You and me. I know some shit’s going on, but. We’re friends, right?”
Ryan held his breath as Brendon glanced down at the ground before answering, “Yeah, Ryan, we’re friends.” Then he ran out of the lounge so fast that Ryan could practically feel the wind.
So fast, in fact, that he left his guitar behind, leaning against the sofa cushions. Ryan picked it up and pulled it into his own lap.
*
He didn’t know how long he played for - long enough that an older lady wandered in, tried to read, gave up with a sour look in his direction and left again. Eventually, the sun set outside the picture windows behind him, dusk sliding smoothly into night.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Ryan looked up from playing to face Brendon in the doorway, in an unconscious, if spot-on impression of Brendon from earlier.
“You’ve been looking for me?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah.” Brendon walked over, and Ryan noticed the inelegant stagger in his steps that he only got when he was either drunk, stoned, or some hilarious combination of both.
“You’re having fun,” Ryan said.
“Jon Walker is a good man,” Brendon answered seriously. “You know who else is a good man? Whoever invented vodka. Love that guy.”
Brendon was a mellow drunk. More often than not, he’d end the night sprawled across the nearest willing body, and this time was no different. He fell down onto the cushion beside Ryan and cuddled in, barely avoiding catching himself on the end of the guitar to lay his head on Ryan’s shoulder and draping half of his body over Ryan’s.
Despite the stench of the alcohol and the understanding that Brendon was so blown Ryan could have been a total stranger for all that it mattered to him, he was still embarrassingly grateful for the attention. If Brendon wasn’t so drunk, he’d have noticed the heavy thumping of Ryan’s heart beneath his arm.
“What did you have?” Ryan asked.
“There’s nothing mini about our mini-bar, Ryan,” Brendon answered, making Ryan snort.
“Tiny little bottles.”
“Mmm, but oh-so delicious,” Brendon said. “Jon’s been trying to keep me from you.”
“Why would he do that?” Ryan asked.
“I’m beginning to think that he might be an evil overlord,” Brendon said, with the air of one imparting sensitive information.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ryan said.
“I was looking everywhere,” Brendon said.
“For what?” Ryan asked.
“You,” Brendon answered.
“I’ve been right here,” Ryan told him.
“Is that my guitar?” Brendon asked.
“You left it,” Ryan answered.
“It’s cool, you can use it,” Brendon said. “Mi guitar is su guitar. I’ve missed you, Ry.”
Ryan sucked in a breath and gripped the neck of the guitar tightly. “I’ve missed you too.”
“No, you haven’t. You’re too busy with Pete,” Brendon said.
Ryan coughed. “Brendon,” he said, feeling his face color. “Brendon, I’m not dating Pete.”
Brendon looked up at him, his eyelids fluttering shut. “What?” he asked, laying his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“We’re not dating. I told you that because I was mad at you.”
“That’s stupid,” Brendon said.
“I know,” Ryan said, scratching a hand through Brendon’s hair and making him hum happily. “Believe me, I know, but…”
“Jesus, there you are!” Jon walked into the lounge with Spencer at his heels. “We thought we were going to find you wandering around in traffic or something.”
“Why would I do that?” Brendon asked blurrily from where his face was tucked into Ryan’s neck.
“Because you’re an idiot,” Spencer answered, “especially drunk.” He gave Ryan a concerned look over Jon’s shoulder and Ryan shrugged helplessly back. “Here, let me grab him.”
“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it,” Jon said, loping forward and wrapping one of Brendon’s arms around his shoulders and one of his own arms around Brendon’s waist. “This is my fault anyway.”
“I love you, Jonny,” Brendon said, going limp against him. “For real, let’s have babies.”
“You do have childbearing hips,” Jon answered and then laughed at Brendon’s drunken indignation. He looked back at Ryan and Spencer and saluted with his free hand. “Night, you guys.”
“Night,” Ryan said, watching wistfully as Brendon stumbled away with Jon supporting him.
“I’m going to write a song about how awesome you are,” Brendon was promising. “It’s going to be called ‘My Friend Jon The Evil Overlord.’”
“I’m an evil overlord now? I thought you just said I was awesome. That’s not very nice.”
“You’re not very nice,” Brendon volleyed back.
“That doesn’t make any…why am I arguing?” Jon asked as they rounded the corner towards the elevators.
“You okay?” Spencer asked when they were out of sight.
“Yeah,” Ryan said, smiling slightly. “I’m pretty amazing, actually.”
*
July 2, 2006
“Hey, Pete,” Ryan yelled into the phone, over the ruckus of The Hush Sound’s soundcheck. “Hang on, it’s too loud in here, I can’t hear you!” He gestured at Spencer and rolled his eyes.
“-ink…gay…” Pete said into the phone.
“Pete?” Ryan called into the phone. “What? Seriously, I can’t hear you. Wait like five seconds!”
He cupped one hand over his ear, but that didn’t make much of a difference. The hum of Pete’s voice was audible, but not the actual words.
“What?” Ryan asked again, exasperated. “Hold on, I’m almost out.” He pushed through the closed double doors and walked into the empty lobby where abruptly Pete’s words rang crystal clear.
“I said, I think I’m gay for Patrick!”
Ryan pulled the Sidekick away from his ear and stared at it in horror. He wasn’t sure how Pete got it into his head that Ryan was the person to talk to about all his gay personal problems. In fact, Ryan could, off the top of his head, think of four people that would be better suited to talking about these kinds of things. At least this time Pete hadn’t shown up in Michigan to try and wrestle Ryan into a pair of glasses and a trucker hat to work out his newest issues.
“Um,” Ryan said when he tentatively brought the phone back to his ear.
“I opened my eyes this morning and it was just - Patrick, you know? Patrick everywhere - in my head and my heart and the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how I didn’t see it all this time.”
“Me either,” Ryan said. He stared up at the ceiling, hoping that Pete wouldn’t go into detail about what he did after he woke up with that revelation.
Pete sighed and said, “Oh man, lead singers, huh?”
*
It took almost fifteen minutes of vague, affirmative responses before Pete finally hung up, muttering to himself about John Cusack and where he could find a boom box. By that point, Ryan could feel a throb starting in his temples. His stash of aspirin was in their dressing room, so he headed there instead of going back to Spencer.
The Avalon wasn’t big, but the halls twisted in odd directions and turned into dead ends without any warning. He’d been getting lost all day, and this time was no different as it took him almost ten minutes to find their dressing room - enough time that the throb morphed into a full blown headache.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he turned down the right hallway and saw the door appeared in front of him, as if by magic. Then the air caught in his throat, trapped, when he opened the door and came face to face with Brendon, getting sucked off by some blonde guy in the middle of the room.
Ryan froze, his eyes meeting Brendon’s. There was a long, tense pause where Ryan tried and failed to get his limbs to move, before Brendon’s head snapped back and he let out a soft, agonized groan. Ryan swallowed hard, carefully closed the door and felt his legs take him out of the zig-zagging hallway, into the lobby and past the ticket booth. He’d nearly made it outside before a hand grabbed him.
“Ryan, I’ve been calling you!” It was Kylie, wearing one of the fourteen or so Throwing Muses shirts she owned and looking confused.
“Sorry,” Ryan said, pulling out of her grip. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Obviously,” she answered. “Where are you going?”
“Outside,” Ryan said, and made his way to the doors.
“There are dozens of girls out there, Ryan,” Kylie said. “At least take Zack.”
Ryan ignored her and stepped out, squinting, into the late afternoon sun. A group of girls waited against the south side of the building. It took a moment for them to notice Ryan’s presence, but when they did, they surrounded him in a second. He fielded the tickets, papers and CD booklets thrust under his nose and the flash going off in his face as best he could.
A girl around his age snuck an arm around his waist and posed for a picture without any warning, and Ryan was momentarily blinded.
“Okay, okay, back up. Hey! Back up!” The voice came from behind him, and Ryan turned to see Zack pushing a path through the throng of screaming girls and their indulgent parents. “He’ll go inside if you don’t get back!”
The crowd around him loosened, and Zack slapped a hand on his shoulder and gripped too hard. “You and I are going to have a talk about the rules tonight.”
Ryan took hold of a green Converse shoe in front of his face and scribbled his signature on it with the black Sharpie he’d taken from the first girl to reach him.
“Ryan, hi,” the girl at the other end of the shoe said, sounding breathless.
“Hi,” Ryan greeted.
”I’m so excited for tonight! I saw you guys with The Academy Is…and you were awesome!”
“Thanks so much,” Ryan said, handing back her shoe.
“Hey, where’s Brendon?” she asked.
*
“What happened?”
The with Brendon was implied, because with Ryan it was always about Brendon.
Harsh, bitter anger and hurt flared through him, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I walked in on him in here with…”
He couldn’t finish that sentence, he couldn’t because admitting that he caught Brendon fucking another guy meant admitting to himself that Brendon liked guys, he just didn’t like Ryan. Instead, he let the righteous indignation build up, because who the fuck was Brendon Urie to pass judgment on him, the hypocritical jerk.
Spencer nodded like he understood and stepped close to Ryan, a comforting warmth against his side.
“I didn’t know he was gay,” Ryan said sadly. “I didn’t even know, Spence.”
“Come on, look at him,” Spencer urged.
Ryan reluctantly let his eyes travel to Brendon across the room and took in Brendon huddled next to Jon in a pink hoodie and those dopey red glasses and had to admit that Spencer had a point.
*
That night during the show, Brendon stayed on Jon’s side of the stage, occasionally turning around to include Spencer but never once looking at Ryan. Ryan played his guitar and belted the hell out of his back up vocals.
What he really wanted to do was grab Brendon by the shoulders and yell, Look at me, dammit! I’ve been here this whole time!
*
The fight, when it happened, did not go the way Ryan expected at all.
“I can fuck anyone I want, just like you. It’s none of your business.” Brendon tried escaping out the door, but Ryan’s arm shot out to stop him.
“It is my business. This is my band!” Ryan shouted, feeling unhinged and shaky, all the anger and hurt from earlier bubbling up. “You’re so fucking selfish, Brendon, god.”
“Everything’s fine, okay? Stop being such an asshole.” Ryan stepped in front of Brendon when he tried to pass again, his heart thundering in his ears. “Move, Ryan!”
“No,” Ryan said desperately. He could feel his hands shaking. “I’m the asshole? I’m the asshole? How can you say that when…Brendon.”
Suddenly, shockingly and without warning, Brendon’s mouth was against his, lips a little damp and very still. Ryan’s eyes widened, and it wasn’t until Brendon pushed him away that he realized he was the one who initiated the kiss. In fact, he was the only one who had kissed at all. Oh god.
“What?” Brendon asked, and Ryan could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. Then they were kissing again, and this time it was definitely Brendon who grabbed Ryan, Brendon whose hands were clenched tightly over his shoulders, pulling Ryan down.
Ryan didn’t think - couldn’t have if he wanted to, with Brendon’s mouth against his - just fisted his hands in Brendon’s shirt and hung on, kissing back and kissing back and trying to convince himself it was real.
Brendon leaned away and raised his arms above his head, telling Ryan, “Take it off.” His voice was deeper than usual, the way it got on stage sometimes when he was really into it.
“Yeah,” Ryan croaked, feeling his mouth go dry. He dragged the shirt off of Brendon, pretending it was an accident when his fingers brushed against the smooth skin of Brendon’s sides and smiling at the way he’d skewed Brendon’s stupid glasses in the process.
*
Kissing Brendon was never going to get old, Ryan thought, even as he wrenched his mouth away to breathe deep and murmur, “You need to take off your pants, and then we need to move to your bed.”
Brendon seemed to agree with this idea, because he undid his tight girl jeans with a practiced movement and wriggled out of them. Ryan took the time to enjoy the view and try to get his ragged breathing normalized. His dick, still rock hard from Brendon’s enthusiastic sucking, gave another twitch at the sight of Brendon stepping out of his underwear.
“Shit,” Ryan whispered. Brendon gave him a look from under his bangs that was almost shy, and Ryan lost any control he might have gotten back a moment before. “Come here.”
They stumbled back to Brendon’s bed, Ryan’s hands framing Brendon’s jaw and Brendon’s gripping Ryan’s waist.
“God,” Brendon mumbled between kisses, tugging Ryan forward insistently.
Ryan jerked with him and accidentally stepped on an errant magazine. His foot slid out from under him and his arms windmilled to try and regain his balance.
Brendon tightened his hands around Ryan’s waist and heaved him so that at the last second they ended up tumbling onto the mattress instead of the floor. Brendon stared at him while they both got their breath back, and then kissed him again, laughing against Ryan’s mouth.
“Shut up,” Ryan said, but didn’t untangle himself from under Brendon.
“Sorry, sorry,” Brendon said, not sounding it. He balanced his hands on either side of Ryan’s head and grinned down at him, wide and bright. Ryan felt himself smile back helplessly. “Just, your face.”
With one hand, he brushed Ryan’s hair off of his forehead and stared down at him. Slowly, his grin slipped into an expression that was soft and serious. “This is real,” he said firmly. “It is.”
He kissed Ryan again before he could respond. God, Spencer was going to kill Ryan, because every song he wrote from then on was going to be about Brendon’s mouth, his hair, the sweaty heat of his cock against Ryan’s.
Brendon pulled away and Ryan whined embarrassingly, stretching up to follow. “I want…” Brendon panted. His tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip and Ryan followed the motion greedily. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Shit, I want to do everything.”
“What first?” Ryan asked, bending his leg and making Brendon rub against him in a way that sent sparks up his spine.
“Fuck me,” he answered immediately. “Ryan, please.”
Ryan shut his eyes and clenched his hands into the sheets. “Yeah, okay.”
*
When Ryan’s cell phone went off later that night he rolled his eyes, knowing that there was only one person with that kind of timing. Scrambling through the pockets of his discarded pants, he found the Sidekick and answered it, making sure Brendon was still asleep.
“Hey Pete,” he whispered.
“Ryan, Patrick’s totally in gay love with me!” Pete hollered, and Ryan laughed despite his irritation.
“That’s great.”
“Fuck yeah, it is. Why are you whispering?” he asked.
Ryan hesitated, casting a look at Brendon’s sleeping form. He hadn’t known that Brendon was into guys until literally walking in on him with one, so he didn’t think Brendon would appreciate Ryan telling Pete.
“We’re just watching a movie,” he said. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”
“It’s cool. I’m going to try blowing Patrick now. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please don’t,” Ryan said, though he laughed a bit despite himself. He knew better than to encourage Pete, though. “See you.”
Ryan disconnected the phone and then shut it off for good measure before crawling back into the comfortable warmth of Brendon’s bed.
*
Waking up in Brendon’s bed was a little anti-climactic since Brendon wasn’t in it with him. Pushing himself up, Ryan noticed the bathroom door was closed and the knot of worry in his stomach loosened.
He laid back down on the mattress and waited for Brendon to get out of the bathroom. When five minutes turned to fifteen, he made himself get out of bed. His clothes were in a heap on the ground, but he grabbed Brendon’s bag and took out a pair of gray flannel boxer briefs instead. Biting his lip against a smile, he pulled those on before knocking on the bathroom door.
“Brendon?” he called. “You in there?”
There was no reply, and for a minute Ryan thought he’d been wrong about where Brendon went. Then he heard Brendon say softly, “Yeah.”
The toilet flushed and the faucet ran before the door opened and Brendon appeared.
“Hey,” Ryan said, grinning.
“Hi,” Brendon returned. Half of his hair was flattened to his head, and his eyes were still glassy from sleep. He looked so fucking ridiculous that Ryan had to lean forward and kiss him, without regard to morning breath.
The kiss felt forced, like that first accidental one the night before, and nothing like the ones that had followed. Ryan pulled away and frowned as that nervous, paranoid part of his brain kicked back in.
“What?” he asked, already dreading the answer.
Brendon didn’t say anything, though, which was almost worse. He walked around Ryan and into the room, rifling through his bag until he came out with a shirt to wear. That was an answer in itself, since Brendon would go on stage naked if he could. He never felt the need to cover up, especially not with them.
“I think you should leave.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Ryan. It shouldn’t have, with the way Brendon was acting, but his stomach still dropped to somewhere around his knees.
Hot pressure pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he ruthlessly pushed it away. “What?” he asked, hating himself for the tremulous way the word came out.
“This was a bad idea,” Brendon continued.
“You didn’t seem to think it was a bad idea when you were begging to suck my dick,” Ryan replied, managing to squeeze the words out of his suddenly tight throat. He knew this was a bad idea two years ago, god, what how fucking stupid was he? “I can’t believe myself. I can’t believe I did this,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon said. He seemed so sincere that Ryan felt a traitorous hope build in his chest. Maybe he’d misunderstood. Maybe - “I just…I can’t do it. Whatever fucked up thing you think is going to happen. Not with you.”
Wow, awesome. Brendon always did know the perfect words to say to destroy Ryan, and he used them every single time. Not with you.
Ryan began collecting his clothes off the floor, pulling on his shirt and pants, deliberately ignoring the fact that he still wore Brendon’s underwear. “Sure, fine. Whatever you want, Brendon. Whatever’s easier for you. God, you fucking asshole.”
Ryan didn’t remember walking to his room, but he made it somehow. Brendon didn’t follow.
*
Fucking Spencer. Ryan had managed to go two days without saying a word to Brendon, but Spencer couldn’t mind his own business. God only knew what he told Brendon in his misguided attempt to defend Ryan’s honor or whatever.
Now he was standing in front of a very uncomfortable looking Brendon, having a conversation that Ryan had planned to avoid forever.
“Spencer said, um. That you…you know. That you like me.”
Ryan didn’t laugh at the absurdity of that answer, but it was a damn close thing. “I thought grabbing you and kissing you was a pretty good indication of that.”
Brendon shrugged. “Yeah, but, you know, with Pete and everything. I mean, you can’t blame me for being confused, Ryan,” he said.
Wait, wait - Ryan stared at Brendon while the pieces came together rapidly in his mind. He laughed sharply.
“What’s so funny?” Brendon asked, looking pissed.
“You’re a liar, you’re such a fucking liar,” Ryan said. He laughed again, this time at himself and how fucking slow he was.
“What? How am I the liar here?” Brendon demanded.
“You don’t remember what I said.”
“Remember what? What are you even talking about?” Brendon asked. He dug both hands into his hair and glared daggers at Ryan. “You make me fucking crazy sometimes.”
“Last week when you got drunk with Jon and then came and found me,” Ryan said.
The look of confusion and mild horror was enough to set Ryan off again. “See? You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Fine, then maybe you should tell me and quit with the superior act already, because I swear to god, Ryan, I’m like five seconds away from -“
Ryan grabbed Brendon and kissed him, cutting off him off before he could finish his threat. Brendon was mad because he still thought Ryan was dating Pete. Brendon was jealous about it, which Ryan could definitely work with.
“Hey, hey,” Brendon said, backing out of the kiss and sounding put out. “You can’t keep ending conversations you don’t like by kissing me. It’s cheating, for one thing. I’m crazy about you, which you obviously already know, and that’s not fair.”
The fizzing and swooping inside Ryan’s stomach was making him grin stupidly. He was about to reach out and stop Brendon (with his lips, because despite what Brendon might think, it was an awesome way to end an argument), but Brendon backed away and kept talking.
“For another, what if we’re fighting in front of your boyfriend next time, huh? Are you going to make out with me then?” Brendon took another step back, and Ryan quickly made up the distance between. It felt like he was always doing that.
“Hey, stop,” he said. “I’m so stupid, god, Brendon. Stop talking about Pete, okay? Just…stop talking and let me enjoy this a minute.” He touched Brendon’s cheek reverently.
Brendon swallowed and glanced down at Ryan’s lips. “Okay,” he said faintly before leaning forward. Ryan ducked down and their mouths met again.
Ryan shut his eyes and let himself enjoy the kiss for a long moment, then dropped his forehead to Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon responded by cupping a hand around the nape of Ryan’s neck.
“Brendon,” Ryan said, taking a deep breath. “Brendon, I’m not dating Pete. I was never dating Pete.”
Brendon took a step back and said, “What?”
“I told you that night you were drunk, but I guess you don’t remember.”
“But you were kissing him,” Brendon said, his eyes narrowing in accusation. “I walked in and saw you.”
“Not really,” Ryan explained. “Pete just, he was curious. It’s not going to happen again.”
Brendon crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not what you told me when I asked you about it. You told me you two were dating and having phone sex every night.”
“I didn’t say that,” Ryan argued.
“Well that’s what I heard!” Brendon shouted. “What the hell, Ryan?”
“I thought…I didn’t know,” Ryan stuttered. “I thought you were mad about the gay thing. I got kind of defensive, and it slipped out.”
“It slipped out,” Brendon repeated. “It slipped out. You’ve been breaking my heart every day for a month over something that just…slipped out.”
Ryan winced. “I’m sorry, Brendon. I swear to god, I’m so sorry. But I did tell you.” He stepped forward and Brendon took a stumbling step back.
“But not for weeks,” Brendon argued. “And when you did, it was when I was so drunk I could barely stand up on my own.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Ryan admitted. “I was embarrassed.”
“I don’t care about Spencer being gay, so why would I care about you?” Brendon asked.
Ryan shrugged. “It was probably…” He looked down at his fingers, tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. “I mean, it was definitely my issues and not yours.” He bit the bullet, figuring Brendon deserved a little honesty. “I like you, you know, a lot. Always have.”
Brendon looked at him another moment and then put his face in his hands. Ryan thought for a horrifying second that he was crying, until he realized his shoulders were shaking with laughter. After a moment, Brendon lifted his head again and gifted Ryan with a crooked smile.
“We’re the gayest band in the world, do you know that?” he asked, surprising Ryan into a loud bark of laughter.
“We are,” Ryan agreed. “I mean, Spencer alone.”
“I’m telling him you said that,” Brendon said. He took a tentative step towards Ryan.
“I’m not afraid of Spencer,” Ryan countered, reaching out and cupping Brendon’s elbow. His heart was going to beat its way out of his chest with the way it was slamming against it.
“That is a lie, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said, still grinning up at him. “That is a flat out lie, and in order to make up for it, you should kiss me right now.”
*
“What the fuck is going on?” Spencer shouted when he and Jon returned to the bus.
Brendon stopped kissing Ryan long enough to smile at Spencer and say, “We figured stuff out.”
Ryan knew the expression that came over Spencer’s face then. He’d seen it on the playground after some kids made fun of his sister, and at the skate park when a couple assholes called them fags. Ryan hadn’t lying about not being afraid of Spencer, but he also knew firsthand that his anger wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
“Brendon…” Ryan said nervously as he watched Spencer’s narrowed eyes and tightened lips.
“What?” Brendon asked, turning obliviously away from Spencer to look at Ryan.
He didn’t have time to warn him before Spencer closed the few feet between them laid Brendon out with one swift punch.
“Jesus!” Ryan cried, diving to his knees and checking to see if Brendon was all right. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, but mostly he just looked shocked. He wasn’t the only one.
“Hey, whoa!” Jon said. He grabbed Spencer’s arm and held him back even as Spencer surged against his grip.
“What the fuck, Spencer?” Brendon yelled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared. “I said we talked, didn’t I? This whole thing was a misunderstanding.”
Ryan glanced between Spencer and Brendon, confused. Spencer couldn’t possibly think he was dating Pete too. Not after listening to him talk about Brendon just last week.
“What’s to misunderstand?” Spencer asked, looking as mad as Ryan had ever seen him. Jon must have noticed too, because he put himself between Spencer and Brendon.
“Spencer, calm down,” Jon said.
Spencer squinted at him incredulously before gesturing at Ryan and Brendon. “Are you kidding me? How are you not pissed about this?”
“About what?” Jon asked.
“It’s none of his business,” Brendon cut in, pushing himself to his feet.
Ryan agreed. Hell, it wasn’t even Spencer’s business, and he said as much.
Spencer gave them both a disgusted look, then asked, “How could it be none of Jon’s business that his boyfriend has his tongue down someone else’s throat?”
There was a long pause wherein Ryan’s mind went completely blank with incomprehension.
“Wait,” Brendon said finally, breaking the silence. “What?”
“No seriously,” Ryan said when Spencer crossed his arms and rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Finally, Spencer jabbed an accusing finger at Brendon and said, “We talked about this two days ago. Why would you…He’s amazing.” He spun around to Ryan. “And you can’t tell me you didn’t know what was going on when you walked in on them together!”
“Um…” Ryan answered, his mouth gaped as he tried to come up with a reply to that.
“No, he didn’t.” It was Jon who spoke, and Spencer and Ryan swung in tandem to face him.
Spencer looked uncertain for the first time since he walked back onto the bus. “I mean. Jon?”
Jon put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and took a step closer to him. One corner of his mouth turned up. “Spencer?” he asked softly, sounding awed, and tightened his hold when Spencer tried to shrug him off. “Spence.”
Ryan looked over at Brendon, who appeared equally baffled by what was going on. They obviously both missed something important here.
Epilogue: Spencer