Fic: Because You Look Like A Jackass
SO. The love of my life, apple of my eye, everything that keeps me going each day--aka chaoticallyclev--got this really shitty comment on a story from someone who didn't even have the balls to log in and say that shit.
To soothe her with the healing power of my cock writing, I dug a little something up from WIP storage, cut it up, cleaned it a bit, and slapped an ending on. Just a bunch of feel-good Ryan/Brendon schmoop, because that is her otp, and because I love her.
So here it is! My first fic post in ages. Enjoy. :)
Title: Because You Look Like A Jackass (or, Brendon's adventures in stalking!)
Wordcount: ~7600
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, background Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not real. Do not own. Capiche?
Warnings: Swearing. Lethal amounts of schmoopy fluff. Really awfully awkward pickup lines and flirting!
Thanks and Dedicated to: chaoticallyclev! She is the best internet-wife anyone on earth has the right to ask for. ♥
Summary: Apartment AU! Basically: Brendon's just moved into town. He courts Ryan Ross with flowery words and also a coat rack. He falls flat on his face.
Snippet: “I think I love you,” Brendon says suddenly, the words sounding a little too big and jagged and loud for the narrow street.
“I love you too,” Ryan says. “Also, my mom’s a llama and I birthed a puppy this morning.”
There’s someone following him.
And Ryan is pretty sure he is not just being paranoid, whatever the Spencer voice inside his head is telling him. He quickly takes an abrupt left onto a small side street, gently tugging Hobo along. And-yeah, the guy’s still following him.
Ryan frowns. He doesn’t look too dangerous, in a too-small hoodie, bright red glasses, and clashing shoes, but looks can be deceiving. But then again, Ryan is pretty sure the guy is shorter than he is, which means he’s pretty damn short.
He’s been following Ryan for a few blocks now, slowly narrowing the distance between them. And he’s been staring kind of blatantly; if he’s some private eye Keltie hired, Ryan should tell him he’s been doing a pretty shitty job.
“Hi!” he hears from behind him. Well, that answers that question. Ryan turns around, eyebrow raised.
The guy grins at him, only two feet away now. Sunlight glints off of his teeth, a bright white flare of light that leaves Ryan blinking away spots.
“I’m Brendon,” the guy continues.
“Hi, Brendon,” Ryan says slowly.
The guy cocks his head at him. “I think I love you,” Brendon says suddenly, the words sounding a little too big and jagged and loud for the narrow street.
“I love you too,” Ryan says. “Also, my mom’s a llama and I birthed a puppy this morning.”
“Really?” Brendon says delightedly, not skipping a beat. “That her?” He nods his head toward Hobo.
Ryan can feel a small smile quirking his lips in spite of himself. “Yeah, actually.”
“She’s beautiful,” Brendon says. He looks up at Ryan through his eyelashes. “You must have good genetics.”
Ryan snorts. “Good genetics. Hm. That’s a pretty good line, actually. Cuts through all the crap.”
“Crap?” Brendon asks. Ryan notices that he’s been slowly edging closer to him. It’s kind of…creepily endearing.
“Well, yeah. Instead of, ‘I like your eyes,’ or ‘you have a great smile,’ or even, ‘you have a hot ass,’ it’s just-genes. Which is really where all your physical attributes come from.”
“You’re right,” Brendon says. “That does kind of encompass everything.” He pauses. “Does that mean I have a leg up over your competition? For devising a pick-up line that compliments everything about you?”
“Competition?” Ryan says.
Brendon laughs a little. “Sorry if that sounded like I was prying for information about your relationship status. Because, well. I was.”
“You trying to be refreshingly honest?”
“Maybe stupidly honest,” Brendon says. He bats his eyelashes at Ryan. They’re barely inches away now, and the classic airhead movement just brings his dark lashes into focus.
“Modest, too,” Ryan notes inanely. Brendon’s eyes look unnervingly earnest and open, and Ryan thinks he can feel body heat radiating off of him.
“You’re avoiding the question,” Brendon says, a smile playing around his (very full, Ryan notes) lips.
“Question?”
“Competition?” Brendon says, mirroring his one word reply.
“Um.” Ryan can feel a light blush coloring his face, and he makes a conscious decision to take a step back. Brendon looks shockingly disappointed, eyes widening and lower lip curving into a pout. Fighting the urge to step in closer again, Ryan licks his lips. Brendon’s eyes follow the movement.
“Um. There is none.”
“Well. That’s good. Anyway,” Brendon says, smiling again.
“Yes?”
“Anyway, you should tell me your name. After I’ve bared my heart to you, and all that,” Brendon says persuasively.
Ryan smiles. “I’m Ryan. Uh, Ryan Ross.”
“Ryan Ross.” Brendon crinkles his eyes at him. “I’m Brendon Urie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He sticks his hand out, and they shake. It feels very surreal.
“Ryan Ross, you look like a friendly person,” Brendon says.
“Really?” Ryan says.
Brendon nods decisively. “Very friendly, in fact. Friendly enough to help a poor guy out.”
“Help out with what?” Ryan asks suspiciously. He knew there must have been a catch to some random hot guy coming up to him and declaring a newfound love for him.
“Well, I’m new in town, you see, and it’d be great to have someone show me around. I get lost very easily,” Brendon says seriously.
Ryan is not charmed. Ryan is not charmed.
“I think I might be able to help with that,” Ryan says slowly.
“Great!” Brendon grins. “You can start now, because I’m afraid I’m already lost. I have no idea where my new apartment is.”
“Really?” Ryan says again.
“Yeah,” Brendon says with a mock sad sigh. “I just wanted to come out and take a nice walk in the sunshine, you know, only then, I got distracted by someone, and before I knew it, I didn’t know where I was.”
“Distracted by someone?” Ryan says dryly. “That must be very tragic for you.”
“Well, you can’t really blame me. The person was very attractive and distracting.” Brendon winks outrageously.
Ryan narrows his eyes at him. He doesn’t know what Brendon’s thinking, because this kind of very obvious (and cliché) flirtation doesn’t work on Ryan. Definitely not. Although, that is a really nice mouth.
“Well?” Brendon says.
“Where do you live?” Ryan asks.
“67322 Pauling Street?” Brendon says uncertainly. He fumbles around in his back pocket and unearths a piece of paper.
“67322?” Ryan repeats.
“Yep!”
“That’s…really convenient,” Ryan says. He starts walking along the street, and Brendon follows him.
“Why’s that?”
“Because that’s where I live, too. You one of the new tenants?”
“Yeah.” A smile is spreading slowly across Brendon’s face. “And you’re right. That is convenient. I mean, I was thinking I’d actually have to figure out where you lived, but now…”
“Should I be worried?” Ryan asks amusedly. “You’re starting to sound like a stalker.”
Brendon pouts. “Stalker is such a harsh word. I mean, it’s really just devotion manifested in kind of a creepy way. What’s wrong with devotion?”
Ryan looks at him sideways. “It sounds like you’ve used that argument before. You have a lot of experience being a stalker?”
“What can I say, Ryan Ross, I’m just a devoted person.” Brendon leans on Ryan comfortably as they amble along. Ryan would feel annoyed at the invasion of personal space, but, well, it’s a nice day. And Ryan’s in a fairly good mood. And there’s just something about Brendon that is weirdly…charming.
Hobo wanders around the street happily, nosing at shrubs and grass. The sunshine bathes the concrete with a brilliant luminescence, like the road’s absorbed so much light that it’s emanating the excess out into a glowing aura.
Five minutes later, they reach the apartment complex.
“Well, this is me,” Brendon says lamely, and puckers his lips out for a kiss.
Ryan swats him on the shoulder. “You look like a jackass.”
Brendon gasps. “I have it on good authority that I look like an angel.” He dances up the stairs backwards, and Ryan offhandedly worries that he’s going to trip and break his neck. “It’s something about my clear white skin and dark, soulful eyes, you know.”
“I don’t see it,” Ryan says. It’s true. Brendon, in his dorky red glasses and hoodie and skinny jeans, just looks kind of…Ryan’s not sure. Not angelic, anyway. What’s weirdest of all, though, is that the combination of clothing isn’t entirely unattractive.
“This is my floor,” Ryan says, and lifts a hand in good-bye.
“Oh, hey!” Brendon bounds up to him and knocks their shoulders together. “It’s mine, too. Ryan Ross, it looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”
Ryan blinks.
Before he can blink again, Brendon presses a kiss to his cheek and slips inside the door.
“See ya later!” his voice floats out.
Well, huh. Ryan presses a hand to his cheek.
* * *
“You what?” Jon shakes his head, kind of looking like a shaggy dog drying himself off.
“It’s not that unusual! I’m sure he gets people telling him that all the time. I mean, he is really, really…” Brendon trails off. What was he saying again?
“Brendon,” Jon says, looking a little exasperated.
“I just wanted to talk to him! It seemed like a good conversation-opener.”
“Going up to someone and proclaiming your undying love seemed like a good conversation-opener?” Jon repeats. He scrunches his nose up.
“Well, it caught his attention,” Brendon says logically.
“Bren, you don’t even know this guy. He could be a creep! He could be a criminal!”
Brendon frowns.
Jon sighs, and continues in a softer voice. “He could be a completely terrible person.”
“No, no! Jon, he’s responsible! He knows commitment! Jon,” and Brendon pauses for effect. “He’s a single dad.”
Jon blinks. “Single dad?”
Brendon waves a hand in the air flippantly. “In a manner of speaking, anyway. He’s got a dog.”
Jon shoves his hands further down into his jean’s pockets, and looks at Brendon levelly.
“It’s a start, okay,” Brendon says, “and also, Jon, also-“ His words are tripping up all over each other, like they do when he’s excited, when he’s got this great big feeling whooshing up from his chest that tells him this might be something big, this might be something good “-he’s got the prettiest brown eyes I have ever seen.”
“Prettier than mine?” Jon asks mournfully.
“Maybe the same,” Brendon concedes. He wriggles himself under one of Jon’s nice, warm arms, and flutters his eyelashes at him, because Jon is really just a gigantic marshmallow who loves Brendon, even though to some people (with bad eyes) he might only look like a normal, non-marshmallow person.
Jon rises to his tiptoes to press a kiss to the top of Brendon’s head.
“Pretty brown eyes?” Jon says in a neutral, considering tone.
“Very pretty,” Brendon promises. “And soft curly hair and terrible clothes and the cutest dog ever.”
“Terrible clothes, huh? I can see why you guys get along.”
Brendon would hit him, but Jon’s got these big muscled arms (which Brendon appreciates quite often!), and, well, they’ve been down that road before.
* * *
“OhmygodJonit’shim!” Brendon ducks behind Jon’s reassuringly wide frame, and then peeks over Jon’s shoulder because he can’t help himself.
“What?” Jon asks calmly, obviously not feeling the gravity of the situation.
“It’s him!” Brendon hisses. “It’s Ryan!”
“Terrible clothes? Dog?”
“Yes! Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“Why are you freaking out, man? Didn’t you talk with him for, like, an hour last week?”
Brendon scowls at him. “Are you kidding me? I made a fool of myself! I declared love! I spouted a bunch of increasingly bad pick-up lines!”
Jon slants him a look. “You seemed pretty confident about how it went before.”
“That was before I saw him with his arm around another hot guy. Oh my god, he’s coming.”
Ryan walks up to the counter, accompanied by said hot guy. ‘No competition,’ his ass. Brendon stares at the guy menacingly from behind his fort. Uh, from behind Jon.
He’s not that hot. Brendon totally has a better haircut.
“Um, Brendon?” Jon whispers. “You do realize that hiding behind me doesn’t actually make you invisible, right?”
Brendon squeaks. Ryan’s staring right at him.
“Brendon?” Ryan asks slowly.
“Heh, yeah, uh.” Brendon quickly straightens up, and then regrets it when he bumps his head on the shelf behind him. “Ow. Uh. Yeah. Um. Hi!”
“Hey,” Ryan says easily. The guy with him levels a truly devastatingly superior look at Brendon. Brendon tries not to shrink backwards.
“What can I get for you?” Brendon says, speaking too quickly.
“Um, tall vanilla soy latte? And a tall black espresso without sugar for you, Spence, right?”
Brendon wilts a little bit. Spence. They’re on a nickname-basis.
“Coming right up,” he says weakly.
Turning around, he reaches for a cup. He shoves it under the machine, presses the button, waits for a few moments.
Brendon hums a little melancholy tune under his breath and taps his foot. Ryan looks nice today, a scarf wrapped around a thin white neck, and a strange fedora perched on top of his curly hair. The guy with him looks nice too, Brendon thinks grudgingly. The leather jacket is a nice touch. But Brendon looks cute in his little coffee barista apron! Jon told him so. When he was high, yeah, but it still totally counts.
Automatically, he reaches for the milk, and pours some in. Milk, sugar, shit. Brendon stares down at the cup. Soy latte. Whoops. He rubs the back of his neck, and chances a look behind him. “Spence” has started tapping his foot impatiently, and Ryan is inspecting the ends of his scarf. Damn.
Brendon quickly pours the whole thing out and starts over again. Soymilk, soymilk, soymilk. He grabs the little carton and pours it in quickly, before reaching behind him for the whipped cream canister. Shaking it now-like a pro, Brendon is totally a pro at this, Ryan will see-he presses down, and-KABLOOM. Or, well, more like KAPLISH, if Brendon is being honest.
Whipped cream coats his entire arm, and also is drowning half the cup. Brendon can’t help looking back at Ryan and “Spence.” Who is staring at him like he’s an idiot. Ryan looks vaguely amused. Face heating up, Brendon wipes it all off roughly. His elbow connects with something hard, though, and Brendon looks up quickly to see that he just dumped sugar into the espresso Jon’s just finished. Oh, fuck a llama ding-dong shit.
Brendon worries his lip. Moving more rapidly, he dumps that espresso and starts the espresso over again too. Jon is looking at him with a concerned expression.
It’s about ten minutes before he finally gets the drinks done. “Spence” is checking his Blackberry with a distinct aura of pissiness, and Ryan is staring at the floor awkwardly.
“Sorry about the wait,” Brendon says quietly. He wipes a strip of whipped cream off of his cheek.
Jon wraps a comforting arm around him, and Brendon leans into it miserably. They watch Ryan and “Spence” walk away.
“Well,” Jon says. “That probably could have gone better.”
“Shut up, Walker,” Brendon says sulkily. “I just totally…”
“Went into bozo mode?” Jon says helpfully.
“…yeah.”
“Pete’s going to take that out of your paycheck, you know.”
“I know.” Brendon huffs out a sigh.
“Bren, don’t worry that much about it. If he doesn’t like you, it’s his loss,” Jon says loyally. “Also, I really didn’t see anything too special about him.”
“He had a nice scarf,” Brendon says sadly. “And eyes. Did you see the eyes, Jon?”
“My eyes are totally cuter,” Jon says, and bats them at him ostentatiously, startling him into a small giggle.
* * *
“…So that was the guy who declared love for you in the middle of the street?” Spencer is supremely unimpressed.
Ryan shrugs at him. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure he’s not, like, mentally…slow, or something? Not all there upstairs? I mean, saying ‘I love you’ to random strangers, and then taking half an hour to make two coffee drinks…” Spencer ticks off the offenses on his fingers.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “He was probably just distracted, or something. Anyway, you think everyone is mentally retarded before you get to know them better.”
“And the whole declaring love part?” Spencer asks. “Because you can’t deny that is seriously weird.”
Ryan twists his mouth and forces himself to keep a monotone. “I think he does to everyone. Like, a joke, or something. To break the ice. I mean, you saw how affectionate he is with everyone. He was practically climbing the other guy there.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow at him. Damn, he really does know him too well. Ryan mentally sighs, regretful. He should really find some friends who aren’t completely and obnoxiously all-knowing.
He doesn’t yield to the very pointed eyebrow, though. They’ve been through this before. Ryan just raises an eyebrow back at him, a graceful curve that he may or may not have practiced in the mirror during high school.
Spencer sighs. “Ryan, cut it out with the eyebrow. You look like an idiot.”
Ryan raises it higher.
Spencer rolls his eyes elaborately. “Whatever. Don’t distract me. What was with that tone?”
“What tone?” Ryan asks blankly. He widens his eyes.
“You know what tone.” Spencer bulges his eyes out of his sockets and speaks in a lower register. “’I think he does it to everyone. He was practically climbing the other guy there.’ You’re not actually depressed by that revelation, right?”
Ryan sniffs. “Of course not. And that is the worst impression I have ever seen.”
Spencer smirks at him. “You’re evading again. You’re not actually interested in the idiot, right?”
Ryan stares very hard at his soy latte. “Why would I be?” he says lightly. “We’ve only ever talked for twenty minutes. It’s not like I got attached, or anything.”
He can feel Spencer’s eyes on him. He resolutely ignores him and keeps on walking.
“…Right,” Spencer draws out.
“So how’s life in the office cubicle?” Ryan asks innocently. “Feeling soul-crushed yet?”
* * *
“Oh god, Bren.”
Brendon determinedly does not look at Jon and his undoubtedly very brown, very disappointed eyes.
“No. No. You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right?” Jon says hopefully, yet somehow simultaneously resignedly, like he already knows the answer.
“Of course not. What are you talking about?” Dammit, Brendon always talks too fast when he’s nervous. He glares down at his traitorous mouth.
“Why…are you cross-eyed?” Jon shakes his head. “Never mind. Bren, please have some kind of rational explanation as to why you’re lurking outside Scarf Guy’s door.”
“Lurking? Who?” Brendon gives Jon his biggest, widest, brightest smile.
Jon sighs. “Brendon. Why are you even…What are you even planning on doing?”
Brendon shrugs. He stares at the floor. But the floor doesn’t offer any new, amazing revelations, so obviously it’s useless.
“Umm…” Brendon fidgets. “Well, I totally ruined his coffee the other day, right? So…I just thought I’d take him this new one! Free of charge! To, like, make up for the last one…And to be a friendly neighbor! It’s like a housewarming gift, and I am so friendly, Jon, for serious.”
“Bren…people are supposed to be giving you housewarming gifts, not the other way around,” Jon says slowly.
“Technicality, right?”
“Brendon. How long did it take you to think of this elaborate scheme?”
“Two minutes, maybe? Five, at most?” Brendon resumes staring at the ground.
Jon is silent.
“Okay, fine, maybe all last week. I just wanted to make sure I…got it right. You know?”
“No, Bren, I don’t know. Why do you even care so much? You guys had, like, twenty minutes of conversation two weeks ago.” Jon looks honestly confused, his brow furrowed and his lips turning down.
Brendon pecks Jon on the cheek to make him brighten up, because a glum Jon is a glum Brendon, too.
“…I don’t know, I guess. I mean.” Brendon waves his hands in the air. “Just-kind of this feeling I get when I see him, you know? He’s so…He’s really…”
Brendon glances up at Jon, who still looks confused, so he forges on. “When I first saw him, the sun was right on him, lighting him all up, and…And he had this completely peaceful, serene look on his face. Like-he was totally in his own world, and that world was beautiful, and he had this small, secretive smile, and I just…I really wanted to know why. I…wanted to know all of his secrets, what was making him smile like that. Just.” Brendon shakes his head a little. “I don’t even know.”
He ducks his head down, flushing. “Don’t say anything. You think I’m nuts, yeah, I get it.”
“Actually, what I’m thinking is that you’ve watched way too many Disney movies,” Jon says dryly.
Brendon sticks his tongue out at him. “Whatever. He’s cute, too.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” Jon says. “What with you waxing poetic about his smile, and all.”
Brendon scowls at him. “I like his ass, too! This is purely physical, okay.”
“Bren, he doesn’t have an ass.”
“Don’t be stupid. Everyone has an ass.”
Jon’s laughing now, quiet chuckles that usually warm Brendon up but right now just make him want to deck him. Well, okay. Maybe tickle him into submission.
“I think this guy has got you seeing things that aren’t actually there. Like butts.”
“That makes no sense. You make no sense, Jon.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I gotta go run to the shop; Bill needs me to cover for his shift.”
“Okay. Bye,” Brendon says.
“Bye. Don’t hurt yourself staring at his smile.” Jon turns around and starts to stroll away.
“Yeah, whatever, asshole,” Brendon calls after him.
Jon’s out of sight in a few moments, and Brendon turns back to stare at Ryan Ross’s door. It’s a nice door. Wooden, painted. Minimum amount of scratches. A nicely polished door handle.
It really shouldn’t be this intimidating.
Brendon taps his finger on the coffee cup. He should just knock. Or something. What if Ryan’s not home? Or worse, what if that Spence guy is there with him? He doesn’t want to take the chance of looking retarded against some guy who obviously has a head start over Brendon.
Sighing, Brendon continues to stare at the door. It’s not like he can just magically scan the door with his x-ray vision and see who’s in there. Although, hey, that’d be a pretty cool power to have. He could see everything. Even Ryan’s totally existent ass, whatever Jon says. He could see all his Christmas presents beforehand, and figure out where Jon’s been stashing the really good pot.
But now he’s just stalling. Brendon looks at the door knob apprehensively. Maybe if he could just…
Brendon inches closer to the door, and gently rests his ear on it. He can’t hear anything; Ryan, Spencer, or whatever. Frowning, he strains harder. Damn concert deafness. This isn’t working.
He takes a step back and studies the door again. Maybe he could tell if anyone was there if he looked through the keyhole. That totally works, right?
Setting the coffee cup onto the ground, he kneels in front of the knob. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees something vaguely ginger, short, and bespectacled zoom past. Huh. Weird neighbors. Shaking it off, he shuts his left eye and peers with his right into the doorknob. He squints.
Yeah, nothing but darkness. Although maybe if he-
“What exactly are you doing here, son?” says a deep voice from behind him.
Brendon squeaks, jumps into the air, and then bangs his head on the door frame. Ow.
“Um. Um, what?” His voice comes out about two octaves too high.
There are three guys standing in front of him. One of them is short, ginger-haired, and bespectacled. Brendon gets a vague feeling of déjà vu. The other two are in black uniforms, and they look like-Brendon frowns, puzzled-building security.
“I asked what you were doing here, son,” the tall blond one repeats. He looks big. And menacing. Brendon gulps.
“I-I was just seeing if anyone was home!” Brendon squeaks.
The blond man exchanges a speaking glance with his curly-haired partner, and mouths something that looks like “unkempt left.” Or… “attempted theft.”
Wait. What?
“What?” Brendon squawks.
“Let me guess,” the curly-haired guy says. He has a surprisingly high voice. “You were checking if anyone was home to make sure it was safe to break in, right? Not smart, kid. Especially in broad daylight, where Good Samaritans like Patrick, here, can see you.”
“Break in?” Brendon asks in a half-screech, half-whisper. “But-but this guy’s my neighbor!” He gestures towards Ryan’s door. “I live here!”
The curly-haired guy rolls his eye. “Yeah, that’s definitely the first time we’ve heard that one. Got any proof?”
“Of course!” Breathing a sigh of relief, Brendon roots around through his pants for the keys. Not in his left pocket. He fumbles around in his right, but they aren’t there either.
The building security guys are looking less and less amused.
“Um…” Brendon says, voice wavering. “I think I left my keys inside.”
“Right,” the blond guy says, snorting. “And my name’s Bob.”
“But your name is Bob,” the ginger-haired guy-Patrick, Brendon supposes; filthy tattling Patrick-says, looking confused.
The blond guy lets out with sounds suspiciously like a stifled giggle. The curly-haired guy sighs. “Yeah. Whatever. Point is, kid, we’re going to have to take you in.”
“Wait! No!” Brendon looks around desperately. The blond shifts slightly to cut off all avenues of escape. Suddenly, the door bursts open behind him.
“What’s the racket out here? I’m trying to write, for chrissake.” It’s Ryan, looking annoyed and hassled and like the best thing Brendon has ever seen in his life.
“Ryan! Tell these guys I live next to you!”
“…Brendon lives next to me,” Ryan says slowly.
“See?” Brendon says. He resists the urge to stick out his tongue.
“Ryan, this kid was loitering out your door, acting suspicious,” the curly-haired guy says piously.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Ryan says. Brendon goes weak-kneed in relief. “He tells me he has a history of stalking, so I’m sure this isn’t too out of the norm.”
Brendon frowns at him.
“Well…okay. If you’re sure you feel comfortable.”
The building security guys walk away, trailed by a sheepish Patrick. Brendon thinks he can hear the curly-haired guy say something like, “Bob, do you have to make that joke about your name every single time?” but he isn’t sure.
He looks at Ryan, and tries to somehow make himself appear more charming. Just exude charisma, he coaches himself.
“Do you have something in your eye?” Ryan asks curiously.
…He doesn’t think it’s working.
“Just your blindingly good looks,” Brendon says cheerfully. Ryan’s lips twitch.
“Right. Um…what were you doing outside my door, anyway?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Setting up video cameras, taking illicit photos, checking the floor for anything you might have left while you were walking in and out of your room. All the regular duties of a dedicated stalker,” Brendon says glibly.
“You know, the stalker jokes get less and less funny the more plausible they become,” Ryan says.
“No way. Stalker jokes are always funny! But, um, yeah. I was just bringing over a vanilla soy latte, to make up for the one I totally screwed up the other day.” Brendon grins sheepishly. “And I guess I was kind of loitering, because I wasn’t sure if you were home.”
“You could have knocked,” Ryan says, but he’s smiling a little.
“Knocking is for boring people, Ryan Ross,” Brendon says solemnly.
“Well, boring people never get investigated by building security,” Ryan points out.
Brendon pouts. “Do you want your latte or not, Ross?”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll take it off your hands.” Ryan gives him a little grin. Brendon’s heart skips a beat. He firmly tells it to calm down.
“Come in,” Ryan says casually.
Brendon practically skips over the threshold.
It’s a nice apartment. Messy, but lived in. Piles of smudged papers take up the vast majority of the apartment, a cushy sofa sits in front of a tiny television, and a laptop blinks at them from an old table.
“So…you were writing just now?” Brendon asks.
Ryan looks a little chagrined. “Um. Kind of. I’m working on a novel, but I’ve got a pretty bad case of writer’s block.”
“How bad?” Brendon asks, and then watches, fascinated, as Ryan blushes.
“Very bad. As in, haven’t even started the novel yet bad.” Ryan rubs the back of a neck.
“Well, genius takes time,” Brendon says understandingly. “What do you do in the meantime?”
“Freelance journalist.” Ryan suddenly frowns fiercely. “But that’s just to pay the bills. If I had to do that my entire life, I’d probably kill myself. Do you know, I actually had to write a story about abandoned kitties last week?”
Brendon hides a smile. “Actually, I think I read that story.” And enjoyed it, he thinks in his head. “But I don’t remember seeing your name.”
Ryan’s eyes slide to the left, the very picture of embarrassment. Brendon stares adoringly. “I, um, I write under a pseudonym. Well, kind of a pseudonym. George Ross.”
“Why?” Brendon asks.
“Because--!” Ryan flails his arms around a little bit, almost knocking over a fake cactus precariously perched on the windowsill. “It’s embarrassing! I’ll use Ryan Ross when I actually get this novel done.”
“Ah. The one that hasn’t been started yet?” Brendon says with a straight face.
Ryan shoves him, and then shoots him a look that’s half-apologetic. “Sorry. You’re right, though. Spence is always telling me I need to stop lazing around if I ever want to get anything done.”
“Don’t listen to Spence,” Brendon says suddenly, emphatically. “You have a job! You haven’t got that much free time in the first place! And anyway, he’s just stupid if he thinks writing novels can be done overnight.”
Ryan looks at him, kind of weirdly. “Spence is my best friend.”
Oh. “Well,” Brendon says, trying not to backtrack, “maybe you should find a smarter one.”
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, no. Spencer’s the only one who’ll ever put up with me. But…” He eyes Brendon. “Thanks. That’s…nice of you to say.”
“Heh. Yeah.” Brendon looks down. Great. Awesome. He’s just insulted Ryan’s best friend. Fantastic way to ingratiate himself with Ryan, if he does say so himself. Well. At least that means Spence isn’t interested in Ryan in that way, right? Right? Brendon sighs. Dammit, he always does this. Charms a few smiles out of someone, and then completely fucks up.
He grits his teeth. “I’m, um. I have to get back. To my own apartment. Work to do, you know.” Brendon smiles awkwardly.
“Um, okay,” Ryan says, sounding politely confused.
“So…See you.” Unthinkingly, Brendon reaches up to brush the lock of hair perpetually in Ryan’s eyes out of the way, and then blushes violently. “Bye.”
He walks out of there as quickly as possible, blushing like a goddamn tomato the entire way. That was totally weird. Pushing his hair out of his face? He’s not Ryan’s fucking mom. What was he thinking? Dammit.
He gets out into the hall, and then stops abruptly, staring at his door. No keys. Right. Fuck. Swiveling around on his foot, he walks towards the stairs. It’s as good a time to take a walk as any.
* * *
“Bren, dude, slow down.” Jon’s looking at him with big, concerned brown eyes. “Hey, Darren! M’taking a break! Cover for me, yeah?”
A waved middle finger is his only answer, and Jon rolls his eyes.
Brendon latches onto him the minute he walks out from behind the counter.
“I totally fucked it up, Jon,” he says sadly, and tucks his head into Jon’s neck.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m sure you didn’t.” Jon puts a large hand into the middle of Brendon’s back, and guides him out the back door. They sit down on the warm pavement.
“I actually, really did. Do you know what I did, Jon? I totally insulted his best friend! And then I told him he should find a new best friend.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should. Are you talking about that guy who came in with Ross the other day? Black espresso, no sugar? He totally looked like an asshole,” Jon says comfortingly.
“Yeah,” Brendon sighs out. “I don’t know. I just keep fucking up. I just…” He laughs. It hurts a little bit. “I don’t even know.”
“Bren, you really didn’t fuck up. If you thought his best friend was being an asshole, then he probably was.”
“But if someone insulted you to my face, I’d totally be ready to go at it.”
“Yeah, right, you pansy pacifist.” Jon laughs. “But seriously. Don’t worry about it. Ryan’s probably already forgotten about it, anyway. Probably gets millions of comments everyday about what an asshole his best friend is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, idiot.” Jon lays his head on top of Brendon’s affectionately. “And if Mister Ryan Ross with the Nice Eyes and the Terrible Scarves can’t handle it, he obviously isn’t worth it.”
“I don’t know about that. He’s…he’s really ambitious.” Brendon smiles to himself. “Sounds like he’s really going somewhere. He’s got the drive, anyway. You know, he’s really passionate about writing? Writing the next great American novel, it seems like.”
“Huh,” Jon says. To anyone else, it would sound neutral, but Brendon knows all the nuances of Jon’s tone.
He sticks his tongue out at him.
“Just because you can’t appreciate the great literary works, Jon…” Brendon clucks his tongue.
“Go away if you’re going to be mean, Bren,” Jon says, and pushes him off. “I have work to do.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t burn your pretty fingers off with hot coffee.” He watches Jon slowly walk back inside and sighs a little bit. At least Jon’s always around to pull him out of his self-pity holes.
* * *
“Pete, stop laughing. Really. Stop it. I mean it, Pete.” Patrick glares at him.
Pete keeps on cackling, the moonlight glinting off his stupid horse teeth.
“Pete. ”
“Okay, sorry, I’m done! Really!” Pete snorts a little, and then looks abashed when Patrick scowls. “Just-I can’t believe you actually called Bob and Ray on the poor kid.”
Patrick crosses his arms. “You would have done it too! He was totally being shifty! He was even looking into the keyhole of the doorknob!”
“Yeah, I don’t think I would have done it. I mean, I’ve been in his position, and all.” Pete lets a small chortle escape. Patrick’s scowl deepens.
“C’mon, man, don’t you think it’s just a little bit funny? Like history repeating itself?” Pete wheedles. “I mean, all those years ago, when you called Bob and Ray on me for just hanging around your door. Seriously, dude, total overreaction.”
“Are you kidding me? You were practically camping outside my door, and you were always climbing up the fire escape to peer into my rooms when you thought I wasn’t looking! A sane person would have called the actual police, instead of just Bob and Ray.”
“Aw, it wasn’t that bad. And anyways, look where we are now. Obviously, I couldn’t have been too creepy, or we wouldn’t be living together.”
“I totally should have let Bob and Ray throw you in jail that one day,” Patrick grumbles. “At least then I wouldn’t be in bed with my ex-stalker. And to think, I could have saved poor Ryan from my fate.”
“Is it really ex-stalker? I mean, I’m still technically stalking you. You’re just making it really easy for me. I’d probably still be on your fire escape, looking through your window if we weren’t dating,” Pete muses.
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Pete.” Patrick rolls over away from Pete, pointedly.
Pete laughs again, and throws a too-warm arm over Patrick. Patrick scowls ferociously into his pillow, determinedly not giving into the urge to smile. All right, maybe a little. As long as Pete can’t see him do it.
* * *
“Hey, Pete. Sorry I’m late,” Brendon says, rushing through the doorway. He quickly shrugs off his jacket and ties the apron around his waist.
“It’s okay. Alarm not go off?”
“Oh, um, it did. I just…didn’t hear it. I didn’t get much sleep till late last night, so…” Brendon shrugs.
“Really?” Pete asks, waggling his eyebrows. “Someone keep you up?”
Brendon rolls his eyes. Sometimes he worries about freaking people out with his lame come-ons and innuendoes, but then he just hangs out with Pete and he feels a lot better.
“No, Pete. No one kept me up. It was just kind of a stressful day for me, seeing as I got the building security called on me.”
“Bob and Ray?”
“Yeah. Some idiot named Pat something or the other thought I was breaking into Ryan’s apartment.” Brendon scowls in memory.
Pete’s staring at him disbelievingly.
“What?” Brendon asks.
“Are you serious?” Pete starts laughing, choking on the last word. “That was you?”
Brendon feels slightly affronted. “Where’d you hear about it?”
“From Patrick, of course! Duh.”
“You know Patrick?” Brendon feels like somewhere along the line, this conversation got away from him.
Pete gives him a disdainful look, but the effect is somewhat neutralized with the whipped cream on his nose and the cinnamon powder in his hair. “We’re married, Brendon.”
“But…gay marriage is illegal,” Brendon says slowly.
“In our hearts, anyway.” Pete waves a blasé hand. “We live in a castle in the sky next to the care bears.”
“…Right.” Brendon wonders if it would be rude to ask his boss whether he’s finally gone around the bend.
“Anyways. That’s not important. If you’re going to stalk lovely Ryan Rossy, you’re going to have to get better at it. Hanging around by the front door? So obvious. Try the fire escape out back. And don’t just knock on his door randomly; have some kind of excuse or gift. Stalkees don’t really like it when their stalkers show up at their door and then just stare at them creepily.” Pete has a far-away look in his eyes, like he’s thinking back on a memory.
Brendon really, really doesn’t want to know. And also-
“I’m not stalking Ryan!”
“Really? Could have fooled me,” Pete says in a sing-song voice.
“I’m not.” Brendon frowns at him. “I’m just trying to…get to know him better.”
“Right,” Pete drawls out. “Here, grab some of the new coffee mix we have. You can pretend to be giving him this while scoping out his apartment.”
Brendon stares down at the bag that Pete’s deposited into his hands. Well. He supposes it can’t really hurt.
* * *
“Special summer coffee mix for our specialest customers,” Ryan reads out loud. “Why is special underlined three times? And…is that a picture of a marijuana leaf?”
“Wait, what?” Brendon snatches the bag back, and looks at it more closely. Huh. It does look like a marijuana leaf. Fucking Pete. “Um, yeah, I think this is one of the batches that Pete and Joe, uh, made special. Or something.”
“…Right.” Ryan blinks. “Um. Thanks. But…I don’t actually have a coffee maker. The percolation interferes with my writing ambience.”
Brendon pauses. “Oh. Uh. That’s problematic.”
“Yep.” Ryan looks at him.
They’re silent for a few minutes.
“All right then. Well. I guess that’s that. Talk to you later, Ryan Ross!” Brendon gives him a breezy little wave and turns around to walk the six feet back into his own apartment.
* * *
“Is this…Is this a coat rack?”
“Well, kind of. I mean, it might look like a coat rack, but it’s really a scarf rack!” Brendon smiles brightly at Ryan. “To keep track of all your scarves! I was just looking through some old stuff of ours-“ Brendon waves a hand in the air “-and came across this, and thought of you.”
“Well, thanks. That’s a…really cool idea. To put my scarves on this coat rack.”
Brendon nods. It kind of is. He broke out into Shout while thinking of it in the shower.
“But I already have a coat rack. And, um, I already use it to hang my scarves.” Ryan looks almost apologetic.
“Oh.”
“So,” Ryan agrees.
Well, whatever, Brendon grouses to himself on the five second trek back to his place. Jon probably wouldn’t have appreciated Brendon swiping the coat rack, anyway.
* * *
“A wool blanket,” Ryan repeats. “For Hobo.”
“Yeah! I saw it as this pet store when I was buying supplies for Dylan-that’s my dog-and I thought Hobo might appreciate it.” Brendon smiles hopefully.
“Well, she does like blankets,” Ryan says.
Brendon mentally cheers.
“But,” Ryan continues, “she’s kind of violently allergic to wool.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really,” Ryan says solemnly.
“Well. I wouldn’t want your dog to get a rash,” Brendon says (semi-regretfully).
“Yeah, that would be bad.”
“So-bye!”
Brendon curses in his head for each of the seven steps it takes to get back to his apartment. Fuck, shit, damn, hell…Who the fuck has ever even heard of a wool allergy, anyway?
He sighs and stares down at the wool blanket in his hands. Maybe Dylan would like it. He wouldn’t want it to go to waste, especially after he spent all that time cutting it out of Jon’s ugly old cardigan.
* * *
“Oh my god! No. Brendon. No. Seriously. This has got to stop.” Jon looks a little crazed, his hair sticking up in little tufts where he’d pulled at it.
Brendon looks at him worriedly. His face is getting kind of red. Should Brendon be concerned about his blood pressure?
“No-like, I get this is some kind of fucked up mating ritual, or whatever. But could you please restrict the gifts to stuff that, oh, I don’t know, you actually own? Instead of trying to give him my shit? Just maybe?”
Brendon stares at the floor. They had all seemed like fantastic ideas at the time…
“I mean,” Jon exhales loudly, “you know I’m an easy-going guy. Really. But you have got to cut out this roommate from hell nonsense, Bren. Seriously, cutting up my clothes? Seriously?”
Well, Brendon can see how that might have been a tad excessive. But blankets are expensive! And Brendon hasn’t gotten his paycheck yet. But…yeah. Brendon can admit he’s been pretty much a terrible best friend.
“I’m sorry,” he says, studying the floor some more. “I just…didn’t know what to get him.”
“What to get him? Is it his birthday, or something? Has it been his birthday for the past week?” Jon questions.
“I mean, I have to have an excuse for going over there,” Brendon says softly.
Jon throws his arms up into the air. “Just get him some muffins or something! It’s not like he’s allergic to those, right?”
“True,” Brendon says consideringly. That’s actually not a bad idea. “Thanks, Jon!” He kisses Jon on the cheek, pats him on the shoulder, and waltzes out the front door. Pete might be willing to give him some free muffins.
“Just don’t go trying to give him my flip flops, all right?” Jon calls after him. “Because then I really will kick you out.”
Yeah, yeah. Jon’s flip flops are stinky, anyway.
* * *
“They’re banana nut,” Brendon says knowledgably. “Freshly baked this morning.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Ryan smiles at him. Brendon grins back.
“No allergies?” he asks, just to make sure.
“No allergies.”
“Good.” Brendon tries not to hover too conspicuously.
Ryan opens up the package and takes a bite out of the muffin.
“So, get any more work done on the novel?” Brendon asks.
“No,” Ryan says ruefully. “I did write a new story about a pig nursing a baby monkey, though.”
“Oh. Well. That’s-heartwarming,” Brendon says. He tries to picture it in his head, and then tries not to.
Ryan snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess. Sure.”
“Maybe I’ll pick up a copy of the newspaper, then,” Brendon says, smiling.
“You don’t have to,” Ryan says. “It’s really not that great. Really.”
“I’m sure it’s fantastic,” Brendon says, and then immediately feels stupid.
“Thanks,” Ryan says, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. “And, also, thanks for the muffin. It’s delicious.” He pauses for a moment, coloring up and looking nervous, and Brendon wants to ask him what’s wrong, if he can do anything to help, because he can totally con another muffin from Pete if he has to, he’s got mad skills like that, anything to make Ryan-
Oh.
Soft lips press gently to his, and Brendon nearly goes cross-eyed trying to stare down at it.
“Thanks,” Ryan says again, blushing more vividly.
Brendon doesn’t move, doesn’t speak until the door’s shut in front of him, and all he’s looking at is scratched, peeling paint. A few more minutes go by.
Then he whoops loud enough to wake all his neighbors, and all the tenants in the building over besides.
End.
EPILOGUE (because I couldn’t resist. And don’t even lie; y’all wanted it.)
“This is your final warning,” Ray tells him sternly. “Making loud, unprovoked noises before 7:30 AM is severely frowned upon.”
“Yeah,” Bob says, looming dangerously. There’s a pink barrette in his hair, though, that kind of dispels the impression.
“Sorry,” Brendon says, trying to muster up any sort of sincerity. But it’s really kind of hard, especially when Brendon’s got the memory of Ryan’s mouth sweet and warm and fresh in his mind, like it’s lighting him up from the inside out. It’s a miracle he’s not glowing, he thinks. Maybe he’s a little giddy. Whatever.
“Hey!” he suddenly says, frowning for the first time. “I can’t believe you reported me again, dude.”
Patrick looks slightly abashed. “You were really loud! I had to!”
“Patrick needs his beauty sleep,” Pete says, nodding solemnly. “You think he’s this pretty naturally?”
“Shut up,” Patrick mutters.
“He uses Rogaine, too, for his bald spot,” Pete says confidingly. “Patrick’s very particular about his appearances-“
“I told you to shut up,” Patrick grits from between clenched teeth, his face turning red.
“Have I told you about the time he went nuts when I accidentally threw out his conditioner?” Pete asks.
Brendon watches in awe as Patrick very impressively slugs Pete in the stomach.
“That’s another warning for you, too, Patrick,” Ray says boredly. “No violence against other tenants.”
“Aw, it’s okay,” Pete wheezes. “This is Patrick’s way of showing affection.” The brave man slings a heavy arm around a still scowling Patrick’s shoulder.
So, okay. This building might be a little weird. But somehow, Brendon thinks he’s going to enjoy it here. A lot.
Unconsciously, his fingers come back up to touch his mouth.
All feedback is very much appreciated! :)
To soothe her with the healing power of my cock writing, I dug a little something up from WIP storage, cut it up, cleaned it a bit, and slapped an ending on. Just a bunch of feel-good Ryan/Brendon schmoop, because that is her otp, and because I love her.
So here it is! My first fic post in ages. Enjoy. :)
Title: Because You Look Like A Jackass (or, Brendon's adventures in stalking!)
Wordcount: ~7600
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, background Pete/Patrick
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not real. Do not own. Capiche?
Warnings: Swearing. Lethal amounts of schmoopy fluff. Really awfully awkward pickup lines and flirting!
Thanks and Dedicated to: chaoticallyclev! She is the best internet-wife anyone on earth has the right to ask for. ♥
Summary: Apartment AU! Basically: Brendon's just moved into town. He courts Ryan Ross with flowery words and also a coat rack. He falls flat on his face.
Snippet: “I think I love you,” Brendon says suddenly, the words sounding a little too big and jagged and loud for the narrow street.
“I love you too,” Ryan says. “Also, my mom’s a llama and I birthed a puppy this morning.”
There’s someone following him.
And Ryan is pretty sure he is not just being paranoid, whatever the Spencer voice inside his head is telling him. He quickly takes an abrupt left onto a small side street, gently tugging Hobo along. And-yeah, the guy’s still following him.
Ryan frowns. He doesn’t look too dangerous, in a too-small hoodie, bright red glasses, and clashing shoes, but looks can be deceiving. But then again, Ryan is pretty sure the guy is shorter than he is, which means he’s pretty damn short.
He’s been following Ryan for a few blocks now, slowly narrowing the distance between them. And he’s been staring kind of blatantly; if he’s some private eye Keltie hired, Ryan should tell him he’s been doing a pretty shitty job.
“Hi!” he hears from behind him. Well, that answers that question. Ryan turns around, eyebrow raised.
The guy grins at him, only two feet away now. Sunlight glints off of his teeth, a bright white flare of light that leaves Ryan blinking away spots.
“I’m Brendon,” the guy continues.
“Hi, Brendon,” Ryan says slowly.
The guy cocks his head at him. “I think I love you,” Brendon says suddenly, the words sounding a little too big and jagged and loud for the narrow street.
“I love you too,” Ryan says. “Also, my mom’s a llama and I birthed a puppy this morning.”
“Really?” Brendon says delightedly, not skipping a beat. “That her?” He nods his head toward Hobo.
Ryan can feel a small smile quirking his lips in spite of himself. “Yeah, actually.”
“She’s beautiful,” Brendon says. He looks up at Ryan through his eyelashes. “You must have good genetics.”
Ryan snorts. “Good genetics. Hm. That’s a pretty good line, actually. Cuts through all the crap.”
“Crap?” Brendon asks. Ryan notices that he’s been slowly edging closer to him. It’s kind of…creepily endearing.
“Well, yeah. Instead of, ‘I like your eyes,’ or ‘you have a great smile,’ or even, ‘you have a hot ass,’ it’s just-genes. Which is really where all your physical attributes come from.”
“You’re right,” Brendon says. “That does kind of encompass everything.” He pauses. “Does that mean I have a leg up over your competition? For devising a pick-up line that compliments everything about you?”
“Competition?” Ryan says.
Brendon laughs a little. “Sorry if that sounded like I was prying for information about your relationship status. Because, well. I was.”
“You trying to be refreshingly honest?”
“Maybe stupidly honest,” Brendon says. He bats his eyelashes at Ryan. They’re barely inches away now, and the classic airhead movement just brings his dark lashes into focus.
“Modest, too,” Ryan notes inanely. Brendon’s eyes look unnervingly earnest and open, and Ryan thinks he can feel body heat radiating off of him.
“You’re avoiding the question,” Brendon says, a smile playing around his (very full, Ryan notes) lips.
“Question?”
“Competition?” Brendon says, mirroring his one word reply.
“Um.” Ryan can feel a light blush coloring his face, and he makes a conscious decision to take a step back. Brendon looks shockingly disappointed, eyes widening and lower lip curving into a pout. Fighting the urge to step in closer again, Ryan licks his lips. Brendon’s eyes follow the movement.
“Um. There is none.”
“Well. That’s good. Anyway,” Brendon says, smiling again.
“Yes?”
“Anyway, you should tell me your name. After I’ve bared my heart to you, and all that,” Brendon says persuasively.
Ryan smiles. “I’m Ryan. Uh, Ryan Ross.”
“Ryan Ross.” Brendon crinkles his eyes at him. “I’m Brendon Urie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He sticks his hand out, and they shake. It feels very surreal.
“Ryan Ross, you look like a friendly person,” Brendon says.
“Really?” Ryan says.
Brendon nods decisively. “Very friendly, in fact. Friendly enough to help a poor guy out.”
“Help out with what?” Ryan asks suspiciously. He knew there must have been a catch to some random hot guy coming up to him and declaring a newfound love for him.
“Well, I’m new in town, you see, and it’d be great to have someone show me around. I get lost very easily,” Brendon says seriously.
Ryan is not charmed. Ryan is not charmed.
“I think I might be able to help with that,” Ryan says slowly.
“Great!” Brendon grins. “You can start now, because I’m afraid I’m already lost. I have no idea where my new apartment is.”
“Really?” Ryan says again.
“Yeah,” Brendon says with a mock sad sigh. “I just wanted to come out and take a nice walk in the sunshine, you know, only then, I got distracted by someone, and before I knew it, I didn’t know where I was.”
“Distracted by someone?” Ryan says dryly. “That must be very tragic for you.”
“Well, you can’t really blame me. The person was very attractive and distracting.” Brendon winks outrageously.
Ryan narrows his eyes at him. He doesn’t know what Brendon’s thinking, because this kind of very obvious (and cliché) flirtation doesn’t work on Ryan. Definitely not. Although, that is a really nice mouth.
“Well?” Brendon says.
“Where do you live?” Ryan asks.
“67322 Pauling Street?” Brendon says uncertainly. He fumbles around in his back pocket and unearths a piece of paper.
“67322?” Ryan repeats.
“Yep!”
“That’s…really convenient,” Ryan says. He starts walking along the street, and Brendon follows him.
“Why’s that?”
“Because that’s where I live, too. You one of the new tenants?”
“Yeah.” A smile is spreading slowly across Brendon’s face. “And you’re right. That is convenient. I mean, I was thinking I’d actually have to figure out where you lived, but now…”
“Should I be worried?” Ryan asks amusedly. “You’re starting to sound like a stalker.”
Brendon pouts. “Stalker is such a harsh word. I mean, it’s really just devotion manifested in kind of a creepy way. What’s wrong with devotion?”
Ryan looks at him sideways. “It sounds like you’ve used that argument before. You have a lot of experience being a stalker?”
“What can I say, Ryan Ross, I’m just a devoted person.” Brendon leans on Ryan comfortably as they amble along. Ryan would feel annoyed at the invasion of personal space, but, well, it’s a nice day. And Ryan’s in a fairly good mood. And there’s just something about Brendon that is weirdly…charming.
Hobo wanders around the street happily, nosing at shrubs and grass. The sunshine bathes the concrete with a brilliant luminescence, like the road’s absorbed so much light that it’s emanating the excess out into a glowing aura.
Five minutes later, they reach the apartment complex.
“Well, this is me,” Brendon says lamely, and puckers his lips out for a kiss.
Ryan swats him on the shoulder. “You look like a jackass.”
Brendon gasps. “I have it on good authority that I look like an angel.” He dances up the stairs backwards, and Ryan offhandedly worries that he’s going to trip and break his neck. “It’s something about my clear white skin and dark, soulful eyes, you know.”
“I don’t see it,” Ryan says. It’s true. Brendon, in his dorky red glasses and hoodie and skinny jeans, just looks kind of…Ryan’s not sure. Not angelic, anyway. What’s weirdest of all, though, is that the combination of clothing isn’t entirely unattractive.
“This is my floor,” Ryan says, and lifts a hand in good-bye.
“Oh, hey!” Brendon bounds up to him and knocks their shoulders together. “It’s mine, too. Ryan Ross, it looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”
Ryan blinks.
Before he can blink again, Brendon presses a kiss to his cheek and slips inside the door.
“See ya later!” his voice floats out.
Well, huh. Ryan presses a hand to his cheek.
* * *
“You what?” Jon shakes his head, kind of looking like a shaggy dog drying himself off.
“It’s not that unusual! I’m sure he gets people telling him that all the time. I mean, he is really, really…” Brendon trails off. What was he saying again?
“Brendon,” Jon says, looking a little exasperated.
“I just wanted to talk to him! It seemed like a good conversation-opener.”
“Going up to someone and proclaiming your undying love seemed like a good conversation-opener?” Jon repeats. He scrunches his nose up.
“Well, it caught his attention,” Brendon says logically.
“Bren, you don’t even know this guy. He could be a creep! He could be a criminal!”
Brendon frowns.
Jon sighs, and continues in a softer voice. “He could be a completely terrible person.”
“No, no! Jon, he’s responsible! He knows commitment! Jon,” and Brendon pauses for effect. “He’s a single dad.”
Jon blinks. “Single dad?”
Brendon waves a hand in the air flippantly. “In a manner of speaking, anyway. He’s got a dog.”
Jon shoves his hands further down into his jean’s pockets, and looks at Brendon levelly.
“It’s a start, okay,” Brendon says, “and also, Jon, also-“ His words are tripping up all over each other, like they do when he’s excited, when he’s got this great big feeling whooshing up from his chest that tells him this might be something big, this might be something good “-he’s got the prettiest brown eyes I have ever seen.”
“Prettier than mine?” Jon asks mournfully.
“Maybe the same,” Brendon concedes. He wriggles himself under one of Jon’s nice, warm arms, and flutters his eyelashes at him, because Jon is really just a gigantic marshmallow who loves Brendon, even though to some people (with bad eyes) he might only look like a normal, non-marshmallow person.
Jon rises to his tiptoes to press a kiss to the top of Brendon’s head.
“Pretty brown eyes?” Jon says in a neutral, considering tone.
“Very pretty,” Brendon promises. “And soft curly hair and terrible clothes and the cutest dog ever.”
“Terrible clothes, huh? I can see why you guys get along.”
Brendon would hit him, but Jon’s got these big muscled arms (which Brendon appreciates quite often!), and, well, they’ve been down that road before.
* * *
“OhmygodJonit’shim!” Brendon ducks behind Jon’s reassuringly wide frame, and then peeks over Jon’s shoulder because he can’t help himself.
“What?” Jon asks calmly, obviously not feeling the gravity of the situation.
“It’s him!” Brendon hisses. “It’s Ryan!”
“Terrible clothes? Dog?”
“Yes! Oh my god. Oh my god.”
“Why are you freaking out, man? Didn’t you talk with him for, like, an hour last week?”
Brendon scowls at him. “Are you kidding me? I made a fool of myself! I declared love! I spouted a bunch of increasingly bad pick-up lines!”
Jon slants him a look. “You seemed pretty confident about how it went before.”
“That was before I saw him with his arm around another hot guy. Oh my god, he’s coming.”
Ryan walks up to the counter, accompanied by said hot guy. ‘No competition,’ his ass. Brendon stares at the guy menacingly from behind his fort. Uh, from behind Jon.
He’s not that hot. Brendon totally has a better haircut.
“Um, Brendon?” Jon whispers. “You do realize that hiding behind me doesn’t actually make you invisible, right?”
Brendon squeaks. Ryan’s staring right at him.
“Brendon?” Ryan asks slowly.
“Heh, yeah, uh.” Brendon quickly straightens up, and then regrets it when he bumps his head on the shelf behind him. “Ow. Uh. Yeah. Um. Hi!”
“Hey,” Ryan says easily. The guy with him levels a truly devastatingly superior look at Brendon. Brendon tries not to shrink backwards.
“What can I get for you?” Brendon says, speaking too quickly.
“Um, tall vanilla soy latte? And a tall black espresso without sugar for you, Spence, right?”
Brendon wilts a little bit. Spence. They’re on a nickname-basis.
“Coming right up,” he says weakly.
Turning around, he reaches for a cup. He shoves it under the machine, presses the button, waits for a few moments.
Brendon hums a little melancholy tune under his breath and taps his foot. Ryan looks nice today, a scarf wrapped around a thin white neck, and a strange fedora perched on top of his curly hair. The guy with him looks nice too, Brendon thinks grudgingly. The leather jacket is a nice touch. But Brendon looks cute in his little coffee barista apron! Jon told him so. When he was high, yeah, but it still totally counts.
Automatically, he reaches for the milk, and pours some in. Milk, sugar, shit. Brendon stares down at the cup. Soy latte. Whoops. He rubs the back of his neck, and chances a look behind him. “Spence” has started tapping his foot impatiently, and Ryan is inspecting the ends of his scarf. Damn.
Brendon quickly pours the whole thing out and starts over again. Soymilk, soymilk, soymilk. He grabs the little carton and pours it in quickly, before reaching behind him for the whipped cream canister. Shaking it now-like a pro, Brendon is totally a pro at this, Ryan will see-he presses down, and-KABLOOM. Or, well, more like KAPLISH, if Brendon is being honest.
Whipped cream coats his entire arm, and also is drowning half the cup. Brendon can’t help looking back at Ryan and “Spence.” Who is staring at him like he’s an idiot. Ryan looks vaguely amused. Face heating up, Brendon wipes it all off roughly. His elbow connects with something hard, though, and Brendon looks up quickly to see that he just dumped sugar into the espresso Jon’s just finished. Oh, fuck a llama ding-dong shit.
Brendon worries his lip. Moving more rapidly, he dumps that espresso and starts the espresso over again too. Jon is looking at him with a concerned expression.
It’s about ten minutes before he finally gets the drinks done. “Spence” is checking his Blackberry with a distinct aura of pissiness, and Ryan is staring at the floor awkwardly.
“Sorry about the wait,” Brendon says quietly. He wipes a strip of whipped cream off of his cheek.
Jon wraps a comforting arm around him, and Brendon leans into it miserably. They watch Ryan and “Spence” walk away.
“Well,” Jon says. “That probably could have gone better.”
“Shut up, Walker,” Brendon says sulkily. “I just totally…”
“Went into bozo mode?” Jon says helpfully.
“…yeah.”
“Pete’s going to take that out of your paycheck, you know.”
“I know.” Brendon huffs out a sigh.
“Bren, don’t worry that much about it. If he doesn’t like you, it’s his loss,” Jon says loyally. “Also, I really didn’t see anything too special about him.”
“He had a nice scarf,” Brendon says sadly. “And eyes. Did you see the eyes, Jon?”
“My eyes are totally cuter,” Jon says, and bats them at him ostentatiously, startling him into a small giggle.
* * *
“…So that was the guy who declared love for you in the middle of the street?” Spencer is supremely unimpressed.
Ryan shrugs at him. “Yeah.”
“Are you sure he’s not, like, mentally…slow, or something? Not all there upstairs? I mean, saying ‘I love you’ to random strangers, and then taking half an hour to make two coffee drinks…” Spencer ticks off the offenses on his fingers.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “He was probably just distracted, or something. Anyway, you think everyone is mentally retarded before you get to know them better.”
“And the whole declaring love part?” Spencer asks. “Because you can’t deny that is seriously weird.”
Ryan twists his mouth and forces himself to keep a monotone. “I think he does to everyone. Like, a joke, or something. To break the ice. I mean, you saw how affectionate he is with everyone. He was practically climbing the other guy there.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow at him. Damn, he really does know him too well. Ryan mentally sighs, regretful. He should really find some friends who aren’t completely and obnoxiously all-knowing.
He doesn’t yield to the very pointed eyebrow, though. They’ve been through this before. Ryan just raises an eyebrow back at him, a graceful curve that he may or may not have practiced in the mirror during high school.
Spencer sighs. “Ryan, cut it out with the eyebrow. You look like an idiot.”
Ryan raises it higher.
Spencer rolls his eyes elaborately. “Whatever. Don’t distract me. What was with that tone?”
“What tone?” Ryan asks blankly. He widens his eyes.
“You know what tone.” Spencer bulges his eyes out of his sockets and speaks in a lower register. “’I think he does it to everyone. He was practically climbing the other guy there.’ You’re not actually depressed by that revelation, right?”
Ryan sniffs. “Of course not. And that is the worst impression I have ever seen.”
Spencer smirks at him. “You’re evading again. You’re not actually interested in the idiot, right?”
Ryan stares very hard at his soy latte. “Why would I be?” he says lightly. “We’ve only ever talked for twenty minutes. It’s not like I got attached, or anything.”
He can feel Spencer’s eyes on him. He resolutely ignores him and keeps on walking.
“…Right,” Spencer draws out.
“So how’s life in the office cubicle?” Ryan asks innocently. “Feeling soul-crushed yet?”
* * *
“Oh god, Bren.”
Brendon determinedly does not look at Jon and his undoubtedly very brown, very disappointed eyes.
“No. No. You’re not doing what I think you’re doing, right?” Jon says hopefully, yet somehow simultaneously resignedly, like he already knows the answer.
“Of course not. What are you talking about?” Dammit, Brendon always talks too fast when he’s nervous. He glares down at his traitorous mouth.
“Why…are you cross-eyed?” Jon shakes his head. “Never mind. Bren, please have some kind of rational explanation as to why you’re lurking outside Scarf Guy’s door.”
“Lurking? Who?” Brendon gives Jon his biggest, widest, brightest smile.
Jon sighs. “Brendon. Why are you even…What are you even planning on doing?”
Brendon shrugs. He stares at the floor. But the floor doesn’t offer any new, amazing revelations, so obviously it’s useless.
“Umm…” Brendon fidgets. “Well, I totally ruined his coffee the other day, right? So…I just thought I’d take him this new one! Free of charge! To, like, make up for the last one…And to be a friendly neighbor! It’s like a housewarming gift, and I am so friendly, Jon, for serious.”
“Bren…people are supposed to be giving you housewarming gifts, not the other way around,” Jon says slowly.
“Technicality, right?”
“Brendon. How long did it take you to think of this elaborate scheme?”
“Two minutes, maybe? Five, at most?” Brendon resumes staring at the ground.
Jon is silent.
“Okay, fine, maybe all last week. I just wanted to make sure I…got it right. You know?”
“No, Bren, I don’t know. Why do you even care so much? You guys had, like, twenty minutes of conversation two weeks ago.” Jon looks honestly confused, his brow furrowed and his lips turning down.
Brendon pecks Jon on the cheek to make him brighten up, because a glum Jon is a glum Brendon, too.
“…I don’t know, I guess. I mean.” Brendon waves his hands in the air. “Just-kind of this feeling I get when I see him, you know? He’s so…He’s really…”
Brendon glances up at Jon, who still looks confused, so he forges on. “When I first saw him, the sun was right on him, lighting him all up, and…And he had this completely peaceful, serene look on his face. Like-he was totally in his own world, and that world was beautiful, and he had this small, secretive smile, and I just…I really wanted to know why. I…wanted to know all of his secrets, what was making him smile like that. Just.” Brendon shakes his head a little. “I don’t even know.”
He ducks his head down, flushing. “Don’t say anything. You think I’m nuts, yeah, I get it.”
“Actually, what I’m thinking is that you’ve watched way too many Disney movies,” Jon says dryly.
Brendon sticks his tongue out at him. “Whatever. He’s cute, too.”
“Yeah, I got that part,” Jon says. “What with you waxing poetic about his smile, and all.”
Brendon scowls at him. “I like his ass, too! This is purely physical, okay.”
“Bren, he doesn’t have an ass.”
“Don’t be stupid. Everyone has an ass.”
Jon’s laughing now, quiet chuckles that usually warm Brendon up but right now just make him want to deck him. Well, okay. Maybe tickle him into submission.
“I think this guy has got you seeing things that aren’t actually there. Like butts.”
“That makes no sense. You make no sense, Jon.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I gotta go run to the shop; Bill needs me to cover for his shift.”
“Okay. Bye,” Brendon says.
“Bye. Don’t hurt yourself staring at his smile.” Jon turns around and starts to stroll away.
“Yeah, whatever, asshole,” Brendon calls after him.
Jon’s out of sight in a few moments, and Brendon turns back to stare at Ryan Ross’s door. It’s a nice door. Wooden, painted. Minimum amount of scratches. A nicely polished door handle.
It really shouldn’t be this intimidating.
Brendon taps his finger on the coffee cup. He should just knock. Or something. What if Ryan’s not home? Or worse, what if that Spence guy is there with him? He doesn’t want to take the chance of looking retarded against some guy who obviously has a head start over Brendon.
Sighing, Brendon continues to stare at the door. It’s not like he can just magically scan the door with his x-ray vision and see who’s in there. Although, hey, that’d be a pretty cool power to have. He could see everything. Even Ryan’s totally existent ass, whatever Jon says. He could see all his Christmas presents beforehand, and figure out where Jon’s been stashing the really good pot.
But now he’s just stalling. Brendon looks at the door knob apprehensively. Maybe if he could just…
Brendon inches closer to the door, and gently rests his ear on it. He can’t hear anything; Ryan, Spencer, or whatever. Frowning, he strains harder. Damn concert deafness. This isn’t working.
He takes a step back and studies the door again. Maybe he could tell if anyone was there if he looked through the keyhole. That totally works, right?
Setting the coffee cup onto the ground, he kneels in front of the knob. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees something vaguely ginger, short, and bespectacled zoom past. Huh. Weird neighbors. Shaking it off, he shuts his left eye and peers with his right into the doorknob. He squints.
Yeah, nothing but darkness. Although maybe if he-
“What exactly are you doing here, son?” says a deep voice from behind him.
Brendon squeaks, jumps into the air, and then bangs his head on the door frame. Ow.
“Um. Um, what?” His voice comes out about two octaves too high.
There are three guys standing in front of him. One of them is short, ginger-haired, and bespectacled. Brendon gets a vague feeling of déjà vu. The other two are in black uniforms, and they look like-Brendon frowns, puzzled-building security.
“I asked what you were doing here, son,” the tall blond one repeats. He looks big. And menacing. Brendon gulps.
“I-I was just seeing if anyone was home!” Brendon squeaks.
The blond man exchanges a speaking glance with his curly-haired partner, and mouths something that looks like “unkempt left.” Or… “attempted theft.”
Wait. What?
“What?” Brendon squawks.
“Let me guess,” the curly-haired guy says. He has a surprisingly high voice. “You were checking if anyone was home to make sure it was safe to break in, right? Not smart, kid. Especially in broad daylight, where Good Samaritans like Patrick, here, can see you.”
“Break in?” Brendon asks in a half-screech, half-whisper. “But-but this guy’s my neighbor!” He gestures towards Ryan’s door. “I live here!”
The curly-haired guy rolls his eye. “Yeah, that’s definitely the first time we’ve heard that one. Got any proof?”
“Of course!” Breathing a sigh of relief, Brendon roots around through his pants for the keys. Not in his left pocket. He fumbles around in his right, but they aren’t there either.
The building security guys are looking less and less amused.
“Um…” Brendon says, voice wavering. “I think I left my keys inside.”
“Right,” the blond guy says, snorting. “And my name’s Bob.”
“But your name is Bob,” the ginger-haired guy-Patrick, Brendon supposes; filthy tattling Patrick-says, looking confused.
The blond guy lets out with sounds suspiciously like a stifled giggle. The curly-haired guy sighs. “Yeah. Whatever. Point is, kid, we’re going to have to take you in.”
“Wait! No!” Brendon looks around desperately. The blond shifts slightly to cut off all avenues of escape. Suddenly, the door bursts open behind him.
“What’s the racket out here? I’m trying to write, for chrissake.” It’s Ryan, looking annoyed and hassled and like the best thing Brendon has ever seen in his life.
“Ryan! Tell these guys I live next to you!”
“…Brendon lives next to me,” Ryan says slowly.
“See?” Brendon says. He resists the urge to stick out his tongue.
“Ryan, this kid was loitering out your door, acting suspicious,” the curly-haired guy says piously.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Ryan says. Brendon goes weak-kneed in relief. “He tells me he has a history of stalking, so I’m sure this isn’t too out of the norm.”
Brendon frowns at him.
“Well…okay. If you’re sure you feel comfortable.”
The building security guys walk away, trailed by a sheepish Patrick. Brendon thinks he can hear the curly-haired guy say something like, “Bob, do you have to make that joke about your name every single time?” but he isn’t sure.
He looks at Ryan, and tries to somehow make himself appear more charming. Just exude charisma, he coaches himself.
“Do you have something in your eye?” Ryan asks curiously.
…He doesn’t think it’s working.
“Just your blindingly good looks,” Brendon says cheerfully. Ryan’s lips twitch.
“Right. Um…what were you doing outside my door, anyway?”
“Oh, you know. The usual. Setting up video cameras, taking illicit photos, checking the floor for anything you might have left while you were walking in and out of your room. All the regular duties of a dedicated stalker,” Brendon says glibly.
“You know, the stalker jokes get less and less funny the more plausible they become,” Ryan says.
“No way. Stalker jokes are always funny! But, um, yeah. I was just bringing over a vanilla soy latte, to make up for the one I totally screwed up the other day.” Brendon grins sheepishly. “And I guess I was kind of loitering, because I wasn’t sure if you were home.”
“You could have knocked,” Ryan says, but he’s smiling a little.
“Knocking is for boring people, Ryan Ross,” Brendon says solemnly.
“Well, boring people never get investigated by building security,” Ryan points out.
Brendon pouts. “Do you want your latte or not, Ross?”
“Yeah, okay, I’ll take it off your hands.” Ryan gives him a little grin. Brendon’s heart skips a beat. He firmly tells it to calm down.
“Come in,” Ryan says casually.
Brendon practically skips over the threshold.
It’s a nice apartment. Messy, but lived in. Piles of smudged papers take up the vast majority of the apartment, a cushy sofa sits in front of a tiny television, and a laptop blinks at them from an old table.
“So…you were writing just now?” Brendon asks.
Ryan looks a little chagrined. “Um. Kind of. I’m working on a novel, but I’ve got a pretty bad case of writer’s block.”
“How bad?” Brendon asks, and then watches, fascinated, as Ryan blushes.
“Very bad. As in, haven’t even started the novel yet bad.” Ryan rubs the back of a neck.
“Well, genius takes time,” Brendon says understandingly. “What do you do in the meantime?”
“Freelance journalist.” Ryan suddenly frowns fiercely. “But that’s just to pay the bills. If I had to do that my entire life, I’d probably kill myself. Do you know, I actually had to write a story about abandoned kitties last week?”
Brendon hides a smile. “Actually, I think I read that story.” And enjoyed it, he thinks in his head. “But I don’t remember seeing your name.”
Ryan’s eyes slide to the left, the very picture of embarrassment. Brendon stares adoringly. “I, um, I write under a pseudonym. Well, kind of a pseudonym. George Ross.”
“Why?” Brendon asks.
“Because--!” Ryan flails his arms around a little bit, almost knocking over a fake cactus precariously perched on the windowsill. “It’s embarrassing! I’ll use Ryan Ross when I actually get this novel done.”
“Ah. The one that hasn’t been started yet?” Brendon says with a straight face.
Ryan shoves him, and then shoots him a look that’s half-apologetic. “Sorry. You’re right, though. Spence is always telling me I need to stop lazing around if I ever want to get anything done.”
“Don’t listen to Spence,” Brendon says suddenly, emphatically. “You have a job! You haven’t got that much free time in the first place! And anyway, he’s just stupid if he thinks writing novels can be done overnight.”
Ryan looks at him, kind of weirdly. “Spence is my best friend.”
Oh. “Well,” Brendon says, trying not to backtrack, “maybe you should find a smarter one.”
Ryan laughs. “Yeah, no. Spencer’s the only one who’ll ever put up with me. But…” He eyes Brendon. “Thanks. That’s…nice of you to say.”
“Heh. Yeah.” Brendon looks down. Great. Awesome. He’s just insulted Ryan’s best friend. Fantastic way to ingratiate himself with Ryan, if he does say so himself. Well. At least that means Spence isn’t interested in Ryan in that way, right? Right? Brendon sighs. Dammit, he always does this. Charms a few smiles out of someone, and then completely fucks up.
He grits his teeth. “I’m, um. I have to get back. To my own apartment. Work to do, you know.” Brendon smiles awkwardly.
“Um, okay,” Ryan says, sounding politely confused.
“So…See you.” Unthinkingly, Brendon reaches up to brush the lock of hair perpetually in Ryan’s eyes out of the way, and then blushes violently. “Bye.”
He walks out of there as quickly as possible, blushing like a goddamn tomato the entire way. That was totally weird. Pushing his hair out of his face? He’s not Ryan’s fucking mom. What was he thinking? Dammit.
He gets out into the hall, and then stops abruptly, staring at his door. No keys. Right. Fuck. Swiveling around on his foot, he walks towards the stairs. It’s as good a time to take a walk as any.
* * *
“Bren, dude, slow down.” Jon’s looking at him with big, concerned brown eyes. “Hey, Darren! M’taking a break! Cover for me, yeah?”
A waved middle finger is his only answer, and Jon rolls his eyes.
Brendon latches onto him the minute he walks out from behind the counter.
“I totally fucked it up, Jon,” he says sadly, and tucks his head into Jon’s neck.
“Hey, c’mon, I’m sure you didn’t.” Jon puts a large hand into the middle of Brendon’s back, and guides him out the back door. They sit down on the warm pavement.
“I actually, really did. Do you know what I did, Jon? I totally insulted his best friend! And then I told him he should find a new best friend.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he should. Are you talking about that guy who came in with Ross the other day? Black espresso, no sugar? He totally looked like an asshole,” Jon says comfortingly.
“Yeah,” Brendon sighs out. “I don’t know. I just keep fucking up. I just…” He laughs. It hurts a little bit. “I don’t even know.”
“Bren, you really didn’t fuck up. If you thought his best friend was being an asshole, then he probably was.”
“But if someone insulted you to my face, I’d totally be ready to go at it.”
“Yeah, right, you pansy pacifist.” Jon laughs. “But seriously. Don’t worry about it. Ryan’s probably already forgotten about it, anyway. Probably gets millions of comments everyday about what an asshole his best friend is.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, idiot.” Jon lays his head on top of Brendon’s affectionately. “And if Mister Ryan Ross with the Nice Eyes and the Terrible Scarves can’t handle it, he obviously isn’t worth it.”
“I don’t know about that. He’s…he’s really ambitious.” Brendon smiles to himself. “Sounds like he’s really going somewhere. He’s got the drive, anyway. You know, he’s really passionate about writing? Writing the next great American novel, it seems like.”
“Huh,” Jon says. To anyone else, it would sound neutral, but Brendon knows all the nuances of Jon’s tone.
He sticks his tongue out at him.
“Just because you can’t appreciate the great literary works, Jon…” Brendon clucks his tongue.
“Go away if you’re going to be mean, Bren,” Jon says, and pushes him off. “I have work to do.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t burn your pretty fingers off with hot coffee.” He watches Jon slowly walk back inside and sighs a little bit. At least Jon’s always around to pull him out of his self-pity holes.
* * *
“Pete, stop laughing. Really. Stop it. I mean it, Pete.” Patrick glares at him.
Pete keeps on cackling, the moonlight glinting off his stupid horse teeth.
“Pete. ”
“Okay, sorry, I’m done! Really!” Pete snorts a little, and then looks abashed when Patrick scowls. “Just-I can’t believe you actually called Bob and Ray on the poor kid.”
Patrick crosses his arms. “You would have done it too! He was totally being shifty! He was even looking into the keyhole of the doorknob!”
“Yeah, I don’t think I would have done it. I mean, I’ve been in his position, and all.” Pete lets a small chortle escape. Patrick’s scowl deepens.
“C’mon, man, don’t you think it’s just a little bit funny? Like history repeating itself?” Pete wheedles. “I mean, all those years ago, when you called Bob and Ray on me for just hanging around your door. Seriously, dude, total overreaction.”
“Are you kidding me? You were practically camping outside my door, and you were always climbing up the fire escape to peer into my rooms when you thought I wasn’t looking! A sane person would have called the actual police, instead of just Bob and Ray.”
“Aw, it wasn’t that bad. And anyways, look where we are now. Obviously, I couldn’t have been too creepy, or we wouldn’t be living together.”
“I totally should have let Bob and Ray throw you in jail that one day,” Patrick grumbles. “At least then I wouldn’t be in bed with my ex-stalker. And to think, I could have saved poor Ryan from my fate.”
“Is it really ex-stalker? I mean, I’m still technically stalking you. You’re just making it really easy for me. I’d probably still be on your fire escape, looking through your window if we weren’t dating,” Pete muses.
“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Pete.” Patrick rolls over away from Pete, pointedly.
Pete laughs again, and throws a too-warm arm over Patrick. Patrick scowls ferociously into his pillow, determinedly not giving into the urge to smile. All right, maybe a little. As long as Pete can’t see him do it.
* * *
“Hey, Pete. Sorry I’m late,” Brendon says, rushing through the doorway. He quickly shrugs off his jacket and ties the apron around his waist.
“It’s okay. Alarm not go off?”
“Oh, um, it did. I just…didn’t hear it. I didn’t get much sleep till late last night, so…” Brendon shrugs.
“Really?” Pete asks, waggling his eyebrows. “Someone keep you up?”
Brendon rolls his eyes. Sometimes he worries about freaking people out with his lame come-ons and innuendoes, but then he just hangs out with Pete and he feels a lot better.
“No, Pete. No one kept me up. It was just kind of a stressful day for me, seeing as I got the building security called on me.”
“Bob and Ray?”
“Yeah. Some idiot named Pat something or the other thought I was breaking into Ryan’s apartment.” Brendon scowls in memory.
Pete’s staring at him disbelievingly.
“What?” Brendon asks.
“Are you serious?” Pete starts laughing, choking on the last word. “That was you?”
Brendon feels slightly affronted. “Where’d you hear about it?”
“From Patrick, of course! Duh.”
“You know Patrick?” Brendon feels like somewhere along the line, this conversation got away from him.
Pete gives him a disdainful look, but the effect is somewhat neutralized with the whipped cream on his nose and the cinnamon powder in his hair. “We’re married, Brendon.”
“But…gay marriage is illegal,” Brendon says slowly.
“In our hearts, anyway.” Pete waves a blasé hand. “We live in a castle in the sky next to the care bears.”
“…Right.” Brendon wonders if it would be rude to ask his boss whether he’s finally gone around the bend.
“Anyways. That’s not important. If you’re going to stalk lovely Ryan Rossy, you’re going to have to get better at it. Hanging around by the front door? So obvious. Try the fire escape out back. And don’t just knock on his door randomly; have some kind of excuse or gift. Stalkees don’t really like it when their stalkers show up at their door and then just stare at them creepily.” Pete has a far-away look in his eyes, like he’s thinking back on a memory.
Brendon really, really doesn’t want to know. And also-
“I’m not stalking Ryan!”
“Really? Could have fooled me,” Pete says in a sing-song voice.
“I’m not.” Brendon frowns at him. “I’m just trying to…get to know him better.”
“Right,” Pete drawls out. “Here, grab some of the new coffee mix we have. You can pretend to be giving him this while scoping out his apartment.”
Brendon stares down at the bag that Pete’s deposited into his hands. Well. He supposes it can’t really hurt.
* * *
“Special summer coffee mix for our specialest customers,” Ryan reads out loud. “Why is special underlined three times? And…is that a picture of a marijuana leaf?”
“Wait, what?” Brendon snatches the bag back, and looks at it more closely. Huh. It does look like a marijuana leaf. Fucking Pete. “Um, yeah, I think this is one of the batches that Pete and Joe, uh, made special. Or something.”
“…Right.” Ryan blinks. “Um. Thanks. But…I don’t actually have a coffee maker. The percolation interferes with my writing ambience.”
Brendon pauses. “Oh. Uh. That’s problematic.”
“Yep.” Ryan looks at him.
They’re silent for a few minutes.
“All right then. Well. I guess that’s that. Talk to you later, Ryan Ross!” Brendon gives him a breezy little wave and turns around to walk the six feet back into his own apartment.
* * *
“Is this…Is this a coat rack?”
“Well, kind of. I mean, it might look like a coat rack, but it’s really a scarf rack!” Brendon smiles brightly at Ryan. “To keep track of all your scarves! I was just looking through some old stuff of ours-“ Brendon waves a hand in the air “-and came across this, and thought of you.”
“Well, thanks. That’s a…really cool idea. To put my scarves on this coat rack.”
Brendon nods. It kind of is. He broke out into Shout while thinking of it in the shower.
“But I already have a coat rack. And, um, I already use it to hang my scarves.” Ryan looks almost apologetic.
“Oh.”
“So,” Ryan agrees.
Well, whatever, Brendon grouses to himself on the five second trek back to his place. Jon probably wouldn’t have appreciated Brendon swiping the coat rack, anyway.
* * *
“A wool blanket,” Ryan repeats. “For Hobo.”
“Yeah! I saw it as this pet store when I was buying supplies for Dylan-that’s my dog-and I thought Hobo might appreciate it.” Brendon smiles hopefully.
“Well, she does like blankets,” Ryan says.
Brendon mentally cheers.
“But,” Ryan continues, “she’s kind of violently allergic to wool.”
“Oh. Really?”
“Really,” Ryan says solemnly.
“Well. I wouldn’t want your dog to get a rash,” Brendon says (semi-regretfully).
“Yeah, that would be bad.”
“So-bye!”
Brendon curses in his head for each of the seven steps it takes to get back to his apartment. Fuck, shit, damn, hell…Who the fuck has ever even heard of a wool allergy, anyway?
He sighs and stares down at the wool blanket in his hands. Maybe Dylan would like it. He wouldn’t want it to go to waste, especially after he spent all that time cutting it out of Jon’s ugly old cardigan.
* * *
“Oh my god! No. Brendon. No. Seriously. This has got to stop.” Jon looks a little crazed, his hair sticking up in little tufts where he’d pulled at it.
Brendon looks at him worriedly. His face is getting kind of red. Should Brendon be concerned about his blood pressure?
“No-like, I get this is some kind of fucked up mating ritual, or whatever. But could you please restrict the gifts to stuff that, oh, I don’t know, you actually own? Instead of trying to give him my shit? Just maybe?”
Brendon stares at the floor. They had all seemed like fantastic ideas at the time…
“I mean,” Jon exhales loudly, “you know I’m an easy-going guy. Really. But you have got to cut out this roommate from hell nonsense, Bren. Seriously, cutting up my clothes? Seriously?”
Well, Brendon can see how that might have been a tad excessive. But blankets are expensive! And Brendon hasn’t gotten his paycheck yet. But…yeah. Brendon can admit he’s been pretty much a terrible best friend.
“I’m sorry,” he says, studying the floor some more. “I just…didn’t know what to get him.”
“What to get him? Is it his birthday, or something? Has it been his birthday for the past week?” Jon questions.
“I mean, I have to have an excuse for going over there,” Brendon says softly.
Jon throws his arms up into the air. “Just get him some muffins or something! It’s not like he’s allergic to those, right?”
“True,” Brendon says consideringly. That’s actually not a bad idea. “Thanks, Jon!” He kisses Jon on the cheek, pats him on the shoulder, and waltzes out the front door. Pete might be willing to give him some free muffins.
“Just don’t go trying to give him my flip flops, all right?” Jon calls after him. “Because then I really will kick you out.”
Yeah, yeah. Jon’s flip flops are stinky, anyway.
* * *
“They’re banana nut,” Brendon says knowledgably. “Freshly baked this morning.”
“Cool. Thanks.” Ryan smiles at him. Brendon grins back.
“No allergies?” he asks, just to make sure.
“No allergies.”
“Good.” Brendon tries not to hover too conspicuously.
Ryan opens up the package and takes a bite out of the muffin.
“So, get any more work done on the novel?” Brendon asks.
“No,” Ryan says ruefully. “I did write a new story about a pig nursing a baby monkey, though.”
“Oh. Well. That’s-heartwarming,” Brendon says. He tries to picture it in his head, and then tries not to.
Ryan snorts out a laugh. “Yeah, I guess. Sure.”
“Maybe I’ll pick up a copy of the newspaper, then,” Brendon says, smiling.
“You don’t have to,” Ryan says. “It’s really not that great. Really.”
“I’m sure it’s fantastic,” Brendon says, and then immediately feels stupid.
“Thanks,” Ryan says, a small smile curling at the corners of his lips. “And, also, thanks for the muffin. It’s delicious.” He pauses for a moment, coloring up and looking nervous, and Brendon wants to ask him what’s wrong, if he can do anything to help, because he can totally con another muffin from Pete if he has to, he’s got mad skills like that, anything to make Ryan-
Oh.
Soft lips press gently to his, and Brendon nearly goes cross-eyed trying to stare down at it.
“Thanks,” Ryan says again, blushing more vividly.
Brendon doesn’t move, doesn’t speak until the door’s shut in front of him, and all he’s looking at is scratched, peeling paint. A few more minutes go by.
Then he whoops loud enough to wake all his neighbors, and all the tenants in the building over besides.
End.
EPILOGUE (because I couldn’t resist. And don’t even lie; y’all wanted it.)
“This is your final warning,” Ray tells him sternly. “Making loud, unprovoked noises before 7:30 AM is severely frowned upon.”
“Yeah,” Bob says, looming dangerously. There’s a pink barrette in his hair, though, that kind of dispels the impression.
“Sorry,” Brendon says, trying to muster up any sort of sincerity. But it’s really kind of hard, especially when Brendon’s got the memory of Ryan’s mouth sweet and warm and fresh in his mind, like it’s lighting him up from the inside out. It’s a miracle he’s not glowing, he thinks. Maybe he’s a little giddy. Whatever.
“Hey!” he suddenly says, frowning for the first time. “I can’t believe you reported me again, dude.”
Patrick looks slightly abashed. “You were really loud! I had to!”
“Patrick needs his beauty sleep,” Pete says, nodding solemnly. “You think he’s this pretty naturally?”
“Shut up,” Patrick mutters.
“He uses Rogaine, too, for his bald spot,” Pete says confidingly. “Patrick’s very particular about his appearances-“
“I told you to shut up,” Patrick grits from between clenched teeth, his face turning red.
“Have I told you about the time he went nuts when I accidentally threw out his conditioner?” Pete asks.
Brendon watches in awe as Patrick very impressively slugs Pete in the stomach.
“That’s another warning for you, too, Patrick,” Ray says boredly. “No violence against other tenants.”
“Aw, it’s okay,” Pete wheezes. “This is Patrick’s way of showing affection.” The brave man slings a heavy arm around a still scowling Patrick’s shoulder.
So, okay. This building might be a little weird. But somehow, Brendon thinks he’s going to enjoy it here. A lot.
Unconsciously, his fingers come back up to touch his mouth.
All feedback is very much appreciated! :)