Lights Never Shine as Bright as in the Movies -- part two of four
Once he's home and showered, he pushes Shane's bedroom door open, hoping for comfort and snuggles. He stops when he sees Shane still asleep, arm thrown over the bare torso of the boy from the night before. It's weird since Shane usually fucks people at their place so he can get out as soon as he's finished, but whatever. Brendon turns and pulls the door shut behind him. He wishes he could crawl into bed and sleep, but once he's awake for the day he's up until night.
He curls up on the couch and takes out his phone, stares at it for a little while before he calls his mother.
"Hi, sweetheart," she says, and her voice is like a balm, immediately soothing him. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay," he says. "Just calling to hear your voice."
"That's always nice to hear," she says. "Margie Firth, you remember the Firths, don't you?"
"Of course."
"Margie was asking me the other day about when your next recital will be and I told I was pretty sure it wasn't until November, but I wanted to ask to make sure."
"The Jazz Ensemble will be playing next month," he tells her. "The fourteenth."
"October fourteenth," she says, and he can hear her opening the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen, closes his eyes and can see her writing it down in her family calendar. She starts telling him about everything else going on, potlucks and barbecues, birthdays of his cousins and cousins' cousins.
"You're coming to Addison's birthday party on Tuesday, aren't you?"
"Of course," he says. Addison's his oldest niece and is about to turn seven.
"She keeps asking about you, wants to make sure you'll be there. I told her you would, but you know how she worries."
"Why does she worry?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. He's never known Addison to worry.
"She's worried about you," his mother tells him. "She worries because you don't come to church. She's worried about your salvation."
Brendon sighs and rubs his forehead. "Mom."
"I know. I know you don't want to talk about it, but you asked. And since you asked, I'm just going to let you know that we're all worried about you. I pray for you every day, Brendon."
Brendon can feel a headache starting between his eyes. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I know you don't want to hear it, but I do. So." She's silent for a moment. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy."
"You don't sound happy."
"I had a bad night," he admits. "But usually, I'm happy."
"This life you're living," she says softly, "will never bring you true happiness."
"Mom."
"I mean it. I respect that you're an adult and you think you know your own mind, but this lifestyle of yours--"
"I really can't have this conversation right now."
"You always say that. Just listen to me, all right? Just listen when I tell you that this lifestyle of yours will never do anything but bring you unhappiness and once you realize that, I want you to know that we're here for you, that we won't gloat when you come back, that you'll just be welcomed back with open arms. I even, well, Rachel's made a very good friend at the singles' ward, her name's Natalie--"
"Mom," he snaps.
"I think you'd really like her. I think you should just give it a try. I can call and see if she'll come to Addison's birthday party if you want to meet her."
"I don't want to meet her."
"She's very nice."
"I'm sure she is. She probably deserves more than people trying to set her up with a gay man."
His mother doesn't say anything, and Brendon bites his lower lip as he resists the urge to apologize to her. Instead of telling her that he's sorry, because he's not sorry, he says, "I didn't call to fight with you."
"I know." She sounds soft and sad and Brendon's sorry he called her. He upsets her all the time, he knows that, he just doesn't know how to stop. Lying to her isn't an option. He spent eighteen years lying to her, and telling the truth was ugly and it hurt everyone, but he'd never take it back; he's never wanted to take it back, even when his entire family shut him out of their lives for over a year.
"Do you want me to bring anything for Addison's birthday party?" he asks after a few more minutes of silence.
"She wants you to play the piano for her. So just plan what you're going to play, I guess."
"Okay," he says. He gets up off the couch and heads into the kitchen, opens the cabinet where they keep all their medicines and grabs a bottle of Tylenol. "I'll see you Tuesday, then. Love you."
"Love you, too, sweetheart," she says.
Brendon hangs up and downs three Tylenol, washes them down with water from the tap, then goes back to slump on the couch where he considers calling someone else. The only people he really knows, though, are a few guys from Shane's company that live in Vegas and a couple of people from school. He doesn't know anyone well enough to call them up and tell them that his heart's broken over some retarded boy that he doesn't even know and that he disappoints his mother on a regular basis and he maybe just needs someone to tell him a funny story to take his mind off it.
He flips through channels on the TV and settles for the Home Shopping Network because it makes him brain dead after only three or four minutes, and brain dead is preferable to humiliated and stupid.
After a little while, he hears Shane moving around in his room, but he ignores it and the way Shane and his conquest, Alex, make out all the way from Shane's bedroom to the front door.
Once Alex is gone, Shane hops over the back of the couch and grabs the remote. "What you watching?" he asks.
Brendon shrugs.
"Dude, you would not believe what I did last night. Seriously, that kid? Nnnng." He grins at Brendon and starts flipping the channels. "I mean, he told me he was open minded, but seriously? He did this thing where he was flat on his back and then--"
"I really don't want to hear about the perverted things you got up to last night with a teenager, okay?" Brendon snaps.
Shane puts the remote down and looks at him. "Are you all right? You always want to hear about the perverted things I get up to."
"Well, maybe I just don't feel like it."
Shane looks at the TV, then back at Brendon. "You were watching the shopping network, weren't you?"
Brendon shrugs.
"What happened? The shopping network is, like, your giant cry for help."
"I don't feel like talking about it," Brendon says, still a little mad that Shane and his teenybopper had been in bed together when he'd wanted comfort and snuggles.
"Seriously," Shane says, shifting over and sliding his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "What's going on?"
Brendon shifts until his head is in Shane's lap. He closes his eyes as Shane rubs his back. "I hooked up with a guy and then found out he only wanted to fuck me so that he could say he'd fucked a porn star."
"Oh, shit," Shane says. "I'm so sorry, B."
"Not your fault."
"Still. You want me to go over to his place and beat him up?"
Brendon shakes his head.
"You want me to get one of my IT guys to 'accidentally' put him in the sex offender's database?"
Brendon smiles a little bit, but shakes his head again. "I'll be over it by tomorrow, just, you know. You were asleep with your little piece of ass so I called my mother."
Shane doesn't tell Brendon he's stupid or ask what they talked about. He was there through the worst of it, when Brendon was living in a piece of shit studio apartment where the rats were more reliable than the heat. He knows exactly what goes on when Brendon calls his mother. He just gives Brendon a hug, then asks, "You wanna go to Fatburger and eat seven orders of onion rings?"
"And a root beer float," says Brendon.
"And a root beer float. Of course."
He actually only eats one order of onion rings, plus a veggie burger and a root beer float. He knows he's shitty company, not even complaining when Shane steals an onion ring to dip into the disgusting mess of his chili cheese fat fries.
"I think," Brendon says softly, picking at the remnants of his bun. "I think maybe I'm not going to do another video for a while. I mean I know that they make you good money, just..." he shrugs. "Maybe next year. I don't know."
"Hey," says Shane, slamming down his chocolate shake and dipping his head so he can look into Brendon's eyes. "I don't give a shit if you never do another vid ever in your entire life. I don't give a shit if you decide to start some anti-porn campaign and vilify me on national TV. You're my best friend, all right? I don't want anyone ever doing what they're not comfortable with, and that goes double for you."
"It just feels weird, now."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. You know I've got your back no matter what."
"I think about and I feel, I don't know. Dirty. Sex has never made me feel dirty, like, not ever."
"This guy really fucked with your head. You liked him, didn't you?"
Brendon nods. The onion rings are sitting heavy in his stomach.
"I seriously want to kick this guy's ass. Tell me who he is so I can at least get him banned from every club in town."
"No. Let's just go home and watch Scooby Doo or something."
"You sure?"
Brendon nods. "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Just. Whatever."
Shane frowns but doesn't argue with him. When they get home, Shane sets up a Die Hard marathon, which Brendon knows is just for his benefit. He lets Shane baby him, though, because watching all the Die Hard movies is much better than watching something Shane likes, which is usually sucidally depressing and made in, like, Finland or some other dreary northern European country.
Die Hard With a Vengeance has just started when Shane gets up and heads into the other room to talk on his phone. Brendon ignores it, since Shane's been texting the whole time, anyway, and he just focuses on how fucking cool Samuel Jackson will always be, despite the horrible misstep that was Black Snake Moan.
He turns his head to listen, though, when he hears Shane's voice, soft and fond in a way that Brendon usually only hears directed at small animals, or him when he's sick.
"No, no, I want you to come along," Shane's saying. "It doesn't matter that they're my friends, you totally won't be intruding, not at all. No, I'm totally sure. Yeah, I really want you to come with us."
Brendon turns around and rests his chin on the back of the couch, watching Shane in the kitchen.
"Yeah, okay, yeah, I'll pick you up in half an hour," Shane says, smiling to himself. Brendon's intrigued. Not even when they'd been dating, before they realized they were meant to be friends who didn't sleep together, has Brendon ever seen Shane giddy over someone.
"What's up?" Brendon asks after Shane ends the call.
"Sushi tonight," Shane tells him
"And you're bringing a date?"
Shane shrugs. "It's just that Alex kid," he says dismissively. "Whatever. Get dressed."
Brendon considers putting his contacts in and wearing something that makes him look hot, but in the end he just settles for his glasses, his most comfortable jeans and a dark green shirt.
"I kind of," he says as Shane takes a right out of their neighborhood onto the main road. "Look, me not doing any more vids is stupid. Forget I said anything."
"Nope," says Shane.
"What?"
"Get back to me in a month, okay? You can tell me what you want to do then."
"But--"
"I mean it when I say that I don't want you doing anything you're not comfortable with. You're one of the stars of my site, yeah, but so fucking what? You were my friend first. I'd be a total asshole if I cared more about the money you bring in than the fact that you're unsure right now."
"It's not that I'm unsure, really, just. I don't know. I never thought about it before, the fact that people would think they know who I am just because of what they've seen of me online."
"I wasn't going to schedule you for a shoot until the end of the month, anyway, so you spend some time thinking about it and you let me know, okay?"
"Okay," says Brendon, sliding down in the passenger seat. "Thanks."
Shane makes his way into a neighborhood of mid-sized tract homes, the kind with basketball hoops in the driveways and toys and bikes in the yards. It's kind of like the neighborhood Brendon grew up in and he thinks about calling his mom again to end things on a better note. She's disappointed that he left the church, but the pride shines through in her voice when she talks about his music, and he might be twenty-two but he still wants her approval.
They sit in the driveway for a few minutes and Shane checks the address he wrote down on a slip of paper. "This is the right house, I think," he says. His phone beeps and he reads the text he just got. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he says. "We have to go inside so his parents can meet us before they let him come out with us."
Brendon's laugh is sudden and loud. Most of the gloom of earlier is instantly erased. "You're fucking a kid that still lives with his parents?" he asks. "This is awesome."
"Hey," Shane says as Brendon opens the door. "Where are you going?"
"Inside, to meet wee little Alex's parents," Brendon tells him.
"No way. It's not like we're axe murderers. We can just. I don't know. Wait it out."
"Get your ass up and be nice to the little boy's mom," Brendon tells him.
Shane sighs and follows Brendon up to the front door. Alex answers with a nervous smile and ushers them inside. The house smells good, like enchiladas baking, and Alex's parents are sitting in the kitchen.
"This is Shane," Alex says quickly to them. "This is Brendon. These are my parents. Can I go now?"
"You boys won't be drinking tonight, will you?" Alex's mother asks, and Brendon wants to double over with laughter.
"Well, Shane's driving, so of course he won't," he says. "I can't guarantee that I won't have a glass of wine, though, I don't know. I am Alex's concert choir TA, so maybe I shouldn't set a bad example."
Alex's mother nods, like he's passed a test. Brendon is amazing with parents, knows all the right things to say; he spent most of his teenage years lying to his own parents, after all.
Shane's hanging back, staring down at the floor. Brendon considers asking for a glass of water to prolong Shane's torture, but in the end he just shakes Alex's parents' hands and gives them his brightest smile before waving goodbye.
"Oh, God, I am so sorry," Alex says once they're in the car, him in the passenger seat and Brendon sprawled in the back. "They're so embarrassing."
"Nah," says Brendon since he knows Shane has no idea what to say. "They're just parents. They're like that."
Once they get to the restaurant, Brendon keeps his head up, looking for William's tall frame and listening for Gabe's raucous laugh. When he hears his name, he turns and is surprised to see Cassie sitting at a long table next to Jon. Who's sitting next to Spencer.
He considers leaving and getting a cab, but he's not actually a tantrum-prone teenager, so he doesn't. He just sits down across from Cassie and tries to seem like he doesn't have a fucking care in the world.
"Hey," she says softly, and he feels her foot brush against his under the table. "You missed awesome waffles this morning."
Brendon shrugs and looks down at his menu. When the waitress comes by for their drink order, he says, "Sake bomb," without even having to think about it. If he's going to have to sit at a table and make nice with Spencer, he's at least going to get wasted while he does it.
"What's a sake bomb?" Alex whispers to him.
Brendon smiles at him and orders two.
Ryan shows up after the second round of sake bombs. He's wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a feathered hat in his hand. "I want sake bombs," he says as he sits down at the head of the table to Brendon's left and Cassie's right. "Greta, do you want sake bombs?"
"I want to go home," Greta says. Brendon turns to look at her and she's standing in the aisle with her arms crossed over her chest.
"No," says Ryan. "No way. You should eat with us."
"I'm going home," she tells him.
Ryan looks honestly bewildered. "But how will I get home?" he asks.
"Spencer will drive you in his rental."
"But I don't like the way Spencer drives as much as the way I like the way you drive," says Ryan.
Greta rolls her eyes. "Good night, Ryan."
Ryan sighs and frowns. Brendon thinks Ryan's one of the strangest people he's ever met. "I crashed Spencer's car a couple weeks ago," he tells Brendon. "It wasn't my fault. The pole was camouflaged."
"Okay," says Brendon since he doesn't know how to respond to that.
"I really like the way Greta drives," Ryan tells him. "She's been driving me around ever since the accident, but I don't think she likes it as much as I do."
"She's your secretary, not your slave," Cassie says, poking at Ryan with her chopsticks.
"Administrative assistant," Ryan corrects. "Although, really, that's a horrible term. I don't know what else to call her. What would you call her?" he asks Brendon.
"I've only met her twice," Brendon says.
"Good point. Hey Spencer, what would you call Greta?"
"A freaking saint to put up with you," Spencer replies.
Ryan sighs. "She's my Greta."
"And what do you do?" Brendon asks.
"Oh," says Ryan. He fidgets with his cuffs. "I'm a writer?" He doesn't seem that sure about it.
"Have you read Camisado?" Cassie asks Brendon. "Northern Downpour? Hearts and Wrists?"
"I..." Brendon nods. Northern Downpour is maybe his favorite book ever. "That's you?" he asks. "Like, you wrote those?"
Ryan nods and gives him a shy smile.
"That's so fucking, I can't," Brendon shakes his head. "No, okay, I read Northern Downpour when I was nineteen years old and it, like, saved my life. All the anger Colin felt, all the family shit he was going through, he was maybe the only person I could relate to and I'll just shut up now because I'm gushing like a spaz."
Ryan's got his head tipped down and he's blushing.
"He loves it," Cassie says in a stage whisper. "Jon, tell Brendon how much Ryan loves it when people gush over his work."
"He loves it," Jon says, nodding. "So Bden, this is my life, right? Right here at this table, this is my life. I go to college and I've got this hella awkward roommate, all elbows and libido. He was emo at the time, just for reference."
"Ryan?" Brendon asks.
"Yeah. Tight jeans, black t-shirts, eyeliner, emo bangs all in his face. So I've got this awkward little roommate and I think that I'll be a nice guy, help him get acclimated to Chicago. Halfway through the semester, his little lesbian best friend has run away from home--"
"I hate you," Spencer says.
"This little lesbian shows up at our door saying she needs a place to crash, and I'm like, hey, I'd love to help you out but, seriously, this is a men's dorm--"
"I hate you so hard."
"Turns out Ryan's lesbian best friend was really just a pretty boy. That's why he has the beard, now, because he's so pretty that everybody thinks he's a lesbian without it."
"Seriously going to stab you with my chopsticks," says Spencer.
Ryan's laughing, "You totally did look like a lesbian."
"They both looked like lesbians," Cassie tells Brendon. "My Women's Studies friends were so disappointed when they found out Ryan and Spencer were boys."
"So we put Spencer up in our dorm room for the last half of the semester, then figure hey, there are three of us, we'll just get an apartment, which we do, which is how long it takes me to figure out that Ryan's writing stories in his journals and this bitch here--"
"Hey," says Spencer.
"Fine. This guy here has been taking, like, hundreds of rolls of film ever since he ran away from Las Vegas at the ripe old age of seventeen and two months. And I'm a year older than Ryan, two years older than Spencer, and I think I'll be the wise older brother figure, help them out. I encourage Ryan to submit some of his stories, I let Spencer use the darkroom at DePaul, and what happens? Ryan gets published and Spencer gets discovered by my photography professor and starts getting freelance work, and me?"
"You got me," says Cassie, leaning in to brush her shoulder against Jon's.
Jon smiles, then, and nods. "Yeah, okay, so I totally got the best deal out of it."
"You're a great photographer, Jon," Spencer says softly, and Brendon kind of resents the sincerity in his voice. It would be easier if he was just an asshole.
"You're a photographer?" Shane asks, suddenly more interested in the conversation than in gazing at little Alex, though they're still holding hands.
Brendon turns towards Ryan as Jon and Spencer and Shane start to get into a conversation about cameras and angles and lighting, and says to Ryan, "So, what are you working on, now?"
Ryan is, apparently, working on a modern fairy tale. He gleefully describes the scene he's working on, and Brendon pushes his plate of sushi away because there seem to be a lot of intestines in Ryan's new book.
Alex is leaning on Brendon's shoulder, listening to Ryan with rapt attention, though he keeps squirming and saying, "Sick," and "gross."
"Maybe a little too much detail?" Ryan asks, hands up in the air as he demonstrates how his protagonist is holding the wolf intestines he's chewing.
"Maybe," Brendon admits. "Although, I don't know anything about writing, so." He shrugs.
"Greta will fix it if it is too graphic," Ryan says confidently. "Greta fixes everything."
"So she's an editor, too?"
Ryan shrugs. "She's my Greta. Who wants more sake bombs?"
"I don't really like sake bombs," Alex admits.
"We'll get you something fruity, baby," Shane says before turning back to the intense conversation he's having with Spencer and Jon.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Cassie asks him.
"They haven't ID'd me yet," says Alex.
Brendon orders the next round of drinks and tries to tune out Spencer's voice. He can hear it in the background, even over the conversation Ryan and Cassie are having about their desire to bring hats back into fashion. He keeps thinking of Spencer's hands on him and Spencer's moans and Spencer saying, Want your mouth on me, and, Fuck, you're so beautiful.
"I'm going to go get some air," he says, pushing away from the table. He sits on one of the benches outside and thinks about calling a cab. Then Jon sits down next to him and lights a cigarette.
"You okay?" Jon asks, turning his head and blowing his smoke away from Brendon.
"Yeah. Just maybe too many sake bombs and sushi and wolf guts."
Jon laughs. "Ryan?"
Brendon nods.
"He's really into blood and guts this time around."
They're both quiet for a while as Jon smokes and Brendon gazes up at the opaque white sky. He thinks about moving sometimes, going somewhere he could see stars at night, but Las Vegas feels too much like home.
"I don't know what happened between you and Spence," Jon says softly after a few minutes, "but whatever it is, I hope you don't hold it against me."
Brendon looks at him questioningly.
"Cassie's got an internship at the convention center and we're moving out here next month."
"Really?"
Jon nods. "She just found out for sure this morning, but that's why she came out with me this time, to interview."
"That's awesome."
"It really is. It's a really good opportunity for her, and I've just been working at Starbucks since I graduated, so why not, you know? So whatever happened, we can still be friends, right?"
"I don't actually have many friends," Brendon admits. Its something he rarely says out loud.
Jon smiles and slips his arm around Brendon's shoulder. "Good. You wanna go hotbox Spencer's rental? It'll freak him out."
"Definitely," Brendon says, and follows Jon to the car.
It's a mid-sized sedan, so it takes them a while to completely fill the interior with smoke. By the time they're done, Brendon's sprawled on the backseat, laughing at his hands. He starts playing his Chopin Etude on the air, then sits up and says, "Dude. Dude! You're gonna be here for my next recital! You can save me from my family! And in a non-scary way, because Shane and William and Gabe came to the last recital, and that was awkward."
"I don't know Gabe," says Jon, laughing, "and Shane seems okay, but I grew up with Bill."
"He lets you call him Bill?"
"Or Bilvy. He has to. It's a law since we went to middle school together. Hey, hey, Brendon, can you say Irish wist, wait, no, wrist, wristwatch. Irish wist, fuck," he laughs and slumps down in the passenger seat.
"Irish wist, fuck," Brendon laughs, shaking his head. "I want Cheetos."
Brendon doesn't know how long it is before the rest of the group is done with dinner, but eventually Shane opens the back door and peers down at him.
"I see you found something to occupy your time," Shane says with a grin.
"Cheeeeetos," says Brendon.
As Shane's hauling him up out of the car, Brendon hears Spencer cry, "What did you do? Jon, fuck, this is a rental and now it reeks of weed!"
Brendon chuckles into Shane's shoulder and lets himself be led back to their car. Little Alex is sprawled on the ground with his back against Shane's bumper. "Midori sours are delicious," he tells Brendon.
"Yes, they are," Brendon agrees as Shane opens the back door and ushers him inside. He crawls across the seat and curls up against the far door. It's really comfortable.
"No, Alex, you go in the front," Shane says as Alex crawls into the back seat next to Brendon. "Fine. Whatever. I can't believe I have to drive your trashed asses back home."
"You smell like really sweet farts," Alex says, leaning against Brendon.
Brendon laughs.
"Why do you smell like really sweet farts? Do you fart marshmallows?"
"I'm a unicorn!" Brendon cries.
"He smells like weed," Shane says as he starts the car.
"Oh," says Alex. "So that's what weed smells like."
"How are you in college?" Brendon asks him.
Alex shrugs. "I'm a good boy."
"And how are you going to get past your parents? They're going to know you're drunk."
"I called them already," Alex tells him. "I told them Shane had a migraine and you had a glass of wine and didn't feel like you should drive so we're taking a cab back to your house and that I'm going to sleep in the guest room and then Shane will drive me back in time for Mass tomorrow morning."
"Oh, my God," Brendon says, laughing. It's a good lie, though, and he kind of admires it.
He thinks about teasing Shane about having Alex spend the night again, but then he gets distracted by the prospect of all the chips he knows are in their pantry.
It's not like he doesn't have the chance to mock Shane, either, since Alex stays over again the next Tuesday. He and Shane are already making out on the couch as Brendon leaves to go to his niece's birthday party that afternoon.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming along to my parents' house and saving me once the proselytizing starts, is there?" he asks. "You know I rely on you to save me from family events."
Alex pulls away from Shane long enough to get a quick breath. His eyes are unfocused and he says, "Wait, what?"
"Have fun with your family," Shane, the bastard, says as he kisses Alex's neck. Brendon rolls his eyes and leaves before they start getting naked.
Brendon's stomach sinks as he pulls onto the street where he grew up. He parks on the street since the driveway is full of minivans and takes a deep breath. He loves and hates visiting his family in equal amounts. He takes deep breath for a few minutes and reminds himself of how rad Addison is and how she'll be upset if he doesn't show, then makes himself get out of the car.
Addison runs at him as soon as he's inside the front door, and he picks her up and swings her around, thankful for the way her laughter eases the tightness in his chest.
"What did you get me?" she asks, jumping up and down. She's wearing a pink dress and pink shoes and a pink tiara and she has pink stars painted on her cheeks.
"Was I supposed to get you something?" he asks.
Her eyes go wide and she cries, "It's my birthday! You have to buy me things on my birthday!"
Brendon laughs and picks up the package he'd set down when he'd seen her running at him. "Happy birthday," he says.
Addison snatches the present from him. "Can I open it right now?"
"No. Put it with the others."
She sighs and pouts, but does as she's told, then drags Brendon out to the back yard where his sister-in-law is painting kids' faces. Brendon gets a pretty bitching dinosaur on his cheek, then leaves the kids to run around while he heads inside for food.
"I see they got you, too," says his oldest brother, Michael, as Brendon starts piling up a paper plate with green bean casserole and Jell-o salad.
"I think mines a little manlier than yours," Brendon tells him. Michael's got a purple ladybug on his cheek.
"Dad's got a butterfly," Michael tells him.
Brendon laughs. "He does not."
"He does. Addison picked it out especially for him."
Brendon laughs again. "That's so awesome. I hope you have pictures."
"Oh, yeah. I'll email them to you tomorrow." Michael fiddles with the Sprite in his hand, then says. "So, um, just as a heads up, Mom invited one of Rachel's friends."
Brendon sighs and closes his eyes. "I told her not to."
"Rachel assured me that she's been briefed on the whole, um, orientation issue so you won't have to be the one to let her know you're not interested, but Mom's still going to try and set you up."
"Awesome," says Brendon, nodding. He wishes he could have a beer. He wishes he would have thought to do a couple of shots before he came over.
He really, really wishes he had a drink when his mother introduces him to his sister's friend, Natalie, who looks at him like he's two seconds away from sucking cock in public.
"Your friend's kind of a bitch," he says later, sitting down next to Rachel as they all gather to watch Addison open her presents.
"She's just never met anybody gay before," Rachel says, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"How is that even possible? Did you color your hair?"
"Just some highlights. She's from Heber. She just got here, like, two months ago."
"Hmm. It looks good on you."
"Thanks."
Addison announces that she's opening her presents so they all settle down to watch her. Brendon's secretly pleased when she opens his present and squeals in delight. It's a pink digital camera for kids, totally waterproof and tough enough that it won't break if Addison drops it.
"It's awesome!" Addison cries, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he chokes a little bit.
"I thought you'd like it," he says as he eases her shoulder off his trachea. "I put batteries in it so you can start taking pictures right away."
"You spoil her," Lenah, his sister-in-law, says with a grin as Addison runs around taking pictures of the floor and her presents and everybody in the room.
"It's my job as an uncle," he says with a shrug, then grins ridiculously huge as Addison holds up her camera and tells him to smile.
Before it's time for cake, Addison drags Brendon over to the piano and makes him play her songs that she and her friends can dance to. "We're ballerinas," she tells him, "so play us pretty music."
Brendon does as he's told, plays Saint-Saens' The Swan and a few more pieces from Carnival of the Animals, some Lizst, finishes off with Brahms' Hungarian Dance in G Minor so the girls can jump around and giggle.
It actually ends up being a really good night. Nobody mentions praying for him even once, and after it becomes abundantly clear to her that Natalie wants nothing to do with Brendon, his mother drops her overly-cheerful matchmaker act and instead feeds him cake and makes sure he does his stretches so his arms don't get sore.
Brendon gets home to the sound of Shane and Alex moaning from Shane's bedroom, and he rolls his eyes and puts on his headphones so he won't have to hear it.
"You really like that kid," he says to Shane later the next day.
Shane shrugs. "Whatever."
"He's stayed over, like, twice already. Isn't that a record?"
"Go fuck yourself," Shane tells him, but he says it with a grin and he doesn't deny liking Alex.
On Friday morning, Alex is sitting at the kitchen table when Brendon wanders in for cereal and coffee. Brendon makes a point to look at the clock. "Dude, it's eight thirty," he says. "Aren't you late for first period?"
"I'm in college," Alex says, frowning. "Which you know because you're my TA for choir."
"Oh, right," Brendon says with a grin.
"Stop pulling my boyfriend's pigtails," Shane says, serving up two plates of chile relleno omelets.
"Where's mine?" Brendon asks.
"You can make your own breakfast."
Brendon frowns, then grins. "Shane? Did you just call wee little Alex here your boyfriend?"
Shane pauses, then looks over at Brendon, seeming shocked by the idea. "I, uh," he says.
Alex kicks Brendon's foot. "What else would he call me?"
"The hot little eighteen year old piece of ass he's been tapping," says Brendon. "But you haven't even, I don't even know what the two of you do in bed."
"Because it's private," Alex says, as if that's obvious.
"It's not," Shane says, flustered. "We're just. I. Go away."
Brendon laughs and snags a box of cereal from off the top of the fridge. He's munching on it happily as he heads back to his own room, singing, "Shane has a boyfriend, Shane has a boyfriend..."
"So tell me," Brendon says conversationally as he lounges on the chair in Shane's office later that day. "What's it like to tap that sweet little teenage ass?"
"Oh, man," says Shane, running his fingers through his hair. "He does yoga."
"I do yoga."
"He's even bendier than you. He can do this thing where he, um." Shane frowns.
Brendon grins at him and waits patiently.
"Okay, so the other night we were, um."
Brendon swings his legs over the arm of the chair and continues to wait.
"I should be able to tell you this, B. This is like, fuck. I make porn for a living, all right? I should be able to tell you about the sex I'm having without it feeling weird."
"But it feels weird, doesn't it?"
"It's like I can't tell you. Like, I'm thinking of what to say and it just won't come out of my mouth."
Brendon laughs.
"Why is that funny?"
"Because you're falling in love with him, dipshit."
"I am not," Shane says, straightening up in his desk chair. "I don't. I haven't ever. Fuck. Fuck, is that what this is?"
Brendon nods.
"Jesus Christ. I'm ruined."
"I think it's kind of sweet."
"It's not sweet," Shane says. "It's...fucking terrifying."
Brendon smiles at him. "Welcome to the world of grown up emotions. You're going to have lots of fun here."
"I need a drink."
Brendon expects Shane just to grab a beer, but instead he tells Brendon he's heading out to a bar. "You should come with me," Shane says.
"You're not afraid of going somewhere your boyfriend won't be allowed in?" Brendon asks.
Shane frowns. "Look, do you want to come to the bar with me and Spencer or not?"
Brendon just looks at him, stunned.
"What?" Shane asks.
"Spencer Spencer? Like, Jon's Spencer? What the fuck? How are you guys even friends?"
"He's a photographer," Shane says. "I'm a photographer. We have a lot of shit in common. He said he'd look at that documentary I did about the ranchers in Snake Valley, says he knows a few groups into water conservation that might be interested in helping me get it distributed."
Brendon doesn't even know what to say to that.
"What?" Shane asks.
"Nothing," says Brendon. "I have rehearsal, anyway."
"Okay," says Shane, as if it's Brendon's loss. It's on the tip of Brendon's tongue to tell Shane the truth, to tell him that it was his precious wildlife photographer friend, Spencer, that fucked him and ditched out like he was nothing, but he doesn't. His pride keeps him from saying anything, and instead he just gets ready for his Jazz Ensemble rehearsal and makes a few notations for his small group in concert choir.
It seems like every night Shane's not fucking Alex, he's talking photography with Spencer, and it's annoying as hell. One afternoon when he's running off to hang out with super awesome Spencer and talk about super awesome Spencer stuff, Brendon snuggles down onto the couch and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Have fun with Spencer, since he's so fucking awesome," Brendon mutters under his breath as Shane leaves. He's surprised when Alex sits down next to him. "Why are you still here?" he asks. "You're not going to go hang out with your boyfriend and his new best friend?"
"And listen to them talk about cameras all day?" Alex asks. "No. They get into these ridiculous conversations about f-stops and lenses and filters and film versus digital and it's really boring." He stretches and scratches the back of his head sleepily. "You wanna go get coffee?"
Brendon raises one eyebrow at him.
"Are you always this much of a grouch or is this just what jealousy does to you?"
"Who am I jealous of?" Brendon demands.
"Spencer, because he's stealing all your best friend time."
"Well," says Brendon. "Yeah, okay. But just a little bit."
"I need coffee and food," says Alex. "And I need you to tell me how to survive Miller's theory class."
Brendon laughs at that. "You just grit your teeth and hold on, and in a semester it'll be over."
"No, really, it's killing me and I've never gotten lower than an A in my life. Ever."
"Why are you taking music theory, anyway? I thought you were pre-med."
Alex tugs on his hair. "Okay. So technically I'm pre-med. I mean. I am. Just. My parents want me to be pre-med and I like it, mostly, but." He shrugs and sits down next to Brendon on the couch. "My parents are awesome, don't get me wrong. They just want so much for me that I don't really want." He lets out a long breath, like that was hard to say. "You don't know what it's like," he says, "wanting something so bad but knowing if you go after it, you have to go against everything your family's ever wanted for you."
Brendon smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Fuck coffee," he says. "For this conversation, we need beer."
An hour later, Alex is finishing up his last slice of pizza and there's a case of empties around them. "I didn't even know you could order pizza at ten in the morning," he admits.
"You have much to learn, young padawan."
"Did I drink this much beer?" Alex asks, looking at the bottles on the coffee table and the floor. "That's a lot of beer. If I drank this much beer, you should probably take me to the hospital."
"I drank most of it."
"Okay. Good."
"Your parents," Brendon says, starting up a conversation from ten minutes earlier. "Look, parents aren't bad people. I suppose they could be, but yours don't sound bad. My parents aren't bad people. They want what's best for you but it's hard for them to realize that what's really best for you is to make your own decisions."
"Exactly," says Alex. "Like, okay, so I want to be a musician. That's not horrible, is it?"
"Your asking a music major that question?"
"It's not horrible! So they won't be able to talk about their son the doctor, so maybe I won't make very much money, I just. I love performing. I love it so much and they just, they're like okay, take choir as an elective, but." He sighs. "What did your parents want you to be?"
"A straight Mormon."
"Oh. Shit."
"Yeah. The whole musician thing is way down on their list of ways I've disappointed them."
"Do they know about the porn?"
Brendon laughs and shakes his head. "They'd have to acknowledge the fact that I'm gay, first."
"I'm lucky, I know I'm lucky." Alex tells him. "I mean, when I came out they were upset and thought that I was fourteen and didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but they're really supportive, now. They even want Shane to come to Sunday dinner."
Brendon laughs again.
"Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Laugh when I say stuff like that, about me and Shane."
"Because in the entire time I've known him, Shane's never dated anyone for longer than three days. Watching him fall for you is amusing."
Alex tugs on his hair. "You really think he's falling for me?"
"I think he already fell. And he hit the ground hard. There's, like, a giant crater where he hit the earth, like that meteor site in Arizona."
Alex leans back against the couch and smiles happily. He reaches his leg out and kicks against Brendon's foot. "Now you need a boyfriend."
Brendon rolls his eyes.
"Don't tell me you've never dated anyone for longer than three days, either."
"No, I have." Brendon shrugs. "I just don't have good luck. The last guy I slept with wouldn't even look me in the eye the next morning. He only fucked me because of the porn site, so he could say he'd fucked a porn star."
"That sucks," says Alex.
"And it's stupid, right? That I can't stop thinking about him because obviously he's an asshole, but I felt like." He shakes his head.
"What? You felt like what?"
"Like we connected. I know that's lame."
"No," says Alex. "No way. When I met Shane, it was like I just knew. And I wasn't looking for it at all, especially with him. I mean, the guy who's going to film my best friend jerking off and post it on the internet? He's totally not who I expected to fall for, but I did and it's amazing, what he and I have." He sips his beer, then frowns. "My beer drank itself," he says.
"We have rum," says Brendon, pushing himself up and heading to the kitchen on unsteady legs.
"Is it flavored?" Alex calls after him.
"Fuck flavored rum," says Brendon. He thinks about that for a moment. "Except for Malibu. That shit in Coke with fresh lime is awesome." Since they don't have fresh limes in the house, he settles for plain rum with regular Coke. "And fuck Spencer," he says, coming back into the living room with two glasses of coke with liberal splashes of rum in them. "I hope Spencer dies in a fire."
Alex looks concerned. "Just because he's stealing your best friend time with Shane--"
"Oh, my God," says Brendon. "How is Cassie the only one who's figured out that Spencer's the one who used me as a total trophy fuck?"
"Wait," says Alex. "The guy you were just talking about, that's Spencer?"
"Ding, ding, ding," says Brendon. "Give the boy a prize."
"Does Shane know?"
"No. And you're not telling him. He can be friends with a fucktard for all I care. Fuck Spencer Smith."
Alex takes a big gulp of his rum and Coke, then coughs. "That's really strong."
"Man up, pussy."
"What if he's only being friends with Shane so he can get more trophy fucks?" Alex asks. "What if he wants to trophy fuck everyone on the entire site?"
That's something Brendon honestly hadn't ever considered before. "We should tell Shane," he says.
Alex nods and takes another swig of alcoholic cola. "We need to tell Shane. It's, like, so important. Oh, my God. There are so many beer bottles on the floor right now, it's hilarious."
Brendon looks around and nods, laughing, then pulls out his phone so he can send drunken photos of him and Alex to Twitpic.
It's much, much later when Shane gets home. "Are you drunk?" Shane asks, leaning forward to peer at Brendon's face. "You are. You're totally drunk at two in the afternoon."
"We're sobering up," Brendon tells him.
"Who's we?"
Brendon points to the bathroom as the sounds of retching travel down the hall. "Your boyfriend can't really hold his rum."
"You got Alex drunk?" Shane asks, running his fingers through his hair. "He's eighteen!"
"Hey, I just gave him beer. And rum. And maybe some tequila. It's not like I fucked him in the bathroom of a Del Taco which, by the way, is probably against health code."
"He told you about that?"
"We bonded."
"Awesome," says Shane with a sigh.
The next day, Alex announces that he and Brendon are no longer allowed to bond by drinking alcohol. "It's not like Shane said we couldn't," he clarifies. "Just. I think I might die if I eat anything today, and my metabolism's really high, so I'm a little afraid that I might die of starvation."
Brendon agrees because little Alex can't hold his liquor, and Shane was a little cranky that he'd had to spend the entire night holding his boyfriend's hair back while he puked.
The next time Alex wants to bond, they go shopping. "There's a sale at Forever 21," Alex tells him excitedly. Brendon tries to pretend he doesn't care but, well. He does love Forever 21 kind of a lot.
Brendon sighs as he walks into the store. He knows that the bright colors and the upbeat sales associates should cheer him up, they usually do, but he's not feeling it.
"Look," says Alex happily. "Scarves!"
Brendon follows Alex to the accessories section and watches as Alex tries on twenty different plaid scarves. "What about this one?" Alex asks, turning to show Brendon the dark gray and purple plaid scarf he has wrapped around his neck.
Brendon shrugs. "I don't know," he says.
Alex sighs. "You're not still thinking about Spencer, are you? Because you're not allowed. We're shopping, Brendon. This is, like, sacred friend time. We're bonding!"
Brendon shrugs again and fingers an obnoxious gold plate and rhinestone necklace.
"I mean it. You're Shane's best friend and I want to get along with you. I want to be able to hang out with you guys and not just be Shane's annoying little boyfriend."
"You're not," Brendon says, because he's kind of growing fond of the kid. "I don't know. I'm just not feeling it."
Alex shakes his head and pulls Brendon over to the sunglasses. "You are required, by law, to buy a pair of sunglasses today."
"I have sunglasses," Brendon says, gesturing to where they're sitting on the top of his head.
"Sure. Boring sunglasses. You need douchebag sunglasses. Douchebag sunglasses make any day brighter." He plucks a pair of fluorescent pink aviators off the rack and slides them onto Brendon's face. "See?"
Brendon ducks down a little bit so he can see himself in the mirror. He smiles almost against his will because he looks ridiculous. "Not aviators," he says. "Plus, these have a weird point at the bottom. What about those?" He picks up a pair of dark green giant sunglasses, the lenses and frames perfect circles. "Do I look too much like a bug in these?"
Alex tips his head to the side and considers it. "No, but they're not awesome. Keep going."
In the end, Brendon decides on a pair of white Wayfarer knock-offs and a pair of bright blue Jackie-O glasses for Shane.
"Let me give them to him," Alex says, taking the Jackie-O sunglasses from Brendon's hands. "He won't wear them if you give them to him, but he does anything I want."
Brendon laughs out loud. "You little shit. And here I thought you had no idea of the effect you had on him."
Alex ducks his head down. "Um. Maybe I just pretend I don't know the effect I have on him."
Brendon laughs again. "You are now officially my favorite person in the entire world, just so you know."
"Thanks," says Alex, and they shuffle over towards the headbands. Brendon tries on most of them and wonders aloud if he can pull off the giant fuschia flower with black netting.
Alex shakes his head. "Kitsch is one thing, but that's taking it too far. But I think you should totally try on those rose wristbands."
After the accessories section, they head upstairs where Alex picks out seven different jeans to try on and nearly twenty shirts.
"Um," says the sales associate as he heads into the fitting room. "You know those are from the juniors section, right? Like, girls juniors?"
Alex looks at her, blinking guilessly. "And?" he asks sweetly. He really is officially Brendon's new favorite person.
After Alex beats Forever 21 into submission and drags it home by its hair, they stop by the food court for smoothies. "What do you think I should get Shane for our two month anniversary?" he asks as they sip their smoothies and stroll back to the car. Brendon's enjoying his white plastic douchebag sunglasses kind of a lot.
"Don't you mean two week anniversary?" Brendon asks. "Or are you, like, planning this shit a month and a half in advance?"
"We've been dating for two months," Alex says. "We met when Cash did his first solo vid."
Brendon stops and looks over at Alex. "Huh," he says.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just. I don't. You and Shane have been, like, actually dating for two months or you met two months ago?"
"Dating," Alex says.
Brendon doesn't know how to say it without sounding rude. "But you didn't hook up until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party."
Alex rolls his eyes. "I didn't spend the night until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party. I'm not actually a little kid, you know. I do know what dating is. We went to movies and out to eat and stuff, and sometimes I blew him in his car, whatever. But not, like, until the fourth date, not because I have any hard and fast rule about when it's too early to do sex stuff, just because I didn't know for sure that I wanted to have sex with him until the fourth date."
"Holy fucking shit," says Brendon. "I don't even. He didn't say shit to me about it."
Alex looks a little crestfallen at that. "He didn't?"
"Hey," says Brendon, reaching out to touch his arm. "You haven't known him for that long, so you don't know how weird this is for him. I'm not fucking kidding when I tell you that I've never known him to call a guy back after the first date, especially if the guy didn't put out. The fact that he waited, like, a month and a half to fuck you? That's insane. That's, like, devotion or some shit. Wow. I might have to sit down."
Alex sits down next to him on the bench just outside the mall entrance. "And, um," he says. "If we're going to talk about each other's love lives, I think you should talk to Spencer."
Brendon rolls his eyes.
"No. I mean it. I've gotten to know him from hanging out with him and Shane and I don't think he's the kind of guy you think he is."
"Please," says Brendon. "You weren't there, okay? He can put on a good face, but I was the one standing there in the kitchen thinking, like, fucking romantic thoughts about him before I realized that he wouldn’t even look at me. Not that he wouldn't even look me in the eye, but he wouldn't even look at me, like he was trying to pretend I wasn't there. I don't need that kind of shit in my life, Alex."
"He's not a bad guy, he's just--"
"No," Brendon says sharply, and his tone of voice must be convincing because Alex doesn't bring it up again. Not until one afternoon when Brendon's sitting at his desk studying Jazz Theory and he hears a familiar voice say, "The first or second door on the right?"
"Second," Alex calls. And then Brendon's bedroom door opens because his room is the second on the right.
"This isn't the bathroom," Spencer says, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
"That would be the first door on the left," says Brendon.
"Right," says Spencer, nodding. "So I'll just--" Then he stumbles forward, into Brendon's room and Brendon just catches sight of Alex before his door slams shut.
"Ow," says Spencer, reaching back to rub the small of his back where Alex had shoved him forward.
"Don't be mad at me," Alex says from the other side of the door.
Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Alex."
There's a heavy clunk against Brendon's door, and then Alex's voice again. "You have to talk, okay? Because neither one of you will listen to me when I try to talk."
Brendon gets up and strides across the room. "Are you even fucking kidding me?" he demands, trying the doorknob. "You locked us in? Alex, I swear to fuck--"
"You need to talk," Alex says from the other side of the door. "I'm going outside now to sit with Shane on the patio. I'll be back in twenty minutes to see if you've made any progress."
"Alex!" Brendon shouts, banging on the door. "I'm going to shave your fucking head while you sleep!"
There's no response, and Brendon tries the door again. "I think that little fucker jammed a chair under the knob or something," he says. "Seriously? What grade are we in again?"
Spencer doesn't say anything, he just sighs and sits down on the foot of Brendon's bed.
part three
He curls up on the couch and takes out his phone, stares at it for a little while before he calls his mother.
"Hi, sweetheart," she says, and her voice is like a balm, immediately soothing him. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay," he says. "Just calling to hear your voice."
"That's always nice to hear," she says. "Margie Firth, you remember the Firths, don't you?"
"Of course."
"Margie was asking me the other day about when your next recital will be and I told I was pretty sure it wasn't until November, but I wanted to ask to make sure."
"The Jazz Ensemble will be playing next month," he tells her. "The fourteenth."
"October fourteenth," she says, and he can hear her opening the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen, closes his eyes and can see her writing it down in her family calendar. She starts telling him about everything else going on, potlucks and barbecues, birthdays of his cousins and cousins' cousins.
"You're coming to Addison's birthday party on Tuesday, aren't you?"
"Of course," he says. Addison's his oldest niece and is about to turn seven.
"She keeps asking about you, wants to make sure you'll be there. I told her you would, but you know how she worries."
"Why does she worry?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. He's never known Addison to worry.
"She's worried about you," his mother tells him. "She worries because you don't come to church. She's worried about your salvation."
Brendon sighs and rubs his forehead. "Mom."
"I know. I know you don't want to talk about it, but you asked. And since you asked, I'm just going to let you know that we're all worried about you. I pray for you every day, Brendon."
Brendon can feel a headache starting between his eyes. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I know you don't want to hear it, but I do. So." She's silent for a moment. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am happy."
"You don't sound happy."
"I had a bad night," he admits. "But usually, I'm happy."
"This life you're living," she says softly, "will never bring you true happiness."
"Mom."
"I mean it. I respect that you're an adult and you think you know your own mind, but this lifestyle of yours--"
"I really can't have this conversation right now."
"You always say that. Just listen to me, all right? Just listen when I tell you that this lifestyle of yours will never do anything but bring you unhappiness and once you realize that, I want you to know that we're here for you, that we won't gloat when you come back, that you'll just be welcomed back with open arms. I even, well, Rachel's made a very good friend at the singles' ward, her name's Natalie--"
"Mom," he snaps.
"I think you'd really like her. I think you should just give it a try. I can call and see if she'll come to Addison's birthday party if you want to meet her."
"I don't want to meet her."
"She's very nice."
"I'm sure she is. She probably deserves more than people trying to set her up with a gay man."
His mother doesn't say anything, and Brendon bites his lower lip as he resists the urge to apologize to her. Instead of telling her that he's sorry, because he's not sorry, he says, "I didn't call to fight with you."
"I know." She sounds soft and sad and Brendon's sorry he called her. He upsets her all the time, he knows that, he just doesn't know how to stop. Lying to her isn't an option. He spent eighteen years lying to her, and telling the truth was ugly and it hurt everyone, but he'd never take it back; he's never wanted to take it back, even when his entire family shut him out of their lives for over a year.
"Do you want me to bring anything for Addison's birthday party?" he asks after a few more minutes of silence.
"She wants you to play the piano for her. So just plan what you're going to play, I guess."
"Okay," he says. He gets up off the couch and heads into the kitchen, opens the cabinet where they keep all their medicines and grabs a bottle of Tylenol. "I'll see you Tuesday, then. Love you."
"Love you, too, sweetheart," she says.
Brendon hangs up and downs three Tylenol, washes them down with water from the tap, then goes back to slump on the couch where he considers calling someone else. The only people he really knows, though, are a few guys from Shane's company that live in Vegas and a couple of people from school. He doesn't know anyone well enough to call them up and tell them that his heart's broken over some retarded boy that he doesn't even know and that he disappoints his mother on a regular basis and he maybe just needs someone to tell him a funny story to take his mind off it.
He flips through channels on the TV and settles for the Home Shopping Network because it makes him brain dead after only three or four minutes, and brain dead is preferable to humiliated and stupid.
After a little while, he hears Shane moving around in his room, but he ignores it and the way Shane and his conquest, Alex, make out all the way from Shane's bedroom to the front door.
Once Alex is gone, Shane hops over the back of the couch and grabs the remote. "What you watching?" he asks.
Brendon shrugs.
"Dude, you would not believe what I did last night. Seriously, that kid? Nnnng." He grins at Brendon and starts flipping the channels. "I mean, he told me he was open minded, but seriously? He did this thing where he was flat on his back and then--"
"I really don't want to hear about the perverted things you got up to last night with a teenager, okay?" Brendon snaps.
Shane puts the remote down and looks at him. "Are you all right? You always want to hear about the perverted things I get up to."
"Well, maybe I just don't feel like it."
Shane looks at the TV, then back at Brendon. "You were watching the shopping network, weren't you?"
Brendon shrugs.
"What happened? The shopping network is, like, your giant cry for help."
"I don't feel like talking about it," Brendon says, still a little mad that Shane and his teenybopper had been in bed together when he'd wanted comfort and snuggles.
"Seriously," Shane says, shifting over and sliding his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "What's going on?"
Brendon shifts until his head is in Shane's lap. He closes his eyes as Shane rubs his back. "I hooked up with a guy and then found out he only wanted to fuck me so that he could say he'd fucked a porn star."
"Oh, shit," Shane says. "I'm so sorry, B."
"Not your fault."
"Still. You want me to go over to his place and beat him up?"
Brendon shakes his head.
"You want me to get one of my IT guys to 'accidentally' put him in the sex offender's database?"
Brendon smiles a little bit, but shakes his head again. "I'll be over it by tomorrow, just, you know. You were asleep with your little piece of ass so I called my mother."
Shane doesn't tell Brendon he's stupid or ask what they talked about. He was there through the worst of it, when Brendon was living in a piece of shit studio apartment where the rats were more reliable than the heat. He knows exactly what goes on when Brendon calls his mother. He just gives Brendon a hug, then asks, "You wanna go to Fatburger and eat seven orders of onion rings?"
"And a root beer float," says Brendon.
"And a root beer float. Of course."
He actually only eats one order of onion rings, plus a veggie burger and a root beer float. He knows he's shitty company, not even complaining when Shane steals an onion ring to dip into the disgusting mess of his chili cheese fat fries.
"I think," Brendon says softly, picking at the remnants of his bun. "I think maybe I'm not going to do another video for a while. I mean I know that they make you good money, just..." he shrugs. "Maybe next year. I don't know."
"Hey," says Shane, slamming down his chocolate shake and dipping his head so he can look into Brendon's eyes. "I don't give a shit if you never do another vid ever in your entire life. I don't give a shit if you decide to start some anti-porn campaign and vilify me on national TV. You're my best friend, all right? I don't want anyone ever doing what they're not comfortable with, and that goes double for you."
"It just feels weird, now."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. You know I've got your back no matter what."
"I think about and I feel, I don't know. Dirty. Sex has never made me feel dirty, like, not ever."
"This guy really fucked with your head. You liked him, didn't you?"
Brendon nods. The onion rings are sitting heavy in his stomach.
"I seriously want to kick this guy's ass. Tell me who he is so I can at least get him banned from every club in town."
"No. Let's just go home and watch Scooby Doo or something."
"You sure?"
Brendon nods. "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Just. Whatever."
Shane frowns but doesn't argue with him. When they get home, Shane sets up a Die Hard marathon, which Brendon knows is just for his benefit. He lets Shane baby him, though, because watching all the Die Hard movies is much better than watching something Shane likes, which is usually sucidally depressing and made in, like, Finland or some other dreary northern European country.
Die Hard With a Vengeance has just started when Shane gets up and heads into the other room to talk on his phone. Brendon ignores it, since Shane's been texting the whole time, anyway, and he just focuses on how fucking cool Samuel Jackson will always be, despite the horrible misstep that was Black Snake Moan.
He turns his head to listen, though, when he hears Shane's voice, soft and fond in a way that Brendon usually only hears directed at small animals, or him when he's sick.
"No, no, I want you to come along," Shane's saying. "It doesn't matter that they're my friends, you totally won't be intruding, not at all. No, I'm totally sure. Yeah, I really want you to come with us."
Brendon turns around and rests his chin on the back of the couch, watching Shane in the kitchen.
"Yeah, okay, yeah, I'll pick you up in half an hour," Shane says, smiling to himself. Brendon's intrigued. Not even when they'd been dating, before they realized they were meant to be friends who didn't sleep together, has Brendon ever seen Shane giddy over someone.
"What's up?" Brendon asks after Shane ends the call.
"Sushi tonight," Shane tells him
"And you're bringing a date?"
Shane shrugs. "It's just that Alex kid," he says dismissively. "Whatever. Get dressed."
Brendon considers putting his contacts in and wearing something that makes him look hot, but in the end he just settles for his glasses, his most comfortable jeans and a dark green shirt.
"I kind of," he says as Shane takes a right out of their neighborhood onto the main road. "Look, me not doing any more vids is stupid. Forget I said anything."
"Nope," says Shane.
"What?"
"Get back to me in a month, okay? You can tell me what you want to do then."
"But--"
"I mean it when I say that I don't want you doing anything you're not comfortable with. You're one of the stars of my site, yeah, but so fucking what? You were my friend first. I'd be a total asshole if I cared more about the money you bring in than the fact that you're unsure right now."
"It's not that I'm unsure, really, just. I don't know. I never thought about it before, the fact that people would think they know who I am just because of what they've seen of me online."
"I wasn't going to schedule you for a shoot until the end of the month, anyway, so you spend some time thinking about it and you let me know, okay?"
"Okay," says Brendon, sliding down in the passenger seat. "Thanks."
Shane makes his way into a neighborhood of mid-sized tract homes, the kind with basketball hoops in the driveways and toys and bikes in the yards. It's kind of like the neighborhood Brendon grew up in and he thinks about calling his mom again to end things on a better note. She's disappointed that he left the church, but the pride shines through in her voice when she talks about his music, and he might be twenty-two but he still wants her approval.
They sit in the driveway for a few minutes and Shane checks the address he wrote down on a slip of paper. "This is the right house, I think," he says. His phone beeps and he reads the text he just got. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he says. "We have to go inside so his parents can meet us before they let him come out with us."
Brendon's laugh is sudden and loud. Most of the gloom of earlier is instantly erased. "You're fucking a kid that still lives with his parents?" he asks. "This is awesome."
"Hey," Shane says as Brendon opens the door. "Where are you going?"
"Inside, to meet wee little Alex's parents," Brendon tells him.
"No way. It's not like we're axe murderers. We can just. I don't know. Wait it out."
"Get your ass up and be nice to the little boy's mom," Brendon tells him.
Shane sighs and follows Brendon up to the front door. Alex answers with a nervous smile and ushers them inside. The house smells good, like enchiladas baking, and Alex's parents are sitting in the kitchen.
"This is Shane," Alex says quickly to them. "This is Brendon. These are my parents. Can I go now?"
"You boys won't be drinking tonight, will you?" Alex's mother asks, and Brendon wants to double over with laughter.
"Well, Shane's driving, so of course he won't," he says. "I can't guarantee that I won't have a glass of wine, though, I don't know. I am Alex's concert choir TA, so maybe I shouldn't set a bad example."
Alex's mother nods, like he's passed a test. Brendon is amazing with parents, knows all the right things to say; he spent most of his teenage years lying to his own parents, after all.
Shane's hanging back, staring down at the floor. Brendon considers asking for a glass of water to prolong Shane's torture, but in the end he just shakes Alex's parents' hands and gives them his brightest smile before waving goodbye.
"Oh, God, I am so sorry," Alex says once they're in the car, him in the passenger seat and Brendon sprawled in the back. "They're so embarrassing."
"Nah," says Brendon since he knows Shane has no idea what to say. "They're just parents. They're like that."
Once they get to the restaurant, Brendon keeps his head up, looking for William's tall frame and listening for Gabe's raucous laugh. When he hears his name, he turns and is surprised to see Cassie sitting at a long table next to Jon. Who's sitting next to Spencer.
He considers leaving and getting a cab, but he's not actually a tantrum-prone teenager, so he doesn't. He just sits down across from Cassie and tries to seem like he doesn't have a fucking care in the world.
"Hey," she says softly, and he feels her foot brush against his under the table. "You missed awesome waffles this morning."
Brendon shrugs and looks down at his menu. When the waitress comes by for their drink order, he says, "Sake bomb," without even having to think about it. If he's going to have to sit at a table and make nice with Spencer, he's at least going to get wasted while he does it.
"What's a sake bomb?" Alex whispers to him.
Brendon smiles at him and orders two.
Ryan shows up after the second round of sake bombs. He's wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a feathered hat in his hand. "I want sake bombs," he says as he sits down at the head of the table to Brendon's left and Cassie's right. "Greta, do you want sake bombs?"
"I want to go home," Greta says. Brendon turns to look at her and she's standing in the aisle with her arms crossed over her chest.
"No," says Ryan. "No way. You should eat with us."
"I'm going home," she tells him.
Ryan looks honestly bewildered. "But how will I get home?" he asks.
"Spencer will drive you in his rental."
"But I don't like the way Spencer drives as much as the way I like the way you drive," says Ryan.
Greta rolls her eyes. "Good night, Ryan."
Ryan sighs and frowns. Brendon thinks Ryan's one of the strangest people he's ever met. "I crashed Spencer's car a couple weeks ago," he tells Brendon. "It wasn't my fault. The pole was camouflaged."
"Okay," says Brendon since he doesn't know how to respond to that.
"I really like the way Greta drives," Ryan tells him. "She's been driving me around ever since the accident, but I don't think she likes it as much as I do."
"She's your secretary, not your slave," Cassie says, poking at Ryan with her chopsticks.
"Administrative assistant," Ryan corrects. "Although, really, that's a horrible term. I don't know what else to call her. What would you call her?" he asks Brendon.
"I've only met her twice," Brendon says.
"Good point. Hey Spencer, what would you call Greta?"
"A freaking saint to put up with you," Spencer replies.
Ryan sighs. "She's my Greta."
"And what do you do?" Brendon asks.
"Oh," says Ryan. He fidgets with his cuffs. "I'm a writer?" He doesn't seem that sure about it.
"Have you read Camisado?" Cassie asks Brendon. "Northern Downpour? Hearts and Wrists?"
"I..." Brendon nods. Northern Downpour is maybe his favorite book ever. "That's you?" he asks. "Like, you wrote those?"
Ryan nods and gives him a shy smile.
"That's so fucking, I can't," Brendon shakes his head. "No, okay, I read Northern Downpour when I was nineteen years old and it, like, saved my life. All the anger Colin felt, all the family shit he was going through, he was maybe the only person I could relate to and I'll just shut up now because I'm gushing like a spaz."
Ryan's got his head tipped down and he's blushing.
"He loves it," Cassie says in a stage whisper. "Jon, tell Brendon how much Ryan loves it when people gush over his work."
"He loves it," Jon says, nodding. "So Bden, this is my life, right? Right here at this table, this is my life. I go to college and I've got this hella awkward roommate, all elbows and libido. He was emo at the time, just for reference."
"Ryan?" Brendon asks.
"Yeah. Tight jeans, black t-shirts, eyeliner, emo bangs all in his face. So I've got this awkward little roommate and I think that I'll be a nice guy, help him get acclimated to Chicago. Halfway through the semester, his little lesbian best friend has run away from home--"
"I hate you," Spencer says.
"This little lesbian shows up at our door saying she needs a place to crash, and I'm like, hey, I'd love to help you out but, seriously, this is a men's dorm--"
"I hate you so hard."
"Turns out Ryan's lesbian best friend was really just a pretty boy. That's why he has the beard, now, because he's so pretty that everybody thinks he's a lesbian without it."
"Seriously going to stab you with my chopsticks," says Spencer.
Ryan's laughing, "You totally did look like a lesbian."
"They both looked like lesbians," Cassie tells Brendon. "My Women's Studies friends were so disappointed when they found out Ryan and Spencer were boys."
"So we put Spencer up in our dorm room for the last half of the semester, then figure hey, there are three of us, we'll just get an apartment, which we do, which is how long it takes me to figure out that Ryan's writing stories in his journals and this bitch here--"
"Hey," says Spencer.
"Fine. This guy here has been taking, like, hundreds of rolls of film ever since he ran away from Las Vegas at the ripe old age of seventeen and two months. And I'm a year older than Ryan, two years older than Spencer, and I think I'll be the wise older brother figure, help them out. I encourage Ryan to submit some of his stories, I let Spencer use the darkroom at DePaul, and what happens? Ryan gets published and Spencer gets discovered by my photography professor and starts getting freelance work, and me?"
"You got me," says Cassie, leaning in to brush her shoulder against Jon's.
Jon smiles, then, and nods. "Yeah, okay, so I totally got the best deal out of it."
"You're a great photographer, Jon," Spencer says softly, and Brendon kind of resents the sincerity in his voice. It would be easier if he was just an asshole.
"You're a photographer?" Shane asks, suddenly more interested in the conversation than in gazing at little Alex, though they're still holding hands.
Brendon turns towards Ryan as Jon and Spencer and Shane start to get into a conversation about cameras and angles and lighting, and says to Ryan, "So, what are you working on, now?"
Ryan is, apparently, working on a modern fairy tale. He gleefully describes the scene he's working on, and Brendon pushes his plate of sushi away because there seem to be a lot of intestines in Ryan's new book.
Alex is leaning on Brendon's shoulder, listening to Ryan with rapt attention, though he keeps squirming and saying, "Sick," and "gross."
"Maybe a little too much detail?" Ryan asks, hands up in the air as he demonstrates how his protagonist is holding the wolf intestines he's chewing.
"Maybe," Brendon admits. "Although, I don't know anything about writing, so." He shrugs.
"Greta will fix it if it is too graphic," Ryan says confidently. "Greta fixes everything."
"So she's an editor, too?"
Ryan shrugs. "She's my Greta. Who wants more sake bombs?"
"I don't really like sake bombs," Alex admits.
"We'll get you something fruity, baby," Shane says before turning back to the intense conversation he's having with Spencer and Jon.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Cassie asks him.
"They haven't ID'd me yet," says Alex.
Brendon orders the next round of drinks and tries to tune out Spencer's voice. He can hear it in the background, even over the conversation Ryan and Cassie are having about their desire to bring hats back into fashion. He keeps thinking of Spencer's hands on him and Spencer's moans and Spencer saying, Want your mouth on me, and, Fuck, you're so beautiful.
"I'm going to go get some air," he says, pushing away from the table. He sits on one of the benches outside and thinks about calling a cab. Then Jon sits down next to him and lights a cigarette.
"You okay?" Jon asks, turning his head and blowing his smoke away from Brendon.
"Yeah. Just maybe too many sake bombs and sushi and wolf guts."
Jon laughs. "Ryan?"
Brendon nods.
"He's really into blood and guts this time around."
They're both quiet for a while as Jon smokes and Brendon gazes up at the opaque white sky. He thinks about moving sometimes, going somewhere he could see stars at night, but Las Vegas feels too much like home.
"I don't know what happened between you and Spence," Jon says softly after a few minutes, "but whatever it is, I hope you don't hold it against me."
Brendon looks at him questioningly.
"Cassie's got an internship at the convention center and we're moving out here next month."
"Really?"
Jon nods. "She just found out for sure this morning, but that's why she came out with me this time, to interview."
"That's awesome."
"It really is. It's a really good opportunity for her, and I've just been working at Starbucks since I graduated, so why not, you know? So whatever happened, we can still be friends, right?"
"I don't actually have many friends," Brendon admits. Its something he rarely says out loud.
Jon smiles and slips his arm around Brendon's shoulder. "Good. You wanna go hotbox Spencer's rental? It'll freak him out."
"Definitely," Brendon says, and follows Jon to the car.
It's a mid-sized sedan, so it takes them a while to completely fill the interior with smoke. By the time they're done, Brendon's sprawled on the backseat, laughing at his hands. He starts playing his Chopin Etude on the air, then sits up and says, "Dude. Dude! You're gonna be here for my next recital! You can save me from my family! And in a non-scary way, because Shane and William and Gabe came to the last recital, and that was awkward."
"I don't know Gabe," says Jon, laughing, "and Shane seems okay, but I grew up with Bill."
"He lets you call him Bill?"
"Or Bilvy. He has to. It's a law since we went to middle school together. Hey, hey, Brendon, can you say Irish wist, wait, no, wrist, wristwatch. Irish wist, fuck," he laughs and slumps down in the passenger seat.
"Irish wist, fuck," Brendon laughs, shaking his head. "I want Cheetos."
Brendon doesn't know how long it is before the rest of the group is done with dinner, but eventually Shane opens the back door and peers down at him.
"I see you found something to occupy your time," Shane says with a grin.
"Cheeeeetos," says Brendon.
As Shane's hauling him up out of the car, Brendon hears Spencer cry, "What did you do? Jon, fuck, this is a rental and now it reeks of weed!"
Brendon chuckles into Shane's shoulder and lets himself be led back to their car. Little Alex is sprawled on the ground with his back against Shane's bumper. "Midori sours are delicious," he tells Brendon.
"Yes, they are," Brendon agrees as Shane opens the back door and ushers him inside. He crawls across the seat and curls up against the far door. It's really comfortable.
"No, Alex, you go in the front," Shane says as Alex crawls into the back seat next to Brendon. "Fine. Whatever. I can't believe I have to drive your trashed asses back home."
"You smell like really sweet farts," Alex says, leaning against Brendon.
Brendon laughs.
"Why do you smell like really sweet farts? Do you fart marshmallows?"
"I'm a unicorn!" Brendon cries.
"He smells like weed," Shane says as he starts the car.
"Oh," says Alex. "So that's what weed smells like."
"How are you in college?" Brendon asks him.
Alex shrugs. "I'm a good boy."
"And how are you going to get past your parents? They're going to know you're drunk."
"I called them already," Alex tells him. "I told them Shane had a migraine and you had a glass of wine and didn't feel like you should drive so we're taking a cab back to your house and that I'm going to sleep in the guest room and then Shane will drive me back in time for Mass tomorrow morning."
"Oh, my God," Brendon says, laughing. It's a good lie, though, and he kind of admires it.
He thinks about teasing Shane about having Alex spend the night again, but then he gets distracted by the prospect of all the chips he knows are in their pantry.
It's not like he doesn't have the chance to mock Shane, either, since Alex stays over again the next Tuesday. He and Shane are already making out on the couch as Brendon leaves to go to his niece's birthday party that afternoon.
"I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming along to my parents' house and saving me once the proselytizing starts, is there?" he asks. "You know I rely on you to save me from family events."
Alex pulls away from Shane long enough to get a quick breath. His eyes are unfocused and he says, "Wait, what?"
"Have fun with your family," Shane, the bastard, says as he kisses Alex's neck. Brendon rolls his eyes and leaves before they start getting naked.
Brendon's stomach sinks as he pulls onto the street where he grew up. He parks on the street since the driveway is full of minivans and takes a deep breath. He loves and hates visiting his family in equal amounts. He takes deep breath for a few minutes and reminds himself of how rad Addison is and how she'll be upset if he doesn't show, then makes himself get out of the car.
Addison runs at him as soon as he's inside the front door, and he picks her up and swings her around, thankful for the way her laughter eases the tightness in his chest.
"What did you get me?" she asks, jumping up and down. She's wearing a pink dress and pink shoes and a pink tiara and she has pink stars painted on her cheeks.
"Was I supposed to get you something?" he asks.
Her eyes go wide and she cries, "It's my birthday! You have to buy me things on my birthday!"
Brendon laughs and picks up the package he'd set down when he'd seen her running at him. "Happy birthday," he says.
Addison snatches the present from him. "Can I open it right now?"
"No. Put it with the others."
She sighs and pouts, but does as she's told, then drags Brendon out to the back yard where his sister-in-law is painting kids' faces. Brendon gets a pretty bitching dinosaur on his cheek, then leaves the kids to run around while he heads inside for food.
"I see they got you, too," says his oldest brother, Michael, as Brendon starts piling up a paper plate with green bean casserole and Jell-o salad.
"I think mines a little manlier than yours," Brendon tells him. Michael's got a purple ladybug on his cheek.
"Dad's got a butterfly," Michael tells him.
Brendon laughs. "He does not."
"He does. Addison picked it out especially for him."
Brendon laughs again. "That's so awesome. I hope you have pictures."
"Oh, yeah. I'll email them to you tomorrow." Michael fiddles with the Sprite in his hand, then says. "So, um, just as a heads up, Mom invited one of Rachel's friends."
Brendon sighs and closes his eyes. "I told her not to."
"Rachel assured me that she's been briefed on the whole, um, orientation issue so you won't have to be the one to let her know you're not interested, but Mom's still going to try and set you up."
"Awesome," says Brendon, nodding. He wishes he could have a beer. He wishes he would have thought to do a couple of shots before he came over.
He really, really wishes he had a drink when his mother introduces him to his sister's friend, Natalie, who looks at him like he's two seconds away from sucking cock in public.
"Your friend's kind of a bitch," he says later, sitting down next to Rachel as they all gather to watch Addison open her presents.
"She's just never met anybody gay before," Rachel says, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"How is that even possible? Did you color your hair?"
"Just some highlights. She's from Heber. She just got here, like, two months ago."
"Hmm. It looks good on you."
"Thanks."
Addison announces that she's opening her presents so they all settle down to watch her. Brendon's secretly pleased when she opens his present and squeals in delight. It's a pink digital camera for kids, totally waterproof and tough enough that it won't break if Addison drops it.
"It's awesome!" Addison cries, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he chokes a little bit.
"I thought you'd like it," he says as he eases her shoulder off his trachea. "I put batteries in it so you can start taking pictures right away."
"You spoil her," Lenah, his sister-in-law, says with a grin as Addison runs around taking pictures of the floor and her presents and everybody in the room.
"It's my job as an uncle," he says with a shrug, then grins ridiculously huge as Addison holds up her camera and tells him to smile.
Before it's time for cake, Addison drags Brendon over to the piano and makes him play her songs that she and her friends can dance to. "We're ballerinas," she tells him, "so play us pretty music."
Brendon does as he's told, plays Saint-Saens' The Swan and a few more pieces from Carnival of the Animals, some Lizst, finishes off with Brahms' Hungarian Dance in G Minor so the girls can jump around and giggle.
It actually ends up being a really good night. Nobody mentions praying for him even once, and after it becomes abundantly clear to her that Natalie wants nothing to do with Brendon, his mother drops her overly-cheerful matchmaker act and instead feeds him cake and makes sure he does his stretches so his arms don't get sore.
Brendon gets home to the sound of Shane and Alex moaning from Shane's bedroom, and he rolls his eyes and puts on his headphones so he won't have to hear it.
"You really like that kid," he says to Shane later the next day.
Shane shrugs. "Whatever."
"He's stayed over, like, twice already. Isn't that a record?"
"Go fuck yourself," Shane tells him, but he says it with a grin and he doesn't deny liking Alex.
On Friday morning, Alex is sitting at the kitchen table when Brendon wanders in for cereal and coffee. Brendon makes a point to look at the clock. "Dude, it's eight thirty," he says. "Aren't you late for first period?"
"I'm in college," Alex says, frowning. "Which you know because you're my TA for choir."
"Oh, right," Brendon says with a grin.
"Stop pulling my boyfriend's pigtails," Shane says, serving up two plates of chile relleno omelets.
"Where's mine?" Brendon asks.
"You can make your own breakfast."
Brendon frowns, then grins. "Shane? Did you just call wee little Alex here your boyfriend?"
Shane pauses, then looks over at Brendon, seeming shocked by the idea. "I, uh," he says.
Alex kicks Brendon's foot. "What else would he call me?"
"The hot little eighteen year old piece of ass he's been tapping," says Brendon. "But you haven't even, I don't even know what the two of you do in bed."
"Because it's private," Alex says, as if that's obvious.
"It's not," Shane says, flustered. "We're just. I. Go away."
Brendon laughs and snags a box of cereal from off the top of the fridge. He's munching on it happily as he heads back to his own room, singing, "Shane has a boyfriend, Shane has a boyfriend..."
"So tell me," Brendon says conversationally as he lounges on the chair in Shane's office later that day. "What's it like to tap that sweet little teenage ass?"
"Oh, man," says Shane, running his fingers through his hair. "He does yoga."
"I do yoga."
"He's even bendier than you. He can do this thing where he, um." Shane frowns.
Brendon grins at him and waits patiently.
"Okay, so the other night we were, um."
Brendon swings his legs over the arm of the chair and continues to wait.
"I should be able to tell you this, B. This is like, fuck. I make porn for a living, all right? I should be able to tell you about the sex I'm having without it feeling weird."
"But it feels weird, doesn't it?"
"It's like I can't tell you. Like, I'm thinking of what to say and it just won't come out of my mouth."
Brendon laughs.
"Why is that funny?"
"Because you're falling in love with him, dipshit."
"I am not," Shane says, straightening up in his desk chair. "I don't. I haven't ever. Fuck. Fuck, is that what this is?"
Brendon nods.
"Jesus Christ. I'm ruined."
"I think it's kind of sweet."
"It's not sweet," Shane says. "It's...fucking terrifying."
Brendon smiles at him. "Welcome to the world of grown up emotions. You're going to have lots of fun here."
"I need a drink."
Brendon expects Shane just to grab a beer, but instead he tells Brendon he's heading out to a bar. "You should come with me," Shane says.
"You're not afraid of going somewhere your boyfriend won't be allowed in?" Brendon asks.
Shane frowns. "Look, do you want to come to the bar with me and Spencer or not?"
Brendon just looks at him, stunned.
"What?" Shane asks.
"Spencer Spencer? Like, Jon's Spencer? What the fuck? How are you guys even friends?"
"He's a photographer," Shane says. "I'm a photographer. We have a lot of shit in common. He said he'd look at that documentary I did about the ranchers in Snake Valley, says he knows a few groups into water conservation that might be interested in helping me get it distributed."
Brendon doesn't even know what to say to that.
"What?" Shane asks.
"Nothing," says Brendon. "I have rehearsal, anyway."
"Okay," says Shane, as if it's Brendon's loss. It's on the tip of Brendon's tongue to tell Shane the truth, to tell him that it was his precious wildlife photographer friend, Spencer, that fucked him and ditched out like he was nothing, but he doesn't. His pride keeps him from saying anything, and instead he just gets ready for his Jazz Ensemble rehearsal and makes a few notations for his small group in concert choir.
It seems like every night Shane's not fucking Alex, he's talking photography with Spencer, and it's annoying as hell. One afternoon when he's running off to hang out with super awesome Spencer and talk about super awesome Spencer stuff, Brendon snuggles down onto the couch and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Have fun with Spencer, since he's so fucking awesome," Brendon mutters under his breath as Shane leaves. He's surprised when Alex sits down next to him. "Why are you still here?" he asks. "You're not going to go hang out with your boyfriend and his new best friend?"
"And listen to them talk about cameras all day?" Alex asks. "No. They get into these ridiculous conversations about f-stops and lenses and filters and film versus digital and it's really boring." He stretches and scratches the back of his head sleepily. "You wanna go get coffee?"
Brendon raises one eyebrow at him.
"Are you always this much of a grouch or is this just what jealousy does to you?"
"Who am I jealous of?" Brendon demands.
"Spencer, because he's stealing all your best friend time."
"Well," says Brendon. "Yeah, okay. But just a little bit."
"I need coffee and food," says Alex. "And I need you to tell me how to survive Miller's theory class."
Brendon laughs at that. "You just grit your teeth and hold on, and in a semester it'll be over."
"No, really, it's killing me and I've never gotten lower than an A in my life. Ever."
"Why are you taking music theory, anyway? I thought you were pre-med."
Alex tugs on his hair. "Okay. So technically I'm pre-med. I mean. I am. Just. My parents want me to be pre-med and I like it, mostly, but." He shrugs and sits down next to Brendon on the couch. "My parents are awesome, don't get me wrong. They just want so much for me that I don't really want." He lets out a long breath, like that was hard to say. "You don't know what it's like," he says, "wanting something so bad but knowing if you go after it, you have to go against everything your family's ever wanted for you."
Brendon smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Fuck coffee," he says. "For this conversation, we need beer."
An hour later, Alex is finishing up his last slice of pizza and there's a case of empties around them. "I didn't even know you could order pizza at ten in the morning," he admits.
"You have much to learn, young padawan."
"Did I drink this much beer?" Alex asks, looking at the bottles on the coffee table and the floor. "That's a lot of beer. If I drank this much beer, you should probably take me to the hospital."
"I drank most of it."
"Okay. Good."
"Your parents," Brendon says, starting up a conversation from ten minutes earlier. "Look, parents aren't bad people. I suppose they could be, but yours don't sound bad. My parents aren't bad people. They want what's best for you but it's hard for them to realize that what's really best for you is to make your own decisions."
"Exactly," says Alex. "Like, okay, so I want to be a musician. That's not horrible, is it?"
"Your asking a music major that question?"
"It's not horrible! So they won't be able to talk about their son the doctor, so maybe I won't make very much money, I just. I love performing. I love it so much and they just, they're like okay, take choir as an elective, but." He sighs. "What did your parents want you to be?"
"A straight Mormon."
"Oh. Shit."
"Yeah. The whole musician thing is way down on their list of ways I've disappointed them."
"Do they know about the porn?"
Brendon laughs and shakes his head. "They'd have to acknowledge the fact that I'm gay, first."
"I'm lucky, I know I'm lucky." Alex tells him. "I mean, when I came out they were upset and thought that I was fourteen and didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but they're really supportive, now. They even want Shane to come to Sunday dinner."
Brendon laughs again.
"Why do you always do that?"
"Do what?"
"Laugh when I say stuff like that, about me and Shane."
"Because in the entire time I've known him, Shane's never dated anyone for longer than three days. Watching him fall for you is amusing."
Alex tugs on his hair. "You really think he's falling for me?"
"I think he already fell. And he hit the ground hard. There's, like, a giant crater where he hit the earth, like that meteor site in Arizona."
Alex leans back against the couch and smiles happily. He reaches his leg out and kicks against Brendon's foot. "Now you need a boyfriend."
Brendon rolls his eyes.
"Don't tell me you've never dated anyone for longer than three days, either."
"No, I have." Brendon shrugs. "I just don't have good luck. The last guy I slept with wouldn't even look me in the eye the next morning. He only fucked me because of the porn site, so he could say he'd fucked a porn star."
"That sucks," says Alex.
"And it's stupid, right? That I can't stop thinking about him because obviously he's an asshole, but I felt like." He shakes his head.
"What? You felt like what?"
"Like we connected. I know that's lame."
"No," says Alex. "No way. When I met Shane, it was like I just knew. And I wasn't looking for it at all, especially with him. I mean, the guy who's going to film my best friend jerking off and post it on the internet? He's totally not who I expected to fall for, but I did and it's amazing, what he and I have." He sips his beer, then frowns. "My beer drank itself," he says.
"We have rum," says Brendon, pushing himself up and heading to the kitchen on unsteady legs.
"Is it flavored?" Alex calls after him.
"Fuck flavored rum," says Brendon. He thinks about that for a moment. "Except for Malibu. That shit in Coke with fresh lime is awesome." Since they don't have fresh limes in the house, he settles for plain rum with regular Coke. "And fuck Spencer," he says, coming back into the living room with two glasses of coke with liberal splashes of rum in them. "I hope Spencer dies in a fire."
Alex looks concerned. "Just because he's stealing your best friend time with Shane--"
"Oh, my God," says Brendon. "How is Cassie the only one who's figured out that Spencer's the one who used me as a total trophy fuck?"
"Wait," says Alex. "The guy you were just talking about, that's Spencer?"
"Ding, ding, ding," says Brendon. "Give the boy a prize."
"Does Shane know?"
"No. And you're not telling him. He can be friends with a fucktard for all I care. Fuck Spencer Smith."
Alex takes a big gulp of his rum and Coke, then coughs. "That's really strong."
"Man up, pussy."
"What if he's only being friends with Shane so he can get more trophy fucks?" Alex asks. "What if he wants to trophy fuck everyone on the entire site?"
That's something Brendon honestly hadn't ever considered before. "We should tell Shane," he says.
Alex nods and takes another swig of alcoholic cola. "We need to tell Shane. It's, like, so important. Oh, my God. There are so many beer bottles on the floor right now, it's hilarious."
Brendon looks around and nods, laughing, then pulls out his phone so he can send drunken photos of him and Alex to Twitpic.
It's much, much later when Shane gets home. "Are you drunk?" Shane asks, leaning forward to peer at Brendon's face. "You are. You're totally drunk at two in the afternoon."
"We're sobering up," Brendon tells him.
"Who's we?"
Brendon points to the bathroom as the sounds of retching travel down the hall. "Your boyfriend can't really hold his rum."
"You got Alex drunk?" Shane asks, running his fingers through his hair. "He's eighteen!"
"Hey, I just gave him beer. And rum. And maybe some tequila. It's not like I fucked him in the bathroom of a Del Taco which, by the way, is probably against health code."
"He told you about that?"
"We bonded."
"Awesome," says Shane with a sigh.
The next day, Alex announces that he and Brendon are no longer allowed to bond by drinking alcohol. "It's not like Shane said we couldn't," he clarifies. "Just. I think I might die if I eat anything today, and my metabolism's really high, so I'm a little afraid that I might die of starvation."
Brendon agrees because little Alex can't hold his liquor, and Shane was a little cranky that he'd had to spend the entire night holding his boyfriend's hair back while he puked.
The next time Alex wants to bond, they go shopping. "There's a sale at Forever 21," Alex tells him excitedly. Brendon tries to pretend he doesn't care but, well. He does love Forever 21 kind of a lot.
Brendon sighs as he walks into the store. He knows that the bright colors and the upbeat sales associates should cheer him up, they usually do, but he's not feeling it.
"Look," says Alex happily. "Scarves!"
Brendon follows Alex to the accessories section and watches as Alex tries on twenty different plaid scarves. "What about this one?" Alex asks, turning to show Brendon the dark gray and purple plaid scarf he has wrapped around his neck.
Brendon shrugs. "I don't know," he says.
Alex sighs. "You're not still thinking about Spencer, are you? Because you're not allowed. We're shopping, Brendon. This is, like, sacred friend time. We're bonding!"
Brendon shrugs again and fingers an obnoxious gold plate and rhinestone necklace.
"I mean it. You're Shane's best friend and I want to get along with you. I want to be able to hang out with you guys and not just be Shane's annoying little boyfriend."
"You're not," Brendon says, because he's kind of growing fond of the kid. "I don't know. I'm just not feeling it."
Alex shakes his head and pulls Brendon over to the sunglasses. "You are required, by law, to buy a pair of sunglasses today."
"I have sunglasses," Brendon says, gesturing to where they're sitting on the top of his head.
"Sure. Boring sunglasses. You need douchebag sunglasses. Douchebag sunglasses make any day brighter." He plucks a pair of fluorescent pink aviators off the rack and slides them onto Brendon's face. "See?"
Brendon ducks down a little bit so he can see himself in the mirror. He smiles almost against his will because he looks ridiculous. "Not aviators," he says. "Plus, these have a weird point at the bottom. What about those?" He picks up a pair of dark green giant sunglasses, the lenses and frames perfect circles. "Do I look too much like a bug in these?"
Alex tips his head to the side and considers it. "No, but they're not awesome. Keep going."
In the end, Brendon decides on a pair of white Wayfarer knock-offs and a pair of bright blue Jackie-O glasses for Shane.
"Let me give them to him," Alex says, taking the Jackie-O sunglasses from Brendon's hands. "He won't wear them if you give them to him, but he does anything I want."
Brendon laughs out loud. "You little shit. And here I thought you had no idea of the effect you had on him."
Alex ducks his head down. "Um. Maybe I just pretend I don't know the effect I have on him."
Brendon laughs again. "You are now officially my favorite person in the entire world, just so you know."
"Thanks," says Alex, and they shuffle over towards the headbands. Brendon tries on most of them and wonders aloud if he can pull off the giant fuschia flower with black netting.
Alex shakes his head. "Kitsch is one thing, but that's taking it too far. But I think you should totally try on those rose wristbands."
After the accessories section, they head upstairs where Alex picks out seven different jeans to try on and nearly twenty shirts.
"Um," says the sales associate as he heads into the fitting room. "You know those are from the juniors section, right? Like, girls juniors?"
Alex looks at her, blinking guilessly. "And?" he asks sweetly. He really is officially Brendon's new favorite person.
After Alex beats Forever 21 into submission and drags it home by its hair, they stop by the food court for smoothies. "What do you think I should get Shane for our two month anniversary?" he asks as they sip their smoothies and stroll back to the car. Brendon's enjoying his white plastic douchebag sunglasses kind of a lot.
"Don't you mean two week anniversary?" Brendon asks. "Or are you, like, planning this shit a month and a half in advance?"
"We've been dating for two months," Alex says. "We met when Cash did his first solo vid."
Brendon stops and looks over at Alex. "Huh," he says.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Just. I don't. You and Shane have been, like, actually dating for two months or you met two months ago?"
"Dating," Alex says.
Brendon doesn't know how to say it without sounding rude. "But you didn't hook up until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party."
Alex rolls his eyes. "I didn't spend the night until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party. I'm not actually a little kid, you know. I do know what dating is. We went to movies and out to eat and stuff, and sometimes I blew him in his car, whatever. But not, like, until the fourth date, not because I have any hard and fast rule about when it's too early to do sex stuff, just because I didn't know for sure that I wanted to have sex with him until the fourth date."
"Holy fucking shit," says Brendon. "I don't even. He didn't say shit to me about it."
Alex looks a little crestfallen at that. "He didn't?"
"Hey," says Brendon, reaching out to touch his arm. "You haven't known him for that long, so you don't know how weird this is for him. I'm not fucking kidding when I tell you that I've never known him to call a guy back after the first date, especially if the guy didn't put out. The fact that he waited, like, a month and a half to fuck you? That's insane. That's, like, devotion or some shit. Wow. I might have to sit down."
Alex sits down next to him on the bench just outside the mall entrance. "And, um," he says. "If we're going to talk about each other's love lives, I think you should talk to Spencer."
Brendon rolls his eyes.
"No. I mean it. I've gotten to know him from hanging out with him and Shane and I don't think he's the kind of guy you think he is."
"Please," says Brendon. "You weren't there, okay? He can put on a good face, but I was the one standing there in the kitchen thinking, like, fucking romantic thoughts about him before I realized that he wouldn’t even look at me. Not that he wouldn't even look me in the eye, but he wouldn't even look at me, like he was trying to pretend I wasn't there. I don't need that kind of shit in my life, Alex."
"He's not a bad guy, he's just--"
"No," Brendon says sharply, and his tone of voice must be convincing because Alex doesn't bring it up again. Not until one afternoon when Brendon's sitting at his desk studying Jazz Theory and he hears a familiar voice say, "The first or second door on the right?"
"Second," Alex calls. And then Brendon's bedroom door opens because his room is the second on the right.
"This isn't the bathroom," Spencer says, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly.
"That would be the first door on the left," says Brendon.
"Right," says Spencer, nodding. "So I'll just--" Then he stumbles forward, into Brendon's room and Brendon just catches sight of Alex before his door slams shut.
"Ow," says Spencer, reaching back to rub the small of his back where Alex had shoved him forward.
"Don't be mad at me," Alex says from the other side of the door.
Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Alex."
There's a heavy clunk against Brendon's door, and then Alex's voice again. "You have to talk, okay? Because neither one of you will listen to me when I try to talk."
Brendon gets up and strides across the room. "Are you even fucking kidding me?" he demands, trying the doorknob. "You locked us in? Alex, I swear to fuck--"
"You need to talk," Alex says from the other side of the door. "I'm going outside now to sit with Shane on the patio. I'll be back in twenty minutes to see if you've made any progress."
"Alex!" Brendon shouts, banging on the door. "I'm going to shave your fucking head while you sleep!"
There's no response, and Brendon tries the door again. "I think that little fucker jammed a chair under the knob or something," he says. "Seriously? What grade are we in again?"
Spencer doesn't say anything, he just sighs and sits down on the foot of Brendon's bed.
part three