Oh the Nerve To Be So Friendly

don't take this too seriously.

Ryan’s ears were still ringing and his head was still spinning with adrenaline as he carried his guitar back to its case. People he half-knew called congratulations or offered cans of beer to him as he passed. He shrugged them all off. 

“That was extra loud tonight, huh? My head hurts!” said Spencer, cuffing Ryan on the shoulder. “But man, I think we were pretty good.”

“Yeah. Pretty good. You nailed the last song.” He offered a tired smile to his friend before he hunched over and began fiddling with the case’s latches. Nerves made his fingers slip on the metal and he sighed, collecting his thoughts. 

The show had gone well. But it could’ve been better. Ryan kept fucking up that same tricky run in his solo. Spencer was just slightly offbeat for the first song. And Jon.. Well, he pretty much did his job. But the point was, they needed a lot more practice if they wanted to be good good.

The three of them had made a bit of a name for themselves since the semester started a few months ago. Spencer and Ryan had grown up playing music together. For Ryan, his favorite bands were his whole world. Writing songs was his only outlet for all the creativity, anger, despair, and countless other over-the-top adolescent emotions that beat him half to death in high school. College was the perfect opportunity to do something serious with their shared passion. And when Spencer found out his new roommate was a bassist, it was only a question of where they were going to practice. (It ended up being the guest house on Jon’s aunt’s property. Hanging out with rich kids paid off). They called the band Winter Alliance. Ryan couldn’t lie, he was proud of himself for that one. It fit their music. Chilly, like a winter wind, but with an optimistic spirit. Spencer and Jon, clearly thinking the band was a democracy, begged him to call it  “domesticated lizard” instead. They were real funny.

Thankfully, there was already a growing music scene in the city. Plenty of awesome bands were starting out in the area, and there was plenty of demand for live entertainment, as well as no shortage of venues. That also meant there was a bit of competition for people’s attention. So far they mostly played house parties, relegated to basements, garages, and backyards, But there was a neighborhood show coming up that they managed to make it onto the set for. It was exciting, a chance to meet some of the other local bands they looked up to and gain some new fans outside of the university. But…They weren’t ready. Aside from all the little things they needed to work on, Ryan had one problem that wasn’t so easily fixed: his voice. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. It was obvious he wasn’t a confident singer. His voice was thin, reedy, and strained easily, leaving him hoarse and barely able to talk after every show. Despite all his effort, the thought that he'd never improve enough ate away at him whenever he had a moment to think. He wouldn't admit that to the other two, of course. 

“Hey guys! Spencer! Ryan! Jon! You were awesome!” came a gratingly cheerful voice, startling him out of his reminiscing.

Great. If Ryan didn’t have a headache before, he sure did now. His fingers tightened on the strap of his guitar case.

Brendon elbowed his way out of the crowd with his own freakishly tall bassist trailing behind him. His hair stuck out at random angles, his obnoxious bright orange shirt was only half tucked into his jeans, and his dopey face was lit up in a faux-innocent smile as he waved at them.‘You keep getting better! That last song, man. It was a little experimental, but…”

Ryan wasn’t falling for his act. He whipped around and grabbed his case jerkily, stumbling as he stalked toward the door. “Yeah, we were great. I bet your mind was blown. Good talk.”

“Ryan! Come on, man, at least stay for Brendon’s set!” Spencer called after him, but he probably knew there was no point. Spencer could talk all day about how great Brendon’s voice was, how songs were really unique, Ryan, just give him a chance.   But Ryan wasn’t going to stick around to see the boy make a fool of himself on stage like he did every time they crossed paths. If he wanted to dance around like a circus monkey and completely insult the hard work the other local bands put in, Ryan reserved the right to abstain from participation. Frustration pricked at him as he stepped out of the bustling, crowded house into the chilly darkness outside. Annoyingly, Rather than thinking about how to improve their shows, or lyrics for their new material, or even how he was going to afford that calculus textbook, he just couldn't get Brendon's taunting smile out of his head. Or the wide puppy eyes, or the snub nose it sat under. He’d never met someone with a more punchable face. It was very distracting.

Ryan couldn’t believe he’d thought they would be friends when they first met. At the start of the school year, Spencer, apparently thinking Ryan needed to “branch out”, had ignored his pleas to room together. Personally, Ryan thought one friend was perfectly fine, but Spencer couldn’t be convinced. So when Ryan carried his bags up to his dorm for the first time, there was a complete stranger already dozing on the other bed. After he awoke and noticed Ryan, he was all too pleased to introduce himself. 

“Hey, I’m Brendon. Nice campus, huh? I’m pretty excited, I love exploring new places. And meeting new people, of course. Like you. You seem pretty cool. I like your hair. Um… I'm not really sure where I’m going with this.” Brendon wrung his hands, flashing a half-smile at Ryan.

Ryan had just stared. “You.. like my hair.” 

“Yeah! You look like a … um…. One of those hamsters. With the fur tufts.” 

Ryan had genuinely laughed at that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to make new friends after all, he’d thought. Poor, innocent past Ryan. He hadn’t yet recognized the subtle tactics Brendon was already using to get into his head. 

After that, they’d gotten to know each other fast. Brendon wanted to know everything about Ryan, and for the most part, he was happy to tell him. It was nice to feel like someone was genuinely interested in him. The cracks did start to show, of course. Brendon was funny sometimes, but he just never stopped. He was like a TV with no off button, clearly under the impression that everyone needed to know what he was thinking at all times. And he had the worst taste in music. Ryan was proud of his collection of favorite bands and his well-developed understanding of what was cool and what wasn’t. He didn’t listen to trashy radio pop music, he listened to real, deep, meaningful music. Music with heart. Music that didn’t make people millionaires. Brendon, on the other hand, well. Ryan doubted he would know substance if it hit him over the head with a mallett. When it was his turn to use the CD player, Ryan was tossed back and forth between feeling like he was at a Mormon youth group meetup, a 14 year old girl’s sleepover, and a nursing home. And of course, he had to belt along with every word, even if it was the night before an exam. It also got weird how Brendon fawned over him and followed him around like a lost puppy. When he found out Ryan, Spencer, and Jon were starting a band, he thought it was the coolest thing in the world, showing up at all their practices. Ryan constantly noticed Brendon staring at him as he scribbled lyrics at his desk. It was unsettling, sure, but he figured the guy was just socially unaware. 

Then Brendon did something that Ryan couldn't forgive. They were at a party together in some rich kid’s backyard, standing in a group with Spencer, Jon, and some of Brendon's friends, talking about the band. 

“You guys are pretty good. I don’t really get some of the lyrics but.. Um.. I'm sure they’re all deep and stuff.” mumbled a short girl with pigtails.  

“Pretty good? They’re amazing. I can’t wait to see you guys play for real next month.” said Brendon, grinning. 

“You flatter us too much.” Spencer laughed. “And yeah, the lyrics are a bit wordy. Ryan sure does love his metaphors. 'Ooh, the autumn leaves... '”

He elbowed his friend in the ribs, huffing. “It’s not my fault you two didn’t pass 8th grade English.” 

When the group’s laughter died down, a conspiratorial look came over Brendon's face. “But seriously, Ryan, you’re really a writer. The stuff you guys play now is good and all, but that draft you were working on was your best material yet.

“.... that what?” he said, floundering. When had he mentioned an unfinished song to Brendon? 

“I hope you don't mind,” Brendon’s grin widened. “You left your notebook open while you showered yesterday, and I had to see what you were writing.” He reached into his back pocket and flipped open his phone, flashing the photo on screen at Ryan. “You really have something there, Ryan. Why haven’t you played it at practice yet? It's poetry.” 

His stomach dropped. Brendon was passing his fucking phone around the circle, showing everyone the most personal song he’d ever written. Lyrics he wasn't sure he ever wanted to see the light of day. Fuck, suddenly the room was spinning.

“The double meanings, the hospital imagery... It's a metaphor, right? Maybe it’s about someone who’s struggling and can’t help themselves. Honestly, I wish I knew where you got your ideas from.”

“Hey, Brendon, maybe you shouldn't…” Spencer shoved the phone back at Brendon when it reached him, looking over at Ryan warily. He probably noticed his quickly reddening face, his trembling hands. His mouth was hanging slightly open, words failing him.

“What’s the problem? I mean it, Ryan, it’s great. Don’t be shy!” Brendon seemed unaware of the tension, unaware of how everyone was now watching Ryan, cautiously awaiting his reaction. Unaware that Ryan felt sick enough to throw up on the floor right then.  “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn't true. I can’t wait to hear-”

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Ryan hissed through gritted teeth, finally finding the willpower to form a sentence. He knew his face was bright red now. Water collected at the corners of his eyes. It was probably sweat.  “Delete that photo. Jesus. Why would you do this?” 

He didn’t wait for an answer, putting a hand in his hair and turning away from the crowd. He ignored Spencer's worried voice calling after him, shoving drunk kids out of the way and running through the gate and down to the bus stop before his brain even caught up to what had just happened. His arms shook the whole ride home, and he fidgeted and twisted strands of his already greasy hair to try and shed some of the nervous energy that writhed in his gut. The single old lady riding with him probably thought he was crazy. He didn't care. He just kept replaying the scene in his head. The glint in Brendon's eye, his cartoonish smile before he practically cut Ryan open for everyone to see. The betrayal was just too much. Too calculated. The only reasonable conclusion was that Brendon wanted to hurt him. He clenched his fists in his lap and tried to stop thinking.

When Brendon got back to their dorm that night, he had the decency to look guilty. “Hey, Ryan… I’m really sorry.” He said, closing the door quietly and glancing over to where Ryan was curled under his sheets. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, I just got excited. Everyone loved the new song, really. They told me.”

Ryan sat up and crossed his arms, making a show of rolling his eyes, shrugging. “Actually, I don’t even care. It didn’t bother me. Those were just some scraps I stopped working on months ago.”

Brendon shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. “..Oh! Really? You seemed pretty upset, I was worried I-”

“Why would I be upset?.” Ryan tried to keep the edge out of his voice.  Brendon wanted a reaction from him, but he wasn’t gonna get one.

“I... I mean, I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t hurt your feelings..”

“Couldn’t care less, Brendon. I’m going to bed.” 

“Okay… goodnight Ryan.” Brendon acted all relieved at that, his smile returning to its usual position. “I’m glad we’re still friends. You’re a cool guy, really.”

Ryan didn’t bother responding. 

Brendon had tried to act like things were normal again after that, calling a cheerful hello to him the next morning as Ryan tugged on his boot-cut jeans and rushed out the door, but it was over. He wasn’t letting Brendon waste another second of his time. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. They still had to share the same 200 square feet of space. It was rare that they were both in, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He’d done his best to ignore the guy whenever he practically pranced into their dorm, already in the middle of recounting a story about his day even though he must have known Ryan wouldn’t want to hear it.. Or worse, breaking into song at any hour of the night, just to show off his flawless fucking vocal cords. It was like he was taunting Ryan. When smothering himself with a pillow wasn’t enough, he was forced to flee to Spencer and Jon's room. But even they didn’t get why he had a problem with Brendon. They were enemy agents, he swore. Always calling him things like “irrational” and “schizophrenic". Even when he brought up The Incident, they just told him Brendon had been trying to help in his own strange, boundaryless way, that Ryan needed to let it go. They didn’t want to see the truth: Brendon clearly had it out for Ryan, and had made it his goal to get under his skin. 

Ryan quickly realized the motivation behind Brendon’s campaign when he brought some guy named Dallon to their dorm one day, claiming they were “working on a song” together. That’s right, it wasn’t enough to take up Ryan’s space, time, and sanity; he had to get a piece of the one thing he cared about most: music. It took Ryan all his willpower to seethe silently as they worked at Brendon’s desk, fucking around on an acoustic guitar and pretending they knew the first thing about songwriting, rather than march across the room and punch Brendon in his stupid face. The final knife in his back came when Spencer agreed to split his time between both bands, claiming they couldn’t find another drummer. Now his best friend was musically two-timing him, and with his mortal enemy, no less. Ryan could only guess that Spencer took pity on Brendon and wanted his “band” to have at least a little talent in it. 

Even their name was obnoxious. It started as a sarcastic suggestion from Ryan while they relaxed after a jam session that Brendon had, of course, tagged along to. Spencer and Jon, those traitors, let him take the last space on the couch, while Ryan made a point of sitting across the room on the hard concrete floor of the practice space, glaring over at them.

“So what’s your guys’ band called?” Jon asked over his can of beer.

“Uh.. we don’t actually have one yet. Do we need one?” 

Do they need a band name? Ryan couldn’t believe his ears. It really was all just a big joke to him. 

“Obviously, man, you can’t just call it ‘Brendon’s band’. Half the fun is coming up with a cool name. Like ours, Domest- sorry, Winter Alliance.” Spencer grinned at Ryan, who was now staring daggers at them. 

“You idiots should call it ‘Virginity Rocks, ’” Ryan said in his best attempt at a venomous tone.

“Hey, wait, yeah!” Brendon laughed. “That’s hilarious. I hope Dallon doesn’t mind. Thanks, Ry!”

“Oh, perfect, we’ll name it in your honor, Ry .” Said Spencer, giggling like a 6 year old girl.

Ryan thought he could feel steam coming out of his ears. Fuck that stupid nickname, fuck Brendon, fuck his lame ass band, and fuck Spencer too.

“You would think that’s funny, wouldn’t you?” True to form, he got up and stormed out of the room, knocking Brendon’s beer out of his hand as he did. 

“Hey, be more careful, man!” Brendon called after him. “I hope you didn’t get any on you... Those shoes are too cool to stain.” Of course, he couldn’t even take an insult like a normal person. Ryan was going to lose his mind if this kept up. 

Brendon was obnoxiously proud of himself in the next few weeks, constantly bragging to Ryan about how well their practices were going. Clearly, he thought they could compete with Winter Alliance. But he wasn’t gonna take this from him. Ryan had sworn then that he wouldn’t let Brendon and his little hobby project outdo his band no matter what. And he definitely wouldn’t subject himself to watching them play. 

---

Ryan's journal

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You aren’t funny. 

my roommate is pissing me off agan. he thinks he gets my music. well he doesnt. we are on a whole nother level. we’re going places. i dont care what he thinks of me. he doesnt even listen to anything written after 1989.

show on the 25th, nerves are getting to me

we’re working hard. spencers improving his drumming every day. trying not to freak out. we might start recording some songs soon. im working on some new material too, just wait.

Listen up

hey kids. if you wanna know what music’s cool;read this. ive been listening to some awesome bands lately and if you like me and jon and spencer’s stuff you’ll like them for sure. 

• the least self-destructive self-destructive thing you could do - respira
• love on the catwalk - her words kill
• without - ashen
• niki fm - hawthorne heights 
• panic - name taken
• sic transit gloria… glory fades - brand new
• regrets are unanswered dreams - jejune
• we looked like giants - death cab for cutie

also remember to be at our show this month or your a loser.

Everything sucks

i  keep getting spam calls.our practice space has a leaky roof. my fucking bus pass expired. and my annoying roommate wore my name taken shirt and got pasta sauce all over it. fuck this and you.

---

The date of the show was approaching fast. He tried to convince Spencer and Jon to ban Brendon from practices now that they had something real to prepare for, but they said it would break his heart. So Ryan was forced to stare intently at the strings of his guitar to avoid meeting the wide-eyed gaze of the boy, who was seemingly completely absorbed in their music. Ryan knew an intimidation tactic when he saw one, and he wasn’t gonna let it break his concentration. He had plenty of other things to worry about. He was practically making himself sick every night with nerves, and he would wake up in a cold sweat from vivid dreams about forgetting the lyrics on stage or tripping over a wire and making himself look stupid.

Brendon, clearly sensing weakness, was spending even more time needling him than usual. He would sit on Ryan’s bed and say idiotic things like “Do you need to talk?” and worse, he kept hugging Ryan, whose bristling and squirming never deterred him. Once, when Ryan was facing the wall with his headphones in, typing a Livejournal entry about how much he hated Brendon, the devil himself appeared behind him and put an arm around his shoulder.

“What are you writing? You got a blog or something?” 

Ryan had never slammed his laptop shut faster. “That’s personal,” He snapped.

“Oh.. ok. What are you listening to?” 

Apparently, Ryan’s glare didn’t get “leave me alone” across well enough. But he didn’t have the energy to start an argument, so he just huffed. “You wouldn’t know the band. It’s nothing like the stuff you-”

Brendon was already helping himself to one of Ryan’s earbuds. Miraculously, he was silent for the next few minutes. When it ended, he handed the cord back to Ryan. “That was a really pretty song. It’s about... Missing someone who’s still around. But they’re different. Or your relationship is different. Right?”

Ryan stared. “Yeah.. how do you know? You like Ashen?” 

“Ha, no. You’re right, I don’t know any of those emo bands you like.” Of course not. “I just guessed from the lyrics. ‘Stand so still I’ll never find you..’ He’s right in front of her, but she can’t reach him. ‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll ever erase your name..’ that means he’s telling her to forget him, but she can’t. At least, that’s my interpretation.”

“Yeah, um. I think you’re right.” A small smile tugged at Ryan’s lips, despite his best efforts. “I didn’t think you’d really get it.”

Brendon raised an eyebrow. “How dumb do you think I am? It’s not exactly Shakespeare. Hey, wait, I didn’t mean it like that!” But Ryan was already shoving him away, his face burning with embarrassment and his scowl making itself at home again. Brendon was just mocking him, as always.

A week later, an even stranger incident happened. Brendon was in the shower, and Ryan took the chance to run through a song he always had trouble singing. His voice kept breaking on one note, and he cursed himself for his terrible range. Why couldn’t he have been born with a voice like... 

Suddenly he noticed the water wasn’t running anymore. He turned around, looking right into Brendon’s eyes as he watched intently from the bathroom doorway. 

“God! Stop fucking scaring me. Why do you wanna watch me play so bad?” Ryan grumbled. 

“Sorry... I didn’t notice how long I was staring. I just like listening to you. I really like your music. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Um, of course not. Our music’s awesome.” 

“..Right.” Brendon took tentative steps forward, and when Ryan didn’t move, he crossed the room and made himself at home on Ryan’s bed, leaving barely an inch between them. Apparently, he didn’t grasp the concept of personal space. “Well, I noticed you’re straining your voice on some parts.” 

Ryan tried to keep his expression even. He wasn’t giving in to Brendons teasing. 

“I used to take singing lessons. Maybe I could give you some tips?” 

He was just trying to insult him, wasn’t he? But his smile looked so genuine. Ryan guessed it couldn’t hurt. 

“...Fine.”

“Okay, first of all, you need to sit up straight.” Brendon laid his palm on Ryan’s back and used his other hand to straighten Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan jumped at the touch, and Brendon laughed up at him. After a moment, though, it was almost comforting, having those warm hands supporting him. “Okay, the next thing: You can’t sing from your chest, get it?” Brendon tapped the front of his shirt for emphasis. You have to start breathing more deeply. You don’t want your shoulders to move when you inhale. Now try it.” Ryan drew in a deep breath, looking back at him warily. Brendon’s hair was still wet, dripping water on the mattress. It smelled nice, like that flowery shampoo he always used, and Ryan had a sudden urge to run his fingers through it. “Well?” Right. He tried to exhale, but his breath shook.  Brendon’s face was just a few inches from his, brows dipped in concentration, shirt hanging lower than usual on his chest. Suddenly, the feeling of his hand on Ryan’s back burned like a brand, his nerves working overtime.

“Never mind. I’m not doing this.” Ryan swatted Brendon’s hands away, pointedly staring at the wall as he tried to regain control of his uneven breathing.

‘What? You barely tried. I didn’t even get to the important-”

“I said I’m not doing it! My voice is fine. I don't need your help, Brendon.” He didn’t turn around, already picturing the kicked-puppy look Brendon must have been wearing.

“Oh. Right.. yeah. I mean, maybe that’s just your singing style. Like Bob Dylan. His voice isn’t exactly… um… but you know, he still sounds great!” He trailed off. A tense silence hung between them. Ryan glared red-faced at his guitar, the obvious insult another hit to his injured pride. 

“Can you go away now?” Ryan gritted his teeth. “I’m kind of busy.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go. Um, good luck practicing.” Brendon slowly stood and padded back to his own bed, no doubt shooting a wounded look over his shoulder. Ryan wasn’t falling for it. He shoved his headphones back in and turned the amp up. Music was the only thing he needed to concentrate on right now. Not Brendon’s face or his hands or the strange, uncomfortable thoughts he was putting in Ryan’s head.

“We only have another week to practice. Should we really be spending time on this?” Ryan said, watching Spencer’s dice clatter across the floor. 

“We gotta have a little fun, Ryan. My wrists hurt.” He pushed his piece across the board and handed the dice to Brendon, who smiled. 

“Guys, guess what I just found out?”

“What is it now?” Ryan snapped.

“Ryan, don’t freak out,” Began Spencer, “But. Um. It turns out one of the other bands can’t make it to the show, so I talked to the owner of the bar...”

“And he got my band the last spot on the set!” 

Silence. If Ryan could have killed with his eyes, Brendon would be dead on the floor right now. One could only dream.

“...Since when are you ready for that? You’ve been a band for like, two weeks.” Spencer gave him a look, like he was a misbehaving dog about to bite. But Ryan wasn’t going to be placated. “Do you know how hard we’ve been working for this? And you just pick up this new fucking hobby for fun… and suddenly you think you deserve the same things we earned? You’re just messing around. This is a joke to you, right?”

“Ryan, Jesus, they’ve been working hard too-” Said Spencer, raising his hands.

“Let him speak for himself!”

Every pair of eyes turned to Brendon. He was frozen, blank-faced. “...A joke? That’s all you think of me? Since when do you get to decide which bands are real?”

“Music is my whole life. You don’t get it,” Ryan bit back.

“I’ve been writing songs since I was 5, Ryan. My dad started teaching me piano before I could even talk.” Brendon’s voice was rising now, an edge to it that Ryan hadn’t heard before. “I sang in my church’s choir. I collected so many records that I ran out of space. Everyone loves music, asshole. You don’t own the concept.”

“I.. that’s..” Ryan floundered. He knew Spencer and Jon were both staring daggers at him now.

“And we work plenty hard! What makes you think I don’t deserve this? Your band is cool, sure, but you’re not changing the world, so stop acting like I’m not worthy of being in your presence. I’m proud of the songs I’ve written, and I want to play them. What the hell is your problem with that?”

Brendon’s face was twisted in what looked like genuine hurt, and he didn’t break eye contact. Suddenly, Ryan’s shoes were much more interesting. Neither of them spoke. Mercifully, Spencer coughed to break the silence. “Well, I think you lost that one, Ryan.”

“Can we go back to the game now, or are you gonna throw another fit?” Jon called lazily from where he was now stretched out across the floor.

Ryan had no retort to offer, shoulders hunched in shame. He tugged his knees up to rest his chin on them and tuned the others out as they resumed playing. Something like regret bled through his anger. Brendon looked so upset, so confused by his accusation. Ryan had never considered that he would care so much. But then Brendon’s glinting grin flashed in his head again, his phone held out for Ryan to see, words born from so many sleepless nights and screaming matches and hospital visits reflecting back at him from the screen. He didn’t feel so bad anymore. And he didn’t feel bad when Brendon lost to Spencer by a landslide, either.

That night, he woke to the sound of the door shutting behind Brendon. He stepped into the room quietly, for once, forehead shiny with sweat and smelling like post-show adrenaline. Ryan watched through heavy lids as he peeled off his undoubtedly disgusting T-shirt and stretched. Faint moonlight made Brendon’s skin glow, highlighting his shoulder blades, his gently curved back.

Suddenly Ryan's cheeks felt flushed. Suddenly heat was coiling low in his belly. Suddenly he was a little bit more aware of the scratchy fabric of his pajama pants against his skin. 

“Who’s staring now?” Ryan jumped at the sound of Brendon’s low, tired voice. He swore his soul detached from his body right then.

“I was half asleep! I didn’t even know you were there.”

“Sure you didn’t. I bet you were enjoying the view.” Brendon grinned, tossing a sock at him. 

“Just because you’re in love with me or whatever doesn’t mean you have to project your homosexuality onto everyone else.”

Brendon didn’t laugh. He stopped fumbling with his belt and shot the other boy a baleful look. “You hate fun, happy music, and now gay people. What’s next on the list, Ryan? Puppies?”

“Hey!” Ryan shoved the covers away and threw his hands up. “I never said anything bad about gays. Why do you care, anyway? Are you actually a homo?”

“Well, no. I just like anyone, as long as they’re good-looking. And nice to me.” He added, his smile returning. 

“...Oh. Well. Okay then.” He hoped Brendon would be satisfied and leave him alone. As if he would ever be so lucky.

“So what about you?” 

“Me? I’m not into any weird stuff. I like girls. Obviously. ” Well, like was a strong word. Tolerate was better. Not that he ever really spoke to girls, anyway. They were basically a different species. But when he saw Angelina Jolie playing Lara Croft in 8th grade, he felt the same rush that any normal guy would. 

Brendon sat at the foot of his bed, not bothering to ask, as usual. He tipped his head to the side and leaned back on his hands like they were two girls gossiping at a sleepover. Still shirtless, Ryan couldn’t help but notice. “You ever had a girlfriend?” It took a moment for Ryan to remember to look at his eyes, not his chest, before he answered.

“Um. Yeah, of course. I dated this girl in high school for a few months. She cheated on me, though…”

“That’s it?” Brendon smirked at him. 

“It takes a while to recover from heartbreak, okay??” He couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “Like you would know anything about girls.”

“I’ve dated plenty of girls.” 

“Please. No, you haven’t! …Have you?” He couldn’t picture Brendon as a ladies’ man. But then, he tried to know as little about him as possible. Maybe he was out partying and picking up chicks every night. 

“Yeah, your band name suggestion wasn’t exactly accurate. Sorry to let down the virgin community.”

Ryan felt very out of his depth all of a sudden. He was even more wrong about the boy than he thought.“Well… what about guys?”

“Not as many.” 

“What kind of things… Uh, what’s your type in guys?” He sensed he was going into dangerous waters, and the mischievous look on Brendon’s face didn’t help. But curiosity killed the cat, as they say. 

“Hmm. I like guys who are... Skinny.” Ryan nodded. “With brown hair…” Why was he giving him that look? “Hazel eyes… Stupid fashion taste... And boyish faces.” Ryan’s face reddened. 

“Fuck you! Stop making fun of me!” He sat up and shoved Brendon hard, knocking his skull into the wall. 

Brendon swore, holding his head and advancing on Ryan. “What’s wrong with you? You can’t take a joke at all, can you?”  He leaned in close and shoved him back. Ryan tried to kick at Brendon, but his legs got tangled in the covers. He could only squirm as Brendon pinned his skinny wrists on either side of his head, glaring down at him. Hot breath on Ryan’s face. Chest hovering inches away from Ryan’s own, steadily rising and falling. He’d never noticed the differences between them until now. The way Ryan’s ribs poked out of his pale skin and his bony knees knocked together, a stark contrast to Brendon’s tan, filled-out form. Apparently, he was stronger than Ryan, too, the muscles in his arms flexing as he kept his hold on the boy. Ryan should have felt anger, fear, or something along those lines. But he didn’t. Shame washed over him as he realized what he really felt, what was making his heart beat like a jackrabbit’s. He went limp, crossing his legs to try to hide the obvious from Brendon.

“..Get off. I’m sorry, okay? Please.”

Brendon looked like he snapped out of hypnosis, releasing Ryan and practically falling off the bed in his haste. If it wasn’t so dark, he would’ve sworn Brendon was blushing too. As soon as he was free, he tugged the covers up to his ears and shoved his face into the pillow.

“Jesus, um. Sorry, Ryan. I was just joking around, I didn’t mean to get so mad.”

Ryan didn’t speak, just tried to even out his breathing and not concentrate on his... Problem. 

“Um.. goodnight, I guess. Sorry again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He lay as still as possible, listening to the sounds of Brendon undressing and climbing into bed, and he definitely didn’t picture him in his boxers as he drifted off. 

---

Ryan's journal

[recent] [calendar] [friends]

25TH. ESTEBAN’S BAR. BE THERE OR BE SQUARE

Yeah, its a week away. we cant believe it either. winter alliance is gonna be there and we are gonna be fucking awesome. and your gonna love the other bands too. but idk about virgin rock or whatever its called.. never heard of em. bring your friends, bring your fake ids. Just kidding. dont drink kids. or youll end up like spence. if your reading this thats a joke . =)

Dont you look at me like your hands are clean.

your getting under my skin. i  don’t know about this feeling. can you stop looking at me like that. Can you stop speeding up my pulse. you ve got my blood all over you and your still acting innocent.

I fucking hate my roommate

seriously is there any way to switch dorms halfway through the year.

---

The day of the show arrived too fast for Ryan’s comfort. They’d done all they could to prepare, but Ryan still felt nowhere near ready. And worse, for the last few days, he’d had an awful sore throat that was only getting worse. He tried his best to hide it from the other two, but he could tell they were worried. Now it was too late to do anything about it. All he could do was lean against the hard brick wall of the alley behind the bar and try to collect his composure. He pressed his fists into his eyes and breathed through his nose, wishing he were anywhere else. A door opened behind him. He could guess who it was.

“They’re waiting for you in there. You go on in half an hour,” Brendon said softly. 

“I have a fucking watch, Brendon. I don’t need a reminder.”  Ryan knew he sounded desperate, panicked. He couldn’t have hidden it if he wanted to.

The other boy was silent for a moment. “Well, I was coming out here to see if you were okay, but never mind. ” 

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? And how would talking to you help me at all?”

“Ryan!” Brendon barked.

“ What .”

“Why the fuck do you hate me so much?” Ryan was caught off guard by the emotion in his voice. 

‘I don’t-”

“All I’ve been since we met is friendly. I let you hog the CD player. I give you your hour of silence every day. I ignore all your sarcastic comments and insults. But a guy can only take so much. I’ve seen you with your friends, you love them, you’re a nice person. At least I thought you were. I even used to think we were friends. That’s all I wanted, to be your friend.” Brendon sounded like the words were being forced out of him. “What is it about me that disgusts you so much?”

The last phrase hung in the humid air as Ryan’s mind caught up to what he’d just heard. Was he being serious? He really had no idea? Ryan spun to face him.

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who’s been harassing me this whole time! Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“...Harassing you.” 

“Yes! You go out of your way to make my life harder. You take every opportunity to make me look stupid. I still… I still remember how much you embarrassed me at that party.”

“What party? What did I do??” Brendon asked, exasperated. 

“You fucking know. You took a picture of my journal. You showed everyone. Someone who wanted to be my friend so bad wouldn’t have done that to me.”

Brendon put a hand to his forehead. “You… you said you didn’t care about that!”

“Well, obviously I do! Who wouldn’t!”

“Why are you so mad about that? I know, I know, I shouldn’t have looked at your stuff. But I was trying to do you a favor! Those lyrics were beautiful, and everyone else thought so too. How is that embarrassing?”

“It was personal! I might never have shown that to anyone!”

“I don’t get it, Ryan. If I wrote something that good, I’d want the whole world to hear it. You’re always saying you want to reach the next level with your music. Well, I was trying to help you get there. Friends support each other, right?”

Ryan pinched his nose and tried to wrap his head around Brendon’s words. The whole time, the incident he’d been obsessively replaying in his head for a month, trying to read any motivation into…  was just an accident. Spencer was right. “You really thought you were helping me.” 

“Yes!” Brendon threw his hand up like he didn’t know what else to say. 

“Those weren’t just metaphors, Brendon. That was my real life. I write about myself. It’s like if you made photocopies of my fucking diary and put them up all around the school. I’ve never… I’ve never felt more exposed in my whole life as I did at that party.”

Brendon looked at the ground, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Oh. I’m... I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

“How did you not think of that? You don’t have any secrets? Things you don’t want everyone to know about you?”

“Not really. I’m not like that. I don’t hide things; it would drive me crazy. Especially something with that much potential.”

“You really liked the song?”

“Really.”

He almost smiled at that, but another wave of anxiety killed the urge quickly. He kicked a rock down the alley, trying to think of what to say.

“What was it about? The song?” Brendon spoke, beating him to it. “Were you always sick as a kid or something?” 

Ryan bit his lip. He’d never talked to anyone about this but Spencer, and now he was about to pour his heart out to Brendon, of all people. “No. My dad... He, um, ended up in the hospital a lot.”

“Did he have a disease?”

“You could say that. And he just kept making himself sicker.” Ryan glanced at a bottle on the ground, hoping Brendon would get it. “Music was how I got my feelings out while I was living with him. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”

When Ryan raised his eyes, the boy next to him looked like he’d had all his confidence knocked out of him. “I’m really, really sorry. I just do things without thinking sometimes. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, maybe you should think a little harder next time.” Ryan snapped, but he cringed at the wounded look on Brendon’s face as the words left his mouth. “But… I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been so mean to you all this time. It wasn’t fair to let you think we were friends. I should’ve just told you upfront that I had a problem with you.”

“Oh, I could tell you hated me. I just have a lot of practice tuning out insults. High school bullies and all, you know.” Brendon laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “They start to hurt less when you just let them bounce off you. And for the record, I know my personality can be… too much, sometimes. But I guess I thought if I just kept being nice to you, you’d warm up to me eventually.”

“Oh.” Guilt was not a fun emotion, Ryan was suddenly realizing.

“I promise I’ll never read your journal again, Ryan. Or do anything like that.”

“It’s okay.” Ryan swayed back and forth awkwardly, offering a small smile to Brendon. The boy sighed with relief.

“Good. Well, I hope you’re ready, because you have 15 minutes now.”

Fuck. His hands shook, and the walls of the alley seemed to twist and warp as he stared straight ahead. 

“Ryan? Did you-”

“I can’t go on stage.”

“What do you mean? You’re going to do great!”

“No, Brendon, I can’t go. You don't understand,” He spoke quickly, voice wavering. He knew he sounded pathetic. “I can’t sing. I’m sick, I sound like a fucking dying frog. And even before, my voice was barely passable. Don’t start, you don’t have to lie to me. You’re a great singer. You don’t even have to try. But I’m not. I suck. I’ve just been pretending to be good this whole time.” The full truth of the words hit him only as he said them. His shoulders shook as he tried to get air into his lungs. His eyes were watering. Everything was spinning. 

Two strong hands on his shoulders anchored him back to reality. “What if I sing?”

“What?”

“I’ll sing in your place this time. You can just play. I know all your songs. Please, at least think about it.”

Ryan looked Brendon in the eye, holding his gaze for the first time that night. “...Okay.”

---

It went better than he could’ve hoped. After giving each other a look that Ryan chose to ignore, Spencer and Jon accepted Brendon’s presence without comment. It turned out, when it wasn’t belting from across their dorm at 2 AM, Ryan loved listening to Brendon’s voice. And it complemented their songs surprisingly well. On top of that, Brendon had a stage presence like no one else he knew, jumping across the tiny makeshift stage and throwing his arms out to the audience like a ringmaster. He was a real rock star. Ryan played better than he ever had that night, and Jon and Spence were at the top of their game too. The whole crowd was jumping for the third song, and by the end of their set, he swore he saw at least one person crying. 

Now, even after the high of performing had mostly worn off, and he was dripping with sweat and the ice water Spencer had poured over his head, he still felt a buzz of excitement in his veins. It was dark out, and there was a cool breeze up on the roof where he’d escaped after accepting people’s congratulations, fistbumps, and celebratory punches. He could still hear the party going on below. The next band was pretty good. Not as good as them, he thought with satisfaction. 

Brendon was leaning next to him, looking out at the city and nursing a cherry coke. His eyes, shiny and framed with long, girly lashes, had a faraway look in them. “We sounded great, huh?” He said, meeting Ryan’s stare with a grin.

“Yeah.” Ryan grinned back. “I honestly didn’t know you had that in you.”

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Said Brendon, his expression suddenly serious.

“Shoot.”

“What if I just… joined your band?”

Ryan stared.

“I know, I know. But that was the most fun I’ve had in my whole life. I think you guys have a great thing going. I believe in your music. Dallon wants to do his own thing anyway, and Spencer’s already in your band, so it’s not like I’m breaking anyone’s heart here.” Brendon trailed off at the conflicted look in Ryan’s eyes. “Of course, I know you’re good enough on your own. I don’t wanna go where I’m not wanted. If you just want to keep things the way they are, I totally get it.”

Ryan’s words finally caught up to his brain. A strange hope was warming his cold fingers. “No, no. I… I think you should join. You should be the singer. You do my songs more justice than I ever could.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Ryan laughed. “Part of the reason I never.. Finished that one song, is because I didn’t know if I could ever sing those words out loud. But if you sang them…”

“Of course.” Brendon looked like he’d just been handed an authentic Faberge egg and told to take care of it. Seconds stretched by and he didn’t break Ryan’s gaze, just staring straight at him with those wide, brown, puppy eyes. Ryan couldn’t help but notice the bob of his throat as he swallowed, the way his mouth hung just slightly open. “I liked watching you play tonight,” Brendon said, finally breaking the silence. He set his coke down, stepped forward. Ryan’s heart picked up. “You always look like you’re in a different world when you’re in front of a crowd with your guitar. Being up there next to you the whole time, well, it made me feel like I was a part of it.” Now they were toe to toe. Ryan shivered. He didn’t know what came over him then, but he raised a hand and cupped Brendon’s jaw, sliding his thumb down to his lips. 

“You think-” His words died in his throat as Brendon curled his own hand behind Ryan’s neck and leaned in. Their noses brushed, their breath mixing. Brendon kept his eyes on Ryan, as if waiting for a sign. Against his better judgment, he gave a silent nod. Brendon closed the distance between them. His lips were soft, sticky with cola and tasting like it, too. Ryan twisted his hand into Brendon's sweaty hair and made a soft noise that he knew he would never live down after this. But then Brendon sighed, humming into Ryan's mouth, and he didn't care. Brendon's stubble scratched against his cheek. He put a hand on Ryan's chest, curling into the collar of his shirt possessively. Ryan could have stayed there forever, but he knew he had to come back to Earth sometime. 

Finally, he broke away, breathless, already missing Brendon's warmth. He licked his lips nervously and giggled. He didn't mind sounding like a schoolgirl. “I think they’re finishing their set now. Your band is next, right?”

Brendon adjusted himself, wiping his mouth. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet. “Right. Yep. Our first and last real show. Rest in peace, Virginity Rocks.” Brendon laughed, ruffling Ryan’s hair. “Speaking of which, you have to watch us play at least once. If you’re done with your boycott, of course.” 

Ryan’s face burned. Ironic that he was only choosing to be embarrassed now, after everything that had happened. “Right. Sorry about that. Of course, I’ll come watch you guys.”

“Good. You’re the target audience, after all. We’re representing your culture.” Brendon was already running down the stairs before Ryan could hit him.