Chapter Text
When the alarm clock’s scratchy tone blared through Brian’s room, Munky instinctively reached his hand over to turn it off, only to miss and his arm to fall limply across Brian’s chest. Brian groaned, pushing himself up to reach over and turn the thing off himself. He turned back to see Munky, presumably right back asleep next to him.
Brian threw the other half of the blankets over top of him when he got up, making Munky hardly even visible under the mass of thickly layered fabrics. Munky— ableit a little belatedly— pulled the sheets off his head and slowly sat up against the headboard. Brian, not looking, nor having expected Munky to even be conscious, hit Munky in the side of the head with his T-shirt when he flung it off.
“I’m up,” Munky grumbled in response. He yawned, pulling the shirt off his face.
Head looked back at him, pulling a clean shirt down. “Sorry,” he said quietly. Not too long after, Munky got out of bed and flipped the light switch behind Head.
“Can I borrow some pants?” Munky asked, his eyes were hardly open.
Head reached into the dresser in front of him and pressed a pair of jeans against Munky’s chest. “Do you want a different shirt too?” he asked.
Munky glanced down at the wrinkled and messed shirt which he bore. He met back to Brian’s eyes, shrugging. “It’s clean enough, man,” he said. “Don’t think your smelly-ass rubbed off on me too much anyways.”
“It’s wrinkly as Hell, man,” Brian said.
He pulled off the shirt, handing it to Brian. “Fine, man,” he said, “get me one.”
Brian threw the shirt into a corner of his room, not breaking eye contact with Munky. He blindly grabbed a shirt from the dresser behind him and handed it to him.
Once Munky had it on, he headed for the bedroom door, turning off the bedside lamp. “Where are you going?” Head asked. Munky turned his head back, hand on the doorknob. Head came up closer and moved around the hair Munky’s around his face.
“We gotta leave soon, don’t we?”
Head looked down to the doorknob, watching the door shake back and forth as someone on the other side knocked. The boys made brief eye contact before Munky opened the door.
Brian’s dad stood before them. Pure attitude with something he clearly had to say written all-throughout his crossed arms.
“Hey, Dad,” Brian said with a small voice, pushing himself in front of Munky. “What’s up?”
Munky looked between the two of them, patted Brian on the shoulder and headed to the other end of the room. Brian quickly looked back at him, when he looked back to his dad, not a lick of his attitude had faltered.
“Just making sure you were awake,” his dad said. “You know you have to go to school today.”
“I know,” Brian said. Munky appeared back behind him, tossing a jacket over Brian’s right shoulder.
“Hi, Mr. Welch,” Munky said when Brian’s dad gave him a glance.
Brian’s dad glanced down at his watch, arms still crossed. “You boys should be heading out the door soon,” he said.
“Okay, Dad,” Brian said. He threw on the jacket from his shoulder and watched his dad leave the room.
As soon as he was out of sight, Brian shut the door. “I don’t even know his deal, man,” he sighed.
Munky looked at him sympathetically. He moved the stray hairs that Brian had messed up when putting on his hoodie. “Tell me about it,” he said. “We should get going.”
Brian nodded, grabbing his keys from his bedside table.
-
Some time during passing, Reggie pulled James out of the hallway, quickly pushing him against some wall by the staircase down to the locker rooms.
"Dick!" Munky yelled. "The fuck do you want?"
Garr rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. I get you're still pissy about Christine. Listen—"
"I ain’t mad at that," he said. "It was stupid, whatever. Date who you want, I'm over her. What the fuck did you need so urgently to talk to me for?" He asked, rubbing the back of his shoulder.
Garr squinted a bit. Okay, sure, James didn't usually hold grudges or be avoidant for that long if he was mad about something— but he seemed pissed just, like, a day ago.
But, fine, maybe he was over it.
"You sure you ain't mad at me?"
"I'm sure. The Hell do you want?" Munky scoffed, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "And why couldn't you have just, like, called me after school or some shit? Or, like, talked to me in class?"
"'Cause it's not really a class kinda subject, man." Reggie shook his head, sighing. "Head already tried talkin' to me 'bout it in class and it got cut short or whatever."
"Again, after school? If it's gonna be a longass fuckin' conversation, then, like… man, you know where I live!"
"Didn't wanna do that since I thought you still hated my guts,"
"I couldn't hate you, man," Munky sighed, "just, like, come over at— just come home with me after school, my mom can call your dad."
James didn’t really understand why Reggie had to be so abrasive about shit in the hall. They walked to class together after— the same class. Well, like, half-way to class before they decided they’d rather skip. Reggie’s dad hadn’t had to work that day, so Regg was able to drive the car for the day; and that’s where they went straight to, unsure if they’d even show to the next however-many classes of the day.
Pretty much as soon as James had shut the door, he went digging for cassettes in the glove box.
“Bri’s out,” Reggie said after James slid some album of his into the stereo.
“Of what?”
He shook his head. “The band, retard.” James looked at him a little weird for a moment. “I think this means we’re done,” Reggie said.
James paused the stereo. “Real shit?” he asked, finally.
“No, I made it up t’get you mad at me again,” he scoffed. “Real shit, he’s out.”
“So why’s that mean we’re done?” James asked. Reggie reached over his lap into the glove box, pulling out some polaroid. Which James pretty much recognized right away as some sophomore year band he never had any part in.
“Only ones left of this shit was me, Richard, and Head,” Reggie said. “Richard left, like, two months ago or whatever, right?” Munky took the polaroid to his own hand. “We got David however long ago, you a few months after,” he said.
“I know, I know.” James interrupted, “What’s this got to do with—”
“Richard’s out. Head’s out. You’re hardly good enough at guitar to do shit solo, and me ‘n David can’t sing,” he said. “Head didn’t want to replace Richard in that department either, and you can't sing too good either.”
“So we’re breaking up?” Munky sighed.
“Don’t make it sound gay, man,” Reggie rubbed his eye. “But, yeah, we’re done,” he hit the stereo back on.
“D’you know why he quit?” Munky asked, turning the volume a little lower.
Reggie turned the volume back up, shaking his head. “Said something about you being the reason,” he said.
“Oh, sit on a dick,” Munky said, annoyed. He watched Reggie shrug. He knew him well enough to know when he was faking being serious— when he was gonna pull the rug under Munky’s feet just for a laugh. This wasn’t that. Reggie was, like, actually serious. Either that, or he just got better at faking it, which James doubted.
“So that was all you needed t’ talk about then?” James asked. Reggie nodded, swapping cassettes from the stereo. Munky sighed, putting the previous cassette back into the glovebox. “You can still come over later if you want,” he said. “I don’t think my mom has anything goin’ on, but…” he paused. He wouldn’t know, he wasn’t home that morning. Shit . God damn him, if he went straight home with Reggie he’d have to sit in on his parents fucking chewing his head off. “Actually,” he said. “Could we go to yours?”
-
Brian came home late. He didn’t work that night. But he was home late. Not late , late, but later than he would be if he came straight home. Maybe, like, half an hour, so he didn’t think his mom would notice. She noticed. Now he was sitting in the living room, forced to listen to her talk shit at him.
He didn’t want to listen, and he tried not to. His mom kept bringing up James though, which made it difficult. She kept asking if there was anything he told him that he didn’t tell her about the night before, anything at all , she insisted. He knew what it was really about. She thought he was gay and wanted to prove it. But she wouldn’t say that. She’d worm her way around saying anything explicit. Just like she always did.
He wouldn’t budge. He would stick to the same story; he was supposed to call Munky to help with homework, he forgot, and Munky freaked out over it. She didn’t believe him, despite it being, like, eighty percent true. She questioned what felt to Brian like every detail.
“Why was he so quiet,” she asked, “if he was really just ‘tweaked out’ on caffeine ?”
Brian knew what she was getting at. She thought he was doing, like, speed, or coke, or… whatever . Which wasn’t her business anyway.
“He wasn’t feelin’ too good,” Brian said. He put his hood on and rose from the couch. Before he could make it even a foot closer to his room, his mom stopped him by the shoulder.
“Brian, why did he have to sleep in your room?”
And there it was. Fuckin’ damn . “I told you, I didn’t want him wakin’ up with a bad back,” he said.
“You couldn’t have at least gotten him an air mattress?” she asked.
Brian shook her hand off his shoulder. “Ma, we’ve been having sleepovers since we were, like, thirteen, and we’ve never used a God damn air mattress.”
“Brian Philip, watch your language.” She snapped. She fuckin snapped.
“I said damn!” He yelled. He wasn’t sure if he’d meant to yell or not. But it was too fucking late.
“ Enough ,” she hissed. “You know, I’m not sure just what I walked in on when I was bringing in the tea,” she said, “but it looked a Hell of a lot like you two were kissing.”
“Oh, so you can say ‘Hell,’ but I can’t say ‘ damn ’?!” He yelled again. So he was yelling now, he guessed. She raised her voice a little, he just had to one-up it. “Mom, he was hugging me!”
She scoffed at him. “ Language , Brian,” she said. “It looked like a bit more than a hug, and you know it.”
“Fuck!” He yelled. “He put his shitting forehead against mine; that doesn’t mean he fucking kissed me!”
“Brian Philip Welch.”
God damn it. God damn it. Fuck God. He was clearly on some fucking vacation. Fucker didn’t even give any sort of notice before leaving. Fuck . He didn’t mean to curse her out. Fuck, was that the last thing he wanted to do. He was in deep enough shit already. Fuck . Shit, shit, shit . Brian stared at his mom. He didn’t break eye contact. He couldn’t. God, how he fucked up. His eyes were wide, and there was no sign of God.
“Ma—”
“Brian Philip, go to your room.”
“Ma, I’m sorry ,” he tried. He really tried. He knew he fucked up, and she knew he knew he fucked up. He couldn’t fucking take it back.
“Go to your room,” she repeated.
“Mom…” he plead.
“Brian.” She said, “I’m done. If you’re not going to respect me—”
“ Fine ,” Brian said. “I’ll go, just—” he began backing up in the direction of his room— “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry, Mom.”
-
James and Reggie ended up ditching the rest of the day. They got to Reggie’s by, like, one or so, and spent a lot of time playing video games. James didn’t want to think about what was waiting for him when he got home, and neither of them really knew shit about why Brian was really leaving the band. When they’d gotten bored of playing Mario, and Donkey Kong, and whatever Nintendo Sport games Reggie had on hand, over, and over, and over , Reggie decided to snag a couple Budwisers from the fridge.
On the way to his house, they stopped at the video store. Just to waste more time away. They turned on some random horror movie Reggie found. It wasn’t scary. At least, Reggie didn’t think so. James didn’t either, really. Any time he had made a noise, or twitched half an inch, Reggie would throw, like, a chip or flick a can tab at him. Sitting sideways on the couch, he hugged some throw pillow between his knees and his chest.
James was hardly present. Distraction after distraction. Didn’t really work. He’d only had one beer, if he’d had more than hell, maybe he’d feel better. But he knew he had to go home, and he didn’t want to risk coming home smelling too much like beer.
“Dude, what’s, like, actually up with you?” He heard Reggie say. He turned to face him, he didn’t say anything. “We hardly hang out one-on-one without Head here,” he said. “You two bein’ weird again?”
“Somethin’ like that,” is all Munky could muster out. He sighed.
“This ain’t about the band thing?” Munky shook his head. He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to Brian since finding out he decided to quit. “Didn’t he give you a ride this morning? The hell happened between then and now?” Munky shook his head again.
“I stayed the night at his, nothing happened,” he said.
Reggie knew he was in trouble with his mom. And dad. Neither of them really knew how big of trouble, just trouble. They usually get pretty pissed whenever they find out he snuck out, so it shouldn’t have been too different. Only he did go directly against what his dad told him, and already faced what was in it for him. He knew it would be some “defiance” thing. He only hoped it wasn’t a board-up-the-window kind of trouble.
“It’s getting late anyway,” James said, “I should head back before I’m in bigger trouble.”
James didn’t want to go home. He knew he had to, and he knew there wasn’t anything that could change that. He could at least delay getting home, so he turned down Reggie’s offer to drive him; if he could walk, he could stall. But he was a hundred percent correct in the first place. The moment he stepped through his front door, his parents were waiting for him. He closed the door behind him, and the moment he dropped his bag, his mom pulled him into a tight hug. Shit, he knew he should’ve come in through a window.
When his mom finally let go of him, she looked to be on the verge of tears.
“Hey, mom,” James said quietly. The way he said it was almost as if nothing was different. Obviously sympathy for her, like, almost-crying— but according to his tone at least, nothing else seemed to matter. Which may have only aided in pissing his mom off more.
“Sit down in the living room with us,” she said.
James knew he had it coming. What “it” was, was still up for debate. But he knew he was in for it from the moment he sat down.
“Where were you last night?” His dad asked, stern.
Smart move, pulling what he pulled the day his dad got back. Now he looked, like, totally disrespectful. His parents sat together, both looking a little bit concerned and a lot bit pissed. James had a chair to himself, sitting with his legs criss-crossed and his arms buried somewhere in the fabric of his (Brian’s) jacket. “I was at Brian’s,” he muttered.
Truth.
“Why were you there?” His dad asked. He shifted in his seat, leaning over his legs, his elbows firmly sat on his knees.
“I was, uh,” he looked to his mom. Leaning back against the couch with her legs and arms both crossed. Her hair was up, which meant either she had been doing some sort of house work, or she just wanted to make a point to James that she meant serious business.
This could’ve gone one of two ways, James figured. Either he could’ve lied and said Brian asked him to , basically outing them as… secret lovers, if you would; or he could’ve lied and said they were doing homework together, and by the time they’d finished it was too late to go home. Making it look like… he was an idiot and a bad liar. But it was better than telling them what the truth was.
“We were doin’ homework,” he finally said. (Lie). “We couldn’t work on it over the phone, and when we’d finished it was too late to go home.” (Lie). James couldn’t even look his parents in the eye. He fiddled with the fabric of his jacket and stared at the coffee table magazines. A few of his were in the array, he noticed.
“Did you listen to a word I’ve said?” His dad asked. James wasn’t paying attention. “James Christian .”
And that got his attention. He knew, really, he knew he was upset, but he didn’t think he was full name kind of upset. He just barely managed to find eye contact— his eyes flicked over to his mom a few times, but her upset glare was harder to look at than that of his dads. “No,” he said quietly, “I didn’t. No.”
Truth.
He didn’t exactly know what he was getting at , but James knew it was his best bet to just, like, give him what he wanted. If he were lucky, his dad would repeat himself. Though his chances at that didn’t seem super high. He watched his dad sigh, and scratch his beard, and rub his forehead, and turn to his mom with a look that read as nothing but where did we go wrong . It wasn’t like James was a bad kid. He had his moments, sure, (and this was sure one of them), but they were just that; moments .
“James, what did I say?” His dad asked.
James looked back to his hands, and back to the table, and back to his jacket. Anything not to look his dad in the eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, quieter than before.
“ Caffeine , James,” his mom chimed in.
Right. Brian’s mom said she’d call them. James assumed it was just to let them know he wasn’t dead or whatever. Like usual. Not to tell them every detail.
“Sorry,” James said.
“Good,” his dad sighed, shaking his head. “James, I know I’m not home as often as—”
And that’s about when James stopped listening. If he really cared, he’d find something else to take up fucking months . Something that didn’t mean he was gone for, like, half the year.
James put on the hood of his jacket. His jacket that smelled like Brian… and beer. He brought one knee closer to his chest, he hugged it. He was tired as shit . All he wanted was to be with Brian, maybe even drunk with Brian. One more half-assed apology for never being home, and he was, like, running away to… wherever . Maybe Vegas for all he cared.
“James,” he heard but didn’t bother.
His mom definitely could’ve noticed the beer smell when she hugged him. Maybe that’s why she almost cried. Fuck, if she noticed, the ammount of trouble he’d be in…
“ James .”
Maybe if he’d had Brian drive him back last night, he wouldn’t be in so much shit. Brian’s mom probably would’ve still fuckin’ called, but at least he’d be home in the morning so his mom wouldn’t have had half a heart attack. Not to mention he’d be in, like, half as much trouble. Or maybe he should’ve just called Brian last night. Shit, why didn’t he just do that… maybe he was worried Brian’s mom or dad would pick up, and then he would’ve be in trouble for trying to call near midnight, and Brian would’ve been in trouble for… fuckin’ everything, he guessed, there’s never a damn thing that doesn’t land him in trouble. So maybe what he did wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve done.
“James Christian,” he heard finally, yelled.
He looked up from the floor. His mom looked more fuckin ballistic than before, and his dad no different.
“James, when your father tells you not to do something, you don’t just do it anyway,” his mother sighed, “we didn’t raise you that way.” James didn’t care. He wanted the conversation to be over, he wanted to go to his room and cry, he wanted for his parents to at least stop saying his name every five seconds.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He was. As much as he didn’t care for the dragged out, basically lecture, he was sorry.
“Sorry isn’t enough ,” his mom said. “James, when I wake up in the morning I expect you to be home.” He watched her cross the living room to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “You have no idea how much you worried me,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” is all James could muster. Fuck, what was he supposed to say?
“James,” she said again. She took her hand off his shoulder and took a step back. Her arms were crossed again. She looked back to his father, nodded, and then back to James. “You’re grounded,” she said finally.
“But—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You’re not getting out of this.”
“ Mom ,” he plead.
“Work, school, home,” she said, “no where else.”
“ Mom ,” he tried again. He stood, “Please,” he whined.
“No, James.” She wasn’t budging, and he was sure his dad wouldn’t either.
James sighed. Fine. He was grounded. He couldn’t get out of it. He didn’t even know how long for .
He managed to get to his room without slamming the door. He knew that would only make his sentence longer. Fuck, did he want to though. He wasn’t shocked to see his window fuckin boarded up. God damn it . Under the bed, at least, his alcohol was still there. Good to know they didn’t, like, go through his room. But they fucking boarded his window. It wasn’t like he snuck out that often. It felt like his window got fuckin baricaded more than he even went through it. He could still see all the old holes from nails that had been in and out over the years. It was only one plank, but it was wide enough that even if James could open the window, he wouldn’t be able to squeeze through.
-
Once his parents had gone to bed, and James was sure they’d been asleep, and after only a little booze, he decided he needed to call Brian. Just to, like, figure out the band thing. If Reggie wasn’t sober enough to remember what Brian said, James just had to ask himself. As sober as he could be on a Wednesday night.
So, he called. He invited Brian over, just saying there was something he wanted to talk about. It was vague enough. It wouldn’t scare Brian off, if for whatever reason he wanted to keep hushed about the fact he was quitting. Brian did agree, luckily. So James’s half-baked plan was, like, basically working— though he’d only gotten halfway through.
Minor hiccup, Brian’s dad was still awake. So he guessed he’d just have to wait.
And wait, and wait… and wait.
He really didn’t wait that long. Maybe twenty minutes later, Brian showed up at the window. James rolled the bottle underneath his bed. As soon as he’d taken the screen out, James leant over the sill to kiss Brian.
Brian, who hopped straight in through the window nearly as soon as they’d pulled away. “You’re boozey,” he said, closing the window.
“Yeah, you want some?” James asked.
Brian hummed. Right, Mr. Perfect doesn’t drink on school nights. How could he forget? “Would your parents mind if we turned on some music?” he asked.
“Depends how loud,” James said.
Brian shrugged. He got to his knees, digging through James’s bin of vinyl. Soon James knelt beside him, watching him pull out AC/DC. “Munk,” Brian said, “ain’t this one mine?” James grabbed the vinyl from his hands, looking at both front and back of the sleeve.
“I think you let me borrow it a while back,” he said, handing it back to Brian. He put it back in the bin, and kept flipping through.
Eventually, Brian agreed to put on Faith No More. They had to keep the player on, like, the lowest volume, in order not to risk James’s parents waking up. On the edge of the bed they sat making out. James was just eager enough to keep fisting at Brian’s shirt, but not to fully take it off his body.
“James,” Brian whispered between kisses. Munky hummed, moving his kissing more to Brian’s jaw and neck. “Wasn’t there, ah,” Brian paused to move his hair, “there was somethin’ y’wanted to talk about?”
“Yeah, I—”
Wish . I wish , Munky thought.
He woke up, tangled in his blankets, hugging Brian’s jacket close to his face. He sat up to read the clock. It was half past nine, his parents were still awake, his window was still inaccessible. His face felt puffy. He buried it in Brian’s jacket. Fuck, he had to call him. Only his parents fuckin took the phone out of his room, and there was no way he could’ve used any other phone in the house.
He hated them. Not hate hate, but in that damn moment, he fucking hated them. James felt things were finally going well and they had to ruin it for him.
James heard them call his name. He looked back to his clock, it was still a little more than half past nine. It was half past nine and they were calling his name. For what? More yelling? More punishments he wasn’t yet ready for? He didn’t want to go out there, it was late enough, they wouldn’t be suspicious if he were asleep.
They called his name again, he almost shed a tear. Fucking damn was he done with this shit.
He watched his mom knock, not wait for a response, and open his door. He shut his eyes as fast as he could, but he flunked. His mother sighed and turned on his bedroom light. “James,” she said. “Brian called.”
James made some grumbly sound, indistinct to his mother. What was the point? He wouldn’t be allowed to take it anyway. That had to have, like, defeated the purpose of being grounded.
“He said it was something important,” she said, “something he couldn’t wait til tomorrow for, I suppose.”
James sat up. Slowly, surely. “So?” he asked.
“You can take it.”
“Why?”
“Do you not want—”
“ No !” James interrupted. “I want to, I want to.”
By the time he got out to the kitchen landline, he punched in Brian’s number almost as fast as he could.
“Brian?” He said as soon as he heard it click.
“Hey…” Brian said, clearly way less enthused.
“Dude, what’s up?”
“I…” he sighed. “ Munk— James,” he said, “ We’re… We’re done. We can’t… we have to break it off.”
“Oh.”
“We’re still friends, I mean— man, I would never… I can’t lose you.”
“Yeah.”
“ We just can’t… we can’t keep going how we have been, it’s just—”
James hung up the phone.