Chapter Text
The practice was in full swing, if you could call it a practice. A jumble of music filled the room and Brendon’s laughter mirrored it. Jon was slouched against the wall, his bass guitar resting practically on his stomach, his playing lazy. Spencer wasn’t drumming any more, just watching the others jam out, laughing at their idiocy. Ryan was playing his guitar so fast it was hard to watch his fingers, his smile lit up his face and he was sort of bopping along to the rhythm. Brendon could barely play; he was laughing so hard. It didn’t take long for him to give up playing and take his guitar off and begin to dance around the room, shouting improvised lyrics to Ryan’s tune at the top of his voice.
The ‘lyrics’ soon became a stream of insults and innuendos and Ryan also gave up playing, collapsing onto the carpeted floor, almost in tears with laughter. Brendon gave him a mockingly scornful look at having stopped playing, halfway through a sentence about Jon’s mother.
Ryan looked up at Brendon, raising an eyebrow at him, and Jon began protesting what Brendon had been about to say.
Ryan hopped to his feet and wandered over to the cooler in the corner of the room. He pulled out four bottles of beer and began tossing them to the others. Brendon caught his but didn’t open it, “Guys,” he started, causing three pairs of eyes to glare at him simultaneously, he did a wonderful job of ignoring this and carried on, “We haven’t even written anything today.”
“I beg to differ,” Jon said, “That line about my mother was particularly inventive.”
Brendon rolled his eyes at the bassist and looked down and the chilled bottle in his hand and then up at Ryan who was already taking a swig from his. He sighed and cracked open the bottle, “Alright,” he conceded, “but I’m not getting drunk.”
Spencer sniggered, “We’ll see.”
As you would expect, Spencer was right.
By the time the cooler had been emptied of bottles, Brendon had drunk more than Jon and Spencer put together, and Ryan wasn’t far behind. Although, Ryan had always been that much better at maintaining his sobriety even after drinking lots. Hours had passed.
Beer from the bottle sloshing over the rim, Brendon swayed where he stood. He stared at Ryan who was looking up at him in bemusement. Their instruments lay on the floor, forgotten and abandoned. Spencer was sleeping quietly, leaning against the wall, and Jon was softly playing his bass guitar, strumming a line from an old song over and over.
Ryan’s hair had fallen into his eyes and Brendon couldn’t stop staring. He knew he was staring; he knew he should stop. He also knew he couldn’t stop. He blamed it on the alcohol.
Ryan was staring back, a challenge. After their intense staring competition – that Brendon didn’t actually know was happening – had lasted over a minute, Ryan laughed, “Brendon, you need to sit down or else gravity is going to force you to.” He said.
Gravity: Brendon thought idly that maybe it was gravity that was pulling him towards Ryan that very moment. He was vaguely aware of his head nodding and his feet carrying him over to the other man. He flopped down on the patch of carpet to Ryan’s left in a less than graceful manner and dropped his still half-full bottle onto the floor. They sat and watched the liquid pour out over the floor, neither one making any move to stop it.
Brendon’s head was fuzzy from the drink; thoughts were swimming through his mind. He turned to look at Ryan, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. They were sat so close. Too close. Brendon could see the faint freckles on Ryan’s nose, could see each individual eyelash. He felt that force pulling him in again. Gravity. Always gravity. His eyes trailed down to Ryan’s lips; he was helpless to stop them.
He swallowed.
Ryan was staring back, lips slightly parted. He struggled to find something to say, some way to break the moment, but he was too drunk, too caught up.
Ryan licked his lips, and Brendon couldn’t stop himself.
He leant forwards, too quickly, and pressed his lips to Ryan’s. The guitar was still playing in the background and Ryan wrapped his hand around the back of Brendon’s neck, pulling him closer, not letting him get away. Their noses bumped together and Brendon’s eyes opened slightly, giggling into the kiss, drunkenly. Ryan’s eyes were still closed with pleasure; he let out a sigh into Brendon’s mouth. Brendon’s whole body responded and he surged forwards, his hands moving to Ryan’s shoulders before skimming down the length of his arms delicately. Their hearts were pounding rapidly.
All too soon, Ryan was pulling away, his body becoming stiff instead of the languid, relaxed pose it had had until now. Brendon, in his state, tried to follow and Ryan’s hand came up between them, landing on Brendon’s chest, stopping him from getting too close. “Ry, what-?” Brendon started to say quietly. Ryan’s wide eyes stared at Brendon, scared.
“I- I-,” Ryan stuttered, “I can’t-.” They both became aware that the music had stopped and the pair turned to look over at Jon abruptly. He was watching them, his jaw hanging open in shock. Ryan’s eyes jumped from Jon to Brendon and back to Jon. “Oh, Hell,” he whispered, “I’ve gotta- I’ve gotta go.”
He fled the room like a scared animal, leaving Brendon staring after him.
Despite being on the verge of tears – God, Brendon hated being drunk – Brendon turned to look at Jon, whispered the words, “Don’t ask, please.”
Jon bit his lip, clearly wanting to, but nodded.
Brendon stood up, “I’m going to bed,” He told Jon, sadly, “Don’t tell Spencer what happened, either.” He added, as an afterthought. Despite already being drunk he couldn’t help but wish he had drunk more.
Jon cleared his throat, “Alright, Brendon.” He replied, watching the man leave the room dejectedly.
As soon as Jon was sure Brendon was out of sight and earshot, he threw the nearest empty beer bottle at Spencer, so that it landed on his stomach, making him jolt upright, “You’ll never guess what just happened.”
Spencer leant forwards, interested.
*
Brendon’s fingers skated across the piano’s keys in the living room of the house they were renting, unable to sleep. The music poured out into the air around him and he searched desperately for an escape. His voice was low over the music, singing versions of old songs slowly, mixing lyrics from difference songs. “It’s time for us to take a chance,” he crooned, followed by, “because I’m just praying for love and paying in naivety…” His fingers tripped over themselves, hitting notes that didn’t sound right. He stopped playing, putting his hands down on the stool either side of his legs.
And then he started to cry.
Ryan watched through the crack in his door and he felt like he was falling apart.
*
It took three months for Brendon to bring it up. He could lie and say that he’d been trying to respect Ryan’s feelings, or he could be honest and say that he was scared. Jon had tried to talk to him about it; Spencer too. He knew that they’d talked to Ryan too, not that it would do any good; Ryan wouldn’t be alone with Brendon, let alone talk about what had happened. Well, Ryan wouldn’t be alone with Brendon up until the point where it was unavoidable.
The awkwardness in the air was tangible. Ryan’s fingers drummed the surface of the table he was leaning on. Brendon determinedly looked anywhere but at Ryan. If he looked at Ryan now, he’d remember how it felt to have his lips on him, his hands on his neck, his body moving closer. He didn’t look at Ryan.
They stood silently for five minutes, waiting for Jon and Spencer to turn up.
After five minutes, Brendon couldn’t take it, he cleared his throat and, still not looking at Ryan, spoke up, “So,” he said, uncomfortably, “How are you?”
Ryan threw him a look that Brendon didn’t see, due to the fact that he was still staring at the ceiling, fingers pausing in their repetitive mantra he replied monotonously, “Fine.”
Brendon’s eyes dropped from the ceiling to look at Ryan, at last. Looking him in the eye Brendon felt a surge of confidence mixed with anger and he threw all restraint out the window, “Kissed anyone lately?” He asked, snidely.
Ryan laughed humourlessly but that faded to a look that could almost be called regretful. He swallowed. And then he looked like he was the most fragile human being in all of existence. Brendon’s anger faded immediately and he felt guilt twist his stomach round. Silence fell over them again as they both looked away, down at the floor.
A whole minute passed.
Then, “…You didn’t answer my question.” Brendon said, softly.
Ryan paused, “I didn’t want to.”
Brendon frowned in confusion, “You didn’t want to answer my question? Or… You didn’t want to kiss me?” His eyes found Ryan’s, holding his gaze.
“Both? Neither? The first one?” Ryan sighed, “I don’t know, Bren.”
Brendon nodded and didn’t reply. He stared at Ryan for a second longer and then averted his gaze, going back to staring at the ceiling resolutely.
When Jon and Spencer arrived, less than a minute later (both Brendon and Ryan had a sneaking suspicion that they’d been stood outside the door, waiting for them to talk), there was still a sense of awkwardness but there was something that felt more relaxed already. It was less tense and more… uncertain. Like they were on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether they would fall or take a step back, only knowing that they were in it together.
Spencer gave the two of them a look that confirmed to Brendon that they had heard every word.
Practice that day was… weird. Brendon discovered that working on a love song that you wrote, with the one person you want to be with in the room, is an insanely intimate experience. Especially when said person won’t stop giving you sharp, confused, looks every time you come up with a new line.
*
“Ohhh, it’s been so long,” Brendon sang under his breath, strumming lightly at the guitar. He let go of the guitar with one hand and picked up his pencil, jotting down a chord, picking up his guitar he carried on, “We’re so sorry we’ve been gone; we were busy writing songs for youu…” He laughed to himself, at his own stupid joke. There was no way the others would let him put it in the album but, be honest, it was funny.
He called Jon over, grinning (he hadn’t done much of that lately, so Jon came willingly), and sat him down, “Listen to this,” he giggled and began to play the tune. Jon listened, eyebrow raised.
When Brendon finished, and looked at Jon with a massive smile, Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” Jon said, “I’ll admit that’s genius.”
Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, “I expected you to tell me I’m an idiot,” he laughed.
“So did I when you called me over.” Jon admitted. Then he smirked, “The fans would love that as an opening track.”
“That’s what I thought!” Brendon chimed. The two of them laughed loudly.
A quiet knock on the door drew their attention and, looking to see who it was, Brendon’s laughter died on his lips. Ryan was stood in the doorway, hand on the doorpost, half in and half out as though unsure if he was alright to stay. Jon glanced between the two of them.
Ryan took a deep breath and seemed to lean more heavily on the door post, “Um,” he started, hesitantly, “I was wondering if I could talk to you, Brendon.”
Jon had to bite back a smile at how scared Ryan looked, like a schoolboy with a crush. Then he looked at Brendon and his smile faded. Brendon’s face was closed off, his eyes boring into Ryan, “No.” Brendon said, slowly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”
Ryan opened his mouth to reply but shut it quickly. He turned on his heel and fled.
Jon rounded on Brendon, “Go after him.”
“No.”
“Brendon, I’m not going to tell you again.”
Brendon frowned at his bandmate, “Why should I?”
Jon sighed in frustration at how idiotic his friends were, “Because I was there; I saw what happened. That boy is trying to talk to you and, after what I saw, that means he has something important to say to you and you will seriously regret not hearing him out.”
Brendon sat back in his seat and crossed his arms.
Jon’s face darkened and he glared at Brendon, “I swear if you don’t go out there right now I-.”
“Alright, fine!” Brendon cried, “I’m going!”
He took his sweet time getting up and leaving the room, but Jon was pleased because, Hell, at least he was going. Jon gave Brendon a moment before getting up and following. He wasn’t going to miss this conversation.
Brendon walked down the hallway to Ryan’s room, arguing with himself internally the entire time. On one hand, he really didn’t want to have this conversation; to hear Ryan tell him to back off and leave him alone because it wasn’t going to happen. On the other hand, Jon would know if he didn’t go and some part of him, a miniscule part, wanted to hear what Ryan could possibly have to say to him. It couldn’t get any worse than this, he reasoned, and rapped sharply on the door. There was a pause. Then, “Um, yeah, come in?” Brendon couldn’t not smile at Ryan’s voice, full of uncertainty, but he straightened his face out before opening the door and going in.
Ryan was sat on his bed, legs crossed beneath him, eyes slightly red, but his chin was up, head held high, and Brendon felt irrationally proud of him. Brendon moved into the room slowly and shut the door behind him, leaning up against it. “You wanted to talk.” He prompted, quietly.
Ryan nodded carefully, eyes watching Brendon. Brendon was forced to look into Ryan’s eyes and he felt ill at the sadness in them and how he knew that he was the cause of that pain. Ryan took a deep breath. “You kissed me.” He said, simply.
Brendon’s eyes squinted slightly as he thought about what he should say to that, “You kissed me back.” He said eventually.
“I was drunk.”
“So was I.”
Ryan didn’t reply. He chewed the inside of his cheek, an old habit that sometimes emerged when he was really worked up. Brendon didn’t miss that fact. When Ryan spoke again his voice was reserved and he didn’t make eye contact with Brendon, “Did you want to kiss me?”
Brendon could have laughed. Did Ryan really not know how utterly gone Brendon was when it came to him? “You know that I did.” Brendon said, refusing to look away from Ryan in the hopes that Ryan would look back at him. “Do you really think I would kiss you if I didn’t?”
The clock on the wall was ticking too loudly and Brendon had to fight the urge to go and rip it off its hook. He found himself tapping his hand against the wooden door in time to the ticking and he clenched his hand tightly, forcing himself to stop.
Ryan pinched his lips together. The next question that he should ask was obvious, but he didn’t want to ask it. He didn’t want to hear Brendon tell him that yes, of course he loved him and that he always had and always will. If he heard that now, he would probably ruin one of the best friendships he’d ever had by- yelling at him? kissing him? he wasn’t sure. Instead he said what was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever had to say in his whole life: “I didn’t want to kiss you.”
His eyes flickered up to look at Brendon. Big mistake.
He knew Brendon too well to pretend that he didn’t know when the man was falling apart. And Brendon was definitely falling apart. He could tell by the way that he was leaning against the wall heavier, the way his hand kept clenching and unclenching, the way his eyes were darting around Ryan’s face, unable to look at one place for more than a second.
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Thirty. Fifty. A minute.
“Okay.” Brendon said. Too much time had passed (he’d allowed too much time to pass) and Ryan could see right through the lie.
He pretended he couldn’t.
“It was a mistake. I was drunk. It shouldn’t have happened.” Ryan told Brendon, reeling off all the excuses he’d tried to tell himself every day since it had happened. All the lies.
“Right,” Brendon replied, his voice barely a whisper, “A mistake.”
There was a long silence in which they stared at each other. Brendon nodded abruptly and span round and wrenched the door open, all but running from the room. He pretended he didn’t see Spencer and Jon legging it round the corner. He wasn’t in the mood for that.
*
Jon sat opposite Spencer at the kitchen table, tapping a pen against the cold surface, “We’ve got to do something.” He said.
Spencer laughed, “You think?” He mocked.
Jon rolled his eyes at Spencer before becoming serious, “This is a really big deal, Spence.” He sighed.
“More like, this is a really big fuck up,” Spencer corrected, “Did you hear them in there? They’re totally fucked.”
Jon couldn’t not laugh, despite himself. The situation was so absurd. Then he grinned at Spencer, “We have to get them together.”
“Agreed.”