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“And you’re absolutely sure your friends aren’t going to hate me and kick me out on the spot?”
Brendon isn’t intentionally trying to piss Brent off. He’s just sort of unintentionally doing it. With his totally rational and not at all unfounded fears. “Dude,” Brent says after a second, turning onto a new street. His car makes an unpleasant squeaking sound. “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to hate you and kick you out on the spot. And I’m the one bringing you.”
“No need to be rude,” Brendon huffs, miffed, and he goes silent. He knows he’s being annoying – but Brendon’s had enough of being the odd man out, of being the last picked kid at kickball. He’s been that kid for a long time, and he’ll probably always be that kid. He wants this, though – he might be different and Mormon and, according to the one girl he’s ever asked out ever, a total geek – but he wants this to work out.
“Dude, chill,” Brent says with a sigh a minute later. Brendon has a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, where every organ is tight and knotted with anxiety. They’re almost there, he thinks. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Ryan and Spencer are chill dudes. They’re not going to ask you to perfectly play epic riffs or anything. They just want to know if you can play.”
It doesn’t help and Brendon just gives him the same pleading expression he has been for the past half hour. Brent groans. “We want a guitarist, not Jesus, Brendon, god. Calm down.” He rolls to a stop in front of a house with an open garage, and he tilts his head away so the two boys sitting inside can’t see his face. God, he’s so nervous. Brent glares at him. “Get out of the damn car, Brendon,” he grouses, and climbs out himself, calling out a greeting to Ryan and Spencer.
Brendon hides his face from the garage for another minute, gathering his wits about him. Brent wasn’t very cool, but his friends had started a band; they’re probably ten times cooler than Brendon is. He’s very aware of what he’s normally like – he’s wearing his best jeans and and a black shirt, so he can’t go wrong right now, but what about when Ryan and Spencer see him at his worst? What about when they find out about Brendon’s family and the button down shirts and the sweatervests he’s forced into on Sundays? What about when they find out about how weird Brendon actually is?
His stomach twists. Brendon isn’t a cool person. He knows that.
He’s drawn out of his musing when someone bangs on the car window. It’s Brent, gesturing toward the door. He cracks it open.
“Dude, seriously. Get out and get your guitar. I promise they’re not gonna kick you out the moment you open your mouth, okay?” Brent sounds irritated and reassuring at the same time, and Brendon tries to smile at him.
“Okay, I’m coming. Don’t get an aneurism.” He climbs out, still blocked by Brent’s body, and steps to the side so he can open the back door and get his guitar case out of the back seat.
“Whoa – Ryan, dude, I call dibs. Seriously, he’s hot.”
Brendon’s head snaps up, and he twists around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash. He’s never had anyone call him hot before, and for a half a second he has to wonder how much of a loser this guy has to be to have standards as low as Brendon, except – oh.
There are two boys – one laughing, and one staring back at Brendon with a face gradually getting redder and redder. The blushing boy must be the one who had spoken, and is now realizing that Brendon must have heard him.
Brendon is in love. The blushing boy is gorgeous, with silky looking hair that’s longer than Brendon’s ever worn his, a pretty face, and pink lips. And he called Brendon hot.
The other boy is still cackling away, guitar on a strap slung over his shoulder. He’s pretty too, but in a different way. Brendon’s eyes are drawn back to the blushing boy. He’s not looking back anymore; his face is buried in his hands, giving off an aura of embarrassment so strong even Brendon wants to hide a little.
“Oh my god, Spencer, you’re such a fucking loser,” Ryan manages to wheeze out, wiping away invisible tears of laughter. Even Brent is laughing a little, clearly having not expected Spencer’s reaction.
Ryan’s words, however, somehow bolster Brendon’s confidence. He opens the door to the back seat, pulls out his guitar case, and walks up toward the garage without waiting for Brent. “I’m Brendon,” he announces, then, when Spencer doesn’t look up from behind his drum kit where his face is still hidden by his hands, steps up to the kit. Spencer’s ears are red. It’s kind of adorable.
Ryan is watching them with an expression of hysterical glee, clearly happy to wait and see where it leads. That’s okay, Brendon thinks, because if he has his way about it watching him and Spencer be embarrassing and adorable is going to get old fast.
“I’m Brendon,” he repeats, and summons every ounce of courage he’s ever had. “And I think you’re really hot, too, and I would totally call dibs too if you know, Brent wasn’t super straight and therefore not someone I need to call dibs against.”
The boy doesn’t move at all, but mutters from behind his hands, “I hate myself, oh my god. I’m going to die.”
“Please don’t,” Brendon says tentatively. “That would be pretty lame, considering that I also, um. Think you’re pretty cute.”
Spencer looks up at him finally, his face such a deep red that Brendon wants to kiss his cheeks. He’s the cutest person ever, and Brendon loves him. “That’s not the problem,” Spencer tells him mournfully. “The problem is that people are going to ask how we got together and you’re gonna have to tell them that I’m a massive dweeb.” He buries his face in his hands again.
Ryan starts laughing again. “Forget Brendon, I’m going to be the one telling this story,” he says, grinning widely. He claps Brendon on the shoulder. “Let’s hope you can play as well as you stole Spencer’s little heart away.” Spencer looks up in time to see him mime a swoon, and flips him off with the iciest glare Brendon’s ever seen. His eyes are so blue. When Brent walks up, chuckling at Ryan’s antics, Spencer turns his glare on Brent.
“So,” Brendon says a little hesitantly, but grinning all the same. “So we’re together. I mean, you sure you don’t wanna wait a bit before making the big decisions? I hear I’m pretty obnoxious.” Spencer looks over at him with a deadpan look, and Brendon holds his hands up defensively. He knows when to not push a good thing. “So anyway, I’m super into this. First boyfriend and all. Rah rah.” He fist pumps a little, and counts it as a good thing when Spencer drops the woe-is-me expression just enough to give a tiny chuckle.
Spencer runs a hand through his hair, looking up at Brendon. He’s still blushing like crazy, not over his mouth running away without him. That’s okay; Brendon appreciated it. “So maybe, like, after practice and your audition and stuff. We could watch a movie?”
Brendon has heard that sometimes, people start dating after getting to know each other a little bit. According to his classmates, it’s weird to date someone immediately based on how cute you think they are. Well, Brendon’s never had a real relationship, nothing to base this on, and a strong suspicion he’s gonna adore everything Spencer does or says. To think he was worried about not being cool enough for these guys.
He smiles widely at Spencer, and yeah, he thinks they’re gonna be just fine.