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Chapter Text

Thursday, August 13th

Upon the bench outside the front doors of the school was a boy. A boy with the most gorgeous brown, luxurious hair, that gently fell in beautiful waves framing the delicate round shape of his face. A boy with rich, chocolate brown eyes that were more than just irises; they were rich palettes of visual eye candy that gave the stars a run for their money. A boy with ornate flamingo pink lips, somehow blessed with perfect placement upon his face to be harmoniously spaced between his nose and chin. A boy with thin yet defined and sleek eyebrows. A boy who was perfect.

At least, that's how Brendon Urie would describe him.

The boy upon the bench was one Ryan Ross, and one look at him would prove all of Urie's flattering descriptors to be exaggerations. He was a fine looking boy, but not objectively perfect looking. Hell, Brendon's own friends would commonly try to point out flaws within Ryan's appearance, just to try and bring Brendon back to Earth with the rest of humanity. Though, apparently, Ryan wasn't a true part of humanity, since "someone like him must be a projection of an angel from Heaven."

Everyone knew about Brendon's obsession with Ryan. Even Ryan himself, though he feigned ignorance as he thought it was funny (and a bit cute) to watch the other boy constantly embarrass himself in defense of every little thing Ryan did. Ryan could stab a man in front of Brendon, and he'd still defend his honor until his dying breath.

Another criticism his peers would throw at him was how Ryan was...pretentious, to say the least. Not insufferable, but he did have a certain air of arrogance and self-importance to him, which was only inflated by the copious affection bestowed upon him by Brendon. He allowed it. Did he even return the feelings? No one really knew. But he couldn't lie to himself. And he knew he cared about the overly obsessed boy, no matter how annoying he sometimes got.

Right now, Ryan was gently strumming an inkling of a new song, one he had yet to completely finish. On the grass in front of him, Brendon sat cross legged, entranced and entirely hypnotized by the sight and sounds being presented to him. The song didn't even quite have a concrete melody yet, but even in it's incomplete and flawed state Brendon thought it was one of the best pieces of music he'd ever had the pleasure of hearing. Eventually, Ryan's fingers paused, and he looked up at Brendon.

"It's not finished, but I think it's pretty damn good so far. I mean, I made it, so..." Ryan chuckled, and had a smug smile on his face. New year, same self indulgence.

"It's beautiful, Ry. Like...wow. You're gonna be so famous one day..." Brendon wistfully sighed, lovingly staring at Ryan. Ryan slightly shook his head to move the stray hairs off of his face, and patted the bench next to him, still keeping his right hand tightly gripping his sierra brown acoustic guitar. As Brendon gets comfortable next to him on the bench, Ryan looks back down at his guitar, now strumming, but not to the same song he was playing before. This was an all new melody, at least, new to Brendon's mind. The playing felt too sure, too intricate, too precise to be some random new idea.

"What song is this? It sounds pretty," Brendon asked, with a gentle smile on his face. Ryan hummed, and thought for a couple seconds whether he wanted to answer or not. He decided he would.

"One I was working on all summer. I call it 'Northern Downpour.'"

"All summer? And you never showed me it!?" Brendon faked a shocked reaction. He was used to Ryan keeping his musical endeavors a secret when he was really invested in them. However, a tiny part of him still felt betrayed by the secrecy. But he wouldn't bring that up. Not now, not ever.

"I had to make it perfect. Most of my work was on the lyrics, though, not the guitar and shit," he spoke nonchalantly, calmly strumming the melody to the song Brendon now knew to be "Northern Downpour." However, the approach of another boy shook him out of his thoughts.

The boy looked similar to Ryan, but with a more oval shaped head contrasted to Ryan's round one. His hair was a similar, if not exact, match to his in terms of color, but was longer, and wavier. His lips were thinner, his cheekbones were more defined, and, most notably, was wearing a long cut purple v-neck top, with a grey and black striped scarf ornately wrapped around his neck, which was especially noticeable on his slender, bony frame. He looked confused, and both Ryan and Brendon anticipated the inevitable: a freshman asking for directions.

"Hey, um, sorry to be a bother...but where's the school coffee shop?" He had a pleasant voice, one that seemed both timid and sure of itself at the same time.

"Enter through door 8. First right you can take," Ryan responded, simply, and without much emotion. He quickly went back to strumming his guitar.

"Ah, thank you. Once again...sorry to bother...what's your name? Oh, and your's too. Don't wanna leave anyone out," the boy said with a laugh, take seemed forced and nervous. Clearly, the sureness of his earlier question had faded and been replaced by the timidness that threatened it.

"I'm Brendon, and this beautiful man here next to me is Ryan," Brendon took the wheel and spoke, using a friendly tone. The other boy nodded, and visibly relaxed, seeing no hostility from either upper classmen.

"Cool, cool...I'm William. William Beckett...but some of my friends call me Bill."

"Freshman, I assume?" Ryan looked up at the boy, now known as William, for the first time during the conversation.

"Yeah..." William tugged at his shirt, pulling it down, a habit both bench plastered teens picked up on, and silently perceived as a nervous tick of some sorts. As he realized he was under the watchful eye of two boys who spent a lot of their free time quietly watching their peers, and coming up with little stories and inside jokes to go with each and every one of them, he stopped repositioning his shirt.

"So, you went to the middle school here? Did you know Gabe Saporta?" Ryan inquired, genuinely interested in the answer. Gabe was in the same grade as William, but he was known all throughout the town for being...well, Gabe Saporta. He made damn sure everyone knew who he was and what he was every time he stepped foot into a room. He made people feel important just by giving them the slightest bit of attention. At least, in the school scene. He was frequently in trouble by the adults of his life, such as school authority and his parents. He was a troublemaker, known among the middle school as a peer-shaped God of some sort, and known among the high school as an annoying little shit who liked to cause problems just because. However, his crowd was now moving into the high school. There would now be a shift, and no one quite knew how exactly to feel about that change. At the question, William's expression dropped from a light smile to a solid frown.

"Don't remind me..."

"I thought kids like you worshipped that motherfucker. I mean, we all hate him too, don't get me wrong, but why do you hate him?" Brendon was confused. Wasn't William supposed to be treating Gabe like he himself treated Ryan? Like the second coming of Christ?

"If you've ever heard Gabe talking about that 'hot twink that pretends to hate him,' congrats, you've heard of me," William scoffs, and walks away, leaving Brendon shocked and puzzled, and Ryan apathetic to the whole ordeal. Freshman relationship drama was the least of his concerns.

"Should we go inside, Ry? I don't think you've found your locker, and we should probably find Spencer before he hurts himself again..." Brendon shuddered at the thought of repeating "the incident" from last year, where Spencer was angrily ranting while walking, and due to his lack of spacial awareness, bumped into Ronnie, a notorious bully, and more relevant to Spencer's situation, a homophobe who wasn't afraid to show it. Safe to say, Spencer didn't come to school for a couple days after that.

Without a word, Ryan stood up, putting his guitar away, and Brendon did the same. Of course, there was still 25 minutes until the bell rang, and being late to class on the first day was usually excused, so they really didn't need to hurry at all, but why not? Besides, it's never too early to save Spencer from his own idiocy.

With that, they put their backpacks on, and walked into the high school.

Chapter Text

Thursday, August 13th

As he stormed off, William's thoughts were still centered on the ever so famous troublemaker that was Gabe Saporta. Part of him wanted to gouge his eyes out. Gabe was annoying. Really, really, annoying. Especially to William. For some reason, out of all the girls in their grade that would kill themselves and their best friends to be on his radar, he chose a girl that wanted nothing to do with him. A girl who was in fact not a girl, and a skinny, "twinkish," outcasted boy, who was simply mistaken for a girl more times than he could count. He cursed his overly feminine features for the millionth time in his life.

It didn't help that they had a lot of forced proximity, either. Whether it be from similar circles, such as the middle school's music club, or shared classes, like the infamous science class. He was glad to be moving to the high school. As much as he hated the idea of getting older, and having to one day enter adulthood, he would do anything to distance himself from Gabe. Sure, they'd be going to the same school still, but he wouldn't be at the top of the food chain anymore. This year, they'd both be freshmen. At the bottom, with the upperclassmen, specifically the seniors, truly influencing everything. Now, that didn't mean Gabe would stop being himself and trying to be on top. He was Gabe Saporta, and expecting him to change is like talking to a brick wall.

Enter through door 8. First right you can take. He repeated Ryan's words in his head as he searched for the elusive door 8. He trudged through the grass, gazing at the various students as he did so. He silently prayed that he wouldn't be noticed this year like he was last year. Of course, the only reason people paid any attention to him the previous year was because of Gabe's relentless flirting and teasing, a fact he was constantly reminded of, and a fact that pissed him off to no end. To be known by association is to be not known at all, in his mind.

As he looked around, he noticed a lot of striking figures, like the tan, edgy looking, eyeliner flaunting, surprisingly short boy who was hanging around a bunch of "basics," as William deemed them. "Basics" meaning his peers who did nothing to stand out from their contemporaries. They were products of assimilation, and he found it extremely unappealing. He wasn't the pinnacle of individuality himself, but he knew how to differentiate the aspects of his identity well enough. He wondered what someone who clearly knew who he wanted to be was doing hanging around such indistinguishable kids. 

Another stand out was a girl, with fiery red hair, somehow even shorter than the edgy boy, and a similar oval shaped head to his own. Even from a distance, he could make out the olive green of her eyes, with a positive canthal tilt to compliment. She was animatedly talking to a boy with shoulder length curly brown hair, thick eyebrows, and shared a head shape and eye color with her. His skin was slightly darker, and he had quite a bit of stubble. He decided to keep the image of the girl in the back of his mind. She was pretty, and he wanted to talk to her one day.

Finally, he found door 8, and breathed a visible sigh of relief. The small smile he had when talking to Brendon and Ryan had crept its way back onto his face. He speed walked inside, having a new ambition to his steps.

First right you can take. The turn he was approaching was the right. He took a sharp turn down the hall, and immediately saw his target. The in school coffee shop. Perfect.

Back in 8th grade, the high school principal gave a speech about various classes and extra curricular activities available to the incoming freshmen. Most of them were boring, expected, or flooded with the worst kind of people (the "basics"). However, the coffee shop seemed to be made for William. He didn't entirely hate talking to people, and he could definitely put on a friendly face even in a bad mood. He was made for customer service, and he knew how to put those skills of his to use. He walked up to the counter, expecting there to be a pile of application sheets or something on it, but it was empty. Before he could panic, he tapped the shoulder of the person who was behind the counter. 

"Uhm, excuse me-"

"Ah, well, look who decided to pay me a visit. What's up, pretty boy?" None other than Gabe Saporta answered. William recoiled in disgust, fear, and shock, all combined into a concoction that created the scowl now present on his face. Thinking back, he should've recognized the figure immediately, even if their back was turned to him. Extremely tall, tan, with that short dark hair sticking up that all the girls found adorable and William found odd and ugly. There was also the fact that he had his signature clothing item on: a purple zip up hoodie. Anyone who had seen Gabe Saporta even once would've known it was him, even from a back perspective, but of course, William wasn't exactly thinking, too caught up in the prospect of doing the one thing he was excited to do in high school.

"Oh, fuck off. Why are you even here? You don't even drink caffeine..." Surprisingly, someone as energetic as Gabe didn't drink caffeine. He said he had a caffeine allergy, but William had his doubts. As far as he knew, he just needed an excuse as to why his mom didn't let him drink Monster Energy from the local gas station.

"Because, mi tarta, I'd never miss the opportunity to work with my favorite boy," At that, Gabe winked and blew a kiss simultaneously, a triple attack on William. "My cake" was the nickname Gabe chose for the boy, and neither of them really knew why. It started during one of the many infamous science class periods, but William couldn't tell you which one because he made sure to block every single one of those science classes out, except for the days Gabe was absent. Those days were, sadly, few and far between.

"Go suck a dick. And don't you dare tell me to take my pants off. That did not mean my dick."

"Ugh, always a buzzkill, Bill. Hey, that's a good nickname for you. Bill Buzzkill. Loser-ish, badass, and clever. just like you. Speaking of buzz, you better not get a buzzcut. That long hair is too cute on you to cut."

"My name is William. Call me William," At this point, he'd had more than enough of Gabe's shitty nicknames. Gabe scoffed in response.

"I knew that already, idiot. It's just funnier to purposefully disrespect you and piss you off," Gabe reached over the counter, and tousled his hair just enough to annoy William, but not enough to make his hair look too messed up. Oddly, Gabe didn't have a smug look of mischief, or a stand out expression of cruel amusement. This time, he had a soft smile. Before it disappeared to be replaced by a more common appearance of his, Willian noticed it. The raw, honest emotion he never saw come out of his main tormenter. It was strange. An out of body experience. The way Gabe smiled at William was akin to the way Brendon smiled at Ryan. And even from a distance, with impaired vision, anyone could see the way Brendon's lips curled around Ryan was due to anything but platonic admiration. But he didn't have time to think deeply about the nuances and feelings of Gabe Saporta. He had an argument to deal with first.

"Is this your fetish or something?" The only way to beat Gabe Saporta is to act like Gabe Saporta.

"Wanna find out?" Unfortunately, two could play that game. Especially when player two is an expert, and player one tries his best to avoid the game.

"Eugh, no. Gross. Look, I just need to know how to apply to work at the coffee shop." Quickly pushing down the lewd thoughts Gabe's comments conjured up in his head, the the following rush of blood, he made his point clear.

"Go through me then. Congrats, honey, I'm the boss of this joint," The added "honey" gained a disappointed but not shocked eye roll from William.

"Yeah, okay. Very funny. Just because your mom teaches here doesn't mean a freshmen like you is running the coffee shop. They're not that stupid."

"You putting a lot of faith in our school system, dude. I actually am the boss, per special request," Gabe flaunted, clicking his tongue twice, which was a signature move of his after bragging.

"You mean asking your mom, and making her tearfully beg for it, while threatening to quit? Yeah, I went to that one PTA meeting where she asked for a bonus. Your mom is a piece of work when she needs something," It was true. Gabe had a habit of using his mother's position to get out of trouble and special privileges, something that absolutely pissed William off.

"The end justifies the means, doesn't it? And, better yet, I'm in charge of who's allowed to work here alongside me."

"That's...not smart. Who approved this?" What kind of high school was this?

"Not important. What is important is that I have control."

"Let me guess. You're not going to let me work here. Well that's just fucking amazing..."

"Actually, only you. And my girl Vicky," Gabe pointed at a girl in the back of the coffee shop. She had sharp, angular, dark hair, cut into a bob. Her grey eyes were staring daggers through William. Damn, she was intimidating. At least, until he got a good look at her outfit. A white dress with black polka dots, complimented by a short sleeved pink zip up, and topped with a long necklace with large, clunky black beads. He didn't find someone in such "cutesy" clothing to be scary in the slightest. Until he realized what Gabe called her.

"Girl...? As in...?" There was no way Gabe could have a girlfriend. He flirted way too much with William to have a girlfriend. The internal panic in William's mind was interrupted by Gabe's response.

"Yep, my girlfriend. Believe it, hot stuff," Once again, he gave him a wink. Not a single interaction he ever had with Gabe ever led him to believe he was anything but gay. And now he's learning that not only is the man at least bisexual, he has a fucking girlfriend now? Who even is this girl? This supposed "Vicky" did not go to their middle school. Did she move here recently? Why the hell is William asking himself so many questions instead of saying something out loud?

"God...poor girl," In a desperate attempt to cover up his internal monologue that he was sure could be heard by the whole world, he shot back an answer of contempt.

"Shut it. Point is, I'm working in the mornings and during the lunch periods. She'll work during her lunch period, and you'll work in the mornings and during your lunch periods, with me. Deal?"

"Fine. But if you pull anything I'll fight back this time," At that, William began to storm off, scoffing in the process.

"Yeah, I'd like to see that, mi tarta."

That nickname never ceased to amaze him in how angry it made him. But now, it was amazing him in a different way. Now, he didn't care. He didn't feel anything but mostly apathy with a touch of the standard annoyance, but that was more so from the previous conversation as a whole than the singular statement. Maybe the fact he seemed to move on changed his perspective.

As William walked off, he wondered if Gabe would change at all. He assumed he wouldn't.

Chapter Text

Thursday, August 13th

After the ever so flirtatious and dramatic reunion with Gabe, William's first day of high school went by smoothly. And it was also boring. Very boring. He had a feeling high school wasn't going to be a time of much of note. Although, the day was bookended by interactions with Brendon and Ryan. After school, as he was hastily speed-walking to the bus area, he saw Brendon standing by the men's bathroom. Based off the little but helpful observations he made during their first conversation, and how Brendon gazed at Ryan as if he was some sort of deity, his gut instinct told him he was waiting for Ryan. Obviously, William didn't want to appear as a lonely nobody with no friends. So, despite wanting to go home as soon as possible, he chose to approach Brendon instead.

The silence between them that followed his approach was deafening. He felt like a child waiting for his mother to get off the phone, so he could ask her a meaningless question. Regardless, he maintained a nonchalant vibe, praying no one was observant enough to see through it. Thankfully for him, Ryan soon exited the bathroom, and gave William a nod of acknowledgement, which caused Brendon to look over, and give a smile and wave. The trio began walking together. And by together, that meant Brendon was glued to Ryan's side in front of William. 

"Bus kid?" Ryan inquired. 

"Uh, yeah. Bus...45? I think?" He silently prayed he was correct. He did not need to deal with his mom nagging him about missing the bus.

"I think Gee has that bus, right, Ry?"

"Yeah. He'll probably try to indoctrinate you into the comic club," Ryan quipped, coldly and distantly, rolling his eyes in the process.

"Who's Gee?" Earlier that day, he heard the "basics" surrounded edgy kid mention someone named Gerard, and his "hot brother" named Mikey. Was Gee a nickname for this Gerard guy?

"Gerard Way. Resident nerd and gay art kid," Ryan responded, confirming his suspicions. For  a reason William couldn't place, Ryan did not seem too fond of this kid. Was he that bad? Did they have a rivalry? 

"Aren't we also gay art kids...?" Brendon looked up at the ceiling, confused and in thought.

"Shut it, Beebo."

The comment made both Brendon and William stay quiet for the remaining time of the walk to the bus area. In short time, they arrived, and William watched as Brendon said his goodbye to Ryan.

"Uhm, see you tomorrow, Ry...I love you..." The words were so meek, so scared, you'd think he kept his love for Ryan a well guarded secret. At the declaration of love, Ryan checked his surroundings, making sure no one was listening to them or watching them specifically.

"...Love you too, I guess..." Ryan looked down at the ground, ashamed and blushing. Brendon smiled, giggled, and kissed him on the forehead. William heard something mumbled from Ryan, but he couldn't make out any specific words or phrases. At that, the pair went to their respective buses. And since he didn't have anyone to wait for himself, William went to bus 45.

The bus was crowded, loud, and a bit too crazy for William's liking. However, he knew damn well he was stuck here the rest of the year. May as well find an empty seat, or at least someone decent to sit next to. As he walked down the aisle, he could already see that there was only one spot open, and it was next to the kid he already knew the name of, despite never seeing him. Gerard Way. Sighing in resignation, he walked up to the seat.

"Hey, uhm, this is the only empty seat, so..." At his voice, Gerard quickly looked up form his sketchbook, and promptly hid it. He assumed the "gay art kid" was used to teasing for his artistic endeavors. He quickly moved his backpack, and William sat in its place.

"Look, if you plan on calling me a fag, get it over with, please," The request made William turn his head, and look at him.

"Call you a what now?"

"A fag. It's not exactly hidden what I am," Gerard gestured to the pride flag pin on his bag.

"My only two 'friends' in this school are a gay couple. Trust me. I do not give a shit who you kiss," Gerard looked at him with a smile. His words struck a rarely hit nerve in him; the nerve that made him feel seen and appreciated.

"Oh. Well...thanks. My name's Gerard, but most people call me Gee," William didn't have the heart to tell him he already knew, solely because of Ryan's rude and judgmental comments.

"I'm William. Some people call me Bill. Though, not as much as when I was younger," at the name, Gerard scrunched his face up in disgust.

"Oh, God, are you the kid who Gabe Saporta wants to fuck or something?" William groaned, causing the bus driver to look in the rearview mirror out of both curiosity and annoyance.

"Dammit, that guy...Yes, I'm him. Trust me, I hate him too."

"He's got the whole class wrapped around his finger already. And he's a freshman. A freshman! I'm a junior," Gerard scoffed, and rolled his eyes. 

"I don't know what's up with him. He's just always had this...strange power over people. Maybe it's hypnotism. Or witchcraft. Or both," William had a look of thought on his face as he pondered.

Gerard laughed at the comment, which made William a bit more comfortable. Why did Ryan have such a problem with this kid? He seemed fine enough to him. The only people William understood hatred for were people who had some level of unwarranted hatred for someone else. Well, and Gabe, but he was the exception that proved the rule. The strange yet constant social division between teens of different interests, ages, hell, even sexual orientation was such a blizzard of confusion he never gave it much thought. He only had so many painkillers for the consequential headache, after all.

"Gabe told me he got a girlfriend this morning, actually," William said in passing, assuming the comment wouldn't even be acknowledged beyond a possible "damn."

"He has a what now? He literally only talked about you in study hall," Two things in the response stood out to him. One, how the hell did a freshman have a study hall? It was known throughout the school that in order to assure students would get all their credits to graduate, they were prohibited from choosing study hall in freshman year. Then, he remembered Gabe's mom, and answered his own question. Two, why is Gabe still talking about him, when he has a girlfriend? Was he lying? Does he have ulterior motives for getting with her? He didn't get it.

"He needs to get a grip..."

"Agreed," Gerard leaned on the window, appearing to be tired of social interaction for the day. Not wanting to aggravate someone he barely knew, William simply pulled out his CD player, and listened to music. Today's album was one he knew every word to -- Weezer's debut album. As he let himself be absorbed into the music, he had one last thought.

His feeling was wrong. High school would be very interesting, thanks to one Gabe Saporta.

Chapter Text

Friday, August 14th

The morning started with not much commotion. The building was relatively calm and serene, especially for a public high school. However, all of that changed with the arrival of one student. Arriving via a beat up, navy blue BMX bike, was the middle school's famed basketball star and class clown. Throwing the bike to the side, he greeted his nerdy friend. Despite it only being the second day of school, he already had most students wrapped around his finger, even the upperclassmen.

"Yo, Tyler!"

The boy, addressed as Tyler, looked up to see his caller. A tall, Asian teen with dark hair, curls bouncing all over, with its true volume obscured by a simple black beanie, adorned with a couple pins.

"Hey, Josh. Are you actually going to do your work this year?" Tyler asked, still exasperated from constantly having to help Josh cheat on every little assignment in eighth grade. In fact, it was they reason they even know each other. The all too familiar teacher-enforced pairing of the class nerd and the class clown was the fateful intertwining of many duos, and the two boys were no exception. As was tradition with Josh, he didn't do any actual work, opting to be the "comedic relief," which mostly consisted of finding one phrase and repeating it for the remainder of the class period. The dynamic was both infuriating and endearing to Tyler. On one hand, he found the concept of someone who considered the latest trend to be more worth their time than academic obligations to be preposterous. On the other hand, Josh was so idiotically endearing he couldn't get angry beyond a light scolding. Tyler wasn't sure whether this was intentional or not. He had a difficult time differentiating truthful, honest mistakes from manipulation tactics. He didn't quite understand why he both couldn't tell the difference, or why he was so worried about the difference in the first place. 

"Yeah, right, sure, whatever. Wanna see me do a handstand?" Before Tyler could give a rational response of denial, Josh was already setting his school supplies off to the side in preparation. Yet another aspect of Josh that Tyler had conflicted feelings about: his tendency to not give any thought to whatever stupid and possibly dangerous stunt he wanted to attempt. As Tyler held back a disappointed and slightly concerned sigh, Josh gave all his effort to try and do a handstand.  Unfortunately for the both of them, but for different reasons, Josh fell flat on his ass, letting out a loud and sharp exclamation of pain.

"OW! FUCK!" Tyler facepalmed at the shouted expletive. Not only was Josh hurting himself over something he should've known better than to do, but people were also paying attention to them. In particular, another curly haired, but this time Latino, boy with beady eyes approached. 

"Uhm...are you okay?" The kid looked down at Josh, confused and afraid for his wellbeing.

"Obviously..." Josh sprung up quickly, not wanting to be seen as weak. For all the confidence the basketball star seemed to ooze, and illuminate even in the darkest of times, there were the ever so rare moments where the shield of egotistical nonchalance was peeked over, as if taking in whatever danger lay in front of it, revealing the vulnerability behind the tactful defense mechanism. Of course, most people didn't really bother, or even notice enough, to read into his behavior. The crowd he usually hung out with was also under William's umbrella term of "basics." The kind of people who saw things, but didn't observe them. Seeing things was the act of acknowledgment; observation was the act of critical thinking about the acknowledged sight. The only person Josh purposefully hung around that even knew how to define the word "observation" was Tyler, and therefore he was the only one who actually observed him.

Tyler had a way with words. Words he penned exclusively. He loved song writing. Josh had unknowingly become his muse. Many unsung songs with delicately laced metaphors that were complex comparisons of aspects of Josh's personality to whatever object he deemed poetic enough to be worthy of metaphorical statements about his inspiration. He never once considered releasing the songs. He only did it as an exercise of his writing skills. A hobby he presumed wouldn't last to adulthood. He didn't think anyone would ever want to read his stupid poetry with music behind it.

"Oh, that's good...are you a freshman?" The older looking boy seemed to have a knack for identifying underclassman. 

"How'd you know!? But yeah. I'm Josh. And the nerd right there is my personal assistant, Tyler," Josh smirked, pointing at Tyler. In response, Tyler gave a disappointed look.

"Like the basketball kid, Josh?" Even in the high school, the ultimately meaningless local fame of middle school sports carried over.

"Mhm. The one and only," Josh clicked his tongue, trying to seem cool. The older kid didn't react.

"Here's some advice. The basketball team here are assholes. Don't be like them, okay? Oh, and I'm Ray. If you ever need a guide, or someone rational, I'm your guy. I'm usually in the library with the D&D club," The boy, now registered as Ray in the minds of the two clueless freshmen, gave them a brief smile, before walking away.

"You need to be more careful, Josh," Tyler reprimanded, as soon as Ray was out of earshot.

"Whatever, Ty. I'm fine...ooh, look at that" --he gestured to Gabe Saporta talking to Vicky-- "Gabe and his girl. How much you wanna bet..." As Josh kept gossiping about the two, Tyler zoned out, He didn't really care who or what Gabe Saporta was doing. He returned to his thoughts about Josh, and the musical creations he unwittingly and indirectly brought to life at the hands of Tyler. As annoyed with Josh as he usually found himself, he couldn't imagine being without him. There was a certain attachment, an attachment that's variant couldn't be discerned. The idea of Josh as only a platonic friend made him feel bored and unhappy, but the idea of him as a romantic partner seemed foreign and terrifying. There was affection for him, but it had yet to be strong enough to where he felt the need to confess, or God forbid, show him his creations written about him.

Though, Tyler did find himself letting his thoughts wander. What would it be like if he and Josh were dating? Would Josh be a gentleman? Would he behave the exact same way to Tyler he did now? All were questions that kept repeating in his head, unable to stop. The only things he could hear were his heartbeat and the same three questions.

"Uh, Tyler? You in there?" At Josh's interference, Tyler hastily nodded. 

"Yeah, yeah...c'mon. Let's go inside...can't be late," Tyler started speed walking into the building, where Josh followed.

He'd deal with his emotions later. And by later, he meant never.

Chapter Text

Saturday, August 15th

The delicate breeze accentuated the wistful nature of Jon's character. He was nothing short of an elusive fairy tale to many who encountered him. He had few he let in, despite appearing to be a very readable individual. A person who radiated nothing but warmth, never revealing the source of it. Except, to a couple people he deemed special enough to be his confidants.

His friends, -- that everyone else saw as spies -- were a couple other known personalities. Each had their own "gimmick" that most never dug beyond. They weren't people to the public eye, they were fiction. One note comedic relief that served as an always successful inside joke to anyone attending Barrington High School.

There was Brendon Urie, the lovesick fool. There was Ryan Ross, the egotistical, self described "modern Poe." And then there was Spencer Smith. Spencer was the most disliked of the bunch, which is bound to happen, when you're the most combative of a group. A very passionate kid, he commonly got into debates about world issues. It's the same reason he found himself spending days, sometimes even weeks, at a time away from school so frequently. The constant beatings made it a safety hazard for him to be on the premises. But, he still made it a point to be an A+ student. Spencer had a flame that could not be extinguished.

However, his argumentative nature made it a bit harder for people to find him likable enough to be around for more than five minutes. His only true companionship was found in the form of three other cartoonishly exaggerated peers of his. There used to be four, but the expulsion and incarceration of their old friend Brent Wilson proved to drive an unmovable wedge in their bond. The loss of Brent from their dysfunctional circle was little more than the loss of a simple acquaintance. They never liked him much, not having a good enough personality to make up for his sheer lack of ambition to do anything other than be an ass. So, becoming a quartet didn't bother them much. It only made their alliance all the more important.

As the breeze picked up, Jon moved his hair back with his yet to be calloused hand. His hair had been getting longer recently, but he had no desire or thought of cutting it. He had more to worry about than something so superficial such as hair, such as his copious 

Jon was a closed book because he knew if he opened himself up, he'd be hit with content warnings. A laundry list of mental health issues, and experiences that made him the person he is today. It was far easier to keep it private, instead of being a walking soap opera character. Though, he had quite a bit of trust in Spencer, and it was mutual. The two boys' exchanges were always unspoken promises of eternity. It didn't really matter what happened -- neither wanted to live without the other.

Jon was taking a stroll through town, carrying his Kodak camera tightly in his hands, ready to capture a piece of everyday town life at a moment's notice. The thought of anything, whether impactful to many or few, becoming lost to the concept of time didn't sit well with him. So, he brought his camera everywhere. He'd take a picture of anything he found interesting, which just so happened to be almost everything. A conversation? Picture. A butterfly? Picture. Car driving by? Picture.

In his mind, there was no reason that the everyday life of a average town dweller should be undocumented and ignored by history. It was blasphemous, if anything, that only massive cultural shifts mattered to so-called historians. If they really cared, he thought, they'd document the cause and effect. The cultural shift and the changed society it unceremoniously released from its clutches.

It was a surprise to no one that he was the president of the yearbook club. Every play, game, and club meeting, he would take at least five pictures. It made him a pariah among the students. Many of them didn't appreciate constantly having their lives being turned into what they thought was entertainment for Jon. Despite Jon's true intentions lying with historical and archival reasoning, his soft spoken nature didn't let him communicate that fact with others easily. It didn't matter much to him. He would keep doing it, until someone ripped the camera from his white knuckled hands.

As he approached the fountain in the middle of town, he took a snapshot. Click. He already collected several images of the mundane day. But a recognized face sitting on the fountain gave him a reason to live in his moment for once, instead of capturing everyone else's for some peculiar sense of purpose and satisfaction.

"Took you long enough. You gotta learn to live your life, man."

Jon shook his head in jest, and sat down next to the person who just lauded a never ending criticism at him. That person being Spencer Smith.

"I'm serious. Don't write my concerns off again, Walker," Jon looked Spencer in the eyes, a rare occurrence, even between two with a relationship so strong and upheld. It was reserved for serious conversations. Conversations like the one Spencer was about to initiate.

"I...ugh. You're gonna make me be sentimental, aren't you? Sick fuck..."

Jon huffed a little, acknowledging Spencer's struggle and general disdain for being affectionate. He was combative and emotional, but never affectionate and romantic. Granted, what Jon defined as a "romantic action" from Spencer meant any physical contact above a high five.

"I love you, Walker. I really do. And I don't want to watch you from the sidelines...watching other people from the sidelines. Get in the game, or something. Like...just...do something. Please," the desperate tone and unrehearsed essence of the words registered to Jon, but they didn't give him any true desire to take responsibility. A sweet man, overshadowed by his refusal to see his own self destruction that stemmed from an obsession such as his.

"I know that look in your eyes. You're sitting there, waiting for me to shut up so you can go back to thinking about who's boring ass life you're going to witness with your stupid ass camera! Put it away!" Spencer snatched Jon's camera, scoring a brief yell from the amateur photographer. 

"Just...be with me. Be with me. Not watching me," Spencer gently slid Jon's prized possession into his pocket. Jon measured the distance between the two with his eyes. Around 2 inches between their thighs. Or, in his thoughts, around one rectangular polaroid between their thighs. Then, another rearrangement of his vision, this time leading his gaze to Spencer's calloused hands. It highlighted a distinction between their characters. Jon had light, delicate hands, demonstrating his more laid back, inexperienced way of life. His experiences were all emotional. Long stories about his suicidal thoughts didn't translate in his physical appearance. Self harm never plagued the man -- he would go out for night time walks in order to clear his head. It was a continuous cycle. Go to school. Go home. Consider suicide. Walk around. Repeat. 

Spencer's hands were far more beaten and worn, a testament to his contentious patterns commonly resulting in situations where bodily defense was necessary. Just like Spencer's relentless attempts to get Jon to turn his life around, Jon did the same for Spencer, just in a more silent way. Their love transformed from embracing each other for all they were to reminiscing about who they both once were, and each trying to fix the other. Neither of them quite realized how much projecting both were doing, trying to repair someone with self destructive behaviors while they themselves consistently, without fail, do the same thing. Lying to oneself and the other is a played out stereotype of teenage social affairs. A stereotype they both unknowingly played into. A stereotype Brendon and Ryan could only witness as bystanders, not knowing where either of them could even begin in trying to unpack the barely shut suitcase that was their issues. It was a "them" problem, to be solved by them.

Jon grabbed Spencer's hand, for selfish and selfless reasons, both revolving around comfort. Jon loathed the part of himself that refused to change, entirely due to the fact it upset Spencer. He had no stakes in his own mental health, rather, using self improvement to improve someone else. An innate, human desire to fit in, whether it be with a large crowd, or with your supposed matching puzzle piece.

Spencer tightened the connection. He appreciated the gesture. It allowed both of them to leave it be, and simmer in the sun, and the even brighter glow of their attachment. 

A moment of peace in a world of chaos.