Fic: Swear To Shake It Up (1/2)

[piecesof_reeses]

Title: Swear To Shake It Up
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, Jon/Spencer
Wordcount: ~20,000
Summary: This wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal. Really. Spencer was just trying to give Brendon and Ryan a good shove in the right direction (the right direction being, of course, towards each other’s beds). Only…things don’t go quite as planned. High school au.
Warnings: Swearing, disregard of canon, superfluous amount of Disney songs.
Disclaimer: So, so fake.
Author's Notes: Haha, so, this is a sequel to St-St-Stutter Something Profound, which was a sequel to The High School Knows Something I Don't Know. I should, just maybe, start calling this a universe. It would be a great idea to read those two first.
Thanks to: My beta, who is the most fabulous beta ever: the awesome chaoticallyclev ! I would die without you, bb.

Spencer drums his fingers on the windowsill, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. This is the first time he’s managed to actually get a hold of Jon in more than two weeks, and Jon can’t seem to stop talking about his apparently abso-fucking-lutely perfect roommate/best friend.

See, Spencer knows he’s not being unreasonable. Jon’s been at college for three months now, and they’ve barely even talked since then, let alone seen each other. Was an email or phone-call or even a fucking three-word text too much to ask for, seriously? For fuck’s sake, they’re—and Spencer really, really hates bringing out the d-word, but—they’re dating. And what Spencer hates even more is feeling clingy.

“—so Tom was standing there, just bitching about his last English test—“ Jon continues.

“Ryan finally broke up with his girlfriend,” Spencer interrupts, trying to keep irritation out of his voice.

“Really?” Jon says, not fazed by the abrupt subject change—but of course, he’s never fucking fazed.

“Yep.” Spencer can hear himself biting the word off just a second too soon, making it sound curt and forced and unhappy. But right now, he really can’t care less.

“What happened?” Jon asks.

“He caught Elise cheating on him.”

“Wow,” Jon whistles. “That must have sucked.”

Which, yeah, sure, but in his current mood, Spencer can’t really muster up too much sympathy. “I guess. He’s been moping around for two weeks, anyway, breaking out the emo poetry and everything.” Jon laughs softly into the phone, and Spencer feels his lips lift up in response.

“How does Brendon feel about it?” Jon asks.

“You’d think the idiot would be happy,” Spencer says fondly, “but Ryan’s mood is just rubbing off on him. He trails after him all the time, looking sad and a little confused. Keeps trying to cheer Ryan up, too, but, well. You know how Ryan gets when he’s in one of his funks. Takes anything anyone does to try to get him out of the funk as a personal attack.” And yeah, Spencer’s calmed down enough to realize that he’s being kind of the same way. College is busy. Jon is busy.

Even though it does sometimes sound like Jon’s partying with his best fucking friend “Tom” every weekend.

“So you’ve got a sad Ryan and, as a result, a sad Brendon,” Jon concludes.

“Yeah.” Spencer would laugh, because, honestly, those two are so oblivious about each other that it’s usually really funny. But recently it’s become a lot less funny and a lot more depressing. “I wish they’d just wise up, you know?”

“Are you saying you want to matchmake?” Jon asks teasingly. “Don’t you remember the last time you tried to interfere with Ryan’s love life? The whole fiasco with the rabid bunny?” Jon’s lisp gets worse when he says fiasco; it’s kind of ridiculously endearing.

“That was in second grade,” Spencer says. “I seriously doubt girls sic rabid bunnies on guys when they get rejected nowadays.” He pauses and thinks about what he just said. “They’ve probably moved on to cutting balls off.”

“Ouch,” Jon says, laughing.

“I just wish that every waking hour I spend with them doesn’t have to feel like I’m watching a fucking General Hospital marathon.”

“Well, you know.” Spencer can practically hear Jon shrugging over the phone. “If it feels like a soap opera, maybe you should treat it like one.”

Spencer realizes that he’s really got no room to be talking, but seriously— “Are you smoking up right now?” Because Jon’s not making any sense.

Jon laughs, and yeah, there’s that little pot giggle. “Just a little. Promise. But seriously, I have an idea.”

Spencer braces himself for a completely half-assed scheme. He knows from personal experience that what seems like the most brilliant idea when you’re high as a kite really doesn’t…turn out so well when you’re sober again.

“So,” Jon hiccup-coughs into the phone, “you should tell Brendon that Ryan likes him. And tell Ryan Brendon likes him!”

Spencer is having a really hard time remembering that Jon is the one in college, not him. And that they are both no longer in middle school.

“Are you serious?”

“Wait, no, really, this is brilliant. Because then Brendon will have to start thinking of Ryan as a potential love-interest, and Ryan will start doing the same thing, and then. Boom. They’ll get together. It’ll just be like…a push in the right direction.”

Now Spencer knows that Jon’s quoting someone else, because “potential love-interest” isn’t exactly part of Jon’s normal vocabulary.

“Dude, where did you get this idea?”

Jon’s silent for a few moments.

“Jon?” Spencer prods.

“We were watching As the World Turns ‘cause there was nothing else on, okay?” Jon sounds sheepishly adorable. Adorably sheepish? Whatever. “But it worked out perfectly!” Jon defends.

“It worked out perfectly,” Spencer repeats.

“Yeah, until the guy started fucking his sister. But you know how those things happen,” Jon says, sounding sage. “You should still try telling them both! Will you try it?”

Spencer frowns. In all honesty, that sounds like the worst plan he’s probably ever heard. But fuck, it can’t possibly make things worse. And Jon, in all his pot-induced wisdom, is right. What Ryan and Brendon really need is a push (or shove, really) in the right direction.

Also, Jon’s puppy eyes are pretty killer. And even though Spencer is a strong man, and also he can’t actually see Jon’s eyes over the phone, he’s…Well, he’s not that strong of a man, okay?

“Sure.” What the fuck, right?

“Great! Tom says—“

And Spencer stops listening.

* * *

“That pizza looks scrumptious!” It really does. Brendon can practically taste the gooey cheese and the tangy tomato sauce. Just…scrumptious. It’s really the perfect word. And it feels good rolling off the tongue, too, almost visceral.

Alex, the sophomore lunch helper, smiles and looks down, cutting a piece of it for him.

Brendon leans against the counter lazily, eyes fixed on the food. “So how’s lunch going? Any disasters in the kitchen?”

“Uh, n-no.” Alex keeps his eyes down, and Brendon can see a blush working its way down his neck.

Poor guy. He seems really socially awkward, and he stutters a lot. Whenever Brendon talks to him, he always glances down and blushes, like he doesn’t know what to do. Brendon can sympathize. He’d be pretty much a social reject if it weren’t for Spencer and Ryan, too.

“So,” he prompts. “Anything new going on in the sophomore class?”

Mute, Alex shakes his head and holds out the pizza slice.

“Cool, thanks!” Brendon flashes him a bright grin before sauntering to his lunch table. Ryan’s already sitting there, and he’s rolling his eyes for some reason. But then again, Ryan’s usually rolling his eyes for one reason or another.

* * *

“That was disgusting, man.” Deleon comes up behind Cash, and he jumps.

“Freak me right the fuck out, why don’t you?” Cash grumbles.

“Do you realize that he still calls you Alex? Why don’t you just tell him your actual name? It’s like you’re completely mute every time he comes around.”

Cash shrugs sullenly.

“Brendon’s a jackass, anyway. What kind of retard gets lunch from you for two years and doesn’t even know your name?”

“Dude, why are you always such an asshole about Brendon? I just haven’t…told him. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“I’m not being an asshole!” Singer glares at him. “I’m being a good fucking friend. You’ve been head over heels for this guy for the past two years, and he’s completely oblivious!”

“Whatever.”

“Just do something about it.” Singer’s softened his tone, and his eyes look big and concerned. Cash sighs. “Either do something or forget about it. This is Brendon’s senior year, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cut up the fucking pizza, would you? We have a job to do.” Cash turns his back and starts arranging the pizza onto paper plates. Deleon can be so fucking annoying sometimes.

* * *

Ryan’s looking at him, all wide eyes and open mouth. It’s really the first expression besides self-pity or anger that he’s had since finding out about Elise.

Spencer’s fidgeting compulsively, and trying desperately to keep eye-contact with Ryan, even though he really just wants to stare at the floor.

“So…Brendon like likes me?” Ryan asks slowly.

Spencer kind of really feels like making a quip about when they had regressed back to middle school terminology, but yeah, no. He’s much too busy trying to remember why the hell he’d agreed to this completely retarded plan.

Oh, right. Jon. (Which is the answer to most questions about Spencer, he’s found.) Spencer resists rolling his eyes. This is never going to work. But he nods anyway, trying to look sincere.

“Wow.” Ryan plops himself on his living room couch, still looking surprised. “But…why hasn’t he said anything?”

Spencer shrugs. “Uh…You know Brendon,” he offers up feebly.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s probably waiting until he thinks I’m over Elise.” Now Ryan’s eyes narrow at him. “How did you know Brendon liked me?”

“Umm…It was really easy to see. And…yeah.” Spencer’s eyes slide sideways.

Strangely enough, Ryan buys it. Or not so strangely. It’s kind of glaringly obvious how much Ryan wants Brendon to “like like” him.

Mentally, Spencer breathes a sigh of relief. One down, one to go. And Ryan is always way harder to convince than Brendon.

* * *

“Um, no. No.” Brendon laughs a little, awkwardly. “You’re wrong. I mean—I mean,” and Brendon backtracks, because Brendon can never stand to make anyone angry at him, “I know you’ve known him for a long time, and you guys are really close and all, but…No. Definitely not.”

Spencer struggles not to sigh. They’ve been at this for ten minutes, just going back and forth and back and forth. Brendon’s usually much more gullible than this. And it’s not even like it’s not true. Ryan is completely fucking gone for Brendon. Ryan just…isn’t the most self-aware guy in the world.

“Brendon. It’s true.” And Spencer thinks, fuck it, and goes on the attack ruthlessly. “Ryan and I have been friends for a lot longer than we even knew you, you know?” He pretends not to see Brendon flinch. “I know when my best friend’s in love.”

Brendon juts his chin out, says resolutely, “Then why the hell was he with Elise for so long?”

“Because Ryan’s fucking insecure!” Spencer bursts out. “He feels like he needs to have a girlfriend to show how important he is, and all that shit. Having the perfect social life is just another one of his shields. I—“ Spencer bites back his words forcefully. Shit. He hadn’t meant to start talking about Ryan’s twisted mentality, especially behind Ryan’s back.

The sickest part is that all of that is actually true. And Brendon knows it, even though he likes to act as though he doesn’t. Ryan’s always been like that. With this huge, relentless need to prove that he was just as good as anyone else in the world. He acted like the cockiest person, but since Spencer met him, he’s always had the lowest self esteem.

“And Elise cheating on him is doing wonders for his insecurity, am I right?” Brendon says sarcastically. His arms are folded, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks almost angry.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. But that’s why I’m talking to you. I…” Spencer stares at the floor and feels his cheeks heat up. Goddammit. “I just think you’d be a lot better for him than that bitch,” he mumbles.

“Look. I mean.” Brendon deflates suddenly. “What do you want me to do about it, Spencer? Even if he does, uh, like like me—“ Spencer tries not to bang his head against a wall—“I can’t…” He sighs. “I thought he was straight.” Brendon sounds lost, and a little confused.

Spencer furrows his brow. “People can be bisexual, you know.”

What is with Brendon? Spencer would have thought he’d welcome Ryan ‘like liking’ him. They’ve been dancing around the issue for nearly the entire time they’ve known each other. But instead Brendon’s being…really, weirdly resistant of the idea.

“Bisexual?” Brendon kind of rolls the word around in his mouth, like he’s testing it out to see how it feels on his tongue.

“Bisexual.” Spencer nods encouragingly.

“Huh.” Brendon lifts a shoulder and then drops it back down.

* * *

Ryan almost wishes Spencer hadn’t told him about Brendon. Because his math teacher is droning on and on (and on, seriously, how in depth can you go with standard deviation?) and all Ryan can think about is Brendon supposedly like liking him. Everything has two shades of meaning now. He can remember Brendon always hanging off of him, always trying to fucking do stuff for him until it got so annoying he’d told Brendon to leave him the fuck alone. Brendon following him, Brendon making his stupid little jokes, Brendon just being so Brendon that eventually, Ryan broke and snapped at him.

Had he been cruel? Callous? Because he honestly had no idea that Brendon felt that way about him. Hell, he hadn’t even known Brendon was gay.

And now he does. Because Spencer has so kindly informed him. Fuck, what’s he supposed to do with this information? Does he even want to do anything? It’s not even that Brendon’s a guy. Or, well, maybe a little.

Ryan has kind of an amorphous idea of sexuality in his head. Of course, he knows all the facts, read up on all the requisite gay literature. The thing is, he still likes girls. Loves them, actually. But, now that he’s thinking about it, he definitely doesn’t feel reluctant to trying things with guys. It’d be kind of cool. Expand his knowledge, and all that. And he has the opportunity, now that The Bitch is finally gone. In the wise words of Chuck Palahniuk, it's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

Or something like that.

And Brendon…Brendon might actually be perfect for that kind of experimentation. They’re friends; it could be casual. This could work. Ryan’s always up for trying something new.

And Brendon’s lips look pouty and soft; they’d probably be pretty nice to—

Ryan frowns to himself and swiftly quashes that train of thought. If anything’s going to happen, he can’t let himself get too caught up. He’ll need to stay in control. And he will. This is going to be fine.

His math teacher clears her throat, and he turns his attention toward her unenthusiastically. They’ve got a test this Friday; he might as well make an effort to pass it.

* * *

Brendon’s jittering. He knows he is. It’s gotten better since he was little, but he still can’t break the habit. His foot, his hand, even his head sometimes, just tapping along frantically to a beat no one else can hear (not even himself, actually). It annoys people, so he tries not to do it. But sometimes, things get to be so Brendon doesn’t even care about stopping himself anymore.

He just doesn’t know what to do.

He gets up, tries to move around so his knees aren’t bouncing up and down. But no, now the rest of his body just feels shaky.

What the fuck? Why had Spencer come up to him, completely out of the blue, and told him all that…stuff? Brendon scrubs a hand over his hair restlessly. He couldn’t possibly think that Brendon would…would do something about it.

Because…Ryan’s a guy. And…Brendon’s a guy. And okay, Brendon knows he’s just stating random facts here, but he isn’t actually stupid, even though he gets that he acts that way sometimes. But Brendon’s not gay, which Spencer doesn’t seem to be understanding. He’s fine with Spence being gay, and all; he’s completely and totally happy that Spence and Jon are together.

But Brendon’s straight. He doesn’t think about Ryan like that. They’re friends! That’s all. That’s fucking all.

But…when Spencer had told him how Ryan felt, Brendon’s first reaction wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t even mild aversion.

Even though it should have been. Because, seriously? Ryan’s got a dick. A dick. Like Brendon does.

And all Brendon could feel at the time was surprise. And this strange warmth in his stomach, like happiness, only—only not, because…no. Brendon isn’t like that.

He sits down again, hard, on one of the cushy chairs in the library. People are staring at him, but that’s normal. People tend to stare at the strange, twitchy little Mormon kid who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. Brendon grimaces and closes his eyes against the bright glare of the library lights.

But even in the cool darkness behind his eyelids, Brendon’s still got this hot, twisting feeling in his gut, like he’s sick. Because sometimes, sometimes Brendon can feel himself staring too much at Ryan when he’s not supposed to. Just looking, though, because looking’s harmless. Ryan’s just got this really, really acutely pretty face, all defined angles and dark brown eyes. Brendon can admire it from a purely aesthetic point of view (even though Brendon’s pretty much shit at all art except music).

He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’s got to stop thinking about this. Spencer was probably wrong, anyway.

* * *

Brendon nods and tries to keep up with whatever Spencer’s going on about. Something about English class, he thinks. He turns his head to the right slightly, and then freezes. Shit. Ryan’s walking up to them slowly.

It’s been a few days now, and, well…he’s kind of been avoiding Ryan. Not even consciously! He just…somehow manages to vacate the premises every time Ryan comes within a hundred yards. It’s stupid and awkward and seriously, seriously immature, but it’s like Brendon can’t help himself.

He taps his fingers on his thigh, biting his lip. Ryan’s getting closer and closer, and there’s no way he can go now, because that would be too obvious even for him.

His fingers start tapping faster, and Spencer gives him a strange look. Brendon looks away, to the left, and wow, Ryan’s right there, less than a foot away. He quickly turns his head to stare at the ground.

“Hey, Ry,” Spencer says casually. There’s a bit of a smile playing around his lips. “You know, I just remembered I had to go speak with Ms. Wells about something with our English project, so…I’ll, uh, see you guys later?” There’s the weirdest twinkle in Spencer’s eyes, like he’s up to something. Which Brendon really, really doesn’t have the time to figure out, because Spencer’s already gone, and ohmygod what is he going to say to Ryan?

He shifts on his feet uncomfortably and tries to think of any fucking excuse to get out of here. He kind of has to go to the bathroom. Yeah. The bathroom. He clears his throat, “Uh, Ryan—“ at the same time Ryan goes,

“Hey, Bren—“ They stop, and look each other. Brendon giggles nervously, a really annoying habit he can’t seem to shake. The giggles sound more hysterical than anything.

He waves his hand a little shakily, “you go first,” and then focuses really, really hard on the ground. Were the tiles always this puke green color?

Ryan smiles slightly, but it looks kind of strained. “So, you know, um.” Ryan’s fingers start fidgeting at the hem of his shirt, distracting him. “We’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we?”

Brendon nods up and down jerkily. Shit, shit, what is Ryan trying to get at?

“So, uh, we know each other pretty well.” Ryan fiddles some more with his shirt. “But I think, I mean, I know, uh, howyoufeel…” He mumbles the last few words, and Brendon can’t quite catch them.

“Um, what?”

Ryan presses on determinedly, like he didn’t even hear him. “So I think, uh, I think we could try it out. And…see where this takes us. You know?”

No, Brendon really doesn’t know, because Ryan’s talking in that cryptic way he always gets into when he’s nervous, and Brendon has no idea what he’s going on about. But it’s usually better to humor Ryan when he’s like this, so Brendon nods again.

Ryan smiles at him more fully, a bright, relieved grin, and Brendon can’t help but smile back, and then whoa, why is Ryan walking closer? Brendon skitters backward nervously, and oh, yeah, there’s the locker. Right behind him. Brendon leans back against it, feeling incredibly out of the loop.

“Ryan, what—“ he starts, going almost cross-eyed looking at Ryan because Ryan is right in fucking front of him, and god, he’s getting closer, and what the fuck?

Ryan just smiles at him kind of dreamily, and leans in the last few inches to brush his mouth against Brendon’s.

And Brendon’s brain maybe fizzles out a little. Because this feels nice, really, really nice, and if Brendon just moves his mouth slightly against Ryan’s, so what? He’s just caught off guard, is all, and Ryan’s mouth is really soft, and oh, wait, there’s something wet, and ohshit.

He breaks the kiss—and he can’t believe he’s even thinking that word in his head—suddenly, jerking his head back with enough force to probably dent the locker behind him. Ow.

Ryan just looks at him calmly. It’s like all the nervous energy has poured out of him, and Ryan’s standing there like he didn’t just fucking kiss Brendon.

Brendon tries to breathe. He licks his lips. He opens his mouth. He licks his lips again. They taste almost a little different, like Ryan, and god, Brendon cannot believe that just happened, because seriously. Seriously.

He inhales, looking right at Ryan. His heart’s beating too fast, and his palms are sweating, and he feels like he’s shaking all over. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Because… Because…Dammit, because—

“I’m straight,” he chokes out.

The words hang in the air between them for one long moment, and then Ryan’s face completely closes off. It’s kind of funny; this close he can see every detail; Ryan’s mouth tightening, his lips pressing together, his eyes hardening. Ryan spins around on his heel and walks quickly away, like he can’t even stand to look at Brendon.

Brendon just slumps against the locker. The silence feels like it’s pressing in on him, and he starts tapping his fingers on the locker just to do something, just to break this horrible tension still suffusing the air. The sound echoes loudly down the hallway.

* * *

Spencer stares down at the phone uncomfortably. He kind of wants to try calling Jon again, but he just called an hour ago, and Jon didn’t answer. And Spencer really, really doesn’t want Jon to open his cell and find his call history jammed full of calls from his clingy high school boyfriend.

He bites his lip. Why is he overthinking this? He should just call. Since when has he stressed out over just giving Jon a fucking call? He should just do it. He’s got the fucking right to; they’re dating and all that shit. (Even though right now it feels like they’re not. Because Jon is absolute crap at the whole keeping-in-touch thing, and god, yeah, from their phone conversations, it really sounds more like Jon’s dating Tom rather than him. Not that Spencer’s jealous, or anything. Of course not.)

The phone suddenly starts ringing shrilly, and Spencer almost drops it in surprise. He flips it open, and oh. Well. At least he can stop obsessing, because it’s Jon.

“Hey, Spence.” Jon’s voice sounds warm and mellow and familiar.

“Hey,” Spencer replies. He can feel his shoulders start to relax, and he smiles a little bit.

“You called an hour ago?” Jon yawns into the phone.

“Um. Yeah.”

“What for?”

Spencer frowns, feeling strangely defensive. “Just wanted to talk to you.” Since apparently Jon’s too busy to dial the numbers himself.

“Cool. What’s up?”

“Um…” Where does he begin? This whole week’s felt like one long shitty movie. “Ryan’s currently not speaking to Brendon.” Because of your stupid plan.

“Really?” Jon sounds concerned, and finally out of his sleepy stupor. “What happened?”

“I’m not too sure on the details, because I wasn’t there and Ryan won’t talk to me about it except in abstract quotes and hand waves, but apparently Ryan kissed Brendon. And Brendon…kind of freaked out.” Which might be an understatement, Spencer can admit to himself. He hasn’t seen Brendon this jittery and pale since fourth grade.

“Ohh.” Jon pauses. “So you actually told them they liked each other?”

“Well, yeah.” Spencer furrows his brow. “You were the one who told me to, and I thought it couldn’t really hurt.”

“Oh.” Jon says again, and Spencer just feels like ripping into him, because fuck, if it hadn’t been for Jon and stupid pot wiles and stupid schemes, then this whole fucking mess might never have happened. And all Jon can say is oh, because of course, Jon’s a few thousand miles away in Chicago, and can’t actually see any of this shit for himself. Everything’s so fucking screwed up.

“Well,” Jon starts, and clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sure Ryan’ll forgive Brendon eventually.”

“Right,” Spencer says flatly.

“Sooo…” Jon draws the word out. He pauses for a few moments. “College is pretty good. Tom’s starting up a new band. Wants to see if I can play bass in it, or something. Which should be fun.”

Fan-fucking-tastic for you, is what Spencer really wants to say, but what actually comes out is a noncommittal “hm.”

“Yeah,” Jon sounds more excited, “Tom’s got some great stuff written for the guitar part; it’s pretty fucking amazing. Should be kickass. Tom’s pretty much genius with the guitar.”

“Really,” Spencer says. Does he have a gold dick, too?

“He’s completely self-taught, on this really shitty guitar, and he’s really fond of that stupid guitar, god,” Jon laughs into the phone, “he just won’t get a new one no matter how much I try to tell him that that guitar’s pretty much ready for retirement. Or burial. But Tom’s just like that, you know, always—“

Actually, yes, Spencer does know ‘Tom’s just like that’, because every time Spencer manages to talk to Jon, Jon is always talking about Tom. Fucking always. Which, yeah, sure, Spencer can understand best friends, but this is way, way more than best friend adoration. It’s stupid and annoying and Spencer really just wishes Jon would “shut the fuck up about Tom, would you?”

“What?” Jon asks, breaking off in the middle of a sentence.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. About. Tom.” Spencer bites off each word carefully, feeling—savoring—the weight of them in his mouth. “It’s like you can’t seem to fucking stop talking about him. Tom’s fucking awesome, Tom’s fucking fantastic, Tom’s fucking perfect.”

“Spence, what—“ Jon tries to say, but Spencer just talks right over him.

“I really hate this about you, you know,” he says almost conversationally, “how I always try to tell you shit, and you always just change the subject. Like you can’t fucking stand to hear about my stupid life in stupid high school. Can’t you just give me some fucking useful input for once, because my two best friends are falling apart and I can’t do fucking anything to help and you’re just here talking about fucking Tom!” Spencer’s aware that his voice is rising, and that he’s practically shouting into the phone, but he can’t seem to help himself, and his hands are shaking, and he thinks he feels his eyes pricking at the corners, which just makes him angrier, dammit.

“Is there something you want to tell me about Tom, huh, because you can’t seem to stop talking about him, and you guys seem pretty fucking attached at the hip,” Spencer spits out viciously. “If you’re tired of your stupid high school boyfriend, you could just fucking tell me. Instead of never calling and never talking to me and god, I hate that about you. I hate it when you act like you don’t give a crap about anything, ‘cause you’re too wrapped up in your fucking college life and roommate and—“

“Spence, I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Jon’s starting to sound angry now, and Spencer’s glad about that, honestly, because it finally means Jon’s showing some sort of emotion other than mellow fucking apathy.

“Yeah, really? Because I fucking hate it when you—“ and Spencer’s talking to a dialtone.

He gulps in a breath, and his throat feels so dry and itchy, and god. Without even thinking about it, he grabs his cell phone and hurls it against the wall, feeling a nasty kind of pleasure at seeing it crack apart into small, un-fixable pieces.

What Spencer hates most about Jon, really, is that he’s not here, he’s not here helping Spencer pick up the pieces of his best friends and his relationship and his fucking life and try to fit them all back together.

* * * The clinking of the dinnerware is broken only by Brendon’s nonstop jittering, his knee thumping against the dinner table loudly. He’s almost glad of it for once, because that means dinner isn’t so fucking silent.

His mom looks up, and smiles at him. “Brendon, sweetie, could you stop moving your knee?”

Brendon frowns at his plate and tries to still it.

“Honey,” his mom directs her attentions to his dad, “how was your work?”

“It was fine,” his dad says shortly.

Brendon swallows a mouthful of broccoli uncomfortably. Finally, he tries to think aimlessly of random things to say, just to break the silence again. Like, the weather. Or his new English project. Or “So, uh, what do you guys think of homosexuals?” he asks, and winces almost as soon as the words left his mouth. Random things. Right.

His parents suddenly look gravely concerned. Even his mom’s ever-present smile has slipped. “Why do you ask, sweetie?” she says faintly.

“Just, uh, wondering.” He stares very hard at his broccoli. “I mean, we have a Gay Straight Alliance at school, and everything, so…yeah.”

“Well, we don’t, uh, hate homosexuals, of course.” His mom exchanges a glance with his dad and titters a little nervously. She says homosexual like it’s some kind of new species scientists have just discovered. Ho-mo-se-xu-al. “I mean, we do sympathize,” she says a little more strongly. “So misguided, the poor souls.”

Brendon hand’s jerks, and he bangs his fork against the plate loudly. She looks at Brendon oddly for a moment before continuing. “I hope you understand, Brendon, how lucky you are to have a proper upbringing. Some people just don’t have the right environment growing up, and they get all sorts of strange ideas in their head.”

His dad nods in agreement. Brendon blinks.

“Wait, so, you’re saying it’s because of their upbringing that they’re gay?” Brendon almost feels like laughing hysterically, except for how he really, really doesn’t. Actually, he feels a lot more like being sick all over the place than anything else.

“Well, I mean, I’m sure there are other, er, factors.” She looks at Brendon’s dad for support. “I mean. But you shouldn’t go discriminating against them, Brendon!”

Brendon looks at her dumbly. She’s kind of preaching to the choir, here. He twists his fingers nervously, feeling himself sweat.

“It’s not their fault no one’s ever showed them the right way.” His mom smiles a little condescendingly. “In fact, we should endeavor to help them. Show them that life doesn’t have to be like that!”

“I think they already know,” Brendon says. His voice cracks slightly, and he can taste sour bile rising up in his throat.

“Well. Yes.” His mom looks flustered for a moment. “Anyways, let’s stop talking about this at the dinner table, sweetie.” She gives a slight shudder, and looks back toward his dad. “I hear it’s going to rain tomorrow.”

* * *

“Hey, Alex, can you hand me a slice of pepperoni?” It’s lunchtime, and Brendon’s standing in line in the cafeteria.

The lunch helper nods sharply, and hands Brendon the pizza. His plastic glove rides up slightly, and Brendon can see some kind of tattoo on the kid’s hand.

“Hey, what’s that?” he asks, feeling a little pathetic that he’s so desperate for some conversation (since Ryan won’t even look at him and Spencer’s not much better) that he’s actually trying to engage in deep conversation with the lunch helper.

The kid fucking beams at him, though, and mumbles, “It’s just a money sign. For, you know, cash.”

“Cash?” Brendon asks.

“Um, yeah. That’s uh,” the kid bites his lip almost nervously, “my name. Cash. Not Alex.”

“Oh.” Brendon frowns. “I’m so sorry, man. I’ve called you Alex just about every single day, haven’t I?”

The kid blushes, and looks down. “It’s okay.”

“Well. That’s cool, Cash.” Brendon nods at the kid’s hand, and tries to walk away, because there is a whole line of people waiting behind him, and they’re rumbling kind of angrily.

“Wait! Uh, Brendon.”

Brendon turns around, but all the kid does is bite his lip again and blush harder. “What’s up?”

“You play guitar, right?” the kid asks. He sounds desperate, almost. Weird.

“Uh, yeah.”

“That’s really cool!” The kid beams dorkily again. “I, um, I play bass.”

“That’s…cool,” Brendon says, and tries to walk away again. People in the back of the line are getting seriously pushy and loud wondering “what the fuck the hold-up is.”

But Cash calls him back again. “Hey, uh, so we should hang out some time. Like, watch a movie, or something.” He bites his lip right after he says it, like he can’t believe he just did.

“Sure,” Brendon says, and smiles. The poor kid probably doesn’t have anyone else to hang out with. At this point, Brendon can really sympathize with how he’s feeling.

“Wow, really?” Cash’s face just lights up, and he says, “Um, I just—I really…” and then he lunges forward, grabs Brendon’s shirt collar—Brendon starts fearing for his life a little here; what the hell does this kid want?—and plants one on him.

A kiss, that is.

Brendon reels backward, cursing and dropping his pizza and losing his fucking balance. “What the fuck?” he manages to spit out, and then he whips his head around, and shit.

Spencer and Ryan are sitting at their usual table, but they aren’t talking to each other like usual. No. Instead of talking to each other, they’re staring. They’re staring straight at Brendon and god, that stupid fucking kid (fucking Cash or whatever, Brendon thinks angrily), and Spencer’s just gawking like he can’t believe his eyes. And Ryan—Ryan’s face is completely blank.

Fuck. Brendon closes his eyes and honestly, sincerely wishes for a gigantic black hole to open up beneath his feet, but of course, nothing happens. Of course. Nothing fucking happens unless it seriously screws up Brendon’s life.

Fucking—Brendon grabs another piece of pizza and stalks off, feeling a lump in his throat. His fucking life, right there.

* * *

“I’m sorry, I just—“ Cash calls out towards Brendon’s receding back, “I—I really like you,” he finishes softly, but Brendon’s already ten feet away at this point. Cash stares at the stupid pizza and kicks the booth angrily.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken Deleon’s advice. That fucktard hasn’t even ever had a girlfriend. Fuck, and Cash had been too eager. Too desperate. Scared Brendon off. Shit.

Some kid tells him to suck it up and grab him a piece of cheese pizza, but Deleon comes up from behind him and tells the kid to shut the fuck up.

“Hey,” Alex says. It’s kind of gruff, but knowing Alex, he’s probably trying to be gentle right now. “Brendon’s an asshole, anyway. You can do, uh, so much better.” He slides an arm around Cash’s shoulder, but Cash shrugs him off roughly.

“Whatever,” Cash mutters, and hands the kid his fucking cheese pizza.

* * *

Brendon’s walking kind of fast, but he has no idea where he’s going.

Fuck. Why the fuck did Ryan have to see that kiss? And why the hell did Cash kiss him in the first place?

Brendon doesn’t let himself think too closely about why, exactly, he cares more about Ryan seeing Cash kiss him than Cash kissing him in the first place, but fuck. Fuck. He’s got a piece of pizza in his hand, and no fucking place to eat it. He wants desperately to turn around and look back at Spencer and Ryan, but there’s no way he can eat lunch with them after that—fuck, no way he can even look them in the eye. After Ryan kissing him, after Cash kissing him, after telling everyone he was fucking straight…

A hot, roiling ball curls up in his stomach. He slows down, and tries to find some corner where he can be miserable by himself.

There’s Patrick and Mikey, sitting at a table a few feet away. He knows Patrick from Math, and he knows Mikey, vaguely, from middle school. They look friendly. Well, they look like they don’t actively hate Brendon, and right now, Brendon’s taking what he can get.

Patrick looks up kind of startled when Brendon drops his tray onto their table.

“Can I, uh…” Brendon gestures awkwardly. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure,” Patrick says, sounding surprised. Mikey kind of moves his head, which Brendon interprets as a nod.

He slumps down onto their table, feeling all the nervous, angry energy kind of flow out of him until all he really feels is tired.

“So,” Patrick starts. “You and Cash looked pretty friendly over there.”

When Brendon jerks his head up, though, Patrick just looks curious, not mocking.

“I can’t believe he fucking kissed me,” Brendon mutters.

Patrick laughs a little. “Dude, Cash has had the hugest crush on you since he was a freshman. It’s not exactly surprising.”

“What?” Brendon feels like his eyes are bugging out. They probably are.

“Yeah. Alex tells me Cash’s been thinking of making a move on you for forever.” Patrick shrugs.

“Well, that’s just fucking great.” Brendon lowers his head into his hands. First he was That One Lame Senior Who’s Never Been Kissed, and now he’s fucking Casanova. Fantastic.

Patrick looks a little taken aback by the venom in Brendon’s voice, but doesn’t say anything. They finish the lunch in silence, Patrick chewing, Brendon brooding, and Mikey flipping the controls on his mp3 player idly.

* * *

“Hey, uh, Kara.” Brendon clears his throat awkwardly. “It’s Brendon. I…There’s nothing really important, I was just calling to…talk to you. So…yeah. You don’t have to call me back.” He presses the end button, and leans back on his bed, feeling dejected and pathetic.

His cell phone rings a few moments later, though, and Brendon quickly presses talk.

“Kara?”

“Hey, Bren. Sorry for missing your call; I was in the bathroom a moment.” Her voice sounds happy and friendly and god, so familiar. Brendon’s gut clenches. He really fucking misses her. “How’s my favorite brother doing? You sounded—not very happy on my voicemail.” Brendon can hear her slight pause as she tries to delicately describe exactly how depressed he’d sounded.

“I…I don’t know.” Brendon sighs, and rests his chin on his hand. “Things are really fucked up right now.”

Kara doesn’t say anything about his use of the curse word, and yeah, this is why he’s calling her rather than his six other siblings. “Why are things messed up?”

“I don’t…I mean…” Brendon frowns. “Kara, you know how Mom and Dad feel about gay people, right?”

Kara pauses. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Brendon fidgets with his bedspread. The silence drags on before Brendon blurts out, “do you feel the same way?” hands clenching on his quilt. If she said yes, he…he doesn’t know what he’d do. Puke all over room, maybe. Hang up, definitely.

“Brendon…” Kara sounds hesitant. “I have a lot of opinions that Mom and Dad might not necessarily approve of. I mean, I think we all do. Which is natural.”

“So…you don’t? Feel the same way?”

“Look, what is this really about? Are you…” Kara gets quiet now, and a few moments pass before she starts speaking again, like she’s trying to rearrange the words in her to make sure they come out the best possible way. Kara’s always been the only Urie who does that; Brendon habitually talks before he thinks, anyway. He kind of wishes that he was more like Kara. Maybe then he wouldn’t have blurted shit out like an idiot after Ryan had kissed him. Maybe then he wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity and disgust right now.

“Brendon, do you think you might be gay?” And this, this right here, is exactly why Brendon still had reservations about calling her. Because she is way more perceptive than he can really give anyone else in his family credit for.

“So what if I am?” It comes out harsher than Brendon means it. He bites his lip.

“Brendon, sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.” Kara laughs a little. “Some of my best friends like people of their own gender. You’re not exactly unique,” she says gently, teasing him.

“Yeah. I just—Mom and Dad are so…” he trails off, unable—or unwilling—to think of words to describe them.

“You have to understand, Brendon, that Mom and Dad are kind of…close-minded at times. They—they don’t mean to be, you know, they just…have a hard time accepting new things. They’re afraid of people who are different from them. It…It’s a small fault, really, in the large scheme of things. You shouldn’t…resent them for it.”

“I don’t! I mean, of course I don’t.”

“Well, good. Although later on you might start. Just…Don’t take anything they say too seriously, all right?” She sounds genuinely concerned now.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I won’t.”

“Okay. Love you,” she says.

“Love you too.”

* * *

It’s cold. And his stupid mp3 player is dead again. Mikey sighs mentally as he walks across the courtyard with Patrick. He was supposed to go to a show by some local band tonight, but he’s got a ton of English homework. Then again, he’s already got a D in the class, so it’s not like a few more missing assignments will make any difference. Mikey skritches at his hair absently, then quickly pats it down again. His hair straightener freaked out this morning, and part of his fringe is totally fried and poking out in spikes. It looks kind of edgy, though. Uh, pun not intended. Mikey smiles a little bit to himself.

Some kid seems to be walking towards them. Short, dark-haired, jittering a little bit. His name is Brendon, Mikey thinks.

Brendon reaches them, and then stops abruptly, pulls at his hair, and opens his mouth all at the same time. He looks a little like a clockwork doll gone crazy. “Hey, uh, guys.” He smiles at them awkwardly.

Patrick says, “Hey,” and Mikey nods at him. He can feel his face automatically forming a blank expression.

“What’s up?” Patrick prompts. “You look kind of, um, down.”

Brendon’s face suddenly crumples, like “down” was some codeword for the clockwork doll to deprogram and shut down.

“I just—I don’t…” He bites his lip, and there’s something sparkly at the corners of his eyes. It’s either some new eyeliner or tears.

Patrick looks very alarmed and takes a step back. “Uh, are—are you okay, dude?” His voice sounds concerned and just this side of panicky.

Mikey just keeps standing there. He feels a little bored. And cold. Brendon looks kind of like Gee in one of his weekly emotional breakdowns. And Mikey usually doesn’t have to do anything with Gee. He just talks himself out, and all Mikey needs to do is pat him on the shoulder a few times. Hopefully Brendon will hurry up with the talking, Mikey can do the shoulder pats, and then they can all get back inside. Where, you know, it’s actually heated.

“I don’t—I don’t know what to do,” Brendon blubbers. “Spencer won’t talk to me, and Ryan won’t even look at me, so how can I apologize? How do I even apologize?”

Patrick’s eyes are darting from side to side, like he’s scouting for the best possible escape route. To be fair, Brendon does sound like an escaped lunatic from an insane asylum. Who are Spencer and Ryan, anyway?

“Haven’t Spencer and Ryan been friends with you for, like, a really long time?” Patrick asks slowly.

“Yeah, but then Ryan kissed me, and then Cash kissed me, and I told Ryan I was straight!” Brendon seems to be talking faster and faster.

And Mikey admittedly doesn’t have the most experience in this area, but he feels that kissing two guys generally isn’t the best indication of one’s heterosexuality. Patrick looks like he agrees.

“Are you, uh, sure you aren’t…gay?”

“I don’t know!” Brendon says, sounding very anguished and hopeless. Mikey is kind of impressed. Gee usually does better with self-righteous devastation than helpless anguish. They can probably exchange tips.

“You probably are,” Mikey tells him helpfully. “If you’re going around kissing guys, I mean.”

Brendon stares at him, all soulful puppy-dog eyes and quivering bottom lip. “I think you might be right,” he whispers, then looks shocked at himself after he says it.

“So what’s the problem, here?” Patrick asks. “You want Spencer and Ryan to start talking to you again? Why aren’t they talking to you in the first place?”

Brendon flings himself onto the nearest bench, and then starts talking. And talking. And talking. Apparently, he had just been waiting for someone to ask.

Mikey contemplates how long it will take him to develop frostbite.

According to Brendon, Ryan used to be desperately in love with him, which he knows for sure because Spencer told him and of course Spencer knows everything (Mikey feels kind of iffy about this point), and then Ryan kissed him because he couldn’t contain the overpowering intensity of his love for Brendon, but Brendon’s supposedly long-lost Mormon morals came back to him in one God-glorying fell swoop, so he told Ryan they couldn’t be together and fulfill their love because Brendon didn’t, uh, swing that way, but then Cash kissed him in the lunchline too because apparently everyone wants a piece of his hot ass, and Brendon really wishes he’d known about this earlier before he made such a fuck-up of things, but anyway Ryan and Spencer saw them kissing, and now Ryan’s angry because Hell hath no fury like a (wo)man scorned, so he thinks that Brendon was lying about being straight, even though Brendon was just confused, okay, and now Spencer’s angry on his best friend’s behalf.

Or. At least, that’s what Mikey could pick out between Brendon’s sniffs and run-on sentences.

Patrick looks like someone just ran him over with a train. “That’s, uh. That’s pretty harsh.” He adjusts his trucker hat.

“What should I do?” Brendon asks plaintively.

Patrick looks over at Mikey. Mikey shrugs. “I dunno. I’m not even going out with anyone. You probably know better than I do.” Mikey looks pointedly at Patrick.

“Uh, I mean, I.” Patrick is slowly turning a deep, scarlet red. He often turns that shade when he talks about Pete, thinks about Pete, or is within five square miles of Pete. Mikey knows this because Pete thinks it is the most adorable thing ever, and texts Mikey about it. Constantly. “Pete and I don’t usually have arguments like this.”

Brendon looks at him questioningly.

“I mean, we don’t do the silent treatment. We usually just scream, throw things, and then maybe choke each other, and then, uh…” Patrick’s eyes are glazed-over, and he’s blushing even more. “You know. We make up.” He stares at the ground determinedly, and pulls his hat over his eyes.

Mikey suppresses a giggle. Pete likes to wind Patrick up just so they can get to the choking and, subsequently, the make-up sex. He’s pretty sure Patrick goes along with it for the same reason.

“So, uh. Sorry, dude. I don’t know what to tell you,” Patrick says apologetically.

Mikey nods and tries to look sympathetic. Gee tells him it just makes him look even more blank, but whatever. Mikey is trying.

Brendon sighs and flaps his hand at them. “It’s okay. I think I also just kind of needed someone to talk to about this, too, so yeah. Thanks.”

They part ways and head into the building. Mikey thinks his nose might actually have completely frozen over.

* * *

It feels like Spencer’s life always comes back to this. Him, sitting on the bed, holding his phone, thinking about Jon. The last call had been…God, an absolute nightmare. Spencer overreacted, he can admit that, but goddammit, everything he said was true. Jon did always talk about Tom. Jon did never call. Jon did never seem to actually give a fuck, about him or anything else related to him.

But…Spencer really, really fucking misses the asshole. Without Jon, it feels like he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about the walking, kissing, avoiding, ranting catastrophe that RyanandBrendon has turned into. Which, now that he thinks about it, says some truly pathetic stuff about his social life.

It’s not even just that. Jon seems so mellow all the fucking time. He’s just there, solid, stable. Always flexible enough to bend, never break. And Spencer, unfortunately, is self-aware enough to know that he could really use some stability in his life.

Jon’s just—Jon. While Spencer’s just Spencer, the guy who’s so fucking gone for the idiot that he can’t even see straight.

Spencer sighs, frustrated, and before he can talk himself out of it, he starts dialing Jon’s number. He can hear his cell start ringing, and shit. What is Spencer even going to say? He can’t just start unloading on Jon about Ryan and Brendon without apologizing for his rant; that would be incredibly asshole-y of him. But what can he say? Sorry about screaming like a lunatic at you, dude, but all’s well that ends well, right? Haha?

Fucking hell. This is why Spencer hates acting on impulse.

But maybe Jon won’t pick up. He hardly ever does, anyway. So Spencer can just surreptitiously hang up and pretend this never happened and the world can just go spinning its merry way along--

“’Lo?”

Well. So much for that. “Uh, hi.” He clears his throat. “Hey, Jon.”

“Spence? Why aren’t you calling with your cell?”

Spencer coughs, remembering the pieces of smoking plastic at the bottom of his waste bin. “Um, it’s kind of out of commission at the moment.”

“Oh.” For once, Jon’s voice sounds completely inscrutable. God, Spencer really wishes that he could actually see Jon’s face, just so he could read what Jon was feeling. Because right now, Spencer has no fucking clue.

“I, um.” Spencer licks his lips. “How are you doing?” The question comes out stilted.

“I’m doing okay,” Jon says softly, and Spencer breathes out a shaky exhale. This is okay. Maybe—maybe they can just get past this without referring to it. Or talking about it. Ever.

There’s a silence, and Jon says, “How are things with Ryan and Brendon?”

Spencer hesitates before answering. “Not too great. They aren’t, uh, speaking at the moment.”

“Still?”

“Well, Brendon kissed Cash, so things got kind of shaken up again.”

“Cash?” Jon asks incredulously. “You mean the freshman who had that gigantic crush on Brendon?”

“He’s a sophomore now, but yeah.”

“And Ryan saw?”

“Yep. It really…wasn’t pretty. I think I might have gotten permanent hearing damage from Ryan’s shouting.”

“Ryan shouted at Brendon?”

“Oh, no. Ryan’s way too passive-aggressive for that. No, he just used me as a sounding board.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” Jon draws out. “Why did Brendon kiss Cash in the first place? I mean, I thought we established that he likes Ryan. Not Cash.”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “I, uh, haven’t really been talking to him either.”

“Why not? You don’t know his side of the story at all. He could have a perfectly legitimate reason.” Jon actually sounds kind of annoyed.

“For what?” Spencer shoots back. “For kissing Cash? That’s not exactly something you can explain away. What he did was seriously shitty. I mean, telling Ryan he was straight, and then going and kissing another guy right in front of him? What kind of asshole does that?”

“Well, I don’t know! Maybe you should ask him. If you guys just talked more, this kind of shit wouldn’t keep happening. You keep all this stuff bottled up inside, Spence; no one ever knows what’s bothering you! If you’d actually ask people about stuff instead of coming to your own conclusions, maybe things wouldn’t be so screwed up! People can’t, in fact, read your mind, Spence, no matter how much you might want them to.”

Spencer just sits on his bed, stunned. He can’t actually remember the last time Jon’s raised his voice in anger. His stomach feels all twisted up, and he’s sick with shame and shock and still a little bit of resentment.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right? I just—I didn’t…” Spencer trails off. He doesn’t even know what to say.

“I mean, is it just me?” Jon’s voice sounds tight and heavy. “Is it so hard for you to trust me that you think I’m sleeping with my roommate? Is it so hard for you to just fucking ask me about something if you’re feeling like this? Fuck, Spence.” There’s a rustling noise on the other end of the line, and Spencer knows Jon’s doing that thing where he rubs his hand over his beard in annoyance.

“Well, maybe if you actually called once every few months, I’d have the fucking chance,” Spencer retorts meanly, and immediately wishes he could take it back.

“If you wanted to talk more, you could have said something. This isn’t exactly rocket science, Spence. I wasn’t telepathic when I lived in Las Vegas, and I sure as hell can’t tell what you’re thinking now that I’m in Chicago.” He pauses, breathing hard.

Spencer himself has pretty much progressed from feeling shock and anger to feeling just plain miserable. “Jon, dammit, I’m sorry; I guess I never—“

“Don’t apologize,” Jon interrupts, but now he sounds more resigned than anything.

“I don’t…” Spencer huffs an unhappy laugh into the phone. “I don’t really think that clearly about things concerning you. I mean, Jon...You know, you kind of make me stupid. What’s that phrase? Stupid—stupid in love?” Spencer winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. God, saying the l-word right after their worst argument ever. Very smooth.

But seconds, then minutes go by, and Jon doesn’t acknowledge it at all, and Spencer’s heart starts to sink. The silence just stretches on, and Jon finally says, “I gotta go, Spence. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” Spencer forces out through dry lips. “Bye.”

* * *

Part 2