“Why do I have to go to this thing again?” Ryan asked, pulling his jean jacket tighter around himself.

Spencer rolled his eyes and pressed the pedestrian walk sign to get across Green Street. “Because not going out on Halloween would be pathetic?”

“I had plans with Gabe and Ryland,” Ryan said. Granted, they were vague, and kind of just boiled down to getting stoned in that cemetery off of Florida Avenue, but Spencer didn’t have to know that.

“Hanging out with Gabe Saporta on Halloween? That’s just asking to get your kidney carved out and sold on the black market or your face eaten off.”

It was Ryan’s turn to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deny that Gabe gave off a weird vibe, but aside from the string of broken hearts left in his wake, the guy was mostly harmless. Ryan had even hooked up with him a few times, but was smart enough to end it before becoming another member of the Saporta Lonely Hearts’ Support Group. (Vicky-T, one of Gabe’s roommates, started it last April when she got sick of sopping up the tears of all of Gabe’s jilted former boy-or-girlfriends/fuckbuddies/one night stands. They met at the Espresso Royale in the Union on Tuesdays.)

“Whatever,” Ryan replied. “All I’m saying is that you need to have sex with Jon and get it over with, instead of dragging me to this stupid party. You’re wearing a costume, for fuck’s sake. You haven’t done that since you were a Ninja Turtle in fourth grade.”

James Bond wasn’t the most original costume, but Ryan had to admit that the smooth lines of the tuxedo and the way he slicked and styled his hair suited Spencer.

“First of all, Jon’s parties are not stupid. Second,” Spencer countered, smirking, “what fun would that be?”

Ryan blanched. “Why do I have to watch your weird foreplay ritual? And don’t say threesome.”

“Please,” Spencer scoffed as they turned onto White Street. “He lives in the second building on this side.”

Ryan jogged up the steps, eager to get inside the warm apartment. In Champaign the weather seemed to go from summer to winter overnight, without the buffer of autumn, and by the end of October it was already freezing.

Spencer pressed the buzzer that read Walker/Urie. They didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before Jon’s tinny voice came through the speaker with the sounds of music and laughter behind it.

“Spencer Smith, it better be you!”

Spencer leaned towards the speaker. “How many people have you said that to today?”

“Today?” Jon responded. “That’s how I answer the door every day.”

“It’s true!” a voice cried out in the background.

“I’m an eternal optimist, Spencer,” Jon said.

Spencer grinned and dipped his head, and it would have been adorable if Ryan didn’t have to see the same besotted look any time they were in a one hundred foot radius of Jon Walker.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Ryan said, and then louder, “Can you let us in, please?”

“Hey, Ryan, glad you could make it,” Jon said. The door clicked open.

“No problem. It should be fun,” Ryan replied, almost against his will. He steadfastly ignored Spencer’s smirk as they made their way through the darkened hallway to the elevator.

“Not even you can resist the power of Jon Walker,” Spencer said after a moment.

“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, even though it was kind of true. Jon was the friendliest, most easygoing guy Ryan knew, and he seemed to be friends with everyone. Hanging out with Jon was like walking into The Breakfast Club.

The ride up to the fifth floor was a short one, and when the doors slid open, Jon was waiting on the other side. He wore a pirate costume, complete with eye patch and fake parrot on his shoulder. When he saw Spencer, he greeted him with an appreciative once over that left even Ryan hot under the collar.

“Hi, Jon,” Spencer said, and the extra cant to his hips wasn’t Ryan’s imagination.

“Hey,” Jon said. “So. Shaken, not stirred?”

“Surprise me,” Spencer said, and wow. Gayest James Bond ever.

“Okay, I’m going inside now,” Ryan said, walking around Jon and Spencer just as Jon’s door opened and a laughing Sultan came tumbling out.

“Spencer!” the Sultan cried, grinning, as he came to stand next to Jon. “Who’s your friend?’

“My roommate, Ryan,” Spencer said. “Ryan, this is Jon’s roommate, Brendon.”

“Hey,” Ryan greeted, already bored with the conversation and itching to get his hands on a beer.

“Hey,” the Sultan grinned, stretching out a hand that Ryan shook. “Nice to meet you.” He eyed Ryan’s boots, jeans, jean jacket and bandana uncertainly. “Are you in costume?”

Spencer snorted as Ryan scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Oh. I’m Aladdin,” he said. Brendon made a quick turn to show off his loose, billowy pants and tight leather vest.

“Of course you are,” Ryan said. “Nice meeting you. I’m going to head inside.”

The keg, which was obviously the centerpiece of the party, was even easier to spot with Ray Toro and his enormous hair manning it.

“Hey,” Ryan said. Ray passed him a cup and a marker and Ryan wrote his name in his usual lazy scrawl. “How do you know Jon again?”

“How does anyone?” Ray answered with a shrug as he filled up the cup. “His roommate was dating my singer for a while.”

Ray was in a well-known local band. Local as in Chicago, but the members transplanted to Champaign, which was still close enough to get them some sweet gigs around the city. Their music was played more than the Red Hot Chili Peppers or the Dave Matthews Band on the Central Illinois radio stations, and that was saying something. The last update Ray had given Ryan in their shared Biology 101 lab put My Chemical Romance second only to Rascal Flats in popularity in Champaign County.

Ryan had caught a few shows at the Canopy Club in the past. They were awesome. Ray could shred like no motherfucker Ryan had ever seen, which was only right since his crazy hair was made for head banging.

“Aladdin?” Ryan asked, disbelieving.

Ray laughed as he handed Ryan his drink. “Yeah, I know. So. Spencer made you come?”

“If he came alone, it would look like he was just here to see Jon,” Ryan recited.

“It’s kind of fucked up how much those two get off on dancing around each other,” Ray said.

“Kind of? It’s been almost two months. Two months when they could have been getting laid,” Ryan said. He chugged back half of his beer in one gulp and grimaced. “Ugh, god, what is this, Pabst?”

“Icehouse,” Ray corrected. “Hey, if cheap American beer isn’t good enough for your delicate palate you should have brought your own.”

“My favorite kind of beer is the free kind,” Ryan countered.

“In that case, I’ll fill you back up and then come hang out with you,” Ray answered. “Bill said he’d take over at ten-thirty, which is right…now. Hey, Beckett! Get your drunk ass over here!”

“Hang on!” Bill called from the couch where he was tangled with Vicky-T and Sisky.

“Krista’s not with you?” Ryan asked Ray.

Ray rolled his eyes. “That’s what I get for dating a smart chick. She has some big paper to turn in tomorrow. Said she’ll call me when she finishes. What kind of asshole makes a paper due the day after Halloween?”

“The big kind,” Ryan said.

“I know. She’s got the cutest little nurse’s costume too. With the stockings and the little hat? It’s fucking unbelievable. Seriously, Bill, five seconds!” Ray shouted.

“Okay! God!” Bill yelled, peeling himself off the couch in the graceful way he had even while flushed and stupid drunk. “Ryan Ross!” he said, delighted. “I didn’t know you were one of Jon’s loveable misfits!”

“I’m not,” Ryan said.

“He’s Spencer Smith’s friend,” Ray explained.

“Ohhhh…” Bill said, comprehension dawning. “The Spencer Smith? The one that our little Jonny met in his Statistics class who’s made of ponies and chocolate and rainbows?”

Ryan raised an amused eyebrow. “Well, that’s not how I’d describe him, but yeah.”

Bill clapped his hands together. “Excellent! This party was distressingly drama-free without Gabe.”

“Don’t even get me started!” Vicky-T yelled from the couch. “I was on the phone with some kid named Kevin for forty-five minutes today listening to him cry about what a jerk Gabe is. How do these people get my number?”

“Gabe gives it to them so he doesn’t have to deal with their whining,” Ryan said, grinning when she narrowed her eyes and dug her Sidekick out of her purse.

“You’re getting him in trouble now,” Ray said.

Just then Aladdin popped up at Ryan’s elbow, handing his empty cup to Bill. “Getting who in trouble?” he asked Ryan.

“Gabe Saporta,” Ray answered.

“Oh, that guy. I met him a few times. I heard there’s all this crazy shit in his basement, like whips and chains and stretch racks and stuff.”

“There’s a pair of handcuffs and some throw pillows,” Ryan said. “Don’t believe all the rumors. Most of them were started by him or one of his exes.”

“Oh. That’s kind of a let down,” Aladdin said as he bounced along to the song playing, his face creased in an expression suspiciously close to a pout.

“Most things are,” Ryan said.

“Ross, you getting emo on us again?”

Ryan turned around to see Travis McCoy watching him, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Well, this party just got a lot more fun.

“I’m never emo,” Ryan said.

Travie took a drag from the cigarette and ashed it in an empty Pepsi can. “That’s right. I must be confusing you with a different skinny white boy I’ve fucked.”

“I guess it would be hard to keep track of them all,” Ryan said, taking a challenging step forward, “but I’ve been told that I’m pretty fucking unforgettable.”

“TMI,” Ray said, wandering out of the kitchen with his hands covering his ears.

“Are you kidding?” Bill replied. He hopped over the counter separating the kitchen and the living room and wrapped an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “Not enough information. Ryan, feel free to expand on the details.”

Ryan smirked and spread his hands out in front of him. “Long fingers,” he explained mischievously. “And that’s all you’re getting to fill your spank bank.”

Bill groaned and leaned his long body against Ryan’s. “That’s all I’ll need.”

Ryan smoothed a hand down the front of Bill’s shirt, grinning as Bill’s lips parted and his tongue peaked out to trace his lower lip. “You’re welcome.”

 
***


“Motherfucker,” Travie growled twenty minutes later in Jon’s bathroom when Ryan reminded him of just how good his fingers were.

He licked a tattoo on the side of Travie’s neck. “You’ll never forget me.”

“Why’d we stop doing this again?”

“Got bored,” Ryan admitted, softening the blow with a flick of his thumb over the head of Travis’s cock.

“You’re a little bitch,” Travis managed. He tipped his head down and caught Ryan’s mouth with his own.

 
***


“Did you just have sex in my bathroom?” Aladdin asked when Ryan slipped out after Travis.

“Um, yes?” Ryan said. “Sorry.”

 
***


“I cannot believe we’re going home,” Ryan said. It was after three in the morning. Travis left hours earlier with Disashi and Eric to smoke a bowl in Eric’s car and never came back. Bill was asleep on Ryan’s lap, his long legs draped over the back of the couch. Ray and Joe Trohman were on the floor playing Halo 3, and from where he was sitting, Ryan couldn’t see the television through the combined forces of their hair. The only other person still hanging around was Vicky-T, who had disappeared into Aladdin’s room with him a while ago to debate the finer points of Meat is Murder.

He had assumed that he’d be crashing on the couch, since Spencer had disappeared into Jon’s room hours ago, but apparently not.

Spencer grinned and shook his head. “It’s time to go.”

“Tell me you at least made out,” Ryan said.

“We watched Rocky Horror,” Jon said, squeezing past Spencer in the doorway and deliberately bumping their hips together.

“Have you discovered some kind of aversion to sex that I don’t know about?” Ryan asked. “Your hair’s not even messed up.”

Spencer ran a hand over his perfectly slicked hair. “Let’s go.”

Jon leaned against the wall and said, “Call me when you guys get home. Don’t die, Spencer, it would break my heart.”

“I won’t,” Spencer said.

Bill lifted his head from Ryan’s lap to let him stand. “It was nice meeting you, the Spencer Smith.”

“You too, Bill,” Spencer said. “You’re a nice guy. Try not to let Gabe turn you into a serial killer.”

“Every day’s a struggle,” Bill intoned as he hugged a pillow and his eyes slipped shut.

“Seriously,” Ryan said when they got outside.

“It’s a matter of pride now,” Spencer explained.

Ryan gaped at him while he struggled with the buttons of his jean jacket. “It’s a matter of pride to NOT have sex? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”

“He thinks he can break me by being adorable and friendly and hot. It’s not going to work.”

“Clearly,” Ryan said.

 
***


The following Monday, Ryan stopped in the Illini Bookstore to pick up a copy of Ethan Frome for his American Lit class. Even though it was almost three, the streets were empty while all the kids slept off their weekend partying.

He resisted the urge to run upstairs and check out the cheap paperbacks and instead headed downstairs to the textbook section. He went into the English aisle and scanned the class numbers. He came to 256 and groaned when he saw that there was an orange “Ask an IUB employee!” sticker where his book should be.

A bored looking student sat behind the help desk, but he perked up when he saw Ryan approach.

“Hey,” Ryan said, “I’m looking for a book for English 256.”

“Ethan Frome?” the guy asked, and when Ryan nodded, continued, “Yeah, it’s been out of stock for a week. I think we may have gotten a new order in though. Let me check.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said. He drummed his fingers along to the song piping out over the speakers as he waited for the guy to come back.

He returned a moment later looking triumphant and waving a small, blue book. “Success!”

“Oh man, thanks so much,” Ryan said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“Sure thing,” the guy said, smiling. “Anything for a friend, right?”

Ryan shot him a confused look. “Yeah,” he said when nothing else came to mind.

The guy studied Ryan’s expression a moment and his smile dipped. “We met on Halloween,” he clarified. “I’m Jon’s roommate.”

And now that he said something, Ryan recognized him out of the parachute pants and red vest. “Aladdin?” he asked.

Aladdin’s smile slipped further. “Brendon. My name’s Brendon.”

“No, right,” Ryan fumbled. “I knew that. What’s up? How was your weekend?”

“Awesome,” Brendon said, gaining back some of his earlier enthusiasm. “Though, no offense, but it would have been even more awesome if I didn’t have to hear your friend’s name every five seconds.”

Ryan laughed. “Tell me about it. You know how when you say a word too many times it stops making sense? Well, that’s what the word ‘Jon’ is like to me now.”

“Do you like hot chocolate?” Brendon asked out of nowhere.

“Um…” Ryan said uncertainly. “What?”

“My shift’s over in five minutes and I was going to run down to Moonstruck. Want to come with?”

“Uh…” Ryan started. “I guess?”

“You don’t have to,” Brendon said. “I mean, if you’re busy or whatever, it’s cool.”

“No, no,” Ryan said quickly, still feeling guilty about not recognizing him sooner. “I can go. You got my book, after all.”

“That’s true,” Brendon agreed. He scooped his backpack up from under the desk. “You owe me.”

 
***


“At the party, were you telling the truth about Gabe’s basement?”

They’d been sitting and drinking their hot chocolate for a good twenty minutes, but Brendon still hadn’t gotten past all of the whipped cream in his. When they’d entered, the girl at the counter, Greta, knew Brendon’s order, which seemed to consist of half chocolate and half whipped cream, without him having to say anything.

“Yeah,” Ryan confirmed. “There are some Christmas lights strung up and a CD player in the corner for mood music or whatever, but it’s nothing great. Pete Wentz, on the other hand? That dude’s bedroom is like a porn store.”

Brendon sputtered and wiped white foam off of his lip with the back of his hand. “Pete? Isn’t he dating Patrick Stump?”

“You know Patrick?” Ryan asked. “He wasn’t dating him last year when we first met, but he is now, thank god. You think Jon and Spencer are bad? At least Jon’s not talking about soul mates and adopting babies from China and shit like Pete was. He even called me Patrick once, you know, during?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Brendon cried. He slapped his leg and put his cup on the table. “He did not.”

“He DID,” Ryan said. “Like, mid-blow job.”

“Wait, giving or receiving?”

“I was giving,” Ryan clarified.

Brendon covered his mouth with his hand. “What did you do?”

Shrugging, Ryan took a sip of his own mint hot chocolate for the dramatic pause. “I finished, but it was out of pity. The guy had it bad. Plus, he apologized after.”

“You’re a better man than I am, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said.

“If I was a really good man, I wouldn’t have told Patrick about it,” Ryan said.

“You told him about it? I take it back, you’re pure evil,” Brendon said, looking impressed.

“The next day. I expect to be the best man at their inevitable commitment ceremony.”

Brendon’s eyes widened. “God, Pete Wentz’s commitment ceremony. I bet his dog would be the ring bearer.”

”I would not bet against that,” Ryan said.

“So are you and Spencer going to Cute Is What We Aim For on Friday? They’re playing at the Courtyard Café.”

“Yeah, I like them. Not that it even matters. If Jon’s going then I’d get dragged along either way,” Ryan admitted.

“Awesome!” Brendon beamed. “We could hang out after.”

“Sure,” Ryan said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it. Sure, Brendon was really energetic. Like really. But he was also hilarious and he seemed to enjoy Ryan’s stories. There was nothing Ryan loved more than a captive audience. “I’ll talk to Spencer and figure out a time.”

 
***


As predicted, Spencer demanded that Ryan go to the concert with him. He made a show of being annoyed about it before giving in, because he didn’t want to make it easy on Spencer.

They found Jon and Brendon in line outside of the Café doors a few minutes before they were let in, their $6 collected and hands stamped on the way. Brendon managed to launch himself at a table and they sat down.

“Spencer, do you want some coffee?” Jon asked once they were situated.

“A small one,” Spencer said, reaching into his pocket.

“I’ve got it,” Jon said. He waved off the five-dollar bill that Spencer tried to hand him. “Ryan, anything?”

“No, thanks,” Ryan said.

“I’ll have some coffee, since you’re offering,” Brendon said, smiling sweetly.

“You can have decaf,” Jon said.

Brendon wrinkled his nose. “I’m not familiar with this word ‘decaf.’”

“Get a dictionary, I’ll help you spell it. In the Walker/Urie household we’ve implemented a caffeine ban after seven o’clock,” Jon explained to Spencer and Ryan.

“Except during midterms and finals week,” Brendon said.

“It’s just better that way,” Jon assured them before heading into the long line in front of the counter.

“I’m not really that bad,” Brendon said, once Jon was out of earshot. “He likes to be dramatic. There was one incident involving his favorite Cubs mug that made him very upset, that’s all.”

 
***


“So, you’re a Music major, Brendon?” Spencer asked.

“I am,” Brendon said. “Mostly piano.”

“But that’s not the only instrument he plays,” Jon said. He balanced the three cups of coffee like a pro, before sitting down and distributing them out.

“What other instruments?” Spencer asked.

Brendon took a sip of his coffee, grimacing a little. “Is this black, Jon? Are you trying to kill me? Guitar, bass, cello and I’m learning the drums.”

“Ryan plays the guitar,” Spencer said, and Ryan glared at him.

“Really?” Brendon asked, perking up immediately.

“Um,” Ryan said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “Not really.”

“He can play like three Blink 182 songs,” Spencer said. “Didn’t you say you wanted to take lessons this year, though?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He could tell a set up when he saw one.

“Interesting!” Jon said. “Brendon happens to teach guitar in his spare time.”

“I could give you lessons,” Brendon said.

“I don’t…” Ryan began.

“I won’t charge you for it. Call it the friend discount.”

Ryan sighed. He really did want to get better on the guitar, and if Brendon was going to give him the lessons for free?

“Yeah, okay. Yeah.”

 
***


They decided to meet on Monday, so after his classes were over Ryan found himself at Brendon’s door holding his secondhand acoustic guitar.

“Ryan or pizza?” Brendon asked through the intercom.

“Ryan,” he answered.

“Ryan! I ordered pizza for us!” Brendon said as he buzzed Ryan in. “Hope you like cheese.”

He was waiting with the door opened when Ryan came off the elevator. “Hey!” he said. “Come on in!”

Ryan followed him into the decent-sized apartment. On the left of the living room was Brendon’s bedroom.

Ryan took one step in and marveled at the sheer chaos. The place looked like a Guitar Center had thrown up on it. There was a stand in the corner with five guitars balanced in it. Next to the bed was an elaborate keyboard hooked up to a laptop. Sheet music and picks and even the occasional tambourine were littered all over the floor. Every available inch of the walls were covered in band posters. Ryan recognized most of them, but some he’d never heard of.

“Wow.”

“I know,” Brendon said. “Sorry it’s kind of messy. Let me clear off a spot for you.” He pushed over a few textbooks and highlighters before gesturing for Ryan to sit.

Ryan folded his legs under him and tugged his guitar self-consciously onto his lap.

“My guitar is shitty,” he said. “I bought it when I was like twelve, so.”

Brendon frowned. “No, hey, it’s fine. It has character.”

“It’s missing a string,” Ryan said.

“Dude, you’ve come to the right place,” Brendon said, rummaging in his bedside table and pulling out a plastic sleeve of guitar strings. “Tada! Let me see it.”

Ryan handed over the guitar and watched as Brendon began fixing the string.

“I don’t know how you want to do this,” Ryan said while he worked. “I’ve never taken lessons before.”

“We can start with the basics, if you think you need to refresh yourself. Or I have the tabs for a bunch of songs, if you want to pick a few to learn,” Brendon said. He waved his hand at a stack of booklets and papers piled on his desk.

“Do you have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Ryan asked.

“Do I have any Smashing Pumpkins?” Brendon repeated. He looked pointedly at the west wall of his room, which was covered with Pumpkins posters. “A few, yeah.”

 
***


“Are we going to Brothers on Friday?” Ryan asked Spencer a few weeks later. They were sitting at the kitchen counter sharing a package of chicken flavored Ramen and a couple of beers for dinner.

Spencer laid his fork down and looked at Ryan, his eyebrow raised. “Usually it’s me asking that question,” he said.

“Brendon mentioned on Monday that a whole group was going,” Ryan said.

Spencer smirked. “During your date.”

“During my guitar lesson,” Ryan said with a roll of his eyes. “Look, he’s a nice kid…”

“He’s older than me,” Spencer pointed out, sounding amused.

“I’m not interested in being anyone’s boyfriend. And he’s that type, you know? I can already tell,” Ryan said. “Plus, he’s almost too nice. No one could be that nice without bodies rotting under the floorboards.”

Spencer dumped almost half a bottle of lemon juice into his bowl and stirred it with his fork. “You were in his room, did you smell anything?” he asked. “I guess if he’s not ignoring you or fucking your friends or in love with someone else then you can’t be bothered.”

“You make it sound so fucked up,” Ryan mused. “Jesus, don’t use all the lemon juice! That has to last the rest of the week!”

 
***


On Friday, Spencer texted Ryan.

jon and i will meet you @ bros. pick up brendon @ piano practice in music bldg rm. 312 7pm.

Ryan read the text and wrote back while making his way across the quad to catch the bus after his Spanish discussion group let out.

why he cant walk?

he turns off his phone during practice and jon says he forgets the time. just do it asshole!

fine, he texted back, have sex w/ him!!!

Spencer didn’t respond to that, but then Ryan didn’t expect him to. He went home to eat Fritos for dinner and then headed to the Music Building. Sure enough, Brendon didn’t answer his cell when Ryan tried to call him and let him know he was coming.

Even though Ryan had never been in the Music Building before, the halls and staircases were easy to navigate, and he found his way to the right room quickly. He couldn’t hear any music coming from inside, which confused him until he realized that the rooms were soundproof. He knocked once, lightly, and when he received no answer twisted the knob and poked his head in the room.

Immediately music poured from the room, slow and rich and sad. Brendon sat at a black baby grand piano, playing furiously. Ryan could see his back and the way his t-shirt clung damply to the curve of it, the way the hairs on the back of his neck were wet and spiky with sweat, and Ryan felt his mouth go dry. Instead of doing the smart thing and announcing his presence, Ryan moved farther inside the room. It gave him a better view of Brendon’s agile fingers stretched across the keys, shifting smoothly from one chord to the next. His eyes were open and he studied the movement of his hands intently. Ryan’s own hands flexed open and shut restlessly at his sides.

Brendon looked different than Ryan was used to seeing him, more serious, more focused. And hot. He looked – wow. Really fucking hot.

Ryan stayed frozen, heart racing wildly, until the last strains of the song swelled and died. “Hey,” he said, wincing at how shaky his voice sounded.

Brendon whipped around and placed a hand on his heart, grinning. “Ryan! I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been there?”

“A few minutes,” Ryan said. Long enough. “I’m supposed to pick you up so that you don’t forget about coming to Brothers.”

“Is it seven already?” Brendon asked. He looked up at the clock on the wall. “Wow, ten after. Good thing you came.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said dumbly. “You were. I mean. It sounded really good. The song.”

Brendon grinned happily at the praise, looking genuinely thrilled. “Thanks! I mean, you’re wrong, I sucked, but that’s okay. I appreciate the effort.”

“No,” Ryan argued. “No, you were. I liked it. The way that it sounded.” Ryan could not, literally could not, remember a time when he was so tongue-tied around anyone. And for it to be Brendon Urie, of all people. Aladdin, really?

“There’s something not right about it, I just can’t put my finger on it,” Brendon said.

“It was - ” Ryan snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. “Whatever. Let’s get going.”

“Sure, I just need my bag,” Brendon said. He picked up his backpack and pulled the strap over his head to lie across his chest.

“Come on,” Ryan said, already halfway out the door. He was eager to get out of the too-small room and clear his head. God, Spencer could never, ever find out about this.

 
***


Ryan and Ray were walking out of Bio Lab when Ryan cleared his throat and asked casually, “So Brendon dated your friend, right?”

“Gerard? Yeah,” Ray said. “Why?”

“Just wondering. How long were they together?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t know. A couple months over a year ago.”

“Cool,” Ryan said. “So you’ve been friends with Brendon for a while then?”

Ray narrowed his eyes. “Where’s this going, Ross?”

“I’m kind of interested, and I thought you’d know if maybe Brendon would be into…” Ryan let himself trail off, knowing that Ray would understand his meaning.

Ray grimaced. “Dude, TMI. And no, Brendon doesn’t just hook up like you do. The kid’s Mormon, for god’s sake.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, sighing. “That’s what I thought.”

“Whatever. Don’t call me today. I’m gonna go hang out with my three straight friends, and we’re going to talk about tits and it’s gonna be awesome.”

 
***


“If I were any 80s movie character, I would definitely be Lloyd Dobbler,” Brendon said.

Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon were squished together on Ryan and Spencer’s couch watching Weird Science on TBS.

“You would pick the best one for yourself,” Ryan said.

“I don’t know,” Jon said contemplatively. “I’ve always liked the friend from Pretty in Pink. The one that takes her to the prom.”

“Even though she’s dressed in a pink potato sack,” Spencer said.

“You are way too fixated on that dress,” Ryan remarked.

“The first time we saw that movie together I was seven years old, and even then I was like, ‘Really?’” Spencer said.

“That’s because you’re really gay,” Ryan said.

Spencer gave him an unimpressed look from around Jon. “Dude, the guy wearing roses on his shirt unironically does not get to judge the level of someone else’s gayness.”

“How do you know it’s unironically?” Ryan countered.

“Um, because I was there when you sewed them on?” Spencer suggested.

“You did this yourself?” Brendon asked. He reached over to finger the one on Ryan’s lapel. “I like it.”

Ryan coughed, feeling his face flush. “Uh, thanks.”

“He should have hooked up with Molly Ringwald in the end,” Jon said, pulling the conversation back on track.

“Ryan hated the ending too,” Spencer said.

“He did hook up with her,” Brendon said. “Wait, didn’t he? They went to the dance together.”

“But then she gets back together with the rich guy,” Ryan said.

“Oh.” Brendon looked kind of put out.

“And on that note,” Spencer said, slapping his legs and standing up, “Jon and I are going to sleep.”

“We are?” Jon asked.

“It’s like four,” Spencer said. “I’m fucking exhausted. You can stay out here if you want, but…”

“No, no,” Jon said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”

“Good night,” Spencer said to Brendon and Ryan.

“Night,” Ryan responded. “Have fun not doing it.”

“You too!” Spencer called back. Jon laughed softly behind him as the door to Spencer’s room shut.

Half the couch was free with the other two gone, but Ryan didn’t move over and Brendon didn’t seem to notice.

“How long do you think they’ll hold out?” Brendon asked.

“I don’t understand it at all, so what do I know?” Ryan asked.

“Good point,” Brendon said.

On the television, a commercial came on for the remake of A Christmas Carol. Brendon hummed happily beside him. “I love Christmas movies,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Ryan asked. He couldn’t say he was surprised. “I like The Christmas Story.”

“Who doesn’t?” Brendon asked. “A Christmas Carol, Miracle on 34th Street, It’s A Wonderful Life, Charlie Brown Christmas, all of them. They’re the best. And Christmas episodes of television shows? Love those too. We should have a Christmas movie marathon before we go home for break.”

“You have to convince Spencer of that first,” Ryan said.

“No, I have to convince you, and then you’ll convince Spencer,” Brendon said. “I have a plan, Ryan.”

“That sounds vaguely ominous,” Ryan said.

“It’s Christmas movies, Ryan. What’s ominous about that? Nothing. They just want to wish you peace and joy. Hand me that blanket.” Brendon pointed to the afghan balled up at the other end of the couch. Ryan stretched out and grabbed it. “Thanks. It’s freezing in here.” Brendon covered them both with it.

When they were settled, Ryan picked up the remote control and flicked through the channels.

“Stand up!” Brendon cried.

Sure enough on Comedy Central, instead of infomercials or public access, they were playing a stand up routine by a female comedian. Ryan tossed the remote on the couch and leaned back to get comfortable.

Twenty minutes into the program, with the warmth of the afghan and Brendon’s body heat surrounding him, Ryan found it harder and harder to keep his eyes opened. Finally he gave in and let them slip shut, tipping his head against Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon shifted a bit so that Ryan could burrow in further, and Ryan murmured his approval into Brendon’s shirt. Slowly, he felt himself begin to drift into sleep.

Right as he hit that pleasant place where his limbs went from feeling heavy and clumsy to impossibly light, he had the stray, sleep-cloudy thought about how comfortable it was pressed against Brendon’s body. That realization brought him back from the cusp of sleep. He untangled himself from Brendon and awkwardly stood up.

“Yeah,” he said, palming the back of his neck, “I can barely keep my eyes open, so I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Okay,” Brendon said slowly. He looked confused and faintly hurt as he watched Ryan fidget.

“Okay,” Ryan agreed. “Is that blanket enough for you, or do you want something else?”

“This is fine,” Brendon said. He stretched out on the couch and snatched the remote from where Ryan left it. “Good night.”

“Night,” Ryan said. He went into his room without looking back once. Then he jerked off, hand between his legs and face mashed into his pillow.

***

“Suck me,” Ryan demanded, breathless from kissing.

Alex Suarez was Vicky-T’s best friend, and he had dark hair that fell into his eyes and a mouth that Ryan fucking loved to push his cock into.

“Demanding, aren’t we?” Alex asked, but he dropped obediently to his knees.

“I don’t have a lot of time. I’m meeting a friend in an hour.” Ryan tilted his head back against the wall when Alex pushed his black jeans down his thighs. “Fuck yeah.”

He threw an arm over his eyes and arched luxuriously into Alex’s mouth. After a few wet, tight sucks, Alex pulled back.

“You’d better return the favor, asshole.”

“I will,” Ryan promised, anchoring Alex’s head back down to his dick. “I will, just. Don’t talk, okay?”

“Whatever,” Alex said. “You’re lucky you’re so fucking pretty.”

 
***


“Is your American Lit final today at Foellinger?” Spencer asked, coming into Ryan’s room while he got some last minute studying done.

“Yeah, why?” he asked. He’d never gotten around to reading Ethan Frome, despite buying it a month and a half before. The plot was easily discernible from the class discussion, but there was going to be an essay question on the final, and Ryan was speed-reading through to catch some of the smaller details.

“My History final doesn’t start until seven and it should be easy, so I thought you’d want to meet in the Union after yours was over to get some dinner,” Spencer said.

Ryan rubbed his eyes with two fingers and nodded. “That’s cool. I should be done at four.”

“I want some Sbarro pizza,” Spencer said. And then, “Hey, when did you go shopping?”

Ryan made a grab for the bag. “Yesterday while you were taking your test. Give me it, Spencer.”

“What the hell did you buy from the Disney store?” Spencer asked, twisting away from Ryan’s hands and opening the bag. “Oh.” He pulled out the Aladdin t-shirt and quirked an eyebrow.

“It’s his Christmas gift,” Ryan defended. “I guess he takes Christmas really seriously or whatever. Anyway, it’s just a joke.” He grabbed the shirt out of Spencer’s hand and stuffed it back into the bag.

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer said, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “So we’re meeting at four-fifteen?”

“Yes. Can you go now? I have to finish studying.”

 
***


Ryan and Brendon planned on having one more guitar lesson on the last Thursday before they’d all go home for winter break. The shirt he bought Brendon was tucked way inside of Ryan’s backpack.

He had managed, thanks to their weekly lessons, to get through most of the Pumpkins’ easier songs, and now they’d moved on to Radiohead. “Karma Police” was tricky, but by the end of the session he’d gotten most of it down.

“Yeah, that’s not quite…” Brendon said with a frown of concentration. “Here, try it on this one.” He switched Ryan’s guitar for one of his own. “Yes, yes. That’s much better.”

Ryan finished playing the song, fingers carefully strumming out the right chords while Brendon hummed along.

“Awesome,” Ryan said when he finished. He grinned down at the guitar and then back up at Brendon. “I have to go pack now, though,” he grudgingly admitted.

“You and Spence leave Saturday, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Ryan confirmed. “Our plane takes off at eight, so we have to be at the airport by like six-thirty. What about you?”

“My mom’s driving down tomorrow morning to pick me up.”

“Cool,” Ryan said. “Well, here’s your guitar back.”

“No,” Brendon said, glancing down at his hands.

“No what?” Ryan asked

“No, I don’t want the guitar back,” Brendon said. He raised his eyes and looked at Ryan from under the fringe of his hair. “Merry Christmas.”

All the air seemed to go out of Ryan’s lungs, and he sat down heavily on the bed. “What?” he asked carefully. He didn’t want to get excited only to realize that he had misunderstood what Brendon meant or that it had been a joke. “I mean. What?”

“I’m giving it to you,” Brendon explained, studying Ryan’s reaction. “It’s not new or anything. I have a spare, and my parents are getting me another one. Also, it’s Christmas, so. Merry Christmas.”

“No, I…” Ryan blinked down at the guitar in his hands and couldn’t, just couldn’t, bring himself to argue. He wanted it, could already imagine practicing with it in his room at night and annoying Spencer even more than he already did. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Brendon said, grinning at the most likely awed expression on Ryan’s face.

Abruptly, Ryan remembered the shirt in his bag. “I have – “ He stopped. What? A $15 novelty shirt I bought in the Boys’ section of the fucking Disney store? Gee, and thanks for the $300 guitar. “ – to go. I have to go.”

“Okay,” Brendon said. Ryan told himself it was the guilt that made him seem let down. “Well, Merry Christmas.”

“You too,” Ryan said. When Brendon handed him his backpack, Ryan almost stumbled from the weight of it.

 
***


where r u?

Ryan rolled over onto his stomach and groaned at the text message. He completely forgot that he and Brendon were going to study in the undergrad library that day for Physics 100. The class was kicking their asses, but they both had to fill a physical science gen ed requirement. Ryan figured that two heads, even if one of them was the head of an English major and the other a Music major, were better than one.

With Herculean effort, Ryan opened his Sidekick and texted Brendon back.

sry, im dying. sleep now

Ryan thumbed off the phone and tossed it back on his bedside table before promptly falling back to sleep.

He woke up some time later to the feeling of the bed dipping and arms wrapping around his waist.

“No, shh, go back to sleep,” Brendon whispered in his ear when he tried to turn.

Ryan twisted around to face him anyway. He must have been asleep longer than he thought, because he could barely make out Brendon’s features in the dusky grayness of the room. He blinked a few times, slowly, to get the sleep out of his eyes and bring Brendon into focus.

“What’re you doing here?” he mumbled.

“You’re sick,” Brendon replied.

“Yeah,” he said.

Ryan didn’t understand how that answered his question, but then his head was fuzzy from both the cold and the NyQuil he took to fight it, so it was possible he was missing something important.

“I called Spencer,” Brendon said. “You should have told me.”

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbled. “Forgot we had plans.”

“That’s not – “ Brendon sighed. “Come here.”

Ryan didn’t think they could get any closer, but Brendon managed. He tucked one knee between Ryan’s legs and pulled Ryan forward until their chests touched. Ryan ignored the way his heart gave a weak lurch in his chest in order to savor the feeling of Brendon’s heat soaking into his skin. It was the first time he’d felt warm in twenty-four hours.

Normally, after the incident on the couch, Ryan was careful not to allow this kind of close contact between them – not an easy task since Brendon was a persistent cuddler. But then, normally Ryan was worried about certain physical reactions caused by Brendon’s proximity, reactions that really weren’t going to be a problem in his current drugged out, bone-weary state.

Anyway, he was sick. He might be dying for all he knew. He could let himself enjoy it just this once.

“You’ll get it too,” he warned even as he nuzzled his cold nose against the warm skin of Brendon’s throat.

Brendon’s hand carded through Ryan’s limp, tangled hair once, and then again and again when Ryan made a sound embarrassingly close to a purr at the feeling. “You underestimate me and my immune system, Ross,” he said, his voice pitched to a whisper.

Ryan meant to answer, he did. But one of Brendon’s hands was palming the bare skin of his hip while the other massaged his aching head, and before he could think of a response – in between one shallow, open-mouthed breath and the next – he was asleep.

 
***


He wasn’t surprised when, a week later, Spencer knocked on his door and told him, “You gave Brendon the plague.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ryan argued. “He’s the one that – “ He broke off, feeling his face color.

”Climbed into your bed and held you all night long?”

“Shut up, it wasn’t like that,” Ryan said.

He really could have lived without Spencer finding him and Brendon sleeping together the following morning. Ditto to the picture of them that mysteriously became the wallpaper on his computer the next day. (He changed it back immediately, but kept the picture, renamed and hidden inside the school folder in his documents.)

“You better get your ass over to his apartment, Ross.”

Ryan crossed his arms and considered arguing the point for about five seconds before he thought better of it. “I have some NyQuil left over anyway,” he said.

He ended up bringing NyQuil, Kleenex, throat lozenges and a half-empty jar of VapoRub. On a whim – probably guilt-infested, because he did feel bad, no matter what he told Spencer – he also stopped at Panera Bread and picked up some vegetable soup.

Pete Wentz answered the door of Brendon’s apartment when Ryan arrived. Jon, Patrick, Andy Hurley, Greta-from-Moonstruck and Bill all sat in the living room.

“Hey,” Pete said. Then when he saw the Panera bag, “Oh, food!”

“Fuck off,” Ryan said easily, maneuvering into the apartment and away from Pete’s grabby hands.

“Hey, Ry,” Jon greeted. “He’s in his room.”

“Thanks,” Ryan said.

Brendon looked even more pitiful than Ryan expected. He had cocooned himself in his comforter until only his wide eyes and mashed hair were visible. It was fucking adorable, frankly, even though Ryan would never admit it.

“How’re you doing?” Ryan asked.

“I welcome death,” Brendon said.

Ryan snorted. “I tried to tell you,” he said. “But you just went on about your immune system.”

“Because it’s awesome. I haven’t gotten anything so much as a cough in three years. You must have had some kind of mutant virus,” Brendon said.

“Well, I brought you all the stuff I had left over from when I was sick,” Ryan said, gesturing to his bag. “And some vegetable soup from Panera. I don’t know if you like it, but it was the only one they had without meat, so.”

“Ryan Ross, you brought me soup?” Brendon asked, sounding awed.

Ryan could feel himself blush and he stared down at his shoes to hide it. “I thought you might be hungry,” he muttered lamely.

Even though Ryan couldn’t see Brendon’s mouth, he could tell it was curved into a bright grin. “I’ll heat it up later,” Brendon said. “Put it on the dresser and come in here with me.”

Ryan hesitated. He had rules about this that he’d already disregarded once that week, and six of his friends were right outside the door. But, on the other hand, it was his fault Brendon was sick.

“You owe me so big,” Brendon said, reading his thoughts. “The soup is a start, but you need to get your ass over here.”

Decision reluctantly made, Ryan put the soup down, stripped off his coat, gloves and shoes and crawled into Brendon’s bed where he laid on his back, unsure of what to do. Brendon made an annoyed noise and draped himself over Ryan, comforter and all. One heavy arm landed across his chest and Brendon’s feverish face pushed against his neck.

Remembering how good Brendon’s warm hand had felt against his skin when he was sick, Ryan awkwardly slid his palms under Brendon’s shirt. Brendon leaned into the touch with a long, contented groan that made Ryan bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut.

“You’re the best, Ryan,” he mumbled into Ryan’s neck. “Seriously, you’re my favorite forever.”

“Go to sleep,” Ryan said, staring at the ceiling.

 
***


At U of I, Unofficial St. Patrick’s Day was an excuse to either get wasted and skip class or get wasted and go to class fall-over drunk. Celebrated each year on the Friday before the actual St. Patrick’s Day, Unofficial started at seven am and went all the way until the bars closed at two Saturday morning.

Ryan, Brendon, Spencer, Jon and their whole group, which included Bill, Ray, Frank Iero, Bob Bryar, Pete, Patrick, Vicky-T, Greta and Siska, started at Murphy’s at seven when the Irish pub would be the least crowded. From there they made the rounds in a strategic pattern that Bill and Siska took a week creating, and that Bill claimed ensured the maximum amount of drinking with the minimum amount of standing in line waiting to drink.

Green beer kind of freaked Ryan out, but it was being sold for a dollar a cup, so he got over it.

By noon, Ray, Frank and Bob had abandoned the plan at Fire Haus to join in an intense game of Bullshit with Joe, Travis and Eric. By five, they left Pete and Patrick fucking in the bathrooms at White Horse. By nine, Vicky-T had headed back to her apartment, Bill and Siska trailing obediently behind her.

By eleven, it was the four of them left making their way through the crowded streets to Kam’s for the next stop on Bill’s magical mystery tour.

“Who wants to bet their threesome becomes a really kinky foursome when Gabe gets home?” Jon asked.

“You’re assuming that Gabe’s going to show up sometime before tomorrow morning, and that seems unlikely,” Spencer said.

“That’s true,” Jon said. “Still, it’s funny to think about. I mean, Vicky-T and Bill could handle him, but imagine Sisky? He’d get eaten alive.”

They turned onto Daniel Street, and as they did, Spencer ran headfirst into a couple of frat guys on the corner.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Spencer said.

“Watch where you’re going!” the first guy shouted, swaying on his feet dangerously.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “I said sorry.”

“And he said be a little more fucking careful, fag,” the second one sneered.

Jon stepped in front of Spencer. “Why don’t you guys just keep walking?” he suggested.

“What are you, his boyfriend?” the first one asked, laughing in drunken glee at the idea.

“I don’t know,” Jon volleyed back, gesturing at the second guy and then back to the first. “Is he yours?”

Both guys lurched forward, and Ryan exchanged a nervous look with Brendon. Things had the sudden potential to get really fucking hairy.

“Watch that big fucking mouth of yours, or you’re gonna get your ass kicked!” the first one yelled.

“Jon…” Brendon said nervously as a crowd of passers-by stopped to stare.

“Kick my ass?” Jon scoffed. “Please, you’d be lucky if you could find your own.”

Jesus, they were going to die. They were going to die wearing the stupid green and orange Unofficial t-shirts that Bill had made them, and there was nothing Ryan could do about it.

“That’s it, you cocksuc – “ the second one shouted, cutting off abruptly when the sharp blare of a police siren sounded.

“Is there a problem here, boys?” the cop asked, leaning her head out of the open window of the squad car. “I’d hate to have to get out and check IDs.”

Everyone took a step back. “No, officer,” the second frat guy said. “There’s no problem.”

“Well?” she asked, looking at Jon.

Jon was quiet a second and then replied, “No, no problem.”

“Good,” the officer said. “Now get moving.”

Ryan, Brendon, Spencer and Jon made their way around the corner towards Kam’s, and the two guys walked past, sending Jon a long, venomous look that Jon returned.

Once they turned down Green Street and the officer left, Ryan pressed a hand to his heart, feeling it racing inside his chest. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” Brendon repeated. “Oh my god, Jon Walker, you almost got us killed. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Those guys were assholes,” Jon said, eyes hot and angry.

“So are a lot of people,” Ryan said. “That doesn’t mean that you should – “

Beside him, Spencer said, quietly, “Okay.”

Ryan stopped mid-tirade to look over at Spencer for the first time since he accidentally initiated the incident. Spencer stood next to Ryan, but his eyes were trained on Jon.

“Um…what?” Jon asked, looking suddenly uncertain instead of pissed off.

“I said ‘okay,’” Spencer repeated. “As in, ‘okay, you win.’”

“What do you mean, I – ” Jon’s question was cut off by Spencer taking two steps forward, cupping a hand around the back of Jon’s neck and crashing their mouths together.

Brendon gasped, and Ryan put a hand over his own mouth to cover his grin.

“Holy shit,” Jon panted, eyes wide, when Spencer finally let him up for air. “I win.”

 
***


Over the next few weeks, Ryan had to deal with a ridiculously, disgustingly in love and well laid Spencer Smith, which was almost more than he could handle. And together they were even worse. Watching Jon and Spencer together was like being strangled to death by a litter of fluffy, newborn kittens.

Ryan thought that it would get better when Jon went home for Spring Break, but he hadn’t been able to detach Spencer from his Sidekick for the whole week. And when Jon came back, he might as well have been a soldier returning from war with the way Spencer acted.

Ryan spent a lot of time with his headphones on.

“Guess what,” Spencer said. It was one of the rare Jon-free moments during the day, and he and Ryan were making their way to the other side of the Union to study in the lounge.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said, eyebrow raised, “but I’ll take a leap and say that it’s Jon-related.”

“He’s staying here for grad school,” Spencer said, beaming. “Got a job as a TA and everything.”

Ryan bit his lip to avoid matching Spencer’s smile with his own, which was tough. When Spencer Smith smiled that way, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“So you’re telling me that I get another two years of you guys being gross together? Awesome,” Ryan said.

Just then, Brendon appeared at Ryan’s side as if by magic, holding a cup of coffee in each hand. “Hi there, my two favorite people! Ryan, I thought you could use this after your eight o’clock class.” He handed him one of the cups.

“Oh, thanks,” Ryan said in surprise, smiling at Brendon. “We’re going to the lounge, want to come?”

“I can’t,” Brendon said. “I’m meeting my Music Theory group in like five minutes. I just saw you guys walk past Espresso while I was in line and thought I’d pick you up something. I’ll call you later, though.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. “See you.”

“Bye, Ryan. Spencer, Jon sends his love. Well, I didn’t actually talk to him, but I’m assuming.”

“Bye, Brendon,” Spencer said, sounding amused.

Brendon gave a salute, and Ryan watched as he wove his way through the lunch crowd before disappearing out the doors. Beside him, Spencer snorted.

“I’m sorry, who’s gross?” he asked.

“Shut up,” Ryan muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

 
***


“Can we talk about Brendon?” Spencer asked later that night as they sat watching TV.

“No,” Ryan said.

“Come on…” Spencer began.

“What, because you finally got your act together with Jon you think you’re some authority now?” Ryan demanded.

“No,” Spencer replied evenly. “I’m your best friend. That makes me the authority.”

“There’s nothing going on,” Ryan said.

“Jesus, Ry, you made him soup,” Spencer said.

“I bought him soup!” Ryan corrected. “And how do you even know that?”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I only got, like, five separate text messages after it happened.”

“Look, Brendon’s a nice guy – “

“Oh my god!” Spencer cried. “Are you seriously still on that ‘nice guy’ shit? You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to date a nice guy for once.”

“That’s it, though,” Ryan said. “I don’t date. I hook up. I have a good time.”

“I know. With Gabe fucking Saporta and Pete Wentz and Alex Suarez and Random Guy #45.”

“Yes,” Ryan agreed.

“Who have you been with lately?” Spencer asked, the challenge evident in his voice.

“I’ve…” Ryan trailed off when he realized that he had to struggle to remember the last time he’d hooked up. “Alex.”

“Which was, what, four months ago?” Spencer looked triumphant.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ryan protested. So what if he hadn’t fucked anyone in a while? That didn’t mean he couldn’t any time he felt like it.

“Are you kidding me with this?” Spencer asked incredulously. “Don’t you think that maybe it’s time to, I don’t know, grow the fuck up already?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Why don’t you mind your own business, Spencer?”

“Yeah, you know what? Good idea. I think I will,” Spencer said. He jumped off the couch and crashed out the front door.

 
***


A bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea from the moment he suggested it, but once it was said, he couldn’t take it back.

“Is this some kinky role playing thing?” Gabe asked, kissing his way down Ryan’s chest. “Do you want to call me Brendon?”

“Oh god, would you shut the fuck up?” Ryan whined. “Come on and do it already, jesus.”

“Have you imagined him on this couch?” Gabe persisted, pressing Ryan’s hips down into the cushions. “Have you imagined sucking him off here?”

Ryan’s naked leg made contact with Gabe’s stomach. “Stop it,” he hissed. “That’s not what this is, and if you mention Brendon again, you’re leaving.”

“Okay, okay,” Gabe said, raising his hands in surrender. “Excuse me for trying to spice things up a little.”

“Your dick in my ass would be pretty spicy, don’t you think?” Ryan asked, wrapping a leg around Gabe’s waist and yanking him closer.

“Such a sweet-talker, Ross,” Gabe said. “Do you have a condom?”

“In my bag,” Ryan said. “Hang on.” He stretched his arm out for his bag lying on the carpet a few feet from the couch. “Can you reach it?”

“I’ll…Let me up,” Gabe said, hopping off the couch.

Just as he bent down to pick up Ryan’s bag, the lock on the front door clicked open.

“Shit!” Ryan cried, grabbing the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around himself.

Spencer walked in the living room and froze, his eyes widening. “What the fuck?”

Behind him, Gabe fumbled for his jeans, hopping on one leg to pull them up. Ryan barely spared him a glance, though; his whole focus was on Spencer and the look of horror blooming across his face.

“Spencer…” Ryan started, before he was interrupted by a noise in the hallway.

His stomach dropped as Brendon and Jon’s laughing voices became audible.

“Ryan Ross!” Brendon yelled as they entered, “I brought you some dinner – oh.” He and Jon both stopped behind Spencer. A carry out bag from Applebee’s dangled in one of Brendon’s hands, and all of the color had drained out of his face.

“Brendon,” Ryan said, feeling suddenly desperate. “Brendon.”

“Wow, um. I have to leave,” Brendon said, and he sounded so defeated that it made Ryan’s heart clench.

“Brendon, wait.” He stood up to follow him out the door and was reminded abruptly of the afghan wrapped around his waist. “Jon,” he said when the man’s accusing stare was turned on him. “I didn’t…” The words were hard to force out around the lump in his throat.

“I’m going after him,” Jon said to Spencer, who nodded.

“So,” Gabe said after Jon left, pulling on his stupid purple hoodie, “I hate it when this happens.”

“Get the fuck out,” Spencer said.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, and took off out the door.

Ryan stood in front of Spencer, hands still clutching the afghan covering him.

“You’re such an asshole,” Spencer said. “I can’t deal with you right now.” He turned around and walked out, leaving Ryan in the living room, naked and alone.

 
***


For two days, Ryan experienced radio silence from his friends. Spencer refused to speak to him, and spent the night at Jon’s so that he didn’t have to see Ryan. Jon wouldn’t buzz Ryan in when he showed up later that night.

And Brendon. It was like Brendon disappeared. He wasn’t online, his phone went straight to voicemail and he wouldn’t answer any of Ryan texts. He also wasn’t at any of his classes the next day. Ryan knew because he waited outside of each one.

With every unanswered voicemail and text message, and as more time passed, the pit inside of Ryan’s stomach grew. It only got worse when he acknowledged to himself what it was, what it meant, and admitted how monumentally he messed up.

Finally, on the second day, Spencer walked into his room. He looked at Ryan for a moment and then said, “He switched practice times with Patrick. He’ll be there today at six.”

Ryan swallowed around the tightness in his throat and nodded. “Thanks.”

Spencer didn’t answer. He just shot him a look that said he wasn’t sure he could trust Ryan with that information, but he was going to give it a try anyway. Ryan figured he probably deserved that.

 
***


At six-fifteen, Ryan stood outside of the practice room. He ignored the way his hands shook from nerves and slipped inside, hoping that the element of surprise might work to his advantage.

It wasn’t like it had been that long since Ryan had seen Brendon, but the sight of the slumped line of his back still made Ryan’s breath catch.

“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse.

There was no discordant clash of keys, the way that Ryan’s overly dramatic mind had anticipated. Instead Brendon stilled, letting the last notes hang in the air between them. He didn’t say a word.

“Hey, so,” Ryan continued. He took a deep breath and let the question come tumbling out. “So, out of curiosity, how long have we been dating?”

Brendon gave a mirthless laugh. “How long have we known each other?”

Ryan nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. That’s what he had been afraid of. “You never said anything. ”

“I thought you needed some time,” Brendon explained. “I was waiting for you.”

Spencer was right. He was such an asshole. The knot of regret lodged in his throat spread down, making his chest feel constricted and tight. “Brendon…”

“I know,” he said. “I’m an idiot.”

“No,” Ryan argued quickly. “No, you’re not an idiot. You’re…I mean, the thing with Gabe is…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words. “Don’t turn around, okay? I don’t think I can say this if you do.”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Brendon said with a derisive snort.

“Right,” Ryan winced. He licked his lips and stared intently down at his own boots. “I’ve never been in a relationship before. Which, um, you already know. It’s just not me; it’s not the way that I am. I’ve never wanted to be in one before, either. Not until I met you. I don’t know how it happened, because you started out as this weird kid wearing parachute pants and who talked too much and was too damn excited all the time, but now you’re. You’re really important to me, Brendon. And the thing with Gabe was... I was scared. I’d had a fight with Spencer about you the day before, and I thought I could prove to myself. You know, prove that Spencer was wrong, and that we weren’t…but he wasn’t wrong.”

Ryan chanced a peek up at the back of Brendon’s head, only to find him twisted around on the bench, staring at Ryan with wide eyes.

“You, um…” Ryan stuttered. “You said you weren’t going to turn around.”

“Yeah, that’s when I thought you were about to break my heart. Ryan Ross.” Brendon pushed off of the bench and stood in front of Ryan.

Ryan’s heart thudded in his chest as he boldly met Brendon’s eyes with his own.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Brendon studied him a minute and then laughed, bright and happy. “God, you’re so in love with me.”

Ryan swallowed down the denial that had become automatic over the past six months and forced himself to be honest for the first time since he met Brendon. “Yeah.”

He let Brendon push him until his back hit the wall. Then he let him push his hands into Ryan’s hair and kiss him until Ryan couldn’t breathe.

 
***


Later that night, Brendon squeezed Ryan tightly and hid his face in Ryan’s neck.

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“Brendon, go to the bathroom,” Ryan said with fond exasperation. “You’re not pissing on my bed.”

“But I’m comfortable,” Brendon whined, clutching at Ryan’s hip.

Desperate times, Ryan thought, and dug his fingers into the tender skin of Brendon’s waist. Brendon leapt, a genuine, flying leap that got him over Ryan’s body and off of the bed.

“That was a terrible trick, Ross,” he grumbled, but he still headed to the door. Ryan let him get his hand on the doorknob before stopping him.

“I know Spencer likes you, but I don’t think he likes you that much,” he said.

“Pants?” Brendon asked.

“Pants,” Ryan agreed.

He sighed. “You ask so much of me.” He grabbed a pair of Ryan’s sweatpants off of the ground and stepped into them. “I’ll be right back. Do not, do not, do not move.”

Ryan smiled. “I won’t.” He didn’t think he could, even if he had wanted to, which he definitely did not.

Brendon backed out of the door, watching Ryan until it closed. Splaying one hand over his chest, Ryan closed his eyes and waited for Brendon to come back to bed.

A minute later he returned. Ryan heard the turn of the handle and then the muffled sound of Brendon’s bare feet on the carpet. He shuffled closer to the bed, and Ryan tensed in preparation for the payback he’d receive for the surprise tickling. Instead, Brendon stopped and there was the sound of crinkling plastic.

“Disney!” Brendon cried.

Ryan’s eyes sprung open and he was out of the bed making a grab for the bag before he was even conscious of moving.

“Hiding something from…” Brendon said, twisting easily away from Ryan’s hands, “me – ?” He pulled out the Aladdin shirt and gaped. “What?”

Ryan sat back down on the bed, feeling his face heat. “It was your Christmas gift.”

“For next year?”

“No, last year,” Ryan admitted. “I got it for you, but then you gave me your guitar and I thought a shirt was a pretty shitty gift in comparison.”

Brendon ripped the tag off of the shirt and tugged it over his head. He smoothed out the wrinkles with his hand and looked up at Ryan, grinning.

“It’s kind of embarrassing how into me you are, isn’t it?” he asked.

Ryan threw a sock at his head but had to admit, “It kind of is.”

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