coffee

part eleven (i.)

It's Friday, and Brendon is in fourth block Honors English, watching the clock intently as each second ticks by. He has seventeen minutes and thirty-three seconds until he is free. He taps his index finger restlessly against the faux-wood finish of his desktop, becoming more impatient with each mention of fucking Shakespeare. Honestly, he hates the English language sometimes.

Fourteen minutes even, and Brendon feels excitement well in his stomach. Tonight, he's spending the night at home, and he anticipates a whole lot of cuddling in Ryan's bed. He keeps going over scenarios in his head, imagining long, slow kisses and the tangling of their limbs. He still can't wrap his head around the whole boyfriend concept, or really the concept of a girlfriend. Ryan makes him feel like something other than the band geek, the dorky Mormon kid. Ryan ignores his ridiculous glasses and bad haircut, Ryan ignores his obnoxious laughter and bad jokes. Ryan makes him feel so, so special, and Brendon figures he'll never be able to thank the older boy properly.

Mr. Simonds, as cool a dude as he is, needs to shut up. Brendon has a date, a fucking date, and he really can't wait a whole lot longer, listening to a running commentary on Moby Dick. Shits becoming ridiculous, and Brendon is pretty close to banging his head against his desk.

The bell rings, and Brendon silently thanks whoever the higher power of homosexual sleepovers is. He gathers up his books, slings his bag over his shoulder, and practically sprints out of the classroom. He makes a quick stop at his locker, where, for the first time in his young life, he is accosted

"Hi, Brendon!" Chirps a absurdly high-pitched voice. Brendon turns around, and gets a face-full of a little blonde girl that he's never seen in his life. He assumes that she's a Freshman, and turns back to his locker. "So," the girl says. "My name is Lauren. I'm in your band class," she tells him, and he obliges her.

"Right," he says, like he's remembering her. "You play the uh -"

"Flute," she supplies, and he nods. "And you play, like, everything," she gushes. "Really well, too. I've heard you play the piano, and it's probably the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

"Well thanks, Lauren," Brendon says. "Your flute playing is pretty swell too." He's mocking her, hardcore. He feels bad, because he's never really heard her play the flute. He's never even known of her existence until this moment.

"Oh my gosh, thank you so much," Lauren prattles on. "That's so sweet of you."

"Absolutely," Brendon says, shutting his locker. "So, Lauren, what can I do for you? I'm kind of in a hurry."

"Oh," Lauren cries. "Oh, of course you are. I'm so sorry. I've just been here talking your ear off, wasting your time."

"Not at all," Brendon drawls.

"You really are too sweet," she says, touching his wrist. Brendon almost wrenches his arms back in surprise. "I was just wondering what you're doing tonight. I know it's short notice, but I was just wondering if you wanted to see a movie with me?" She bites her lip nervously, looking away from him.

Crap, Brendon thinks. Wouldn't it figure that as soon as he comes to terms with his sexuality and gets a fucking boyfriend, a girl comes along and asks him on a date.

"Actually, Laur," Brendon says. "Can I call you Laur?" Lauren nods emphatically. "I really would love to, but I've got plans with my, um, brother."

"You have a brother?" Lauren asks, confusion knitting her brows together. "Your sister said she was your only sibling. We have Fashion and Fabrics together."

"Right," Brendon smiles, wanting to punch himself in the face for getting caught. "Well, when I said brother, I meant it in a spiritual sort of way. We're all brothers and sisters when it comes down to it, right? Which would make us going on a date a big old display of incest." He smiles, gesturing between them.