Mrs. Urie offers to give Brendon a lift to school the next morning, on her way to work, and Brendon accepts.
He's not really sure what to say to her as they pull out of the drive. He knows that she probably wanted to talk to him about Rodney, but he really, really doesn't want to so much as think about him. The man had been rude, obnoxious and offensive, and though he knows his mom is lonely, he also knows that she can do a lot better than him.
School is about a ten minute's drive away, and for the first few minutes, they're silent. Brendon finds his thoughts drifting to the knife in his pocket - he can feel it's metal hardness against his leg, and his heart races every time he thinks about it. He has to give it back to Ryan, yes, but how the hell will he do it? Just casually say you left this behind and hand it to him?
Then again - what if he's caught with it, himself? Ryan gets away with things, it seems, because he's got such an unnerving attitude, but Brendon knows he'll probably be expelled for having it in his pocket, or at least given months of detentions. With a sidelong glance at his mother, Brendon slips a hand into his pocket, feeling the cool of the metal with a finger. He winces, and withdraws it. Guilt is gnawing at him, and he's not even done anything wrong.
"Brendon," his mom suddenly says, and he snaps his hand away from his pocket. She doesn't seem to have seen this, however, as her eyes are fixed on the road. "We need to talk."
"What about?" he asks, frowning slightly.
"About. Well, about Rodney, actually."
Brendon tenses, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He decides that he doesn't like the hesitant tone of his mother's voice one bit. Slowly, and carefully, he asks, "What about him?"
"Well, I know this is going to seem a bit sudden, honey," she starts, and then pauses, biting her lip and glancing at her only son. He stares back at her, raising his eyebrows. "We're dating. We have been for a couple of weeks now, but I didn't know how to tell you. I know you were upset about your dad and I divorcing."
"I wasn't upset," Brendon lies, quickly, feeling a rush of anger at his mother's words. "Anyway, I don't think you should be dating Rodney. He was horrible and loud and didn't understand anything that you told him. He's not even attractive. You can do much better, seriously. He's --"
"Brendon," his mother cuts through him, using the sharpest tone she's ever used with him, and he falls into a surprised silence. "Don't talk to me like that. It's up to me who I date, and Rodney is very much a gentleman when you get to know him. He just, well, doesn't understand about your condition. He'll be more understanding as he gets to know you."
"I don't want him to know me," Brendon replies, shaking his head. "Mom, he's totally disgusting. I don't see why --"
"If I hear one more bad word about him, I'm making you get out of this car right this minute," she says, her voice trembling. Brendon closes his mouth, and somehow manages not to carry on his rant. He doesn't want to annoy his mom, but she has to see just how horrible Rodney is.
"I'm sorry," Brendon mutters, even if he isn't really.
"I just want you to get on with him," she sighs, sadly. Then, she reaches across, and ruffles Brendon's hair beneath her fingers. "I'm sorry for overreacting."
"Don't worry about it," Brendon shrugs, looking out of the window gloomily. He guesses that she'll have to learn for herself. He just doesn't want her to get hurt, because if she ends up so, damn, he's going to end up hurting Rodney even more.
"What happened to your friend last night, by the way?" Mrs. Urie asks, a couple of blocks away from the school. "I heard him leave almost straight after dinner."
"He, uh, had to get home, his mom rang him," Brendon lies, quickly, internally grimacing as he remembers Ryan again, and the knife currently in his pocket. "What did you think of him?"
Mrs. Urie purses her lips, evidently searching for the right words. "He, ah, was very honest, wasn't he? Especially about people at your school."
"Yeah, he was," Brendon agrees, thinking back on their conversation. "He's not, um. He's not so much a friend as somebody I was partnered with for a project, though. I don't know if he'll be back for dinner again."
"Well, he's welcome if he wants to come over," his mom sighs, though she looks a bit reluctant. "I'm not sure quite what to make of him, though. He seemed nice, in a way, but he also seemed...I'm not sure. Troubled."
"I guess," Brendon shrugs, even though inside he's thinking he's left a bloody knife on my bed, he's way more than troubled, but he can't exactly say that to his mom or she'll freak out. Finally, they reach school, and Brendon clambers out of the car, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "Thanks for the lift."
"No problem," Mrs. Urie smiles, as Brendon shuts the door. "Have a nice day!"
With that, she pulls away from the sidewalk and drives off, heading to work. Brendon stares after her for a moment, going through their conversation in his mind. It sounds like she and Rodney are actually quite serious - and that kind of makes Brendon want to murder. As he thinks this, the blade in his pocket feels suddenly heavy, as he remembers it. Wincing, he turns to the school, heading through the gates, and probably heading to his death at the hands of one Ryan Ross.
*
The changing rooms are full, of steam and people and jeers, and Brendon stands self-consciously in the corner. He's always, always hates P.E., and he can't see why it will be any different at this school. They're supposed to go out onto to the fields and play soccer with each other, and Brendon hasn't got a note to excuse himself, so he knows he'll have to join in.
Spencer is already dressed by his side, and in conversation with an also-dressed Jon. The two seem excited and eager about their music project, and, Brendon can't help but notice, each other. They talk about other things, about meaningless things, but their eyes stray too long on each other's, and Jon keeps brushing his hand against Spencer's, and Spencer has a small, shy smile.
Making sure that everybody else is in conversation or changing clothes, Brendon pulls his t-shirt over his head, and rummages in his bag for his games kit. As he turns, ready to pull it on, he glances across the room and meets the eye of one Timothy Ashfield.
"Oi!" Timothy shouts, eyes narrowing. He pushes his way through the changing room and stands in front of Brendon with scowl. "Are you checking me out?"
Brendon drops his clothes. "What? No, no, of course I wasn't. I just looked across the room and happened to --"
"You were, weren't you?" Timothy growls, voice heavy with disgust. "You fucking fag. We don't like people like you around here. I think it's time I taught you a lesson about what's normal."
"I wasn't checking you out!" Brendon protests, taking a step backwards, and then realising that he's against the wall already. "I didn't even mean to look at you. I'm not a fag, really, I --"
"Shut up," Timothy says, shortly, pushing up his sleeves.
"Tim, come on, leave him," Jon warns, standing up and looking warily between the two of them. "It was probably just a mistake. He didn't mean anything by it."
"Back off, Walker," Timothy orders, with a sharp look at him. "If you get involved, I'll kick your face in, too. Just because everybody likes you it doesn't mean that you're untouchable, you know."
Jon glares at him, but says nothing more. He looks at Brendon, who stares back at him with wide eyes, and then at Spencer, who is looking terrified. Then, he sighs heavily, and shakes his head. "Tim, you can't just --"
Before he can say anything more, Timothy stumbles sideways slightly, as somebody shoves into him whilst walking past. He straightens, the expression on his face murderous, and everybody turns to see who has just picked a fight with him - to see Ryan, staring at Timothy coldly.
Timothy's expression falters, and he looks around himself, obviously realising that the whole changing room is waiting to see what he's going to do. He clears his throat, and when he talks, his voice is a lot less confident. "What the hell do you think you're playing at, Ross?"
"I was just walking past and you happened to be in the way," Ryan replies, lightly. He moves his gaze to Brendon, who is stunned and more than a little grateful for the intervention, and raises his eyebrows. "Getting a bit close to Urie, aren't you?"
Timothy shakes his head, and sets off for his spot in the changing room again, looking resigned to have lost some of his dignity. Conversation soon swings around again, and most people look away, but Brendon can't help but stare at Ryan. He realises, suddenly, that he's still topless, and pulls his top over his head.
When he's done, he gazes at Ryan, who is now putting his bag on the bench next to him and pulling out his games kit to change into. Even though the boy has never shown any signs of friendship to him before now, he feels strangely, well, connected to him, as though a new area of trust has been built. "Thank you," he says, sincerely, and those around him fall silent again.
"Did that Urie kid just talk to Ross?" somebody whispers, sounding stunned.
Brendon feels himself turning red again, especially as Ryan shoots him a confused look. "What for?"
"Uh, never mind," Brendon dismisses, hastily. As he begins to pull his jeans down to change into his tracksuit-bottoms, he feels the knife again, sticking awkwardly out of his pocket. His cheeks grow even warmer as he pushes it back in, feeling as though the whole changing room is going to see. Nobody does, however.
He glances at Ryan again, to see him changing, and looks away. He doesn't want to be beaten up - or murdered - for 'checking somebody out' again, and he doesn't feel quite up to handing the knife back to it's owner in a room full of kids.
He pats his pocket once to ensure the knife is still firmly there, and decides to give it back after class. Maybe, he hopes, he might actually survive the exchange, too.
*
"Couldn't you just not give it back, and if he asks, say that you never found it?" Spencer suggests at the end of the day, as they sit on a bench by the gates and wait for Ryan to come past. "I mean, then he'd just think he'd lost it in the street or something."
"It's not worth the risk," Brendon sighs, tapping his foot nervously on the floor and sitting on his hands to stop himself biting his nails. "If he finds out I was lying, can you imagine all the stuff that could happen? He probably has loads of spare knives and I really, really don't want to find out how many. Anyway, even though it's a knife it's still his, and he did manage to stop Timothy hitting me this morning so I kind of do owe him his own possessions back, don't I? The blood might not even be blood, either, it could be --"
"There he is!" Spencer says, suddenly, and loudly, and then he winces and lowers his voice. "Oh, shit, he heard me."
Brendon's heart catches in his throat as he follows his friend's gaze. Ryan had been walking towards to gates, alone, but at the sound of Spencer's voice he looks up at the pair of them and stops, his eyes narrowing. Brendon casts Spencer a pleading, desperate look, but Spencer shakes his head. "Go on. It'll be easier just to get it over with."
"I guess," Brendon whispers, and then gives Spencer what's he sure to be his last goodbye, "S-see you in a minute, I guess."
Spencer nods, and Brendon gets up. Ryan is still looking over at them, suspiciously, and so Brendon waves at him and sprints over. Stopping just in front of the boy, he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and looks at the floor. "Hey."
"Hello," Ryan replies, politely, but dully. "What do you want?"
"Uh, I wondered if we could carry on with our music project tonight? I know it didn't go too well last night but this time I'll ask my mom not to cook for us and we can just get straight on with it, because I've been talking to Spencer and Jon and they're already quite far with theirs so I didn't want to be too behind, but if you're busy we could just --"
"No, I'm not busy," Ryan says, slowly. "I'll come round at six, again?"
"Yeah, that's cool," Brendon nods, and he slips his hand into his pocket, letting his fingers close around the knife. "Uh. Would you like dinner again? My mom won't mind making it."
"No, I'll eat before I come over," Ryan shrugs, and then hoists his bag higher on his shoulder. "Is that all?"
"Um. N-no, actually," Brendon shakes his head, with a nervous, shaky laugh. Ryan raises his eyebrows. "You, uh. You kind of left something behind at my house last night."
Ryan stares at him, not showing any sign of emotion, and then asks, "A knife?"
"Well, yeah, actually," Brendon admits, pulling it out of his pocket and offering it to the boy. "It was, um, on my bed."
"Okay," Ryan says, taking it from him and pocketing on it. Brendon blinks. That was far too casual and simple, and for some reason that makes him a little uneasy. As Ryan stares at him, obviously wondering if there's anything else to be said, Brendon blurts out, "There's blood on it, you know. On the knife."
Ryan takes it out of his pocket, quickly, flicking the blade from the container. Brendon takes a quick step backwards, eyes wide, and Ryan laughs. It's the first time Brendon has ever heard him do so, and he's taken by surprise at how nice it sounds. It manages to calm him down, too, and he pauses.
"I'm not going to stab you," Ryan explains, with a smile. Brendon has no idea why, but the curving upwards of Ryan's lips make something twinge deep inside. He guesses it's surprise. "As for the blood, I was using the knife to make a meal with my mom yesterday, and I was cutting up the meat."
Brendon knows, for sure, that Ryan is lying. There's a strange, guilty glint in his eye as he says it, but Brendon hardly wants to question his explanation. After all, Ryan has just smiled that smile at him, and everything suddenly seems okay between them.
"So, I'll, uh, see you tonight?"
"Yeah," Ryan nods, tucking the knife back into his pocket. He turns to go, and then glances back at Brendon. "See you."
He carries on towards the gate, and Brendon watches him go. He has no idea what's just happened, and no idea why Ryan would suddenly actually show emotion, let alone in the form of that smile. Then there's the lie surrounding the knife - he wants to know, desperately, why there was blood on it, but he can't call Ryan an liar outright.
"Brendon!" comes a call from behind him, and he turns to see Jon Walker coming out of the school and heading towards him. He smiles, as Jon stops in front of him, a little out of breath. "Hey."
"Hi," Brendon greets, with a fondness. He hasn't forgotten how this unusual, popular boy defended him earlier, when he had no real reason to. He'd put his friendship with Timothy on the line, and Brendon was beyond grateful.
"I just wanted to apologise about earlier," Jon sighs, running a hand through his hair to mess it up. "I should've done more to stop Timothy threatening you."
"What? Don't be stupid, you did loads. You were the only one who did anything, besides Ryan."
"Yeah, but if Ross hadn't of --"
"No, seriously, I'm grateful for what you did," Brendon interrupts him, with a smile. "I really appreciate it."
"If you're sure," Jon says, doubtfully, and he nods. Jon smiles, warmly, and then glances around. "Have you seen Spencer? I wanted to arrange to meet up. For, uh, our music project and everything."
Brendon smirks. It's just so obvious. He points the waiting Spencer out, and laughs when Spencer's face brightens and he rushes over. He has to admit that the two of them are pretty sweet, even if it's weird to say so about two of his male friends.
As they immediately strike each other up in conversation about music, Brendon glances at his watch. "Hey, guys, I'm heading off, now. See you both tomorrow."
"Bye," they say, distractedly, in unison, and Brendon laughs again, shaking his head.
He heads home, a little more at ease about having to spend more time with Ryan. He has no idea why, but he silently hopes that he'll be able to provoke a smile from the strange, mysterious boy again. After all, it had been rather nice.
Realising what he's just mentally said, Brendon sighs heavily, and shakes his head again, this time at himself. He's not allowed to be so ridiculous, however lovely a smile it had been. He won't let himself.