It's with a heavy heart that Brendon enters Math the next day.
He's not at all prepared to see Ryan. It's not just that the kid actually nearly stabbed him, but it's also that, well, Brendon actually came whilst thinking about him. The very thought makes his cheeks flame red, and - horrifyingly - kind of makes him hard.
He doesn't look anywhere but at his desk as he enters, not wanting to even know if Ryan is in the room. He sits down in it, heavily, and pulls his books from his bag, putting them down on the desk with probably a little too much force. Mr. Dunn looks over from where he's writing the day's instructions on the board, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you alright, Brendon?" he asks, studying him carefully.
"I'm fine," Brendon lies, in a mumble, and ignores the muttering that's coming from Timothy across the room. The boy hasn't said a word to him since he punched him, but he's been sending him smug smirks every time they've seen each other since.
Mr. Dunn doesn't look convinced, but he shrugs a shoulder and gets back to writing the questions on the board. Brendon opens his book and pulls a pen from his pocket, attempting the first. It's something to do with brackets, but Brendon doesn't really understand, or care.
The thought that Ryan could be a few seats behind him is making all the blood rush from his head, making it pretty hard to think. He winces, as he feels his jeans become uncomfortably tight, and tries to think of anything that might make his problem go away. He thinks of Mrs. Harris. He thinks of Rodney. He thinks about getting punched by Timothy.
But all he can really think about is Ryan, and that most certainly isn't helping.
He shakes his head, trying to clear it, and looks back at the board. There are twenty questions on there, and everybody else seems to be at least halfway through, but Brendon just can't focus. There's a heat creeping up his neck, and he feels even more restless than usual, and he really, really wants to stand up because he's itching all over.
He squirms in his seat, tapping his fingers on the desk, wishing that all these weird feelings would just go away. Well, the restlessness is hardly weird for him, but the sudden hot flushes and erections, well. They're not unheard of - but they most certainly aren't this frequent, especially when they're over a particular, psychotic boy.
Just he thinks this, somebody enters the room, almost ten minutes late for the lesson. Brendon looks up, automatically, and immediately feels like his heart has exploded or something. It's Ryan, which makes him feel enough as it is, but there's something different about Ryan, too.
Ryan has a black eye.
Brendon stares at him, his breath catching in his throat, as Ryan mumbles some excuse to a surprised looking Mr. Dunn. Then, Ryan glances around the classroom, and his eyes fall upon Brendon. Brendon opens his mouth to ask what the hell has happened, but Ryan looks away. He sits down at the desk next to Brendon, however - Spencer's desk, come to think of it, which makes Brendon wonder where the hell his friend is - and pulls his books out of his bag.
Even if Ryan did nearly kill him the day before, Brendon can't help but forget it all in the light of the bruise around his eye. His heart actually hurts from sympathy, because Ryan is looking hurt and more vulnerable than he's ever seen him, staring at his desk and not even attempting the work that's been set. Brendon wonders what Ryan would do if he tried to hug him, and then thinks that maybe it wouldn't be worth it.
The thought of even touching the boy sets his mind alight, so he thinks it would be wiser to keep some distance.
The rest of the lesson passes agonisingly slowly. Brendon's now not preoccupied with sex, but preoccupied with making sure that Ryan is okay - he can't believe he feels so protective after what happened the day before, but he can't help it. He hasn't got the heart to hate him, or even fear him. He just wants the lesson to be over so that he can find out what's happened.
Just as he somehow manages to finish the fifth question on his page - and he guesses he's gotten it wrong - Brendon hears a small, muffled sound from his side, and starts, glancing over at Ryan in concern.
To his horror, Ryan has buried his face in his hands, evidently having just let a sob escape, and having evidently broken down. The boy stands up, kicking his chair aside, picks up his belongings, and leaves the room before anybody even seems to notice what's happened.
Mr. Dunn stands up, looking alarmed, but Ryan shakes his head as he leaves, evidently not wanting the teacher to get involved. Mr. Dunn looks helplessly around the class, probably feeling guilty at not being able to do anything to help his student, and before Brendon knows what he's doing, he raises his hand.
"Brendon?" Mr. Dunn asks, distractedly.
"Can I go, Sir? I have something to do," Brendon asks, with a meaningful look after Ryan. Mr. Dunn's expression clears, and he looks grateful, and nods. Brendon stands up, stuffing his books back into his bag hurriedly, and then leaves the room without a backward glance, ignoring the loud, suggestive whispers coming from Timothy's direction.
He casts around for Ryan as he steps into the corridor, and spots him walking hurriedly away, obviously not having realised that Brendon's following him. Brendon hesitates, for a second. So, maybe Ryan has been hurt, and he looked after Brendon when it happened to him. But Ryan also tried to fucking stab him, for asking one question. What might he try to do if Brendon actually shows him some sympathy?
But, Brendon realises, resigning himself to his doom, he has to try. He just can't let the boy walk away, alone, and maybe even crying. What sort of a person would he be if he did that?
"Ryan!" he calls, jogging after him, his heart beating painfully hard in his chest.
Ryan comes to an immediately halt, tensing. As Brendon nears, he turns, slowly, stiffly. His cheeks are a little red and his eyes are, too, but otherwise he looks the same as ever - aside from the bruise, of course. He spots Brendon, and his eyes narrow slightly, his arms crossing.
"What?" he asks, shortly, and the way that his voice trembles makes Brendon just want to pull him close and tell him everything will be fine, even if he doesn't really know if it will be.
"I just. Well. I wondered, um." Brendon shakes his head, stopping just in front of Ryan, and suddenly feeling overly stupid and awkward, and quite nervous. "Are you, uh, okay?"
Ryan surveys him, coolly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Your eye," Brendon says, gesturing to it. "It's, um. It's not well, by the looks of things."
Ryan sighs, heavily, and brushes the hair from his eyes. "Listen. Just leave me alone, okay? I don't care if you think you're indebted to me or anything because I helped with your lip, because you're not. You don't owe me anything, you can go back to class."
"I don't think that I owe you anything," Brendon lies, stepping a little closer, feeling a bit more at ease now that there's been no knife pushed into him. "I'm just worried about you. You've got a fucking black eye."
"Don't you think I know that?" Ryan asks, expression hard. "I don't need your sympathy. This has nothing to do with you. You shouldn't even be anywhere near me; you should be avoiding me like hell after yesterday, shouldn't you?"
"I'm not leaving you. I'm stubborn," Brendon informs him, licking his lips, nervously. "Stubborn and persistent and worried about you. It's not --"
Before he can justify his actions anymore, however, Ryan grabs him by the t-shirt and throws him back on the floor, showing surprising strength for one so skinny. Brendon falls back, head knocking painfully against the carpet, and suddenly Ryan is straddling him, his face almost fierce and frightening, but somehow vulnerable and, well, lovely, too.
Oh shit, Brendon thinks, the moment he's thrown backwards. He knows that this time, Ryan probably won't hesitate from stabbing him properly.
But, he doesn't get stabbed.
Instead, Ryan presses a soft, gentle kiss upon his lips, and then pulls away.
There's a beat of silence and, for the first time in Brendon's life, he does nothing. He has no idea what he's supposed to do. He doesn't want to talk, and he doesn't want to move. Ryan gaze down into his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily, and licks his lips.
He kisses Brendon again, his lips slightly chapped, but soft, and Brendon has no idea why he's suddenly flooded with life once more. Ryan leaves another, lingering kiss, and then pulls back, clambering to his feet and looking furious and confused and a little scared. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he turns and walks away. Brendon stares after him, breathless, even though he's doing nothing more than lying on the floor.
Ryan turns the corner without looking back, and Brendon closes his eyes. He can still feel the ghost of the kisses on his lips, and it makes him feel so much.
He just can't figure out if that's a good thing or not.
*
The house seems different when Brendon enters it, an hour later. He's skipping his afternoon classes and he'll probably get in trouble, but that's the least of his worries at the moment. He drops his bag by the door, running a hand through his hair, and wonders just why everything seems so strange. He knows why, of course.
Ever since the kiss – no, the kisses - he just can't look at things in the same why. Everything just seems to insignificant, now. He walks through to the kitchen, hearing noises from it, his feet guiding him without his brain really functioning properly. He pushes open the door, enters – and then freezes.
His mother and Rodney are full-on making-out against the kitchen counter.
"Oh God!" Brendon exclaims, covering his eyes with his hands and attempting to back wildly out of the room. He misses the doorway, however, and manages to stumble back into the wall, letting out noises of disgust. He never, ever wants to see anything like that, ever again. Especially with Rodney's roaming hands all over his mom's body.
"Brendon!" comes Mrs. Urie's breathless, startled cry, and he peeks through his fingers to find her pushing her dress down, very flustered, and pushing Rodney away from her. "I thought you were at school!"
"I was," Brendon explains, cautiously lowering his hands. "But I feel ill so I came home, and I didn't think I'd come home to this in the middle of the kitchen! God, don't you have a room?"
Mrs. Urie opens her mouth to explain, but Rodney shakes his head, firmly, at her, and stands up straight, gazing at Brendon with what seems to be an attempt at an intimidating expression. Brendon glares back, defiantly. "Listen, kid," Rodney snaps, taking a step closer to him, "what your mom and I do and where we do it is none of your business."
"I think you'll find it is," Brendon retorts, folding his arms across his chest. "This is my house, and I have the right to walk into the kitchen and not find some asshole kissing my mom."
Rodney's face darkens, and his fingers curl into fists. "What did you just call me? You need to learn some discipline. Just because your lousy dad isn't here, don't think you're going to get away with –"
"Don't call my dad lousy!" Brendon shouts, fury rising within him. His dad isn't lousy in the slightest. He just gets mad dreams, sometimes, and wants to follow them. He's undependable and inconsistent, yes, but he's not lousy. "You've never even met him!"
"You don't know anything about me and you still call me an asshole! You live here in your mother's house, with her cooking and cleaning and earning money for you, you spoiled brat, and I know full well your dad doesn't ever send any money because he's a no-good –"
"That is enough!" Mrs. Urie screams, stepping in between the two of them, her cheeks stained pink. She glares at both of them alternately, her chest heaving. "I don't care if you don't like each other. I don't care what either of your views are on me or my ex-husband. But don't you dare make a scene like this."
"Mom!" Brendon protests, hurt swelling up inside of him, painfully. "You can't honestly be putting him on the same level as me. You barely even know him, he's just a fucking –"
"Don't you swear at me, Brendon," she hisses. "Rodney's right. I've brought you up the best I can, and I think it's time you realized that I need some happiness in my life, too."
"I want you to be happy," Brendon replies, in a small voice. He feels beyond hurt now. He can't believe his own mom is taking some random man's side, over his. "I just don't want him in the house."
"Well, I'm afraid that's not your decision," Rodney smiles, and the very sight makes Brendon's skin crawl. But he can't win, not with his mother glaring at him, her hands on her hips. He has no idea why she – the woman he's always loved and depended on and got on with so well – would let somebody like this ruin both their lives.
Brendon stares at the two of them for one more, long, moments and then looks down at the floor, defeat washing over him. "Fine," he mumbles, hoping his mom feels as guilty as hell. "I'll just go to my room and leave you both to your little affair, then."
He leaves without another word, knowing that they'll probably follow his advice immediately. He slinks upstairs, and then into his room. Gloomily, he switches his CD player on, loud enough to annoy the pair downstairs, and lays back on his bed, unable to get the scarring image of his mother and Rodney kissing out of his head.
Then, thinking of kisses, a memory rises to the forefront of his mind, something that the argument had driven from his thoughts.
Ryan Ross. Ryan Ross had actually kissed him, three times no less. He'd actually thrown him to the floor and kissed him. Brendon's been feeling weird and flushed at the thought of him all night and morning – but he wasn't the one who initiated anything, after all. Ryan did. Ryan actually kissed him!
He smiles, slightly, at the memory. It's completely obliterated the other, the one involving blades and threats and shouting. He doesn't have room in his mind for such horror. All he can think of is the press of those lips against his, and all he can wonder is just why Ryan would kiss him. He's been nothing since annoying to the quiet boy, he's sure.
But maybe he hasn't been. Maybe there is something there. He doesn't want to get his hopes up, but, after all, he wasn't the one who'd made a move. He's just the one who can't get it out of his mind.
So, content with forgetting the pair downstairs, and the stinging of his lip, and the bruise on his side, and the blade that had nearly ripped his throat open, he closes his eyes, and thinks of a strange, quiet, mysterious boy named Ryan Ross.