Thursday afternoon finds Brendon five branches high in a large tree, with Ryan egging him on to climb higher from above. In the space of a week, Ryan and Brendon have become comfortable around each other as friends.
“Oh, come on. It is not that high,” Ryan tells him, but he’s laughing, waving for Brendon to climb two more branches. “You can see the whole park from here.”
“Dude, my palms hurt,” Brendon complains, managing to hoist himself up on to the next branch, and sitting there. “I’ll always just be one below you, I guess,” he says with a melodramatic hand-to-forehead flourish.
“Come on, drama queen,” Ryan says, extending a hand. Brendon looks at it through the green leaves, and hesitantly takes the bony fingers in his own, being lifted on to the same branch as Ryan.
“You really can see the whole park,” Brendon remarks, impressed. “And here I was, thinking you were lying.”
Ryan grins at him, and looks back. Brendon can barely hear Hobo’s barks from the table where she’s tied up, and he can see Timothy near the slide, next to a little girl in a polka dot dress.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Brendon asks, focusing his attention on Ryan’s face.
Brendon sometimes wonders why a person like Ryan would even bother with a person like Brendon.
“Why?” Ryan asks, turning to straddle the branch.
“Well, my friends are doing this camp out thing on the beach,” Brendon says, letting it linger a bit before adding, “and I was wondering if you wanted to come.”
“Do you want me to come?”
“Well, that’s why I’m asking you,” Brendon says with an eye roll.
“Alright,” Ryan says, shrugging. “I’ll come.”
“Cool. It’s on Saturday,” Brendon tells him, tucking hair behind his ear. “It’s not a big deal, or anything.”
“Okay,” Ryan says with a slightly disinterested voice, leaning forward on the branch to look below them. “You sound kind of nervous, though.”
Brendon looks at him, puzzled. “I’m not.”
Ryan sends him a knowing smile. “Okay.”
Brendon looks down, feeling slightly nauseated by the height, but he sees a glint of light, reflecting off Ryan’s camera that lies on the table below. Ryan follows Brendon’s gaze and grins.
“I printed those pictures,” Ryan tells him, glancing sideways, and Brendon tilts his head sideways.
“You mean when you attacked me with the camera?”
“You loved it,” Ryan teases, tongue poking out between teeth and lips. “They look good, anyway. You’re smiling.”
Brendon looks down shyly, something about the comment feeling personal. He lets his fingers dig into the bark of the tree, dry dirt and debris burying itself underneath his nails and sending shivers through his hands.
Ryan’s thin; through his shirt Brendon can see Ryan’s small waist and bony shoulder blades, with his spindly hands gripping the branch, and his lean legs dangling. Brendon looks away when he realises he’s staring. It’s something about the bones and sinewy muscles that attract Brendon’s eyes.
“I’ll give you a copy, if you want,” Ryan offers, his foot tapping against Brendon’s.
“A copy of what?” Brendon asks, losing his train of thought.
“My plans for world domination.”
“What?”
“The photos, you fool, keep up,” Ryan tells him, snapping his fingers near Brendon’s ear, and Brendon’s nails get another layer of bark debris under themselves.
The ground below them isn’t far, but Brendon wouldn’t like to fall, either. Ryan’s thin chain necklace is hanging as he looks below, his eyes wet and bright. Ryan talks about Spencer a lot and Spencer’s younger brother and sister (“Disney fanatics,” Ryan had sighed. “They dress up as Snow White and Aladdin, and all that.”) and for some reason Brendon wonders if they look like Ryan. It’s strange to think that, since they’re not actually related, but the way Ryan talks, it makes it seem like they are. Brendon wonders if he’ll get to meet them, one day.
“Where’s Tim?” Brendon asks, suddenly, his eyes scanning over the playground but unable to locate Timothy’s bright blue shirt.
“I don’t know,” Ryan replies, leaning over on the branch to also look, eyes squinting. “Wasn’t he over at the slide?”
“Fuck,” Brendon curses, and starts scraping his palms against the bark as he jumps to a lower branch, making his way down.
“Brendon, Brendon, he’s at the monkey bars,” Ryan says quickly, shooting a small smile. Brendon pauses, looks through the leaves and says, “on top of the monkey bars.”
Sighing agitatedly, he descends the rest of the tree with Ryan following him, until his feet thud against the grassy soil. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he jogs over to where Timothy is balancing on one of the monkey bar beams, and yells, “Timothy Urie, get down!”
Timothy, shocked by the sudden yell and set off-balance as his head snaps up, slips on the beam, his feet toppling over the edge, landing arms first into the sand below. Brendon’s eyes widen as the little girl in the polka dot dress, standing near the monkey bars, screams, and a few parents rush over.
Brendon finds his feet and runs the few metres to crouch down next to Timothy, who’s sitting up now and crying, clutching his wrist. “Hey buddy,” Brendon says, rushed and trying to be calm, “where does it hurt?”
“Shut up,” Timothy cries, and Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up, because this isn’t how Timothy usually talks to him. “You made me fall!”
“I’m sorry,” Brendon says, but it’s stilted and awkward. “Did you hurt your arm?”
“My hand,” Timothy complains, large, wet tears dripping down his red cheeks as he points to his wrist. Ryan’s next to Brendon now, concerned eyes flickering to meet Brendon’s.
“Is he okay?” a mother asks, her hand on the shoulder of the little girl.
“Yeah...yeah he’s okay,” Brendon breathes out, turning to Timothy, “you can walk right?”
Timothy, his little lips quivering and his eyes swimming, nods. Brendon lets a little trickle of relief run through his blood stream, and helps lift Timothy to his feet.
“We’re going to go see Ma, okay?” Brendon tells him, and Timothy seems to be shaking a little.
“Shock,” Ryan mouths to Brendon, and Brendon nods a little solemnly. His mother is going to kill him for this.
They reach the car, and Brendon helps Timothy in, biting his lip when he sees that the wrist has swollen and turned red. He turns to Ryan and says, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, nodding slowly. “it-” Ryan stops and Brendon raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Ryan says quietly, with a small shrug. Brendon opens the driver’s side door.
“I should have been watching,” Brendon tells him, before closing the door and starting the ignition.
***
“Brendon Boyd,” his mother says, low and dangerous after she’s bandaged up Timothy’s wrist. Just a sprain, she had said, nothing broken or serious, but painful enough to keep a six-year-old in constant tears for a while.
“I know, I know,” he sighs, moving around her to open the refrigerator. Her hand comes down on the refrigerator door, closing it loudly and forcing his eyes to meet hers.
“I trusted you Brendon,” she says, nostrils flaring. “You’re supposed to be watching him, what the hell were you doing?”
“I just got sidetracked for a few minutes, it won’t happen again,” Brendon tells her, leaning back against the kitchen bench.
“Who is this Ryan that Timothy mentioned?” she says, and just like that the room gets a little colder, her words piercing through it. Brendon thinks he should have taped Timothy’s mouth shut.
“A friend,” Brendon says casually.
“So while you’re socialising, your little brother could be doing anything!” she exclaims. “Not just hurting himself, but getting kidnapped or something because you’re so completely careless-”
“He’s not dead, okay?” Brendon snaps back, a little louder than he intended. Her lips turn into a thin line, and her hand grasps the side of the bench.
“No, he isn’t, luckily for you,” she mutters. She’s taller than Brendon, just barely, and she turns on her heels and heads for the living room. They seem to argue more and more as Brendon grows older, and they’ve been drifting apart for years. She’s not the woman he remembers.
***
Friday morning Brendon’s at Barb’s salon, and it’s open but the customers don’t seem to drag themselves out of bed this early. He’s sweeping the floor while Barb and Patrick drink coffee, and there’s another guy with them; short with darker skin and tattoos showing from his small sleeves.
Brendon doesn’t mind the volunteer work; it’s usually just trivial tasks that take his mind off things, and sometimes Barb slips him a few notes to buy himself something to eat. Patrick and this other man seem to be telling Barb some kind of story, the way they’re leaning in close with amused smiles on their faces, pulling into grimaces or smirks.
The floor isn’t really that dirty; just stray pieces of hair and dirt.
“I gotta get to work,” the other man says, his black hair hanging around his eyes.
“Okay, bye Pete,” Barb calls, turning for a second to set her mug down on the bench, next to the bookings pad. Brendon glances up just in time to see the short man, Pete, opening the door with a rattle and zipping his hoodie up.
“Is that a friend of yours?” Brendon asks Patrick, eyes unassuming and voice simply curious. He’s swept the dirt into a pile.
“Uh, yeah,” Patrick says, playing with the tip of his hat as Barb hits his shoulder with her ring covered hand. Brendon raises an eyebrow. “Actually, Brendon,” Patrick says, shooting Barb a small, wavering glare, “Pete’s my, um, partner I guess you could say.”
Brendon nods, slowly, and says, “So...you’re gay?”
Patrick furrows his eyebrows and says, “Well, yes.”
There’s a small feeling thudding around in Brendon’s ribcage, and he suddenly feels like asking Patrick a million questions, like is it hard to admit it, and what about how people react, and does it feel normal?
Patrick and Barb are both staring at Brendon now, with inquiring eyes because Brendon’s been standing still for almost a minute now, thinking and staring at the floor.
“Brendon, is there something you want to say?” Barb asks carefully, her manicured eyebrows lifted slightly.
Brendon swallows, and goes, “no, just-. I mean, no.” He stumbles around for a dustpan to sweep the dirt into.
Barb remembers when Brendon was just a little boy, with bright eyes like his mothers and an optimistic nature. Adolescence hit him like a wave, where he grew tall and his voice broke, but along with that his emotions seemed to become more complicated and hidden, and Barb never knows quite how to go about asking him how things are going, because she never seems to get a completely truthful answer. After last year, after the funeral, Barb watched Brendon grow up quicker in twelve months than he had in the last ten years.
The door tingles, and Barb walks over to serve the customer with a smile, as Patrick drains the last of his coffee. Brendon, dustpan in hand, anxiously edges closer, asking, “Patrick?”
“Yeah?” Patrick asks, looking Brendon in the eye and leaning a little.
“How... how do you know if you’re...gay?” Brendon’s tongue curls around the last word, sounding odd in his mouth.
Patrick lets out a long breath, leaning back and looking thoughtful as he scratches his sideburn. “I don’t know, really. I guess it’s one of those things you just figure out. You’ll just know... one day something will happen and you’ll just know.” Patrick shrugs and offers Brendon a smile. “It’s not something you should worry about; it’s not a problem that needs solving. It just happens.”
Barb moves back to grab her wheeling tray when she glances at the clock, exclaiming, “Shoot Brendon, you’re late for school.”
Brendon blinks, glancing at the clock, and she’s shooing him out of the door before he can say anything.
***
Jon’s a social butterfly when he wants to be, talking animatedly about this weekend and making sure everyone knows when they’re supposed to be there. He smells like coffee this early in the morning, and he’s fidgeting with his headphones and sleeves.
Cassie patiently endures it, and Brendon thinks the more power to her.
***
Brendon walks to the park from school, not bothering to go home and pick up Timothy, knowing it’ll lead to a lecture from his mother. It’s a long walk, and Brendon’s jeans feel itchy and uncomfortable when he makes it, his sneakers crunching autumn leaves.
Ryan’s waiting on the bench, letting Hobo pull more length from the retractable lead than Brendon thought possible.
“Afternoon,” Brendon greets, sitting down next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush. Ryan inclines his head and smiles.
They sit together, talking in quiet voice with their knees occasionally touching until the sun sets, and Ryan offers to give Brendon a lift home. Ryan’s car is insanely small but comfortable, with gum wrappers and junk mail under the seats, and Brendon feels like he could just lean back, and sleep.
Ryan is almost a comfort, something Brendon can have to himself, if only for an hour or so, with conversations that only end in small pauses or steady thinking. When Brendon opens his door, to slip back into his house, Ryan leaves him with promises of coming to the beach the next day.
Brendon sleeps with a smile, that night.
***
The alarm’s loud and incessant calls stir Brendon from his sleep, the nagging sensation that he had to do something. He cracks open an eyelid, stretching out, and remembering his plans for the day. Glancing at the clock, he notes it’s 9am, and Jon wants them there around 10am, or 11am.
Groaning and letting his shoulder joints pop, Brendon rolls out of bed. The sun is coming in the window, and it’s unseasonably warm for autumn. In the next hour Brendon manages to put on his board shorts and shirt, trip over a fake fire truck in the hallway, grab his wallet, hit his head on the kitchen cupboard, and have breakfast.
Battered but accomplished, Brendon gets into the car and hopes for the best.
***
Brendon spots Ryan almost immediately; it’s almost hard not to. He’s the only person that would go to the beach in tight jeans and brown shirt, with a messenger bag hanging around his hips. He’s leaning against the kiosk, waiting, his eyes scanning and his fingers fidgeting.
Brendon shuts the door of his car, locking it, and jogs over to where Ryan is.
“Hey,” Brendon calls out, and Ryan’s back straightens a little, smiling when he catches sight of Brendon.
“I didn’t think it was going to be so hot here,” Ryan tells him once he’s by Ryan’s side, and there’s a small sheen to Ryan’s skin.
“Ryan, since when does wearing jeans to a beach seem like a good idea? Even if it was cold, think of the sand,” Brendon tells him, scratching his head and clucking with his tongue.
“Yeah, I know, shut up,” Ryan says, smiling a little sheepishly, “where are these friends of yours, anyway?”
“I don’t know, come help me find them,” Brendon informs him, grinning and giving him one more mocking glance at what Ryan’s wearing. He stands out among the light coloured board shorts and bikinis.
Ryan nods and follows Brendon, who makes his way out into the sand, passing people spread out on towels, their skin browning in the sun. It’s warmer than it should be in autumn, but Brendon knows the night is going to much colder, no matter how deceiving the temperature is now.
He catches a glimpse of Jon’s enormous hat that he always insists on wearing, the one that has a full circular brim that extends past his shoulders and makes people duck whenever he turns. Brendon walks faster, waving his arms as Ryan jogs to catch-up.
“Bren!” Jon calls, his white teeth gleaming as they approach closer. His arm is hooked around a pretty blonde girl with a tan face and matching smile, her yellow bikini showing through the oversized wet shirt she’s wearing. Brendon smiles at her, Cassie, and she grins wider.
“Hey guys,” Brendon says, once they’re close enough, and turns to the brunette boy beside him, “this is my friend, Ryan.”
Ryan cocks his hand up a little, giving an awkward wave and hesitant smile. Jon moves forward, removing his hand from Cassie and hooking an arm each around Brendon and Ryan’s shoulders, pulling them both close for a hug. Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Good you could make it,” he reassures them, releasing them, “this is going to be awesome. There’s beer in the esky if you want, and the water’s great.”
Brendon catches a small change in Ryan’s face when Jon mentioned the alcohol, and steers the conversation away. “That sounds cool, we should go swimming,” Brendon directs the last part towards Ryan, who raises his eyebrows and glances down at his jeans. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even bring another pair of shorts?” Brendon sighs, but smiles.
“Hey, I have a spare pair of board shorts,” Cassie injects, glancing Ryan up and down, calculating, “you’re pretty skinny, I’m sure they’ll fit.”
“Hear that, Ry?” Brendon says, a teasing grin quickly spreading over his face, “you can swim after all.”
Ryan grimaces, but Brendon just laughs and asks, “so Cassie, what colour are they?”
***
Brendon’s already shirtless and waist high in the water with Jon when they spot Ryan emerging from one of the change rooms and making his way down the beach. The yellow board shorts he has on shine in the sun, lighting up the pink flower design on them. Brendon sniggers, just a little, and Jon gives him a ‘shame on you’ look, but he’s smiling too.
Ryan makes it to the edge of the water and they wade closer, encouraging him to come in with promises of warm water. He shakes his head at them, as if they’re being ridiculous, and walks until he’s knee-deep and dives under. Brendon’s eyes manage to catch the way his shoulders flexed and his stomach contracted when he hit the water.
Ryan resurfaces next to Brendon, a satisfied, and maybe smug, smile on his face. Brendon bites his bottom lip and forces himself to stare only at Ryan’s face, and not his bare chest.
“Come out deeper,” Jon tells them, floating on his back and slowly using his arms to drift backwards, “then we can have a race to the bottom.”
Brendon glances back out at the shore, doing backstroke, and watches the people becoming smaller and the noise of shouting, cheering and children splashing dies off, quickly. The water’s cold around his toes but warm around his shoulders as the three of them tread water.
“Okay, rules are: we all start at the same time, and you have to grab a fistful of sand when you touch the bottom, and show it as proof. Agreed?” Jon asks, and he’s smiling that smile that Brendon’s used to. Their hair is wet and pulled out of their faces, Ryan’s tucked behind his ears, and Jon’s glued back on his skull.
“Yep,” Brendon says, Ryan nodding, and little ripples vibrate away from them as they try to keep above water.
“Okay,” Jon says, glancing at the both of them, “GO!”
Brendon dives under water, noticing Jon simply duck his head under, and Brendon kicks his way down, moving his arms and feeling the water grow cold. The water’s murky and hurts his eyes as he reaches out, fisting a handful of sand, before shifting and launching back toward the lighter water, the sun making it shimmer and blur.
Sand slips out of his grip from water prying it away, and by the time he breaks the surface, he only has a little left in the centre of his palm, gasping with a stupid grin on his face. Ryan and Jon pop up only nanoseconds later.
“I won!” Brendon cheers, punching air and throwing the leftover sand at them. Ryan laughs, and he and Jon work together in splashing water all over Brendon, who splutters but refuses to stop grinning.
“Hey, I see Cassie waving,” Jon says, his voice betraying his excitement as he waves back, throwing Brendon a glance, and Brendon just nods. Jon seems to take this as permission, swimming back towards the shore and calling out a distracted goodbye.
“That boy is smitten,” Ryan says, torn between pity and amusement. His chain necklace glitters against his wet chest.
“It’s nice though,” Brendon says, and he doesn’t even realise that he’s drifting closer, and they’re closer than they need to be.
It’s quiet this far out, serene with the water drifting around them, and Brendon's glancing back at the shore to make sure they don’t move too far away.
“They’re nice,” Ryan admits, and although he’s looking down at the water, his words are sincere.
Brendon’s pleased that they get along, even though he was pretty sure they would. He goes, “so, do you feel pretty in your flowery shorts?”
A small wave of disturbed water hits him in the face, and he laughs as Ryan says, “fuck you, ass.”
“No, I just meant, they’re really nice, really bring out your feminine side-” Brendon’s words and laughter are getting cut off by Ryan continuously splashing him. Brendon swims forward, grabs Ryan’s wrists to stop him splashing, and Ryan’s grinning, struggling, until their bare torsos are pushed against each other.
Just like that, it stops. Ryan can’t splash, and he isn’t struggling, but Brendon can feel his chest pushing against his own as he breathes, and the rapid beating of his heart. Their eyes catch, linger, and Ryan’s pupils are dark, dark as tar. Brendon can feel Ryan’s ribs, his breathing, can smell his breath amongst the salt water.
Letting go of Ryan’s wrists, Brendon moves backwards, until his feet can touch sand. Ryan smiles at Brendon, a soft, unassuming smile, and Brendon fucking glows on the inside.
“I forget how much I like swimming,” Ryan says, cracking open the silence as he tries to float on the surface of the water. “It’s... I don’t know. Freeing, almost.”
Brendon smiles, lets his toes dig into the sand, and watches Ryan’s body as he floats.
***
Turns out two of the girls dumped the esky, because this was meant to be ‘an alcohol free event, damn it!’.
“There goes the booze,” Brendon jokes, but Ryan’s jaw tightens, noticeably.
As the afternoon wears on, the air gets colder and the water becomes less inviting. A couple of the guys are starting to set up the camp and drag out make-shift mattresses and warm looking blankets, and Jon’s trying to find sticks to help light a fire.
“Hey,” Ryan murmurs, his voice soft in Brendon’s ear and his hand tugging on the edge of Brendon’s sleeve. They’re both dressed in warmer clothes now, Ryan’s shirt hugging his torso. “Come for a walk.”
Brendon doesn’t even think before he’s nodding and following. The beach is significantly less crowded, and Brendon thinks, maybe their group are the only people left, except for the occasional tent up near the grass. Ryan slows down so Brendon’s walking next to him, along the shore line, his bare feet sinking into damp sand.
The sun is close to setting, but not just yet, as Ryan says, “thanks for inviting me to this. You didn’t...you didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” Brendon reminds him, confused.
“I know, but you didn’t have to,” Ryan repeats, and this time Brendon gets it. He smiles shyly, looking at his bare feet.
“I think my friends like you,” Brendon says, mostly because Ryan had been pulled into many games of Frisbee and beach volleyball that day, with Jon crowning him Frisbee king. Ryan had just shrugged and mouthed to Brendon, ‘Hobo’.
“They’re friendly people,” Ryan says nonchalantly, with a shrug. “It’s hard not to get along with them.”
“Some of them,” Brendon agrees, shrugging.
Ryan skips a little, jumping over a log that’s washed up on the shore, and when he looks up at the low sun, his golden eyes glimmer and burn like boiling honey and Brendon swallows unsteadily.
“Thank you, Ryan,” Brendon says quietly, wondering if Ryan had heard.
“For what?” of course he heard, they’re almost alone now, the others all now pitching in to set up camp further back on the beach.
“For just... being here. Being with me. Not... just writing me off the first time you met me.”
Ryan smiles at him, one of those funny smiles, and speaks, “who would?”
Brendon frowns, because he doesn’t get it, and Ryan points to one of sand mounds. Wordlessly Brendon understands, walking with the older boy and sitting down on top of it with him. Ryan’s fingers pick at pieces of sand on the knee of his jeans, and the sun is starting to set, causing the water’s surface to glow orange.
“Will I ever get to meet your friends?” Brendon asks, and he lets his head rest on Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan shifts a little closer, not protesting.
“You’ll probably meet Spencer,” Ryan offers, “he’s pretty great. I don’t know, when the time is right the two worlds will collide, you know?”
Brendon chuckles quietly, and saying, “That was shitty.”
“Fine, um, when the time comes, you’ll meet.”
“That sounded kind of better.” Brendon lifts his head a little, to see Ryan smiling fondly. Slowly, he lets his fingers brush over Ryan’s, right over the knee of Ryan’s leg. Quickly licking his lips, Ryan laces their hands together as Brendon once more leans his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Is this- I mean, this is okay, right?” Brendon asks.
“Yeah,” Ryan mumbles, “yeah, definitely.”
The sun is setting, with streaks of red, pink, and orange filtering through the clouds, and Brendon believes it’s beautiful. They watch the sky for a few minutes, in complete comfortable silence, and Brendon’s attached, so attached and maybe that’s a bad thing but he doesn’t mind.
Brendon’s warm on the side where he’s leaning into Ryan, and the sand is soft and gentle beneath them. His mind is on slow, steadily sorting through his thoughts and not caring, just being content, like the world has slowed down just for him. Carefully, he turns his head, glancing at Ryan’s face -who is still staring at the clouds- and places a small kiss to Ryan’s neck.
Ryan squeezes Brendon’s hand, says, “this is...nice. Just. You know?”
Brendon hums in response, places another small kiss to his jaw line and says, “Yeah, it is.”
Ryan turns and Brendon pulls back, until they’re just looking at each other. Ryan looks stunning in the light hovering around them, soon to fade into night, and Brendon catches Ryan glancing down to Brendon’s lips. Brendon edges forward a little, as does Ryan, and with the lowering sun disappearing between them, they close the gap, their lips meeting softly.
It’s slow and careful, lips brushing lips and Brendon has closed his eyes, can feel the rough texture of chapped lips on his own as he presses. He pulls back, licking his lips and pecking Ryan’s again, melting inwards. Slowly, Ryan opens his mouth, tilting his head further and enveloping his lips around Brendon’s, ending in a soft sucking sound of his lips against his teeth.
Brendon breathes out, gently, before parting his own lips, and Ryan takes Brendon’s bottom lip between his own, sucking tenderly. Their entwined hands are still resting on Ryan’s knee and Ryan lifts his other hand to the back of Brendon’s neck, tugging him slightly closer as their mouths fit together.
Brendon carefully moves his tongue to brush over Ryan’s lip, before tucking it back into his own mouth. A moment later Ryan’s tongue is in his mouth, brushing against his own, making gentle friction. Brendon twists so his leg closest to Ryan is forced to the other side of the mound, and he’s side on, shuffling a little closer and resting his hand hesitantly on Ryan’s hip, and breathing through his nose.
Their tongues seem to dance together, and Brendon’s done this before, but not like this. It’s never felt like this; it’s always been rushed and hidden with girls that wore too much lip gloss. This isn’t sloppy; it’s steady and building up, making Brendon’s blood flow warmer.
Ryan’s a good kisser, in no way inexperienced, as he slowly manoeuvres his tongue around Brendon’s, moving in and out of Brendon’s mouth and their lips curling together. Ryan grins against his lips, disturbing the kiss but making Brendon grin in response.
“We should get back, it’s dark now,” Ryan says, and it is, but there’s a full moon so they can still see, slightly. “They’ll be wondering if we’ve been murdered or something.”
Brendon laughs under his breath as Ryan’s slender body gets up, his hand still latched onto Brendon’s and subtly pulling him forward. They stumble away from the sand mound, and walk back down the beach hand in hand, toward the small orange glow of fire with teenagers running and sitting around it, their chatter sounding distant.
“Can we still do this?” Ryan asks, lifting up their hands, and Brendon nods. He can smell the water and hear the lapping of waves, and Ryan’s rough hand sinks further into his.
“I don’t mind,” Brendon says, meaningfully, and they walk the rest of the way, sitting down by the fire with their hands still joined.
Brendon had chose a spot near Jon’s feet, and Jon just shoots them a smile, eyes flickering to their hands questioningly but not mentioning it. Perhaps writing it off as something else, and asking Brendon if he wants to roast marshmallows. Brendon glances around at the marshmallows on sticks, turning black in the fire and shakes his head.
“No way,” he says, popping one straight from the packet into his mouth, talking through the gooey mess, “sticks are unsanitary, and they’ll just burn, anyway.”
Ryan grins from next to him, and they’re the only ones sitting on the ground, the others are sitting on logs that they’ve gathered around the fire. Ryan grabs another white marshmallow, and feeds it to Brendon, who licks his fingers accidentally on purpose. Jon quirks an eyebrow, before Cassie blows on her own marshmallow, following suit and feeding it slowly to Jon, so it cools off during bites.
Soon, everyone’s feeding their friends and partners, a trend moving around the circle as some protest that others are more burnt than their own, and laughter over singed tongues. The fire makes everything glow a warm colour, but the air is still cold as Brendon predicted.
There’s about a dozen or so of them there, and once everything has been properly set up, and the fire is blazing steadily as they all gather around closer and tell ghost stories. Some are lame, and they joke and jostle the person who told them, but others have Brendon clutching Ryan’s hand a little tighter and biting down on his lip.
“You tell one, Ryan,” a girl, Greta, says, “You’ve been too quiet.”
Ryan laughs melodiously, under his breath, and asks, “Do I have to?” while they nod and encourage him.
Brendon appreciates his friends’ attempts to make Ryan comfortable, but something Brendon had noticed about Ryan in their time together is that Ryan is a sensitive person; he takes things to heart, and Brendon’s friends aren’t used to that kind of thing.
Eventually, after much coaching and poking, Ryan starts in a low, deep voice, “well, one night...” that everyone has to lean forward to hear. Maybe it’s the story, maybe it’s the way Ryan talking in that low, ominous voice, but no-one shifts, completely mesmerised and hanging on his every word.
Ryan’s eyes sweep over them as he talks, linger on Brendon’s beside him. At a crucial point, he claps his hands suddenly with a shout of, “bam!” and they all jump, a few girls screaming. Ryan just laughs, while Jon yells, “I could have fucking wet myself, jerk.”
***
It’s about midnight when they’re all still sitting in the sand, with empty packets of snack food and sharing stories. They’re exchanging secrets and dares, and Brendon is sitting against a log, with Ryan pressed firmly into his side.
They’ve been getting glances all night, but no-one’s said anything and Brendon’s glad, because he has no idea what he’d say back. A starry night greets him as he looks up, his head resting on the log and his breath coming out as a faint fog.
Two guys are running towards the water, stripping off as they go, because they’ve dared each other to go skinny dipping in the freezing water. They’re chanted on by hoots and cat calls as they crash into the waves, any noises they make too far away for the others to hear.
“Idiots,” Cassie mutters, sitting in between Jon’s legs, but she’s smiling good-naturedly.
“Being a teenager means we get to be idiots,” Ryan supplies, and she nods her head a little.
“Good point.”
Brendon takes the last marshmallow from the packet on his knee, and thinks he’s about to start breathing out marshmallows instead of fog.
“Someone go drag those guys out before they drown, or get hypothermia,” a girl with red hair sighs, and the boy next to her shakes his head.
“No way, I’m not going in there.”
Eventually one boy emerges, shortly followed by the other, using their hands to cover themselves as they try and collect their scattering clothing, and they look, from this distance, like they’re laughing.
“Who bets they get sick?” Jon asks, and there’s a small murmur of agreement, but it’s incredulous with amused disbelief.
Brendon realises they’re at the age where it’s okay to be stupid, to make mistakes just for the story, for the glory. He smiles.
***
It’s not too long after when it’s decided it’s time to sleep. There are a few tents set up in the sand (with people joking about the tide rising and taking them away) and people are starting to gathering into groups.
“I call keeps on Brendon and Ryan,” Jon says loudly, his hand in Cassie’s as he points to a tent, and Brendon smiles and nods. They trek through the sand, opening the flap and Brendon realises that Jon must have dug a hole in the sand, big enough for the four of them to fit, and lined it with a thick blanket.
“Much warmer this way,” Jon tells them, grabbing other blankets that are piled in the corner.
“Thanks man,” Brendon tells him, and Jon smiles, eyes flickering to where Cassie and Ryan are just outside of the tent, talking politely.
Jon leans forward, anxious in a way, and says, “it’s okay, you know? You could have just introduced him as your boyfriend... we wouldn’t have cared, man.”
“No, it’s not...” Brendon starts, hesitates, “just tonight. It wasn’t until...just tonight.”
Jon nods curtly, and tells him, “He’s a nice guy. And he tells some kick ass scary stories.”
Brendon rolls his eyes but smiles, helping Jon put their things in the corner and adjust the bottom blanket.
“I’m going to take Cassie for a walk down the beach,” Jon tells him, “you know, moonlight, romance, all that jazz. We won’t be long, but sorry if we wake you up when we get back.”
“It’s cool,” Brendon says, and Jon disappears out of the tent, only for Ryan to appear a few seconds later.
“Hey, this where we’re sleeping?” Ryan asks, and Brendon nods, sitting down.
“It’s very high class,” Brendon tells him, flashing Ryan his teeth as he smiles.
Ryan laughs lightly, falling down to lie next to Brendon, staring at the tent. “Mmm, tired,” Ryan says, his eyes drifting shut and Brendon moves to lie on his back, throwing a blanket over Ryan and himself.
“Been a good night, though,” Brendon mumbles, and Ryan smiles, eyes closed.
“I have sand all through my clothes,” Ryan gripes, twisting in the blanket, “and it’s cold.”
So Brendon shifts on his side, moving closer to Ryan to share heat, and Brendon feels Ryan hook an arm around Brendon’s waist, pull him closer so the only thing separating Brendon’s back from Ryan’s chest is the blanket in between them.
Ryan whispers, cautiously, nervously, “I like this.”
This, Brendon thinks, and smiles. “Me too.”
Ryan smiles into the skin on the back of Brendon’s neck. He says, a little sheepishly, “I wasn’t going to come today... I mean, I planned to but I nearly chickened out.”
Brendon laughs breathlessly at the thought of Ryan freaking out, but asks, “Why?”
“Because,” Ryan says, and Brendon can feel him scrunching up his nose, “it’s sort of big, you know, spending this time with you around your other friends. What if I didn’t like them, or they didn’t like me, or even if I didn’t like how you were around them. Some people change completely when they hang out with their friends.”
“Well, none of that happened...did it?” Brendon turns the end up as a question, because he can’t be sure.
“No, it didn’t,” Ryan hums in agreement, “so I’m glad I came.” Ryan’s hand is over Brendon’s stomach, resting on the blanket. His breath is blowing on Brendon’s skin, and Brendon feels warm.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, the noises of other people rustling in sleeping bags and the waves acting as a background, and Brendon whispers, “Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“I really, really like you.”
Ryan kisses the back of Brendon’s neck, and says, “Ditto.”
The sounds of feet hitting sand approaches, before Jon and Cassie slip in, Jon lying next to Brendon with Cassie and Ryan on the outer areas. Jon whispers, “Night, guys.”
“Mm,” is all Brendon says, and soon, the tent is filled with deep breathing and sleeping bodies.
***
The first thing Brendon hears is muffled laughter, soon followed by shifting and something heavy landing right on top of him. His eyes snap open just as the people on either side of him, Ryan and Jon, startle awake, their view obstructed by blue material.
“Assholes,” Brendon mutters, pushing the material away, “they pulled down our tent.”
“You guys better run before I kick your ass,” Jon says loudly, his voice rough and just woken, as their friends laugh and help pull the tent off them.
Ryan makes a small sound, and Brendon turns so he’s facing Ryan, still lying down. Ryan’s eyes are bright and glazed, still tired and his dry lips move into a small smile. He mouths a small, ‘good morning.’
“Wake up, lovebirds,” someone says, and he thinks they’re probably talking to Cassie and Jon, as they’re hauled out of their sleeping spot (the sun was starting to get annoying, anyway, the way it was glaring at him).
“Storm clouds,” Jon murmurs, looking overhead, where grey clouds have started to gather, “We should probably go, what’s the time?”
“Nearly noon,” a girl says, checking her watch.
“Shit,” Ryan says, scratching the back of his head, looking at Brendon from where they’re still sitting in the sand, “I didn’t think it’d be that late.”
“Do you have plans?” Brendon asks, his knee pressed against Ryan’s.
“No,” Ryan admits, and there are small grains of sand falling from his hair.
“Want to... want to come back and have breakfast at my place? Or lunch, whatever.”
Ryan grins, and says, “Yeah... okay.”
It doesn’t take long to gather up their things, and soon the sun is overcome by dark clouds and the waves become louder in their ears. As they start to leave, Brendon asks, “Did you drive here?”
“Nah,” Ryan answers, walking in time with him, “I was dropped off.”
“Then how were you going to get home?”
Ryan smiles sheepishly, “I was planning on maybe getting a ride from you, but this is better.”
Brendon laughs, loops an arm around Ryan’s neck, and purely on the spur of the moment kisses the side of his head. His laughter tapers off, and the air gets a little more serious as they walk towards the car, and by the time they make it to the car park, Ryan simply sighs and stops walking, forcing Brendon to stop as well.
He looks to see what’s wrong, and Ryan places both hands on Brendon’s hips, stepping forward and kissing him quickly on the mouth. “We’re good, right?”
Brendon smiles, pecks his lips reassuringly, and says, “Yeah, we are.”
“Good,” Ryan says quietly, shyly, and Brendon opens the passenger side door for him, like the gentleman he is.
***
On the ride to Brendon’s house, Blink 182 comes on the radio, and it ends in Ryan and Brendon both pelting out the lyrics with the music up loud, until there’s a warm feeling spread all through Brendon’s body, and lately he gets that whenever Ryan’s near.
When Brendon opens his front door, he calls out a welcome and motions for Ryan to follow.
“Brendon Boyd Urie, where have you been-” his mother cuts off at the sight of Ryan, and tries to smile placidly, “oh, hello?”
“Ma, I told you I was going out this weekend,” Brendon tells her, before glancing back at the older boy, “and this is my friend, Ryan.”
Ryan’s looking at his feet timidly, and Brendon’s mother says, “Nice to meet you Ryan.”
“We’re just going to, have some lunch or something.”
“I’m not finished talking to you Brendon-”
“Later Ma, please?” Brendon sighs, looking at his mother wearily as she purses her lips.
“Fine, but I’m not going to forget young man.”
Brendon resists the urge to roll his eyes, and simply nods, moving past her and Ryan awkwardly follows him to the kitchen, holding his messenger bag close to his side.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Brendon says with an exaggerated flourish and eye roll, cracking open the refrigerator, “try and breathe through the excitement.”
Ryan just smiles, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs and can hear children shows playing on a television somewhere in the next room.
“Uh, do you mind yogurt? I could make some toast, or something?” Brendon asks, turning to glance at him.
“Toast sounds good,” Ryan says, watching the younger boy’s body as he moves to grab a loaf of bread; watches the curve of his back and his hair sweeping along the nape of his neck. Brendon is methodical in the way he makes toast; adjust the dial perfectly, places the slices of bread in carefully, and pressed down the lever, making sure the bread is all the way down.
It ends up being delicious, with Timothy wandering in, blue eyes big as he steals a buttery piece and escaping back to the lounge room where the television is.
As Ryan and Brendon are sitting next to each other, talking in low voice and sharing the last piece, Brendon’s mother comes in, dressed in her nurse uniform.
“I’m off to the retirement village, Hun,” she sighs, ruffling Brendon’s hair and placing a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Take care of Timothy, okay?”
“Yeah, sure Ma,” he says, and she gives him a faint smile, gathering her keys and purse before leaving.
“I don’t think your mother likes me,” Ryan admits, wiping crumbs from around his face.
“She does,” Brendon reassures him, “she’s just really tired lately.”
“She’s tall,” Ryan offers, as if in a way redeeming her, and Brendon laughs.
“Yeah, she sure is. It runs in the female side,” Brendon comments. Shanna was always really tall for her age. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”
Brendon takes Ryan’s hand in his, confident now that his mother is out of the house and his brother is entranced by the television, leading Ryan to the door that leads to his bedroom. He jiggles the door knob and pushes open the door, revealing his single bed in the corner (dark blue cover) with his poster covered wall (all bands) and his desk with his computer, iPod and school equipment. His clothes are scattered on the floors and jammed in the corners of drawers, because he was never really the neatest person.
“It’s so...” Ryan says, looking around slowly, “...you.”
Brendon smiles, ducks his head and moves across the room, throwing himself on the bed so the springs squeak. “I’m glad you think so.”
Ryan laughs, picks a shirt up from the floor, and asks, “Don’t you ever...I don’t know, do laundry?”
“When they get too dirty to wear, I manage to throw them in the washing basket, yes,” Brendon informs him, rolling on the bed so he’s propped up on his elbows and lying on his stomach.
Ryan runs his fingers along the posters, then along the trinkets scattered over Brendon’s desk, picking up his cell phone and flipping it open.
“What’re you doing?” Brendon asks, but he just sounds curious, his face now lying sideways on the duvet.
“Putting in my number,” Ryan says, with a short, wicked grin. “I expect you to call me now.”
“I’ll stalk you,” Brendon threatens, tongue sticking out between his teeth.
“That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Until I start cutting off locks of your hair when you’re asleep.”
Ryan picks up a magazine from Brendon’s desk and throws in at him, playfully, Brendon ducking so it lands on his back.
“Abuse,” Brendon calls, rolling over so he’s lying on his back and his vision is upside down as he looks at Ryan. Ryan’s still thumbing through his things absentmindedly, not really looking but interested anyway.
He picks up a CD, turning it over in his hands before placing it into Brendon’s stereo, letting it play as he steps closer to the bed, as if waiting for permission.
“Come here,” Brendon ends up saying, patting the bedding next to him and Ryan lies next to him, on his stomach.
“I feel like there’s a sand pit in my hair,” Ryan admits, shaking the light brown mop, and little beads of sand hit Brendon in the face.
“Hey, hey,” Brendon says raising his arms to defend the little grains. Ryan just laughs and does it again; Brendon likes it when he laughs. Brendon lifts his hand and runs it through Ryan’s tangled hair, straightening it out and Ryan looks down at him, smiling softly.
“Do you need to be home soon?” Brendon asks, fingers still threading through the brown strands.
“Not really,” Ryan admits, his eyes staring at Brendon’s, and Brendon’s almost intimidated by the beauty of them.
They stay like that, talking, for another hour before Brendon drops Ryan off, a chaste kiss to the lips at parting and nothing more.
***
Sometimes, late at night, Brendon drags out the old home videos; the ones that blur with static at certain parts and the sound is choppy and charred. They’re blotched scenes of a younger Brendon running around a green backyard, and of a younger Shanna, playing with her Barbie dolls and pink toy chariots.
Their father is in these videos, his stupid grin attracting the camera and he picks Brendon up by the armpits, swinging him around and Brendon shrieks happily, his limbs flailing and his mother laughing from behind the camera. Brendon still knows his father loves them all, but his father was always too adventurous to be tied down; constantly needing to discover and learn, enough so that it drove him away from his family.
Brendon’s mother suffered the most, heart broken by her husband’s departure but having to put on a brave face for her young children, and Brendon thinks it takes a strong woman to still raise them right, the way his mother did. They argue a lot lately, mostly because of the stress that life applies to them, but Brendon will always love his mother; just as the little boy in the video, declaring his squeaky, ‘I love you Mama!’ and kissing the camera lens with a giggle.
***
A week goes by, a week filled with afternoons spent at the park, talking with Ryan and looking after Timothy, and then further on in the night glued to the home phone, listening to Ryan’s deep voice tell him things he never knew before, ranging from the book he’s reading to ancient civilizations, and Brendon thinks maybe Ryan should have been an encyclopaedia. He still volunteers at the salon, but is in more of a hurry than before and Barb notices, but just smiles knowingly and doesn’t pry.
His mother starts working more and more, but Brendon barely notices, too wrapped up in his own life filled with schoolwork, volunteering, and now, Ryan. His boyfriend. The word fits easily in Brendon’s mouth.
He’s been asked, at school, by his friends that attended the beach outing whether Ryan was his boyfriend, whether he was gay; he always answered no, pretended not to know what they were talking about, because Brendon likes privacy and can’t handle judgement.
Friday night, Brendon’s feet are against the wall and his back is against his bed, the phone held loosely to his ear.
“Spencer’s stolen my camera,” says Ryan’s voice, and Brendon can hear rummaging in the background, “oh my god, he left it on his floor,” Ryan groans, and there’s another voice, protesting about Ryan being fussy, and Ryan’s mumbled, ‘shut up, Spencer.’
Brendon laughs down the phone line, and asks, “Is it still in one piece?”
“I think so. It better be,” Ryan says in a warning voice, and Brendon can imagine him glaring at the other boy. “Hang on.” There’s rustling around, and doors closing, before Ryan’s voice is back, “sorry, I’m back in my room now.”
“Good,” Brendon says, snuggling further into his mattress and throwing a blanket over himself.
As autumn fades into winter the nights get colder, and the trees remain bare in the streets. Brendon looks over to his left, making sure his window is closed to block out the cold air.
“How was school?”
“The same, really. My bag’s about to fall apart from the textbooks.”
“At least this is the last year.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Brendon says, smiling a little. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing, I guess. Why?”
“Just thought, I don’t know, that we could go out.”
“Like on a date, you mean.”
Brendon clears his throat, smiles, “well, yeah.”
“Okay,” Ryan says, and Brendon can hear his smile, “movies and dinner?”
“I’ll pick you up at 5pm?” Brendon asks.
Ryan laughs down the line, “I sound like the girl.”
“Well, you are the one that straightens their hair.”
“But you said you liked it when I did.”
“I do, doesn’t make it any less girly,” Brendon teases, and he can imagine Ryan rolling his eyes.
***
Brendon throws his clothes on the bed, sighing in frustration. He realises now that he has fashion dilemmas, and nothing seems to work right. Not even his favourite shirt looks good enough as he tosses it over his shoulder.
His cell phone starts vibrating on his desk, rattling against the wood and Brendon picks it up, flipping it open and says, “Yeah?”
“Breeeeeeeeeendon,” it’s Jon’s drawl, the one he has after his third morning coffee. “You busy man?”
“Actually, I kind of am,” Brendon tells him, kicking his sneakers out of the way.
“What’s doing?”
“Getting ready for a date,” Brendon says, trying to keep the embarrassment from bleeding into his voice.
“Oh? This wouldn’t be with a certain boy someone’s been denying having relations with, would it?”
Brendon rolls his eyes, and answers, “why do you always get formal when you do that?”
“Way I am, my man,” Jon replies, “how long do you have?”
Brendon glances at the clock, “about...four hours.”
“And you’re getting ready now? Wow, you big girl.”
“You know, you could be a good friend and come help me, instead of being a jerk.”
Jon laughs, and responds, “I’ll bring Cassie, she’ll know about these things.”
Brendon murmurs his thanks and shuts the phone.
Half an hour later, Jon with his lopsided grin and headphones arrives at the door with Cassie by his side, and she’s holding a lumpy garbage bag.
“Uh?” Brendon questions, staring at the bag.
“My brother’s old clothes,” she supplies, stepping past him and making a beeline down the hall, and Jon just grins.
“Told you she’s good at this kind of thing,” Jon tells him, as they follow her to Brendon’s room, which she must have found by the open door.
She’s already going through his clothes, sorting his pants and jeans into two piles, along with his shirts and jackets. She ends up throwing faded black jeans at him, and a laying out a grey shirt.
“They’ll go well, together, along with this...” she tells him, opening the garbage bag and fishing out a black hoodie with white writing scrawled across it as its design. “Are they your only shoes?” she asks, glancing at his sneakers.
“Yeah,” he replies, looking back down at his sneakers. Ryan always wears converse shoes.
She simply nods, before telling him to go change so they can see. Brendon grimaces but does as he’s told; emerging from the bathroom a few minutes later, with the faded jeans hugging his legs and the hoodie seems to cling a little, showing the small trim of his waist.
“Excellent,” she says, clapping her hands together slightly, her blonde ponytail swaying. “Now, the hair.”
***
“Tell me how it goes,” Cassie says.
Brendon gets in the family car as Cassie and Jon wave him off, pride in Cassie’s eyes and playful mocking in Jon’s.
Brendon’s hair has been styled in a combined effort of Cassie and Brendon’s hands, and Jon’s offhand, “it’d look better to the left.” He remembers the way to Ryan’s house from last weekend, when he’d dropped him off, and last minute nerves are fluttering around in Brendon’s stomach.
When he parks in front of Ryan’s house, he takes a deep breath, letting his tongue swipe across his teeth before getting out, and walking to the door. He knocks three times, and waits, until the door smoothly opens, revealing another boy with brown hair tucked behind his ear, and piercing blue eyes.
The boy grins, showing his teeth and says, “I’m guessing you’re Brendon?” and holds out his hand.
“And you’re Spencer?” Brendon asks, shaking his hand.
“Sure am,” he confirms, looking back at the stairs, “Ryan’ll be down in a second, he’s pretty much a princess when it comes to getting ready.”
This actually surprises Brendon, since Ryan never seemed to be someone who would care too much about this looks; then again, he’s always thorough and methodical about everything he does. Spencer invites him in, seemingly approving of Brendon and offering him something to drink.
Spencer’s dressed in sweatpants and blue long-sleeved shirt that matches his eyes as he leans against the kitchen bench, and Brendon just stands in the kitchen, waiting. Spencer seems to be the only one around.
“The family went out tonight,” Spencer explains, as if mind reading.
“Oh, okay,” Brendon says, trying to think of some kind of conversation.
“So you’re Ryan’s boyfriend,” Spencer says bluntly, leaning back and giving Brendon a scrutinizing look. Brendon laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“You seem harmless,” Spencer declares, shrugging his shoulders just as someone else joins them in the kitchen.
“You’re being nice, right Spence?” Ryan asks, and Brendon turns, blinking with bright eyes.
Ryan’s wearing tight black pants with a white studded belt, and a brown hoodie thrown over, but with black sleeves of another shirt poking through at the arms. Brendon grins when he sees him, and Ryan smiles shyly, looking at the floor and shifting his feet.
“Nice belt,” Brendon says softly, hooking his finger on the belt, and pulling Ryan closer, until they’re invading each other’s personal space.
“Ahem,” Spencer says loudly, and Ryan breaks away, biting his lip but smiling.
“Yeah, so, you guys have been introduced and everything?” Ryan asks, and they nod. “Good... we should probably get going.”
“Don’t be out late,” Spencer warns him, and Ryan rolls his eyes, while Brendon finds it amusing because Spencer looks younger (and he is) but when he fixes his gaze on Brendon, Brendon takes him seriously.
Spencer walks them outside, and Ryan gives him a one armed hug before getting into Brendon’s car.
“Don’t go giving up your virtue!” Spencer calls out as they drive away, and Ryan laughs. Brendon looks over, waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Ryan just shake his head and tells him, “Keep your eyes on the road.”
“So, I was thinking dinner first?” Brendon suggests, his stomach dropping a little as they drive down a steep hill, because of course this town is still so mountainous.
“Sounds good, where?” Ryan answers, his arm vertical against the window and his body relaxed back into the chair.
“There’s a place down here that makes some pretty kick ass burgers,” Brendon tells him, and Ryan nods, smiling.
“Veggie burgers?”
“Pretty much.”
***
Brendon enjoys the dinner; the way Ryan tries to laugh with a mouth full of food and ends up with chewed lettuce on his palm, and how Ryan seems to know what vegetables are in season. Brendon often catches himself just staring a Ryan, at his lips as they chew on his chain necklace, or on his eyes as they glaze over, staring out into the distance.
Most of all, Brendon likes the comfort; he can talk to Ryan about things he can’t tell other people. He can actually talk about how he feels about things without feeling stupid. Ryan always listens, occasionally brushing his leg against Brendon’s under the table.
They head off to the movie early in the night, picking an action flick they’ve both wanted to see and sitting up the back. It’s not a particularly romantic setting, but Brendon holds Ryan’s hand anyway, through the whole movie.
***
“But the night is still young!” Brendon insists his hands on the steering wheel as they pass under street lights.
“I know, but maybe we should get back,” Ryan tells him, “Spencer’ll be waiting up anyway.”
“But I don’t want to leave you just yet,” Brendon tells him, showing off an exaggerated pout.
“Dude, you can come inside. We’ll hang out a bit. Spencer’s parents and the kids are out visiting their old aunt and won’t be back til morning.”
“Spencer said they just went out for the night.”
“So you wouldn’t get any ideas,” Ryan says with a wink, and Brendon notices that Ryan gets more confident at night. “He’s not really a protective guy; he just thinks that everyone should be jumpy on the first date.”
“This isn’t really the first date we’ve had.”
“The first official one, it is,” Ryan reminds him, and his straightened hair is falling into his eyes.
Brendon glances to Ryan then back at the road, saying, “I’ve been meaning to ask, but, are you wearing eyeliner?”
“Shut up, it’s guyliner,” Ryan corrects, embarrassed and looking out the window.
“That makes it a lot more masculine.”
“You suck.”
“I’m just kidding,” Brendon tells him, a smile to his voice and a drag in his words, “it looks nice. Your eyes are even more captivating.”
“Captivating?” Ryan repeats, arching an eyebrow.
“What? I can’t use big words because I don’t read as many books?”
“No, I just didn’t know you knew any,” Ryan says sarcastically, teasing.
“Now you suck,” Brendon tells him, stealing the insult.
“And swallow,” Ryan murmurs, almost under his breath, but Brendon’s grip tightens a little on the steering wheel.
They drive back to Ryan’s place (Brendon opening the car door because he likes to be the gentleman) and Ryan makes sure to entwine their fingers as they enter the house.