But you wanted to keep his secret safe

Christmas Present Prompts!

2009-12-10T20:01:50Z

A list of drabbles from this post of Christmas present prompts!

Ryan/Spencer. Xmas love confessions with dirty kisses

Ryan/Brendon/Audrey. on a boat.

5 things Ryan Ross never said to Pete Wentz

ryan/alex. at a carol recital

RYAN/PATRICK AND RYAN/BRENDON advent calendar

Brendon/Ryan. Rain.

Pete/Mikey and something magical.

Dean/Cas, decorations

Dean/Castiel in a shopping mall in December

Merlin/Arthur verbal sparring

Brendon/Ryan fluffy first Christmas

Arthur's reaction to finding out Merlin is magical

Ryan/Brendon. Ryan decided he would cook the Christmas dinner. Fail happens.

Brendon/Ryan Christmas Lights

Pete/Ashlee coming home from tour

Jon/Eric Jon watching Black Gold

Jon/Spencer smoking

Possissve!Cas?/Deanneedstolearnhisplace!Dean

ryland/guy ripley Guy is lost in Central Park

Holidays!

2009-12-07T19:29:30Z

Thank you to everyone for the snowflakes and holiday cards/drawings/songs/well wishes.
You are all so amazing!

If you want, because I'm ~~procrastinating studying for finals~~ in such a loving/giving mood, leave a pairing* and prompt, and I'll write you a ~100 word drabble. Or just a pairing. Or just a prompt.

*(The following fandoms will produce the best results: bandom, merlin, supernatural, though I can try others! Also, otps are appreciated, but not mandatory (brendon/ryan, pete/mikey, arthur/merlin, dean/castiel)) Look at me putting guidelines on the holiday spirit! You know what? Fuck that, I'll do whatever you want.

~~And yes, that's what Ryan Ross said to Pete Wentz to get a record deal.~~

Once More (With Feeling)

2009-12-04T14:33:43Z

Happy Friday, everyone!
joncerjumpstart has started, so you should go check it out!
Also, you should check out my own joncer fic! (and it's me we're talking about here, so don't worry ryden fans, there's plenty of love for you too)

Title: Once More (With Feeling)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spencer/Jon (heavy side Brendon/Ryan and tiny Pete/Mikey)
POV: 3rd limited (Spencer)
Summary: Karaoke bar AU Or the one where Spencer doesn’t get serenaded – I promise.
Disclaimer: AU. Fiction. False. Fabrication. Other “f” words.
Author Notes: Written for the joncerjumpstart and especially for silver_etoile, who makes Joncer what it is for me. ♥

Once More (With Feeling)

But in Time (Standalone)

2009-11-30T19:46:44Z

Title: But in Time (Standalone)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: 3rd limited (Brendon)
Summary: The one where Brendon’s song lyrics have a habit of coming true.
Disclaimer: Fabrication. False. Fiction. Other ‘f’ words.
Beta: habezweikatzen
Author Notes: This is completely due to how many times I listened to ‘Folkin’ Around’. And possibly because I believe this is true. Going to warn you right now: it’s a little strange, a little disjointed. Go with it – it’s like that for a reason. After all, the future isn’t set in stone :D

---

The first time Brendon had sat down and wrote a song – actually had the idea to get his words down on paper and scribbled out verses with a leaky blue pen – he didn’t really think anything of how quickly the words had come to him.

All it had taken was the press of his pen, blue ink bubbling under the pressure, for the words to come out. It wasn’t deliberate or conscious – not in the strictest of senses – and when Brendon had read back over what he had written, he was a little surprised with what was there.

When he had sat down at his desk, pushing aside his homework, he had meant to write something about suffocating rules from parents who don’t remember what it was like to be young. He had meant to write about Elders and disapproving looks and sisters who take too much time in the bathroom. Instead, the song in front of him – written in Brendon’s messy scrawl in less than five minutes – was about light brown eyes and a voice that hinted at expression but never quite got there.

Brendon didn’t know where the hell that had come from, but when his mom called him to get ready for Youth Group, he stashed the fully formed verses into his desk drawer, not really giving the song another thought.

---

Brendon met Ryan on a Tuesday. He had been nervous about trying out for the band, but Brent had just given Brendon a small smile and said, “Don’t worry. It’s not like we’re really any good, or anything.”

Still, as Brendon walked down the stairs into the drummer’s grandmother’s basement, he was nervous. He was thinking about the song he had written the night before – written in a haze of nerves – and he wondered aimlessly as Brent opened the door to the basement why all the songs he wrote addressed a ‘you’.

The ‘you’ always seemed to be the same person. After two years of writing songs – songs that always just seemed to come so easily, without really thinking – Brendon knew that the ‘you’ he wrote about – he wrote to – was the same person.

He just didn’t know who it was.

Someone with eyes that were like unpolished amber – though Brendon had scratched out that line after he wrote it, embarrassed. Someone who Brendon only knew through the lines of his songs – words that were never fully given a melody, because Brendon didn’t know what they were saying.

He didn’t think it was normal to write something and not know where it came from or who he was talking about, but Brendon had tried forcing himself to write about things he knew, and nothing had ever come from it.

At the end of the day, whenever Brendon tried to write a song, it was always the ‘you’ Brendon wrote about.

Next to him, on the last stair leading to the basement, Brent said, “Good luck,” as he pushed Brendon forward into the dim light.

There were two boys in front of him. One, the one with a rounder face and bright blue eyes, was sitting behind a drum set. He looked Brendon over with assessing eyes and said, “Hey,” with a tone that sounded as if he wasn’t too sure about whether or not he should trust the boy in front of him. “I’m Spencer. That’s Ryan.”

Brendon smiled the best that he could through his nerves. “Brendon. Hey, nice to meet you.”

“Brent says you play guitar,” the other boy said, and the flat tone of his voice made something in Brendon tighten. When he looked over toward the speaker, he was met with soft brown eyes, and Brendon thought you, but he didn’t say that.

“Uh, yeah.” Both boys nodded, but Brendon couldn’t look away from the boy whose long fingers plucked at a worn guitar string.

“Why don’t you play something,” Brent prompted, and Brendon nodded, pulling his guitar out and setting his fingers on the frets.

He was planning on playing some cover, but instead, for reasons that he didn’t know or understand, he played the song he had finished just weeks earlier. One of the songs that had something to do with faded mattresses and bright dreams and “you huddled close to me, both of us escaping, reaching for more together”, and he looked at – sang to - Ryan.

When he finished, Ryan gave him a look, head cocked, and Spencer broke the silence with a “That was really good. We could use you.”

Brendon grinned. “Great. Excellent. I have a couple of things we could work on-” he started to say, and Ryan stopped him.

“I write the lyrics.” His toneless voice almost had an edge to it, and Brendon didn’t want to press his luck.

“Yeah, that’s cool. My lyrics are pretty jumbled, anyway.”

---

Brendon wrote a song about the kiss before it happened. He knew now – or, at least, he suspected – that his lyrics weren’t normal. That they had something more to them. Something that was connected to Ryan, revolved around Ryan, but after spending only two months with Ryan, Brendon knew that everything seemed to revolve around Ryan now.

“What are you writing?” Ryan asked, sprawled out on the dirty, faded mattress in the middle of Brendon’s apartment. Brendon thought for a moment about how when he had read over the lyrics for that song – the song with the mattress – he had thought, for some reason, that his lone sheet covering it would be a soft blue.

It wasn’t – it was his sister’s old Rainbow Bright sheets. It was the only thing he could grab from the linen closet after his parents had told him it was the band or them.

“Nothing,” Brendon said. “Just homework.”

Ryan made a face. “Bullshit. Let me see.” He stood up from the mattress, long limbs a little shaky, and Brendon thought of the bruises that he saw when Ryan had changed into his nightclothes.

Brendon handed over the beginnings of a song, and he looked at Ryan nervously as Ryan’s eyes scanned the page.

On the paper, Brendon had written about cramped bunks on a tour bus and kisses that were hidden but sweet. He had written about stolen conversations and wishing, at times, to be back in a broken-down apartment where at least the touch of skin to skin didn’t have to be hidden.

“Is this where you think we’ll be? You think we’ll make it?” Ryan asked. There was something strange in the way he said that, but Brendon was too distracted to read into it, too nervous that Ryan would know that the song was about him – about them.

“I know we’ll make it,” Brendon said.

Ryan’s face was soft. He was so close, and Brendon knew this was how it happened. He had written about this already. He knew what was coming.

“How can you be so sure?” Ryan asked.

Brendon knew that Ryan didn’t know just why Brendon had seemingly put everything on the line for this band. Left his family. Worked at a shitty minimum wage job. Lived in a rundown apartment in a less than savory part of town. Brendon knew that Ryan didn’t understand how Brendon had so much faith in the band, but Brendon knew that Ryan appreciated it. Needed it.

Brendon couldn’t say that he knew they would make it because he had written about it. He didn’t know how to tell Ryan that. A part of him didn’t want to tell Ryan that, so instead of saying that he might possibly write songs about the future – about his future with Ryan – he just said, “I believe in this – you. We’re going to make it, Ryan.”

And when Ryan’s lips met Brendon’s, tentative and shy, Brendon let out a sigh against Ryan’s mouth, because it felt just like he wrote it would.

---

Brendon hadn’t known that Brent would be leaving. He hadn’t known about Jon or how Brent would slowly be replaced and then all but forgotten.

He didn’t have this whole song-writing future thing figured out, but Brendon knew that he couldn’t base his life on it. It wasn’t always completely reliable.

He hadn’t seen Keltie coming, either.

In retrospect, he should have known. The songs he was writing – still in private, still not showing them to anyone – were becoming less focused. The ones that Brendon could make out were all about guilt and heated moments and not being about to stay away from something that wasn’t there to have anymore.

Brendon didn’t like those songs.

He tore them up just as fast as the words spilled out from his pen, and the first time he wrote something about the “smell of her perfume covering you,” he felt sick.

---

“We should rent a cabin,” Brendon said as he, Ryan, Spencer, and Jon lounged around in the tiny bus kitchen. “To write the next album.”

He had already written about it – about campfires and fresh pines, about high mountains and “your skin keeping me grounded” – but he was sick of waiting for someone else to bring it up. He could really use a change of scenery, too.

They all agreed, just like Brendon had known they would, and in the cabin, writing came easier for him. The words seemed to flow from him, fall as if it were nothing, and Brendon knew that Ryan was growing frustrated.

“It’s not coming out,” Ryan complained, sock covered feet sliding against Brendon’s cold calf under the flannel sheets. “The words.” He groaned, throwing his pen to the ground in frustration. “Fuck! We should just start over.”

“Maybe you don’t have to write everything on your own,” Brendon said. He had been giving it some thought. Just because some of his songs came true didn’t mean that he couldn’t share them with other people. It wasn’t like anyone would notice. Not when the lyrics were always so vague. Vague enough that sometimes even Brendon couldn’t make sense of them. “I could help. We could all help.”

Ryan eyed him warily. “You still writing songs?”

Brendon thought of the last song he had written. He didn’t know what it meant – he rarely did, but this one was bugging him for some reason. There was something almost haunting about it.

It meant something, he knew it did. Meant something for the future – was telling him something. Something about him. And Ryan. It always had to do with Ryan. He just didn’t know what.

“I have a couple things we could throw in,” Brendon said.

“Let me see,” Ryan said, and Brendon rolled away from Ryan’s heat and grabbed his notebook from the side table, opening it up and flipping until he found the page where he had only written a couple of lines down – stopping himself mid sentence because he didn’t know if he could write what was coming.

Ryan read it over, mouth in a thin line. “Where nothing really mattered except for me to be with you,” he said out loud, smiling, and Brendon couldn’t help but think of the lyric that he knew came after, the one he hadn’t had it in him yet to write.

But in time we all forgot and we all grew.

Other stories

A/N: Now go listen to "Folkin' Around". Seriously.

Why can't we all just get along?

2009-11-14T22:10:09Z

Dear Bandom,

BE NICE TO EACH OTHER!

We don't want this fandom to turn into a mess of fighting and name calling. I don't care if you pick a side. I don't care if you really feel a connection to one of the boys and want to protect him. I don't care if you have an oh-so-strong opinion on something you know oh-so-much about.

JUST BE NICE!

Thank you.

(and comments are disabled for this very reason)

Ryden Revival Contributions/Shameless Plug

2009-11-02T19:45:57Z

I know I've been spamming your f-list today, people of the rydenrevival, but it's the day of the EPIC POST!

Go over there and show people love! Comment, people! Comment!

Or, if you want to play favorites, here are my contributions:

Fics
Various Drabbles
For All the Right Reasonsco-written with takkatakkatakka

Audio Fics
[douse the lights]
But Where Do the Nuns Come In?
Footsteps in the Snow
I Love You is Back
I Will Follow You Into the Dark
Made of Silver, Not of Clay

Manifesto
I Would Go Down With This Ship, But It’s Not Sinking, So Shut It

Revival revival revival!

2009-10-29T16:18:59Z

Hey guys, just a reminder to anyone doing the Ryden Revival!

Tomorrow is the first submission date.
All the info can be found at rydenrevival, so check it out!
Posts start Monday!

Help?

2009-10-26T17:59:36Z

For one of my projects, I'm planning on doing a mash up of different representations of vampires (this was assigned to me, people. Life is awesome).
The problem is, I'm technologically impaired.
Anyone have any downloadable videos of any sort of vampire?
Buffy?
Twilight?
A Little Less Sixteen Candles a Little More Touch Me?
Supernatural??
Dracula

Anything would be appreciated!
Also, if anyone wants to walk me through a good program to compile everything?

I know, I know, I'm asking a lot, but any help would be wonderful!

♥

10 Words or less meme

2009-10-24T22:12:36Z

Stolen from takkatakkatakka

10 WORDS OR LESS meme
You post a pairing from any fandom that I know at least a little about.*
I write 10 different categories.
Each in 10 words or less.

❶. Angst:
❷. AU:
❸. Crack!fic:
❹. Crossover:
❺. First Time:
❻. Fluff:
❼. Humor:
❽. Hurt/Comfort:
❾. Smut:
❿. UST:

*This is me folks, so the following are off limits: Ryan/Spencer, Ryan/Jon, Brendon/Jon - I'm being pretty open minded, actually, huh?

COMMUNITY!

2009-09-27T14:07:24Z

For all of those interested in the Ryden Revival, I made a community rydenrevival
Yes, I'm so creative with names.

Anyways..... JOIN!

INVITE OTHERS!

HELP ME MAKE IT PRETTY!!!

Want to help moderate? Just ask!

And then it was gone

2009-09-26T20:40:16Z

I want to write 5 or so ficlets for the ryden revival, but... um, it's crappy and raining out, so I'm a little stuck.
Want to help me out?
I just need a word or an idea or a scene or anything.

I'll screen so you can be as crazy as you want.

♥

Blurred (drabble)

2009-09-22T20:35:00Z

**Drabble**
:Blurred:PATD:PG-13:
mostly gen - some undertones of Brendon/Ryan and possible Ryan/Alex

It’s loud in the main room. There’s a papier-mâché tree that sprouts out from the middle of the carpet made of brown and red and orange. Its branches are reaching high and tall, and crinkled paper leaves of moss green brush against the top of Ryan’s head as he makes his way toward the kitchen. He side steps a couple of people as he goes and pauses as someone takes a high tilted picture, the camera slipping in her clumsy grip, and people behind her laugh, joking about myspace poses.

When the light flashes, Ryan blinks against the sudden shock, even from the side angle, and then he pushes past her, heading to the kitchen where the bottles of alcohol are lined up like trophies. It isn’t any quieter in the kitchen, though when Ryan opens the refrigerator door that is covered with faces and places and events that are hard to remember, the faint hum provides some sort of balance. He grabs a beer from the back, the glass bottle cold and moist in his hand, and he closes the door and leaves the kitchen without talking to anyone leaning against the counter.

The first time Ryan drank beer, the alcohol had burned going down, a mixture of bitter taste and bitter memories, but now the taste is smooth and comforting and something that he needs. He looks around the room, looks past the papier-mâché tree that now seems to be wilting, and tries to find Alex. Ryan knows he’s here somewhere, but he hasn’t seen him since it was Alex’s face he had first seen when he had opened his eyes and raised his head up, so close from the mirror he had just cleaned.

Ryan had remembered Spencer’s words, then. He had remembered Spencer saying that Alex would bring Ryan down with him, and he had remembered thinking that maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Ryan takes another sip of his drink and looks for someone familiar to talk to. There are so many people here that he doesn’t know, but that doesn’t really bother him, because at least that means that they don’t know him, either. They don’t know him now, and they certainly didn’t know him then.

It’s always easier that way.

But then a girl says, “Hey,” and her hand is warm on Ryan’s arm, her eyes wide upon her own face, and she smiles a smile that is blurred around the edges. “I know you.”

The girl has a feather in her hair. She has bright orange lines of paint swooping under her eyes, and Ryan thinks for a minute that red would have suited her better, but he doesn’t say that. “It’s my house,” he settles on, but the second that the words come out, he realizes that they sound defensive, as if he feels like he needs to justify being here, and that’s not what he wants at all.

When the girl shakes her head, the feather waves in the air and her smile blurs even more. “That’s not where I know you from.” She leans a little closer, as if studying Ryan, and then she claps her hands together. “You’re from that band!”

Ryan doesn’t think that anyone can hear what this girl is saying, but he looks around at all the people absorbed in their own conversations, their own lives, anyway just to make sure. It isn’t even the fact that this girl recognized him from that band – and he knew that that band would be something that he would always have to look out for, even when the next one came along. Even now, it follows him. He’s gotten pretty good at keeping a stony face when people bring it up, though. A laugh might break through, a carefully planned one, but his face is always set – always defensive.

“When I first saw that video,” the girl continues, apparently oblivious to how much Ryan doesn’t want to talk about this. “The circus one. About the wedding?” She looks up expectantly, as if she expects Ryan to tell her the title.

Ryan just nods, though. “Yeah,” he says, but he doesn’t say “I Write Sins, Not Tragedies” because it doesn’t really matter. Not anymore.

The girl just bounces on her feet, happy happy happy, and Ryan thinks Just shut up, just go away but she doesn’t. “When I first saw you all-” She laughs, it’s light and doesn’t mean anything, but Ryan still has to stop the sharp pang of something very much like defensiveness. “You were all so young.” She shakes her head, the feather in her hair settling back down strangely, and Ryan could reach over and fix it, but he doesn’t. He likes the disorder. “It was all about that singer of yours for me,” she muses, and suddenly, she doesn’t seem like some stupid bimbo anymore to Ryan. Her eyes seem more focused, almost as if she knows what she’s doing, but Ryan knows she doesn’t. She couldn’t. “Nice lips,” she continues. “I thought about him fucking me in that ridiculous top hat.”

What the girl had said settles into Ryan, and part of him wants to snap at her and her stupid fantasies from five years ago.

Ryan tries not to think about white gloves with makeup stains on them. He tries not to think about that invincible feeling that had run through his veins those first couple months or how Brendon was always warm, so warm.

“He still gorgeous?” the girl asks, and Ryan lets the lights of the party shine brighter as he looks up into them, away from the girl.

Ryan thinks of the way that the sun used to reflect off of Brendon’s smile, a smile that was always so perfect, especially when it was just for him. “I don’t really see him that much anymore,” Ryan says, looking back down again, waiting for the girl’s fuzzy smile to falter, but it doesn’t.

Ryan thinks it doesn’t really affect her, anyway.

Other Stories

RYDEN REVIVAL!

2009-09-19T19:44:25Z

Since there seemed to be some interest on my other journal and this is more the place for it...

Guys! It's time to remember why we all fell in love with this pairing in the first place!
So, here's my idea.
A ryden explosion, if you will.
Comment and sign up to help spread the love with:
~pic spams
~primers
~videos
~fan videos
~fan art
~fic/ficlets
~podcasts
~articles
~playlists
~recommendations
and anything else you can think of!

Take your time! Go crazy! Be creative! We need to remind everyone (and ourselves) why Brendon and Ryan belong together. If you could email me your contribution (either in its original form or a link to your journal where it can be found) by October 30th, I'll have it all put together the following Monday! (saran219@aol.com)

Please, spread this around! Let's get a lot of people involved!

EDIT: Look! I changed the date! Turns out I just want so much ryden right now I was a little overenthusiastic. Now y'all have more than a month!

Request

2009-09-15T13:39:33Z

Does anyone have an MP3 rip of Brendon singing "Fuck her gently"?

I would love you forever if you would get one for me!
I'm offering a ficlet for a reward! (within my pairing parameters - can't have Brendon or Ryan with anyone but each other (though there can be someone else with them). sorry, I'm still an otp whore)

Elsewhere (3/3)

2009-09-01T21:12:00Z

Part Two

Sometimes, when Brendon is at the Annex, he thinks that Spencer sees him as more of a possibility than a person. Whenever Brendon comes in, Spencer always drops everything, and he always gives Brendon his full attention, but Brendon knows that it’s only because he’s from the Outside.

Spencer may have the Memories, but he didn’t live them, not like Brendon did.

Some days, Spencer will ask Brendon to just talk, to tell him about his childhood.

Spencer asks about his hopes and fears and desires. His best and worst memories.

He asks about every situation possible. Boring ones, like what it’s like to visit his grandmother in the nursing home, and ones that are private, like what it feels like the first time you let someone in – body, mind, and soul.

He asks about vacation and school and work and anything that could be different from life in the Community. He even asks about grocery stores and Walmart – things that he doesn’t have Memories of but he’s read about.

Spencer doesn’t hesitate to ask Brendon things about his life, but Brendon knows very little about Spencer.

---

Brendon doesn’t really know what he was expecting from the Ceremony, not really, but he was at least anticipating something a little more interesting than this.

The first day of the Ceremony was mostly devoted to the Ceremony of the Ones, and Brendon sat beside Ryan, his body thrumming from just being close enough to casually brush arms once in a while by mistake, when Jon and Cassie had gotten their son: Patrick. He had clapped along with everyone else, but he hadn’t been expecting the thought to hit him that did when Jon had smiled and passed his new son to Brendon for him to hold.

This child, this Patrick, would be growing up in a world without color. Without knowing that his parents loved him. Without knowing the concept of love or that it even existed. He would grow up without music or choice. When that thought had passed through Brendon’s mind, he had grabbed Ryan’s hand, unthinking, but when Ryan pulled it away quickly, looking around nervously, he was brought back to reality.

Today, though, Brendon isn’t thinking about the shortcomings of the Community. He’s happy here, he really is. He likes his job (well, he likes Jon and the fact that he can sneak cookies every so often) and he likes visiting Spencer, though the visits are getting shorter and farther between, and he likes Ryan. He likes the way Ryan looks at him, likes the way Ryan’s hands had held him steadily as they had danced around the living room, likes the way that Ryan had tried – voice croaky and off pitch – to sing along with Brendon, and somehow together, their voices had blended, creating something almost beautiful.

No, today Brendon is just happy to be sitting with Ryan on one side and Jon on the other with his newly cemented family, his baby – older looking than some of the other Ones – gurgling against his shoulder.

“It’s time for the Ceremony of the Twelves,” Ryan says ominously, and Brendon laughs. Jon looks at them strangely.

As each child is given their Assignment, Ryan whispers things to Brendon. “He would have done better as a Laborer,” he whispers as one boy gets Assigned the role of Doctor and “She was one of my favorites” when a girl gets Assigned Architect. “I’ll be sad to see them go,” he admits, and Brendon wishes that they were back at their house where he could comfort Ryan, maybe pull him into a hug, maybe kiss his forehead or –

“Thank you for your childhood,” the Head Elder says, breaking Brendon’s thoughts, and then he hears a more familiar voice, and Spencer is standing on the stage. A couple of people around Brendon start to murmur, but off of the look that the Head Elder shoots into the audience, they fall silent.

“I am sad to announce the Loss of a child,” Spencer says, and when he looks out into the audience, Brendon catches his eye. He wonders how people can’t see the bright blue. “Please join me as the Community honors the Loss of Alex.”

Suddenly, all around Brendon, everyone is speaking, chanting Alex’s name. The audience speaks as one, and the chanting of the name grows louder and louder. It’s just like Brendon’s dream, startlingly so, and when Brendon looks over, Ryan isn’t saying the name along with everyone else. Instead, he’s looking at Brendon with a strange expression, and his hand strokes the side of Brendon’s thigh.

It’s the only thing that Brendon can focus on, even as the chanting of the audience starts to grow softer and softer until Alex’s name is no more than a whisper on everyone’s lips.

---

The walk back to the house after the Ceremony is silent. Ryan is walking his bike next to Brendon, since he never did get one, and both of them have their eyes fixed upon the turning spokes of the wheel.

Honestly, Brendon had rarely given a second thought to his semi-reoccurring dream about the chanting except to remember to not mention it to Ryan, and now he knows why Ryan had seemed so uncomfortable.

It doesn’t mean anything, though, but he can’t bring himself to say that out loud to Ryan. He wishes Ryan would say it first.

When they get to the house, Ryan puts his bike away (there are no locks here, of course not) and they head into the house, Brendon trailing behind Ryan, not even taking the opportunity to check Ryan’s ass out because his mind is still trying to wrap itself around what just happened.

“Why did they chant his name like that?” Brendon asks Ryan just as Ryan starts his way upstairs, and he watches as Ryan’s grip tightens on the railing, turning his skin a shade paler as his skin stretches. “During the Ceremony? Why did they do that?”

Ryan turns. He looks like he’s trying not to show Brendon something, and he’s doing a good job at hiding whatever that is. “They didn’t have the Ceremony of Loss at your old Community?” Ryan asks, and Brendon knows that now would be a good time to come clean and tell Ryan the truth about where he’s from, but he doesn’t. He just shakes his head. “When someone is Lost,” Ryan says. “When someone dies, it’s our way of honoring them.”

Brendon swallows, and it burns. “Oh.”

“I know, Brendon,” Ryan says, and he takes a step down from the stairs and walks until he’s standing in front of Brendon. “I know that you’re probably afraid because of that dream you had, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Brendon nods, but he doubts that Ryan believes that, because Ryan had grown up recalling his dreams each morning over breakfast. Of course he would think that they held some sort of significance. Some sort of higher purpose. “I’m not worried.”

“Brendon,” Ryan breathes, and he moves even closer, and all of a sudden, his hand – warm and steady and familiar but still so foreign – is cupping Brendon’s face. “You’re going to be alright.”

Nodding, Brendon says, “I know,” but he can’t really think much more passed that, because then he feels it: Ryan’s lips, light and hesitant against his own. The kiss only lasts for a couple of moment – far too brief, and when Ryan moves back, Brendon says, “But I’ve dreamt about that.”

Ryan leans forward again, kissing him, a little deeper this time. A little more confident, a little bolder, and he says, “Me too,” against Brendon’s lips. “But there’s a difference between dreams and reality.” He smiles, and his mouth is a little red already from the pressure of their lips meeting. “It’s only a dream until you decide to do something about it.”

Brendon looks at Ryan with his freshly kissed mouth and his bright eyes, and he adds, “Until you make a choice.”

---

It doesn’t go any further than kissing, but it takes every ounce of self-control in Brendon’s body for him to step away from Ryan that night. It takes every tiny bit of restraint to send Ryan off to bed with a chaste goodnight kiss, and as soon as he’s safely behind his own door, Brendon gets himself off in record time.

When he wakes up the next morning, Brendon is half expecting Ryan to act strangely – maybe be a little awkward – but when Brendon comes down the stairs and walks into the kitchen, Ryan just smiles at him before kissing him. He does say, “Can we talk about something?” though, so Brendon gets a little concerned.

“Sure,” Brendon responds.

Ryan bites his lower lip, but then he starts talking. “It all started when you came here,” he says, and he must realize that he started his sentence in the middle of things, because he backs up. “I’ve been feeling…different lately. Things I’ve never felt before.” He flushes a little red at that. “Things that I’ve dreamt about, but have always thought didn’t exist. And, I was confused about these thoughts, so I went and I talked with the Receiver a couple of days ago.”

“You talked to Spencer?” Brendon asks, and his shock must come through loud and clear, because Ryan looks questioningly at Brendon. “Not that that’s not okay, of course,” Brendon says. “I just didn’t know you and Spencer talked.”

“We don’t really,” Ryan admits. “But he’s the Receiver of Memory, and he has all this wisdom. I didn’t want to go to the Elders.” Ryan looks a little ashamed. “I’m pretty sure some of the things I’ve been thinking are against the rules.” His eyes flicker over to the intercom that Brendon knows isn’t on. “And Spencer and I used to be friends in school.”

Brendon nods, though he really can’t imagine Spencer and Ryan as friends. He likes them both, but he can’t see it. “What did you talk about?” he asks.

Ryan looks down. “You.”

“Me?”

“I apologize,” Ryan responds at once. “I had to. I-”

“It’s okay,” Brendon assures. “It’s fine, Ryan. I’m not mad.” He reaches out and grabs one of Ryan’s hands, weaves their fingers together. “Trust me. I’m not upset.”

“You have every reason to be,” Ryan says. “I’ve compromised your trust in me.” Brendon tries hard not to think about all the things he’s kept from Ryan, and his hold tightens on Ryan’s hand. “But Spencer had some interesting thoughts on the situation.”

“Situation?”

“The Stirrings,” Ryan says, only blushing a little. “The ones that are brought on by you. What they mean. And after the, uh-”

“Kiss,” Brendon supplies.

Ryan smiles. “Right, that. I didn’t know what it was called. But, see, like the music! And the dancing! You know so much about things that aren’t known here. And, and I like that. I like you.” He starts to rub his thumb in a slow circle against Brendon’s palm. “I dream about you almost every night.”

Brendon can’t help the grin that takes over his face, and he stands up so that he can move in close to Ryan, tilt down until their lips are mere centimeters apart, and he breathes, “Ryan” before he kisses him.

---

It’s been a while since Brendon’s been to the Annex, but when he walks in, Spencer is sitting in his usual place on the couch, doing his usual activity: reading a book. In a place where routine is the norm, it isn’t unusual, but Brendon wonders why Spencer still tries to be one of Them when he’s not.

It must be hard, though: trying to fit in when you were chosen to be different. Forced to be.

“Reading anything good?” Brendon asks as he crosses the room and sits down across from Spencer on one of the worn chairs. From here, he can’t see the title of the book, but he can see the dark green color, and he wishes not for the first time that Ryan could see color. He think Ryan would like seeing the different hues. Music Brendon can share with him – can force him to hear – but he can’t think of any way that Ryan will magically be able to see color.

“The Portrait of a Lady,” Spencer answers, turning the cover so that Brendon can see the front. “I like Henry James.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Brendon agrees, though he doesn’t remember much about that novel. He thinks there was something about Feminism in it, though. Maybe. He knows it has something to do with choice. Most things do. “Ryan told me that he talked to you.” At the mention of Ryan’s name, he can’t help but smile.

Spencer puts down his book just like every other time Brendon has come to visit him and looks at him. Brendon isn’t expecting what Spencer says, though. “You threw away his pills,” he says, and something very much like panic shocks through Brendon’s body, because Spencer’s voice sounds different. “I’m not going to tell on you,” he says. “I’m just curious as to why you did it.”

There are a lot of reasons why Brendon did it: each one more difficult to rationalize and explain than the next, so he says, “I didn’t think it was fair that Ryan was missing out on so much” because it’s true.

“And you’re the one to decide that Ryan is missing something?” Spencer’s eyes flash, almost dangerously.

“I’m not the one who decided that Ryan should miss something,” Brendon says. “I didn’t take things from him. The Community did that. They did that.”

Spencer appraises Brendon. “Brendon, you need to be careful with what you say. Remember, you wanted to be a part of this Community. You chose this life over the one that you now seem to want for Ryan to have.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Brendon argues, but it falls flat, because he knows that a part of him is doing just that. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“He doesn’t know what to do with everything he’s feeling,” Spencer says angrily, and Brendon’s never seen him like this before. He stands up, and the book gets knocked to the floor as Spencer’s legs bump against the couch. Instead of leaning down to pick up the book like Brendon had expected (to put away neatly in the bookshelf), Spencer kicks the book and sends it sprawling across the floor. “He doesn’t have the ability to deal with these emotions. He wasn’t chosen for this, I was. He doesn’t have the Memories!”

“Well, I do. And they’re mine not some borrowed bullshit from ‘back and back and back’”. Spencer’s anger is transferring to Brendon now, and he stands up, meeting Spencer’s eye though Spencer is a good five inches taller than him. “He’s dealing with them just fine. I’m helping him.”

“You’re being selfish, Brendon,” Spencer says. “You’re going to get Ryan into trouble with the Elders. You have no idea.”

Brendon laughs, a harsh mean laugh, because he can’t believe that Spencer is trying to take away the one thing that makes life here exciting. “And what are they going to do? Take away his bike?”

“They could Release him,” Spencer says, oddly calm.

“Fine with me,” Brendon says. “Then we could leave here together. No mess, no problems.”

Spencer sighs, and his anger seems to be coming back. “You idiot. How can you have lived here for over a month knowing all that you know and not know what a Release is?” Spencer’s tone is almost mean, and Brendon doesn’t answer. “They’ll kill him.”

It’s like all the breath has left his body. “What?”

“Some perfect world, huh, Brendon? You know why everything seems ideal here? It’s because they get rid of everything that isn’t. And everyone.” He takes a step closer to Brendon. “You are putting Ryan at risk for something he doesn’t even understand.”

The thought of Ryan dying – Ryan being killed – because of him is too much to handle at the moment, but when Spencer gets back in his face, Brendon lashes back. “He seems to understand! He loves me, Spencer!”

“He doesn’t have the ability to love!” Spencer screams back, and then, catching Brendon off guard, he reaches forward and pulls Brendon closer by the excess of his shirt. All at once, they’re standing so close to one another, Spencer bright blue eyes looking down to Brendon’s mouth. “I’ve had to live with other people’s Memories for so long,” he says, his breath ghosting across Brendon’s lips. “It’s not fair that he gets to live them for himself first.”

And then Brendon is being pushed back, Spencer leading him back to the couch, kissing him. His tongue pushes at the seam of Brendon’s lips, but Brendon leans back.

“Spencer,” Brendon murmurs quietly, trying to push him back. “Spencer, no.”

Spencer pulls back, but his hands remain hot on Brendon’s body. “Why can’t it be me? I can give you what Ryan’s can’t. Brendon, there’s a reason you were brought here.” He leans in again, closer. “We’re supposed to help each other.” He goes to join their lips again, but Brendon moves to the side, moves until Spencer’s hands fall.

“It’s not that-” Brendon starts, but he stops, because Spencer isn’t one of Them. He can be told the truth. He deserves it. “I love Ryan.”

“He can’t give you what you want,” Spencer says shakily, and he’s not looking at Brendon. “No matter how much you want him to.”

“You don’t know that,” Brendon argues. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Spencer shakes his head. “You don’t know him either, Brendon. You’ve built Ryan up in your mind as someone he’s not. He’s not anyone. He’s just like Them.”

“And you’re not?” Brendon asks, and he can’t keep the anger from coming back. “You’re no different, Spencer. You have all this knowledge, but what do you do with it? Nothing! At least Ryan is trying to be different.”

“I have to be careful,” Spencer says. “You have no idea – the Elders-”

“They won’t do anything,” Brendon scoffs. “I’ve been here over a month, and even though I fuck up – don’t always follow the rules – nothing’s happened to me.”

“That’s because I’ve stopped them,” Spencer says, and he sits down on the couch, holding his head in his hands. “I turned off your intercom. I’ve protected you.”

Brendon hadn’t really given much thought as to why his intercom had been turned off, but now it makes perfect sense that Spencer has been trying to protect him. It doesn’t make this situation easier, though. It just makes Brendon feel indebted. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. He thinks of how easily Ryan could have gotten in trouble if the Elders would have known about the music. “For protecting Ryan.”

“I was protecting you,” Spencer says. “This isn’t about Ryan.” He sighs heavily. “What do you even see in him, anyway? He was my best friend, and then one day he wasn’t. He can’t handle any emotion except for what he’s been taught. Why pick him?”

He could give Spencer a list, but that would be cruel, and besides, he doesn’t have to prove anything. “Spencer,” he says instead. “I love him, that’s all that matters.”

Spencer’s eyes are sad, and when Brendon looks closely, he can see tears forming – the first he’s seen in over a month (since he had been choking sobs back when he was hastily rushing down his old childhood street). “Then he’s going to break your heart.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” Brendon says, and he moves to give Spencer a hug, but Spencer tenses against him. “I’m sorry, but-”

“Don’t,” Spencer says. “Brendon, just go.”

Brendon lets his hold on Spencer fall, and he steps back. “Okay,” he says, and then, because he wants to give Spencer something, he says, “I do love you. Not in the way that you want, but Spencer, I do. There are all types of different love.”

“Ryan can’t give you any of them,” Spencer says sadly, and he ushers Brendon out the door.

---

Brendon tries to push away what Spencer had said, but when he gets back to the house, the words are still in his mind.

“Hey,” Ryan says, smiling, Brendon likes to think, just for the mere fact that Brendon is there. “I missed you,” he says, and Brendon wonders if Ryan’s ever missed someone before. Maybe the parents that he never sees or the friends he never talks to, but Brendon likes thinking that he’s the first. He knows that Ryan didn’t miss Spencer all those years ago.

“I missed you, too,” Brendon says, and he kisses Ryan. He starts out slow, but then he can’t stop himself, and he deepens the kiss. It’s so much different from the kiss with Spencer, and when Ryan’s hesitant tongue flickers against Brendon’s lip, he opens easily, letting his own tongue follow Ryan’s lead. “I want to try something,” Brendon says as he pulls back, watching Ryan closely.

“Try what?” Ryan asks, and Brendon joins their hands and leads Ryan upstairs, pulling him into Brendon’s room.

“When you dream about me,” Brendon says, “what do you dream about?”

Ryan flushes red.

“I’ll do it,” Brendon says, and he nips at Ryan’s lower lip, arching his hips against Ryan’s until he rubs up against him. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.” Ryan’s still blushing adorably, so Brendon says, “Don’t be embarrassed. Tell me, I want to know.”

Ryan leans against Brendon’s chest, and Brendon closes his eyes as Ryan’s nose brushes against his.

“There was this one dream,” Ryan starts, his voice only a little embarrassed. “You had your mouth on me.” Brendon can feel the heat from Ryan’s face burning. “And it made me-” He trails off.

“You came?” Brendon asks, turning his head to kiss Ryan hotly. He knows Ryan doesn’t know what that means, but he will soon. “Okay,” he says, kissing Ryan once more before he backs up a little, and he sinks to his knees, hands running down Ryan’s side as he goes.

“You don’t have to,” Ryan starts, but as Brendon unbuttons Ryan’s pants and starts to pull them down, Ryan’s mouth shuts closed.

“I want to,” Brendon says, and he pulls down Ryan’s underwear too.

Brendon keeps his eyes fixed on Ryan as he wraps his hand around Ryan’s cock. He watches Ryan as he leans in and at the first flicker of his tongue against the head of Ryan’s cock.

Ryan’s mouth is open, broken noises falling from his lips, and he bites at his lower lips as Brendon drags his own against the length of Ryan’s cock, beckoning out a noise that makes Brendon close his eyes and groan.

Brendon’s own cock hangs hot and heavy between his legs, and he reaches down to press the heel of his hand against himself, trying to relieve some of the building pressure. “Ryan,” Brendon says, his lips mouthing at the side of Ryan’s dick. “I want to fuck you.”

“What?” Ryan asks, breathlessly. When he looks down at Brendon, his eyes are blown.

He had almost forgotten, but of course Ryan doesn’t know what fucking is. How could he? “Just let me,” Brendon says, rising up from shaky knees. He pulls off Ryan’s shirt, and quickly rids himself of his own clothes. “Lie down on the bed.”

Ryan’s eyes are washing over Brendon’s body, and Brendon watches as Ryan lingers on his skin. He lies down on the bed, and when Brendon starts walking toward the bed, Ryan’s legs fall open, as if by instinct, and Brendon situates himself between them. He keeps his eyes on Ryan as he brings his hand to his mouth and sucks two fingers into his mouth, circling his tongue around the digits.

“What are you going to do?” Ryan asks, and his hips tilt up as his voice drops lows.

“I’m going to put these,” Brendon holds up two fingers, “into you. I’m going to slide them into you, and them I’m going to fuck you.” He presses one finger in, and Ryan pushes back against his hand.

Ryan’s more receptive than Brendon had been expecting, and when he presses a second finger in, Ryan honest to God moans. Brendon bites at Ryan’s thigh, soothing it with his tongue seconds after.

“This feels-” Ryan whimpers, and Brendon knows that if Ryan knew any swear words, he’d be using them all right now.

“Did you dream about this?” Brendon asks, moving up until he’s right above Ryan, his cock nudging against Ryan’s thigh.

Ryan moans as Brendon twists his finger and nods.

“Good.” He pulls his hand out and reaches down under the bed to grab the lotion that he keeps there for late night fantasies enacted alone that are now becoming real. Brendon coats his cock – hisses at the pressure – and pushes his fingers back into Ryan again, just to make sure. “Are you ready?”

Arching his back, Ryan wraps one leg around Brendon, the heel of his foot nudging his ass, and Brendon takes that as a sign, lining up and pushing forward into Ryan. “Fuck,” Brendon exhales as he pulls out and pushes in, starting a steady rhythm that pushes the mattress forward forward forward, and he fuses his and Ryan’s mouths together again, swallowing the noises that Ryan makes with each thrust in.

It only takes a couple of minutes and Ryan starts moving back on Brendon’s cock, rolling his hips, arching up as Brendon surges closer. The noises that Ryan is making grow louder, and when Brendon lowers down, his stomach brushing against Ryan’s cock, Ryan buries his face in Brendon’s neck and groans as he comes.

Brendon can feel it warm and wet against his stomach as he moves, strong, steady strokes until he follows Ryan.

He’s careful when he pulls out, and after a quick trip to the bathroom to wet a towel, Brendon is back, wiping at the remnants on Ryan’s skin. He leans down and kisses Ryan, who looks happy and sated, and washes off the come. “I love you,” Brendon whispers as he kisses Ryan’s collarbone. “I love you,” he repeats, lips moving against Ryan’s stomach, and when Brendon looks up, Ryan’s blissed out face has a hint of confusion on it, but his fingers move to play in Brendon’s hair, and when Brendon rises himself up, Ryan kisses him.

---

Brendon isn’t expecting to see Spencer anytime soon, so when he shows up at the kitchens in the middle of Brendon’s thousandth or so batch of chocolate chip cookies, he’s more than a little surprised.

He doesn’t see Spencer first, but when he see Jon lower his eyes and say, “Good morning, Receiver,” Brendon turns, and Spencer is standing there, looking so strange outside of his room of books and colors. There is no color here except for the bright pink of Brendon’s underwear, and that is hidden.

“Jon,” Spencer says, nodding. “Brendon, I need to talk to you.” His voice is urgent, and though it still holds some of the sadness that Brendon had heard the day before, it’s overshadowed by something panicked. “I’m sorry, Jon, but I’m going to have to borrow Brendon for a little while.”

“Of course, Receiver,” Jon says. Just like he’s supposed to say. Just like he was taught.

Spencer thanks Jon and leads Brendon out of the kitchens. “We need to talk in the Annex,” Spencer says. “It’s the only place where we can speak freely.” Brendon wants to say that’s not true – he wants to tell Spencer that in his home he and Ryan can speak as freely as they want, but he doesn’t want to be cruel.

When they get to the Annex, Spencer doesn’t even acknowledge his secretary’s greeting, but Brendon says hello back and smiles before Spencer pulls him through the door, closing it tightly behind him.

“What’s the matter?” Brendon asks. Spencer lets go and starts pacing. “Is everything alright?”

Spencer shakes his head. “I warned you, Brendon,” he says. He lets out an angry sort of growl. “The Elders’ attention has been called to Ryan.”

“What?” Brendon asks. “Why?” Dread is slowly surfacing, because he knows that whatever the reason is, it will be able to be linked back to him.

“Someone saw a bruise on his neck,” Spencer says, his voice strained. “A mark you gave him.” His eyes flicker up, hurt and angry, and Brendon looks away. “The Elders have asked for my advice on what to do. They know that something is different with Ryan. They’re concerned.”

Brendon shakes his head. “No. This is my fault. Not Ryan’s. He didn’t do anything.”

Spencer sighs. “That doesn’t matter to them. They don’t want anything challenging the way of life that they’ve set up, Brendon. They won’t stand for any sort of dissention.”

“What do you mean?”

“Emotions. Even shallow ones. Even ones that aren’t a threat yet. They don’t want to wait for Ryan to fall deeper into that. They don’t want to risk the exposure to the Community.” Spencer looks away, eyes pained. “They’re talking about a Release.”

“Fuck no!” Brendon all but yells. “They can’t do that!”

“They can,” Spencer says. “Who is going to stop them, Brendon? They’re absolute.”

Brendon’s chest hurts. His mind hurts, a flurry of activity, and all he can see in his minds’ eye is Ryan – how he looked sweating under him, how he had kissed him so tenderly, how he had curled up next to Brendon, breath falling in line, and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“What can I do?” Brendon asks, because there’s no way that he’s going to let them hurt Ryan.

Spencer is silent for a moment – it seems like eternity – and when he speaks, his voice is uneven. “You have to leave. You can’t stay here. You make them nervous”.

“Then we’ll go,” Brendon says. “I’ll talk to Ryan and we’ll leave tonight.” It’ll be difficult – Ryan might not want to leave, but Brendon knows that he’ll be able to convince him. They’ll run away together to somewhere that Ryan can enjoy everything, where there’s color and laughter and love.

“Do you really think that Ryan could survive in your world?” Spencer asks. “Brendon, he hasn’t had any experience with real emotions. Even the ones he has started to have here are muted. He doesn’t have the experience for them to mean anything. To just throw him out into a world where emotions are flung around everywhere…And he doesn’t know your history or culture or social codes. He’d be lost.”

“Then I’d show him the way,” Brendon says.

“Brendon-”

“Spencer, I know that you don’t like it, but I love Ryan. And he loves me. I know he does. Or he would if he were able.” He thinks of how Ryan didn’t say the words back to him the night before, but the look in his eyes had said it all – what were words good for anyway? “I can’t leave him.”

“He’d never survive in your world,” Spencer says, and Brendon knows that it’s not just jealousy talking. He knows that what Spencer is saying is valid, but he doesn’t care.

“I think that he’s stronger than you think.”

---

Ryan is singing when Brendon gets back to the house. He has Brendon’s iPod in – the iPod that Brendon knows is almost out of batteries – and he’s singing along to The Beatles, or as Brendon likes to refer to them in his mind, The Only Band Ryan Listens To.

He’s moving his head a little along with the beat, his voice coming out not quite on pitch, and Brendon can detect some jumbled words as Ryan grades the papers in front of him, but he can’t help but smile, because Ryan seems happy. He even puts his hands down at one point to throw them in the air.

“All you need is love, love. Love is all you need,” Ryan sings, and Brendon hopes that it’s true.

He comes up behind Ryan and gently pulls the headphones from his ears. “Hey,” he says, arching down to kiss Ryan’s cheek, staying there a moment longer just for the mere fact that Ryan is this close and it’s good. “How was your day?”

Ryan leans back against him, and it feels right. It feels like something Brendon doesn’t want to give up. Something he’s not going to. “Good,” Ryan says. “Just like every day.”

Brendon runs a hand through Ryan’s hair, who tilts his head back against Brendon happily, closing his eyes and smiling. “How was your day?”

Brendon’s hand stills for a moment, because there’s no reason to put this off. In fact, he doubts he could afford to. “We need to talk,” Brendon says, moving out from behind Ryan to sit in the chair next to him.

“Okay.” Ryan looks a little concerned, but he still smiles at Brendon. “What’s wrong?”

Brendon had thought about telling Ryan the truth before, but he had never actually gotten to the part where he had said anything in his mind. “There’s a couple of things wrong, actually,” Brendon says. “I guess I should start with telling you something.” Ryan tilts his head, rests his chin against his palm. “The reason that I sometimes seem so confused about how things are done here – it’s because I’m not from here.”

Ryan smiles at that, laughing. “Yeah, Brendon, I know. You were transferred in from another Community.”

“No.” Brendon shakes his head, and he feels anxious and excited and nervous all at the same time, because he’s going to tell Ryan. “I’m from the Outside.”

“What?” Ryan furrows his brow.

“From the place that everyone here thinks is long gone,” Brendon tries to explain. “From a place where there are real live animals and people pick their own jobs and their own lovers and have their own children. I’m from a place where people are given the opportunity to choose the life they want to lead.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he does speak, his voice is controlled with little inflection, and Brendon is reminded with a sharp jolt just how different he and Ryan really are. “So, the things I’ve been feeling lately, are they because of you?”

“I replaced your pills,” Brendon admits. “I did it for your own good. Ryan, I want you to have a life that means something! What point is there in living if all you do if follow a plan set out for you by someone else?”

Frowning, Ryan says, “But aren’t I following your plan?”

“No,” Brendon says quickly. He doesn’t want Ryan to think that. Not for one second. “It’s not like that, Ryan. I didn’t do anything to you, I just gave you what was taken away from you.”

Ryan runs a hand through his hair, and Brendon tries not to think about the way that Ryan’s hair had looked last night - disheveled after rolling around in the bed – because this isn’t the time. “Okay,” Ryan says at last.

“Okay?” He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but it was certainly a situation with a little more resistance than this. It almost seems to good to be true, and in a Community practically founded on that notion, Brendon is wary.

“Brendon, my whole life has been the same, but in the past month, I’ve actually started to enjoy it, and I know that a big reason of that is because of you.” Ryan looks up, and his eyes show all the emotion that was once not there – emotion that is all but foreign here. “So, okay. I’m okay with this.”

Brendon wants to cheer, wants to lean over and kiss Ryan senseless, but he can’t, because he hasn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“There’s one more thing,” Brendon says, hesitantly, wondering if maybe he should backtrack and have his happy moment before he goes and potentially ruins it. “I talked with Spencer today, and the Elders know.”

At that, Ryan’s face freezes, a look of pure fear spreading across his features, and Brendon realizes just how blind he was to the Elders’ power.

“We have two options,” Brendon continues, his voice heavy, because he’s been thinking about this carefully ever since Spencer had told him the news. “I could leave by myself – go back to where I come from, and you could start taking your pills again. Forget about everything that happened, everything you felt. Me.” Brendon’s voice almost breaks, but he keeps talking. There isn’t time. “Or,” he says hesitantly. “Or you could come with me.”

Ryan’s eyes are wide; they’re troubled.

“We could go back to where I’m from. Where there are choices.” He swallows. “But Ryan, there are other things there, too.” It would be unfair of him to not tell Ryan what to expect. Cruel. And even though he wants Ryan to come with him, Brendon knows that he has to prepare Ryan, too. “There’s happiness and love and all those good things, but there’s other things, too. Pain and sadness and fear.” A part of him wonders if Ryan even understands, because it’s not like he has anything to judge these words by. Not really. “But it’s worth it. In the end, if you’re with someone you love, it’s worth it. And I love you, Ryan.” He reaches out his hand and places it on Ryan’s chest, over his heart. “The feeling I get when I’m around you? That happy, warm, safe feeling? That feeling that makes my heart race? That’s how I know I love you.”

Ryan’s hand closes over Brendon, and though he looks scared, he squeezes and says, “That’s what that is?” His hand is warm against his as Brendon nods, and Ryan smiles. “I love you, too.”

The music from the iPod is still playing, the noise quiet through the headphones, and as Brendon leans in and kisses Ryan, he thinks about how soon they’ll leave this place of straight paths, walk until they can’t hear anything, not even the chanting of voices, calling out their names.

Other Stories

Elsewhere (2/3)

2009-09-01T21:08:05Z

Part One

Ryan is sitting on the couch, going through test papers when Brendon stumbles into the house. He has his legs propped up against the simple coffee table, and Brendon just stands there a moment, watching as one of Ryan’s hands, the long fingers, reaches down and itches at his ankle. It’s funny how just the tiniest movement makes Ryan’s shirt pull up a little in the back. What’s funnier is the way that when Brendon catches himself staring and wondering, he flushes bright red and trips over his own feet.

“Oh, you’re home,” Ryan says, peering over the couch, and Brendon likes how he says ‘home’ and doesn’t call it a ‘Housing Unit’ like he had heard Jon say earlier. “You’re a little late, but then I thought that maybe there would be something special for dessert tonight, so I didn’t get too worried.” Ryan smiles.

“Is there usually something special for dessert?” Brendon asks, because he didn’t think that much of anything changed around here, and Ryan shakes his head.

“No, but I can hope.”

Brendon wonders if that means something, Ryan’s tiny flicker of dessert rebellion, but really, he’s just grasping at nothing. Just trying to find the familiar in a strange place. “I was actually at the Receiver’s,” Brendon says. “The Elders have allowed him to help me in my adjustment.”

Ryan frowns for a moment, as if he doesn’t quite understand, but then, just as quickly as it came, the expression is gone, and he says, “Why don’t you sit down. You know, you were gone so early this morning that we didn’t have time to Share our dreams.”

Flushing again, Brendon sits down on the couch, making sure to leave plenty of room between him and Ryan. Sharing his dream from the night before doesn’t really seem like a good idea – in fact, the idea is pretty strange, but Brendon figures it makes sense as a way to moderate people’s emotions. He looks over to the corner of the room where the intercom is fixed up.

“I don’t remember my dream,” Brendon lies. “But, if you’d like to Share yours…”

Ryan nods, and he takes a moment to think – to remember his dream. As he does, Brendon allows himself to look at Ryan. He doesn’t look that much different from people in Vegas. He’s beautiful, yes. Brendon knows Ryan is beautiful, but he isn’t without flaws. There’s a weirdly shaped mole near his collarbone, and one of his eyelids seems to hang a little heavier than the other. Brendon thinks that one of Ryan’s earlobes might start lower, too, but he gets distracted by the way that Ryan’s hair curls around his ears, and then he pulls himself back to at least try and pretend that he’s not objectifying his host.

“Mine was unusual,” Ryan starts, and when Brendon drags his eyes up to meet Ryan’s, Ryan seems far away. “You were there. And we were sitting together on this strange thing. I don’t know what it was.” He takes a moment, and his long fingers comb through his hair. Brendon wonders if it’s as soft as it looks. “And there was ice falling from the sky, and you kept reaching for it. There was something else strange, too. A noise, but I don’t know what it was.” He smiles. “I liked it, though.”

“Snow,” Brendon says, and in his mind he can see it. Him and Ryan, sitting on a hill, a sled underneath them – probably red, probably with the paint chipping – snow whirling around them, soft flakes catching on Ryan’s eyelashes. Numb fingers in mittens made warm by the grasp of another just before that final push off down the hill.

“Snow?” When Brendon looks over at Ryan, Ryan’s nose is wrinkled up.

“Never mind,” Brendon quickly says. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted.” Ryan looks like he doesn’t want to let the word lie, and Brendon watches as Ryan tries the word out again snow, so he tries to backtrack. “What was the noise?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan says. “Unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.” The far off expression is back, but Ryan shakes his head and smiles at Brendon. “It’s probably about time for dinner,” he says. “We should go to the kitchen, and you can tell me all about your first day.”

---

Later, when Brendon is lying in his bed, he thinks about Ryan’s dream again. There’s no way that Ryan should know about snow. Not when there is weather control. And he shouldn’t know about sledding. Not when the land that surrounds the Community is flat and straight. The fact that he was in the dream interests Brendon, too, of course, but he tries not to dwell on it.

A lifetime of stupid misplaced crushes on straight boys has taught Brendon that sometimes lust should be ignored. Yes, Brendon finds Ryan attractive, but it’s not like he’s available – emotionally or otherwise. Just like everyone else here, one day Ryan will be assigned a Partner, and if Brendon stays here, one day he will be too.

There has to be some explanation for why Ryan dreams about things that he should have no way of knowing. Part of Brendon wants to sneak out and talk to Spencer, but he knows that leaving his house this late at night is against the rules, so instead, he just carefully gets out of bed, trying not to cause enough noise to wake Ryan up.

It hadn’t been too long ago that Ryan had yawned and retired to his own bedroom. He had stayed up later than Brendon supposes he normally did listening to Brendon talk. “The way your voice sounds when you talk,” Ryan had said over dinner, leaning closer to Brendon across the table, “sounds almost like that noise from the dream.” That simple sentence had made Brendon’s chest constrict, which was stupid, so fucking stupid.

There’s no such thing as love here is what Spencer had said, and creeping past Ryan’s door, Brendon can’t help but think about just how much Ryan is missing. Sure, he’s never felt sadness like Brendon has. Has never had to know what it’s like to have the people who you love, who once loved you, tell you they want nothing to do with you, but he doesn’t know what it feels like to feel that warm glow of affection. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be with someone and never want to leave.

Brendon is thinking of this – thinking of all that Ryan is missing out on and his stupid tiny crush (if you could even call it a crush – it’s probably more of an attraction, because Ryan is pretty and nice and safe) when he finds himself in the kitchen.

A neat pile of Ryan’s stuff is sitting on the countertop. The tests he had brought home are all graded, the inked loopy writing of Ryan’s comments the only thing marring the pages. Near the stack of papers, Brendon sees a small container, and when his curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the bottle, he sees small, white pills.

The ones that Brendon knows suppress emotion.

He just stands there for a moment, looking at the little white pills – those small tablets that control so much, and he wonders what if.

After that, it’s just a flash of motion: of Brendon quickly rushing back to his room to dig through his backpack before he finds his allergy medicine. The pills are the same shape and size as the ones in Ryan’s kitchen. The only difference is their color – a light green versus the chalky white, but that doesn’t matter, because Ryan won’t be able to see that.

When Brendon goes to bed that night, Ryan’s pills are long gone – flushed down the toilet in a rush of rebellious glee, and Brendon’s allergy pills are encased in a small container on the kitchen, masquerading as something they’re not.

---

That morning, when Brendon stumbles down the stairs (it had taken him a while to go to sleep the night before – excitement running through his veins) nothing seems different.

Ryan is sitting at the table, eating his oatmeal, and when Brendon pulls out his own chair to sit down, he looks up from his bowl and smiles. “Good morning, Brendon.” He takes another bite.

Brendon wonders if Ryan has taken his pill yet. He wonders how long it’ll take until there’s some sort of change. The thought makes Brendon feel a little dizzy, all the possibilities running through his head, but he can’t deal with them now, so he pushes those fantasies aside for later.

“Morning,” he says instead. “Did you sleep well?” He takes a bite of his oatmeal. It’s good, if not a little bland. It could use some sugar. And some color. Just to brighten it up.

“Very well, thank you,” Ryan says. “Would you like to Share your dream first this morning, Brendon?” He looks attentive, and Brendon thinks that Ryan would look good with a little fire pumping through his veins. A playful glare, maybe. A smoldering look. A blissed out –

“Dream?” Brendon had almost forgotten, but he recovers quickly, because at least last night he hadn’t dreamt of Ryan laid out before him naked, needy look in his eyes that Brendon doubts he’ll ever see upon waking. “Sure, I can Share.” He clears his throat, because the words were a pitch higher than normal.

“Good,” Ryan responds, smiling again, and it’s just like every other smile Brendon’s seen Ryan flash him. Each time it’s nice, each time it makes Brendon want to smile back and maybe blush a little, but still, each time it’s the same.

Quickly, Brendon thinks back to the dream from the night before. There was nothing that strange about it – nothing that he can think anyone could read into. Certainly not Ryan, not when he doesn’t know about so much, so he doesn’t hesitate. “I was in an auditorium,” he says. “During the Ceremony, I think.”

Ryan puts down his spoon, and Brendon feels hot under the unwavering attention that Ryan is giving him.

He doesn’t stop talking, though, because the dream, now that he thinks back and remembers it, is vivid in his mind. “Everyone was saying my name. They said it once, and then they said it again louder. And again.” The chanting had gotten louder and louder in his dream, and though Brendon had had dreams like that before, his name hadn’t been cheered in elation, but sounded different. Off. He couldn’t really put his finger on what it had sounded like. “And then, they started saying my name quieter and quieter, until finally it just dulled to a hush.”

The strange thing is, when Brendon stops speaking, Ryan looks startled. His eyes – those brown eyes that are somehow so unlike everyone else’s – are wide, and he’s biting his lower lip.

“Are you alright?” Brendon asks, and Ryan nods quickly.

“Yeah, fine.”

Brendon frowns, because Ryan doesn’t really seem fine. “Do, uh, do you want to Share?” He’s not positive about the protocol with this whole thing, because it doesn’t make sense to share dreams just to have the other person gawk, but then again, a lot about life here doesn’t make much sense.

Ryan stares blankly for a moment at Brendon as if he’s trying to comprehend what Brendon’s saying, but then he nods and gives Brendon another one of his smiles, though amazingly, this one looks forced and is fleeting – it looks different. “Mine was nothing, really,” Ryan says. “I just dreamt that I was in a room where the Elders were keeping hundreds of copies of the rule book. In all different shapes and sizes, too.” He laughs. “And in the corner, there was a Comfort Animal. You know, the one they call Dog?”

“Yeah.” At home, back where there is rain and anger and love, Brendon has a dog waiting for him. Her name is Dylan.

“It was breathing,” Ryan says. “The Dog. Like it was alive.” He shakes his head in amusement. “It’s that the strangest thing?”

---

It’s not that work is boring, though Brendon could definitely say that and not be lying at all, it’s just that every day is the same. Today is just like yesterday, and when Jon smiles and hands Brendon another bag of unmarked chocolate chips and asks the same questions as the day before, Brendon sort of feels like he’s in Groundhog’s Day. Except Bill Murray would definitely liven things up in this kitchen.

Jon is nice. He’s friendly and polite and talks about his wife and future child with a smile that almost seems like it has genuine emotion behind it, but Jon is also completely under the control of the Elders.

Realistically, Brendon knows that they are all: even Spencer, even Ryan, even him, but with Jon, it’s just that much more obvious.

“Have you put in a request for a bike yet?” Jon asks as he mixes the cooking supplies together. Brendon figures that by now Jon would know each step by heart, but still, before he adds the milk, Jon consults the laminated recipe glued to the countertop.

“No,” Brendon responds, and recipe be damned, he’s adding more chocolate chips. The Citizens deserve a fucking treat. “I don’t live that far from here, though, so I don’t really need one.”

Jon frowns. “But everyone has one,” he says. “When you’re a Nine, you’re given one at the Ceremony.”

Brendon shrugs. He was never that into bicycles, and walking was working out pretty well for him, so he didn’t really see why he should go through the trouble of getting something that he’s likely to never use. “It’s no big deal, they can give my bike to someone else.”

“But everyone has one,” Jon repeats, and Brendon has to stop himself from rolling his eyes and making a snarky comeback, because it’s not like Jon would understand.

“I’ll stop by and see about one later,” he lies instead, because it’s not worth it.

He goes back to his cookies, and wishes desperately for some music or something, but he remembers what Spencer told him, and this, more than anything (more than the lack of love or emotions or snow) is the reason that Brendon had thought about fucking his new plan right out the window and going home to disapproving glares: there’s no music.

His iPod is safely hidden away in his bag, but Brendon knows that once the charge on that is done, so is his life of music.

“How is Ryan doing with the Elevens?” Jon asks. There’s really not that much for them to talk about, Brendon’s learned in these first few days since his arrival. They don’t have music or books or movies or television. There’s no real emotional drama to gossip about, and when Jon did say something about someone being Released for breaking too many rules, Brendon hadn’t known who this person was or what the big deal was.

After all, he had Transferred Communities. In a matter of speaking.

“He says that they’re excited for the Ceremony,” Brendon says. He hasn’t read the rules extensively (or really much at all), but he’s pretty sure he can’t get in trouble for talking about things that Ryan had told him. “Nervous, though.”

“It’s the most important day of their lives,” Jon comments, going to pull a tray of cookies out of the oven, placing them on a cooling rack. “Determines their future.”

Brendon still wonders if it’s logical to write someone’s entire life out when they haven’t even hit their growth spurt yet, but it’s not like Jon would appreciate the dissent, so he keeps his mouth shut and makes his tenth batch of cookies of the day.

---

When Spencer looks up from his chair, where he’s reading another one of the books from his shelf, and doesn’t look even the tiniest bit surprised to see Brendon there, Brendon figures that this will probably turn into a frequent thing.

“Sorry,” Brendon says as he closes the door behind him. “I don’t want to bother you, but I still have so many questions.”

Spencer simply puts his book down and gives Brendon his full attention, blue eyes fixed on him. “It’s only natural that you have questions,” Spencer responds. “You are still new here. When I was first introduced to your world, I was often confused, too.”

“Right.” Brendon goes and sits down next to Spencer. He doesn’t know how much he should share – he doesn’t want to get anyone in trouble by breaking one of the stupid, arbitrary rules, but something tells him that he can trust Spencer. “It’s about Ryan. I, uh, you know how you said that there’s something about Ryan that’s different? But no one ever really could figure out what it was?”

Nodding, Spencer says, “They had considered him for the Receiver along with me, but the Elders thought that I had more potential.”

Well, that explained a lot, actually.

“Ryan’s been dreaming about things that there’s no way he could know about,” Brendon says.

“Like what?” Spencer looks interested, and his blue eyes seem even brighter than normal.

“Snow,” Brendon says. “Sledding. And last night, I think he dreamt about a library. Other books. And, he mentioned something about a noise.” A noise that reminded Ryan of Brendon, for some reason, but Brendon was keeping that to himself. “I think he might have heard music.”

Spencer frowns. “He doesn’t have the Memories,” he says, and if Brendon were to read into it, he would have been able to hear the protectiveness there. “He’s never heard about those things.”

“I know,” Brendon says. “You told me that. But he does. I’ve only been here for a couple of days, and already Ryan’s telling me about thing that you told me don’t exist here.”

“They don’t.” Spencer looks confused. “He wasn’t Chosen.”

Brendon looks away from Spencer, from his bright eyes. He doesn’t say anything about Ryan’s phony pills and wanting to see just how deep this thing goes – how much of Ryan is really there, because he knows that he’s being selfish with that, but he does say, “Maybe Ryan is more like you than you think,” and Spencer looks unsettled.

---

The water here is always the perfect temperature. It’s never too hot or too cold, and while when he was at home Brendon would sometimes like to turn the heat all the way up on his showers until his skin would tingle, in the Community, the shower water is just right.

Like fucking Goldilocks or something.

Still, the perfect water temperature reminds Brendon of where he is, so when he absent-mindedly trails a hand down his torso to wrap around his cock, he stops himself, because somehow it all seems so wrong. Other than the once and done wet dreams of adolescent boys before they take their pills, Brendon doubts that the Community has seen many orgasms. Though, the Birth Mothers have to get their sperm some way.

Still, it’s been almost a week and a half since the last time he’s gotten off, and that’s beating the record he had after his father told him that masturbation would make him blind by about three days.

Fuck it he thinks to himself, and he allows his hand to resume its position, pulling slow strokes up and down. He’s not in any hurry.

Brendon uses his other hand to brace himself against the shower, burying his head against the curve of his arm, and he bites down at the wet skin there as his hand speeds up a little bit.

He feels a little guilty about it, about jerking off in a shower that isn’t his, but the guilt he feels when Ryan’s face filters through his mind quickly overshadows that. Brendon doesn’t stop the stroke of his hand, though, and he muffles a small moan against his arm as he thinks of Ryan maybe doing this, too. Maybe when the pills start to wear off, the Stirrings will come back and Ryan won’t be able to help himself.

Brendon pictures Ryan’s long fingers wrapped around himself, but then he has a better idea: Ryan’s long fingers wrapped around Brendon’s cock, and Brendon’s hand slips a little on the shower wall as he comes, Ryan’s name trapped in his throat.

---

At dinner, Ryan seems a little more disjointed than he had the previous couple days. “I apologize,” Ryan says when Brendon asks him to pass the salt and he doesn’t listen. “I’ve been distracted all day today. A little tired, too.”

“It’s fine,” Brendon says, smiling, and he accepts the salt that Ryan passes to him, their fingers brushing, and a light coloring on Ryan’s cheeks bloom.

“It’s a little hot in here,” Ryan comments, looking down at his plate. He coughs. “I think I might have to put in a request for a Relief of Illness,” Ryan says. “I think I may be getting sick.”

Brendon raises an eyebrow, because he didn’t know that was possible here, though when he thinks about it a little longer, he realizes that it’s not like the Community can keep out all illnesses. They can apparently cure them, though. He doesn’t know why this knowledge isn’t shared, and he makes a point to ask Spencer later.

“You probably just didn’t get enough sleep,” Brendon responds, though he would bet that Ryan’s strange alterations are due to the allergy pill that he had taken this morning instead of the usual emotional suppressant. Already, when Brendon looks closely at Ryan, he can see a difference. Especially when Ryan catches Brendon looking and he flushes bright red.

“You’re making me uncomfortable,” Ryan mumbles, looking away from Brendon, but then he says, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

Brendon shakes his head, and he has to fight to keep the smile off his face. “No, you’re right. I was staring.” Ryan looks a little unsettled at this, so Brendon adds, “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t look ill.”

“Oh,” Ryan says. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He doesn’t know why, but he feels almost giddy knowing that Ryan is starting to break past the emotional void that everyone else here embraces every day. He wants to know more about it – more about what Ryan’s thinking and feeling and imagining. “Do you want to Share your feelings?”

Now the question doesn’t seem so ironic, and Brendon can’t wait to hear what Ryan has to say.

Ryan, though, looks uncomfortable again. “I, uh. A little ill, I think.” He picks his fork up and starts to eat.

“Is that all?” Brendon prods, watching as Ryan doesn’t watch him. It’s sort of adorable how embarrassed he’s getting. “Nothing else you want to share?” He smiles and can’t quite stop himself from batting his eyes maybe a little. The way that Ryan almost chokes on his bite of food makes it worth feeling ridiculous.

It’s the first time since he’s gotten here that Brendon feels playful, and he’s not going to let this feeling die down quite yet. At least not until he manages to embarrass Ryan thoroughly.

“That’s all,” Ryan croaks out, gulping down half of his glass of water. “Would you like to Share?”

Brendon wonders if the Elders are afraid of Brendon corrupting anyone. After all, they haven’t given him pills yet. They haven’t tested him on all the rules or even asked to see him again. And even though there is an intercom in the corner of each room, Brendon hasn’t been reprimanded for anything he’s said to Ryan.

It’s a little odd, especially considering that Jon said that someone was Released recently for a matter as asinine as forgetting to leave their dirty dishes on the front porch a couple of times.

“Sure, I can Share,” Brendon says, and because he doesn’t see any reason not to say it, and because, yeah, maybe he wants to see just how far this thing with Ryan can go, he says, “I’m glad that I was placed with you. I’m feeling happy that I get to spend time with you. I’m glad that the Elders picked you.”

Ryan blushes harder, and Brendon helps himself to some more potatoes.

---

One of the rules of the Community is that Dream Sharing must always been done. Brendon knows this, so the next morning, when he catches Ryan watching him with a look in his eyes that Brendon hasn’t seen since Shane and then Ryan says he didn’t have any dreams last night, Brendon knows that Ryan’s breaking another rule: he’s lying.

---

Ryan had told Brendon earlier that day that he was going to be home late from work today because of the Ceremony. “The Elders want us to be with the students as they practice what’s going to happen for Saturday,” Ryan had told him. “So today and tomorrow, I’ll be home late.”

After a couple of weeks with Ryan, Brendon was starting to get a little frustrated in the lack of progression. It had been nearly three weeks since Brendon replaced Ryan’s pills, and still, every morning and every night, Ryan tries his hardest to pretend like nothing has changed. Brendon knows it has, though. He’s seen the way that Ryan’s looked at him – caught Ryan with his eyes glazed and his tongue licking his lower lip when Brendon straightens himself up from bending over to get something.

He’s heard Ryan at night, too. Sometimes when Brendon wakes in the middle of the night, bladder full, he’ll pass by Ryan’s room and hear the faint heavy breathing and a choked, unknowing moan. It’s nights like that where Brendon knows to expect Ryan not to share his dreams the next morning. But he’s heard Ryan slip a name, and he’s seen the way that Ryan looks at him, and if this were any other place with any other person, Brendon would have jumped him by now.

As it is, though, Brendon tries to keep his hormones in check. He doesn’t leer at Ryan or touch him unnecessarily, though occasionally he’ll try and brush up against him. There’s a difference between innocent fun and fucking with someone’s life, and Brendon doubts very much that a place like the Community would be accepting about two men getting physical.

Despite that, Brendon still thinks about Ryan, though. When he’s in the shower or late at night when he’s sure Ryan’s sleeping, Brendon will think about Ryan sweating below him, head thrown back, neck arching up against his lips. It’s always hurried motions of his hand over himself, but in his mind, it isn’t always so rushed, because somewhere between picturing Ryan down on his knees with careful lips wrapped around him and the cute way that Ryan stutters when their hands meet across the dinner table, Brendon maybe started to like Ryan.

With the house empty, though, Brendon feels a sort of freedom that seems so out of place amongst all the rules and regulations of the Community. He doesn’t have to watch what he says because no one is around, and he doesn’t have to check himself because of Ryan. He’s completely alone, and it’s glorious.

He goes up to his room straight from work and changes out of the clothing that had mysteriously ended up in his closet during his first week living in the Community. He has started to fall into the schedule a little bit – a routine, and it sort of scares Brendon when he thinks about it.

Every day, Brendon wakes up at the same time, he gets dressed in the clothes that are in his closet (the ones that are always cleaned from where he throws them in the hamper at the end of each day), and he eats breakfast with Ryan. They Share their dreams: Brendon omitting parts (and he doesn’t mention the chanting dream again, though he has it, because for some reason it seems to upset Ryan) and Ryan glossing over his entirely, and Brendon will usually find himself smiling at Ryan fondly as some new trait starts to show. On the day that Ryan scowled at Brendon playfully and laughed over cold cereal at something stupid Brendon had said, Brendon couldn’t help but feel a surge of something very much like love well up inside him.

Which wasn’t good.

But the routine wasn’t good either. It was safe, yes, but boring. He had fallen into a comfortable lull with Jon, talking about things of no interest or significance, and he did his job well, though he had been reprimanded for putting too many chocolate chips into the cookies a week after he had started.

Every so often, Brendon would go to talk to Spencer, but lately, every time Brendon walked into the Annex, Spencer had looked more and more tired, seemingly depressed, and each time Brendon was left with the feeling that he had the ability to help, but he couldn’t figure out how.

Every day was the same, though, right down to how every night after dinner and the Sharing of Emotions, Brendon would get the same urge to finally give in and follow Ryan to his own room and kiss him, though he hadn’t yet gone through with the urge: another commonality with each day that passes.

Now, though, Brendon is going to break his routine, and he puts on his most obnoxiously colorful shirt from the bottom of his backpack, and unpacks his iPod from its safe hiding place among his fluorescent boxer briefs. He doesn’t know how much time he has, but he’s going to make the most of it, and after the single flick of his thumb, loud, thumping music is flowing through his speakers.

The beat is fast and catchy, and Brendon doesn’t even have to think about it before he catches his hips moving along to the beat. He smiles and brings his hands up, shimmying a little, and for a moment, he wishes that there were mirrors in here so he could watch his own ridiculousness, but he hasn’t seen his own reflection in anything other than a window in almost a month.

It doesn’t matter now, though, and Brendon starts to dance in earnest, and he starts shaking his hips, trying to not really think about how good it would feel to have someone there with him – strong hands holding his hips as he grinded back, and no. No, really not thinking about that.

To get the thought of Ryan’s probably adorably clumsy dancing out of his head, Brendon turns the music up louder, and when the sound changes from the upbeat techno to one of his favorite pop songs, his voice falls into sync with the girl’s, rising and falling as she shows off just how many octaves her voice can cover.

He’s trying to mimic the exact choreography that he had seen in the music video all those weeks ago – a subtle hip bump, a grind down, a hand up in the air – when something catches his attention from the corner of his eye, stopping his voice mid note and his hip mid drop. “Fuck!” he exclaims, but he muffles that, too, because that’s not allowed either.

Ryan’s eyes are wide – shocked, and Brendon fumbles with the cord of his headphones as he tries to put the iPod away as fast as possible, but it’s too late, because there’s no way that Ryan hadn’t heard that.

“That! You! That was…” Ryan’s words are running away from him, but he points a shaking finger at Brendon as Brendon continues to mess with his iPod that now seems to not want to turn the fuck off. “That was from my dream!”

That catches Brendon’s attention, who before that was trying desperately to not think about the fact that Ryan had walked in on him shaking his ass and singing along to Brittney Spears. “What?”

“What you were doing,” Ryan says, but now his voice sounds exhilarated – thrilled, and it’s so easy now to notice the difference now that the lack of pills have made. His skin is flushed and his eyes are excited and his voice is full of curiosity. “That noise you were making. It’s like talking, but it’s not. It’s-” He trails off and looks at Brendon in such a way that it almost hits Brendon like a palpable force.

He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that.

“Music,” Brendon says, because there’s no point now in pretending that Ryan hadn’t heard him. “I was listening to music and singing.”

“I liked it,” Ryan cuts in immediately. “The way your voice sounds… The way it makes my feel when I hear it – like my body is ringing.” Brendon doesn’t really know what to say to that. “And the motion of your body. What were you doing?”

“Dancing,” Brendon answers, only a little bit mortified. “Though, admittedly, not very good dancing.” He looks over at Ryan a little hesitantly, images of earlier flooding back in. “I could teach you, if you want.”

Ryan’s eyebrow rises, and he laughs. “I don’t think I could do that,” he says, and when Brendon takes that first step forward, arm outstretched, Ryan steps back. “No, really, I don’t move like that. People don’t move like that.”

“Sure they do,” Brendon argues, but it’s not like he can give Ryan proof. He can show him, though, and when he reaches out and fits his hand around Ryan’s wrist and pulls Ryan closer, he can see the way that the line of Ryan’s throat moves as he swallows, and Brendon licks his lower lip. “Right, just, uh, put your hands on my waist.”

Brendon is expecting a refusal, but then there’s Ryan’s hands, his warm palms, his long fingers, gripped around his hips. “Like that?” Ryan asks, his voice just barely shaking, and Brendon nods his head.

“Yeah, just,” he reaches down and squeezes his hands around Ryan’s on his hip, “maybe a little tighter.”

Ryan steps forward, and his shoes knock against Brendon’s.

“Wait,” Brendon says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his iPod, but he’s happy that Ryan doesn’t drop his hands. He puts one of the buds into his ear, and carefully, he puts the other in Ryan’s. “Music,” he says, and then he presses play.

The look on Ryan’s face is amazing – it practically lights up with the first note, and when the singing starts up, Brendon allows his own voice to follow, and Ryan’s grin almost makes Brendon miss the octave jump. He gets it, though, and then he takes a step backward, pulling Ryan with him, and when he surges back, his hips slide against Ryan’s.

“And this is dancing,” Brendon says, and he lets the music take over until Ryan is moving back against him.

---

Later, when Ryan is asleep and Brendon creeps downstairs to get a glass of water, he notices that the intercom in the corner is switched to off, and when he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember if he had ever noticed that it was on.

Final Part

Elsewhere (1/3)

2009-09-01T21:04:43Z

Title: Elsewhere(standalone)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan (unrequited Spencer/Brendon – it sort of just happened…)
POV: 3rd limited (Brendon)
Summary: According to Spencer, the Community is the way it is for the good of everyone. “Choices are dangerous,” he tells Brendon. “What if people were to choose the wrong thing?” ~20,000
Disclaimer: AU. Though, most of real bandom seems like a bad au lately, doesn’t it?
Beta:: habezweikatzen
Author’s Notes: Most of the ideas in here were ~~stolen from~~ influenced by The Giver by Lowis Lowry. I’m really not clever enough to come up with all of this on my own, sorry.
Dedication: For starlesscities because she asked for something about leaving (and because she makes me smile) and for coffeshop_kites because she deserves a story dedication.

---

The first thing that Brendon realizes when he crosses the bridge is that the colors seem duller here. It’s a strange thing to notice- the way that the green of the grass is muted; the way that even when he looks back toward the bridge, toward the water it looms over, that the water doesn’t gleam and the sun seems to die on the flat blue ripples – but he doesn’t really think much of it at first.

All that concerns him at the moment is how fucking heavy his backpack is after walking for three days straight.

He adjusts his pack and walks down the straight brick path, head bent down, eyes scanning over each perfect brick. Perfect bricks that are set across in perfect lines. The color of the bricks are somehow less vibrant, too, and when Brendon looks down at his shirt, he’s surprised to see that the bright yellow has almost faded to a colorless white before it flickers back to its normal burst of florescence. It shocks him for a moment – makes him stop dead in the middle of the perfectly straight path atop the perfectly aligned bricks – and it’s then that he notices the distinct lack of sound.

There isn’t a low hum of cars off somewhere in the distance. There’s no roar of a plane overhead or a whistle of a train. There isn’t even the faint chirping of a bird. There’s nothing but an eerie silence.

It’s disconcerting to Brendon. He grew up in a household of noise – of chatter and laughing and music. Almost always, the noise of someone singing was bouncing off the walls through his house, but Brendon pushes those thoughts away into the silence. He isn’t home anymore. He isn’t welcome there. It’s the reason that he’s walking through this strange, colorless place.

Even the quiet strangeness of here is more welcoming than the pointed silence of what awaits him at home.

He walks for a while on the straight path. It has to lead somewhere he figures, and while at one time his brain would have been filled of ridiculous thoughts (like maybe to a castle made out of candy! or, oppositely, to someplace far less delicious and harmless), Brendon doesn’t even really wonder where the road will lead. The fact that it leads somewhere is good enough for him, and all his imagination just suppresses down, hiding where his bright smile retreated to long ago.

Slowly, as Brendon ambles down the path – steps in perfect uniform suddenly, walking at a good pace - shapes start to take form. They’re not hiding behind a hill or anything, in fact, Brendon notices that the land around him is flat. There doesn’t seem to be any change in elevation – not even a tiny dip or mound.

Huh.

In the distance, though, Brendon can see the sharpening outlines of buildings – all uniform, all the same drab grey.

He’s watching the buildings get closer and closer as he walks – takes in the way that each building looks exactly the same, eerily the same – when he’s stopped with a cold hand to his shoulder.

“May I see your Transportation Form?” a completely monotone voice says, and when Brendon tears his eyes away from the five windows on each building, the perfectly aligned shingles on each roof, he sees a man standing in front of him. The man is big – much larger than Brendon. His head is bald, and Brendon knows that if the suns rays actually shone down in this strange place, it would be red from a particularly nasty sunburn. Of course, there is no color to the man’s face. His eyes are a dull brown, his face a sunken pale hue, and the clothes that he is wearing are colorless, though impeccably clean.

“Transportation Form?” Brendon asks. He tries to smile one of those bright smiles that used to get him anything he wanted, but the pull on his lips seem foreign, and he only manages a tiny grimace. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re asking for.”

The man sighs, but his body doesn’t really show any other forms of frustration. He just nods, pulls out a walkie talkie, and says into it, “Unidentified civilian at the Northwest Road.”

A clear voice, nearly the same tone as the big man’s, comes through with a “What Community is he from?”

The big man turns to ask the question, which Brendon thinks is a little silly considering that he heard the query himself loud and clear, so he answers, “Uh, I’m from Las Vegas.”

The man furrows his brow. “I’ve never heard of that Community.”

“Really?” Brendon tilts his head. And here he thought he was being helpful by not saying Summerlin. “Casinos, flashing lights, showgirls?” Brendon tries. “Criss Angel?”

The man doesn’t respond to Brendon, but presses in the button to his walkie talkie again. “The outsider says he’s from some Community called Las Vegas.” Brendon would wager that if this man were capable of having any sort of inflection in his voice, he would be sounding pretty skeptical right about now.

On the other end of the walkie talkie, just over the hum of the white noise, Brendon can hear some very quick talking, and he’s comforted to notice that at least one voice in the background seems to have the ability to make a differentiation in his tone quality. Though, true, it does sound a little concerned.

“Bring him to the Elder’s Council,” the voice says, and the other side goes dead – even the crackling of the white noise fading.

The big man turns off his walkie talkie and turns to Brendon. “Follow me,” he says, and he starts to walk down the path. Brendon has to take three steps just to keep up with the man’s strides.

“Sorry,” Brendon says. “Um, where are we going?” He doesn’t really have a bad feeling about all of this – in fact, he doesn’t seem to be having a feeling one way or another, which is strange for someone who others always said wore his heart on his sleeve – but he’d like some information. “And your name would be nice.”

“Zack,” the man says, never once breaking his fast pace, and he doesn’t turn around to look at Brendon when Brendon tells Zack his own name. “I’m supposed to take you to see the Elders.”

“Okay,” Brendon says, dragging the word out in a tone that clearly says wow, more information about these ominous Elders would be nice, but considering the flat monotone of Zack’s voice, Brendon isn’t that surprised when the big man doesn’t pick up on it.

---

The Elder’s Council, as it turns out, is located in one of those uniform buildings, and the only thing that separates it from the line of twenty or so others is the fact that there’s a sign designating it as the Elder’s Council in large, block letters, just a shade or two darker than the sepia tone of the building’s front.

“Just tell the secretary your name,” Zack says as he stops in front of the large door. “They don’t really have a lot of people coming in here.” For a second, Zack almost smiles. “Except for when people want to change the bicycle rule, but there’s a drop box for that suggestion now.”

Brendon doesn’t get the joke, but he appreciates the crack in Zack’s blank face, so he smiles, too, and then his well-bred politeness comes through again because he can’t help it. “Thank you for showing me where to go,” he says, and yeah, it’s a little strange that he’s thanking this big man who could probably squash him for bringing him to a somewhat scary building (if only for the fact that the uniformity of this place is starting to creep him out), but it’s not like Zack has done anything for Brendon to have a reason to be rude to him. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Zack gives him a not-quite-blank look that might be something like doubt, but he nods and says, “I hope that your meeting is satisfactory” before he turns and leaves.

Brendon just stands there for a moment, watching him go. He wasn’t expecting a hug or anything, but a handshake would have been nice. It’s just that Brendon’s a tactile person, and maybe after wandering away from home for three days he’s missed the warm hug of his mom and the playful ruffle of his hair from his brother and the way that sometimes Shane would kiss sloppy lines down his chest and – no, it’s reasons like that that Brendon doesn’t have a home anymore and is standing in some bizzaro black and white Community.

Looking around him, Brendon notices that the streets aren’t that busy. Streets may be an over exaggeration, actually. There aren’t any cars roaring down the pavement. In fact, the roads aren’t pavement at all, but that expertly laid brick. A couple people are walking past him, but they all seem to have somewhere to go, and they all give him that same look of muted bewilderment.

The only time that Brendon sees someone wearing an expression that isn’t dulled is when a little girl passes him with who Brendon supposes is her older brother. She points at Brendon’s backpack, grins unabashedly and proclaims “He has a comfort animal on his bag!” She is quickly pulled away by her brother, but when Brendon looked down at his bag where a sloth is stitched on the back to the girl, she laughs and waves.

Suddenly, a noise comes out of seemingly nowhere. “The Elders are waiting,” a monotone voice rings, and when Brendon turns, he can see a small intercom next to the door. He presses the button and says a quick “Sorry” into the metal mesh before pulling the door open.

The inside of the building is pretty much what Brendon had been expecting. It has the same dull shades of white and gray and black that his eyes are now adjusting themselves to, and except for a large desk with a woman sitting behind it and a couple chairs, there’s nothing there to cause clutter.

“They’re expecting you,” the woman behind the desk says. “They don’t like to be kept waiting.” The nameplate on her desk reads Greta, and her reddish hair is just distinguishable when she flicks her hair behind her shoulder. It’s a pretty color, one that Brendon thinks would be brought out if she were to wear blue, but it’s not his place to tell her this. The people here don’t seem too fond of color.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon says, smiling at her. “I got distracted by the town. I’ve never been here before.”

Greta’s blank look softens, and she smiles. “We’re proud of our Community,” she says. “Have you put in a Transfer?”

Brendon doesn’t understand. “Do you mean do I want to live here?”

“Well, we all want to live here,” Greta says, smile still there, and she looks nice when she smiles. “But have you been approved?”

“Uh…”

“I guess that’s what this meeting is about, huh?” She nods to herself, as if now that she’s figured out why Brendon is here, it’s all wonderful. Her smile grows. “I hope that your Transfer is accepted. Ever since Brent was Released we’ve been one man short at Food Services. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” She looks over to the corner of the room, and when Brendon looks over, he can see another intercom there. “The food is still very much on time.”

“Right.” Brendon says, bewildered. Is he now a cook? Well, okay then.

“You can go in now,” Greta says, lips still smiling, reddish hair barely gleaming in the soft lights of the building.

---

The Elders, as it turns out, is just a group of ten or so old people. There are tiny lines on their faces, but they all look strong, so Brendon supposes that they can’t be more than seventy. “Thank you for seeing me,” Brendon says as if he were the one that called this meeting. When he doesn’t know what to do, politeness often takes over, but right now, standing in front of this line of Elders – all who are sitting with their backs straight and their expressions fixed – Brendon just feels like an idiot.

“Sit down, Outsider,” one of the women says. She is sitting in the middle, and right away, to Brendon, it connects that she’s in charge.

He takes his seat quickly. The chair is a nice change to being on his feet all day, but the wood is hard and there isn’t any cushioning.

“Where have you traveled from?” one of them men asks.

Though Brendon’s pretty sure they already know from Zack where he’s from since he was there with the walkie talkies and all, he answers, “I’m from Las Vegas.”

There’s a tiny bit of murmuring down the line, but the Head Elder clears her throat, and the room falls silent. “So you’re not from a Community.” It’s not a question. Her voice, unlike all of the others that Brendon has heard so far today, is full of inflection, and at that sentence, Brendon can hear fascination and disgust. He can also hear fear.

The word Community means something here, Brendon knows it does – something different than it does back home- so he shakes his head.

The Head Elder meets Brendon’s eyes dead on, and her cold dull brown eyes show little welcoming in them. “Then why are you here?” she asks.

There’s a long answer to that – of course there is, but it’s really none of their business, and honestly Brendon doesn’t feel like sharing with a roomful of strangers how his boyfriend left him and his family kicked him out, so he just says, “I wanted to go somewhere new.”

The Elder’s face is passive, but her lips purse for a brief second. “And that somewhere is here?”

It’s clear that the Elders don’t seem very fond of this scenario, and Brendon doesn’t even know if that is what he wants, but he doesn’t have time to answer as the door opens and everyone’s eyes shift to the side of the room. A young man, someone who looks to be around Brendon’s age, walks in. The way he carries himself hints at power – it demands respect – and Brendon watches as one by one, each of the Elders stand, nodding at the man before sitting down once more.

“Receiver, thank you for joining us with this matter,” the Head Elder says, and the man nods.

“Of course. It is my duty to serve you.” He lowers his head for a moment, and when he looks up again and looks straight at Brendon, Brendon is caught by the bright blue of the man’s eyes.

“You know of the predicament,” the Elder says. “Have you come to a conclusion?”

The man takes a moment, eyes washing over Brendon, and for some reason, Brendon feels as if his mind is being read. It’s a ridiculous thought, though, so Brendon pushes it out of his head.

“I have.” His voice, like the Head Elder’s, has rises and falls in tone. “It is my suggestion that the Outsider should stay, if it pleases him and takes over the spot left vacant by Brent since his Release.” At the last word, the man’s voice stiffens, and Brendon wonders why.

“And you think this is wise?” an Elder sitting by the door says, looking at the man, the man that they call Receiver, with a look of mistrust on his face. “You’ve led us wrong before,” he says, almost spitefully.

“Of course the future is impossible to see,” the Receiver allows, and though his voice is controlled, there is still an underlying current of emotion there. And of power. “However, I think that no harm can come from accepting this man into the Community.”

Brendon sits there stationary in his chair as these people talk above him. No one but the Receiver pays him any attention – no one even asks him if he really wants to join this apparently wonderful Community. He doesn’t speak up, though. The glare on most of the Elder’s faces and the strange, barely perceptible power radiating from the Receiver stop him.

“Where would he live?” another Elder asks. This one’s voice is more flat and regulated like Zack and Greta’s. For a moment, Brendon wonders what that means. “There is no open house for him to live in. He is far too old to be placed in a Family Unit, and far too young to live with those who have retired.”

The Receiver pauses for a moment, thinking, and his blue eyes seem to shine. “He can live with another unmarried male. One who has not yet applied for Partnership. Until a house can be provided for him, of course.” He stops for another moment, though for some reason, Brendon feels like this pause is more for show than anything else. He doesn’t know why, but it’s almost like the Receiver already knows how everything is going to play out. The thought is all at once comforting and terrifying to Brendon. “Ryan Ross, the Instructor of the Elevens, would be a suitable host.”

“Are you sure he is the best choice?” an Elder says, face scrunched up. “There has been concern about Ryan before.” Down the line, several other Elders nod in agreement. “His Stirrings were not normal, and I know there have been issues with some of his Dream Telling and Sharing of Feelings. He has a quite peculiar mind.”

“He will be the best fit,” the Receiver says, words firm, and there’s an edge of protectiveness in his voice. “The wisdom which was granted to me leads me to believe that this would be best for the Community.”

The Head Elder is quiet for a long while, her eyes raking over her colleagues, the Receiver, and Brendon. “Very well,” she says at last. “The Outsider will be placed with Ryan and given the position of Assistant Director of Food Preparations.” There are a couple of noises of dissent, but the Head Elder says, “There is nothing more to discuss.” She addresses Brendon, “Information about your new profession will be delivered to your Housing Unit by sundown.” She nods to the other Elders and to the Receiver. “That is all. The meeting is now dismissed.”

“As you wish,” the Receiver says, but then he looks at Brendon. “I’d like to speak with the Outsider, Head Elder.”

She nods. “Of course.

---

Brendon follows the Receiver as he leads them out a backdoor. The man isn’t saying anything, and Brendon doesn’t really know what to say, so the walk is quiet. It isn’t that far, though, and soon, Brendon finds himself standing in front of a building that surprisingly looks different from all the other ones around him.

“This is the Annex,” the Receiver says, watching Brendon closely.

“I like it,” Brendon says, looking up and taking in the trim. “It’s basically the only thing around here that seems to have color.”

The Receiver raises an eyebrow. “Color?” He appraises Brendon carefully, face devoid of anything, but then Brendon sees a slip – something that looks very much like excitement. “What do you see?”

An odd question, granted, but okay. Brendon looks up at the building again. “Um. There’s a blue trim, which is pretty awesome since the door is like the most obnoxious green I’ve ever seen.” Brendon grins. “I have a pair of shoes just that color at home.” At the mention of home, Brendon’s heart sinks a little, so he keeps going, talking through the fall of his smile. “I bet you get a lot of freaked out stares, huh? In a town as colorless as this.”

The Receiver gives a small smile, and reaches out to open the door. “Why don’t we talk inside.” He ushers Brendon in, closing the door behind him, nodding at the receptionist sitting at the desk, who stands and says “Good afternoon, Receiver” and nods at Brendon as they keep walking through another door.

The room that lies on the other side is washed in a dark scarlet color. Against one of the walls, a vast bookshelf stands, its shelves overflowing with books. There’s a bed in one corner, a desk sitting near it, and the walls are covered with art: prints, paintings, scribbles. Brendon fucking loves it.

“Nice place,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at the Receiver. Still a strange name – Brendon doesn’t know if he could ever get used to calling someone that. “Do you have a name other than “The Reciever?””

“We are all given names at the Ceremony of the Ones,” the Receiver responds, and Brendon frowns, because yeah, okay. “I haven’t gone by it for some years now,” he continues. “But before I was assigned, I was called Spencer.”

“Well,” Brendon says, “if it’s alright by you, I’d rather call you Spencer.” He grins. “I mean, anyone who has such a fucking awesome color scheme deserves a real name.”

The look on Spencer’s face is strange, and when he sits and beckons for Brendon to do the same, Brendon pulls up one of the comfortable looking chairs that is embroidered with flying birds.

“There’s a lot that you need to know about the Community, Brendon,” Spencer says.

“How do you know my name?” Brendon asks, because he doesn’t remember anyone asking at the Elder’s Council. Which was pretty rude, actually.

Spencer’s mouth fits into a straight line. “The Community is much different from where you’re from,” he says. “I know your name because you told the Boarder Worker it earlier today, and it was picked up by surveillance. Though none of the Elders addressed you by your name, I can safely say that they all know it.”

“Surveillance?” Brendon repeats incredulously. And he remembers how Greta had looked over toward the intercom after she had said something about the food. “What the fuck?”

“It’s for the protection of the Citizens,” Spencer says, his answer coming out almost robotically, as if he has heard it so many times himself. “But, Brendon. You’re from the Outside.”

Brendon furrows his brow. “Las Vegas,” he says. “Not that far away, actually. I managed to walk here in three days, after all.”

Spencer shakes his head. “How do I explain this?” He looks around his room, and points to the highest bookshelf. “Brendon, can you tell me what color that book is there?”

“Yellow,” Brendon says. It’s an easy enough question, really, and he doesn’t see the point in all this.

“Right,” Spencer says, smiling. “It’s yellow! You know this, and I know this, but Brendon, no one else here knows this.”

“What do you mean?”

Spencer leans forward, blue eyes shimmering. “Many generations ago – back and back and back in the time before – the people from this Community implemented Sameness.” He pauses, as if he expects that to mean something to Brendon, but when Brendon’s face remains blank, because what?, he continues. “They can’t see color. There is no color here.”

“But your door,” Brendon argues, and Spencer cuts him off.

“Is a test. In case someone else can see.” Spencer sighs. “But Sameness doesn’t just refer to color. It’s a good thing. It helps us. There’s no weather change. No hills. No animals. No illness. No violence. It’s perfection.”

Brendon frowns. “You don’t have animals?”

“They were sometimes feral,” Spencer explains. “Caused injury.”

“And hills?”

“Made transportation more difficult.”

Brendon takes a deep breath. This place – wherever he was - wasn’t like anywhere he’d ever been before. “What else is different?”

----

According to Spencer, the Community is the way it is for the good of everyone. “Choices are a dangerous thing,” he tells Brendon. “What if people were to choose the wrong thing?”

Brendon, who knows a lot about choices, and who knows a lot about bad choices, doesn’t know how to respond to that, but he knows how to shut up and listen, so he does. He listens as Spencer tells him about how things are done here.

“Everything is regulated,” Spencer says. “You’re assigned Family Units, Partners, Children. Everything is controlled so that everything is right. When you’re a Twelve, the Elders assign your profession. Based on criteria, of course.”

“And what is it you do, Receiver?” Brendon asks. He sits up a little straighter in his seat. “I know that you’re different from Them. From the others. You can see color.”

Spencer nods, but he looks a little bit uncomfortable talking about himself. “The Receiver has knowledge from the life from before. From back and back and back. I was given the Memories by the Receiver before me, and one day I’ll pass it on to a new Receiver. It’s what gives us wisdom.”

“So you’re the only one who knows about the good things that everyone else is missing,” Brendon says, frowning.

“I also have memories of the bad things,” Spencer says, his eyes suddenly less bright. “I have knowledge of war and famine and disasters and hate. The people here aren’t burdened by such things.” He looks away for a moment. “They shouldn’t have to be.”

Brendon looks over at Spencer. Suddenly, he seems so much older than he did mere moments ago. “Is it a good life here?” Brendon asks. A life without pain. A life without choices. A life of perfection.

“No one has complained yet.”

---

The house that the Elders had assigned Brendon to is easy enough to find. The roads are all perfectly marked –built in a straight-lined grid system - and all Brendon has to do is follow the numbered signs down 3rd street until he reaches the house that is marked 430.

Of course, it looks just like every other house on the street: two stories, eight windows on the front, grass neatly mowed, door with a heavy knocker against it – a knocker that Brendon hesitates a moment, shifting his bag from one shoulder to the other, before using to bang upon the door. As he waits for the door to open, he briefly wonders if he is making a mistake. He doesn’t know this Ryan Ross – his apparent roommate. He doesn’t know this Community or really understand much about it. It’s all bizarre and strange, but Brendon hasn’t been doing so well outside of this before, so the urge to run away again, head back on that straight brick road until it curves, subsides just as the door opens.

The man who opens the door just stares at Brendon. Brendon smiles wide. “Hi. The, uh, Elders assigned me here?” He didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but this guy was just staring, eyes somehow bright despite their brown color. Though they were the same as everyone else’s (except for Spencer’s, of course), they didn’t seem as dull.

“This situation is quite unusual,” Ryan says, and Brendon is more than a little disappointed to hear that his new roommate’s voice has that same monotonous tone that everyone else seems to have. “The Elders did tell me of your arrival, though, of course.”

“I just got transferred in,” Brendon says. Off of Spencer’s advice, Brendon had decided that he wasn’t going to tell anyone that he was from Las Vegas. Apparently, people didn’t even know that life outside of Communities existed.

Ryan nods. “Come in,” he says, stepping back to allow Brendon to pass. “The food for the Evening Meal has just been delivered.”

“Oh, good, I’m hungry.”

“I’m glad you got here so early, I’ve been starving, but it would be rude for me to start without you,” Ryan says, and Brendon smiles, because he doubts very much that Ryan really knows anything more than a faint pang in his stomach from a skipped meal.

He follows Ryan into the kitchen, looking around the house as he does so. Every piece of furniture is set down neatly in its place, the varying shades of grey creating a pretty boring canvas, and Brendon already misses color. He wonders how people like Ryan can live without it, but then he remembers that they don’t know any other way.

The kitchen looks very much like the rest of the house – there isn’t even a stove or refrigerator, no doubt because all of the meals are delivered to each household – but there is a small round table with chairs in the middle of the room. Sitting on the table is dinner, and Brendon can see the bright colors of the food. Spencer had told him that the scientists still couldn’t seem to suppress all the colors in nature no matter how hard they tried.

“It looks good,” Brendon says, sitting down.

“I’ve heard from other visitors that our food is exceptional,” Ryan says, and then he looks upset. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t inferring that your Community doesn’t have excellent food. I’m sure you do.” He unfolds his napkin and sets it in his lap. “It’s been awhile since I’ve lived with my Family Unit, so excuse me, I’m not used to making small talk. Or Sharing with others.”

“Huh?”

Ryan blinks owlishly. “The Sharing of the Feelings.” He frowns. “Does your Community not Share?”

Brendon doesn’t know what the hell Ryan is talking about, so he says, “No,” but off of Ryan’s widening eyes (which dart to the corner of the room where Brendon can see an intercom there), he adds, “I’d love to, though. If you tell me what to do.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, letting out a breath, almost as if he’s relieved that they weren’t about to break protocol. “It’s quite simple, really. Even the young children Share. You just talk about the emotions you had today.”

“Okay,” Brendon says, smiling a little. The irony isn’t lost on him, and from all that he knows about Ryan so far, he doubts that Ryan’s about to say anything Earth shattering.

Ryan nods, as if he’s happy that they’re following this long upheld tradition and says, “Today I felt anxious,” though as he says this, there is little evidence of that emotion. “It’s getting near the time for the Ceremonies, and I know that many of the Elevens that I teach are growing worried about the Ceremony of Twelve.”

“That’s when they’re given their jobs, right?” Brendon asks. Ryan frowns. “They waited until thirteen at my Community,” Brendon lies.

“Yes, here it is twelve,” Ryan continues. “And many of them are anxious. I feel upset because I don’t know how I can help them.”

“You could always talk to them,” Brendon suggests. “As a class as a whole or individually with those you’re most concerned about.” He can’t imagine what he would have done if he had been assigned a job at the age of twelve, though in retrospect, maybe it would have been better. At twenty-two, Brendon is still no closer to knowing what he wants to do with his life.

Ryan smiles, a sudden bright grin, though Brendon notices that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea, Brendon. Thank you for your suggestion.”

His words are oddly formal, almost formulaic, but Brendon smiles back, unable to stop himself in the face of Ryan’s own happiness. “No problem.”

“Would you like to Share?”

Brendon doesn’t know what to say – certainly not the truth. Well, at least not the entire truth. “I’m feeling apprehensive,” he says. “I don’t know how well I’ll fit into the Community.” He looks over at Ryan, and it’s funny how he notices the way that the light plays off of Ryan’s hair. Funny because he doubts that anyone else would notice it. Brendon thinks that they’re really missing out. “And I’m excited, too. To get to know you.” Brendon almost blushes, which is stupid, because he doesn’t mean it like that. “To get to know the Community.”

Ryan smiles and nods. “I’m sure that you will fit into the Community well,” he says. “Everyone is happy you’re here. Ever since Brent was Released, we haven’t had any dessert.”

The light tease of saying something about being sweet dies on Brendon’s tongue, and he just says, “I’m glad there’s a place for me here.”

If this were any other place or any other time, Brendon would imagine that the attractive boy sitting across from him would say something like “I’m glad there’s a place for you, too,” but Brendon’s imagination has no place here, and Ryan simply says, “Thank you for Sharing,” and he starts to eat.

---

The room that Ryan shows Brendon into looks like basically every other room in the house, except for the bed resting against one of the walls. “My room is right across from yours, if you need anything,” Ryan says before saying goodnight.

There’s no goodnight hug or even a pat on the shoulder, but Ryan quirks up a little smile that Brendon thinks is almost as good. It’s probably the best he can do.

When Ryan closes the door, Brendon has an urge to make this room somehow a little more colorful. He opens up his backpack and pulls out a notebook that he had hurriedly packed. Why? He can’t remember anymore. But as he pulls out an obnoxious pink pen and draws a marijuana leaf on a piece of paper, he’s glad.

If he had tape, he’d put up fucking scrawled out scribbles on every surface.

As it is, Brendon just entertains himself for a couple minutes by drawing a unicorn in a forest completely made up of pink trees, and he thinks that if everything were pink, life would be basically the same as it is here with the gray hue blanketing everything.

Eventually pink would just fade into the background, too.

Sighing, Brendon sets aside his impromptu drawings and looks around the room. Sitting on the bedside table, there’s a book. While Spencer had told Brendon that books didn’t exist here, there was one exception.

Brendon picks up the heavy book entitled The Rules and frowns. As Spencer had said, every Citizen of the Community knew these rules completely.

After flipping through The Rules for a half hour, Brendon has a list of questions that he wants to ask Spencer when he gets the chance. Some of these things just don’t seem like they could be real, and some of these things are completely foreign.

What the hell does Release mean, anyway?

There are so many questions floating through Brendon’s mind, but somehow, amongst all of the confusion, there’s still room for nervousness, because tomorrow’s Brendon’s first day working for Food Services and…. He doesn’t really know how to cook.

---

As it turns out, Brendon’s only job is to make cookies. Chocolate chip cookies, to be exact.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to throw in a batch of oatmeal raisin or something?” Brendon asks Jon, the other dessert cook. “Maybe a peanut butter crunch, too? Give the people some choices?”

Jon, when Brendon asks this, just tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows bunching together over his brown eyes. They’re not as light as Ryan’s, and Brendon notices that they don’t have the same shimmer there, either. He wonders if that means something.

“Choices?”

Brendon almost laughs at the confused edge to Jon’s typically uniform voice. Of course they didn’t want to provide choices. “Never mind,” he says.

He’s been there only about an hour, and after sitting down and reading through even more rules on what is expected of him, Jon had handed him an apron and given him a lazy, content smile. He had told Brendon that ever since he had heard his Assignment when he was a Twelve, he hasn’t stopped baking. “It’s great,” Jon had said, and Brendon had watched as a trail of flour transferred across Jon’s grey smock when he wiped his hands.

“Tell me about your family,” Brendon says now. Spencer hadn’t been too telling about the social interactions of the Citizens, and Brendon hadn’t really had time to talk to Ryan about it last night. Honestly, he’s curious. This whole thing is more than a little fascinating. It’s almost unreal.

Jon grins at Brendon’s question and passes over a bag of chocolate chips. There’s no writing on the bag, and Brendon wonders for a moment where all of the food products come from before he pushes the thoughts away and pours half the bag into the moving mixer.

“The Elders just accepted Cassie and my application to become parents,” Jon says. He adds some more vanilla to his own batch. “I’m pretty excited for the Ceremony, though I wish that we could leave after the Ceremony of the Ones, you know? Spend a little time with the baby.”

No, Brendon does not know, and though he had promised Spencer that he would tread carefully, he figures that his excuse as a transferred Citizen would explain a lot. “I wonder if your Ceremony is different from my Community’s,” Brendon says, not looking at Jon as he talks, because his mother had always said that his eyes were a dead give away when he was lying. “Would you mind telling me about it?’

“I think it’s pretty standard,” Jon says, shrugging, but before Brendon has to think up an excuse to make him continue talking, Jon goes on. “The Ceremony of the Ones is really all I care about this year. It’s when we get our baby. And his name, too. And then there’s the Ceremony of the Twelves with the Assignments.” He laughs. “You know, Cassie told me that for awhile she thought she was going to be a Birthmother! Can you imagine?” Jon shakes his head. “Thank goodness she didn’t get that. She’s much better suited as a Lawyer.”

“Right,” Brendon says, but he mentally adds about three more questions to his growing list of things to ask Spencer.

“Enough about me,” Jon says, and he starts to place perfectly round mounds of cookie dough on a cooking sheet, each one spaced apart equally. “It’s rude of me to talk so much about myself. I apologize.” He looks over expectantly at Brendon.

“Uh, it’s okay? Don’t worry about it.” Brendon looks down at his own cookie batter, which overall, is a much more jumbled mess than Jon’s appears to be, though realistically, Brendon doubts that people would notice the slightly strange coloration that is going on since the batter doesn’t seem to want to mix properly.

“Have the Elders given you a Housing Unit?” Jon asks. “And have you thought about applying for a spouse? I know a couple of Cassie’s friends have put in applications recently.”

Brendon nearly spills his mixture as he starts to transfer the misshapen blobs. He really doesn’t want to think about whatever fucked up dating service they have going on here, and he doesn’t think it would be wise to tell Jon that if he were interested in a set up, Cassie’s friends probably wouldn’t be what he’d be looking for. “They’re working on getting me my own house,” Brendon says. “Right now I’m staying with Ryan Ross.”

“Oh.” When Brendon looks over, he sees that Jon has stopped his almost mechanical working. “We were pretty good friends in school.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Brendon says, and he most definitely does not think about how the night before in his dream Ryan had seemed very very nice. Especially with how he had been naked and everything.

Jon nods, going back to his work. “Yes, he’s very nice. We just grew apart after our Assignments. Which is good, since we now have friends with similar interests.” There’s something about Jon’s tone that is a little bit off, and Brendon wonders if Jon is just trying to be polite- diplomatic – and Ryan is really a raging psychopath. “Tell him hello for me, please.”

“I’ll do that,” Brendon says, watching Jon carefully, because something is up there. It’s easy to see the tiny shift in Jon’s stance. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Jon gives a quick laugh. “Of course.” He sighs, wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s just that during school, I was good friends with Ryan, and Spencer, too. He was honored as the Receiver. Ryan didn’t take it so well.” Jon shakes his head, as if he can’t imagine why someone wouldn’t want their friend taken away from them. Brendon has seen where Spencer lives though, has talked to him, and he knows that Spencer isn’t supposed to communicate with the Citizens.

He thinks about it for a moment. It must have been difficult, but then he wonders if it even made a difference to Jon or Ryan.

Maybe that was regulated, too.

---

“So the Elders choose who you love?” Brendon asks Spencer incredulously later when he sneaks into the Annex.

Spencer, who was sitting on a couch, reading a book when Brendon came in, puts the book aside and gives Brendon an appraising look. “No. The Elders choose who you’re partnered with. There is no such thing as love here, Brendon.” At that, Spencer looks down at his book, fingers playing at the spine. “The people here aren’t capable of it.”

“What?” Brendon asks. “What do you mean they aren’t capable of love? Everyone is! It’s a typical emotion, just like-”

But before Brendon can go on with his list, Spencer cuts him off. “Just like anger and sadness and elation and relief and every other emotion? They don’t have that here either, Brendon. I told you, everything is regulated.”

“Even feelings?” The full magnitude of what Spencer’s words actually mean is starting to seep into Brendon’s mind, and suddenly he doesn’t know if deciding to join this Community was a good idea. No love?

“Everything,” Spencer says, picking up his book, marking it, and then standing up to put it back in the bookshelf. Its blue color almost seems to blend in with the two orange books surrounding it, and Brendon blinks, focusing his eyes, because he’s not going to lose this. “When someone wants to have a Partner – I guess you would say get married – they put in a Request, and the Elders assign people based on compatibility. Same thing with Children. The only natural parents are the Birth Mothers, and they never see their children after delivery. It took a while for the Elders to develop something strong enough to suppress the Birth Mothers’ separation issues.”

“But how do they control people’s emotions?” Brendon needs to fucking sit down, so he pulls out a chair and collapses into it. Spencer joins him, angling his own chair toward Brendon. “How do they just stop people from feeling?”

Spencer sighs. “Drugs,” he says. “When people first start having Stirrings.” He clarifies off of Brendon’s confused expression. “When people start going through puberty – having that first rush of feelings and emotions – they are given the pills to suppress their desires.”

Brendon gapes. “But that’s… That’s horrible.”

“Brendon, what did you think I meant when I told you about Sameness yesterday? That goes for people, too. Everyone is happy because everyone feels the same. They think the same, they live the same. They practically are the same.”

“That’s not true,” Brendon argues. “I may not know these people well, but they’re different. Zack and Jon and Ryan – they’re not the same people.”

Spencer gives a sad sort of laugh. “They’re pretty close to it,” he says. “As close as they can get. For right now, at least.”

Brendon leans back in his chair. “Fuck,” he exhales. “That doesn’t even – So.” He closes his eyes for a second, trying to process this all, and then he remembers what Jon had said earlier. “You were friends with them. With Ryan and Jon. Before you were the Receiver.”

“I was.” The thing is, though, unlike the smooth tone of everyone else, Brendon can hear the emotion in Spencer’s voice. He knows that emotion isn’t gone from here – it’s just the sole burden of the few who know the truth.

“Are you not allowed to have friends as the Receiver?” Brendon asks. “Is that part of your job?”

Spencer moves his chair a little to the side, and he’s no longer facing Brendon straight on, so Spencer’s blue eyes aren’t fixed upon him, but are focused off a little in the distance. “It’s not a rule,” he says. “But it’s difficult to maintain relationships with people who are lacking so much.” He catches Brendon’s eye for a moment, but then looks away again. “They couldn’t give me all I wanted. They weren’t able to.”

“Is that why you wanted me to live with Ryan?” Brendon asks. “Because you were friends with him?”

“Ryan’s different,” Spencer answers. “I don’t really know how, but he is. I used to think that maybe he was like me – that maybe he knew that more was out there than what we had grown up being told, but if he is different, he’s never let on.”

“Do you ever see him?” Brendon asks.

“Not really.”

Brendon watches as Spencer slowly turns back to him, a tired smile on his face.

“But now I have you,” he says.

Part Two

Preview: Giver AU

2009-08-31T18:51:31Z

Here's a little snippet - hopefully to help me finish this by Wednesday (fingers crossed):

There’s no such thing as love here is what Spencer had said, and creeping past Ryan’s door, Brendon can’t help but think about just how much Ryan is missing. Sure, he’s never felt sadness like Brendon has. Has never had to know what it’s like to have the people who you love, who once loved you, tell you they want nothing to do with you, but he doesn’t know what it feels like to feel that warm glow of affection. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be with someone and never want to leave.

Brendon is thinking of this – thinking of all that Ryan is missing out on and his stupid tiny crush (if you could even call it a crush – it’s probably more of an attraction, because Ryan is pretty and nice and safe) when he finds himself in the kitchen.

A neat pile of Ryan’s stuff is sitting on the countertop. The tests he had brought home are all graded, the inked loopy writing of Ryan’s comments the only thing marring the pages. Near the stack of papers, Brendon sees a small container, and when his curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the bottle, he sees small, white pills.

The ones that Brendon knows suppresses emotion.

He just stands there for a moment, looking at the little white pills – those small tablets that control so much, and he wonders what if.

After that, it’s just a flash of motion: of Brendon quickly rushing back to his room to dig through his backpack before he finds his allergy medicine. The pills are the same shape and size as the ones in Ryan’s kitchen. The only difference is their color – a light green versus the chalky white, but that doesn’t matter, because Ryan won’t be able to see that.

When Brendon goes to bed that night, Ryan’s pills are long gone – flushed down the toilet in a rush of rebellious glee, and Brendon’s allergy pills are encased in a small container on the kitchen, masquerading as something they’re not.

Gathering Dust: The One Where Ryan Ross Fucks Some Sense Into Himself

2009-08-29T17:10:48Z

So, I started this story a while ago. Basically, I wanted to write Ryan from the past and Present day Ryan fighting and eventually fucking. I, uh, could never really finish it. And - it's never going to be finished. So, if you want a tiny snippit of something that is likely to never be done.... Here! (Also, feel free to steal anything here and use it. I'm too busy with my Paranormal State AU, Brendon/Ryan year of love, and Giver AU to give this another go).

----

At first, nothing is strange when Ryan wakes up. Just like every morning, well, just like most mornings (sometimes it’s all still a little blurry and it takes a couple of minutes for his eyes to sharpen and the fuzz to clear), Ryan kicks off his covers. He blinks his eyes open at the wall, stretches long and lean, and raises a hand to scratch at the top of his head.

The same as always.

Routine.

That is until he hears a voice.

“It’s good to know that eventually that fucking bruise will heal.”

Suddenly, it’s not like any other morning at all, because Ryan can’t remember ever turning around in bed, his sheets tangling in his ankles, to peer up at what he can only think is a younger version of himself.

“Uh-”

The boy scoffs from where he’s sitting. Sometime while Ryan was sleeping, the boy must have pulled over the red paint chipped pseudo-Buddhist chair, and as Ryan continues to think of absolutely nothing but what the fuck, the boy recrosses his ankles, knocking against one of the curved lion’s claws and causing a new sprinkling of paint chips to fall down.

“Pretty much my thoughts,” the boy says. The boy who looks exactly like him, talks and holds himself exactly like Ryan had when he had been seventeen.

Ryan thinks back to the night before, but everything had been normal – dull, even. He and Jon had just gone out to dinner. They had talked about the new songs, laughed a little – nothing strange, but still, sitting in front of him, a seventeen-year-old him blinks steadily with a scowl on his face.

“You’re me?” Ryan asks, and even as the words come out, he knows just how asinine it sounds.

The boy huffs. “The computer over there says it’s 2009, and even though you look like a fucking bum, I think there’s enough resemblance to come to the conclusion that yeah, I’m you.”

Ryan doesn’t know how he somehow forgot that he used to be a condescending little shit.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sits up on his bed. “Okay, so, you’re me. From the past, obviously.” He casts a look at his younger self. “Judging by the horrible hair.”

“You’re just making fun of yourself,” the boy points out snidely, but Ryan tries not to listen to him. He’s been trying to forget about his past for awhile now, and he’s gotten pretty good at it.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Ryan asks. “Or how you got here?”

The boy raises an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me?” He laughs for a second humorously. “Shouldn’t you already know about this? Isn’t that how time travel works?”

“Well, this is all new to me.” Ryan says annoyed. He gets out of bed and starts looking around for some clothes to change into. It’s not every day that he wakes up to find himself at seventeen sitting in his room, a very real reminder of what is long in the past, but he still figures that getting dressed is a good idea. “What do you last remember?”

For the first time since Ryan had woken up, the boy smiles. It’s tiny, but Ryan knows that smile well, he also knows himself well enough to know what it means. Vindication.

“We just signed the contract with Pete.”

Ryan remembers that night. He remembers being fucking elated. Remembers how his hands had shaken as he signed the thick stack of papers after Spencer had read through the entire thing. Remembers how Pete had clapped him on the back and grinned at him. He also remembers after Pete had left, after Brent and Spencer had gone home.

Suddenly, Ryan’s chest tightens. “Was that the absolute last thing you remember?”

The boy tries to avoid Ryan’s eye contact, but Ryan holds firm. He needs to know how deep he’s in.

“No.” There’s a light blush, and a smile that’s different from the one of vindication that Ryan remembers from finally proving his father wrong.

He remembers the feeling of Brendon pressed against him, too. How they had laughed, grinned brightly at each other, unable to stop their happiness from showing. How Ryan had looked down at Brendon, eyes free from all of those months of stress and worry and doubt, and kissed him.

Ryan knows that the boy in front of him doesn’t know it yet. He still thinks that it’s just sex, just Brendon sweating beneath him, arching up eagerly into clumsy hands and sloppy thrusts. Back then, sex had meant nothing.

Ryan can’t help but realize just how full circle life really is.

---

Ryan had told his younger self to help himself to whatever food was in the kitchen while he took a shower.

The hot water does little to make anything make anymore sense, but the fifteen minutes alone is a blessing. Even if it does allow his mind to wander back to all those years ago.

When he gets into the kitchen, he sees that the boy has opened a box of poptarts and is munching on them slowly, eyes moving around, taking everything in.

“This is a pretty nice place,” he says. “I guess the band’s doing well, then.”

There’s that strange stilted feeling again in Ryan’s chest. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to tell himself anything. Doesn’t know if he wants to.

“Yeah. Pretty well,” he finally settles on. He goes to the refrigerator to get some water, and as he passes by the sink, he sees a couple empty alcohol bottles lying there. He picks one up and turns around. “What the fuck.”

The boy shrugs. “It’s not like you haven’t done it before.” And he had, more times than he’d like to think about. The boy takes another bite of his poptart. “I’ve been thinking. Trying to come up with reasons why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Ryan snaps, throwing the now empty bottles of alcohol in the recycling. He knows what his stupid fucking younger self is thinking, but he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t even know what Ryan’s been through. He’s not his fucking father.

“In books and movies and stuff, when things like this happen, it’s always because someone’s fallen off their path.”

“I haven’t fallen off my path,” Ryan says. “My life is fucking fine.”

The boy sighs. “Whatever. Can you just call Spencer or something. I’m sure he can help.”

Ryan pauses. “I don’t want to bother him with this.”

“Fine, Brendon then.”

“Um.”

The boy frowns.

Catalyst (standalone)

2009-08-16T15:17:48Z

Title: Catalyst (standalone)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: R
Pairing: Pete/Mikey (heavy side Brendon/Ryan and Gerard/Frank)
POV: 3rd limited
Summary: High school AU OR the one where Mikey might be having not-so-pure thoughts about the school’s newest soccer player; Ryan is a jealous emo lesbian; and Gerard thinks that love is all you need. ~6,000
Disclaimer: This is fiction. Complete fiction, though any name mentioned in here should wonder why there’s so much of this floating around.
Beta: habezweikatzen
Author Notes: The lovely takkatakkatakka requested for me to write a Mikey/Pete with a side of my OTP. I can’t say no to her. And yes, I know I have promised a lot of other fic. I’m….working on it?

---

For Mikey, the whole thing starts when Gerard tells him about Frank.

“It just happened,” Gerard says, his voice coming out no louder than a hushed whisper through the cell phone. The incessant buzzing of his phone had woken Mikey up this morning – a Saturday, one of his two days out of the week to sleep in – but when he had seen Gerard’s name flashing across the screen, he pushed back his thoughts of more sleep and possibly some water for his dry mouth thanks to a couple too many beers last night, and answered it with a croaked out groan of “Gerard, it’s fucking seven in the morning.”

Now though, only a couple seconds into the conversation, not even a minute, Mikey is feeling wide-awake. “You what?” he asks. He doesn’t even try to keep the surprise out of his question, because seriously, what?

From the other end, Mikey can hear Gerard sigh, and then he can hear rustling around and the faint sound of a door closing shut. “Jesus, Mikey. Keep it down.”

In the background, there’s a din of background noise: muffled talking and shuffled feet. “Where are you now?”

“In the hallway,” Gerard says, and Mikey can almost imagine Gerard in one of his stupid oversized t-shirts that he always wears to bed sitting against the wall of his hallway, legs to his chest, hair hanging down in front of his eyes. “You were being fucking loud.”

Mikey closes his eyes for a second, not for a moment of stolen sleep – no, that idea is far from his mind now – but because he doesn’t even know how to deal with this situation. “God, he’s in your room, isn’t he?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been very nice for me to kick him out,” Gerard responds, huffing a little, and for a moment Mikey almost smiles because even though the situation is strange, the answer is still so Gerard.

“Okay, okay,” Mikey grumbles, and he pulls on a crumpled pair of sweat pants as he cradles his phone against his shoulder. “Hang on a second.”

“Why? Don’t go back to bed, you asshole.”

“I need to get some fucking water, alright? If I have to deal with this shit, I’ll need some water,” Mikey grumbles as he slips out of his room and pads toward the kitchen. He tries to keep his voice low, though. His mom is still sleeping.

“Are you hung over, Mikey?” Gerard asks, and when Mikey doesn’t answer because he’s gulping down a glass of water, he sighs. “You shouldn’t be out drinking every weekend.”

Refilling his glass, Mikey gives a short laugh and says, “Look who’s talking.” It’s a low blow, but Mikey doesn’t feel like explaining himself to Gerard this early in the morning. “This doesn’t matter,” he says. “Tell me about how exactly you and Frank ended up having sex.” He pauses. “Except for without the actual sex part. I don’t need to hear that.”

And that’s how Mikey spends his morning: hung over and listening to Gerard talk about just how great Frank is and how happy he is.

It almost gives Mikey a worse headache than the hangover.

---

Mikey doesn’t know if he believes in fate and destiny and all that, but later that night, when he’s at a party with Gabe and Ray, leaning against the wall of someone’s house that he doesn’t know, he thinks about what Gerard had said.

The party around him is in full swing. Gabe is making out with some girl in the corner – Mikey vaguely thinks that it might be her house they’re drinking in, her wall that he’s leaning against, but he’s not sure. Ray is trying with a girl that Mikey knows from around school. She’s leaning back a little as she talks to him, and Mikey shakes his head at Ray’s hopeful eyes. Toward the back of the room, the soccer team has started up a competitive looking game of beer pong – varsity against junior varsity – and when one of them (a short, compact looking guy with dark hair and what looks to be the start of a sleeve who Mikey has never noticed before) sinks his shot, he crows happily in triumph, and for some reason, as he’s looking around laughing, he catches Mikey’s eye.

It’s nothing, really, just a brief moment of stupid imaginative insanity, but still, Mikey thinks about how Gerard said that all it took was one look.

The thing is, though, that the guy hasn’t looked away yet. His smile is still there, though it has transformed a little from a victorious grin to a twisted smirk. Mikey keeps his gaze for a second longer, but then he looks down at his beer, breaking the contact.

He can still feel the heat of the guy’s eyes when someone bumps into him. He looks up just in time to see Brendon’s wide eyes and wider smile. “Mikey!” Brendon squeals happily against his shoulder as he squeezes him around the middle. “I haven’t seen you in forever and ever.”

Next to Brendon, wearing an expression that is far from amused, is his boyfriend Ryan. His hands are empty of the plastic red cup that everyone else seems to have. “You saw him yesterday, Bren,” Ryan monotones. His face is impassive as he reaches out and uncurls Brendon from Mikey, pulling him away, though Mikey notices that when Brendon clings to Ryan’s side, there’s a hint of a smile there.

“Don’t be jealous, Ryan,” Brendon says, leaning against him. “Mikey is fucking awesome.” There’s a slight slur in his voice, one that Mikey notices Ryan wincing at as he tightens his arm around his boyfriend possessively.

Mikey tries to send Ryan some sort of reassuring anything, but the glare stops him in his place. It really wasn’t his fault that last year Brendon had gotten so drunk that he had mistaken Mikey for Ryan and tried to grope him. Though, admittedly, the part where he let Brendon have free reign for those twenty seconds before a furious Spencer Smith had dragged Brendon off of him had been his fault. Thinking about that now, with Brendon laughing against Ryan’s neck, his lips moving up his jaw line, Mikey wonders why he didn’t have a mini sexual crisis sooner. A phone call from his brother about his own homosexual escapades and a brief look from a hot soccer player shouldn’t even compare to half a minute of Brendon Urie grinding in his lap.

When he looks up and away from Brendon and Ryan, who seems to be over the brief flare of jealousy, Mikey sees that the soccer player isn’t looking at him anymore but is back to his game.

Mikey watches as he laughs with his friends, as he licks the beer from his lips, and for a moment, he thinks what if he and I and then he stops himself and thinks fuck, laughing at his own stupid brain.

He leaves Brendon and Ryan against the wall just as Brendon’s leg slips between Ryan’s and goes to fill up his cup, and on his way there, he drags Ray along with him, the girl sending him thankful and approving eyes, but he doesn’t pay her any attention.

---

Another reason that Ryan doesn’t particularly like Mikey is that their Chemistry teacher assigned lab partners reverse alphabetically, so Way was stuck with Urie while Ross stalked for the first few days of class.

“It’s almost been two weeks,” Mikey mutters to Brendon as he fills up the pipette with NaOH. “Can’t he get over it?”

“Hm?” Brendon hums. He’s scribbling down messy words and undistinguishable doodles. He adds a swirl around something that doesn’t look anything like Chemistry notes before he looks up and grins. “What? Ryan?” He laughs. “Dude, Ryan still glares at Gabe for saying I have a hot ass. That’s just the way he is.”

Mikey hands Brendon a beaker, but instead of filling it up with anything, he just uses the bottom to trace a perfect circle. Which he turns into a giant flower. With Ryan’s name doodled over.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Mikey asks. At first, when Brendon and Ryan had started dating last year – officially dating after many long and annoying months of flirting and touching and, God, Mikey’s glad that part is over at least – Mikey had thought that Ryan’s strange jealousy was just a temporary thing until the relationship got more stable, but it’s been almost a year now (in two weeks actually, as Brendon reminds him happily) and Ryan still doesn’t seem to like Brendon being in close proximity to anyone he views as a threat.

Brendon shrugs. “It’s not like Ryan would actually beat anyone up,” he says. “It’s just his fucked up way to show he cares.” Brendon starts folding his piece of paper into what looks like a very lopsided heart. “He’ll get over it eventually when he actually realizes that no one is going to take me from him. I’m not going anywhere.” Brendon grins as he finishes up his paper heart with a flourish. “Hey, Ross!” he yells from across the room, throwing the heart as soon as Ryan looks up.

Mikey turns his attention back to diluting whatever it is that is in front of him as Brendon makes outlandish faces across the way to Ryan.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts as the mixture makes its color change, and when Mikey looks up, he’s more than a little surprised to see the soccer player from the party standing there. Up close, Mikey can make out the individual tattoos snaking up his arm, and he can see just how that smirk quirks up at his looking.

When Mikey turns a little to see where Brendon is, he finds that his lab partner has forgone across-the-room flirting and decided to go and woo Ryan personally with his origami presents. It sucks a little, though, because Brendon is great for distractions, like the embarrassment Mikey feels when he catches Pete most definitely checking him out.

“Um, hey?” It comes out more like a question than a greeting, and Mikey wants to smack himself over the head, but instead he asks, “What are you doing here”, which, in retrospect with the inflection, is just as embarrassing.

The guy just laughs, his grin growing bigger. “Wentz,” he says, and off of Mikey’s confused look, he says, “I just got moved into this period of Chemistry, and the teacher told me to partner up with a Way and Urie.” He leans a little forward. “I’m really hoping that you’re the Way, because I’ve heard a lot of talk about this Urie guy’s epic love for an emo lesbian.”

At that, Mikey actually manages to smile and not completely mortify himself, though he falters for a minute, because is this guy flirting with him, before he just decides to ignore any wishful thinking. “Lesbian might be a little off.”

“Yeah, the guys told me that, too. Fucking locker room talk, man.” He laughs again, a bold burst of noise and says, “I’m Pete.”

“Mikey.”

“Mikey Way,” Pete says, as if he’s trying the name out, seeing how it feels, and for some reason, it almost makes Mikey blush, which is ridiculous, because Mikey hasn’t blushed since Ray walked in on him playing with his toy unicorn in the forth grade.

Mikey coughs and asks, “So, why are you in this class?”

Pete shrugs. “I moved here a couple of weeks ago, and apparently my parents thought that I should try and do A.P. Chemistry since this was a public school and therefore would be easier.” He scratches the back of his neck, and Mikey finds himself watching the way that Pete’s sleeve inches up, showing more of his arm, more of the ink decorating it. “I’m no scientist, though. Fuck A.P. Chem.”

“That’s too bad, I could have used a good lab partner,” Mikey says.

“What about Urie?”

“Brendon?” Mikey laughs. “If he could actually stay here for more than five minutes before running off to Ryan, I’m sure he’d be good at this. He’s good at anything he fucking tries. But he doesn’t even want to try to understand this shit. Doesn’t really matter, though, because Ryan let’s Brendon copy all his work, which I get, too.”

“I’m a veteran copier,” Pete says proudly, leaning against the countertop, and Mikey doesn’t know why it’s impossible for him not to look at the thin slice of skin that shows between Pete’s jeans and shirt when he does that.

Thankfully, though, his thoughts are interrupted by Brendon when he sees Pete and shouts far too loudly, “Threesome? Awesome!”

Mikey doesn’t need to look over to see Ryan glaring.

---

Ray always parks his car in the back of the lot, near the athletic fields, so when Mikey starts his way from the building, and Pete spots him, stops and waits for him, and then falls into step with him, Mikey knows that he only has about three minutes of having to act like his fucking nerves aren’t freaking out.

“Hey, lab partner,” Pete greets. He has his soccer practice clothes on, which are, unfortunately, much looser than his earlier clothes. When he reaches up to wave goodbye to somebody that Pete calls “Patrick, the coolest kid I’ve met in my life”, his shirt doesn’t even ride up past his waistband.

“So,” Mikey says after about fifteen seconds of silence that seems like an hour, “you’re off to soccer practice, yeah?”

Pete grins. “Hence the completely horrible umbro shorts. You play a sport, MikeyWay?” And Mikey kind of likes the way his name sounds coming from Pete. It flows so easily.

“No.”

“So what do you do?” Pete asks. It’s a little strange, because, to Mikey, it doesn’t sound like small talk at all. It’s like Pete is actually interested.

Mikey can see Ray leaning against his car – they’re almost there – so his words come out a little rushed as he answers. “Mostly I just play music. Listen to music. Stay up way too late fucking around on the internet.” He wishes his answers were a little more cool, but Pete’s eyes light up at the mention of music, and when he asks what instrument he plays, Mikey says, “Bass”, and Pete grins back with a “Me, too.”

Again, there’s a pause that seems longer than normal, but Mikey thinks it has everything to do with the way that Pete keeps looking at him in short, sidelong glances.

“So, you can’t sleep?” Pete asks.

It’s not that he can’t sleep, he can, he sleeps like the dead, but he usually doesn’t. “There seems to be so many more things I could be doing,” Mikey says, shrugging.

“Do you have your cell phone with you?” Pete asks, and when Mikey nods, Pete holds his hand out, programming in his number when Mikey hands his cell over, taking a moment to call it. “That way I can text you tonight when we both aren’t sleeping,” Pete says. He grins. “I’ll talk to you later, Mikeyway,” he says before turning to cross the soccer field.

When Mikey gets to Ray’s car, and Bob asks him suspiciously from the backseat who he was talking to, Mikey just averts his eyes as he definitely doesn’t blush again and says “No one.”

---

Gerard can tell that something is up.

“Something’s up,” he accuses two minutes into Mikey’s phone call to him. “You sound weird.”

“You always sound weird,” Mikey shoots back. When Gerard doesn’t fall for the bait, Mikey sighs. “Okay. Remember how you and Frank had sex?” He goes to close the door to his bedroom and flops down against the well-worn in sheets that he keeps forgetting to wash.

Gerard seems to choke on his words for a moment. “You mean, remember how Frank and I are in a loving, committed relationship?”

Mikey waves his hand dismissively, even though Gerard can’t see it. “Whatever. One that was started by you two randomly having sex.” Before Gerard can argue, Mikey continues. “Well, it made me start thinking… Basically, I think I want to fuck my lab partner.” It didn’t take Mikey too long to come to this conclusion, but still, it’s a lot to take in. Especially when he was scrolling through his phone earlier and found himself stopping far too long on Pete’s name. It’s not like he can even text him now, though. It’s only six.

“Brendon?” Gerard asks incredulously. “I know Ryan doesn’t seem that strong, but, dude, Mikey, he’ll kick your ass.”

“Not Brendon,” Mikey says. God, that would be the worst idea ever. Especially since Brendon would turn him down and then a ninety pound eyeliner-wearing writing nerd would break his arm. “A new guy. Pete.” Mikey doesn’t think there’s anything strange about the way that he says Pete’s name. No, it’s just a name. Just a guy. A very hot guy, who, yeah, maybe Mikey wouldn’t mind making out with or seeing naked.

“And this freaks you out? The liking a guy thing?”

Mikey sighs, a little frustrated. “I don’t know him enough to like him,” he says. “I just find him attractive.”

“Okay,” Gerard says. “Fine. You find another guy attractive. And does that freak you out?”

“Not really.” In the past, he’s found guys attractive before: Gabe, Brendon, even Ryan aesthetically speaking, but he’s never had this sort of reaction to that attraction before.

“Then why the phone call? Not that I’m not happy to talk to you. And I guess I’m happy that you’re opening up your sexual viewpoints and experiencing new things, but you sounded kinda freaked out.”

The thing about talking to Gerard was that unlike Ray and Bob, he didn’t let things lie.

“Maybe I do like him,” Mikey admits.

“Interesting.”

“Fuck you, Gerard. I’ve only know the guy a day, and three days ago I was practically sexually objectifying him.”

That, of course, is the wrong thing to say, because for the next twenty minutes, Mikey has to hear yet another one of Gerard’s lectures on respecting people for who they are not how hot they are. Or how good they would look down on their knees.

---

The first buzz of his phone comes at three in the morning. Mikey’s actually sleeping then, but when the phone goes off, his hand grabs for it, knocking his wrist painfully against his bedside table.

U up?

Mikey doesn’t need to look at the sending number to see that it’s from Pete, but he does anyway. There’s something ridiculously close to excitement running through his body as he sees Pete’s name light up.

Y

The next text message is almost instantaneous, and Mikey grins when he reads it.

Good. Cant slp

Mikey doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just stares at his screen for a couple of minutes, before it suddenly lights up and starts to vibrate.

“Hello,” he answers.

“Fuck text messaging,” Pete says. “I want to hear your melodious voice, Mikey Way.”

And even though Mikey’s pretty sure that Pete is just kidding, just saying that for the sake of saying that, he can’t help but smile again.

---

It becomes a thing. Every night, around the same time usually, Pete texts Mikey. He always texts first, but after the first response, like clockwork, Mikey’s phone vibrates, and when he picks up, it’s Pete’s tired voice on the other end.

They talk. They talk about things that are important – things they don’t understand but pretend they do – and they talk about things that don’t make any difference in the world.

He finds out a lot about Pete during their late night conversations – far more than he does during school hours, where Pete seems to be more guarded. At night, when it’s just his voice on the other end of a cell phone, Pete doesn’t hold back.

“I tried to kill myself once,” Pete mentions blithely one night.

“Girls are too complicated right now,” he says another. “I’m looking for something easier.” Adding, “It’s cool that I like guys, too, right?” when Mikey doesn’t say anything.

Pete does most of the talking. Mikey talks, too, of course he does, but there’s something comforting about listening to Pete tell a story, something soothing about one of his probably falsified recounts of soccer practice. It feels good to be trusted.

One night, though, Pete says something that Mikey doesn’t know how to respond to. Even when Pete told Mikey about his suicide attempt, even when Pete told Mikey about being bisexual, Mikey had figured out something to say. It was always stilted and unsure, but Pete’s reaction had seemed genuine when he responded that it was reasons like that that he liked Mikey so much.

This night, though, when Pete says, “So, I’ve sorta been thinking about kissing you. A lot, actually,” Mikey doesn’t know how to respond.

There’s a couple of moments of silence.

Then a couple more, and then Pete sighs and says, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Mikey.”

When the phone beeps off, Mikey stares off into the dark nothing of his bedroom and swallows, thinking fuck.

---

Brendon catches up with Mikey on his way to Chemistry. “I need your help,” Brendon says, and Mikey really, really wishes that someone would give him some help, especially since in less than three minutes, he’s going to have to see Pete in what will probably be the most awkward forty-four minutes of his life. “Ryan and my one year anniversary is this Friday.”

“Congratulations,” Mikey says, craning his neck a little to see if Pete is walking down the hall. Maybe he’s sick. Maybe last night’s conversation had been nothing but a delusion.

“Yeah, thanks,” Brendon says, “but I’m sort of in a situation.” Brendon sounds so damn concerned that Mikey actually pulls himself away from thoughts of not hyperventilating to give him his full attention. “I promised Gabe that I would have a party this weekend at my house since my parents would be gone.”

“Really?” Mikey is definitely down with the idea of getting completely wasted tomorrow, but then he connects the look on Brendon’s face with what he had just told him. “Oh, fuck, that’s the night of your anniversary, right?”

“Right. And Ryan hates when I drink, so it’d be pretty shitty of me to get smashed on our anniversary.” He gives a dramatic sigh. “Plus, I had been planning to do this whole seduction thing with rose petals and chocolate and pretentious indie love songs. And, you know, sex. Lots and lots of sex, as loud as we want, because the house is empty. Hot, hot sex.”

Mikey cringes a little. “Brendon, remember we talked about keeping your sex life between you and Ryan?”

Brendon waves a hand around. “There’s no time for your quirks, Mikey, I have to figure out something. I don’t want to let Gabe down, but I’m definitely not going to fuck up my anniversary.”

“I don’t think it’s a strange thing to not want to hear about you and Ross fucking,” Mikey defends. Brendon raises an eyebrow and then sticks out his lower lip. “What do you expect me to do, Brendon? Move the party to my house so you and Ryan can get a happy ending?”

From the sheer force of the hug, Mikey suspects that Brendon has a difficult time detecting sarcasm. “You’re the best. Thank you so much.”

Brendon lets go of his tight hug when they make it to the Chemistry room, transferring himself smoothly to Ryan, who, for once, doesn’t glare at Mikey, just shoots him an amused look as Brendon crowds him.

Mikey sets his stuff down and starts getting the equipment together, pulling out the meticulously folded lab aprons (though Brendon wasn’t too keen on doing the actual experiments, he loved cleaning up, for some reason). He is just pulling out all the necessary measuring supplies when Pete comes up.

“Hey,” Pete says, throwing his bag down. “Brendon seems extra happy today.”

So they are going that route: pretending nothing happened. Mikey can work with that.

“It’s Brendon and Ryan’s one year anniversary tomorrow,” Mikey responds. “They have the whole house to themselves.” He holds out one of the aprons for Pete.

“I thought Urie was having a party tomorrow. That’s what Gabe told me,” Pete says as he grabs the apron from Mikey, and for a brief moment, their fingers touch, but then Mikey pulls back quickly.

“Uh, yeah. He was supposed to, but I sort of volunteered my house so he and Ryan could be romantic.”

“Isn’t that amazing?” Brendon interrupts, throwing an arm around Mikey. “Pete, isn’t Mikey amazing?”

Something flickers across Pete’s face that Mikey can’t quite read, something that means something, but it’s gone in an instant. “Yeah, he’s amazing,” Pete says, and he turns his attention away from them and down to the lab instructions. “I guess we should get started, then.”

---

It’s strange, but it’s not like Mikey was expecting any different. For the first time in two weeks – ever since Pete had first asked for his cell phone number – there’s nothing.

It’s nearly five in the morning, and Mikey’s been watching the numbers creep closer and closer to dawn for a while now. The clock is glowing in the darkness, but his cell phone remains blank. Mikey wonders if he should text Pete, but he doesn’t know what he would say.

Sorry?

I think about it, too?

We should have raunchy sex right the fuck now?

Nothing seems right, not his words or the silent cell phone, so Mikey just rolls over and waits for daylight.

---

Mikey’s not going to tell Brendon this, but Brendon is completely going overboard with this one-year anniversary thing.

“Just set it down in front of his locker,” Brendon says as Mikey lugs in the giant stuffed sloth that was apparently not only for Ryan, but his favorite animal as well. “It’s because it’s so slow and still clumsy as fuck,” Brendon had said far too fondly for someone talking about an animal that sleeps most of its life.

Behind him, Brendon is carrying a dozen roses in one hand and a giant sparkly sign in the other, complete with tape to post it up on Ryan’s locker.

“Are you sure Ryan will be okay with all of this?” Mikey asks. If it were him, he wouldn’t want this big of a declaration. Or, judging by his reaction to Pete, any declaration.

Brendon, however, just grins. “You don’t know Ryan like I do.”

“And that’s a good thing,” Mikey interrupts.

Brendon laughs. “Yes. But Ryan will love this. He’s a closeted romantic.”

“And you’re not closeted anything.”

“Nope. Out and proud, baby.” Brendon does a little shimmy that Mikey is forced to look away from, because God, his friends are so fucking weird. “You excited for your party tonight?”

Mikey gives a humorless laugh. “You mean your party that is being held at my house so that you can have, and I quote, “hot, hot sex”?

“Yeah, that party,” Brendon says, smiling, his eyes glazing over a little, and Mikey really hopes that he’s not fantasizing about his and Ryan’s rendezvous. At least not in front of him. That could get awkward.

“I’m thrilled,” Mikey deadpans.

The hallways are starting to fill up with students, and next to Mikey, Brendon starts bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “I want to see his face when he sees this.”

Mikey loves Brendon and Ryan, he really does, but he doesn’t know if he wants to watch this, so he says, “Good luck, Bren. You’ll have to tell me how it goes later,” and makes his way toward his locker.

Just as he rounds the corner, though, he can hear a loud, happy shout of Brendon yelling “Happy anniversary, Ryan, the love of my life!” and what sounds like very enthusiastic clapping from some of the other students.

There’s even a wolf whistle or two.

---

By the time that Mikey makes it into Chemistry class, Brendon is still wearing a grin, and Ryan’s face is red, but he’s smiling, too.

“That’s what they’ve looked like all day,” Pete says quietly, throwing them a fond look. He’s standing close to Mikey, far closer than he was standing the day before, and even though part of Mikey wants to take a step backward, a larger part of him doesn’t want to, so he stays where he is. “It’s cute.”

Mikey looks over to where Brendon is whispering something into Ryan’s ear that makes him turn, if possible, even redder, and he can’t help but smile. “I guess they are a little adorable.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, giving Mikey another one of those looks that he can’t quite decipher before he heads over to their station.

“So, uh, are you planning on coming to the party at my house tonight?” Mikey asks. He hasn’t really figured any of this whole thing with Pete out, but he knows that he wants him to be there.

Pete shrugs. “Maybe,” he says. “If I can make it.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, are you sure you want me to come?”

Mikey had thought that they were both going to pretend like nothing had changed, but apparently Pete wants to talk about it. At least in some way. “Of course,” Mikey says.

Pete looks around, as if he’s checking to see if the coast is clear, and there’s no one around, but still, when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I’m sorry about the other night, I just thought that you…” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m shit with signals.”

“Oh, well-” Mikey stops himself. “It’s cool,” he says instead. “Don’t worry about it. And you should definitely come tonight.”

“Yeah, if I can make it,” Pete says, not quite meeting Mikey’s eyes.

Thankfully, just then, Brendon bounces over. “Ryan says that he has something planned for lunch!” he exclaims. “Today is awesome.”

Mikey nods, and out of the corner of his vision, he can see that Pete just ducks his head.

---

By the time Gabe gets to his house, Mikey is already four beers in, so when Gabe pulls out a handle of vodka, he doesn’t hesitate to throw one back straight.

“That’s my boy!” Gabe says, making a grab for Mikey’s ass. Mikey, who has had just enough to drink to let it happen, but not enough to let it go any further, laughs and sways away from Gabe.

“Let’s get wasted!” one of Gabe’s friends, Nate, shouts, and behind him, Ryland adds a slurred, “Delicious.”

Mikey ushers them all in to where everyone else is, but he grabs onto Gabe’s arm. “Have you seen Pete?” he asks. He’s past caring now if it’s in any way strange that he’s asking, and he knows that Gabe and Pete hang out because of soccer. Plus, it’s not like Gabe is the type of guy to be judgmental.

“I think he’s coming,” Gabe says. “Told him he couldn’t miss out on any Mikey time!” Gabe takes a second to grind up against Mikey’s leg before pulling back. “I’m gonna go see if Victoria’s here.”

Mikey spends a little bit wandering around, grabbing drinks when they’re handed to him, doing shots when someone asks, so by the time that Pete comes in, Mikey stumbles against him as he comes to say hi.

“You okay there, Mikeyway?” Pete asks, and his eyes are close close close, and his breath smells sweet, and his body feels warm, and Mikey leans against him.

“You came,” Mikey says.

Pete laughs, and Mikey thinks that he can detect a hint of nervousness there, but he’s not sure. “Maybe you should sit down for a little. Where’s your bedroom?”

Mikey is being shuffled back by Pete toward the staircase, and yeah, with Pete’s strong arm guiding him, Mikey thinks that the bedroom is a good idea. “About before,” Mikey starts, leaning more and more against Pete as they climb the stairs, “about that night. You know, the one where – you know the one.” They get to the top of the stairs, and Mikey pulls Pete toward his room, not caring if anyone looks up and notices. “I should have told you then. Me, too.”

“What?” Pete asks, but Mikey doesn’t listen as he closes the door behind them and presses Pete against the closest wall, closing the space between them and crashing their mouths together.

Pete’s hand comes up against Mikey’s chest, and after a quick moment of panic where Mikey thinks that maybe Pete is going to push him away, Pete pulls Mikey closer, opening his legs so that their hips line up so, so right, and fuck that’s Pete’s cock.

Mikey lets out a startled noise, but he arches against Pete until Pete’s cock is rubbing right up against his own. It’s all hot, hot heat and delicious friction, and when Pete bites at Mikey’s collarbone, Mikey honest to God whines as his back bows and he pushes forward even more desperately.

From there, it’s just a flash of Pete hard and hot against him, rutting against him, mouth claiming his own, and Mikey doesn’t want it to stop. His hands reach down between their bodies, fumbling at Pete’s belt, but he doesn’t even get it all the way off before Pete’s body jerks and he lets out a harsh moan that Mikey half-swallows. Pete sags against him, mouth moving slower, body a little more relaxed, and Mikey rocks against Pete’s leg until he comes.

“Fuck,” Pete breathes against Mikey, his lips brushing against Mikey’s skin, and he pushes them back from the wall until they tumble against the bed.

“Uhm,” Mikey mumbles, but then the soft bed and warm sheets call to him, and the last thing he can remember seeing is Pete’s hand, traveling down his cheek.

---

When Mikey wakes up to the sound of his cell phone going off, the first thought he has is that it’s Pete, but then, when he opens his eyes to grab for the phone, he sees Pete lying next to him on the bed, sleeping. Mikey quickly grabs his phone, silencing the vibration so that Pete doesn’t wake up.

Best anniversary ever! Hope you had a good party. Thanks again! the text from Brendon reads, and even through his somewhat hazy brain, Mikey finds it all adorable, and he smiles as he types back his answer.

I had a good nite 2. Hopeflly a bttr mrning. Play safe

Mikey looks over at Pete on the other side of the bed as he puts his phone down, and even though his head is throbbing a little, he can remember every touch from the night before. He can remember it all.

He settles back down on the bed, inching over until his side is pressed up against Pete, and he wraps an arm around him, pulling Pete close toward him.

“Hm?” Pete asks sleepily as Mikey curves his body along Pete’s spine.

“Go back to sleep,” Mikey says, and at that, Pete laughs.

“Not very likely, Mikeyway. Once I’m up, I’m up.”

Mikey lets his hand travel down Pete’s stomach, resting against the rough fabric of his jeans and grins against the curve of Pete’s neck. “So I see.”

Pete turns, facing Mikey, face so close. “Want to help me with that?” His words are daring, but his face is almost vulnerable, almost as if he’s afraid that Mikey is going to push him away, so Mikey leans in and kisses him – morning breath be damned – and his hands fumble at Pete’s jeans.

---

Other stories

The sorta prequel is here - all ryden, baby!

Answers

2009-08-03T12:38:30Z

Here are the answers to the questions asked here here

whyyy did you skip Ryan chained to the tree in the hippie fic?
Haha. Honestly, for me, this fic was very much like a romantic comedy in my mind. So, when I saw it unfold, it did so with fade outs and everything. While, in retrospect, it would have been great to play around more with Ryan chained to a tree, when I wrote it, I just wanted it to be a quick “oh fuck” funny moment before I moved on. Also, I didn’t think about any great ideas until I already published it. So is life!

Why did you end your BBBhow you did - was there any particular reason, or did it just feel like the right way?
I know this question well. It probably is good that I have this in a general area. So here it is: I always planned for “Grace Note” to end that way. Even before I started writing the first sentence. To me, the story is about Ryan’s progression. In the beginning, he’s a guy who is pretty much happy with letting life pass him by. He likes the status quo. He doesn’t want to change, not really. He doesn’t want to take chances. Or make choices. So the end – after he’s already made so much progress – gives him the opportunity to make a choice. And he makes one, so really, his story isn’t mine to tell anymore.

And where did the initial idea [for your BBB] come from?
I was taking a Journalism class at the time. And hated it. Really hated it. I also was caught up in the “Are Panic breaking up?!” thing. A lot of what came together in the end is a compilation of things in my life or in the lives of people I know. Ryan’s anxieties, Brendon’s bravado, Jon’s pathetic holding onto the past, Spencer’s strong face: a lot is mostly because I wanted to explore these ideas. My best friend said that this story is probably the most telling thing I’ve ever written. I don’t think it is, but then again, maybe it is and I just don’t know it.

What was supposed to have happened The Night Before in Etude in Blue?
I know it’s vague and I didn’t spell it out. I tend to do that a lot, lol. But what happened the night before? Brendon got caught up in the moment and kissed Ryan, who, of course, promptly freaked out and got the fuck out of there.

Also, why have you only ever written Pete/Mikey as a side pairing to Ryan/Brendon? I actually wrote a story that is just Mikey/Pete. But, I’ll still answer :D I just started getting into Mikey/Pete, but I don’t think I have a good enough of an understanding of Mikey’s true character to write a whole long story about that pairing. I’d love to figure that fucker out – he’s so elusive to me. Also, everytime I write something without Ryan/Brendon in it, a little part of me dies. No, I’m just kidding. Kinda.

What is your favourite fic out of all the ones you've done? Damn. I’m really proud of a lot of stories that I’ve written. There are, though, a couple that I occasionally think about deleting, too. My favorite would probably be Hail the Seasons as They Go just because I think that everything just fell into place. The tone, the pace – I put a lot into this story, and from the reaction I got from a lot of readers, it was well worth it.

What happens to Ryan and Brendon in the Playboy!verse? If I asked nicely would you ever do a sex coda for them? (Or did I miss them having teh sex?) This was a co-write with silver_etoile. It’s funny, we wrote a lot before the original story but not after. Okay, I’ll tell you what I think happened. Ryan moves out of the mansion into a shitty apartment (to live the life of a typical starving artist) until he finally gives into Brendon’s pleading and they move in together. And a sex coda? Sorry, I don’t think so. I have so many stories right now running through my head that are giving me problems.

What about Ryan and Brendon in the kindergarten!verse? I'd love to hear about them (tehsex!) They definitely have a storybook!ending. To me, that story was a lot more fluffy than most of what I write. Eventually, Ryan tells his father. And eventually, people know about Brendon’s orientation, though he never says anything about it. Ryan and Brendon though? Are stable. Adorable even. And Ryan helps out every time Brendon pouts.

If you could write any fic, what would it be about?
Timetravel! I’m even trying it right now and it’s kicking my ass. I also wish I could write something based off a completely ‘wow, I would have NEVER thought about that before’ idea. Unfortunately, I seem to only be able to write about very mundane things. I try to make it mean something, though. Hopefully, I succeed a little.

what do you think would be the shape of things had it just been ryan to leave the band? just jon? just brendon or just spencer? even more interesting to me is what things would be like if it had been ryan and brendon to stay/leave. Just Ryan leaving? I think it would be very similar to what’s going on right now. He’s getting a lot of crap. I’ll admit that I went through my period of blaming him. If it was just Jon? I don’t think it would be that big of a deal, honestly. I think fans would take that the best. Spencer would be a little more extreme, but I think that it could be understandable that he’d want to do something else. If Brendon left? People would be on his side. No question. I think a lot of people have thought about the possibility of a Brendon solo album before. And omg, if Ryan and Brendon left together? Honeymoon!!!! Lol, fangirls would die of happiness.

why'd you pick lipgloss to use in From a Pretty Mouth?
I got a prompt for something with hot kisses. Which, when I thought about it, immediately lead me to Brendon’s lips. This snowballed in me talking to my best friend about how Brendon definitely wears lip gloss in the music video for IWSNT. And But It’s Better If You Do, too. I also have this great lip gloss that is in a beautiful container that I put on a lot. Next time you put on lip gloss, just look around and see just how many guys actually watch you do this. It’s quite hilarious.

Why don't you put hippie!Ross tied to a tree in every single fic from now on? I should! I can’t even think of a reason why I shouldn’t. Actually, Pete Wentz told me that if I used hippie!Ross again he’d send Gabe Saporta after me and my future children. I’m thinking about the kids.

would you consider writing slash involving Jon's temp replacement, Dallon Brobeck? even if its only a cameo? because honestly, he's talented, hot, and sarcastic. great character. If I get to know his character a little better, sure. Is there a primer somewhere? I don’t like to focus a story on people unless I think that I have a good grasp of what they’re about. Or what I think they’re about. For instance, I didn’t start writing Panic! Fanfiction until like six months into fandom. But Dallon seems like a cool dude. And yes, hot :D

In You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights But You Were Looking Straight At Meat the end did Brendon ever get anything from his parents after Mary got home. Any sort of letter or acknowledgment? No. His parents pretty much wrote both of their sons off. Lost generation indeed.

why did you give brendon amnesia and not ryan? how do you think the story would differ if it had been ryan instead? The amnesia story is one of my favorites, and I spent a lot of time thinking about the roles for each character. It’s based off of the Wesley/Fred/Illyria relationship in Angel. I really suggest watching season five – it’ll break your heart. Anyway, I chose Brendon to lose his memory because I wanted the one who remembered – Ryan – to have a sense of desperate control. To me, Brendon would be overflowing with emotion, which is interesting, yes, but Ryan just seemed that much more fascinating. If it were Ryan that lost his memory? Brendon would be torn, but I think that he would transfer his feelings easier than Ryan. I chose Ryan to remember because I think he does just that – remember. Brendon tends to accept change in the ones he loves with grace. Ryan is more stubborn, and in a way, I found that more wonderfully tragic.

Why haven’t you written more bloodplay Or a gangster panic group? Or A WEREWOLF FIC? OMG Lol. I’m actually not one for bloodplay. I wrote a vampire fic because 1. Vampires are badass, especially Dandy!Brendon and 2. I was asked by…somebody…to write bloodplay. It’s not my kink though, sorry! As for a gangster or werewolf fic? I don’t think I would do either justice. I’m not well-versed enough in either fantasies and would probably just fuck up royally.

Will you start writing Brendon/Spencer now that Ryan left and is a complete tool? No. I love Spencer, but he’s not Brendon’s One. I will always stand by the belief that Ryan and Brendon were made for each other, were brought together for a reason. And even though there are obstacles now, I think they’ll come back to each other one day. I really do.

can you do a fic where one is leaving the other. but they're not together, just bffs or something. and its like. angst. a lot of angst. but not completely canon. but just. angst. your angst is the best . i miss it. Actually, I like that idea a lot. But I may have to make there be a little bit of romance. Just because :D I’ll have to think of a way to make it different from “Hail the Seasons”. But I do like this idea!

Do you like pears? I hate pears. I’m really anti-pear. Yes, in fact, I do. I’m sorry that you’re missing out on such a great fruit.

EDIT: feel free to ask more questions in the comments, if you'd like - I'll update here

In The Strip, how did you decide to have Keltie go after Brendon, when it isn't really canonical at all I had Keltie go after Brendon because I saw Brendon as the character who would go to lower moral grounds to keep his job. Something that she could no doubt also see. And everyone pretty much knew that Ryan was gay on the set - I liked the idea of a wholly homosexual Ryan. Something you don't see enough of. Also, I liked the fact that I hadn't seen much Keltie/Brendon before. Plus, honestly, at the time, I wasn't the biggest fan of Ryan/Keltie, so I didn't want to put any more of it out into the universe, lol.

Which, out of all your fics, is your least favorite? (please please do not say the one with merlin/arthur because that is most definitely in my top 10 favorite fics of all time) There are a couple that I cringe when I think about the fact that I wrote them, but to answer your question, I'm gonna have to go with You Probably Couldn’t See for the Lights But You Were Looking Straight At Me. I think that I didn't wait long enough to write it. I should have held out for a couple more months. I really like the idea - the idea of Panic as the Lost Generation - but I don't think I did it justice. If I could rewrite something, that would be the first on my list.

Writer's Block

2009-08-01T16:24:56Z

I've been trying to write all morning, but *sigh* I don't know. It's just not flowing.
So, I've decided to try something.
Basically, it's to try and help me figure out some of my writing craziness.

Comments are screened.

Ask me questions. Anything about my writing.
For instance:
Why did you stop *insert story name here* there?
What happens to *insert name* after the end of *insert story name*?
*Random object* seems kinda strange in *story name*, why the fuck did you include it?

Anything.
Everything.
Something bug you? Baffle you? Annoy you? Move you? Let me know.

I'll answer things in another post.

Also, feel free to go anon, if you want.

Reverberations (standalone)

2009-07-09T22:07:35Z

I lied. Here it is:
Title: Reverberations (standalone)
Author: ivesia19 / Sara
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: vague vague vague Brendon/Ryan
POV: 3rd person limited (Brendon)
Summary: It’s awkward. Brendon knew it would be, but he had figured that when, that if, Ryan showed up, there would be other people around to smooth things over. To be buffers.
Disclaimer: If I actually owned these boys, life would be a lot different right now. So no, they’re not mine. This is fiction.
Beta: 0bamboo_shoots0, who not only corrected my mistakes here, but also metaphorically has been holding my hand this past week over the phone.
Author Notes: This is a future canon fic, meaning that this is one projected view of where the boys will be in two years. This isn’t a simple situation, no matter what your views, so if you want something happy or sad, I’m sure you’ll find a story for you out there. This isn’t it.

-----

Brendon pulls off the headphones when Spencer grins and nods from the other side of the glass where he’s lounging with his feet propped up close to the soundboard. Thankfully, his shoes didn’t hit any buttons, but Brendon hadn’t really worried about that, so he hadn’t yelled at Spencer to be careful.

He trusts Spencer.

When Brendon swings the door open to the sound room, Spencer puts his feet down and allows Brendon past so that he can slump into his own soft, comfortable chair. It isn’t that recording is actually physically strenuous. Brendon knows that an hour out on the waves is far more trying on his muscles, but he takes a deep breath all the same, and Spencer pats his arm. Though it may not make Brendon’s shoulder’s hurt or thighs strain, recording definitely takes a toll on him, though not as much as it used to.

“This is so much better than the last album,” Brendon says, and his voice is still in that mindset of singing, so his words sort of linger, rolling over one another as he talks.

Spencer nods in agreement, but he doesn’t say anything. They rarely talk about that.

Their last album, the one where after months of sitting around in indecision Brendon and Spencer finally went along on their own, had been difficult. When Brendon had been singing then, laying down the tracks, there had been no interruptive monotone, no voice saying No, Brendon. That’s not how I want it to sound. There had been fewer fights. Less exhausting days of pointed silence and glaring eyes. There had also been something missing, something huge and unnamable, though Brendon knew that if he had to name it, he could.

It had taken Brendon and Spencer a while to get over Ryan and Jon leaving. Brendon had tried to hide the hurt, the confusion, he was feeling. He’s been pretty successful.

It’s been more than two years since the day that Jon – Jon, not Ryan - had told Brendon and Spencer that they were leaving, and Brendon’s never really let himself deal with what that really meant. What it still means.

“Do you want to hit up some Mexican before you crash?” Spencer asks. In the background, just behind him, there are other people who are moving around, already perfecting what Brendon sang today, matching it to Spencer’s steady drum and the guitar tracks that Brendon had done last week. He knows all of their names – Spencer does, too – but neither one of them extends the invitation. It’s just easier with the two of them.

“Sure,” Brendon says. He pulls himself out of the chair and smiles at the tech guys as he leaves. “Thanks for another great day, guys,” he says.

For this album, Pete has gone all out. He’s giving Spencer and Brendon whatever they want. He’s giving them time and money – giving them that ever-present encouragement, the one that only intensified after the split. It’s a hollow victory, one that Brendon doesn’t even know he could call a victory, that Pete has never wavered from them. From the beginning, Pete had been the one with the clipped tone when talking about Ryan and Jon. Even when Spencer had been mad – angry that his best friends were slipping – it was Pete who was furious.

Pete had been good to Brendon and Spencer, though. Supportive. During their first album alone – without Ryan and Jon – Pete had been there most days, sitting in the other room, watching Brendon and Spencer through the glass, an indistinguishable look on his face.

Sometimes, when Brendon’s sitting in the recording studio, their fucking nice recording studio, Brendon remembers Maryland. He remembers when the wires would fuck up and Ryan’s face would set in a stony silence for days. He remembers being rushed and terrified. Sometimes, Brendon can remember all of it – the days, the nights, the feelings – but it’s times like that that Brendon tries not to.

---

Brendon has never told Spencer, but he went to see Jon and Ryan’s band play once.

It had been after they had come back from doing a couple tours with Blink and Fall Out Boy when things were really still unsettled. It was right after that first wave of playing in front of fans – in front of people who loved their music, loved them – and without Ryan and Jon, the stage had felt so fucking big.

He doesn’t remember now how he had heard about the show, but Brendon still remembers it vividly. It was in a dingy little club, a place that Brendon had never been before and his GPS insisted didn’t exist.

When he went, Brendon wore dark clothes, clothes that were meant to blend in, though with what people around him were wearing, Brendon couldn’t help but feel like he did nothing but stand out. He had been sure that Ryan would recognize him, sure that Jon would. Or Eric or Alex, but no one did.

The entire set, just barely twenty minutes, Brendon had stayed in the back of the club, leaning up against one of the paint chipped columns. He had watched them onstage, watched Ryan sing, and though his first instinct had been to flee when Ryan sang the first note, Brendon had stayed through it all.

When the music had stopped playing, though, and some other band came on stage, Brendon had left.

He didn’t want to stick around and go through an awkward conversation. Watching Ryan and Jon up there, it was obvious to Brendon that he wasn’t needed – wasn’t missed.

Ryan had just seemed so different, so distant, so when he watched Ryan lean his guitar up against the side of the one wall and hop down from the stage, long legs wobbling only slightly as they steadied him, Brendon slipped out the door, not even bothering to wonder if Ryan missed him.

---

The thing about Spencer’s birthday is that he used to share it with Ryan. That first year after the split, Brendon had had to deal with Spencer. During the party itself – small, mostly just friends from the label – Spencer had seemed fine. To everyone else, at least. By then, though, Brendon had known Spencer well enough to know when he was lying. Spencer hadn’t talked about Ryan at all, hadn’t asked about Ryan’s birthday, even though Spencer and Brendon had both known that a couple of people had been to Ryan’s party the week before. They’d been on the east coast, promoting, though Brendon had wondered at the time and still wonders now if Pete hadn’t just arranged that so they wouldn’t have had to worry about not being invited.

This year, though, Spencer’s birthday is going to be bigger. It’s in two and a half weeks, and in between finalizing the new album and trying to convince himself that he’s okay with his latest relationship failing, Brendon is trying to throw a party.

“Let’s go over the list again,” Zack says, grabbing it out of Brendon’s hand before Brendon even has the option of handing it over. Brendon watches Zack’s face carefully as Zack’s eyes flit over the names written down. When Zack reaches the end of the list, he pauses for a second, just like Brendon knew he would do. “Are you sure?” he asks.

Zack had tried to be there for everyone in the beginning, but in the end, Ryan and Jon had chosen Zack’s place for him.

“They used to be our best friends,” Brendon starts, but he doesn’t meet Zack’s gaze. Instead, he looks down, the bright flowers surrounding his keyboard tattoo catching his eye.

“Yeah,” Zack says, and even though he’s a big guy and could probably squash Brendon with one hand, his voice is low and soft. “Used to be, Bden.”

“It’s not like we hate each other,” Brendon says. With his eyes, Brendon traces the shapes of the flowers, taking in how they curl around the keys of the piano, but when he stops himself, he crosses his arms. “Plus, Spencer deserves a great birthday this year.”

Zack frowns, just slightly, and says, “Are you sure that Spencer would even like them to come?”

And no, Brendon doesn’t know if Spencer really wants Ryan and Jon there. He knows that Spencer still has a lot of anger – a lot of resentment. It’s always been Brendon who puts on the happy face, who writes the messages, who handles the questions when it’s brought up, but Brendon knows what family means. He knows what forgiveness means.

“He won’t ask for it,” Brendon says. “He won’t ask for it, but it’s what he needs. It’ll be good, Zack,” he promises. “I think it would help him to just finally deal with it, you know? End it.”

The look Zack gives Brendon is strange. The set of his mouth is almost sympathetic, and he says, “Brendon, I think that Spencer has dealt with it.”

Brendon pretends his face doesn’t burn hot, and when Zack hands him the list back, he doesn’t cross out Jon and Ryan’s names. Though, he doesn’t look at them, either.

---

Brendon’s family talks to him more often now. His mom calls every couple days, voice soothing and comforting and familiar through the sometimes shitty reception. When it happened, when Jon and Ryan left, she had said it was for the best. “He was a bad influence, honey,” she had said then, and Brendon hadn’t said anything, but he knew she was thinking more about shared body heat than chemicals rushing through willing veins.

Ginger, Spencer’s mom, hadn’t taken it so well. “She’s worried about Ryan,” Spencer had said. “He won’t talk to her – won’t pick up her phone calls.” Brendon had always known that he had more in common with his friends’ mom than his own.

Now, on the phone, Ginger sighs. “Brendon, sweetheart, I know you just want to make things right, but I don’t know if it’s going to help to try and force things.”

Brendon’s not trying to force anything, he really isn’t. He just wants Spencer to have a good birthday party with his friends. With the people who know him best – who knew him best. He isn’t asking for any miracles.

“I’m just going to invite them,” Brendon says. “If they don’t come, it’s fine, and Spencer will never have to know about it. If he doesn’t know, he won’t be hurt by it.”

“Oh, Brendon, you know that’s not who I’m worried about.”

He doesn’t know what Ginger means by that, but he has an idea, so he doesn’t ask her to clarify.

---

The party is going to be held at his house. It’s just him in the house. He doesn’t have to worry about roommates or girlfriends or boyfriends or neighbors, really. It’s just him and his dogs.

He does, though, have to hide the hastily scrawled out invitations when Spencer comes over for a movie night. Before he throws them in his utensil drawer, Brendon makes a mental note to send them out tomorrow, and just in case, he jots the word send on his hand in dark blue ink.

Spencer lets himself in like he always does. Yells hello to Brendon before he throws himself down on the couch and asks for a beer.

The talk between them is easy. They talk about Spencer’s girlfriend, about the progress of the new album, they talk about the newest flavor of pop tarts and whether or not they should watch a movie or channel surf.

They don’t talk about what Pete told them earlier: that Ryan and Jon had been dropped by their tiny Indie label. But when Pete had told them the news, something very much like numbness had spread through Brendon’s body. He had expected sympathy, had expected vindication – after all, they had all seen this coming, but when Pete had broken the news, there was nothing.

“Let’s just see what’s On Demand,” Spencer says, grabbing the remote just as Bogart jumps up to butt his head against Brendon’s hand.

Brendon just makes a noise of agreement, not really caring what Spencer picks. They usually have the same taste in movies, anyway.

---

Brendon remembered to send the invitations out, and the same day that they finally wrap production on the new album, he has a text message from a number that he hasn’t seen flashing on his phone in years.

I’ll be there it says, and when Spencer asks him what’s wrong, Brendon doesn’t have the words to answer, so he just forces a smile.

---

Jon doesn’t respond, but Brendon figures that if Ryan is coming then Jon probably is, too. Just in case, he buys the beer that Jon likes, that stupid expensive imported shit, and he’s lugging the last of it into the kitchen when his doorbell rings.

His first thought he has is that the party isn’t until tomorrow, and it’s the first thing that he can think of to say when he opens the door and sees Ryan standing there.

Ryan’s hair is long again, far longer than the last time Brendon had seen in a picture of him, but it’s just like Brendon remembers. He’s still wearing one of those stupid long flowered button down shirt, still wearing a vest, still wearing ridiculous shoes. Everything about his appearance is so familiar, and when Ryan takes off his sunglasses and squints at Brendon, that’s familiar, too.

“Tomorrow?” One of Ryan’s hand reaches back to scratch at the back of his head, and when he does so, his sleeve inches up and Brendon can see the barest hint of his tattoo. He can remember what it had felt like, days after Ryan had gone – the slight raised edge.

“Yeah,” Brendon says. It’s awkward. Brendon knew it would be, but he had figured that when, that if, Ryan showed up, there would be other people around to smooth things over. To be buffers. He doesn’t really know what to do from here, it doesn’t fit into any of the scenarios that he had played out in his mind, so he just goes with being polite. “Do you want to come in?”

Ryan hesitates a moment. He bites his lip for a second, and something inside Brendon hurts when he remembers what that means. He’s fully expecting Ryan to say no, fully expecting him to stumble backward and not come back, but Ryan nods his head and says, “Okay.”

Brendon backs up, giving room for Ryan to pass, and when he does so, Brendon can smell the faint hint of smoke, dark and rich like from a campfire, and he tries not to think about the cabin.

“You’ve redecorated,” Ryan says, standing in the middle of the living room. It’s surreal after all this time, this image of his old best friend with his arms crossed awkwardly around himself. “You got a new couch.”

“Well, it’s been awhile,” Brendon says. Ryan nods, body still curled into himself a little, and Brendon fights himself not to give into his nervous tick at all the tension. “Do you want something to drink? Sit down, I’ll get you something.”

Brendon can hear Ryan sit down on the couch, and just as he makes his way into the kitchen to fetch them some water, Brendon hears Ryan say, soft and low, “Bogart, you got so big,” followed by the clink of a dog tag rustling. He pours two glasses of water, and inside, he’s trying to tell himself that it’s no big deal. He has run into Ryan a couple times since the split. But still, now seems different. Now, it’s just the two of them.

“Here you go,” Brendon says as he hands Ryan his water (Ryan’s been sober for two months. Brendon knows this, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t say anything about it). He sits down on the same couch as Ryan, but there’s a cushion between them leaving a wide space that Bogart soon jumps up and fills. “So,” Brendon starts, and his voice sounds a little rough, so he takes a sip of water, “how have you been?”

“Good,” Ryan replies. “Better.” His long fingers scratch at Bogart’s head, and his eyes are locked there, too. He’s not really looking at Brendon.

“I, uh, I heard your last album,” Brendon says. “It was really good.” He says it because he doesn’t really know what else to say. He says it because it’s true. Even though part of him was hoping that it would be terrible, would be terrible without him, it was good.

Ryan nods, hands and eyes still fixated on Bogart.

“Spence and I just wrapped up on the new album,” Brendon tries. Ryan must have something to say, must have an opinion about it. Even though he never said anything about the last album other than that he didn’t want to be a part of it.

“That’s-” Ryan starts, but then his words die. When he opens it next, what comes out isn’t what Brendon is expecting at all. “Do you know that every time I write something, it’s your voice that plays in my head?”

No, Brendon didn’t know that.

Ryan finally looks up, eyes bright and clear. There’s no mist lingering, nothing that hints at a lie. “I still don’t think that it was a mistake,” Ryan says.

“Okay.” The word is thick, and it burns in Brendon’s throat.

“We had to do it,” Ryan continues.

“Uh huh.” Words are too much to ask now, and Brendon looks away, but Ryan’s hand reaches up and brings him back.

“I’m sorry, though.”

---

The party goes well.

Spencer acts surprised, even though Brendon suspects that he knew about it all along. Somehow, he always knows.

There’s music and laughter and hugs and kisses, and Spencer gets more useless shit than he’ll ever be able to use.

When Ryan comes in, on the right day this time, Spencer doesn’t hesitate to hug him. He doesn’t falter a moment when Jon claps him on the back, but Brendon’s stomach clenches as Ryan crosses the room to talk to him.

“I’ll help you clean up after, if you want,” Ryan says, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Jon drove, but I can have someone pick me up later.”

There’s something in his eyes when he says that, something that makes Brendon think of when he worked at the Smoothie Hut and Ryan said that sharing a mattress was no big deal. Something that makes Brendon remember the beginning.

“Thanks,” he says, and later, when everyone leaves and the lights don’t seem to shine quite as bright, Ryan will say “I missed you,” and Brendon will repeat the words that Ryan had given him.

---

other stories

BBB is here!

2009-06-27T15:50:51Z

Hey, f-list!
My BBB is up - check it out!
I promise you epic love!

Grace Note: Masterpost

2009-06-26T19:44:48Z

Grace Note

Band(s): Patd, Fob, MCR (a couple people stolen from SC, HS)
Pairing(s): Brendon/Ryan (unrequited Brendon/Jon, side Pete/Mikey and Frank/Gerard)
Word Count: ~32,500 words
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Ever since he got that letter seven years ago, Ryan’s life has been one dictated by routine. He visits his therapist, Gerard, twice a week; he writes small editorials for the music magazine he works for; and every time his mom’s name comes up on his cell phone, he sends her straight to voicemail. When he finally takes a chance, finally gets the opportunity to write a feature article for his magazine, something he’s been dreaming about, Ryan realizes that life is full of surprises, especially when he is assigned to find out why Brendon Urie, the lead singer of the popular “Industry of Being” , up and left his bandmates, apparently suffering from a manic episode.
POV:3rd person limited (Ryan)
Disclaimer:AU – The boys belong to themselves (and possibly each other)
Author Notes:Thanks to the mods of bandombigbang - you all did an amazing job. Special thanks to starlesscities,alphabetatoast,redorchids, and habezweichai (along with anyone else who I missed!) for giving me the motivation to finish (and for helping me with my stupid mistakes).

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five (final part)

Bonus Tracks/Enhanced Content

Fanart:
It’s about being lost. It’s about being lonely and looking for someone who knows what it’s like. Someone who can help by realproof

Fanmix(es):

learn to drown before you learn to swim by loreleilynn

Sleeping Through Autumn by habezweichai