Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As the youngest of five children, Brendon Urie understands about hand-me-downs. In all his life he's never worn anything - except for underwear - that hadn't been worn by at least one of his brothers, or, more often that not because of his size, one of his sisters. In the seventh grade he taught himself to sew so he could make alterations to the clothes he was expected to wear as long as they "basically" fit or "did the job." It isn't that his family's poor exactly, but most of their money goes to the church, and Brendon grew up knowing not to ask for things he didn't need, and even then, it was best to wait patiently and hope that someone noticed.

It's not even so bad really, he is a pretty awesome seamstress-tailor person by the age of sixteen and he totally bedazzled some of the clothes he smuggles out to wear at school, because he gets shoved around and called a faggot anyway. He can at least be sparkly while they're saying it.

The other thing that's good about a lifetime of hand-me-downs is that it's really given Brendon an eye for hidden treasures. He's gotten pretty hawk-like about it, constantly watching his siblings out of the corner of his eye, waiting for signs the shirts or books or shoes he's had his eyes on are starting to get a little worn, starting to fit wrong, and then he can make his move. Sometimes his parents notice first, and arm-fulls of clothes get exchanged around on the hallway of their house, but by the time Brendon's a teenager most of the others' growing is done, so he has to be a lot more mercenary and crafty about it.

It's a valuable skill, is the thing, and ultimately, it's what makes Brendon notice Ryan.

He sees Ryan in his classes, always sitting in the front seat of whatever corner of the room is closest to the door. He sees when Ryan listens in class like he's barely breathing, he's concentrating so hard, and he sees the times when Ryan is completely absorbed in a book carefully hidden behind one of his class textbooks. He sees Ryan having lunch with a different set of people every couple months, sometimes weeks; he sees the careful, guarded look behind Ryan's flat, empty smiles.

He sees Ryan biking away from school everyday and he sees Ryan hunched against the bike racks every morning, eating a granola bar and staring up at the sky.

He sees Ryan scribbling in notebooks and closing his eyes and curling his fists whenever someone accidentally brushes against him in the halls, sees him coil up and struggle to hold himself there, tension making his back stiff.

He sees Ryan with a busted lip and a broken hand. He sees Ryan come out of the guys; bathroom with a wild, defiant look in his face and blood in his hair.

He sees Ryan,and Brendon knows that Ryan would be like one of those t-shirts that's been washed way too many times, so worn-through it's almost translucent, with a few real holes showing through to skin, but soft. Soft and just the perfect fit, clinging to your skin in all the right places.

He sees Ryan and thinks Ryan looks like this pair of jeans that nobody really wanted, passed down through both of this brothers, abandoned in a closet for almost a year and then finally dumped on the floor one night for him to make use of after he mentioned kind of needing new jeans earlier that night at the dinner table. Because they hadn't really liked them, the jeans had been worn for rougher things; they were ripped at at the cuffs from bike spokes and there were paint splatters from when his oldest brother had repainted his room.

But Brendon had patched over the paint with an old paisley button-up that didn't stretch over his shoulders anymore, and he'd needed to re-cuff the bottoms anyway because they were too long. He took the legs in a bit too, making them tighter, and just because he wanted to he put a rhinestone at the center of both back pockets. He could even wear them out of the house on his way to school, as long as his shirt was long enough to cover it, and he'd always either tuck it in or change once he arrived.

They were totally his favorite pair now.

So Brendon is smart like that; he knows when not to pass off an opportunity just cause it comes to him a little faded and under-appreciated.

Not that he's gonna like... explain it to Ryan like that, so instead he just plunks himself down beside Ryan one day when he notices Ryan is between... not friends, but well. When the space beside him is currently without any particular occupants.

Brendon doesn't say anything, just sits down and starts eating his lunch. Ryan looks at him for a second, just out of the corner of his eye, but then he goes back to eating his own food. Carrot sticks and peanut butter. Brendon remains quiet, but silently approves.

Brendon waits a week of silent lunches before saying, "I'm Brendon," in between a bite of sandwich and a gulp of chocolate milk.

Ryan looks at him again, but doesn't respond.

Another week goes by and Brendon says, "Hey man, you want one of these?" He's got homemade cookies today, ones his sister made, so there are lots of extra chocolate chips. They're delicious.

Ryan looks at him, not the cookie, "You know what my name is. We're in all the same classes."

Brendon shrugs and waves the cookie invitingly. "Sure dude, but do you want a cookie? You will not be disappointed, they're seriously awesome."

Ryan narrows his eyes a little. "You know my name. How come you don't call me by it." There's not enough inflection in his tone to really call it a question, it comes out sounding more like he's daring Brendon to answer.

Brendon could say, "I'm just the kind of person who likes to call people dude, dude." But instead he tells the truth, "You haven't told me it yet. Until you do I have to guess it's cause you don't want me to know it."

Ryan glares at him and Brendon stares back. It's good he's decided to go the whole "honesty" route with Ryan. The guy has a seriously penetrating stare.

Ryan blinks first. He takes the cookie.

They don't say another word to each other that lunch, but at the end day, as they're filing out of the building, Ryan turns over his shoulder to Brendon and says, "Ryan. My name is Ryan."

Brendon nods, and allows himself to smile, just a little. "Okay, Ryan, I'll see you tomorrow."

Ryan doesn't smile, but for half a second something changes in his eyes. "Yeah. See you tomorrow, Brendon."

---

The thing about Brendon that Ryan doesn't get yet is that Brendon keeps things. Maybe it's because he's the youngest, and there's never been anyone left to hand stuff down to, but Brendon doesn't throw stuff out. Ever.

When clothes rip beyond repair, or stop fitting, or get threadbare enough that his mom yells at him when she sees him in them, he always finds something else to do with them. He makes patches out of his favorite shirts, sometimes to cover real holes or stains, sometimes cut into patterns he arranges up the leg of his jeans, or on his backpack. There are stars cut out of a red shirt that he put on the shoulders of his jacket, and his favorite shirt is a purple one he got from his sister that he put a sloppily cut-out green heart onto.

Ryan almost smiles at Brendon the day he wears it for the first time, which Brendon is completely willing to admit is why it's his favorite.

One almost-smile aside, Ryan seems to have absolutely no opinion of Brendon and his continued presence at Ryan's side at all lunches and most walks from one class to another. He doesn't seem to mind having Brendon around, he just appears calmly indifferent. Sometimes Brendon catches Ryan looking at him a little sharply, but as soon as Brendon catches his eyes Ryan turns back to looking cool and composed.

Over two months into their... whatever it is (Brendon kind of thinks of it as a rescue mission, only he isn't entirely sure which one of them he thinks he's going to end up saving and that's always where the thoughts get muddled in his head) Ryan misses a couple days of school.

Brendon reminds himself that this happens sometimes, that you don't even have to know who he is to know that Ryan Ross misses school a lot and comes back with weird injuries and an even tighter set in his shoulders. But see, because he totally knows that second part too, it's kind of impossible not to freak out the entire time.

He almost goes to Ryan's house, like almost breaks into the secretary's office and finds Ryan's file and his address so he can just go there, just to see, but even while he is concocting this admittedly ridiculous plan, Ryan shows up, late for class, but actually there.

Brendon gives himself 30 seconds to scream with relief on the inside while grinning like a buffoon on the outside before making his face blank as he looks over at Ryan, doing his best to make it look like he's not checking Ryan over for injuries while he does just that. There's a gash across Ryan's left eyebrow, a cut just shy of deep enough to need stitches, and that's all Brendon can see. That's not all that's there, but that's all Brendon can see.

He smiles at Ryan cause he can't do anything else, not from across the room and probably not even if he wasn't, but Ryan inclines his head, just for a second, and Brendon will take what he can get. He'll take whatever Ryan is willing to give.

Class seems excruciatingly long, unforgivably so, but finally it ends and Ryan hangs back, which he never does, and waits until everyone else has left the classroom before flicking his eyes over to Brendon. Brendon meets Ryan's eyes and in a flash Brendon swears he sees something like resignation, something like regret, in Ryan's eyes, and then he's turning away and walking out of the room.

Brendon gathers up his books and races after Ryan, but slows down again as soon as he catches up, giving Ryan room.

He hovers a few feet away as Ryan puts his books away in his locker, ignoring Brendon. As he reaches up to grab his Calc textbook Ryan suddenly hisses in pain and folds in on himself. Ryan stays hunched and Brendon takes a quick, involuntary step closer.

He's still a good foot and a half away but Ryan hisses, "Just cause I told you my fucking name doesn't mean you can fucking touch me."

Brendon blinks, surprised, but holds up his hands in reassurance, "I wasn't going to."

The thought never occurred to him. Touches to Brendon mean punishments or the hugs that come afterwards, the ones that come with his father saying, "I don't want to have to do that again, Brendon. I hope you've learned your lesson."

He can't fully imagine what touches mean to Ryan, but Brendon certainly isn't going to be someone who adds to the list. Not without permission, not unless Ryan asks.

Ryan looks surprised, and Brendon is guessing Ryan's surprised because he actually believes him. Telling Ryan the truth continues to be Brendon's best friend.

Ryan even offers Brendon a careful, "Oh."

Brendon puts his hands down and takes a step back, just cause Ryan looks like he needs it.

They stand there like that, Ryan watching Brendon with careful, cool defiance, daring him to say the wrong thing, to say whatever he expects Brendon to say that has him ready, poised on his heels to spin away and never look back. Brendon draws into himself for a second and then lets his eyes flick deliberately over Ryan's cut. Ryan's eyes narrowed just a fraction, but Brendon just shake his head and says, unimpressed, "I've seen worse."

For a second Ryan just continues to stare, but suddenly he flicks his bangs off his face and actually laughs.

It's easily the best sound Brendon has ever heard.

---

Ryan doesn't exactly warm up after that, but he stops holding himself so stiff whenever Brendon leaves a room. Brendon didn't even realize Ryan was doing it until he stops, but he can see it now, in the way that Ryan sometimes even lets his eyes follow Brendon for a second before he's out of sight, now, so different from the way he'd kept them carefully away from Brendon as he'd left so many times before. He doesn't quite smile, whenever Brendon comes back, when he arrives at a shared class or sits down at lunch, but he never starts eating until Brendon arrives. They have every class together except the last of the morning, and Brendon has his class at the other end of the school, so he always gets there after Ryan until the Wednesday his class lets out early, something off with the clocks, and Brendon beats Ryan to their table.

He's got his food spread out before him but he's not eating, waiting patiently, good like Ryan is. He's flipping through a book, just passing the time, and he actually hears it when Ryan stutters to a stop in front of the table.

He looks unreasonably shocked to see Brendon there. He's holding his books in front of his chest.

Brendon wonders how many careless, foolish people have simply forgotten about Ryan when he wasn't there, right in front of them waiting to remind them.

Brendon gives Ryan a small, simple smile. "I've got peanut butter and cheese today, you want half?" He holds up his sandwich enticingly.

Ryan makes a disgusted face and Brendon tries to moderate his grin.

"You practicing your super-speed today?" Ryan asks, oh-so casually.

Brendon wants to roll his eyes, so damn fond, but he can't. Careful. Always careful.

Instead he shrugs, "I think someone was messing with the clocks. Or they're just getting ahead in that room." He shakes his head. "The world is an imperfect place."

Ryan cracks what passes, most days, for his realest smile, "Coming apart at the seams."

He takes half of Brendon's sandwich without having to be offered again.

---

The only thing Brendon likes about his school, other than Ryan and coming in a distinct second, is that it actually has a decent music program. It's not funded much better than any other, but they have a choir director whose dedication borders on mania, and he actually cares about getting kids to sing, getting them to "find their voice." It's an expression he uses a lot, and that some kids snigger at, but Brendon can't help be won over by Mr. Way's endless enthusiasm, his seemingly boundless sincerity.

Lots of kids are in the normal choir, it's considered a fairly easy credit, but you have to try out for jazz choir. Normally you have to be a senior or a junior to get in, but that November, prepping for the Christmas concert, Brendon tries out anyway, and he actually makes it. Mr. Way beams at him once he finishes singing, and tells him he has a strong voice, a confident voice.

Brendon just shrugs and says, "Well, I've always been in ward choir."

Mr. Way just smiles and says, "That sometimes helps."

They have extra practices, twice a week after school, and while he's surprised by the development, Ryan actually notices. Even more surprising, Ryan notices and calls Brendon on it.

"You in some kind of trouble I don't know about?" He keeps his voice light. As if that isn't an alarm bell on its own.

Brendon hides a smile at himself for thinking he's getting so good at this. Maybe he's not so smart, maybe Ryan's just finally letting him in a little.

Either way, it's pretty hard to keep his face mostly neutral when he says, "Youthful delinquency, you know how it goes."

Ryan looks at him sharply, his hand flutters for a second, but he doesn't raise it anywhere near Brendon.

Now Brendon does let himself smile, "Jazz choir."

Ryan's eyes widen in surprise this time, not suspicion. "Really?"

Brendon nods. "It's not a big deal. I mean, it's really fun, but," he shrugs, "I know it's kind of a nerdy thing to do." Not that he actually expects Ryan to judge, not about something like that. There hasn't a time yet Ryan hasn't had a new book somewhere on his person when Brendon saw him.

Ryan's eyes narrow up, back to his more typical calculating stare.

Brendon tries to figure out what he's thinking, get to the answer before Ryan has to decide if he's willing to risk the question, but Ryan's more decisive than usual, "Can I come watch?"

To hell with discretion, Brendon beams so bright they can probably see it from space.

---

He has a solo to work on that practice, Imagine, and Mr. Way keeps him about twenty minutes after normal practice ends, going over things together. Brendon wasn't sure he'd be able to manage it, with Ryan there, but he loses himself in the music like always, listening only to Mr. Way's instructions and the sounds he's trying to get out of his voice.

When they finally decide to call it a day, Brendon walks to the back of the room to collect his bag, his jacket, and Ryan. Ryan is sitting alarmingly still in his seat, but his eyes follow all of Brendon's movements.

Brendon grins cheesily and says, "So I'm a total rockstar, right?"

Ryan doesn't say anything, but he stands abruptly and starts to stride out of the room, he jerks his head once, and Brendon takes the command to follow.

Once they're out in the hall Ryan paces in a half circle, never straying more that three feet from Brendon. He waves his hand like he wants to do something with it, but he just can't make himself. Brendon stays where he is, waits Ryan out.

Ryan takes a sudden step forward, reaching out and actually grabbing Brendon's elbow. He doesn't pull on it, or shake it, but he holds on, fingers clamping around tight. Brendon's heart hammers in his chest, shock and something else, but he doesn't move.

"You can sing," Ryan hisses at Brendon, although he doesn't really seem like Brendon's who he's talking to. Not really.

It's different the second time though. Ryan squeezes down, just a little, and when he looks up at Brendon there's a smile on his face, a whole smile, bright and real.

"Brendon, you can sing."

Brendon smiles, and lets himself feel proud, "Dude, I told you I was a frigging rockstar."

Ryan shakes his head, but it doesn't look like he's disagreeing with him.

---

It takes another week, and then Ryan watches Brendon as he sits down at the table at lunch, careful eyes like they haven't been, not quite so sharp, not for awhile.

Brendon stretches his fingers out in a little wave, "What's up?" He's brave enough to ask that now. Even two weeks ago he wouldn't have been.

Ryan shakes his head, but pushes something into Brendon's hands.

It's a notebook. Brendon's seen Ryan writing it in at least a dozen times. His hands shake a little, but he doesn't open it.

"What's this?"

Ryan's eyes flick back and forth between random points in the cafeteria; he looks like he's shaking too. Brendon almost wants to give it back. But he can see what it took for Ryan to work up the courage to give it to him once.

"Songs," Ryan eventually says, and then immediately shakes his head, "Not real songs. Just... just lyrics. Some guitar parts but not... mostly just words."

"Your words," Brendon says, softly. He wonders if Ryan knows, if he's ever been in a church. If you have to have been to be able to recognize reverence.

The way Ryan looks back at him, Brendon thinks maybe he does know. One way or another.

"I thought." He nods at Brendon slightly. "I can't sing. I can't make them into anything. I thought maybe you'd. You know. Try."

Brendon thinks about reaching over, taking Ryan's long, fluttering fingers into his. Instead he holds on tighter to Ryan's notebook. Onto Ryan's words.

"I can never write anything, myself. But if you want it, I can give you my voice." For all that he's always so careful, he still hasn't quite learned to do anything but be honest with Ryan.

Ryan's hands settle back into his lap, his smile is careful, but there. Real. He says, "I can play guitar a little. I was thinking we could work on some songs. Like, together."

Brendon's hands clench tighter around the binding of the book, "Together it is."

---

Brendon wants to start right away, and he can tell Ryan does too, but Ryan insists on Brendon taking the night to look over the lyrics.

He looks away from Brendon as he says, "Just so, you know," and then waves his hand vaguely.

Brendon wants to catch it out of the air and squeeze.

Instead he says, "Can't wait."

Ryan looks a little sad, but he almost smiles.

---

Reading Ryan's words is harder than Brendon expected. He knew he was going to be impressed, and he is. But he's also frightened. There's more in Ryan's head than even Brendon had guessed. More anger, more layers of distrust and confusion. And at the same time, they're so fucking honest. So deeply, starkly raw.

There's a song Brendon can only assume is about Ryan's father, and he can already hear the music, fast and aggressively pop, a dizzying dance to go along with the way the words clench down on your heart.

There's also a song Brendon's pretty sure is about him. There's something like hope and the willingness to want layered deep underneath and scornfully denied by the quick, mocking phrases.

Scavenger comes back again, through the looking glass, back through again,
Who do you think you see when you're looking through me,

Brendon tries to put the words in his mouth and he ends up crying. He cries for a minute straight and then he makes himself sing the words until they belong to him too. Until he knows how to sing them so they can't hurt either of them anymore.

---

Ryan is waiting for Brendon the next morning, leaning against the gray brick of the school. His arms are folded loosely against his chest. There's something sorry behind the challenging look in his eyes.

Brendon shifts his backpack on his shoulders, "You put a lot of fucking syllables into single lines," he announces, in lieu of a greeting.

Ryan laughs, surprised. "I'm kind of an asshole like that."

Brendon feels himself smile. "I guess I can probably take it."

Suddenly Ryan's face is still, looking at Brendon seriously, "You're tougher than you think."

The last bit of doubt uncurls in Brendon's chest. "Tough enough for your fifteen-syllable choruses."

Ryan's smile is a little grim, but Brendon is coming to recognize that it just means Ryan is determined, ready.

"Wouldn't have given them to you if you weren't."

---

They make plans to actually try to work on the songs that day after school, over at Brendon's because his mom will be doing a service project until at least six, and his brothers and sisters will all be at friends' houses.

Ryan is always somehow ready to leave any class before the bell has rang, having evidently mastered the skill of silent bag packing some time ago. He's even slipped into his coat before he's up out of his desk, but he lingers patiently for Brendon, hand on the back of Brendon's chair as he's gathering up his books, taking a step back and watching while Brendon shrugs on his coat.

They smile at each other for a moment, and then walk out of the room together.

They get as far as the bike racks, Brendon in the middle of explaining to Ryan why it is essential that they take a cookie dough break before they start working on the songs, when suddenly from behind them Brendon hears,

"Fucking cocksuckers."

Ryan goes instantly, perfectly still, just for a moment, but then he takes another long stride towards their bikes.

Brendon tells his body to follow, and for a second it complies, but then he hears it again, louder, a different voice adding to the charge, "Faggots."

Brendon was never so good at temper control. He spins around and whoa, there's four of them, big guys he vaguely recognizes as seniors, jocks, fucking living the cliche. They're closer than he expected them to be. Circling.

Ryan is silent, but he's facing them too, having turned as soon as Brendon did.

They're not quite alone on the track, but no one is looking over. They're at the far exit, and almost out of sight, students are passing quickly by.

Brendon remembers why he really fucking hates this school.

Ryan says, "Get the hell out of here, Brendon," and he remembers why he really fucking loves it too.

He shakes his head, "I don't think so."

Ryan takes his eyes off the grinning, looming faces that are standing in front of them now, just shy of blocking their way. His glare is pinching at the corner of his eyes, "Brendon--"

That's as far as he gets, one of the guys starts to laugh, jeers something about Ryan trying to protect his cocksucking little girlfriend - and Jesus Christ, how does that even make sense - and then Brendon is actually lunging forward because apparently he has a fucking death wish and somehow, before he even knows what's happening there's a blur in front of him and Ryan's face is connecting with the punch that was meant for Brendon.

Ryan staggers back into Brendon, and Brendon struggles to hold him up, dead wait for a second before Ryan is pulling himself up, shaking his head, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

"You don't even fucking try and touch him," he snarls, voice so cold they actually take a step back.

Brendon stupidly thinks, that should be the end, but something has come undone inside Ryan, and he launches himself at them, throwing a hard punch right back in the guy's face. There's a stunned pause before Ryan is swarmed - virtually lost from sight behind the four bodies that surround him. Brendon has never been in a fight in his goddamn life, but he does the only thing he can think of, throwing himself into the knot of elbows and fists, trying to find Ryan's hand among the blur. He gets the wind knocked out of him and then he buckles in pain, hit from somewhere he can't place; he hears Ryan shouting his name, and then suddenly it stops. He drops to his knees, falling as soon as the hand that was gripping his jacket lets go.

He opens his eyes and the guys are running way. He coughs and tries to figure out why.

Ryan says his name a few more times, but Brendon can't focus. All he can hear is the ringing in his ears. He vaguely comprehends Ryan shake his head and haul them both over to the side of the school, propping Brendon against it.

He closes his eyes again and breathes, concentrating on the sound of Ryan's steady in- and exhales beside him.

When his head finally stops spinning enough that Brendon is reasonably sure he can move without vomiting, he eases up onto his knees, planning to crawl over and check on Ryan.

But as soon as he moves Ryan makes a wretched sound - like a laugh split in two by a sob - and he says, "So I guess I'll see you around."

Brendon blinks and wavers back a little bit. He tries to say, "Ryan," but gets interrupted.

Ryan's voice is full of careless scorn, "Or not. I don't even fucking care."

At this, Brendon moves. He gets within inches of Ryan and stops, peering into Ryan's eyes. His chest is tight from moving too quickly but he tries to keep his breathing even.

Ryan turns his face away and orders harshly, "Fuck off."

Brendon touches the wall just above Ryan's shoulder, his hand hovering there. He says, "Ryan - what --"

"If you're going," Ryan hisses through his teeth, "then go."

He wants to laugh, wants to slam his palm against the brick above Ryan's head. Instead he says, making sure his voice doesn't waver, "Ryan. I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't care what you do." Ryan insists fiercely.

Brendon shrugs, very carefully. It hurts anyway. "I do. I care."

Something in his voice or his words is enough to make Ryan turn back to look at Brendon. He sounds more sincere than Brendon's ever heard him when Ryan asks, "Why?"

Brendon doesn't know how to say it any other way, and before he got all the hope knocked out of him he was pretty sure Ryan already knew, so he tells the truth again, "Because you're like the pair of shoes I waited two years for my sister to be willing to give up so they could finally be mine. Because I know that if I ever got to have you for myself - if you were actually mine - you'd be just like they were. A perfect fit. Better than new."

Ryan just stares at him.

Brendon tries again, "Because I think if you ever let me, you could be my friend. My first real friend."

"You wouldn't be mine."

Brendon rocks back a little on his knees. He'd thought he was so close.

He opens his eyes when Ryan's hand is somehow on his shoulder. "I didn't mean. I just meant. I've had a friend. I had one once." He looks into Brendon's eyes. "His name was Spencer."

Brendon gets the feeling Ryan hasn't said that name in a long time.

"What happened?"

Ryan shrugs. "He left."

Brendon nods. Of course he did.

Ryan leans in, looking at Brendon sharply. "He didn't even want to. But he left. He had to."

Brendon understands. For Ryan, the result was the same.

"I'm not leaving."

Ryan looks at him hard for another minute, deciding. "Not even when I told you to, apparently," he ultimately concedes.

Brendon smiles sadly. "Not even then."

Ryan shakes his head at him. "Look what it got you."

Brendon looks down at Ryan's hand, still resting firmly on his shoulder. "Yeah. Look what it got me."

---

Sometime later, Ryan helps him up. When they're standing in front of each other, Brendon wants to laugh. It's that or something worse. Ryan looks pretty fucking bad. His lip is still bleeding, the shoulder of his jacket's been torn. The cut from earlier that month, the one over his eye, has opened up again, his bangs, falling over his eye, are soaking up the blood.

From the look in Ryan's eyes, Brendon is guessing he doesn't look much better. He reaches up to touch his face but Ryan's hand gets there first, gently smoothing the hair over Brendon's forehead. He says, almost too quiet to hear, "Come on. I'll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up."

Brendon's frankly doubtful about his ability to operate his bike right now, and Ryan just shakes his head. "We'll walk. I'd take you on mine but... I think I've done enough damage for one day."

Brendon reaches out, touching Ryan's shoulder. He's pretty sure he's allowed now. Ryan doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch. He just regards Brendon placidly.

Brendon just says, "Hey. No."

Ryan nods slightly, seeming to accept it.

They walk.

After two blocks, Ryan hooks his elbow with Brendon's, securing himself at Brendon's side. He seems to be wishing he could do that and walk in front of Brendon all at the same time. Brendon keeps step with him, not letting Ryan take the few protective inches he clearly wants to. Ryan makes a frustrated noise and glares at Brendon disapprovingly.

Brendon bites back a grin.

---

Ryan makes him wait outside, in the lobby of his building. He looks fucking furious about having to do it, but whatever he's worried about in there wins out over unknown fears of what might happen to Brendon alone in the hallway.

He says, "Stay right there. I'll come get you in a sec."

Brendon nods. "Right here."

Ryan points a stern finger for a moment and Brendon smiles for him. Ryan shakes his head but smiles back.

He disappears into the apartment, stays in there for less than a minute, then emerges, waving Brendon in through the door. Brendon enters and Ryan locks the deadbolt behind them.

He looks around the apartment while Ryan is busy with the lock. It's cleaner than he expected, more sparse. It doesn't feel like Ryan. Brendon wonders if his room'll be different. He wonders if he'll get in there today. How far Ryan will be willing to take him.

Ryan touches his hand, gently calling Brendon back into himself. He says, "Come on, bathroom's this way."

It still hurts to walk, so Brendon follows gingerly. Ryan sits him down on the side of the tub, after layering it with two towels. Brendon watches him rummage in a cupboard, pulling out what basically amounts to a homegrown first-aide kit. Bandages, disinfectant, gauze.

Brendon can see himself in the mirror now, and he watches his face, white and frightened reflecting back at him.

Ryan eases off Brendon's jacket and lifts up his shirt. Brendon hisses in pain, Ryan makes a soft, soothing noise.

"Just bruised," he says, regarding Brendon's chest.

Brendon nods. "Okay."

Ryan says, "Your hands though," and starts dabbing a cotton swab over Brendon's fingers. He hadn't noticed his knuckles were bloody.

Ryan is careful, thorough. Brendon is not surprised.

When he's done, Ryan leans back at looks Brendon over. "You might still have to make up a story. For your parents." He looks frustrated with himself, like he should have been able to make the wounds disappear completely.

Brendon says, "They know people pick on me. It won't be a big deal." As long as he assures them he didn't start it, didn't fight back. It'll probably be fine.

Ryan puts his hand over Brendon's knee and squeezes. Then he says, "Think you can help me with my face?"

Brendon's heart hammers in his chest, but he keeps his hands steady as soaks the washcloth, taking it up to Ryan's face, carefully, so carefully, washing away all the blood.

Ryan sits perfectly still, and lets him.

---

Brendon's whole body hurts, is the thing, and he feels his head start to get heavy. He just looks at Ryan because he doesn't know how to ask, and Ryan chews on his lip, just teasing with the edge of where it's split open.

Finally he says, "You should probably lie down for a bit," and takes Brendon's hand, tugging him gently up and leading him out of the room, in through Ryan's bedroom door.

Inside, he wants to look around, to greedily take in every detail, but instead he just closes his eyes and lets his body fall gently where Ryan deposits him.

He opens his eyes a crack, already feeling sleep want to overtake him and says, "Ryan?"

Ryan doesn't say anything back, but after a minute, Brendon feels the bed dip and Ryan angles his body protectively around him.

---

He wakes up to the sound of a key in the door, to Ryan's body, suddenly stiff against his, to his rapid, almost silent, "Nonononononono."

Ryan scrambles off the bed, face frenzied.

From outside the room a sharp, low voice calls, "RYAN!" And Ryan folds in on himself, grabbing his head in his hands.

"So fucking stupid," he curses himself, full of enough malice to make Brendon flinch.

He gets himself up, gets himself over to Ryan. Takes Ryan's hands away from where they were knotting into his hair. "Hey, it's okay."

Ryan laughs hysterically. "It's really not."

Another yell, "RYAN, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE."

Brendon keeps his hold of Ryan's hands.

"Does he sound drunk?"

Ryan takes a second to breathe, to listen. They can hear his father walking around the apartment, but it just sounds angry to Brendon's ears. Ryan confirms it, "No. Just pissed. Probably got fucking fired again." He looks at Brendon sharply. "That's enough, Brendon. Do you understand? He doesn't have to be drunk."

Jesus.

"And me?"

Ryan smiles bitterly. "We're long past putting on a happy face for company."

Brendon clearly needs to get a lot fucking smarter about stuff like this. And fast.

But Ryan's already thinking, "Fire escape. You can get there in time, you don't have to pass the living room. You'll have to be quiet."

Brendon doesn't move. "You're coming with me."

Ryan shakes his head. "No, Brendon."

"Ryan--"

"No." There's no room for argument in Ryan's face.

Brendon concedes with a reluctant nod.

"You go past the bathroom, alright, not the door that comes right after it, but go into the next room, there's a window and you can climb out onto the fire escape, it's not a jump or anything, you'll be fine."

Brendon runs over Ryan's instructions in his head. He nods when he's sure he's got it.

Ryan's dad shouts his name again, adding, "So help me, if you're not out here in..." but doesn't bother finishing the threat. Brendon can only assume Ryan can be relied on to fill in the blanks on his own.

Ryan pushes Brendon forward slightly, out of the room, "I have to go, you know where you're going?"

He says, "Ryan, I--"

Ryan raises a silencing hand, "Just be there tomorrow when I get to school, alright? Just... just be there."

Brendon nods "I promise."

Ryan takes a breath, and without a second glance, he slips out of the room.

Brendon hears the yelling start almost immediately, hears Ryan's screaming back, and he wants to run after him, but he does what he was told.

He gets out, and somehow, gets home.

His parents are distracted, and he manages to duck their questions.

He lies awake all night, waiting for morning.

---

He gets dressed around five.

Not that getting dressed really does him any good, he still has to pace around his room for a good hour and a half before he can even think about going downstairs.

There's family breakfast to sit through, and he eats mechanically while his family chatters around him, wanting to scream.

Finally, just after seven, he's out of the house. He can't exactly run, not with yesterday's escapades, but he walks as fast as his body will let him. The doors of the school don't actually open until 7:45 for non-faculty, but the point is to be standing at the front gate before Ryan gets there. The point is to be there so he can be the first thing Ryan sees.

He crosses his arms, modeling his stance after Ryan's, and waits.

---

People start filtering in by 7:30, walking past him. Some give him weird looks, but most barely register he's there.

There's no sign of Ryan.

By ten to eight, Brendon starts to freak out. The first bell is at eight, and he'll need a note to get past security if he's later than that.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, waiting.

----

At 7:58, Ryan tears into view. He looks past Brendon for a second, eyes scanning frantically, and then he finds him, eyes locking with Brendon's. Relief shows clear and ragged on Ryan's face, only for an instant, and then he smooths his features into a neutral mask.

Brendon needs him half-way, and for a second their hands meet each other's mid-air. Their fingers tangle, squeeze, and release.

"You get in trouble?" Ryan asks out of the corner of his mouth as they race to get inside.

Brendon shakes his head. "No. They didn't notice anything."

Ryan makes a disgusted noise, and then looks surprised at himself.

"I'm okay." Brendon promises him.

Ryan looks at him, "Are you?"

Brendon laughs at himself a little, even though he's completely serious when he says, "Well, now that you're here."

Ryan moves a little closer to him, but doesn't slow his steps.

They make it inside just in time.

---

Ryan shadows Brendon all day.

They actually have a fight - an extremely quiet, mostly non-verbal fight - about whether Ryan is actually going to skip his last class of the morning and lurk outside Brendon's classroom, quote, "just in case," which somehow, possibly because he busts out the sadeyes, Brendon wins.

Brendon is somewhat stunned to realize the sadeyes work on Ryan, who he had previously assumed impervious to such things. Ryan looks him over pretty thoroughly once they're reunited at the lunch table, hands coming to hold Brendon securely in place, keeping him still while he searches for signs of infringement, but when he finally meets Brendon's eyes, there's a relieved smile on his face.

Brendon smiles back, and Ryan's cheeks turns slightly pink.

Apparently Ryan's guarding the softness of his heart a little less vigilantly these days.

He watches Ryan do a good impression of killing a ninth grader with his eyes when he happens to make the grave mistake of looking at Brendon when he walks by their table and Brendon snorts to himself.

Maybe just where he's concerned.

---

He has choir practice that afternoon, and Mr. Way swoops in worriedly the second he catches sight of Brendon. Ryan is standing as far back as he's willing to go, which is a rather impressive five feet (if you're grading on a curve, and having the kind of week they're having, it's totally impressive), arms folded and eyes scanning the room as students begin to mill in.

Mr. Way glances at Ryan and then leans back in to talk to Brendon.

"Is everything all right?"

Brendon nods slightly and then raises his eyebrows in Ryan's direction. "He's gonna... is it all right if he stays? You know, for practice?"

Mr. Way looks surprised, and then he waves both hands in the air, "Is it... of course it's okay!" He flaps his hands a little more. It's kind of a thing he does. "Does he want to, would he want to sing?"

Brendon shakes his head. "No, just watch."

Mr. Way's face grows serious, but he's careful not to look back over at Ryan. He's deeply grateful for the effort. Subtlety is not really Mr. Way's strong suit. As it is, over Mr. Way's shoulder he can see Ryan pretending not to look.

Brendon makes a funny face at Ryan and he rolls his eyes indulgently. Brendon counts it as a win.

He also counts it as a win when Mr. Way doesn't comment, just smiles and says, "Of course. Always good to keep a sharp eye."

Ryan starts coming to every practice after that, just sitting at the back, watching, sometimes flipping through a book, but always, always with at least one eye and, no doubt both ears, trained on Brendon.

Every time Mr. Way smiles at Ryan on his way in and out of the room, but his presence is never remarked on again.

---

The problem with what happened that afternoon at Ryan's - well, the most immediate problem, at any rate - is that now they have nowhere to try and practice. Ryan categorically refuses to let Brendon step foot in his apartment again, and something about that day shuts Ryan up in himself, even tighter against the world, to the effect that he won't go to Brendon's either.

All he says about it is, "Just borrowing trouble," shaking his head when Brendon tries to question him further.

Between school and choir, he's with Ryan most of his waking hours anyway, but still, it isn't enough.

But then, if Brendon didn't have to sleep, if he could be awake twenty-four hours a day and have Ryan for every minute of it, he still doubts it would be enough.

---

The thing about Ryan is that he's only human, which has implications that clearly frustrate him to no end - such as the fact that he has to go to the bathroom occasionally. Which can mean that he actually has to leave Brendon alone for a few minutes. That is, when he doesn't just glare at the ground until Brendon says, "You know what? Me too," and goes with him.

Ryan has the school mapped in his head, always knows where the closest bathroom is, where there are decent places to hide, what classrooms get left open, what stairwells are the least frequently used. Brendon knows Ryan plans every second away from contact, always minimizing any time away.

The only time Ryan seems even vaguely at ease about leaving Brendon alone is in the choir room.

To say that Ryan trusts Mr. Way would be a kind of hysterical exaggeration, but he doesn't seem to bristle inside his skin every time Mr. Way gets near Brendon, which is more than can be said about pretty much anyone else in the school. Or possibly the world. Ryan's distrust and suspicion stretches impressively far, from what Brendon's seen.

It's kind of hard not to think he's entitled. Considering.

So Brendon doesn't like to take advantage, is the thing. Doesn't like to push his luck, or give Ryan anything extra to worry about.

Still, Ryan gave Brendon his words. He swallowed down the pride and the fear and he handed them to Brendon.

And now they're just sitting in Brendon's backpack, going to waste.

Brendon can't really have that. He just fucking can't.

So he bides his time through a few more practices, waiting for Ryan to make the face that indicates he's annoyed with himself for not being more robot-like when it comes to such trivialities as needing to drink, sleep and use the washroom. When it happens, Brendon keeps singing, keeps focused on the rest of the group, until Ryan finally gives in with an angry huff at himself and, after nodding sharply to Brendon, slips out of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind Ryan, Brendon breaks away from the rest of the choir, coming right up to Mr. Way, leaning in and saying, "Can we talk... like for a minute?"

Mr. Way waves a handful of sheet music and tells the other students to, "Take five minutes to work on your vocal exercises," and then draws Brendon to the back corner of the room.

"Are you in distress?" he asks earnestly.

Brendon snorts, but manages to keep it mostly silent. Mr. Way is totally awesome as long as he ignores his most of training. Occasionally though, he still comes out sounding like a handbook.

"Not really."

Mr. Way looks extremely relieved. "Good. Shit." He laughs. "I totally went to school for this, can you tell?"

Brendon smiles. "Sometimes. Not usually though."

Mr. Way beams a little.

"So it's about Ryan." Mr. Way prompts gently.

Brendon sighs, glad to find he's going to make this easy. "It's about Ryan and music," he doesn't know how to ask for what he needs to ask for, can't stand really trying to put Mr. Way in that position except. Except it's Ryan. "I can't... exactly tell you. But he - we - need a place to..." He shrugs.

"Practice?"

Brendon resists the urge to hug him. Just barely.

"And I just thought... maybe you'd know of like... I don't know. Somewhere." It really had seemed like a better plan inside Brendon's head.

Mr. Way runs a hand through his impressively unwashed black hair. "I'd say you should both just come here, but students aren't allowed on campus unsupervised and I get the impression that's not really gonna work for him."

Brendon bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if it's a betrayal of Ryan even to nod.

Mr. Way looks defeated for half a second and then his face lights up. He snaps his fingers and says, "Mikey." The word is spoken like the answer to most problems Mr. Way has encountered.

He rambles on, mostly to himself, "Or well - Ray... but Mikey was the one who got him." Mr. Way focuses back in on Brendon. "My brother and his partner - Ray Toro - they have a house. And Ray's a guitar player - session work mainly - but he writes music too, plays a lot, and because of that their basement is sound-proof. As long as someone was home, I mean - I'll have to ask - but I'm pretty sure if I explain it..." he smiles, "Yeah. Mikey'll say yes."

Before Brendon gets a chance to explode with gratitude, Mr. Way's eyes suddenly widen and he takes a step back.

Ryan pushes through the door, looking at them curiously.

Brendon smiles and says, "Thanks for the tip," to Mr. Way and rejoins the rest of the choir.

Ryan goes back to his seat without comment and Brendon joins in as Mr. Way leads them into the chorus of Yellow Submarine.

At the end of practice, Mr. Way smiles extra-encouragingly, but doesn't make any attempt to discuss the issue further. Brendon reminds himself to stay calm, and trusts his hope with Mikey Way.

---

It's another week of practices before Mr. Way starts making eyes at Brendon like he has something to tell him whenever Ryan isn't looking, and three more practices after that before Ryan actually leaves practice long enough for Mr. Way to say, "They said yes. Mikey and Ray. If you guys come meet them, agree to a couple ground-rules, their answer is yes."

Brendon feels joy erupt inside him, sudden and raw, but he tries to breathe through it. That's one hurdle down; no getting ahead of himself, though. Still, he remembers the manners his mother taught him. "Thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

Mr. Way looks at him carefully. "Ryan'll take some convincing, huh?"

Brendon swallows. "I'll work him around to it, really. This is better than anything I could have hoped for. Thank you so much."

Mr. Way nods slightly, acknowledging the thanks, "Would you let me try?"

Brendon's eyes widen. "Talking to Ryan?"

Mr. Way smiles knowingly. "I'm sure it'll shock you to know it - but I wasn't always the picture of togetherness you see before you." He waves a hand in his own general direction.

Today he's wearing a vest, a red tie, too-tight pinstripe pants and boots that are almost up to his his knees. He's probably showered, but from his hair, you wouldn't know it.

None of that is enough to convince Brendon, though. But as he watches Mr. Way's hand move Brendon notices his fingers for the first time. All the nails are chewed to the quick, almost bloody.

Just like Ryan's.

He takes a breath and says, "Okay."

---

Brendon was bracing himself for a serious uphill battle, but convincing Ryan to talk to Mr. Way actually proves ridiculously easy.

Ryan has gotten into the practice of walking Brendon almost home, veering off a block before they get to Brendon's house, lurking, fists dug into pockets, until he sees Brendon safely inside.

Brendon waits until he's almost at that one block mark before turning to look into Ryan's eyes and ask, "Do something for me?"

Ryan squares his shoulders and says, "Okay," before Brendon has a chance to say anything more.

He clarifies his request somewhat, saying, "I want you go have a talk with Mr. Way."

Ryan shrugs somewhat impatiently and says, "I said okay."

Brendon nods and keeps frustration with himself quiet. Evidently he has to get better at remembering Ryan doesn't say things he doesn't mean.

Not to Brendon.

---

The actual hard part is figuring out how to get Ryan to leave Brendon alone on campus long enough to talk to Mr. Way by himself. Brendon would be there too, but he kind of senses that Mr. Way might say some things to Ryan he's not ready for Brendon to be around to hear yet.

But when Brendon and Ryan get as far as the choir room and Brendon makes a hand motion like, "I'll just wait out here," Ryan raises his eyebrows slightly and then glares down at his shoes as if to say, "If you actually think that's going to happen, you have another think coming, buddy."

Brendon runs his fingers up the resewn seam of his sleeve. He had to add a length of cloth to widen the sleeves enough to still fit in this shirt. He kind of likes the way it looks better now anyway. "Yeah. Right."

Ryan kicks Brendon's foot gently with the toe of his shoe. "I'll walk you back to homeroom," he offers grudgingly.

Brendon doesn't bother to say, "I can remember where it is." He just nods and falls into step with Ryan.

---

Ryan squeezes his shoulder before he leaves Brendon positioned at the front of their homeroom class. It's lunch, but you're allowed to eat in there if you're not eating cafeteria food, so there are a few other kids. Ryan sizes every single one of them up, and looks at the supervising teacher with mild disdain and a certain lack of confidence before finally walking out the door.

He's gone for almost half an hour. Half an hour of Brendon's heart hammering in his chest. Half hope, half worry. A lot of simple, prickly missing of Ryan's presence at his side.

When he finally comes back, Ryan waits in the doorway, waving his hand at Brendon with more animation than Brendon's seen yet, apart from fighting.

Brendon gets back to Ryan's side as fast as his feet will take him. Once they're out of the room Ryan says, "A place. For us."

Brendon's heart pretty much skips a beat, hearing the pure happiness in Ryan's voice. To hear the stress in that last word.

He lets his smile out in full force.

Fantastically, Ryan smiles back.

"Gerard said we could go there, on Saturday." He looks down at Brendon, still smiling softly. Hopefully. "Do you think you can get away, convince your parents?"

Brendon swallows. Over the last few months, there have been little things. Half-truths. Lies of omission. But there's no way to explain this to them that they'll accept. No way but to lie. A real, direct lie. If he agrees, it will be the first of that kind he's ever told to his parents.

But Ryan is still looking at him, and there is still naked, open hope in his eyes. There's no answer Brendon can give but, "Yes."

---

He can't tell them about Ryan, about wanting to help write songs, wanting to sing them. They barely tolerate him being in a secular choir as it is. Nor can he really explain about this art-school dropout teacher who loves music and has paint in his hair, can't tell them about his little brother and his boyfriend, who are letting him and the friend he can't tell them about make music in their basement.

So he tells them he's going for a bike ride, tells them he might go study in the library on the outskirts of their neighborhood. His father doesn't look up from the book he's reading. His mother nods absently and warns him to be home before dinner. None of this***his*** brothers and sisters notice he's leaving.

He meets Ryan a block from his house, and they bike in silence all the way to Mikey Way's house. Ryan has his guitar strapped to his back.

When they arrive, Gerard - Ryan has informed him they're to call him that now - is sitting on the front steps, smoking a cigarette. There's an impressively large cup of coffee beside him.

He stamps out his cigarette when he spots them, muttering, "Shit. Good role-modeling," and waving to them somewhat spasticly.

Brendon is delighted to see Ryan fighting back a smile.

Gerard grins at them and says, "Hey, guys. You made it."

Brendon laughs a little. Like they're the ones doing him the favor.

He waves them inside. "Come on. Gotta introduce you to Mikes."

Gerard leads them into the kitchen. There's a sturdy looking guy with indescribable hair sprawling out at the table, looking over sheet music. He looks nothing like Gerard but Brendon makes a hesitant, "Hi, thanks so much for being willing to meet us and--"

The guy laughs and says, "No problem, but you should probably be thanking Mikey. He's the one who talked me into it."

Brendon blinks a little and suddenly this sleek, skinny dude with glasses tucked over his hair just appears, stepping away from the pantry wall he was evidently leaning against the whole time. He smiles, and Brendon gets his first taste of the utter faith with which he heard Gerard speak Mikey's name.

He holds out a hand, long fingers and arm. "Hi, I'm Mikey."

Brendon shakes his hand while Ryan watches calculatingly.

Mikey just shrugs a hello to Ryan, and Brendon feels him ease up slightly beside him.

Gerard smiles at everyone within range. "So this is Ray - obviously - and Ryan and Brendon," Ray waves, which Brendon likes in a guy he's already talked to. He waves back.

Ryan nods a little, and Mikey smiles to himself.

Gerard keeps talking, occasionally with input from Ray, about times they're okay to have them come practice, times when at least one of them will be home.

But Ray explains, "But we'll keep the basement door open to you, as long as we're home, so you can come and go a bit. Give you some privacy. I've got some of my guitars down there, and I'd be pretty bummed if you stole them. But if I thought you were going to do that, none of us would be here right now anyway."

Ryan looks a little shell-shocked at the level of trust being offered to him.

Mikey explains, "Gee vouched. He's kind of hopeless at most stuff," Gerard doesn't disagree, just keeps smiling, "but he's pretty good at picking people. So we trust you if he does."

Gerard says confidently, "You're good kids."

Ryan blinks. Brendon can tell no one has ever said that about him before. Certainly not when they clearly meant it.

They talk a little more, and Mikey lets Gerard and Ray take over. He leans back against the wall and practically melts into it. After a minute or two, Brendon nearly forgets he's there. Ryan keeps his formal attention on Ray and Gerard, but Brendon can tell he's watching Mikey out the corner of his eye. Brendon's never seen him so obviously impressed.

That's about the time Brendon actually lets himself believe they might actually make something out of this opportunity after all. He smiles as hope settles into his chest.

---

They settle into a routine almost immediately. Every Saturday, Thursday afternoon and Monday evening, they bike to Mikey and Ray's and play music and work on songs.

Ryan loosens, down in the basement, softens around the edges, smiles easier, moves with less calculation.

He still doesn't talk much, preferring to say most things silently, or with his lyrics, but that's usually enough for Brendon to understand. When it isn't, when he has Ryan's words but doesn't understand them well enough to sing them right, those are times Ryan will explain. He'll talk for hours at a time, when it's about his lyrics, he'll explain everything that's in his heart, as long as there's that line, as though the third person voice or the characters Ryan gives to his experiences are enough distance to pretend.

Brendon allows Ryan his illusions, and soaks up all the insights Ryan is wiling to share, whatever the manner in which he's able to divulge them.

Sometimes they'll go upstairs when they're done for the day, or taking a break, and Mikey and Ryan will have silent conversations with their eyebrows and flicks of their wrists while Ray and Brendon talk about guitars and, increasingly, food. Ray is an amazing cook, and that's usually what lures them up. Smells too rich and intoxicating to resist.

Brendon is aware this was probably a conscious plan on Ray's part, he's actually kind of cunning like that - especially with Mikey to help - but Brendon doesn't care. What matters is that it actually works, that it gets Ryan up those stairs, over his fear and his reluctance to ever make himself known, to impress upon their hospitality any harder than is strictly necessary.

Sometimes Gerard is there, sometimes he isn't, but even when he's not, they go up, they talk, they let Ray feed them and let Mikey fold his arms and hover around them, and every time it happens Ryan's shoulders get a little less tense, his smiles get a little more real, and there, together in that space, they feel a little more like they're at home.

---

Sometimes, after they've practiced for a few hours, Ryan will submit to Brendon's silent pleas for a break - which he wants not because he doesn't want to keep playing, keep singing - but because, on good days, a break will mean curling up together on the couch in the warmest corner of the basement. On the best days, when he's tired straight through and they've both played well, communicated ideas well, Ryan will lie with his head in Brendon's lap and let Brendon run his fingers softly and methodically through Ryan's hair.

He waits for one of those times to ask, "Do you believe me now, when I say I won't leave?"

Ryan stays relaxed, but his body curves closer against Brendon's legs. "I believe you won't want to."

Brendon reminds himself to take what he can get. Reminds himself that - coming from Ryan - that means a lot. He's only ever heard Ryan talk about one other person with even that amount of confidence. And really. It's not like Brendon even minds living under the shadow of Spencer Smith, most days. He just wishes the only person Ryan's ever truly considered his friend didn't end up setting such a bad fucking precedent for the rest of them.

He reminds himself of these things so he can move on, because that's not really why he's asking anyway.

"But you didn't. Before. I mean - before That Day." They talk about it like that. When they talk about it at all.

Ryan shifts, his eyes fluttering open, looking up at Brendon.

"You stayed. You... fought with me. For me."

Brendon nods. "But not before. Not even when you first gave me your lyrics." Getting to the point now.

Ryan's face shutters slightly, he tucks his head against Brendon's thigh, not looking at him anymore.

Brendon keeps carding his fingers through Ryan's hair.

"No," he answers eventually. "Not then."

"Then why? Why show me - why trust--"

"They're good." Ryan's voice cuts in with cool, brittle confidence.

Brendon struggles to keep up. "They are," he acknowledges carefully.

Ryan shrugs slightly. "Good enough for you. I thought." He closes his eyes. "Your voice is so - and they're good. So I hoped." It's as much as Ryan can seem to force out.

Brendon tells himself it shouldn't feel quite so much like getting hit. He tries to remind himself he's not just a voice to Ryan. Not just that. It doesn't really work.

Still, he swallows, forces himself to ask, "But now?" Wishing he didn't, but needing the reassurance desperately.

Ryan's fingers snake out, squeezing Brendon's knee. "Bonus."

Brendon closes his eyes, and breathes.

---

The next morning, Ryan is gone. Brendon gets to their meeting place and Ryan isn't there standing watch like he always is, so Brendon just stands there, waiting, until he's almost late for school. He waits until he can't anymore, until he has to run the whole way to make it on time, and still Ryan doesn't come.

He doesn't show up in first period, nor in second. He's not there to walk Brendon to his last class of the morning, not there at lunch to smile at the stupid things Brendon says, to eat off his plate and crack his knuckles threateningly when people pass too close to their table.

He isn't there all afternoon. He isn't there to stand outside the bathroom stall when Brendon goes in, isn't there to loom imperiously over him while he risks a drink at the water fountain.

He isn't there to walk with Brendon to choir practice, isn't there to watch Brendon sing.

---

All week, Ryan isn't there.

Brendon panics, quietly, continuously. He's afraid for Ryan. So afraid he can't see straight.

He bikes by Ryan's apartment every day after school, he even rings the buzzer a couple times.

There's no answer. No sign.

It's like Ryan's dropped off the face of the earth.

---

Gerard tries to talk to Brendon about where Ryan is, he says the school has called Ryan's house, that there's no answer. He offers to drive Brendon there.

Brendon shakes his head. Says no, and thank you.

It's so much less than Gerard deserves at this point, and he knows it most of all when Gerard looks at him sadly, and says, voice soft, "I'm just worried about you, kid. Ryan, too. We all are."

He hasn't been around the house, obviously hasn't been there without Ryan.

He swallows back his desire to say, "I could come by," and "Has Mikey made any new sweaters for Piglet lately?" and "How's that new song you and Ray are working on?" Instead he smiles a little and says, "Thanks for your concern. But I'm fine, and I'm sure Ryan is too."

It's the deepest lie Brendon's ever told, but Ryan is gone, and there's nothing else to do but try to believe it.

---

His worry about Ryan keeps him focused, keeps him getting up in the morning, keeps him watchful, until the eighth day when he loses the fight, and starts listening to the voice inside his head that tells him he should have expected this. Should have expected it when the only good things Ryan ever said to him, the only things about Brendon Ryan seemed to actually like was that he could sing, that he was there. It was hardly enough.

He was annoying, he was kind of klutzy, he was loud and attracted too much of the wrong kind of attention.

Ryan had enough trouble in his life as it was.

---

He's so busy missing Ryan, wondering where he is, wondering why he's gone, that he doesn't even see the hand that reaches out and grabs him. Doesn't even struggle as strong arms haul him behind the stairs at the far end of the east wing of the school.

It's a Tuesday. Ryan has been gone for ten days. Brendon was just on his way out of school, choir practice gone late again, but now he's backed up against a wall, shoulder blades digging into it, and someone is holding him there, laughing.

He opens his eyes. It's Liam Grey. Brendon knows because Ryan used to mutter his name sometimes, glaring down at his fists like he was willing them to get larger.

Liam's face is all healed up from the day Ryan punched him straight in the mouth, but from the look in his eyes, he still hasn't gotten over it.

Brendon tries to struggle, and gets the breath knocked out of him with a low, hard punch, for his trouble.

He coughs and tries to say, "Fuck you," but it comes out mostly a ragged wheeze.

Liam is talking. He's saying, "No one to protect you now, you little bitch. Guess Ross got tired of you, huh? Maybe you're not as good with that mouth as you look, you fucking cunt."

He shakes Brendon with every word. Brendon's brain keeps stuttering, he can't understand what is happening, can't make meaning out of the sounds.

But he really should be paying better attention, because Liam is shoving him down onto his knees, pushing at Brendon's head, one hand gripping his jaw, and he's saying, "Well, let's find out."

---

Brendon is curled up in a ball on the floor. He's telling himself to forget it, he's trying to pretend he blacked out. That he doesn't know how he got here, doesn't understand why his jaw aches and there are tears still stinging his eyes.

But it's a lie.

He remembers every second, he was utterly aware through all of it, and just in case that wasn't enough, each sharp and brutal motion is playing in a Technicolor loop right before his eyes, shut tight as they are.

Liam's final words, right before he shoved Brendon roughly away and spit on the floor beside him, ring out in his ears.

"No wonder he stopped babysitting your ass. Not fucking worth it."

---

Eventually Brendon forces himself to accept that no amount of closing his eyes and praying for himself to disappear will make it happen. He gives himself another minute to grieve over the loss of that hope, and then pulls himself up off the ground. He wipes his mouth clean with shaking fingers, and then walks out of the school, and then home.

He brushes his teeth for an hour and showers until one of his sisters pounds on the bathroom door and demands he quit hogging it.

It doesn't help.

---

The next morning when he makes himself get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, and leave the house. When he gets to their spot, the mailbox at the corner Brock and Sturgeon one block from Brendon's house, Ryan is there.

At first, Brendon keeps right on walking, sure he's imagining it as he has so every morning since Ryan's been gone. But just as he's about to pass right by him Ryan makes a noise, confused and soft, and Brendon's knees buckle.

Ryan is just close enough, just fast enough, to reach out and catch Brendon, and he supports him by his elbows while Brendon laughs. Even as the laughter echoes in his ears, Brendon can't tell whether it's from relief or desperation.

Just a little too late.

Ryan makes no physical sign that it's a struggle to keep Brendon up, but his face contorts. More confusion, rapidly turning into fear. "Brendon, what's wrong? What happened?"

It's out of his mouth before can stop himself, before he can think, "You were gone." His voice breaks as he says the last word and it hangs between them like the accusation Brendon never wanted to make. He never even imagined he'd get the chance.

Ryan takes it as his due, nodding furiously and saying, "I know. I know. I'm so sorry. My dad was in the hospital. He... they said he might not make it and it was so fucking stupid but I couldn't... for some reason I couldn't leave him there."

Distantly, Brendon wonders if he's right to hear, "not even for you," silently added at the end of that sentence.

Ryan's fingers are still digging into his arms, holding him, and he pulls himself away, not as roughly as he planned. He's not angry with Ryan. Ryan's claim was on Brendon, he'd never offered the same to Brendon in return. So he doesn't fool himself into thinking he has a right to anything like anger, like disappointment. He just can't stand anyone's touch on his skin.

Ryan cocks his head, following Brendon's movements, eyes widening as he tries to understand.

"Brendon," Ryan whispers the name, "I missed you."

Brendon chokes back a sob and tells the truth, "I missed you too."

---

They start walking to school and Ryan hovers close, making Brendon's throat close up and his eyes sting.

He wonders if Ryan would want to stand so close to him if he ever found out what happened.

Ryan is talking, filling up the silence between them in a way he never seemed to feel obligated to before. Brendon realizes that this is possibly because in the past he was always the one doing it for Ryan.

"I can't believe I didn't even think to fucking call you - let you know what was going on. That I wasn't--" He looks at Brendon fiercely. "You know I wouldn't leave you alone willingly, right? You know I wouldn't leave you."

Brendon wants to laugh again. Instead he nods a little. "I guess so." He's remembering that he should know. That he owes Ryan that much.

Ryan's fists ball up. "I'm such a fucking - Bren. I'm sorry. I should have called Mikey's - I should have realized it was an okay place to get a message to you. But all I could think about was how I couldn't call your parents - and I couldn't call the school - and they kept telling me he only had hours - then days - and then he was suddenly getting better and I just... I couldn't think."

Brendon tries to smile. "Of course. Ryan. You don't have to be sorry. He's your dad - you were in the hospital. It's not like... I understand. Totally. Don't worry." It doesn't matter that he does understand, that Ryan hasn't done anything wrong. It doesn't stop what... Brendon shudders and tries shut off his mind.

But Ryan is still there, walking beside him, talking, looking like he wants to touch Brendon's arm.

"I finally... they sent him home last night. Some guys from his last job came and helped me get him home. I lied about my age so that they didn't call any other relatives. He kept apologizing," he rolls his head heavenward. "He always fucking apologizes after one of these fiascoes. I don't understand why he thinks I'd believe him, at this point." To Brendon, it sounds more like Ryan doesn't understand why some part of him still does. Or at least wants to.

He says, "He's your dad."

"He's a fucking train wreck," Ryan responds harshly.

Brendon shrugs.

Ryan stops in front of him. "Brendon. You're not... okay."

Brendon shakes his head. "Sure I am."

Ryan reaches out and Brendon's body shivers back before he can stop it.

Ryan's face goes wide, cold. "Who hurt you?"

Brendon takes a few more steps back, looks away. He can't lie... he's trying to force something out, something that will convince Ryan he's okay, or at least get him to leave, before he decides to do that on his own, but Brendon can't get his stupid fucking mouth to work. Useless at yet another thing.

Ryan won't be so easily evaded. He circles around Brendon, ducking his head, trying to catch Brendon's eyes. "Bren. Tell me. Who touched you?"

"Why?" Brendon's voice cracks out at last. Why does it even matter.

Ryan stills, and calmly responds, "So I can put them in the fucking hospital."

The steel in Ryan's voice is the first thing that's made Brendon feel remotely human in the past eighteen hours.

It doesn't really solve any of his problems, though.

It's almost the truth when Brendon says, "Yeah. That's kind of why I won't be telling you."

Ryan looks at him sharply. "No, it's not."

Shit.

"Ryan---"

"What was it? What did they do you think you can't tell me?"

Brendon kind of wants to know who the hell this guy standing before him is. This guy who looks like Ryan Ross but sure as hell doesn't talk like him. The only demands Ryan has ever made before this were made silently.

"Please." Brendon whispers. "Stop asking."

Ryan's face gets bleak, gray. "Right. I'm sorry."

Brendon waves a frantic hand, "It's not that I--"

Ryan shakes his head. "No. I don't know what I was. Jesus." He closes his eyes. Opens them. "Are you... is this okay? Me being here." He makes a motion between them. They're standing close, but it's enough distance that Brendon can still breathe.

He nods.

Ryan keeps watching, keeps assessing carefully. "And I'll stay here, stay with you. You want that?"

Brendon doesn't even have to think this time, just nods quick and hard.

Ryan's relief is a physical thing. "Okay. Okay, good. So that's what we'll do. Just like this."

They start walking again, and Brendon looks over at Ryan, head bent, hands shoved into pockets, walking with steady determination against the wind. He almost wants to touch Ryan to make sure he's real, but for the moment keeps his hands to himself and just tries to trust his eyes.

Ryan catches him looking and smiles a smile Brendon has never seen before. It's at once the saddest and the realest smile Brendon's ever seen.

"I'm right here, Brendon," Ryan says, like a promise he's glad to be making.

Brendon nods and lets out a shaky breath. "Me too."

---

There's a moment when they reach the school gate that Brendon genuinely doesn't think he'll be able to go in, doesn't think he can force a single more step.

But then Ryan hovers slightly closer, peering into his face, checking for clues, and Brendon waves him away with a vaguely convincing, "Hey. I'm fine. Let's go."

Ryan nods and leaves it at that, walking a half-step ahead of Brendon the whole way to their class. His eyes strain to glare furiously at everyone and everything and for a moment Brendon almost feels like he could laugh and mean it.

They're almost early, the only ones not loitering in the halls and leaning against lockers, and Brendon feels himself start to panic when students finally start filtering into the room. He manages to hold it together by focusing in on a set of breathing exercises Gerard taught the jazz choir, but his heart doesn't approach anything like a normal rate until his breath starts following along to another pattern entirely.

Across from him, Ryan is lounging low in his desk, seemingly apathetic, aloof, his eyes never so much as glancing Brendon's way. But between his thumb and forefinger he's loosely holding his pen, and he's drumming it against his thigh, a steady rat-tat-tat.

Brendon closes his eyes and listens until it's the only thing he can hear.

---

Brendon panics for real, complete with near hyperventilation, when third period rolls around and he realizes - somehow for the first time - that he and Ryan will have to separate.

He can't breathe and he's pretty much ready to throw up all over his shoes, but Ryan's hands come firm and cool on his neck, his voice reaching Brendon somehow, saying, "Bren. Breathe. Stay with me."

It takes a few attempts, but he manages to comply.

Ryan takes his hands away as quickly as possible. Brendon appreciates it and hates it all at once.

"I'm walking you there. And you just stay put. Sit at your desk and practice the songs we were last working on in your head, okay? Just think about the words. Think about how you might sing them. And when class is over you wait for me - all right? I'll come get you. Stay in the classroom until I'm there. I'll come for you." He looks at Brendon sharply. "I promise, okay?"

Promise. It's a word Ryan has never used.

Brendon takes it inside himself, repeats it in his head until he believes it.

He nods. "Okay."

---

He makes it through class.

Barely.

He takes a good 15 minutes to chew himself out, fucking lunatic, because what exactly had he been thinking this morning? Getting up and leaving the house like he would have had a chance in hell of even making it through the front doors of this place if Ryan hadn't reappeared to make it almost bearable.

He uses some other words to refer to himself too, but then he tries to be good, to do what Ryan told him, to work on something that'll help. He tries not to think that'll keep Ryan with him.

Even as he's afraid of Ryan leaving again it feels disloyal, childish. Ryan didn't mean to leave him the first time. He's given no indication he wants to now.

Brendon's brain scuttles around thoughts of what information might change Ryan's mind.

When the bell rings he wants to leap from his seat, but he gets up slowly, packs up his bag, and lingers as long as he can before heading to the doorway.

Ryan is standing against the wall, directly facing the door, arms crossed as per, wearing his most convincing don't fuck with me face.

Brendon is stupidly in love with that face.

But when Ryan's face transforms into a relieved smile, Brendon has to admit that maybe he's just stupidly in love with Ryan Ross in general.

---

As life-altering revelations go, Brendon doesn't really have time to digest this particular one. It's hard enough just to try and remember how to walk with the number of people who stare at them as they maneuver the halls, the once familiar whispers taking on a sharper, more threatening tone. It's more than enough work to manage not to gag with every other breath, the once-familiar smells of the school suddenly poisonous, revolting.

In short, his brain is otherwise occupied.

They make it to the cafeteria eventually, and Brendon wishes there were anywhere else they could go, but everywhere in school poses the same problems, and they can't leave campus without passes he'd never convince his parents to sign off on.

It's certainly the least of his problems, but Brendon also forgot to bring his lunch, which he planned to ignore, but Ryan insists on buying them the largest plate of fries money can buy, placing it between them on the table with considerable satisfaction.

Brendon tries to eat with enthusiasm, but Ryan isn't easily fooled.

Brendon sighs, trying to think of an apology, an explanation, but Ryan preempts him, shaking his head and reaching into his bag, hands coming out wrapped around another notebook. Brendon hasn't seen that one yet. He hasn't even seen Ryan writing in it.

Ryan bites his lip at it for a second before shoving it into Brendon's hands.

Brendon holds it in up-turned palms, uncertain.

"I wrote in that while I was at the hospital - while I was gone."

Brendon concentrates on Ryan's face. This is an offering. The only thing like an apology Ryan knows how to do. Different than the words he spoke that morning. Going deeper, saying things they may neither of them be ready to hear spoken aloud.

Brendon has never looked at Ryan's lyrics for the first time while Ryan's actually there. But that seems to be the intent now, so he opens the notebook; even though the thought of singing makes his stomach turn and jaw clench, he starts to read.

He flips through half-written sentences, abandoned, crossed-out verses, and settles where Ryan has scribbled Camisado at the top of the page.

He wants to tell Ryan he doesn't need to see this, doesn't need the horror of Ryan's time away in order to forgive him for something he didn't do wrong and wasn't responsible for in the first place. But it's Ryan, and it's sharp and beautiful, and Brendon's eyes soak the words in greedily before he can make himself speak.

He gets as far as the chorus, heart stuttering over the honesty, the plainness of the words - can't take the kid from the fight / take the fight from the kid - and his hand is reaching out for Ryan's even as the rest of him is screaming out against the thought of touch.

He can't look up, has to keep reading, but Ryan's fingers welcome his. He makes a noise as he finishes the song, and Ryan's fingers tighten around his. Brendon's body jerks, and he almost tears his hand away, but in his mind repeats, it's just Ryan, it's okay, it's Ryan, and he instead finds his fingers clenching down, holding on.

After a beat, Ryan squeezes, but doesn't let go.

---

At the end of the day they go to the choir room even though there's no practice and even if there was, Brendon doesn't think he can open his mouth to sing. Doesn't know when he'll be brave enough for that again, when he'll trust... he shakes his head. It's nothing he's willing to think about.

Gerard knocks over his coffee cup when he sees them standing in the doorway. He throws up his hands and for a second Brendon sees what Gerard looks like right before he's about to cry, but then that face is gone, and he's grinning at them hugely.

"I would hug you - but there are absolutely rules about that sort of thing." He announces by way of greeting.

Brendon finds himself grinning. He almost means it.

Ryan shuffles his feet.

Gerard gets up from his desk and flaps at them. A mix of worry and happiness.

"Are you alright?" He's asking both of them.

For once Ryan answers first, "Glad to be together again."

Brendon has never heard Ryan mean something so sincerely.

Fear and crawly shame still twist at his insides, but it lessens for a time, in the warm space of that moment.

---

Gerard takes approximately two minutes to exclaim, "I have to call Mikey!" And then he's doing just that before either of them can respond.

Gerard gets as far as, "Ryan's back - they're both here--" before Mikey evidently takes over.

Gerard smiles and nods through the call. When he closes his phone after a quick, "Love you Mikes," he turns to them and says, "Mikey says you both have to come over now. But just chill for a few more minutes, I gotta get some stuff together. I'll drive."

Ryan blinks and Brendon bites the inside of his cheek.

Thoughts of Mikey's thoughtful stare and Ray's kind-hearted frankness fill him with longing and anxiety all at once.

Ryan makes up Brendon's mind by saying, "I'd like to see them. Apologize for..." He looks suddenly uncertain, like he might be worried about being presumptuous.

"Scaring us half to death? Not your fault, I'm guessing. But Mikey'll need to see you for himself before he feels better."

Ryan doesn't blush, or look down at his shoes (as expected). He just nods and says, "Better get over there then."

---

Brendon finally has some time to think about his latest problem on the drive to Mikey and Ray's. He sits in the backseat alone, because he won the eyebrow battle with Ryan over whether they could let Gerard sit up front alone and because he said, "You have longer legs - weirdo," and that took care of the rest.

He thinks about what his parents would say. Abomination.

They would try to get him help if they didn't simply throw him out. His mother would cry. His father too, most likely. But in private.

Would they stop talking to him? About him? Would they try to pretend they'd never had a third son called Brendon?

He looks at the back of Ryan's head resting against the seat in front of him. Looks at the curve of Ryan's neck and accepts that he'd like to put his hands there, his lips.

His hands clench over his knees. Bile rises in his throat.

It isn't like what happened. He can't let himself think about it, not for more then a second before his mind flinches away, but even so, he knows it's not. He only wishes he could feel it too.

---

As soon as they get inside, Mikey crosses his arms and says, "Hmmm."

Ryan moves to stand slightly in front of Brendon, shielding him.

Mikey's next "hmmm" is slightly more troubled.

Gerard looks ready to speak, but Mikey gets there first. He says, "Ray?"

Ray is standing beside Mikey, and it takes him a second, but he nods and says, "Yeah, okay. Hey Brendon, you want to come look at my garden out back?"

Ray is pretty proud of his garden.

Brendon nods, and says, "Uh, sure."

Ryan's eyes are protesting, but he doesn't say anything.

Brendon follows Ray out.

No one mentions that it's December.

---

Once they're out back Ray asks, "You all right, Brendon?"

And Brendon says, "Not really."

Ray nods and they both kneel down to pull up rotted weeds.

Once they're done, Brendon almost feels better.

---

They know Mikey and Ryan are out there with them when they hear Mikey's throat clear. It's not pointed exactly... it's just Mikey.

He nods at Ray, and then tilts his head at Brendon.

Brendon had been afraid Mikey would know as soon as he saw him. The way he's looking at him now, he's pretty sure he does.

But there's nothing but understanding and kindness in Mikey's eyes. And when he smiles, just a little, that small Mikey quirk of the lips that barely registers until you know to look for it, with the extra scrunch of nose that means he's smiling just for Brendon, it looks just the same as it always has.

Ray and Mikey go back into the house, and Ryan stands on the deck, looking at Brendon.

Brendon hugs himself and says, "Everything okay?"

Ryan shakes his head a little, although it seems unrelated to Brendon's question.

He steps off the deck, walks towards Brendon.

He stops just short of touching him and says quietly, "Mikey said I should do this," it could almost be mistaken for a warning, but Brendon knows Ryan better. He's just trying to give credit where credit is due.

Brendon nods a little, like permission or just to say he understands, he doesn't even really know himself, and still it's a shock when in the responding moment Ryan's arms wrap around him, holding on, strong and tight.

Brendon waits for his heart to race, for his skin to itch and his head to get spin.

Instead a noise comes out of him - a wounded sob of relief from a place he was working so hard to pretend wasn't there, and he gives in to it, lets his body collapse against Ryan's, trusting Ryan to hold him up.

He presses his face into Ryan's collarbone and takes gulping breaths against his skin.

Ryan hums his name, soft and slow and steady, and keeps Brendon on his feet.

---

In the days and then weeks that follow, Ryan deploys what Brendon can only assume is a Mikey-Way-approved strategy of gentle yet persistent touches. He never touches Brendon without letting him know it's going to happen, always making soft, half-finished requests, greetings - hey Bren or I'm going to or gonna hold your hand.

It gets to be that he doesn't even think about flinching, doesn't even wait for that crawly feeling to come.

Instead he soaks in every touch, catalogs the feel of Ryan's hand in his, the way the tips of Ryan's fingers skim his knuckles before he lets go, the way he presses their knees together under the lunch table and the way he feels, warm and holding on just tight enough to be solid when they stretch out on the couch to pretend to nap in the basement. They haven't started playing again, and Ryan hasn't asked, but they go there every day now, every afternoon after school, and spend almost all of their Saturdays there. On Sundays Brendon still has to be home, but as long as he's there all day Sunday no one asks him where he goes the rest of the time. Brendon assumes his parents are just glad he finally has friends. He stops himself from wondering what they'd think if they knew how it really was. At least inside Brendon's head. His heart.

Every night before they say good bye, Ryan hugs him - long and hard like if he could he wouldn't let go at all, like he would stand there all night until it was morning, until they had to walk back to school and do it all over again.

Brendon remembers each one, remembers the different ways Ryan has wrapped his arms around him, the ways their toes have touched, the times Ryan's breath has ghosted across his face, the times Ryan has whispered his name and the times he's been completely silent.

Every night Ryan says, "I'll see you tomorrow Brendon," and every morning Ryan is there waiting for him.

---

He knows it should be helping.

He knows how hard Ryan is trying, how good to Brendon he is being.

Knows that Ryan has a nightmare of his own he goes home to every night. He still sees the songs Ryan writes, angry and hopeless and raging against the things he can't control. He still sees the bruises, the hollow eyes from lack of sleep the nights Ryan stays up, waiting.

He tries to show that he appreciates Ryan's efforts. Tries to smile more, tries to laugh, to begin conversations instead of ending them with blank stares and panicked, gulping breaths.

He tries to believe him when Ryan promises to stay, to come back, to take care of him.

He tries because it's not that he doesn't think Ryan wants to. Even if he forgot everything else, he would still remember that day when Ryan saw a danger before Brendon did and threw himself in front of it to take on the damage Brendon caused against himself.

He tries not to believe it would all change if Ryan knew the truth. If he understood the kind of hurt he was offering to shield Brendon from. If he knew what was left of the person he was protecting.

He tries.

But when he wakes up shaking, most nights, or when he has to run to the bathroom the day he sees Liam Grey in the hallway, laughing with a group of his buddies, when he curls up against the toilet and cries, there's not much of anything Brendon has the courage to believe in.

---

It's almost Christmas. It's been three weeks since Ryan came back.

Three weeks since... no.

The choir is performing in two days, but Brendon won't be. He's gone to all the practices, he knows all the songs, but he's never opened his mouth and sung.

Gerard encourages him gently, and Ryan pushes with a little more subtlety and a lot more force, but he only hangs his head and whispers that he can't.

Even Mikey pushes, in his way. His way is silent, it's mostly in the eyebrows, some shoulder work as well.

Brendon hates to disappoint them. Hates that he's doing it a little more every day.

Ray is the only one who doesn't ever ask Brendon anything other than the same question he asks everyday, and he is always seemingly content with the same answer.

Brendon doesn't quite know why Ray keeps asking. He doesn't think it's because Ray expects it to change. But he can't figure out why else it would be.

Still, every day, when they get to Mikey and Ray's, Ray takes him to the back yard and they work on his barren, occasionally frozen garden, while Mikey and Ryan talk.

And everyday Ray asks Brendon if he's all right, and everyday Brendon takes one moment for himself, one moment to tell the truth and he says, "Not really. No."

---

On the last day of school before holidays, Brendon has a panic attack so bad Ryan has to half drag him into Gerard's empty classroom to try and calm him down. He puts on hand on Brendon's neck and the other over his heart and tells Brendon a story about the day when he was six years old and had a temper tantrum in a department store because there was something he wanted and he didn't know well enough yet not to ask. He tells Brendon that his father hit him, hard enough that he fell back, and hit his head against one of the shelves. He tells Brendon that was what made him stop crying.

Brendon's breath slows and his eyes open.

Ryan is standing before him, just watching.

When Ryan seems satisfied that Brendon is listening he says, "And that was pretty fucking stupid. Of me."

Brendon blinks.

Ryan bobs his head patiently. "That day taught me to shut up. Taught me to be quiet instead of asking for help." He shrugs. "I learned the wrong lesson."

Brendon swallows.

"You need to tell me what happened Bren. You need to tell me so you believe me when I say it doesn't matter."

Brendon's hands cling to his elbows, arms wrapped too tight around himself.

Ryan nods and says, "Okay. But I'm going to keep asking."

---

Gerard writes Brendon's parents a permission slip, outlining a session of voice lessons the school is allegedly offering. His mother signs it without comment.

Just like that, Brendon has a a get-out-of-the-house-free card; he leaves every morning, sometimes even earlier than he would if he was still in school, gets picked up by Ryan, and bikes or walks to Mikey and Ray's.

They spend most of their time in the basement, but they go upstairs more as well. Mikey works for an indie record label, and seems to work what are both flexible and highly odd hours, and Ray's studio work pays well enough that it can be fairly sporadic, so they are often home.

Mikey is also apparently nuts for Christmas, and the house is decorated top to bottom. Mikey exhibits their pug Piglet in a variety of homemade Christmas sweaters; tinsel is everywhere; big, gaudy ornaments and giant snow globes are scattered across the house. It's so different from his mother's subdued, tasteful decorations, and Brendon likes to be up there with Mikey, watching him sparkle along with the ornaments and garlands.

They play games, video and board, usually at Ray's insistence. Brendon beats him frequently at Guitar Hero while Ryan and Mikey make fun of him on the inside. They never make noise, but you can see it in their faces.

Gerard comes over with marking, and occasionally a tiny and tattooed person named Frank, who moves more than Brendon has ever seen, and has an undeniably awesome laugh.

For those hours every day, Brendon can pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist. He can pretend there isn't school, and his parents and the disappointment, the disgust that looms there. He can pretend there isn't Ryan's dad, isn't hospitals and bills that he can't pay for.

He can pretend that there, with them, and with Ryan, he's home.

---

Mikey and Ray insist that Ryan and Brendon come for a Christmas dinner on the twenty-third - Mikey explains that, because their parents always both worked, it is Way family tradition to have a huge meal on that day instead of on Christmas itself.

Brendon is overwhelmed to be invited to something they all keep referring to in passing as a "family meal" - although he suspects at least part of the motivation for their invite has to be that it serves an excellent excuse for Ray to feed Ryan.

Ryan's been getting thinner lately, and on someone who was very nearly too thin already, it's enough to frighten Brendon. He knows that usually Ryan intercepts his father's welfare checks in order to buy groceries and pay what bills they can - but for any number of reasons that doesn't always work, and he's seen Ryan get lean before, but never this bad. Maybe it's the winter, or his father's latest extended hospital stay. Ryan won't talk about it, but he allows Brendon to share his home-packed lunches and accepts Ray's fussing and insistence on providing meals and snacks whenever they show up at the house without comment.

Still, there's only so much he'll accept before Ryan closes up back into himself, hands wrapped around his chest, holding tight on his shoulder, eyes warning anyone who might try and come too close.

An excuse like Christmas allows for no such resistance, however, and Brendon can see that Ray is enormously grateful for that. The three days prior to the twenty-third Ray is almost always in the kitchen cooking, and the house never smells anything short of mouth-watering. There are always plates of cookies and baskets of mandarin oranges sitting on the kitchen table and in the basement, and Brendon never feels better until he sees Ryan eat at least half of them before they have to leave.

As much as they all try, it's not enough to keep Ryan's shoulder's from jutting out a little too sharp under his t-shirts, his pants from hanging too low on his hips. As such, it's not enough to stop Brendon's hands from clenching every time they say goodbye.

---

He doesn't really have a present for Ryan. Partly because he can't get any of the things he wants to for him. A way out of his father's house, a safer school, four square meals a day, a new guitar, a way to promise he's going to stay and a way for Ryan to believe Brendon won't be taken from him.

Because as hard as he wishes, those things aren't in his power to give, so instead he's giving Ryan the only things he's ever had for him, but the things he's been too afraid to give this past month.

On the twenty-third of December - or as Mikey and Gerard call it - Waymas - Brendon will give Ryan the two things he seems to want from Brendon most.

His voice, and the truth.

---

Gerard picks him up, because apparently there are rules against physical labor the like biking on Waymas. He's playing carols in his car, just instrumentals, filling in the words himself. Brendon almost joins in, but he's not ready yet. That will come later, but first it needs to happen between him and Ryan alone.

They pick up Ryan too, looking shifty and watchful at the corner of his block, arms folded, backpack ready. He's been keeping his guitar in the basement, lately. Says he does all his practicing there anyway. Brendon's a little afraid Ryan's father might have tried to pawn it, but he keeps that to himself.

When Ryan climbs into the backseat, he presses a hand against Brendon's shoulder, fingers curling around it. He leans forward in his seat so he can keep it there the whole ride to Mikey and Ray's.

When they get out of the car, Gerard introduces another Waymas rule - compulsory hugs.

Brendon is pretty sure he can handle that, although he opens his arms a little warily. He hasn't really touched anyone but Ryan since the incident. But when Gerard's arms close around him, keeping him secure, but holding loose enough that Brendon can easily get away, he finds he wants to do nothing of the kind.

He ends up clinging to Gerard rather desperately, trying to put into it all his bottomless gratitude and awe for this person who saw him and simply offered help and kindness at every single step of the way, this person who brought music into Brendon's life in a way it had never quite been before. This person who walked him through a door and pretty much gave him a home.

Gerard hugs him back reassuringly tight and whispers, "I'm so proud of you, kid," right before he lets go.

Ryan and Gerard's hug is quicker, but Ryan is left smiling at his toes when it's done.

They go inside and Ryan doesn't even have to be told, he just walks right up to Mikey and pulls him into a tight, lasting hug. Brendon almost feels bad for Ray, because judging from the look on Mikey's face, that's the best present he's getting this year.

He tries to make it up to Ray a little by pretty much tackling him, which was something Brendon used to always wish he had the courage to do. Ray actually catches him more than hugs him, picking him up off the ground a little and sort of spinning Brendon around.

For the seconds while Brendon's feet can't touch the ground, he feels weightless and completely safe.

When Ray puts him down he asks, "You doing all right, Brendon?"

And Brendon can finally smile and say, "Getting there."

---

After completing their round of hugs, which included Ryan finding Piglet and spending five minutes telling her she was "the prettiest, most festive girl" and saying flattering things about Mikey's seaming on the sweater, Brendon and Ryan go down to the basement to exchange their gifts before the meal.

There are two plates of cookies and a basket of mandarins waiting for them. They smile at each other for a second before each grabbing a plate and a handful of oranges. They pile up on the couch and for a time do nothing but eat in contented silence.

Once he's eaten approximately twelve cookies, Ryan puts down the plate and clears his throat, clearly indicating it is time to proceed with the gift giving.

Brendon opens his mouth to start - singing or the truth, he hasn't even fully decided which - but Ryan shakes his head and says, "No. I want to go first. I want to earn it."

Brendon spasms a little and says, "I don't have anything that's--"

Ryan's fingers flick out and wrap around his wrist, holding just shy of tight. He squeezes gently. "Yeah, you do."

Brendon would protest, but for a split second Ryan looks nakedly hopeful - and even more remarkably - he looks shy. Brendon keeps his mouth shut and waits patiently.

Ryan rummages in his backpack for a few seconds, before easing out an explosion of ribbon and glitter. It takes him a second to realize there's a box under there, and Ryan's smiles turns sheepish.

"I kind of went a little overboard. Maybe."

Brendon eyes it. "Is it going to combust if I touch it?"

Ryan glares and shoves it at him, "Find out. Jerk."

Brendon smiles. "I trust you."

Ryan doesn't even try to hide his triumphant grin.

Brendon carefully unties or removes all bows and ribbons, making a little pile beside him on the couch. Ryan watches with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

"It might not be--" He says, when Brendon is about to pull off the top of the box.

His hands still. "What?"

Ryan shrugs awkwardly. "I think maybe it was a better idea... you know. In my head."

Brendon scrunches his face doubtfully. "It's never like that with your lyrics."

"You would say that."

"I would know that." Brendon amends firmly.

Ryan waves a hand. "Okay. Open it."

Brendon lifts up the top of the box. He stares down at the contents, almost not ready to believe what he's seeing.

Ryan starts talking as soon as he sees Brendon's face, but Brendon can't really hear him. He's too busy running his fingers along his present, hands shaking slightly as he gently removes it from the box.

It's a hoodie. Red and impossibly soft, with a deep front pocket and just a slash of silver, sparkling across the front. It looks like it will fit him perfectly, with just a little room to grow into.

It has tags. It's new.

He blinks at it wonderingly and tries to pay attention because Ryan is talking, he's actually telling Brendon something - not leaving words for him to make sense of later - and he really should be listening to that.

"...and I saw it and it just - it reminded me of you. The color's so bright - it stood out - just like you always did - do - bright but deep too, rich and solid against the gray walls of that place - and the silver because you're shiny - you sparkle, Brendon - I almost hated how much, at first. I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to have that shine taken away. And cherry because - because you're still - you're still new, Bren, no matter what, and a hoodie because you get cold, like I get cold - so I wanted something warm. For when I'm not there. I didn't try it on or anything - I made sure it was new stock, the first day, no one's ever even tried it on - but it looks warm. They promised me it would be. I..." He looks down at his hands. "Do you like it?"

Brendon is surprised he has breath left to say it, but he manages to say, "It's mine."

Ryan nods, jerky, so eager. "That's right. It's all yours. Only yours."

Brendon can't stop looking at it, but he makes himself say, "I don't have anything like this for you."

Ryan inches closer on the couch, eyes that same mix of hopeful and shy. "Yeah, you do. Something better."

Brendon shakes his head, "I don't - this was too much - Ryan, how did you afford--" He thinks of all the days Ryan must have gone without eating. How many groceries this shirt could have bought.

Ryan puts a hand to his lips. "Bren. Please. All I want is for you to like it. For you to keep it."

Brendon suspects he's about to be blinded by tears, so he fumbles to find Ryan's hand before he loses control of himself completely.

"It's mine," he repeats. He blinks until they're not clouded by moisture, and his eyes look into Ryan's. "Mine."

Ryan nods, and leans in, pressing his forehead against Brendon's. "Yours."

Brendon wants to stay like that forever, but there's more he has to say. He sucks in a reluctant breath and backs away slightly.

"You might not--"

Ryan shakes his head. "Please don't." He looks so sad, yet still so hopeful.

His eyes are practically screaming it. Believe in me.

He owes Ryan that. That and so much more.

"It was... I guess." His throat closes up. Even though he's finally ready for Ryan to know, he can't imagine speaking the words. Can't even choose one's he can stomach. "I'm ready to sing again," he says instead, chickening out.

Ryan's face is transformed by surprise, happiness. Then he seems to forcibly restrain himself. "Only if it's for you. I don't need that from you. It was never about that - Brendon, I need you to know that. I heard you sing and I was so happy, because I realized I had something to give you - not because I saw that there was something I could take from you. Brendon. You have a beautiful voice. But that's... it's pretty far from the most beautiful thing about you."

Brendon thinks his heart might be trying to make a break for it in his throat. He holds up his other hand and Ryan's fingers come up immediately to link with his.

"Liam Grey raped me." The words fall out of his mouth, unexpected, unbidden. He'd never even thought about it like that, in those terms. Until this moment.

Ryan's fingers tighten. He doesn't let go. He holds on.

"I know."

Brendon's eyes pop open, "You know - you knew?"

Ryan nods. "There were rumors, high school is a fucking gossip pit. And I wouldn't have believed them but you... the way you carried yourself - and the times when you saw him - it made you sick. I didn't know what else it could have been."

Brendon's head is spinning trying to process this all at once. That Ryan knew. That he stayed. That he's still here right now.

"But you... then why?"

Ryan squeezes his hand. "Because you needed to tell me. You needed to make that choice for yourself - to trust me, to trust yourself. You needed to believe you were worth staying for - worth fighting for. No matter what."

Brendon wants to believe, he wants to give Ryan that most of all.

"I love you," Brendon hears himself blurt. He follows it up with a horrified squeak, the fervent desire to dive into the couch cushions, to cover his face.

But Ryan won't let him. He holds Brendon's face in his hands, not even letting him duck his eyes away.

Ryan smiles at him a little. "Brendon. I'm going to kiss you now."

Brendon stutters, "But I'm - I'm not any good at--"

Ryan ends his protests with a soft press of his lips against Brendon's. It only lasts for a second, but Brendon feels it down to his toes.

Ryan smiles and says, "And now I'm going to kiss you again."

Brendon nods and meets Ryan half-way.

When their lips part, Ryan presses one quick kiss to the side of Brendon's cheek and then leans away slightly so their eyes can meet when he asks,

"Say you'll be mine?"

Brendon bites his lip, fighting off tears. "Always."

the end

Epilogue

Approximately fifteen kisses and several exchanges of vows later later, they are reminded that it is still, in fact, Waymus.

First they hear the door open and the sound of Piglet plodding down the stairs, which Brendon thinks is a pretty dirty trick, no doubt on Mikey's part, because Ryan is completely distracted from his rightful place kissing Brendon by his apparently physical imperative to coo all over Piglet once she comes into view.

It's a great personal victory for Brendon when he eventually manages to coax Ryan's attention back to himself, and he and Ryan have eased themselves into a comfy horizontal position--excellent for kissing, Brendon is discovering-- right around the time Ray yells down the stairs, "Guys, dinner!"

Brendon moves to comply, but Ryan makes a little noise, and Brendon has to chase it, tongue flicking against Ryan's lips.

A few minutes or about five kisses later, they hear Ray's voice again, "Um, guys. Dinner. Like, really."

Brendon doesn't want to go anywhere ever that isn't tucked safe underneath Ryan, but it's Mikey and Gerard and Ray, and Ray's been cooking for ages, so of course they have to go upstairs. Ryan picks Piglet up and carries her, but he still manages to hold Brendon's hand the whole way.

When they get into the dinning room, Ray grins, Mikey smirks, and Gerard flaps, but Ryan is suitably distracted by the fact that there is so much food it takes up a whole table, and they have to go to a smaller table at the end of the room to actually eat. Ray plates everyone's foods - he piles Ryan's highest of all - maybe after Mikey's because Mikey is Ray's, after all, Brendon decides you can hardly fault a guy for that. And anyway, Ray knows all Ryan's favorites - having carefully cataloged them through crafty observance and clever application of Mikeyway over the past month or so. Brendon is certainly not about to claim Ryan is hard done-by, not by these people.

So they sit down, and instead of doing anything like say grace they sing before they start to eat and Brendon finds himself singing loudest of all and he doesn't stop, even though Gerard looks suspiciously like he's about to cry. Instead he just puts his happiness into the song and Gerard does the same, and they all sing, even Ryan, and their voices sound beautiful together.

Just before they start eating, but after they've sung, seemingly because he can't restrain himself anymore, Gerard just sort of announces that Liam Grey is being expelled - ostensibly for too much fighting - and there's stunned silence for a moment, and Brendon swallows back a lump pressing painfully against his throat. Brendon wants to say thank you to Gerard. He doesn't even know how, but Gerard just smiles at him like he knows anyway, and Brendon manges only manages to stave off tears because Ryan holds on tight to Brendon's hand under the table the whole meal.

Once they're done eating, they go to the living room to unwrap more presents, and because it's one way he does know to thank Gerard, Brendon sings more as he assists Mikey in handing out gifts, and even uses his sadeyes to stop Ryan from protesting when Ray gives Ryan one of his guitars as a present. Brendon waits to put on his hoodie until after the meal, because he couldn't bear to risk getting anything on it, despite Ryan's amused reminders that it could actually get washed, that it could get a little messy but it'd still be Brendon's. That's not even the point, but Ryan doesn't press his objection, and the hidden smile at the corners of his lips tells Brendon Ryan understands Brendon's reasons just fine.

As they unwrap presents and eat cookies, Brendon pulls the fabric, which smells mostly new and just faintly like Ryan, more tightly around himself, and looking around at all these people, he thinks, "Mine for keeps."