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He looks at his music sheets one more time, a couple dozen rows of staves that his class had to fill out with their choice melody along with notes and arrangements. The ‘assignment’ of sorts was more of a testing-the-waters thing that the professor slyly announced three days previous, to see how much they were progressing.
Brendon knew that he had done it last night. He just didn’t remember the act of filling it out at all. His eyes were sunk into his head and he wonders again how much sleep he was going to need at the weekend to recover to a normal and functioning human being.
He checks to make sure ‘Brendon Urie’ was written clearly at the top of the sheet, and the professor finally dismisses them, reminding the class sternly to leave the copies of their melodies on his desk, neatly, please. Brendon jumps down the rows of the tables and leaves his in the pile, and as quickly as he can, glides out of the music building.
The cool mid-January San Franciscan breeze hurts his ears slightly, and he refuses to think that he might possibly be homeless in the chilly air by Friday.
The landlord had given Brendon warning weeks ago that he was selling the apartment block, and therefore left Brendon four weeks exactly to come up with a new housing situation, quickly. In Brendon’s defence, he had tried, he hadn’t stopped looking for a place to stay, or a new apartment with a roommate, or a box on the street.
But now is eviction date is in six days and he's still lacking a place to live. His tiny, musty apartment is still not packed in any way (not that he has much to pack) and he’s been lying awake at nights and falling embarrassingly behind on college work.
When he moved here at eighteen - determined to do well in college and show his parents he was not a disappointment - he had a braver heart than he had now. His scholarship had provided him with a grant for housing initially, leaving him with enough money from his job at the grocery store to provide him with food and clothes.
Now, however, he was walking on thin glass when it came to his finances, so maybe it was a good thing he was being kicked out of an apartment that he couldn’t afford.
Being homeless wouldn’t be that bad, Brendon thinks. Without paying rent, he’d probably have enough extra cash to buy himself things like cappuccinos from Starbucks and Chinese takeaway and New-In vinyls at the recordstore. And stuff.
He kicks a stone dejectedly on the cobbled path as he makes his way up to the student cafeteria, and grabs the first sandwich he can see. He passes over three dollars and whimpers internally at the loss.
He’s got his Mandatory Biology Requirement Class in an hour (whenever he’s asked, he says it with audible capitals and a slow drone that he does well) which, despite being a pain in the ass and subject he’s despised since he chose it accidently when he was in highschool, it’s a class he shares with Ryan.
Ryan, who was the unfairly pretty native San Franciscan he sits beside, with soft brown hair that curls slightly, and matching brown eyes and a tiny, narrow body. Which he styles with clothes Brendon could only dream up, like button down shirts with beige vests, tribal-coloured bandanas and skinny pale-washed jeans, and assortments of V-necked shirts that show off his collar bones, and, well. It’s not like Brendon has paid attention.
He also doesn’t actually know whether Ryan’s hair is soft or not. It looks like it would be though.
Anyway, every Tuesday and Friday he sinks into the seat beside Ryan (because no matter what, Ryan always manages to get there before Brendon) and the pair have hushed conversations about how Biology is Clearly the Subject of Satan’s Choice, and how it’s Absolutely Not Relevant To Their Majors Whatsoever.
He likes Ryan, though. He makes the hour and a half of cell structures and xylem tissue much less tedious, and his smiles are infectious. He was a nice, convenient friend to have, if not the only one Brendon really had here, and if he wanted to maybe, occasionally, lean over and press his lips to Ryan’s, then, whatever. Ryan was pretty. Boy pretty.
He taps his feet rhythmically on the linoleum floor and stuffs his egg and ranch sub into his mouth. Which he paid three dollars for, and doesn’t even like all that much.
+++
“No luck in the new apartment mission, huh?’’
Ryan’s leaning forward in his seat, face intent and apologetic. He’s got a cream shirt on and a brown vest over it, brown skinnies and bracelets up his wrist. Brendon sadly notices how much of a contrast Ryan is to himself, who is lazily dressed in jeans and a band shirt. He frowns and quickly reminds himself that he’s got way more important things to stress over than how great Ryan Ross dresses himself.
“No,” he replies, kicking his bag further under the table. “What gave that away? My eyes, or the bags under my eyes?” Ryan doesn’t laugh at the feeble joke and his face becomes, if possible, more sympathetic.
“Well, listen, I wanted to let you know this a week ago, but I didn’t have your number so -“ he breaks off awkwardly. Brendon looks up sharply from his gaze at Ryan’s feet.
He could never really work up the nerve to move their friendship outside the Biology building, or even their conversation outside small talk, but Ryan had never shown any interest to. They didn’t have each other’s numbers, and Brendon presumed that their small talk was all Ryan wanted, so he didn’t ask.
Now, though.
“Go on,” Brendon says, slowly.
“I need a roommate,” Ryan continues, glancing at Brendon hopefully. “I can’t cover the expenses this year, and my advisor told me that I should have had a roommate ages ago.”
Brendon opens his mouth to protest, but Ryan stops him. “No really. I really do need a roommate, I’m not just being nice, I promise.”
Brendon’s protest dies on his tongue, but now he can’t find any words to say at all. Ryan Ross, his Biology 101 partner who dresses well and smells like apple cologne, is now offering to save his life.
“I live on Ashbury, on the block between Haight and Waller Street, it’s walking distance to here,” he says, carefully choosing his words.
Brendon finally realises that Ryan is definitely being serious. “Wow, I mean- are you sure? Because if you are, you will be saving my life. Literally, I will owe you my life.”
Ryan smiles a little bit at that, but it’s shy. Maybe he was nervous about asking, Brendon thinks. “So- do you want to meet up or come see it at some stage, and you can decide?”
Brendon nods, eagerly, and their conversation is ended by the professor, who starts the lecture.
Brendon doesn’t hear a word she says, and if he took any notes, he doesn’t remember writing them either. An hour ago it would have been from sleep deprivation and little interest, but now it’s because his mind is playing a one-track melody of I have a house! I have a house! and I have a roommate that doesn’t hate me!
They exchange numbers at the end of class and arrange to meet up the following morning while neither of them have classes so Ryan can show Brendon the apartment, and Brendon really really tries not to smile too hard at Ryan.
+++
Ryan lives on the nice part of Ashbury Street, and the block staircase up to the room doesn’t smell like pee, and when Ryan opens the door to reveal a nice, comfortable, San Franciscan-esque apartment, Brendon starts waiting for the catch. He does not get lucky like this. Ever.
He tries to ignore how weird it is to be with Ryan outside the classroom, especially somewhere very personal like his apartment, and instead listens to Ryan explaining the ins-and-outs of the house.
“So yeah, the kitchen has got most of the important stuff, I should probably get a new toaster at some stage, I don’t know-"
He walks over to the small hallway off the main room and kitchen, and Brendon tries not to smile at how awkward he is. It’s obvious he’s never had to show anyone around before, and Brendon feels better because the whole situation is making him sort of jumpy and awkward.
“That’s my room,” Ryan says, pointing and walking past a room with the door open ajar, and Brendon can see a twin bed pushed against the wall with books and CD’s covering the only visible ground.
“And this is, was, my spare room where I dumped stuff, but now I guess it’s yours, if you’re in.”
The room is small, tiny almost, but it’s got a bed, with white comforters and pale yellow walls, and looks freshly vacuumed. There’s a wardrobe on the other side and a desk table beside it with a lamp. It’s simple and small. It’s probably about ten thousand times nicer than what he has at his own place.
“This is awesome, Ryan, seriously,” he says, glancing at the room once more before looking back at Ryan, who’s smiling a little bit, his arms crossed over his body.
“Do you want to think about it more? Or do you want-"
“Ryan,” he breaks in, laughing. “It’s great, trust me, I’m in. Will we talk about payment and all that fun stuff?”
+++
Ryan sorts out the new arrangement with his landlord, and Brendon signs off on the paperwork, and before the weekend ends he’s lugging his keyboard and guitar case up to Floor 5, Number 109.
Ryan helps him, which Brendon thinks is pretty courteous of him, especially on the weekend when he probably had stuff to be doing. Ryan’s best friend and sharp gazed freshman, Spencer Smith, comes over at noon, introduces himself and helps bring a box or two up the stairs. Brendon is so out of his depth he doesn’t quite feel real, so instead of thinking about it too much he just tells himself that now he has two people on first-name basis.
He doesn’t have much stuff at all, most of it being the necessary crap he really needed. He has his clothes hung in the wardrobe and his CD’s and other miscellaneous junk thrown on the shelf within an hour. His textbooks are piled on the desk, his keyboard over by the window, and Ryan comes in when Spencer leaves and says the room looks much better with someone living in it.
+++
Now paying less for his living accommodation, Brendon cuts his hours at work to just mornings on the weekend and evenings on Monday to Wednesday. He works at The Good Life, a local health grocer on Larkin Street. It’s small but it’s homely and the people who shop there expect a friendly and familiar scene, so when Brendon’s there he just keeps to himself and smiles at all the customers as he rings up the organic chocolate bars and green vegetables.
For college jobs, it’s not that bad -- he knows he’s worked at far worse places. He gets the tram when he can, but otherwise takes the bus, and the store turns out to be closer to Ryan's place than his old apartment anyway.
Ryan, from what he says, works at a coffeehouse nearby and works relatively few hours compared to Brendon. (Ryan, however, is getting a regular cheque from his Dad for help with food and utility bills. Brendon doesn’t wish he had parents looking out for him like that, he definitely doesn’t.)
Living with Ryan is weird, Brendon decides. They don’t see an awful lot of each other because they have classes at mostly different times, and they both work, but when they are at home together, Ryan is mostly quiet. He studies an awful lot and reads an awful lot (as an English major) but it works for Brendon, who isn’t used to sharing a house with someone anyway.
Not that he doesn't learn things about Ryan. Ryan’s twenty-one, like Brendon, and he listens to the same bands that Brendon does (“Wait, have you heard this?” he says, digging under the coffee table and producing an EP rarity from The Band.) and he’s mostly into “Beat poetry, 70’s bands and noodles.” (“You’re in San Francisco now, dude,” he jokes)
One thing he doesn’t bring up, and Ryan sure as hell doesn’t bring up, is the boyfriend/girlfriend situation. Brendon’s pretty positive that Ryan’s straight, if not for the fact the Brendon regularly sees girls hanging off him on campus, but that Ryan doesn’t really give off a particularly gay vibe at all.
Besides his sense of dress, Brendon muses. Ryan dresses himself well, but that doesn’t mean he’s gay, though.
He assumes Ryan knows that Brendon’s gay, because he’s pretty sure everyone on campus knows he's gay since Fresher’s Week when he made out with every willing guy at every party he ended up in. (He stopped after that week though, because he was getting judgemental looks in class when the term started and he hated it)
So he carries on not mentioning it and not looking at Ryan for too long just in case Ryan gets uncomfortable and kicks Brendon out for being the creepy gay guy.
That would suck.
+++
Ryan goes out at night sometimes too, on Fridays and Saturdays and usually with Spencer coming to the apartment first. Brendon thinks it’s nice that Ryan goes out with his freshman best friend, but he doesn’t say anything.
Brendon still doesn’t really have much friends, and usually when Ryan’s out he gets a stab of loneliness, and he goes and sits at his keyboard for a while until he remembers that he has a roommate now. And then he reminds himself who his roommate is and generally feels better with himself.
Ryan always asks Brendon if he wants go out with him, because he’s a polite and friendly like that. Brendon says “I’m fine, go ahead”, each time, though. Ryan was nice enough to let him in on his living space, he didn’t need Brendon infringing on his social life too.
Spencer watches carefully from the opposite couch as Ryan asks, and Brendon tells himself he’s hallucinating when he sees a flash of disappointment on Ryan’s face.
+++
“So how did you end up in USF, if you’re from Sacramento?” Ryan asks.
Brendon pushes himself further down into the couch. “Uh, my parents, they, uh, they kicked me out of the house. And I didn’t feel like hanging around in the city after that.”
“They – they kicked you out of your house?” Ryan looks sorry for asking, but curious and apologetic.
Brendon wishes they weren’t having this conversation, Ryan’s big eyes were focused solely on him and it was making it hard to concentrate, but he supposes it had to come out at some stage.
“Yeah they did. It was. It was fine though. I had already graduated highschool, so I stayed with a friend for a week and arranged to move out here. I had already applied for USF anyway, and I got in with a scholarship,” he replies, shrugging.
“That sounds rough, though,” Ryan says. His shoulder is almost touching Brendon’s and his face is turned from the TV now, facing Brendon. He’s closer than he was 5 minutes ago, or maybe Brendon’s imagining that. “Do you mind me asking- why did they kick you out?”
Brendon sighs, which the memory always makes him do. “They found out I wanted to do Music in college, and they freaked. I was supposed to do a law degree, that was their plan,” he scoffs.
Ryan’s eyebrows are pulled down and he looks like he’s contemplating something. “You got kicked out because of a college course?” he says, with slight disbelief in his tone.
“Not, fully because of that. They uh. The found out I was gay, too. They were religious, and they didn't like that,” Brendon reluctantly says. If he was uncomfortable before he was damn uncomfortable now.
Ryan nods sympathetically and doesn’t looked surprised at Brendon admitting his sexuality. “I’m sorry, that sucks, Brendon.”
Brendon smiles at him, as best he can. Ryan turns back to the TV and his attention is refocused on that, and Brendon’s really grateful that Ryan’s not acting weird or throwing him out because he’s gay or anything.
He relaxes when he realises that the chances of that happening are unlikely -- Ryan’s from San Francisco.
+++
The only problem he has about living with Ryan was that his thing that he had, that tiny, suppressible crush he had on the boy, sort of grows, exponentially.
It was okay to spend a class beside him twice a week and exchange small talk while they waited for the class to start. That was okay.
But living in his space all the time was a whole different game. A game Brendon wasn’t good at navigating around, especially when it came to events like Ryan strolling out shirtless in the morning, or their fingers brushing when he passed him the damn sugar for his damn pancakes, or Ryan falling asleep on his shoulder halfway through the late-night movie.
It was getting increasingly difficult. But Brendon can’t do anything about it except dance around Ryan carefully, and not stare at him too long or wrap his arms around Ryan when he does something particularly adorable. Which definitely sucked, but he had a roof over his head and someone he could call a friend. Maybe even Spencer was someone he could tentatively call a friend.
He spends enough time at their apartment, anyway.
It’s the start of February and they both have their laptops out on the makeshift kitchen table, each typing away at their respective essays (Brendon’s, ‘The Early Beginnings of Renaissance Music’ and Ryan’s, ‘Allen Poe’s Contribution to 1800’s Detective Fiction.’)
It was evening, and they both had shared a dish of Easy Mac between them for convenience. Ryan keeps glancing at Brendon over the top of his laptop screen and it was making Brendon squirm in his chair slightly.
He probably had cream sauce on his face, or something.
Eventually Ryan gets up and says he’s going to run down to the City library to grab a book he needs. Brendon nods his response and Ryan grabs his shoulder bag, lifting it over his head and causing his hair to fall over his eyes. Brendon’s fingers twitch with the need to push it away himself, and he looks away quickly.
Ryan trails out, and Brendon sighs at his incompetence to act normally around his roommate. But in Brendon’s defence, Ryan and his prettiness made it so difficult.
It’s only twenty minutes later when the buzzer goes, and Brendon gets up, ready to mock Ryan for forgetting his library card or something. Except that it’s Spencer buzzing in.
“Hey,” Spencer voice says, tinny over the speaker, and Brendon replies back with a “Hi, come on up” before he remembers that Ryan’s gone out. He goes to back to tell Spencer that he’s not here but Spencer’s already taken his finger off the buzzer.
He sighs, again, and goes over to wait by the door for Spencer. He greets him with a “Hey. Ryan’s not here.”
Spencer raises his eyebrow and looks Brendon over. “Oh,” is all he says. He walks past Brendon into the apartment, and Brendon sort of envies his confidence. Maybe he just knows Brendon’s completely harmless.
(Brendon doesn’t really know why he’s kind of afraid of Spencer, anyway. He’s not that much taller than Brendon and he’s got a pretty round face with a friendly smile. When he smiles, that is. Or maybe it was just the connection with Ryan.)
“Let me guess? The park? The recordstore? The library?”
“Library,” Brendon replies. He heads back over to his chair and sits down. “He’s been gone for about twenty minutes now, but I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
Spencer nods, and then looks like he’s going to say something before he shuts his mouth again. Instead, he walks over to the table and leans on the chair opposite Brendon.
When Brendon looks up, Spencer’s expression is earnest, and it makes him worry.
“Ryan’s not being an asshole or anything, is he?”
Brendon gapes for a second. “What? No. He’s definitely not an asshole. Ryan’s great,” he adds. He’s pretty shocked by the question.
Spencer nods silently and looks a tiny bit more relaxed. He straightens up.
“Well, that’s good. It’s just, usually he’s pretty bad at asking for what he wants, you know.”
Brendon does not know. Brendon has no idea what that means. Except when he goes to ask Spencer, Spencer’s already heading to the door, saying “Tell Ryan I was here. His phone’s dead,” and a goodbye, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.
Ryan comes home an hour later with his book and a bag with two cans of beer and a packet of Doritos, incidentally Brendon’s favourite flavour.
He thanks him, tells him that Spencer was here and curses how perfect he is.
And he tries not to think about anything else.
+++
When Brendon gets to the cafeteria after Music theory, there’s a skinny, beautiful boy wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sitting at the table he usually eats at.
Well -- Ryan and a girl standing beside him, obviously hitting on him. He can see from the door how she’s smiling down at him. Brendon wavers, unsure of what to do. But Ryan sees him hovering, and the girl walks away as he beckons him over.
“Hey,” Brendon greets him, still cautious as to whether Ryan wants him to sit down or not. Ryan smiles up at him brightly. “Hey, what’s up?”
Brendon sits down anyway. “Not much, why are you down here so early?” Their biology lecture wasn’t for another hour at least.
“Oh, I had no lunch plans so I thought I’d come here and eat with you, unless you’re busy?”
Brendon shakes his head and acts as nonchalant as he can.
Ryan smiles, again. Brendon’s almost concerned. It’s too early in the day for Ryan to be in this good a mood, especially without a latte in his hands. It’s probably the girl, he figures.
“Well, I got you a coffee and a burrito,” Ryan mumbles, now flushing slightly. “I’ve seen you order that before so I figured it would be okay.”
“Oh man, awesome, thanks,” he says, surprised, and takes a sip of the coffee. “So who’s the girl?”
“Oh, I have no idea,” Ryan says with a guilty expression. “She was trying to get me to ask her out, I feel kind of bad.”
Brendon nods. “Is it because you have a girlfriend?” It’s hesitant, but he does kind of want to know.
Ryan laughs, which Brendon was not expecting. “No, no I don’t. Wouldn’t you know that if I did?”
Brendon just shrugs, opening his burrito and disguising his relief. Not that there’s any point in being relieved, but he’s relieved anyway.
He’s obviously too silent as he eats his lunch, because Ryan nudges his foot under the table. Brendon looks up quickly, and Ryan’s looking at him with that look again, and god.
He curses Ryan for what feels like the millionth time this year.
+++
It’s a Saturday night halfway through February, and Ryan’s running around the apartment getting ready, pulling his shoes out from under the table and his cologne smelling stronger (and nicer) than usual.
He’s wearing a black leather jacket with a white and vest underneath, and black skinny jeans, and he looks so good it’s almost enough to entice Brendon into saying yes to going out with him.
But he can’t, and really, he doesn’t even feel like it. He’s got his guitar on his lap as he sits on the couch, not wanting to look idle, and he figures he should do a trip to the Laundromat when Ryan’s out because the pile is getting bigger and Ryan did it last time.
Ryan disappears to his room and then reappears five minutes later, texting rapidly. He sends the message off and looks up at Brendon once more.
“You absolutely, completely, positively sure you don’t want to come? I promise it would be fun, my friend Pete lives on top of this bar on Valencia, and it’s awesome, I swear.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m beat today, really. I’m gonna head to bed early, I think.”
Ryan nods, reluctantly, and Brendon can see the frown he gets whenever Brendon declines the invitation. It makes him feel bad, but he has his reasons, seriously.
Maybe he doesn’t feel like watching Ryan getting hit on by every girl in some bar with a load of people he doesn’t know.
And Ryan’s better off without the responsibility of Brendon.
“Alright, well, I’ll bring a key,” is all Ryan says before he straightens out his shirt and heads out of the apartment.
Brendon sighs into the silence of the room and strums absently on the guitar strings. The apartment smells like Ryan, and Brendon’s never wanted to go and run after him more.
Ten minutes later, the door and opens Ryan marches back in, and Brendon is almost sure he did not fall asleep since Ryan left. Ryan throws his key and wallet into the bowl on the table, and he flattens his hand across the neck of the guitar and he sound stops abruptly.
Ryan strolls over to the couch, slouching down beside Brendon.
“I didn’t feel like going out, and I’m hungry,” Ryan explains casually, shrugging his shoulders. “You want to order Chinese?”
+++
It’s a month later and Brendon’s using his Saturday off work to study, because he’s got another exam soon and he’s trying his best to keep his good grades going.
Ryan, surprisingly, is working that day, but only the afternoon shift and he wakes up leisurely at noon, walking in to the kitchen with his baggy shirt on and sweatpants that hang far too low on his hips to keep Brendon focused on his book.
Ryan runs down to grab the mail before getting ready for work, and Brendon’s stomach reminds him that he hasn’t fed it yet, despite being up for three hours already. He puts a slice of toast into the toaster (that Ryan was correct in saying needs to be replaced, it hisses in a worrying fashion) and he jumps when Ryan bursts through the door, clutching an envelope in his hand happily.
Brendon raises his eyebrows. “Money from my dad arrived,” Ryan explains, kicking the door closed behind him. Brendon makes a noise of acknowledgement and tries not to feel jealous at Ryan’s financial support. He has no right to, really. Since he moved in with Ryan he’s had more money to spend on food than he did before, and even if he’d like a bit more for new t-shirts or for cereal, he doesn’t mind that much. (Besides, Ryan buys cereal, and insists that Brendon can share.)
Ryan starts making coffee on automatic, hitting buttons and pouring in milk quicker than Brendon's buttered his toast. They both sit down, Brendon still glancing at his textbook in vain. Ryan keeps licking his lips as he drinks his coffee, and he does it in a way that almost looks deliberate.
Brendon quickly goes back to highlighting phrases of the Mozart essay.
“Hey,” Ryan says suddenly, as if something has just occurred to him. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight, and actually get a decent meal?”
Brendon’s about to say that there’s no way he can afford a meal out, but Ryan waves the envelope in the air. “I can pay, and you know what? You’re not allowed say no.”
He grins, and Brendon goes through a million different reasons to refuse, but if Ryan was insisting- then, well.
“Okay,” he says. “As long as you definitely don’t mind. Thank you.”
“Awesome,” Ryan says, and scrapes his chair back. “I’m going to be late for work if I don’t get ready now.”
Brendon puts his head back down to his book again and tries to focus, but admittedly lifts his eyes when Ryan comes back out, this time showered and dressed in the black clothes he usually wears at the coffee shop. Just before he leaves, he turns and smiles at Brendon. “I’ll make reservations. I’ll text you before I get home.”
And then Brendon really, really can’t concentrate on the Mozart essay.
+++
The restaurant is on Grove Street, and it’s a small and inner-city kind of place, nestled in between a taco place and a boutique. It’s decked in orange and dark blue interior, clearly aiming for a modern and young feeling. Brendon thinks in any other city it would seem overdone, but it works here.
They walk down to it, and even though the air had warmed slightly that weekend Ryan’s hugging himself with coldness and Brendon has to physically stop himself from putting his arm around Ryan to warm him up, or something.
The waiter at the door smiles brightly and points them in the direction of a table set for two and Brendon is suddenly hit with how date-like this is.
Ryan picked a casual, busy enough restaurant, and there are no candles on the tables or anything, but still. Brendon doesn’t know whether to feel lucky or to hate whatever higher power keeps torturing him like this.
They keep up idle conversation while they decide on what to eat (quesadillas for Ryan, and pan-fried chicken and fries for Brendon) and once they’ve ordered and got their drinks Brendon suddenly finds himself about to pull the one topic from Ryan he didn’t really discuss, ever.
He maybe mentions to Ryan that he’s lucky for his Dad’s help. Which, you know, he is. Ryan shrugs, and Brendon eyes are pulled down to his clothes again, a white button-up and his jacket. Brendon’s wearing a similar outfit, but he feels like Ryan wears it so much better.
“It’s the least he can do,” Ryan says, belatedly. “He has a new girlfriend in Oakland, and he spends his whole time there. I never even see him,” he blurts out, and then looks surprised at himself for saying it. “I mean, I don’t mind; we never got on well and I guess I’m lucky to get cash from him, so.”
He knows Ryan probably feels bad for complaining in front of Brendon, who has it worse off, but Brendon just feels better; he’s got someone else without the perfect home life, for once.
He puts his hand out to give Ryan a consoling pat on his own hand before he thinks about what he’s doing, and it’s hard, it’s hard to pull back. But he does, and like before, he definitely imagines the look of sadness flash across Ryan’s face when he puts his hand back on his side of the table. Brendon’s obviously growing desperate.
Their food is probably not the greatest food they’ve ever eaten, but for the pair who have been living on a steady diet of cold pizza and macaroni and cheese, it’s pretty close to the greatest food they’ve ever eaten. Ryan insists on ice-cream when they’re finished, and when the bill comes, Brendon winces.
Ryan just smiles though, and pulls out a fifty. The waitress takes it and tells them to have a good night.
They take Haight Street on the way home, which Brendon always likes. Hippies and young people frame the street, fall out of music and thrift shops and head into bars playing open live music. It reminds him of the city he’s in, because sometimes he forgets how cool the place can be.
When he turns to Ryan he smiles at the man’s interest in a street performer, a young guy playing folk music with an acoustic guitar. They stay and watch for a while before moving on and maybe he’s not imagining Ryan leaning closer to him as they walk home.
Brendon turns the lights on when once they've clambered up the stairs to the apartment, and he clears up the dishes in the sink while Ryan turns the TV on. They both end up slumped in front of it, watching Friends re-runs and laughing quietly, even though they’ve heard the jokes before.
The commercial break comes on, and Brendon’s eyes are drifting shut. So that’s probably why he doesn’t initially hear the mumbled “Brendon” from beside him. When he opens his eyes properly, Ryan is turned in his seat and looking at him. His face looks soft and his eyes are dark, and Brendon entertains the idea that this may not be real.
But Ryan looks serious though, and his lips are parted and Brendon thinks of Spencer’s phrase, “He’s usually pretty bad at asking for what he wants.”
“Hey, Brendon,” he mumbles again, and this time he leans over, and presses his lips, feather-light, against Brendon’s. And then it sort of makes sense.
It takes Brendon roughly five seconds to wake his brain up, and making a small, retained noise of surprise, he kisses Ryan back.
Ryan edges forward and they kiss like that, easy, for seconds and then minutes, and Brendon brings his hand up to cradle Ryan’s neck and rubs his thumb over the pulse point. Ryan runs his tongue over Brendon’s lower lip in return, his tongue pushing into Brendon’s mouth, and both of them moan softly at the feeling. When Ryan eventually pulls back, one of his hands is curled around Brendon's hip and the other is pressed into the couch between them. His breathing is hitched from the lack of oxygen, but he talks anyway.
“So, um. What would you say. If I called tonight a date?”
Brendon laughs, bringing his hand up from Ryan’s neck to curl a piece of his hair around his finger. “I’d say that was very presumptuous of you.”
Ryan smirks and they kiss again, Ryan moving closer until he’s almost straddling Brendon’s lap.
Brendon pulls back, just a little. “Just for the record,” he whispers, his mouth an inch of away from Ryan’s, “I’d like it if it was date.”
“So you would like to do it again, sometime?” Ryan asks, pulling back, and his voice sounds feeble and nervous. It makes Brendon promise himself to never say no to Ryan Ross again.
And instead of a yes, he just moves his hands up and tangles them into Ryan's curly brown hair, (which is soft) and kisses him again.
FIN