I'm not a theif

I Won't Let Go

Wed, 05 Nov 2008 02:11:12 GMT

i won't let go
ryan/spencer, kind of.
pg
character death
684 words

Everyone has always told me that pictures don’t fade. They’ve always said that if I really wanted to remember something, I should photograph it so I’ll always have it. Well, today I’ve realized how wrong they actually are. The pictures of you and I are fading quickly, and I swear I’ll miss you.

It’s been three days—three long, miserable days. I can’t stand it without you; it’s not the same. Right now, I should be at school—Spanish class, actually—but instead, I’m home, lying in bed, thinking about your smile. I remember back in third grade, at recess, I would chase you around the swing set. You would always climb up the stairs to the slide and scream, “Haha, can’t catch me now!” and slide down. I would always catch you that way, but you never complained.

In fifth grade, I remember standing up for you when the sixth graders tried to beat you up on the way to school. They pushed you to the ground and kicked you, but I was there to stop them and take you back home to make sure you were okay. You would always thank me and hug me, the hugs always lasting a little longer than they should have. I didn’t mind, though, and neither did you.

Seventh grade was maybe the best and the worst part for our friendship. It was then that you came to me, unsure and afraid about whom you were; you’re sexuality. I comforted you every chance I could—told you things would be okay when I wasn’t so sure myself. I remember one day at lunch, you told me you thought you were in love with me as we sat under our tree. My eyes went wide and I ran from you—I regret ever doing that—and you cried.

I didn’t talk to you for three days. I didn’t go to school for three days. When I returned, I walked up to you and told you that I wasn’t in love with you, I wasn’t gay, but that you were still my best friend. You always would be, anyway. You smiled and accepted that.

I hate that I did that to you, Spencer. I do, honestly.

It’s November 4, 2008, and you’ve been gone for three days, and nineteen hours. Yesterday at school was the hardest thing for me. I took all of your books and personal items to the office. They thanked me and told me that if I needed anybody to talk to, they would be there. Silently and miserably I walked back to first period, sat down, and cried.

I cried all day, Spencer. I did. Life without you is terrible. School will never be the same. I can’t go to my locker without my heart dropping a little—without picturing you standing next to it with whomever, laughing and talking. I’m still expecting you to jump out at me at any minute and yell, “Ryan! I was kidding! Don’t cry, loser!” but I know you won’t be doing that any time soon.

I went to your visitation and I cried even harder. I gave myself a headache. Spencer, why’d you do it? You knew that drinking and driving weren’t exactly the greatest of mixtures, yet you did it anyway. Why?

I know I have to move on. I know you wouldn’t want me to sit here, day after day and cry over you and your stupidity. So for you, Spencer, I have a few last words:

I hate you. I hate you for leaving me alone in this world when I needed you the most. I hate you for being so stupid and drinking before leaving Brendon’s house. I hate you for making me feel like it’s my fault. I hate you for making me cry over your stupid actions, and I hate you for turning the best school year of my life into the worst.

I’ll be at your funeral tonight. I’ll cry over you one last time, and I’ll kiss your cold casket. I’ll miss you, Spencer, and I’ll never forget you.

love isn't always happy [1/1]

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 07:00:15 GMT

NC-17
Jon/Spencer
dedicated to: makeapanicscene because she asked for it :D
summary: When I first met you, I never thought I’d feel this way. For me, it was like love at first sight, even though you looked straight through me. You looked so beautiful sitting there under the tree in the snow. You looked lost, kind of like you wanted to belong somewhere, but had no where to go. I wanted to approach you that day, God did I ever. I just never had the balls to do so.
7,465 words

January 18th, 2008

When I first met you, I never thought I’d feel this way. For me, it was like love at first sight, even though you looked straight through me. You looked so beautiful sitting there under the tree in the snow. You looked lost, kind of like you wanted to belong somewhere, but had no where to go. I wanted to approach you that day, God did I ever. I just never had the balls to do so.

Instead, I walked by you four times. Four times. You didn’t notice me once. I sighed in defeat and sat few yards away from you. You looked cold, looked like you were shaking, but I didn’t have the guts to approach you still. Instead, like the wimp I am, I walk out of park where the tree is, as well as you, and I head for a coffee shop.

I order myself a latte, to go, and decide that it would be nice if I bought you something, too. I bought you a cappuccino, even though I didn’t know if you’d like it or not. I smiled as I handed the lady a ten, I smiled as I walked back to the park, but the smile left my face when I saw you were no longer sitting under the tree.

I gave your coffee to a random homeless person on the street that day.

February 5th, 2008

I was walking down the street. The wind was blowing nicely; it wasn’t too cold, but just cold enough to wear a jacket and scarf. February always seemed to be the coldest month of the year, to me at least, but I figured it would be December.

It’s almost Valentine’s Day and I’ve been thinking about you since that day in January. I wonder if someone will buy you a Valentine’s Day present. Even though I don’t know you, and I haven’t seen you since that day, I feel strangely connected to you.

I pass a coffee shop, it’s actually not too far from the park where I first saw you, and I decide to stop and order myself some. I order a large latte and take a seat by the window, picking up a newspaper to read while I drink my drink in comfort. As I flip to the music section of the newspaper, I set my coffee cup down on the smooth surface and look out of the window.

That’s when I see you. You’re sitting on a bench, your legs crossed. You’re wearing a short sleeve shirt, jeans, and sandals. How can you be in this cold weather with such little clothing? I can even see you shaking.

Without thinking, I’m abandoning my newspaper and grabbing my coffee, taking off the scarf around my neck all at the same time. “Excuse me,” I say when I approach you, “but are you cold?”

You look up from the ground and that’s when I notice your light chocolate eyes. I think I might have fallen in love, and I don’t even know your name. “A little, yeah,” you say. Your eyes are looking into mine, searching for something. I hand you the coffee and you happily take it, wrapping your hands around it and letting the heat radiate through your skin. When you take a drink, you nod approvingly, letting the warmth flow throughout your body. “Thanks,” you say, a twinkle now in your eyes. It makes my heart skip a beat.

“It’s nothing,” I say. I forget about the scarf until I take a seat beside you and look at my hands. “Oh, here. I almost forgot.” I put the scarf in your lap and you just stare.

“What’s this for?” you ask.

“In case you get really cold. I mean, you’re not wearing much and it’s barely fifty degrees.”

“I’m used to the cold,” you say. “I’m from Michigan.”

“I see,” I say.

“Thanks for the coffee, and the scarf, but I have to go,” you say and you’re getting up, walking away briskly.

“Wait!” I try to call after you, standing up and throwing an arm in the air. “I don’t even know your name…” I whisper as I realize that you won’t hear me no matter what.

March 2nd, 2008

I’m in the park again; sitting under the same tree you were only two months ago. Only this time, it’s not snowing out and it’s nearly seventy-five degrees out. Perfect weather; especially for March.

I turn a page in my book and I feel someone staring at me. I look over the top of the book and there I see you, sitting just a few yards away on a bench, again. You smile, and I smile, too, because I could look at you all day long. You get off the bench and make your way towards me. I pretend not to notice when you sit down next to me, but then you clear your voice and you say, “I’m Jon, just so you know. I forgot that the last time we met.”

“Spencer,” I say. “Jon’s a nice name.”

“Spencer’s a pretty name, though. Kind of like your eyes.” I blush and look away while you just smile at me; that smile that could make my heart melt. “You want some coffee?” you ask. “I got some cash earlier to do for some, uh, stuff, and I feel as though I owe you.”

I look at you, eyes wide, because you really, really don’t have to do this. I mean, I’m sure you earned this money, and you shouldn’t be wasting it on me! “Oh, Jon, I don’t—I don’t know. You should. You should save your money.”

“Oh but Spencer, I want to buy you coffee. Maybe I can get to know you a little bit better, too.”

I smile and nod. “Okay. But I’m paying for my own cup. You shouldn’t spend your money on me, really, Jon.”

You laugh and I swear that I would put it on my iPod and listen to that noise all day long if I could. “Fine, fine,” you say. “If you wanna be hard-headed.”

I smile and we walk back to the local coffee shop to talk and learn about each other. The whole way there I’m tempted to just take your hand in mine, but I know I can’t. Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets so I don’t have urges to grab yours.

When we arrive I order my usual large latte whereas you order a small cappuccino, hazelnut. I smile because I love the way hazelnut smells and I bet, that with a little of your assistance I could learn to love the taste as well. I take a seat somewhere along the while and sip my coffee lightly while I wait for you to get yours.

“So, Spencer how’s life?” you ask me once you’ve sat across the table from me.

“Well,” I start, and I honestly have no idea what I’m about to say. “I guess… I guess it could be better. I mean, I could have a better job, a better apartment, a boyfriend. I don’t know. It’s fine, I suppose.”

“A boyfriend, eh?”

“Yeah. I uh, I’m gay. Sorry if that like, bothers you or something.”

“No, no. It doesn’t bother me at all,” you say and there’s a twinkle in your eye somewhere.

“So where do you live?” I find myself saying and once those five words left my mouth, I wished I could’ve taken them back.

“Where you were sitting earlier. I live under that tree. Sometimes on a bench.”

I choke on my coffee and say, “Are you serious!? Why are you living on the streets?”

“I don’t have a job so I don’t have rent money. And I have no family here.”

“Oh, Jon! I don’t care; you’re coming to live with me. I won’t take no for an answer,” I say as I stare into your brown eyes.

It gets silence for awhile, and then you say, “Okay,” before taking another sip of your coffee. “But, I have to warn you: I’m a lot to put up with and I will get on your last goddamn nerve, okay?”

“I don’t believe you,” I say with a warm smile.

April 1st, 2008

I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about you moving in. You told me that day in the coffee shop that it would be a while before you moved in. Hesitantly I accepted that and you continued to tell me about you and why you’re in New York. You asked me the same question, only I didn’t answer.

It’s a soft spot, Jon, and I might not ever answer that question.

It’s 9:27am and I’m pacing in my living room like a mad man. I promise that if I were to keep going, I’d eventually fall into the apartment below me. I’m nervous. Very nervous. And I don’t know why. You don’t intimidate me; quite the opposite, actually.

There’s a knock on the door and I almost trip over myself to answer it. Only it’s not you; it’s Ryan and I really have no idea how he found me.

“Spence,” he says and I’m still in shock. “Spencer,” he says again and I blink, actually believing the he’s standing there, not you.

“Uh, hi,” I say, “how’d you find me? Why’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t hard,” he says. “Uh, may I come in?”

Sighing heavily I open the door and let him into my apartment. “Ryan, I am expecting someone, so if you could please just hurry up and tell me what you want and be on your way, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

He seems a little taken back. What does he want me to say? I miss him? He should’ve thought about that then, not now, because there is no way in hell I’m forgiving him.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I’ve been wanting to say that to you for years, Spencer, but what do I find when I go to your apartment in Vegas? Nothing. Nothing but fucking air, Spencer. I was hurt, do you understand that?”

“Sure,” I spit and I swear his eyes got darker; darker with hate, frustration, anger. “If you were so sorry, you wouldn’t have told me you hated me, and you wouldn’t have left me alone with that drunk bastard so he could fucking rape me, Ryan.”

“I did not,” he says in defense. But what does he know? He was drunk, too, and yes, I understand that. But his best friend was getting raped and he just sat on the floor outside of the door making out with some stranger. Some friend.

“Get out,” I say simply. “Seriously. Get out. I can’t believe anything you say today anyway. It’s April Fools. Leave.”

To my surprise, he gets off my couch he was sitting on and walks to the door. And with one last apologetic look from his eyes, he’s out of my apartment and out of my life and I’m thinking ‘fuck, did I really just let him leave, again?’

Too late now.

Two hours and a hot, relaxing bath later and you’re knocking on my door. I open the door and smile is apparent on my face and yours. “Hi,” you say and you’re holding a box. One. With what I’m guessing is your belongings. Where they came from, I don’t know, but at least you have something.

“Hey. Come in,” I say and I all but pull you through my apartment door. “You can just put your stuff right there”—I point to the space under the bar—“for now, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” you say and you’re still smiling. “Am I going to have to pay rent? I can if you’d like, Spencer, really, I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden, Jon, and no. I won’t accept rent money. Ever.”

“Are you sure?” you ask hesitantly.

“Positive,” I smile. “Want some tea or something?”

You nod feverishly and I laugh a little. “Spencer,” you say, and I look up from the tea I’m pouring into a cup for you. “Will you tell me why you came to New York? Where you’re from?”

You look so serious, but I’m not ready to tell anybody. I’ve lived in New York for four years without anybody questioning my past, yet here you are, doing exactly that.

“I. I can’t exactly tell you,” I say, placing your cup in front of you. “I’m just. I’m not comfortable talking about it. I just want to forget it all.”

It’s quiet and at one point, I actually thought you had left, but you didn’t. You’re drinking your tea silently and I’m so close to crying right now it’s not even funny. I could tell you about the horrible past; about how I was raped when I was fifteen at some house part that my ex-best friend took me to; about how when I was seventeen my father started to drink alcohol heavier than Ryan’s dad ever could and he beat me so bad I ended up in the hospital, and the doctors were questioning whether I’d make it or not. I could tell you all of that, or I couldn’t. There are pros and cons to both and right now, I’m sticking with not telling you because I’m not ready.

“Maybe soon,” I say and your eyes light up, “but not yet. I’m just not ready.”

“Good enough,” you say, “but can you show me where the bathroom is? I need a shower.”

I smile, and you smile too, and I’m grabbing your things and placing them in the bedroom you’ll sleep in while you find the shower and lock yourself in there. I go to my bedroom and collapse onto the bed and I cry while you’re in the shower, and I’m sure you could hear me.

May 25th, 2008

It’s almost midnight and I’m sitting on the couch watching a black and white movie while I wait for you to come home. Usually you’re home by ten and you’re either high on some pill or drunk off your ass.

Now I see why you said you’d be hard to handle.

I don’t mind; really, I don’t, I just prefer that you’d be here, cuddling with me.

At two in the morning you’re stumbling through the front door, drunk as hell and possibly high on a pill as well. You’re crying and that’s not normal.

“Jon, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Your teary eyes are staring back at mine and you wrap your arms around my neck and cry into my neck. I can’t exactly tell what you’re saying, but I hear something along the lines of, ‘Spencer… he… rape… fucking… quitting…’ and then I feel your lips pressing against my neck and I lose all sense of what’s right and wrong. I know this is so, so wrong because you’re drunk and I don’t want you doing something you regret, but at the same time it feel so right.

You’re kissing up my neck and you’re licking the shell of my ear. “Spencer Smith you are so fucking sexy,” you growl and just fuck I could fall over right now.

My eyes close and you’re kissing along my jaw line, getting closer and closer to my lips. When they finally touch, it’s like an explosion erupts throughout my body. I’m kissing you back and pressing you up against the closed front door. My tongue is pushing through your lips and colliding with your alcohol tasting one. Your hands are up my shirt, roaming and touching and feeling. My hands are fisted in your hair and just god, this feels so fucking good.

I pull away and look at you; your eyes are still closed and your mouth is still open. You’re so fucking gone and I just lose it right there.

“Jon we shouldn’t,” I say, “because you’re drunk and you’re high and just. It doesn’t feel right at this moment.”

Then you’re looking at me, all sad like and everything and you’re pouting like a five year old.

“Spencer I’m fucking done with it. I’m done with the drugs and I’m done with the alcohol.”

I smile and wraps my arms around your neck and say, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Whatever I do, Spencer, just don’t let me leave the house anymore. Don’t. Only if I’m with you.”

“I promise,” I say and I never break my promises.

I walk you to your room and put a bucket next to your bed once you’re under the covers and your head is on the pillow. I kiss your forehead; much like a mother would do, simply because it feels right. You smile up at me and I smile down at you. “Thanks,” you say, “for not kicking me out yet, for listening to me, for everything. You don’t know how much I appreciate you, Spencer.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just go to sleep,” I say.

You close your eyes and I turn off the lights in your bedroom. I walk back into the living room, curl back up on the couch holding a pillow, and I watch another black and white sappy romance movie until I fall asleep.

June 22nd, 2008

Lately I’ve been having the same dream over and over again. I can’t get it—you—out of my mind. It’s driving me crazy and making me like you that much more all at the same time. I don’t even know my own head anymore.

“Spencer,” I hear you say and I snap my head up from my bowl of cereal to see you standing in front of me with nothing but boxers on.

“Y-yeah?” I stutter and I blush because I never stutter.

“Do you have any clothes I could wear? I don’t. I don’t really have that many.”

“Yeah, yeah!” I jump up. “I have plenty!”

You follow me to my bedroom and sit on my bed and it’s so tempting to just turn around and jump on you and I literally have to hold myself back from doing so. I pull out a pair of light blue jeans and toss them to you, going over to my closet and pulling off a white button down shirt. “How’s this?” I ask, holding the shirt up. You nod and I throw it at you too.

You get off my bed and walk into my bathroom to change. I take your place and lay backwards, closing my eyes and rubbing my face with my hands. It’s not long before the bathroom door is reopening, but I don’t look up because within those ten seconds you’re on top of me and straddling me with a devious grin.

I smile back and say, “What are you doing?” laughing a little as I speak.

“This,” you say and you lean forward. Even though we’ve done this before, my breath hitches and I close my eyes as our lips touch and just fuck this simple fucking kiss makes me melt. If I were standing, I wouldn’t be for long.

The kiss is lips and innocence; no teeth, no tongue, no rush. It’s just Spencer and Jon, Jon and Spencer and just fuck. This is so perfect. This is right. Nothing could go wrong.

My hands are on your hips and yours are on either side of my head. I really kind of want your shirt off, but I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, and quite frankly it’s a little early for us to be doing that. My hands are roaming over your chest and I let them rest on the small of your back as I pull you as close as I can.

I slide my tongue along your bottom lip and you let me in and our tongues are colliding and it just feels so right. So much better than that first drunken kiss we shared when all I could taste was the beer. But right now, all I taste is you, you, you, you. And you taste so good.

Your hands are on my hips and they’re pushing my shirt up and you break the kiss while I lean so you can take my shirt off. Right now, I’m regretting letting you get dressed if it was going to come off so soon. It takes you ten seconds to unbutton the shirt and slide it off your arms before we’re kissing again. You’re grinding your hips into mine and it just feels so heavenly.

We’re moaning into each other’s mouths and your lips are hovering above mine as we’re panting and I say, “Fuck, Jon, the pants need to go.” Your lips are on my collar bone and you’re biting and sucking while you’re undoing my pants button. Shortly after I’m shimmying out of my jeans and so are you and now I’m left in nothing and you’re still wearing boxers.

“Fuck,” you breathe when notice I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. You quickly slide out of yours and then you’re grinding down on my again. I moan and throw my head back at the feel of skin on skin and you take advantage of my exposed neck.

It’s all just way too much. Too much, too much, too much. I could explode right now, but I’d explode happy.

And suddenly there’s an, “Oh my God!” coming from the doorway and the slam of my bedroom door, but I don’t care because I’m too engrossed in you, in this, to even consider whoever the fuck it was that just stepped into my room. You’re rolling your hips into mine and if I don’t get more, I really will explode.

“Jon,” I whine, “please stop teasing.”

You get real close to my ear and whisper, “Tell me what you want me to do, baby. I can make your dreams come true.”

I shudder as our lips are connected again and you’re wasting no time as you push your tongue through my lips. I buck my hips into yours and you moan loudly into my mouth and I swear that sound could put me over the edge, and that sound alone.

“Fuck me,” I all but groan as you roll your hips into mine again.

“That what you want?” you ask and I’m now reduced to a pile of whimpers.

“Yes, God yes. Please. God, please, fuck me, Jon, fuck me.”

I reach under the bed and grab a condom and I realize fuck. I ran out of lube.

You tear the condom wrapper with your teeth and I swear, Jon Walker that that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen you do. You know, other than breathe, of course. You roll it onto yourself and ask, “No lube?” with a smirk as you put two finger into my mouth.

I wet them greatly because yeah, this is gonna hurt dry, obviously, but. Oh well. While I’m expecting one, you push in two at once and even with the ache, it feels fantastic. You thrust your fingers in and out until I’m saying, “Okay okay, that’s enough. Just fucking fuck me already, please, Jon, please.”

And even I’m surprised at myself because hey, I’m Spencer Smith; I don’t beg.

Next thing I know I’m sucking your dick—with the condom on—so this will all go a little bit more smoothly. You’re moaning and pulling out of my mouth when you think it’s fine and you’re lining up with my entrance after put my knees over my shoulder. Without warning you push into me, a little at a time, and I groan because fuck it hurts but fuck it feels amazing.

“Move,” I say and you do. Slowly at first, starting up a rhythm. You pull all the way around move angles before slamming back in and hitting that spot, making me scream beneath you. Apparently you get the hint because you’re slamming into me repeatedly and biting my skin all over and I’m pretty sure I’m actually bleeding in one spot.

Your teeth are connected with my shoulder as you slam into me a few more times, wrapping your hand around my dick and pumping in beat with your thrusts. Three more thrusts and I’m coming all over your hand and my chest and you’re letting go inside of the condom inside of me and just. It’s amazing.

You pull out and I wince because yeah, no lube hurts like hell, even with spit, and you take the condom off, throwing it into the trash bin oh so conveniently placed by the bed. You lay beside me and I wrap my arm around your waist and snuggle into you.

Jon Walker, I have to say, that was the best sex I’ve had in a long, long time.

July 4th, 2008

“Happy fourth!” you sing into my ear. I look at the alarm clock on my side of the bed. 7:31am.

Thank you, Jon, for waking me oh so fucking early on my day off.

“Ugh,” I groan, “do I have to get up?”

“Yes, baby, you do,” you say and I smile at the name ‘baby.’

I’ve been dating you for a little less than a month, but I won’t lie: it’s the best thing that’s happened to me all year. I enjoy waking up to you every morning, and I enjoy coming home to you every night. I love the small little smiles you send and all of the simple little gestures you do that make my pulse go wild.

“I made you breakfast,” you say and how come I didn’t notice the smell before?

“Mmmm,” I mutter, “it smells delicious. What’d you make?”

“Pancakes and eggs, but I know you don’t eat meat so there’s no bacon.”

“Thanks,” I say because yeah, that’s pretty thoughtful seeing as how you eat meat and you love bacon.

“It’s ready whenever you are,” you say as you get out of bed. You’re dressed in boxers and a white shirt, but that’s it. You’re walking out of my our bedroom and heading for the kitchen, and I’m not far behind you.

Only I forget to put clothes on.

“Eating in the nude, are we?” you laugh when I walk into the living room/dining room.

I look down and blush. “I uh, I’ll be right back,” I say before running back to the room and pulling a pair of boxers from the floor. When I come back you’re already seated and eating, reading the paper and I take the seat across from you. “What are we doing tonight?” I ask.

“I bought some fireworks,” you say, “but not much. Have to save money, y’know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I was thinking my friend Brendon could come over and hang out with us. He has fireworks, too.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say waving my fork around, “I’d love to meet your friends. We can shoot the fireworks in the back of the complex. Over that lake thingy?”

“Yeah, that’s romantic like,” Jon says and he’s smiling.

“I know it is.”

The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, giving me plenty of time to think. The name Brendon sounds familiar, but then again, maybe it doesn’t. Either way, he’s your friend and I’ll put up with him no matter what.

I finish my breakfast and wordlessly get out of my seat and head for the shower. I smell like sex from last night—it was amazing, just like our first time together—and I’m sure you do, too. I strip in the bedroom and walking into the connected bathroom to start the water. I set it to the hottest setting and step in, sighing as the scalding hot water hit my back. As much as it hurt, it felt so amazing too.

As quickly as I got in I got out, only now, I smell much better and I smile as I walk past the mirror, a towel wrapped around my waist. You’re lying on my bed on your stomach; your hand are out at an angle from your head and your legs are the exact same.

“I have to warn you,” he says. “Brendon used to be my dealer. He uh—he might try to sell me shit tonight so please don’t leave me alone with him, please. I don’t want to go back to that.”

“Okay,” I promise.

Brendon does come that night, just like you said, and that’s when I recognize him. I knew him in Vegas. Thank God he doesn’t recognize me.

August 28th, 2008

My birthday is soon. I’m so excited. You would think that my getting older would stop the anticipation, but I really cannot wait. I know that you don’t know my birthday is, and I know that you would care if you did, but I’d rather you not know.

I’m standing in the kitchen and you’re sitting on the couch, watching some show on TV when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” you call and you smile at me through the opening in the wall. Faintly, I can hear you say, “Who the fuck are you?” and I’m dropping the knife in the sink and rushing to the door.

“Ryan,” I say and I’m really pissed off. Didn’t I tell him to not come back? Yeah, I think I did. “What’re you doing here?”

“Spencer who is Ryan?” you ask.

“I promise I’ll tell you everything later, okay? Just. Just let me talk to him real fast and I’ll back and dinner will be ready.”

“Okay,” you smile and you kiss my cheek before giving Ryan and awkward look and walking back to the TV.

“What do you want?” I ask him.

“I want to talk to you. Spencer, you can’t avoid me forever. We were best friends—you just don’t forget and avoid your best friend.”

“No, you were my best friend. There’s a difference, Ryan, and in case you don’t remember, you lied to me, and you let me get hurt. The two things you promised to never do.”

“I know,” he sighs, “and I’ve already apologized like fifty times, Spence, why can’t you forgive me?”

“Because that guy took my innocence, Ryan! While you were sitting there making out with fucking Brendon Urie, I was getting raped and you didn’t even care. Not even when I told you the next day.”

“I know. Who is that in there?”

“Who? Jon? Don’t worry about who he is.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Maybe he is,” I say and I know that he is. We’ve been dating for a while and it’s amazing, but of course I don’t tell Ryan that.

“You’re cute together. Don’t let him get away.”

“Ryan, you should leave. I have to finish dinner and I have work tomorrow. Just forget about me—forget I was ever your friend because I sure as hell regret helping your ass in the first grade.”

With that, I walk inside and shut the door, locking it behind me. I’m almost in tears because of him, and there’s nothing I’d like to do more than just fall on the floor and cry like a baby. But I have more respect for myself than that, and I know that I was doing the right thing, even if he was my best friend.

“Are you okay baby?” you ask and it’s then that I realize that I’ve been standing with my back pressed up against the door for a while.

“I’m—no, not really,” I say with a defeated sigh. “How about we eat dinner and we can talk about it later, okay? I’m kind of hungry and I know you are too.”

You smile and I do too. “Alright,” you say, “but can we eat in the living room? I want you to watch this movie with me.”

“Of course,” I say.

I walk into the kitchen and grab two plates from the cabinet, filling them with the food I prepared with whatever we have. I just hope it’s good… With a smile I walk into the living room and you pull up the coffee table so I can set our plates there. You hit ‘play’ on the remote and dig into your food and I do too. We eat in silence and to me; it’s comfortable, but a little awkward. The movie you picked out isn’t that bad, either. Not something I would usually watch, but sometimes you have to try new things.

“So when are you going to tell me who Ryan is?”

I nearly choke on my food. “Well. I was hoping I could tell you after the movie and after I’ve showered. I just honestly need an hour or so to just come down from it all, okay? I promise you I’ll tell you, baby, okay?”

You nod and move your attention back to the television. I sit there, pretending to be interested in the movie and think about what to tell you. It’s not that I don’t want you to know because I do, it’s just, I don’t know how to tell you.

After dinner, I take our plates back into the kitchen and wash them by hand. The movie is almost over so I go and take a shower, quickly. When I get out and walk into the bedroom, you’re lying in the bed with the covers up to your waist. I smile and slip a pair of boxers on and crawl underneath the covers and you turn the lamp off on your side of the bed. In the dark, I whisper the whole story to you; why I ran away from home, who Ryan is, why we’re not friends; and you listen the whole time. When I’m done and I’m just a crying mess, you hold me and that night I sleep pretty damn well.

September 17th, 2008

“I have to go,” you say. It’s 8:13 in the morning and it’s Saturday so I know you’re not working. I feel you kiss my cheek and I stir a little, looking up at you through sleep-filled eyes.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I just… I have to go. I’ll be back, though, I promise.” You kiss me again and rush out of the bedroom door. A few minutes later, after I’ve gone back to sleep, the front door slams and you’re gone until I don’t know when.

Hopefully you left a note because I won’t remember when I wake up.

October 31st, 2008

I haven’t heard from you at all. You’ve been gone for a little over a month and I haven’t even gotten a phone call. I’m worried about you. If I had friend, they would be calling me, asking me why I haven’t moved off the couch. Why I haven’t showered. Why I’ve barely eaten.

My work has been calling me; I haven’t been in two weeks. I’m pretty sure I’m fired.

I don’t know when you’ll be back. I just remember—barely—you telling me you’re leaving, but that you will be back.

There’s a knock on the door and I just say, “Come in,” because I don’t think I can move. I’ve been staring at the wall for weeks.

“Spence?” Ryan says and I still don’t move my head. “Spencer? Are you okay?” He’s sitting beside me now, an arm draped over my shoulder. “Spencer, answer me.”

“What do you want, Ryan?”

“I’m leaving for Vegas. I just thought I’d tell you bye one last time.”

“Yeah, bye, now leave.”

“Spencer,” he says and he stands. “I don’t understand why you won’t just listen to me. I’ve apologized for that stupid fucking party so many fucking times I won’t apologize again. Your family misses you, I miss you, hell, even my dog misses you. Why in the hell won’t you come back to Vegas? Because Pete raped you? Pete is in jail, Spencer, and you’re here, in New York, hiding, because you can’t face your own goddamn problems. You’re fucking scared shitless. But you know, Spencer. Sometimes in life we have to do things we don’t want to do, and sometimes we have to realize that running from our problems only makes them worse. Grow the fuck up and come home with me, Spencer.”

I look at him—actually turn my head and look at him—and there are tears in my eyes. I try to wipe them away before he can. But, I’m too late and he’s bending over and wrapping his arms around my neck and I’m crying, hard, because it’s all just too much.

You left me and Ryan’s right: I need to grow up, I need to stop running from my problems, and I need to go home.

But I can’t leave you. Not yet.

“Stay a few more days. You can sleep here,” I say.

“Are you… Are you forgiving me?”

“I guess,” I say, “and I’ll go back to Vegas with you just as soon as Jon comes home. I promise.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

November 6th, 2008

“Spencer he’s been gone for over two months. He’s not coming back.”

“Yes he is,” I snap, “he promised. Jon never breaks his promises.”

“Well I want to be back for Christmas so I’m leaving in three days, with or without you, got it?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

Ryan sighs and shakes his head, walking back into what used to be Jon’s room. I walk into my own, shutting and locking the door before I throw myself onto your side of the bed. It still smells like you—I’ve refused to wash the sheets or let anyone on that side of the bed. It’s yours. It will always be yours. You just have to come home.

There’s a knock on the door and tiny voice saying, “Spencer, do you want anything to eat?”

“No Ryan,” I call out. “I’m not hungry.”

“Spencer open the door,” he says.

Dramatically I sigh and stalk over the door, unlocking it and swinging it open and saying, “What?”

“You have to eat.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Spencer, you can’t ruin yourself over a boy, okay? He’s not—”

Just then, the front door flies open and there you are, standing with a smile of your face and sandals on your feet. “Jon!” I screech as I push past Ryan and jump into your arms. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried!” I kiss your lips. “I’ve missed you so much. Don’t ever leave me again.”

You laugh and I swear your eyes are sparkling. “I just had some family stuff to deal with back in Michigan, and then I had to go to Chicago for some more. I wanted to call you,” you say, “but I never had the time.”

Ryan clears his voice from behind me and you say, “What are you doing here?”

“Jon, sweetie, it’s okay,” I say. “I forgave him. It’s a long story. But, there is something I have to tell you.”

“And what is that?” you ask, a smile on your face.

“I have to go back to Vegas. For good. I want you to come with me. Please?”

I can feel you tense because ever since I told you what happened, you’ve had this thing against the whole state of Nevada and all the states surrounding.

“I don’t know…” you say and I pout a little.

“Fuck, don’t pout,” you say and I just pout even more. Laughing once more you lean down and kiss my lips and damn, I’ve missed this so much. “I’ll go with you guys. When do we leave?”

“Three days,” Ryan says. “If you’re not ready then, oh well. I want to be back before Christmas because I have family waiting.”

“I do too,” Spencer says, “but Jon if you want to wait longer than three days we can wait a week or so. It’s still early in the month.”

“No, no,” you say with a shake of your head. “Three days is perfect.”

Ryan sends you a smile and mouths the words ‘thank you’ to you and I just smile and look into your eyes as you mouth ‘no problem’ back to him.

December 25th, 2008

It’s Christmas morning and I’m back in my old room in Vegas, only this time you’re pressed up against me and your hot breath is on my neck. I know my mom would want us down early, but I’m not sure I can wake you just yet. You’re so beautiful when you sleep. You slightly part your lips and make these cute little noises. Sometimes you’ll snore, sometimes you’ll talk; either way, it’s adorable and it puts me to sleep instantly.

As suspected, there’s a knock on the door and it’s opened shortly after.

“Spencer?” my mom says softly into the dimly lit room.

“Yeah mom?” I reply groggily.

“You and Jon should get downstairs,” she says, “because we’re about to open presents and your little sister would love it if she could see you. She’s really missed you, Spencer. We all have.”

“Don’t worry mom. We’ll be down there in a minute. Five, tops.”

“Okay,” she smiles as she shuts the door gently. I can’t even hear here as she walks down the steps.

“Jon,” I whisper. You don’t answer. “Jon,” I say again, with the same results. With a grin I lean forward and press my lips against yours, licking my lip along your bottom lip. Slowly but surely I feel you starting to reply to my kiss and I pull away. “We’ve got to get downstairs, baby. There’s presents!”

You laugh at me and peck my lips once more. “Go on,” you say. “I’ll be down in a bit. I’ve got to y’know, first of all fix my problem and secondly comb my hair or something.”

I look down and you do seem to have a problem…

“I can help you with the first one and the second one I have an answer to: you’re supposed to go down and open presents with sleep hair! Duh!”

You laugh once more and I connect our lips, hooking my thumbs on the edge of your boxers. I kiss down your chest and pull the boxers down slowly. How I’m not hard yet, I don’t know; it’s a miracle. I kiss the inside of your thigh and you inhale sharply. You fist your hands in my hair as I slowly take you as far in as I can go, humming and sucking and licking. You’re holding back your moans as best as you can and you’re pulling my hair so hard it almost hurts, but I love that.

“S-Spen,” you say and I put my hands on your hips so you stop fucking my mouth. You come deep down my throat and I pull off and crawl back up your chest and kiss you deeply. You lick what I missed off my cheek and smile. “Presents?”

“Presents!” I squeal and I’m running down the stairs like I’m five.

In my living room is sat Ryan and his little brother, my mom, my dad, my little sister, and my little brother.

“Spen!” Kayla says as she jumps into my arms. “Where have you been?”

She’s eleven now and she’s only as big as Ryan. Sometimes you really would think we’re blood relatives.

“Spencer, Kayla wanted you to open the first present.”

“Really?” I smile as I kiss my little sister on the cheek, setting her on the floor.

My mom hands me a present and I sit on the floor in front of Jon and slowly start unwrapping it. When the wrapping paper is off, all that’s left is the box and ten ounce of tape. I laugh as I try to get the tape off and when I eventually do, I take the top off and my jaw drops.

“I don’t play anymore, though,” I saw as I look at my mom. “I didn’t have room for my set in New York so I sold it…”

“That’s why I got you this,” you say, getting up from behind me. “Follow me,” you say so I do. You’re taking me into the backyard and into the shed. You open the door and inside sits a drum kit, much like the ones I first got.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. I drop the sticks and turn and face you, grabbing your face and kissing your lips deeply. “I love you,” I say because I do.

Your smile touches your eyes for the first time in months as you wrap your arms around my waist and say, “I love you back,” and kiss me again.

you're all i've ever wanted, all i've ever dreamed of. [1/1]

Fri, 11 Jul 2008 05:00:02 GMT

Title: You're All I've Ever Wanted, All I've Ever Dreamed Of.
Rating: NC17
POV: Third, Brendon.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Jen is santixcore and she owns herself, the facts about her, and her her brother.
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, Brendon/Mason [I know it's a weird pairing, but please give it a chance]
Summary:

“Then who the hell do I blame? It sure as hell wasn’t MY idea to move my ass all the way to fucking TEXAS. What’s here for you, mom? A job? No. A life? No. A boyfriend? Oh! I believe so! One you just happened to meet online which you, of all people, should know isn’t safe! It’s like your contradicting yourself in every way now!” Brendon screams, tears now falling down his cheeks. “You can say it’s not your fault, but if I were in Vegas right now my boyfriend wouldn’t be in the hospital and I wouldn’t have just made the biggest mistake of my life.”

A/N: Italics are the thoughts, exception of the flashback. It's over 7,000 words and I've been working on it since March. I'm just really glad it's over! I know the Brendon/Mason is weird, REALLY weird, but I'd really appreciate it if you read it. (:
Dedications: santixcore. makeapanicscene for betaing. and xxwhenitrains just because.

Brendon sat outside of his new house in his new neighborhood, in a new state. He didn’t see the point in moving; he and his mom were perfectly fine in Vegas. His mother, however, disagreed and was absolutely positive that Texas was the perfect place for them for now. Brendon knew it was because of a guy she had met online.

So he and his older siblings packed their things and were soon on their way to Texas which brought us to him now, sitting there, with his iPod in his ears. His mother told him to go and make new friends, but that was impossible. Brendon was socially awkward; he couldn’t hold a conversation for longer than five minutes. Even his older siblings would tease him about it, and that definitely didn’t help at all.

Kids younger and older were riding their bikes down the street in a hurry. One of them had a guitar on his back and he looked like he was late for something. Brendon sighed, getting up off of his front porch and heading for the mailbox.

When he was told they were moving to Texas of all places, Brendon thought of dirt, sand, hot weather and cowboys. He didn’t expect to see people like him, and he definitely didn’t expect to be living in an area with grass.

He looked down the street left and right and saw no one. Sighing once more, he walked back to his new house to sulk inside where it was at least cold.

“Brendon!” his mother exclaimed once he was inside. “Did you make any friends?”

It was a stupid question, really, because he had been outside all of five minutes. It was even more stupid of her to ask him a question when his iPod was in his ears, Blink 182 playing on full blast. Especially when she knew that if he was listening to his music, he should be left alone. Aggravated, he pulled his ear buds out of his ears and glared at her.

“No,” he said shortly, turning on his heels and dashing up the stairs to his new bedroom. He hated the word ‘new’.

In his room was a bed, a dresser, and about six thousand boxes of his stuff, most of which he didn’t even need. He sat down on his bed, staring at all of the unpacked boxes.

Why do I have so much shit?

Eventually—two hours later—he stopped staring at the boxes and began to unpack them. Most of the boxes were clothes, he found out, some of which were his sisters, and the other boxes were either CDs or movies. Oh, and his computer. That was his baby and it was his only way of communicating with his Vegas friends, Ryan and Spencer. Sure, there was his cell phone, but Ryan didn’t have texting and the boy didn’t talk on the phone, and Spencer preferred talking over texting when Brendon hated talking on the phone. So internet it was.

He quickly turned his laptop on, sitting back down on the bed as it looked for a connection. Eventually it found one and he was automatically signed into MSN. Spencer wasn’t online, which was rare, but Ryan was.

bden writes love on his arms says:
Ryro! I miss u man. it’s boring down here ):

lover not a fighter says:
bren?! omg! wats texas like?

bden writes love on his arms says:
wut do u think? i hate it.

lover not a fighter says:
have u made any friends yet? mayb that’s ur prob. u just need friends!

bden writes love on his arms says:
yeah I guess. dude I gotta go. I still have like 80 million boxes to unpack! ttyl?

lover not a fighter says:
totally man. I’ll b on all nite.

Brendon signed out of MSN and shut his laptop down, leaving it sitting on the bed while he unpacked the rest of his clothes and books. It was two in the morning when he finished and instead of getting back online, he pulled back the sheets to his bed and crawled under them, resting his head on the pillow that smelled like Ryan and quickly falling into a deep sleep.

”Brendon, we have to keep this a secret,” Ryan said. “If my dad ever finds out I’ll be dead. Not even Spencer can know. Promise?”

“I promise,” Brendon replied, pressing his lips quickly to Ryan’s.

It was the summer before junior year and they were sitting in Brendon’s backyard under the tree, hiding from the sun. It was hot, almost 102 degrees, and Brendon decided that wearing a shirt would only make it worse. Pulling it off, Ryan made a face and looked away, a red tint covering his cheeks.

“What?” Brendon asked with a smirk on his lips. “I’m hot.”

“I know,” Ryan says.

What Brendon said could be taken two ways, and Ryan would reply the same way in either situation. Brendon smirked and leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes.

“You know,” he said, turning his head towards Ryan, eyes still closed. “I love it in Vegas. It has all my friends and the boy I’m in love with. I don’t know what I would do if I ever had to leave.” He opened his eyes and smiled at Ryan.

“W-Who are you in l-love with?” he stuttered, something that was rare for him.

Brendon, smile still on his face, turned back towards his house and laughed whole-heartedly. “It’s simple to figure out, Ross. Must I break everything down for you?”

Ryan punched Brendon’s arm lightly. “I am not stupid,” he said. “Just tell me who it is.”

Brendon smirked and leaned forward, catching Ryan’s lips in a gentle kiss. “You,” he breathed into Ryan’s mouth. He pulled back slightly and searched Ryan’s eyes for something, anything. “I’m in love with you, Ryan Ross.”

Ryan closed his eyes, sighing, he pulled away. “You mean it?” he asked, eyes still closed. “Don’t tell me you love me if you don’t mean it, Brendon.”

“I love you, Ryan, and I mean it. I couldn’t mean it anymore.” Brendon wrapped his arm around Ryan’s shoulders, pulling his close and pressing a kiss into his curly hair. “I’ll never leave you, I promise.”

When Brendon woke up, the sun was shining brightly on his face. Groaning, he pulled the covers over his face as there was a knock on his door.

“Brendon! Get up! Now!” his sister shouted.

“Go away, Kelsey!” he shouted. “I’m sleeping!”

“Get up now!” She shouted again.

“Fine, fine! I’m up!” he said as he got out of bed and opened the door. “Happy?” he asked.

Smirking she walked away, throwing her dyed-blonde hair over her shoulder. Brendon shook his head and grabbed a change of clothes, heading for the bathroom while it was open. He shut and locked the door, starting the water on the shower and looking into the mirror. He looked like shit and missed Ryan, badly. He broke his promise about never leaving him, but he didn’t exactly have a choice. After his shower, he decided, he would go outside and sit on the porch with his laptop so he could talk to his lover, his best friend.

Shedding his clothes he jumped into the shower, washing the most important parts before jumping back out again. He grabbed a towel from the closet, drying himself off with it before wrapping it around his head. He pulled his boxers on, pulling on a pair of loose basketball shorts afterwards. He grabbed his plain white shirt and pulled it on over his head as he made his way into his bedroom. He grabbed his laptop and bounded down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to get a glass of water.

It was hot outside, just like in Vegas, but this was much, much worse. He wanted to shed every bit of clothing he had on, but decided it would be inappropriate.

He turned his laptop on and it found an internet connection almost instantly as he signed into MSN.

i miss you says:
r u ever comin back?

bden writes love on his arms says:
of course, ry. ur there and i promised u i wouldn’t leave u didn’t i?

i miss you says:
i kno, i kno, but i just keep thinking ur gona find some1 else and leave me.

bden writes love on his arms says:
i’m just gone 4 1 yr, k? after this yr i’ll b back n vegas w/ u k? i love u ry n pls don’t 4get that

i miss you says:
ok. well i g2g. sister wants on. ttyl?

bden writes love on his arms say:
yeah ily.

i miss you says:
ily2.

Brendon sighed and shut his computer, setting it down on the porch beside him. He looked out into his neighborhood as more kids rode by on their bikes. The boy that had the guitar yesterday looked at Brendon, stopping and shouting at the other boys. He got off his bike and walked over to Brendon. Brendon didn’t know whether to run or stay still.

“Are you new?” he was asked. Brendon looked up at the boy, shaking his head yes. “Cool. I’m Mason,” the boy said, extending his hand.

“B-Brendon.”

Brendon looked over Mason. His light brown hair was long— it was straightened and fell just a little past his chin. He had a red headband over his hair which caused the ends to flip out slightly. He was wearing jeans, Brendon didn’t know how, and a blue shirt.

He’s kinda hot.

“Mason! Come on!” yells a kid from the street, sitting on his bike and waving his arm in the air.

“Sorry. I have to go. That’s my brother, by the way. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“M-Maybe,” Brendon says.

What the fuck? Since when do I stutter?

Mason laughed a little. “Bye Brendon.”

Brendon watched him walk with his bicycle down the drive, meeting his brother on the street before hopping on and riding away. He sighed as the sat there, laptop by his side and looked at the sky. “I hate my life,” he whispered to himself.

“Hey Brenny,” his sister said, walking out of the house. “Who was your friend? He was quite the looker.”

“His name is Mason.”

“Is he single? Gay? What? You have to tell me these things.”

“I don’t know. He just told me his name and then he had to go. Leave me alone,” he said, pushing himself off the concrete of the porch and grabbing his laptop before walking inside, slamming the storm door behind him.

He ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and slammed his bedroom door once inside. His laptop thankfully landed on the bed as he threw himself onto the bare floor, rolling onto his back so he could stare at his ceiling. He started to wonder why he was here in Texas, unhappy, when he could be there in Vegas with the love of his life.

“This sucks,” he muttered, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball.

He fell into a light sleep, only to be woken up ten minutes later by his cell phone. Groaning he answered it, not looking at the caller ID beforehand.

“Hello?” he said sleepily into the cellular device.

“Hey B. It’s Ry.”

“Ryan? How are you? I miss you.” Suddenly he was fully awake.

Ryan only called if something bad happened.

If he needed Brendon to come over, right then.

Only Brendon couldn’t come this time; he was in Texas.

“I-I’m okay,” he stuttered, taking a shaky breath. “I miss you too. So much.”

“Is everything okay? I mean, are you okay? Did anything happen?”

“It’s uh. It’s my dad, Bren.”

“Fuck. What happened, Ryan? Did he hit you again? If he did I fucking sw—”

“N-no. He-He didn’t hit me. He’s uh. Brendon he’s in the hospital. He got alcohol poisoning. They don’t know if he’ll make it or not.”

Suddenly Brendon couldn’t breathe. He didn’t feel bad for the man lying in the hospital bed. No, of course he didn’t. He felt bad for Ryan. Ryan put up with that man’s shit every goddamn day and now he’s lying in the hospital bed, fully prepared to leave his son at a very young age. How shitty is that?

“God, Ryan, I am so sorry. I would come if I could but you know I can’t.”

“I know,” Ryan cries, “but I don’t know what the fuck to do, Bren. I really fucking don’t. I just. I can’t be alone right now or I’ll break my promise and there’s nowhere I can go, B, nowhere.”

“What about Spencer’s? Can’t you go there?”

“They’re out of town. I already tried.”

“Fuck. Uh, what about that one girl from school? What was her name… Hayley? What about her?”

“I don’t talk to her anymore, B.”

“Shit. Hold on for two seconds, and please, Ry, don’t do anything.”

“Okay,” he choked out.

Brendon, phone still in hand, ran down the stairs in search of his mother and siblings. No one was in the kitchen, or the living room, so he rushed to his backyard and still found no one. “Fuck,” he muttered as he ran back through the house and to the front. Again, no one. “Fuck!” he cried even louder, dropping onto the concrete. He noticed that all of the cars were gone, meaning he was home alone. There was no one to help him. Like usual.

“Ry? Ryan are you there?” he questions.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here, B.”

“Fuck, Ry, I don’t know what to do. I’m not in any position to get to you. Everyone left; I’m alone.”

This made Ryan cry harder. “B-Bren?”

“Yeah Ry?”

“I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you, too, Ryan. What are you doing? Talk to me.”

“I-I can’t do this anymore,” he said. In the background there was rattling, something sounding like a bottle popping open.

“Ryan. Ryan fucking stop. Talk to me. You can get through this. Just talk to me, please, baby.”

Brendon looked up from the concrete beneath him to see Mason passing by. Not knowing that anything was wrong, Mason smiled and waved, not bothering to stop. Brendon on the other hand, he jumped off his porch and ran to his new “friend.”

“Mason. Fuck, Mason, I need your help,” he said hurriedly. “Ryan? Ryan are you still there? Fuck, you better not do anything, please.”

“Brendon what’s wrong?” he asked, grabbing Brendon’s shoulders.

“My—my friend back home. He, uh. He’s about to commit and he won’t listen to me and I don’t know what to do. Ryan? Ryan talk to me! Please!”

“I’m sorry, Brendon,” came Ryan’s voice just before the line went dead.

“Fucking hell!” Brendon cried.

“Hey. Brendon. Call the suicide hotline or something. Give them his address and they’ll get someone there.” Mason takes Brendon in his arms and holds him, soothing him as he dials the number.

He gives them Ryan’s address, tells them what’s going on, and he’s assured that help is on the way and that he shouldn’t worry.

“I don’t think you should be alone,” Mason said, sounding concerned. “Would you like to come back to my place? My brothers are out and my parents won’t be back for a little while.”

Brendon doesn’t answer. He lets Mason, a boy he barely knows, drag him to a home where he could be murdered and never found, just so he wouldn’t be alone. It’s a short walk, five minutes at the most, and Mason just walks through the door, pulling Brendon’s hand to follow. He drags him up the stairs to his room, sitting Brendon down on the bed while he sits in the computer chair.

“’M sorry ‘bout your friend,” Mason says, playing with his fingers.

Brendon shakes his head. “Not your fault,” he said. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve fucking been there.”

“Brendon,” Mason says, getting out of the chair and sitting next to him on the bed, “it’s not your fault. There was nothing you could do. He’s… wherever you came from and you’re here. In Texas. There was nothing you could do.”

Brendon’s face softened. “I know,” he said sadly. “I just wish I were still there.”

“I’m sure,” Mason said.

A comfortable silence fell into place. Mason got off the bed by Brendon and walked to his computer, turning it on and waiting for it to load. He signed into his account, letting everything load that needed to before getting onto YouTube to check the latest videos.

“Las Vegas,” Brendon said, ten minutes later.

“What?” Mason asked, turning in his chair to face Brendon, confused look on his face.

“I’m from Las Vegas. I’m going back there after my senior year. I didn’t want to come here in the first place.”

Mason looked a little hurt by Brendon’s honesty, but really couldn’t blame him. If he were forced to move and leave his friends, the ones he loved, he’d down right refuse. He couldn’t be separated from all of this.

“I heard Vegas was nice,” Mason said truthfully. “Never wanted to visit, though. I figured it be a nice place to, you know, drive through without stopping.”

“It’s not so bad,” Brendon admitted with a shrug. “And I wouldn’t have minded moving here had it been a valid reason.”

“Why did you move?”

“Mom met a guy online. Probably where she and the rest of the family is now. I’m not usually allowed to meet her ‘boyfriends’ as she calls them.”

“Well why not?”

“I’m too honest. If I don’t like something about them I’ll tell them right then and there. Usually they’re offended and I can’t blame them, but it causes her to lose something with them, I guess.”

“Ah, I see. You haven’t said you don’t like anything about me,” Mason said with a smirk.

Brendon reddened immediately. “O-Oh, w-well I, uh. I-I don’t. I don’t like, uh. I don’t like your shoelaces?”

Mason laughed, getting up from his seat and sitting on the bed once more.

“I know it might be a little hard, but do you mind telling me who Ryan is?”

“He’s my best friend in Vegas. We’re kind of in love, but we’re not dating because I knew from his admittance that I was moving so there was no point in having a relationship. I’m just not allowing myself to be in a relationship down here, but Ryan does understand that sometimes you just have to, you know?” Mason nodded as a sign of his attention. “So that’s another reason why we’re not dating.”

“I see,” Mason said. He leaned backwards slightly, only to come closer moments later. “So it wouldn’t matter if I did this?” he asked, pressing his thin lips to Brendon’s plump ones moments later.

It took a few minutes for Brendon to begin kissing back. He closed his eyes and applied some pressure onto Mason’s lips, without realizing what exactly it was he was doing. To him, it was like kissing Ryan, just thinner lips and a lot less shy. It was exhilarating; he was glad to have something new once in a while.

But never, never in his life would he leave Ryan Ross.

Suddenly pulling back at the thought of Ryan, he looks at Mason with a horrified expression. “Oh my God,” he says, touching a hand to his lips like they do in the movies. “I just. You just. We just. Holy shit.”

Mason laughs, placing a hand on top of the one Brendon has lying on the bed between them.

“If you don’t want it to, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“I just. Did I just cheat on my boyfriend?”

“Technically he’s not your boyfriend,” Mason says, smirk on his lips. “You said you two were officially together because of your move which makes you available.”

“But. But I love Ryan,” Brendon says, still in shock.

“And Ryan is in Vegas. Brendon, you’re in Texas. Have some fun while you’re here, okay? I’m moving to California in a few weeks anyway, so after that it can be like this never happened. Sound good?”

Unable to form words anymore, Brendon just nods because Mason’s right. Ryan’s in Vegas, Brendon isn’t. If Ryan thinks Brendon can last a whole damn school year without that kind of attention, other than his own goddamn hand, then he must out of his mind.

He leans forward and presses his lips against Mason’s—those lips remind him of Ryan, and all of the reasons how this is so, so wrong. He knows this shouldn’t be happening; knows it’s not right. He has a boyfriend, one that he loves, yet he still sits there, kissing Mason like it’s no big deal.

Mason finally pulls away and smiles. “You’re an amazing kisser,” he says.

“Thanks,” Brendon says shyly.

Mason smiled and leaned forward, his lips brushing over Brendon’s ear. “Maybe you can show me how amazing you are at other things.”

Brendon goes white, his breathing stops and suddenly his hands are clammy. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows, for a fact, that he doesn’t want to do anything with Mason, simply because he’s saving himself for Ryan, the boy he loves. He can handle the kissing, the making out and the hand jobs, if there would ever be those, but he couldn’t handle the sex, or the blowjobs. To him, those are too far and next thing you know, he’ll be falling head over heels for this boy who thinks of him as nothing but a piece of ass.

“Um,” Brendon starts, his eyes darting across the room. “You play guitar?” he asks, his voice going up ten notches by the end.

“Yeah, I do,” Mason sighs. “But why are we talking about guitar when—”

“I have to go!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and running down Mason’s stairs. He runs the short distance to his house and slams his front door behind him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” his mother asks.

“Yeah, where the fuck were you earlier? You think you can just take everyone else and just leave? Leave me here without warning, without knowing where in the hell you are just in case of an emergency?”

“I’m sorry, Brendon, it’s just that we were going to the store and I didn’t think—”

“That’s right, mom, you didn’t think,” Brendon spits. “I had no idea where in the hell you were when Ryan called me and tried to commit suicide. You weren’t here. How can I be sure you’ll be here next time? This is all your fault anyway, damn it!”

“First of all, Brendon Boyd Urie, you will not use that tone of voice of me. I refuse to let you say those dirty words to me as an accusation. It’s is not my fault that your boyfriend tried to commit. But I do take the blame for not being here when you needed me, and I’m sorry for that, but don’t you dare accuse me of making your boyfriend commit, Brendon.”

“Then who the hell do I blame? It sure as hell wasn’t MY idea to move my ass all the way to fucking TEXAS. What’s here for you, mom? A job? No. A life? No. A boyfriend? Oh! I believe so! One you just happened to meet online which you, of all people, should know isn’t safe! It’s like your contradicting yourself in every way now!” Brendon screams, tears now falling down his cheeks. “You can say it’s not your fault, but if I were in Vegas right now my boyfriend wouldn’t be in the hospital and I wouldn’t have just made the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Is everything okay down here?” his sister asks from the stairs.

“No, Kelsey, go to your room and entertain your siblings. Brendon and I are talking.”

Kelsey nods and heads back upstairs while Brendon’s mom just stares at him.

“How can you even blame me for all of this?” she asks. “I have done nothing but give you the life I never had. I supported you when you told me you were gay, even though I can’t stand the fact that my son is a homosexual. I accept you because I love you, Brendon, and you’re my son. And if Ryan makes you happy, damn it then I don’t have a problem. But when you stand there and accuse me of putting your boyfriend in the hospital, I will not take that. I have to draw the line somewhere and that’s where it’s drawn.”

“Mom, if you would just sit down and listen for five—”

“No, Brendon, I’m tired of listening. If you want to go back to Vegas so badly, since apparently your little boyfriend is more important than me and your siblings, go buy a damn plane ticket and go live with your damn father because I sure as hell don’t want you here if you don’t respect me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mom, you do,” Brendon sighs, dropping his head in defeat. “So do you want me to pack now or later?” he asks, somewhat sarcastic.

Her jaw goes slack as she moves forward, anger in her eyes. Suddenly, Brendon is afraid. His mother has never been this angry and she’s raising her hand.

“Brendon!” someone shouts and when he looks to his left, he sees Mason standing at the front door with his eyes wide. “Move, Brendon, move or something before she actually hits you!” he screams.

Brendon looks at his mother once more before dropping to his knees. She swings her hand but hits the air where he once stood. He crawls away quickly, heading straight for Mason—the boy who might’ve saved and ruined his life all in the same night.

“Thanks,” Brendon breathes once the front door has been shut and he’s sitting on the front steps.

“Don’t worry about it. I was coming to apologize anyway. I felt bad,” Mason shrugs.

“Why?” Brendon smiles, except this time, it’s not touching his eyes and he looks like he could cry at any minute.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Mason says. The wind picks up and his blowing his hair into his face. They get off Brendon’s porch, making their way to the only place they can go: Mason’s room. “You have a boyfriend and you love him. I just thought that maybe if I got a boyfriend I wouldn’t have to move to Cali with my parents, but it turns out I’m going no matter what. And I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Brendon looks at him with a sideways glance and smiles. “Thanks,” he says. “For apologizing, that is. Not for trying to seduce me.” Mason laughs and so does Brendon. “So when are you leaving for Cali?” Brendon asks.

With a sigh Mason says, “Wednesday,” and then he says, “Shit, that’s in two days!”

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I’m leaving for Vegas. My mom told me I wasn’t welcome to live in her house if Ryan was more important to me than her and my siblings. I mean, what is all that shit about? It’s not that he’s more important, but at this very moment he is. I never should’ve left him,” Brendon says with a shake of his head, “never should’ve left him.”

“Stop,” Mason says. “Stop blaming yourself, okay? It’s not your fault that he did that, and it’s not healthy for you to be blaming yourself and moping about it, alright? There’s no point.”

“I know,” Brendon sighs, “but I can’t help it. I just feel. Horrible. Terrible. Fuck, I feel like this never would’ve happened had I not of come to Texas.”

“I understand,” Mason says. “Are you staying the night? Of course you are,” he answers once they’re on his front porch. “D’you wanna sleep in my room or the guest? Won’t matter to me.”

“Your room’ll be fine. Promise you won’t rape me?”

Mason smiles. “Promise.”

They make their way up the stairs to Mason’s room. Mason strips to his boxers instantly and crawls under the covers, leaving enough room for Brendon to sleep comfortably as well. “Turn the lights off when you’re done,” he mumbles into the pillow under his head.

Brendon laughs and flicks off the lights, taking off his pants and slipping under the covers as well. “Mason?” he asks, sounding incredibly small.

“Yeah, Bren?” Mason asks, his voice already laced with sleep.

“Can you like. Can you hold me?”

Mason smiles—Brendon doesn’t see—as he rolls over and wraps his arms around the smaller boy’s waist. “Sure thing, babe,” he whispers, kissing the top of Brendon’s head. “Now go to sleep.”

And Brendon does, even though he know he shouldn’t, he sleeps better than night than he has in a long time.

When Brendon wakes the next morning, he’s confused and is wondering why he’s in the bed with Mason. He’s still sleeping soundly when Brendon slips out of the bed, pulling his jeans on and slipping out of the door. He walks down the stairs and out of the front door, heading for his ‘home’ since he knows no one is there.

Maybe he can re-pack his stuff. Maybe he can get a plane ticket. Maybe he can call his dad. Maybe he can call Ryan.

He gets to his house and just like he figured, there are no cars in his driveway. Satisfied, he walked in through the front door and bounded up the stairs to his bedroom. He found a suitcase in his mom’s closet somewhere, one in his sister’s, and another in his older brother’s. He shoved everything he could fit into those three suitcases and a duffel bag. He put his guitar in a case and set it by his other things. He grabbed his laptop and got online to find a plane ticket. Luckily his credit card was still valid and he bought one for later that day.

He shut his laptop and put it in its case as he grabbed the rest of his stuff and bounded down the stairs. He walked down the street back to Mason’s and rang the doorbell.

“Coming!” he heard Mason shout and just to mess with, Brendon pressed the doorbell multiple times. “WHAT THE FUCK MAN? I SAID I WAS—oh! Hey Bren! What up with the stuff?”

“Drive me to the airport, yeah?” Brendon asked.

With a smile Mason says, “Yeah, okay. Just let me get my shoes,” and he’s running up the stairs to his room while Brendon makes his way to Mason’s beat up Honda. It’s an old car, but at least it runs—it’s more than what Brendon has, too.

I cannot wait to see Ryan! I hope he’s okay…

“Need help with that?” Mason asks, coming up behind Brendon and grabbing a suitcase.

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit in the trunk. All of it, that is.”

“Sure it will. Watch.” Mason takes the three suitcases and shoves them in the trunk, throwing the duffel bag on top. Normally, two suitcases would fit into this trunk, but somehow Mason managed three and a duffel bag. “But your guitar in the backseat. It should be safe there.”

“Alright,” Brendon says, setting the guitar gently down on the seat and slamming the door closed. He keeps his laptop with him in the front seat and buckles as Mason pulls out of the driveway. “How far away is the airport?” Brendon asks.

“About an hour. What time’s your plane leave?”

“Six hours,” Brendon sighs. “But it’s good to be early, right? That way there’s no going back?”

“Yeah,” Mason says with a nod. “Exactly.”

“Thanks, y’know,” Brendon says, “for doing this. I appreciate it. Maybe I’ll come visit you in Cali?”

Mason smiles. “Maybe I’ll come visit you and Ryan in Vegas with your three kids.”

Brendon just laughs because that’s ridiculous. But still, he’s left with a smile on his face.

The hour doesn’t drag on because it never stays silent between the two. Between the music blasting and Mason making jokes, Brendon doesn’t have time to actually stop and think about anything else. Brendon was actually surprised when he and Mason pulled up to the airport in what seemed like twenty minutes but was really an hour and a half—longer than expected.

“Are you gonna come in?” Brendon asks. “I might need some help with my suitcases. Please? I might wanna kiss you goodbye, too.”

Mason smiles and say, “Yeah, I’ll just park then,” and then he’s paying the fee for the thirty minute parking and pulling into a space. Brendon grabs his laptop bag and his guitar, slinging it onto his back. He grabs two suitcases while Mason grabs one suitcase and the duffel bag. “Fuck, Bren, why so much shit? Do you really need all of this?”

Brendon laughs. “Probably not. But what if I didn’t bring it and then I never see it again? I’d cry!”

“I’m sure you would,” Mason laughs.

The lines aren’t long when they walk up to check in. He hands the woman his four bags and declares his guitar and laptop as carry-ons. Mason walks him to the security check point and Brendon looks up at him.

“Y’know,” he says, “I have only known you for two days. I’ve lived in Texas for two days, my boyfriend tried to commit, and I met the best friend I never knew I could have,” he finishes.

Mason smiles and wraps his arms around Brendon’s waist. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“I know,” Brendon says, pulling away and pressing his lips against Mason’s. “I understand this is wrong,” he breathes on Mason’s lips, “but this is the last time I’ll see you for a while so I’ll need something to remember you by.”

“Glad you chose this,” Mason says.

The kiss for a while longer until Brendon pulls away, his lips red and puffy. “I’ll see you,” he says, waving his hand at Mason.

“Yeah,” Mason says sadly. “I’ll see you.”

Brendon turns around, slipping his shoes off his feet and pulling his belt from their loops. He takes his jacket off and places his cell phone, his keys, his laptop bag and his guitar on the conveyor belt. He walks through the metal detector with nothing going wrong and grabs his things quickly. He puts his shoes back on, puts the belt back through the loop and slips his arms back through the sleeves of his jacket. He grabs his guitar and his laptop and turns around to see Mason standing behind the glass window, waving a little. Brendon waved back and walked always, going to find his terminal and waiting.

He takes a seat by the window, watching the planes come and go, as well as the people. It reminds him somewhat of his life; the inconsistency. You never know when a plane is going to come, and you never know when it’s going to leave. You get estimations, but you don’t get the exact time. Brendon realizes that the only constant in his life has been music; his guitar has never left his side, his piano has been with him through it all, and honestly, Brendon only really ever feels comfortable around his instruments. They make him feel whole, wanted.

”The flight to Las Vegas, Nevada will land shortly. If you would please have your tickets out and ready so that the process will be more convenient. Thank you and have a nice day.”

He pulls his online-ticket from his pocket and sits patiently. A plane lands and it takes ten minutes before people are finally unloading. The lady calls sections and Brendon is in section C, meaning he boards third. When she calls his section, he’s quick to stand and hand her his ticket. She smiles flirtatiously and scans his ticket. “Have a nice flight,” she says.

Brendon nods, picking his guitar case off the ground and boarding the plane. They take his guitar from him, after assuring him it will be just fine, but Brendon still isn’t sure. He does know, though, that if his guitar is returned to him in a worse condition, someone is getting sued. That guitar is his baby.

He takes a seat in a row, kind of in the back, and it’s a window seat on the right. He hopes no one sits next to him, but then again he does. He doesn’t want this flight to be boring—especially since he left his iPod in Mason’s car. Shit.

Before the flight attendants say ‘no cell phones’, Brendon texts Mason about his iPod and shuts it off. Twenty minutes later, as well as some instructions on what to do in case of emergencies, and the plane is off, on it’s way towards home sweet home. And Ryan.

Brendon ends up sitting next to some kid around his age. She’s pretty; blonde hair that comes down to her chest, black rimmed glasses. If he were straight he’d ask for her number, but he’s not straight and she’s not his type.

She notices him staring and says, “Hi. My name’s Jen.”

Brendon smiles and says, “I’m Brendon.”

“Why’re you going to Vegas?” she questions, turning in her seat a little. Her black and white checkered jeans are hitting the top of her black and white converse and she’s wearing a Fall Out Boy shirt to go with them.

“I’m going home—to see my boyfriend,” he says.

“Sweet!” she says. “I’ve always thought my brother was gay, but I never had any real proof, y’know?”

Brendon laughs and shook his head. “Where are you from?” he asks. “You don’t look like the kind of girl from Texas.”

“Y’know, if I were from Texas, I’d be offended. But no, I’m from Pennsylvania.”

“Really? Why were you in Texas then?”

“My brother was looking at the college, even though he knows he’s not going to college, but still. Now he’s flying home and I’m flying to Vegas, and then after a day or so I’ll fly to Chicago and see my friend and then I’ll fly to Mississippi and see my other friend!”

“That’s exciting,” Brendon says.

“Isn’t it though? This is the best summer of my life, Brendon, you have no idea.”

“Apparently so,” Brendon says with a smile.

“May I offer you a drink?” the flight attendant asks as she walks by.

“I’ll have a Dr. Pepper since it’s likely you don’t have diet,” Jen says.

“Uh, nothing, thanks,” Brendon says. He looks to his right and looks at the land underneath them, thousands and thousands of miles beneath them.

“If you get motion sickness please don’t puke on me,” Jen says. “These are new pants.”

“Right, yeah,” Brendon says.

“So how old are you?” she asks him and not that Brendon’s mean or anything, but he really doesn’t want to talk right now.

“I’m seventeen. How old are you?”

“Fourteen. But I’ll be fifteen on the twenty-second!”

“Awesome,” Brendon sighs. “I’m gonna go to sleep, okay? Wake me when we’re landing.”

“Okay!” she says. She grabs a magazine out of her carry on—it’s a messenger bag with Cobra Starship on it—and begins to read. She laughs at some parts, ‘aw’s’ at others and when she’s finally done with it, she sticks it in the pouch in front of her.

“Brendon,” she wines. “I’m bored!”

“Nrgh,” he says. “Not now.” Sleep is lacing his voice because he’s just that tired.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She gets up and Brendon sighs.

She seems like a nice girl, but damn. I don’t know how much more of her I can handle! I wonder when we’re landing. Oh I can’t wait to see Ryan! Or Spencer! And didn’t Jon say something about coming from Chicago?!

“I’ve turned the seatbelt sign on because of turbulence. It’s not a problem, ladies and gentleman, it’ll be over with shortly,” the pilot said.

Brendon buckled his seatbelt and Jen came back shortly after, buckling hers as well.

“You don’t think we’re gonna die, do you?” she whispers to him.

He feels bad. Really bad. He wraps an arm around her shoulder and she lays her head on his shoulder. “No, Jen, we won’t die. I promise we won’t die.”

“Okay,” she says, slipping her eyes closed. “If you say so.”

“Just sleep, okay? When you wake up, we’ll be there and everything will be okay.”

“Alright,” she yawned, falling asleep shortly after.

Next time Brendon opens his eyes, people are walking down the aisle past him and Jen to exit the plane. He shakes her awake and she looks around, confused as to where she is. She grabs her messenger bag and exits the plane, Brendon behind her shortly thereafter.

When he gets into the airport, Jen is no where to be found so he walks off, going to the baggage claim. He finds his bags—three suitcases, a guitar, and a duffel bag—all waiting for him on the ground.

Someone must’ve been nice enough to get these for me.

He grabs his things, with difficulty, and walks to the exit so he can hail a cab. Surprisingly, the airport isn’t all that crowded. He gets a cab easily, tells the driver his address, and the driver sets off. When he pulls up at his house, thirteen minutes later, he can see his dad’s old car in the driveway and one he doesn’t recognize. He takes his things out of the trunk of the cab and pays the guy with cash, taking his stuff and going up to the front door. As weird as it is, he feels obligated to knock; like it’s not his home anymore and if he walked on in, he’s trespassing.

“Brendon? Is that you?” his dad asks when he opens the door.

“Yeah, dad, it’s me.”

“What’re you doing here? Why aren’t you in Texas with your mother?”

“Ryan,” is all Brendon says, and there’s no need for him to say more.

“I see,” his father says. “And you expect me to let you live here?”

Brendon cocks his head to the left and says, “Uh, yeah? I am your son, aren’t I?”

“Yes, Brendon, you are my son, but that doesn’t mean you can just live here.”

“Then what the fuck does it mean?” he asks, dropping his duffel bag on the ground. “Ryan is not the only reason I came back, dad. Maybe I wanted to spend some time with but no, never mind. I’m leaving my shit here and I’ll be back for it later.”

Brendon drops everything—but he sets his laptop down gently—except his guitar as he starts walking towards Ryan’s house. It’s only a few blocks away; maybe he’ll stop by Spencer’s, too, just for good measure.

When he passes Spencer’s house, which is the half-way mark, there are no cars in the driveway. Brendon shrugs because that’s normal in the Smith family; they’re always gone somewhere doing something. He keeps on walking—it’s about another mile and a half until Ryan’s house, and Brendon walks that mile and a half with his head held high. He’s so excited to finally be able to see Ryan because he’s missed the boy, even if it’s been what? Three days now?

Ryan’s house comes into view and Brendon smiles—the smile that touches his eyes. He has an urge to sprint the rest of the way, but Ryan wouldn’t like a sweaty Brendon on his doorstep.

He knocks on the door four times, harder than he means too. He hears shuffling going on inside, some glass breaking and few curses. “Hello?” comes the gruff man inside, who is Ryan’s dad. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” he asks and Brendon can smell the alcohol on his breath and he’s atleast three feet away.

“I uh, I’m Brendon, sir. Is Ryan around?”

He laughs and says, “Yeah, he’s here. Whadda ya wanna see him for? He ain’t nothing special. Just an emo fag.”

Brendon resists the urge to punch the man and defend his boyfriend, simply because Ryan’s dad doesn’t know. Instead, Brendon pushes past the bigger man and makes his way down the hall to Ryan’s room. He doesn’t even knock; just smiles as he places his hand on the doorknob and quickly pushes the door open.

Ryan looks up from his book and his eyes go wide. “Brendon!?” he squeals. He throws his book in one direction and runs in the other. He jumps into Brendon’s arms and Brendon spins him around. “Oh my God I’ve missed you so much, baby!” Ryan says, pulling back from the hug and then hugging him again.

“I’ve missed you too, Ry. A lot. Wanna go to the park or something?”

“Yeah! Just let me grab my shoes.”

Ryan dashes quickly around his room, pulling on his converse and grabbing Brendon’s hand, pulling him down the stairs and out of the front door before his father can say anything. Once they’re outside, and far away from Ryan’s house, Brendon stops and pulls Ryan close and kisses him deeper than he ever has before.

“I’ve missed you so much, sweetie,” Brendon says. “You really scared the hell out of me the other night. You know that, right? I thought I lost you, Ry. I really did.”

“I—I know, B, and I’m sorry. Really sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

Brendon smiles. “I know you won’t, baby, because I’m never leaving you again.”

They sit down on the park bench closet to the pond and Brendon pulls Ryan into his lap.

“I love you, Ry,” he says.

“I love you too, B,” Ryan replies genuinely. He leans down and connects their lips as the wind blows the hot summer air around them.

Right there, in that park, on that bench, Brendon and Ryan made love for the first time. It was the sweetest thing anybody could ever witness and Brendon is positive he’s found the one.

--

there's going to be an alternative ending soon, just because this wasn't really intended to be... fluffy? but jsut for jen, i made it a big ball of fluff-ish.

for everyone to see (:

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 21:03:11 GMT

so I really hate it when people complain about their lives constantly. and what bothers me even more is when people complain about their lives, yet they get everything they want. they're spoiled and they're almost never told no.

maybe I'm the only one that feels this way, but I don't know. yeah, I know I may complain about my life and the way it is every so often, but I'm not constantly talking about the down sides to it. my life is pretty great, honestly. I have amazing friends and honestly that's all I need. I may not get everything I want, when I want it, and I may not even ever get it. but I appreciate what my mom CAN do for me and what she does do for me because I know that's she doing her best. especially when I ask a lot of her 98% of the time. I'm always asking for something new or money to do something with, but it's not like I always get it, nor am I expecting to get it always.

but people who get EVERYTHING and get to do EVERYTHING they want and they still complain just bother me. if you get what you want and you always get it, why the fuck are you complaining? there are people who have it worse than you, and all you do is sit there and tell the world how bad your mother treats you, or how your friends don't understand you, or something like that. every once in a while, yeah that's understandable, but constantly? that's a little too much.