Quiescence (standalone)
Title: Quiescence (standalone)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: “Some people would see us lying here and say that we’re wasting our time.” Brendon smiles. “But I know better, because I’m with you.”
Disclaimer: AU. The boys belong to themselves (and possibly each other)
Author’s Notes: Thanks to habezweikatzen for the beta. This is based off of the prompt that takkatakkatakka gave to me. Rebellious youth stupidly in love. ~2000 words
---
Ryan’s a senior. He only has a couple weeks until he’s done, until he leaves high school forever, and sometimes, that thought alone is enough to make walking through the doors of Palo Verde hard enough. On days like this, however, it’s the bright sun, the cool breeze, that calls Ryan out of the sometimes suffocating walls of his high school.
He makes it through homeroom, eyes fixed outside the entire time, but when the bell rings for first period, Ryan meanders down the halls, slipping past nosy teachers, and opens the back door - the one that only the janitors seem to use - and he makes his way to his car, parked against the curb at a haphazard angle.
It takes three turns of the key and some frantic pumping of his foot on the gas to make the car start, but once the engine is rumbling, the vibrations running throughout the car, Ryan pulls away from the school, racing down the street, rolling the window down with one jerky motion until the breeze ruffles his hair.
When he turns into the small, dusty parking lot adjacent to the stretch of green, green grass, he sees that Brendon’s already waiting for him, and he smiles.
---
When Brendon wakes up and looks outside to see the sun glare up at him off of the freshly mowed lawn, he doesn’t even think twice about where he’s going after getting into his car. He drives down the street, waving to his mom, standing in her usual spot by the window, and stops at the stop sign. His mom can’t see this far down the street, and instead of taking the left, toward the school, Brendon turns right.
He drives at a leisurely pace, turning the music up in his car, and instead of singing along with the words, Brendon calls out the steady rhythm of the bass, the wandering notes.
His right hand feels around the seat next to him, looking for his favorite pair of sunglasses as the sun beams, and when he finds them, he pulls them on, grinning as he catches the bright flash of orange out of the corner of his eyes. The sunglasses really were one of the best three dollar purchases he’s made in a long time.
When he pulls into the parking area, the dusty, red dirt clouds up around his car, and his tires run unevenly over the dips and mounds, but he pulls into a space smoothly enough, taking off his sunglasses and throwing them to the side, just because. When he turns off the car, pulls the keys from the ignition, the music stops, but Brendon’s lips just press together, humming as he leaves his car, more dirt swirling up as he slams the door shut.
He’s wearing flip-flops, and as he makes his way across the parking lot, the red dirt darkens his feet. When he makes it to the grass, he takes off his shoes, holds them in his hands, and he shuffles out into the open space, the red color transferring onto the deep green grass.
Throwing his shoes down to the side, Brendon sits down, crossing his legs, and the grass pokes at the sensitive skin of the arch of his foot, but he just adjusts until he’s more comfortable.
He leans back against the grass, the blades curving at the weight, and he closes his eyes, hums along to the song that was playing on the radio, but he also listens.
Around him, Brendon can hear the sound of the birds in the tree not too far away. He can hear the faint hum of the highway, and when, only a couple of minutes later, he hears the crunch of dirt under tires, he looks up and sees Ryan’s busted old car pulling in to rest next to his own.
His eyes squint in the sunlight, vulnerable now without the sunglasses, and he watches as Ryan makes his way closer. He closes his lids again after a second, leaning back down until the faint reddish hue of the sun fades, and when he looks up, Ryan is blocking the sun, smiling down at him.
“I didn’t even have time to text you yet,” Ryan says as a greeting, joining Brendon down on the grass. His feet aren’t bare, not yet at least, and his legs reach out further than Brendon’s.
Brendon looks over at him, rolling his body a little to the side, and he grins. “I knew already,” he says. “I woke up this morning, and I knew that you weren’t going to spend a day like this trapped inside.”
Ryan shakes his hair out of his face and hums, a note that is quite similar to the one that Brendon ended on, only seconds after hearing the faint rumble of Ryan’s car. “You’re going to get in trouble if you keep skipping school.”
“Like you aren’t?”
“I’m a senior,” Ryan points out. “They don’t care what the fuck I do as long as I graduate with everyone else. Smile when I take my diploma.”
Brendon pokes at Ryan’s side, right where his t-shirt is riding up, so his finger hits against cool skin. “You gonna smile pretty for the cameras?” he asks.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “What cameras? It’s not like my parents are going to come.”
The way he says it might fool some people, but Brendon knows better. “I’ll be there,” he promises. “Front row. With a goddamn sign.”
“Pink and sparkly?”
Brendon laughs. “Would you expect anything less?”
“I don’t expect anything,” Ryan responds, and he lets his hand tug at a piece of grass even though he’d rather be weaving his fingers through Brendon’s hair. It’s soft, he knows it is. “But you’ve never let me down.”
“That’s kind of an oxymoron,” Brendon points out. “But I get it.” He smiles. “You’re so jaded, Ryan Ross.” One of his hands reaches up to play with a falling strand of Ryan’s hair, and sometimes Ryan wonders how he can be older and yet Brendon is the one who has things figured out.
Brendon huffs. It’s nice sitting here, even with the grass itching against his skin. He can see each breath that Ryan takes, can feel him settling down, calming down, letting himself just be, and Brendon likes that. It’s why he doesn’t ever think twice about skipping school to do this, to be here - with Ryan.
“We’re supposed to dissect a frog today in Biology,” Brendon says, turning on his side to watch Ryan pick at the grass around him. “It’s probably a good thing that I skipped.”
“Saves you from crying in front of the class,” Ryan comments, reaching over a little further to pull up a dandelion, the kind that has dried out, turning the bright yellow petals to tuffs of white.
“Asshole,” Brendon says, glaring, but he doesn’t mean it. “I wouldn’t cry.”
“Just pass out or throw up,” Ryan rectifies, and Brendon shrugs then nods. “At least you don’t have to dissect a cat.” He blows at the flower, but a couple of seeds remain. “We had to do that last term.”
Brendon blanches. “That’s fucking sick.” He wrinkles his nose.
Ryan hums. “I know. I didn’t do it. Wrote a fucking paper on a cat’s immune system instead.” He blows again at the stub of the flower, trying to free the last couple seeds, and finally he just flicks them off.
“Here,” Brendon says, leaning over Ryan, leaning over him so that his stomach is resting against Ryan’s forearm, and he picks another flower. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He sits up, making a show out of it, and when he breathes, his stomach fills up, and he blows. The little seeds fly, white fluff in the air, and Brendon whoops triumphantly. “I’m better at blowing than you.” He grins.
“More experience,” Ryan deadpans, but he hurries to sit up and press a warm kiss to Brendon’s cheek. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Brendon doesn’t comment, but when they lay back down, he scoots closer to Ryan, letting their arms brush up against each other.
“I can’t believe that graduation is next week,” Ryan says, and he lets his hand flex, reach out, and he intertwines his fingers with Brendon’s. Sometimes it still feels strange that he can do that now. “Hard to believe that high school is going to be over.”
The grip of Brendon’s hand tightens just a little at those words. “You still have school though,” he reminds. “College.”
Ryan snorts. “It’s all such a fucking waste of time. College isn’t any different than high school. The only thing that makes it special is that there’s less class and more douche bags drinking cheap beer.”
“At least you’re staying in Vegas.”
When Ryan looks over, Brendon is looking back at him, eyes so wide, even in the bright sunlight. He wants to say something like I couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until you’re ready to go, too. but instead he just repeats, “College is a waste of time.”
Brendon sighs. “Most things are. But then again, I guess it’s all about perspective. Some people would see us lying here and say that we’re wasting our time.” Brendon smiles. “But I know better, because I’m with you.”
“And I’m not a waste of time?” Ryan asks, making Brendon frown, because he knows that Ryan’s probably heard those words before. Had them thrown - hurled.
“No,” Brendon answers quietly. “You’re really not.” He brings their hands, still intertwined, up and kisses the skin pulled tightly across Ryan’s knuckles. “Not to me.”
Ryan coughs, but he lets his hand rest against the soft swell of Brendon’s lips as long as the younger boy wants. “We should just leave,” he says. “Fuck school, fuck our parents, fuck it all. We should just leave.”
“Run away. Like in the movies,” Brendon adds, a little dreamily. “Pack up all our stuff and stowaway on a train heading west.” He frowns. “Maybe we should head east. More land to cover.”
“We would drive,” Ryan asserts. He can almost see it now, the landscape flashing by, Brendon in the passenger seat, singing along to the radio. Nights under the stars. Days full of sunshine. Brendon’s smile, his laugh, his voice, his skin. “We would drive all around America, never stopping until it felt right. For the both of us.”
“Vagabonds,” Brendon voices.
“Tramps. Hobos.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to do railroads,” Brendon teases.
“Fine,” Ryan relinquishes. “We don’t need a name for us anyways. No names except for what we call each other.”
“Sweetheart?” Brendon tries. “Love of my life, heart of my hearts?”
Ryan laughs, but a part of him knows just how much truth lies in those stupid, flippant pet names. “I guess that’s one interpretation.”
Brendon grins and scoots even closer. “It’s a nice dream,” he says, and he’s so close now that Ryan can feel Brendon’s words against his skin.
“We could do it,” Ryan says. He locks his eyes with Brendon’s, so trusting. “Bren, we could really do it. We could stop talking all this bull shit for once and make a change out of the lives that are suffocating us.”
Their lips meet, joined together when Brendon leans over, cupping the side of Ryan’s face to bring them closer. “It’s a nice dream,” he repeats.
---
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Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: “Some people would see us lying here and say that we’re wasting our time.” Brendon smiles. “But I know better, because I’m with you.”
Disclaimer: AU. The boys belong to themselves (and possibly each other)
Author’s Notes: Thanks to habezweikatzen for the beta. This is based off of the prompt that takkatakkatakka gave to me. Rebellious youth stupidly in love. ~2000 words
---
Ryan’s a senior. He only has a couple weeks until he’s done, until he leaves high school forever, and sometimes, that thought alone is enough to make walking through the doors of Palo Verde hard enough. On days like this, however, it’s the bright sun, the cool breeze, that calls Ryan out of the sometimes suffocating walls of his high school.
He makes it through homeroom, eyes fixed outside the entire time, but when the bell rings for first period, Ryan meanders down the halls, slipping past nosy teachers, and opens the back door - the one that only the janitors seem to use - and he makes his way to his car, parked against the curb at a haphazard angle.
It takes three turns of the key and some frantic pumping of his foot on the gas to make the car start, but once the engine is rumbling, the vibrations running throughout the car, Ryan pulls away from the school, racing down the street, rolling the window down with one jerky motion until the breeze ruffles his hair.
When he turns into the small, dusty parking lot adjacent to the stretch of green, green grass, he sees that Brendon’s already waiting for him, and he smiles.
---
When Brendon wakes up and looks outside to see the sun glare up at him off of the freshly mowed lawn, he doesn’t even think twice about where he’s going after getting into his car. He drives down the street, waving to his mom, standing in her usual spot by the window, and stops at the stop sign. His mom can’t see this far down the street, and instead of taking the left, toward the school, Brendon turns right.
He drives at a leisurely pace, turning the music up in his car, and instead of singing along with the words, Brendon calls out the steady rhythm of the bass, the wandering notes.
His right hand feels around the seat next to him, looking for his favorite pair of sunglasses as the sun beams, and when he finds them, he pulls them on, grinning as he catches the bright flash of orange out of the corner of his eyes. The sunglasses really were one of the best three dollar purchases he’s made in a long time.
When he pulls into the parking area, the dusty, red dirt clouds up around his car, and his tires run unevenly over the dips and mounds, but he pulls into a space smoothly enough, taking off his sunglasses and throwing them to the side, just because. When he turns off the car, pulls the keys from the ignition, the music stops, but Brendon’s lips just press together, humming as he leaves his car, more dirt swirling up as he slams the door shut.
He’s wearing flip-flops, and as he makes his way across the parking lot, the red dirt darkens his feet. When he makes it to the grass, he takes off his shoes, holds them in his hands, and he shuffles out into the open space, the red color transferring onto the deep green grass.
Throwing his shoes down to the side, Brendon sits down, crossing his legs, and the grass pokes at the sensitive skin of the arch of his foot, but he just adjusts until he’s more comfortable.
He leans back against the grass, the blades curving at the weight, and he closes his eyes, hums along to the song that was playing on the radio, but he also listens.
Around him, Brendon can hear the sound of the birds in the tree not too far away. He can hear the faint hum of the highway, and when, only a couple of minutes later, he hears the crunch of dirt under tires, he looks up and sees Ryan’s busted old car pulling in to rest next to his own.
His eyes squint in the sunlight, vulnerable now without the sunglasses, and he watches as Ryan makes his way closer. He closes his lids again after a second, leaning back down until the faint reddish hue of the sun fades, and when he looks up, Ryan is blocking the sun, smiling down at him.
“I didn’t even have time to text you yet,” Ryan says as a greeting, joining Brendon down on the grass. His feet aren’t bare, not yet at least, and his legs reach out further than Brendon’s.
Brendon looks over at him, rolling his body a little to the side, and he grins. “I knew already,” he says. “I woke up this morning, and I knew that you weren’t going to spend a day like this trapped inside.”
Ryan shakes his hair out of his face and hums, a note that is quite similar to the one that Brendon ended on, only seconds after hearing the faint rumble of Ryan’s car. “You’re going to get in trouble if you keep skipping school.”
“Like you aren’t?”
“I’m a senior,” Ryan points out. “They don’t care what the fuck I do as long as I graduate with everyone else. Smile when I take my diploma.”
Brendon pokes at Ryan’s side, right where his t-shirt is riding up, so his finger hits against cool skin. “You gonna smile pretty for the cameras?” he asks.
Ryan rolls his eyes. “What cameras? It’s not like my parents are going to come.”
The way he says it might fool some people, but Brendon knows better. “I’ll be there,” he promises. “Front row. With a goddamn sign.”
“Pink and sparkly?”
Brendon laughs. “Would you expect anything less?”
“I don’t expect anything,” Ryan responds, and he lets his hand tug at a piece of grass even though he’d rather be weaving his fingers through Brendon’s hair. It’s soft, he knows it is. “But you’ve never let me down.”
“That’s kind of an oxymoron,” Brendon points out. “But I get it.” He smiles. “You’re so jaded, Ryan Ross.” One of his hands reaches up to play with a falling strand of Ryan’s hair, and sometimes Ryan wonders how he can be older and yet Brendon is the one who has things figured out.
Brendon huffs. It’s nice sitting here, even with the grass itching against his skin. He can see each breath that Ryan takes, can feel him settling down, calming down, letting himself just be, and Brendon likes that. It’s why he doesn’t ever think twice about skipping school to do this, to be here - with Ryan.
“We’re supposed to dissect a frog today in Biology,” Brendon says, turning on his side to watch Ryan pick at the grass around him. “It’s probably a good thing that I skipped.”
“Saves you from crying in front of the class,” Ryan comments, reaching over a little further to pull up a dandelion, the kind that has dried out, turning the bright yellow petals to tuffs of white.
“Asshole,” Brendon says, glaring, but he doesn’t mean it. “I wouldn’t cry.”
“Just pass out or throw up,” Ryan rectifies, and Brendon shrugs then nods. “At least you don’t have to dissect a cat.” He blows at the flower, but a couple of seeds remain. “We had to do that last term.”
Brendon blanches. “That’s fucking sick.” He wrinkles his nose.
Ryan hums. “I know. I didn’t do it. Wrote a fucking paper on a cat’s immune system instead.” He blows again at the stub of the flower, trying to free the last couple seeds, and finally he just flicks them off.
“Here,” Brendon says, leaning over Ryan, leaning over him so that his stomach is resting against Ryan’s forearm, and he picks another flower. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He sits up, making a show out of it, and when he breathes, his stomach fills up, and he blows. The little seeds fly, white fluff in the air, and Brendon whoops triumphantly. “I’m better at blowing than you.” He grins.
“More experience,” Ryan deadpans, but he hurries to sit up and press a warm kiss to Brendon’s cheek. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Brendon doesn’t comment, but when they lay back down, he scoots closer to Ryan, letting their arms brush up against each other.
“I can’t believe that graduation is next week,” Ryan says, and he lets his hand flex, reach out, and he intertwines his fingers with Brendon’s. Sometimes it still feels strange that he can do that now. “Hard to believe that high school is going to be over.”
The grip of Brendon’s hand tightens just a little at those words. “You still have school though,” he reminds. “College.”
Ryan snorts. “It’s all such a fucking waste of time. College isn’t any different than high school. The only thing that makes it special is that there’s less class and more douche bags drinking cheap beer.”
“At least you’re staying in Vegas.”
When Ryan looks over, Brendon is looking back at him, eyes so wide, even in the bright sunlight. He wants to say something like I couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until you’re ready to go, too. but instead he just repeats, “College is a waste of time.”
Brendon sighs. “Most things are. But then again, I guess it’s all about perspective. Some people would see us lying here and say that we’re wasting our time.” Brendon smiles. “But I know better, because I’m with you.”
“And I’m not a waste of time?” Ryan asks, making Brendon frown, because he knows that Ryan’s probably heard those words before. Had them thrown - hurled.
“No,” Brendon answers quietly. “You’re really not.” He brings their hands, still intertwined, up and kisses the skin pulled tightly across Ryan’s knuckles. “Not to me.”
Ryan coughs, but he lets his hand rest against the soft swell of Brendon’s lips as long as the younger boy wants. “We should just leave,” he says. “Fuck school, fuck our parents, fuck it all. We should just leave.”
“Run away. Like in the movies,” Brendon adds, a little dreamily. “Pack up all our stuff and stowaway on a train heading west.” He frowns. “Maybe we should head east. More land to cover.”
“We would drive,” Ryan asserts. He can almost see it now, the landscape flashing by, Brendon in the passenger seat, singing along to the radio. Nights under the stars. Days full of sunshine. Brendon’s smile, his laugh, his voice, his skin. “We would drive all around America, never stopping until it felt right. For the both of us.”
“Vagabonds,” Brendon voices.
“Tramps. Hobos.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want to do railroads,” Brendon teases.
“Fine,” Ryan relinquishes. “We don’t need a name for us anyways. No names except for what we call each other.”
“Sweetheart?” Brendon tries. “Love of my life, heart of my hearts?”
Ryan laughs, but a part of him knows just how much truth lies in those stupid, flippant pet names. “I guess that’s one interpretation.”
Brendon grins and scoots even closer. “It’s a nice dream,” he says, and he’s so close now that Ryan can feel Brendon’s words against his skin.
“We could do it,” Ryan says. He locks his eyes with Brendon’s, so trusting. “Bren, we could really do it. We could stop talking all this bull shit for once and make a change out of the lives that are suffocating us.”
Their lips meet, joined together when Brendon leans over, cupping the side of Ryan’s face to bring them closer. “It’s a nice dream,” he repeats.
---
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