Fic: If You Have a Cloudy Mind (Jon/Brendon, R.)
Summary: a story about having a break and going back to Vegas; a story about ice-cream, plants and kissing your band mates. (“You’re supposed to be happy now,” Spencer says.)
About 9,750 words, R. Jon/Brendon. Girlfriends are mentioned. This never happened, the boys own themselves.
alexalgebra betaed this for me. I don't know what I would do without him. Live without commas, probably. ♥
If You Have a Cloudy Mind
“Hey,” he says to Ryan when he finally finds him at the pool. Well, more like collides with Ryan if he’s absolutely honest about it. The collision makes him lean closer, the hand not holding the smoke curling around Ryan’s elbow. The alcohol is buzzing inside him, warm and comforting, and a lazy smile spreads slowly across his face.
“Hey,” Ryan replies, but all Brendon can feel is Ryan’s hand on the small of his back. “You’re drunk,” Ryan says, but it doesn’t sound accusing, not like it used to sound.
Maybe that’s why Brendon leans in and kisses him then.
***
Brendon’s been back home for a week now and he hates his apartment. He can’t even pretend anymore because he has run out of people who he can bother and he feels like he can’t call his band because, well, they are on a break after all.
He taps his feet against the floor in an absurd rhythm. He glances at his laptop on the table but he doesn’t feel like messing with Garage Band or answering any of his emails.
His apartment is just so fucking empty, that’s the whole problem. He would love to get a dog, but it’s not like he can take it on tour with them and he doesn’t really have anyone who can look after it when he’s away anyway.
Suddenly he has an idea. “Fucking genius,” he mumbles while scrambling up from the couch. He picks up his keys from the table and runs down the stairs two at a time.
In the car, he listens to the Queen album Spencer once bought him and sings along as loud as he can. He parks in a small side street and gets out of his car, the peeping sound telling him the doors locked. There’s a purple minivan parked couple of cars ahead and Brendon smiles a bit bitterly when he walks by it. It feels like it was forever ago since they stood in the driveway and his mom gave him the keys and told him to go to for a drive.
“Time flies,” he sings a bit off-key, as he steps into the flower shop.
***
“I named it Dylan,” he tells Jon later that night. Jon bursts into boisterous laughter and Brendon smiles, looking at his plant perched in front of the large windows. “You would like it. It’s a very pleasant plant. Has very good manners.”
Jon’s still laughing and Brendon’s pretty smug he’s the reason behind it. He flicks through the channels on his TV.
Finally Jon calms down letting out a long breath that resounds in Brendon’s cell. “Oh man, you should have come here,” he says a bit breathlessly.
Brendon doesn’t reply, just curls more into himself on the couch.
“I saw this band yesterday and they were so great. Fuck. I missed Chicago so much,” Jon continues, undisturbed by Brendon’s silence. “Dude, I just know you would have liked them.”
“Maybe next time,” Brendon says, not looking away from the screen.
“How’s Cassie?” he asks after a while.
There’s strange pause before Jon answers. “Great,” he says, voice light. “Bren, I need to go. My mom’s making me dinner and all my cousins will be there, so.”
Brendon closes his eyes. “Sure, man. Talk to you later.”
Brendon wishes his plant knew how to talk. He stares at it. “I don’t know why I bought you,” he tells it. “It’s not like you’re going to survive next time we go on tour.”
Dylan doesn’t reply. “Stupid plant,” Brendon says to it, pouting.
He sighs. “Who am I kidding?” he asks and turns his focus back to the TV.
Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch. Later, when he wakes up, he feels disoriented. He blinks sleepily at the late night commercials playing on the TV. He yawns, feeling stiff and groggy.
It takes him a while to find the remote under the couch.
He pads through the silent apartment to his bedroom. He undresses and crawls under the covers. It doesn’t take long until restless sleep claims him again.
***
They have been home for two weeks and Brendon loathes his apartment. He’s lying on his bed, the sheets tangled up around him. He’s not sure how late it is, probably later than he thinks anyway. His stomach growls but he ignores it, just curls up even more.
His phone is in the next room. He wonders what Spencer’s doing. Probably spending time with his family. Or with Haley.
Brendon frowns.
“I’m fine,” he tells to the empty room and focuses on breathing steadily.
He could always call Cash. He always manages to make him feel better. Besides, Cash thinks it’s cute when Brendon cuddles with him when he’s high. And Brendon doesn’t really mind that Cash doesn’t kiss him when they fuck.
But Cash is on tour somewhere in the east with his band and---
“You should get up,” Brendon says out loud. “Staying in bed all day. What would your mother say?”
The words burn in his throat and he breathes, in and out, until the feeling passes. He makes himself sit up and get out of bed. Sometimes he thinks he should call Pete. Just because. He’s pretty sure Pete would understand.
The clock on the nightstand tells him its half past two.
***
Shane sends him an email from New York where he’s currently filming his new short film. There’s a link to a video in YouTube at the end of the message and Brendon spends rest of the day searching for a video he can send back.
When are you coming back?? he writes; doesn’t add the apartment feels empty without you, or I miss you, you motherfucker because they aren’t those kind of friends yet.
***
“You should come,” Spencer says and Brendon tilts his head, pondering. “Maybe,” he says at last.
“Ryan will be there as well,” Spencer adds, like that will make a difference, change Brendon’s mind somehow.
Brendon continues to leaf through the magazine and swallows the sigh. “He will?” he asks when it’s clear Spencer’s waiting something from him.
“Yeah. Keltie had to leave this morning, so.”
Brendon frowns at the article about the Pope saying sorry about all the bad things the priests have done. He turns the page.
“Bren,” Spencer says and Brendon stops, almost stops breathing, because he knows that voice.
“You should come,” Spencer says again, and he sounds serious, worried, and Brendon has to close his eyes. He takes a long breath.
He forces a smile onto his face even though he knows Spencer can’t see him. “I will, god!” he says, trying to make it sound light, easy. “You should have told me you missed my face this much!”
Spencer laughs. “I miss your stupid laugh,” he says, making Brendon grimace. “But call me when you get there, ‘kay?”
This time, Brendon’s smile is genuine. “Okay. Tell Haley ‘hi’ for me.”
Brendon can almost hear Spencer’s smile. “I will. She wishes she could come as well. She doesn’t know what you will do without her.”
“Bye Spencer,” Brendon says firmly and the last thing he hears is Spencer’s chuckle before he ends the call. He closes the magazine as well. He stares down at his hands resting on the table.
“You’re just lonely,” he says, but he doesn’t know anymore what he’s trying to excuse with that.
Finally he stands up and makes himself a bowl of cereal. He takes it with him to his living room where the TV is already waiting for him.
He watches three old episodes of the Simpsons and feels a little better after. He remembers watching them when he was a kid. It was a special secret between him and Kara.
He stares into the empty cereal bowl and feels sick. Perhaps he should go and visit Shane in New York. Or fly to England. London was pretty cool after all.
He stands up and brings the empty bowl to the sink. Anywhere else would be better than here.
***
Brendon’s late when he finally arrives at the party, but it’s not like he was eager to get there in the first place. He gets out of the taxi and walks into the building.
The party is held in the inner yard, surrounding a big pool that is illuminated by blinking lights. There are maybe sixty people present, shiny and glittery, suited according to the latest fashion, chatting and laughing while swaying with the music.
Brendon wants to turn around and walk away, but he’s no coward. So instead he takes a long breath and walks to the side where he spots the table where people are getting their drinks.
“Thanks man.” He grins to the tall guy who hands him his beer.
The guy looks at him, quirking an eyebrow, and finally grins back. It makes something flutter in the pit of Brendon’s stomach, a familiar feeling he has almost missed.
“Steve,” the guy says, holding out his hand, but Brendon doesn’t really care. It’s not like he’s going to remember it tomorrow anyway. Steve has a fucking beautiful mouth, that’s what matters.
***
“There you are!” Spencer greets Brendon when he steps into the hall where Spencer’s sitting on the couch a beer in his hand. “I was thinking you weren’t coming after all.” He doesn’t sound accusing, even though there’s a wrinkle between his brows.
Brendon sits down next to him and takes a gulp of his beer. He wants to reach out in an attempt to tame his hair, but that would only bring more attention to it, and he knows he’s looking flushed no matter what.
“Have you seen Ryan?” he asks instead of answering and Spencer frowns, looking around.
“Yeah, he’s somewhere around,” he says and Brendon nods. He gives Spencer a look, quirking an eyebrow.
“Did you let him dress you again?”
“Hey!” Spencer says hitting him onto his shoulder. “I happen to know how to dress myself. And I like the vest.”
Brendon grins, feeling light and relaxed for the first time that night. “Well,” he says slowly. “It is very eighties, even though the beard and the bandana are more of the seventies look.”
Spencer glares but it only makes Brendon grin wider. “Well look who’s the fashion guru here,” he drawls and pokes Brendon’s arm, looking pointedly at his corduroy jacket.
“Whatever,” he says. “I love my jacket.” He takes another gulp of his beer.
Someone takes a picture of them sitting on the couch and Brendon frowns, closing his eyes, the after images of the flash dancing behind his eyelids. “I hate when someone does that,” he mumbles, and takes his sunglasses out of his inside pocket.
They sit there in a comfortable silence drinking their beers. After a while Brendon can feel Spencer watching him.
“You’re supposed to be happy now,” Spencer says suddenly and Brendon looks at the wall, trying to hide his grimace.
Spencer sounds worried, and he hates that, hates that he’s reason behind it. He takes a gulp of his beer. When he looks back at Spencer there’s a smile on his face.
“Dude, I am happy,” he says and drapes an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “More than happy in fact, I’m fucking ecstatic.” After a while Spencer relaxes against him.
“Good,” he says. He takes a gulp of his beer. “So, tell me what have you been up to?”
“I’m,” Brendon starts and saves himself when he notices someone he vaguely recognises. “Hey! Isn’t that Matt!” He hastily stands up and saunters off leaving Spencer looking after him a bemused expression on his face.
***
The very good thing about finding Matt was that Matt had some pot he was willing to share.
Brendon inhales the fresh air, makes sure the sunglasses are still perched up on his nose. He’s feeling loose, and he bites his lip because he feels like giggling, and what the fuck? He gulps down the rest of his drink and saunters towards the bar to grab another one.
‘I should find Spencer’, he thinks absent-mindedly, and walks around a group of people sitting at the pool. He digs his pack of smokes from his pocket and lights one. He inhales the smoke, the burn in his throat feeling familiar. He lets out the smoke out in a puff, tries to make a smoke ring that ends up looking nothing like one.
He turns and ---
“Ugh,” he says, almost loosing his balance. He curls his fingers around someone’s elbow and blinks.
“Hey,” he says to Ryan’s face - Ryan’s face that is actually very close and looking amused. Brendon can tell from the arched eyebrow.
“Hey,” Ryan replies, but all Brendon can feel is Ryan’s hand on the small of his back. “You’re drunk,” Ryan says, but it doesn’t sound accusing, not like it used to sound when they were younger and Brendon would stumble into their bus, late at night, feeling sick and miserable, and Ryan wouldn’t even look at him for days.
But now Ryan’s here, his warm hand on Brendon’s back, slipped under his jacket, and Brendon can feel Ryan’s fingers through his shirt. Maybe that’s why Brendon leans in, closer, and presses his lips to Ryan’s.
But it doesn’t really count, not really, because Ryan doesn’t kiss him back.
“Bren,” he says, frowning, after he has pushed Brendon away from him. He has his hand on Brendon’s shoulder, but Brendon’s isn’t sure if it’s meant to hold him back or make him stay put.
Brendon blinks, looks at Ryan’s unhappy face.
“Huh,” he says. “Shit, I’m,” and he just stares at Ryan, lost. He wishes he could laugh at all of this, but the truth is, he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers after a moment, and then he turns and runs away.
***
Next day, after Brendon has emptied his stomach of everything he had eaten in the last week fuck, he finally picks up his cell from the floor. Ryan has called him four times, Keltie once and Spencer twice. Brendon doesn’t frown at his phone, but he doesn’t put the sound on either. Instead he crawls back under the covers and hides his phone under the extra pillow.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but finally his head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode if he even thinks about blinking. It’s thirst that eventually makes him crawl out under the covers.
He stands up, pads to the kitchen and drinks three glasses of water straight up. He yawns and scratches his belly. After a moment he takes a bag of chips from the cupboard and eats them standing in the middle of the kitchen.
It’s getting already dark outside as he walks back to his bedroom. After he has brushed his teeth the second time, he picks up his hoodie from the floor, pulls on the first pairs of jeans he finds and tucks his feet into a pair of flip flops. He picks the car keys and his sunglasses from the table and leaves his apartment, leaving his phone sleep under the pillow.
He feels like shouting “Fuck you!” to the whole world. Instead he climbs into his car and hits his head against the steering wheel. “Idiot,” he tells himself.
He only barely misses the lamppost when he backs out of the garage.
***
Brendon’s sitting in his car but he isn’t able to let go of the steering wheel. He’s keeping his jaw too tightly shut and it’s slowly starting to hurt.
He makes himself look, makes himself turn his head to the right.
There’s light in the kitchen and his chest fucking hurts. He has to close his eyes because otherwise he’s going to let out a sob and he is not going to cry. Not this time.
“I’m not,” he tells to the empty car. “I have my friends. I have my band.” But somehow the words sound hollow even to his own ears.
“I have my band,” he repeats, whispers to the fucking ghosts.
He doesn’t see anyone. Maybe it’s better this way anyway, he tells himself. Easier.
Eventually he’s able to start the engine and drive away. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, feeling restless. He drives to the Strip, the bright lights hurting his eyes, but still making him feel better.
“Fuck it all,” he mumbles, and goes to a bar, his only intention to get shit faced.
***
Brendon wakes up feeling tired and nauseous. There’s a horrible pain behind his eyes. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles and buries his head under the pillow, wishing to just fall asleep again. He’s clutching his phone in his right hand when he finally does.
When he wakes up the second time, he has to stand up because he needs to pee. Then he remembers that he left his car in front of some bar and he has to go and pick it up. Assuming it’s still there.
“Shit,” he says. It tastes like something died and decayed in his mouth. The boy looking back at him in the mirror has an empty look in his eyes and an angry looking hickey on his neck.
“Fuck,” the boy in the mirror says, looking grim and unhappy.
***
“You could always come here,” Brendon says, staring at the ceiling above him. It’s a late afternoon and the shadows are getting longer. “I mean, if you don’t have anything else,” he adds, turning to lie on his side, looking at the TV that’s running on mute.
Jon’s quiet for a long time, but Brendon can wait. He taps his fingers against the soft velvet of the couch in an absent rhythm. On TV, Chandler runs after Joey but he’s too late; Joey’s already sitting on the black leather chair.
Brendon hums.
“Yeah, maybe I could come,” Jon drawls into the phone, and Brendon’s pretty sure he’s cooking, can hear him stir and chop and whatnot. “A two-week holiday in Vegas. That doesn’t sound too bad actually.” Jon sounds like he’s smiling.
Brendon closes his eyes. He can almost smell the food. “What are you making?” he asks, turning his face half against the pillow.
“Chicken,” Jon says, “and some rice and vegetables.”
Brendon inhales. The pillow smells like laundry detergent.
“Hey dude, gotta go. Tom’s already here and the food’s ready.”
Brendon doesn’t open his eyes. “Sure. Talk you later.”
Brendon lies on his couch eyes closed. When he finally sits up the room is dim and there’s a weather report on the TV.
Brendon sits up and stretches his neck. He pushes nine in his speed dial and waits.
“Hi,” he says after someone picks up. “Can I have Chicken tikka massala, home delivery, please?” He watches as the girl on TV smiles, pointing at the sun floating over Las Vegas on the map. “Thanks,” he adds after telling them his address.
He sits back and waits.
***
“You look like shit,” is the first thing Jon says to him at the airport where Brendon’s waiting for him.
It only makes Brendon grin against Jon’s neck. When he pulls back from the hug, he gives Jon a look. “Thanks. But you don’t look exactly radiant yourself, mister perfect.”
The truth is, Jon’s looking exhausted. His clothes are crumbled and even his beard looks neglected.
“Well,” Jon says and rubs his neck. He lets out a long sigh. “Things have changed at home.”
Brendon’s smile is tired, but he just doesn’t have the energy to push himself, and it’s Jon after all. Jon has seen him at his worst. “Yeah,” he says. “Tell me about it.”
They stand there, middle of the crowd, just looking at each other. “So, let’s get going, shall we,” Brendon finally says, picking up Jon’s bag from the tile floor.
Jon laughs and drapes his arm around Brendon’s shoulder as they walk towards the doors. “I’m fucking hungry, dude,” he says. “I hope you have food. The shit they claimed was food on that plane had seen better days.”
Brendon doesn’t even try to hide his grimace. “Well, actually, I think we need to go to supermarket if you want something other than cereal.”
“You on some kind of special superstar diet?” Jon asks and Brendon can deal with this. He digs his elbow to Jon’s side.
“Hey!” He pouts. “I happen to like cereal!”
“Sure,” Jon says easily, smiling at him. “I just like to have some diversity. I mean, breakfast food is fine, but cereal isn’t even proper breakfast food.”
“But cereal is so good!” Brendon says pouting. “You’re so not my favourite anymore.”
At that, Jon laughs and ruffles his hair and Brendon might have missed this more than he realised.
***
“So,” Jon says when they are sitting in Brendon’s car, stuck in a traffic jam. Apparently half of the Vegas population needs to get somewhere this early in the morning. Brendon’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel with the beat coming from the radio.
“Ryan tells me you’re not answering their calls.”
Brendon lifts his chin, his fingers pausing and curling around the steering wheel. He’s glad he’s wearing his sunglasses so Jon can’t see his panicked expression. “He did?” he asks after a while when it seems Jon’s not going to say anything else.
Jon hums in agreement. “Hmm. Wanna talk about it?”
Brendon swallows hard, willing himself to relax. The air-conditioning is making his throat dry. “No, not really.”
Jon’s quiet for a while. “Okay,” he finally says looking out of the window.
Brendon clears his throat. “So,” he says changing the line and staring stubbornly at the number plate of the car in front them. “How are Dylan and Clover?”
It’s a cheap trick because talking about them always makes Jon smile. “They are good,” he says, and when Brendon glances at him, he is, in fact, smiling.
***
“Oh my god,” Jon says when he steps into Brendon’s living room. “You killed Dylan!”
After a silence spent staring at the sad plant in front of the windows, Jon asks: “How did you even manage that?”
Brendon shakes his head. “Dude, I have no idea. I think I might have given it too much water.”
Jon makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat. “That’s so pathetic.”
Brendon starts to laugh, he just cannot help it. The laugh bubbles out of his mouth in almost a desperate manner. “I know!” He says, pushing his palms against his eyes. “I can’t even take care of a fucking plant.”
To Brendon’s surprise Jon pulls him to a hug. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It was a fucking ugly plant anyway.”
Brendon closes his eyes wrapping his arms around Jon, the laugh dying into his mouth. He hugs Jon tighter. “I know,” he says into Jon’s shirt.
***
Brendon shows Jon the guest room. It’s right opposite his own bedroom, but a lot smaller, the bathroom next to it eating up the space. There’s only a bed, and nightstand and a closet in the room, and when he looks at the blue and white bedspread and the white curtains it’s the first time Brendon feels he should have maybe made it look more like someone’s home instead of a hotel room.
“Hey,” Jon says when he notices the guitar Brendon had placed in the corner. “You’re trusting me with Bella?”
Brendon shrugs, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “I thought you may wanna write something. I mean, give you something to do if you can’t sleep.” He’s suddenly feeling awkward, and he seems unable to stop the fidgeting.
Jon just smiles at him before dropping his bags on the floor. “Thanks man,” he says, picking up the guitar. He sits down on the bed and skims his fingers across the strings. He plays a note, then another, starts to hum quietly along.
Brendon grins leaning against the doorframe.
Jon looks up after a while. He looks startled, but just as Brendon is about to ask what’s the matter. Jon blinks the look away.
“Now,” Jon says, laying the guitar next to him and standing up. He grins. “Be a good little host and feed me.”
“Sure,” Brendon says easily pushing himself away from the doorway. “I have coffee and cereal, the food of the gods.”
Jon quirks his eyebrows at him looking amused. “Fine, but tomorrow it’s my turn to pick up the menu.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, but truth to be told, he’s maybe a little too excited about the idea of Jon’s blueberry pancakes.
***
After they have finished eating and Jon has had his second cup of coffee they sit down at the couch. “You should hang something up on your walls,” Jon says after a while. “Make it feel more like a home in here.”
Brendon hums, looking at the empty walls sceptically. “You think?”
“Yeah. You could use Shane’s pictures.” Jon drags his bare feet through the soft carpet. “So,” he says. “What do you wanna do today?”
Brendon shrugs, watching Jon’s toes as he wiggles them. “I dunno,” he says, watching Jon flexing his feet. “We could always go skating?” he suggests after a while.
“Maybe,” Jon says, tilting his head.
***
They end up going anyway. Brendon only has one board and he cannot find Shane’s board even when he looks under his bed -a thing he will regret the rest of his life- but Jon takes his camera and seems happy to take photos of Brendon skating around the half empty parking lot.
It is a hot day, just like the weather girl promised. The sun shines with such a force you can practically see the air oscillate above the asphalt.
Brendon had already gotten rid of his t-shirt. Jon is staying in the shadows, saying he isn’t used to this kind of weather. Still, he keeps smiling at the sky, enjoying the warmth like a cat.
“Look!” Brendon shouts and tries to do a back flip. He can feel how his foot slips; feel the world tilt as he looses his balance. “Ow!” He ends up on his back, staring at the indigo blue sky above him.
He sits up slowly. Jon’s too busy laughing at him to come and help him up. Brendon scowls at him.
“Stop it asshole,” he says and stand up grimacing. He brushes the dirt of his shorts. When he moves the skin on his elbows and on his back feels too tight. “Fuck!”
Jon stops and comes to him. “Let me see,” he murmurs and makes Brendon turn his back to him. Brendon can feel Jon’s fingers hover over his back. In parts his skin feels raw and the touch stings, making him hiss in pain.
“Fucking hell,” Jon says. “We better go inside so I can clean this up.”
Brendon tries to get a look over his own shoulder but Jon’s hand on his arm stops him. “Stop fidgeting,” he says, “and lets go.” He pushes Brendon towards the door.
“Yeah,” Brendon answers, and lets Jon lead him inside, almost forgetting his board to lean against the wall.
***
“Ow!”
Jon snorts. “Don’t be a baby. It couldn’t have hurt. I didn’t even touch you yet.”
Brendon frowns. They are in the bathroom, and he’s sitting on a stool waiting for the sting he knows is coming when Jon starts to pour the antiseptic over the cuts on his back.
“I know I just --- Ow you fucker!” He tries to get away from the pain but Jon’s hand is steady on his shoulder making him stay put.
“Calm down,” Jon says quietly, brushing his fingers over his collar bone.
Brendon breath hitches. Jon’s fingers are tentative on his back as he cleans the cuts with cotton balls. He does keep his promise, and it doesn’t take long ‘til he’s satisfied that the cuts won’t get an infection. Brendon can’t help but to feel a little disappointed at the loss of touch when Jon tells him he can stand up.
He stares at Jon’s hands. “Thanks man,” he says before hurrying out of the tiny space.
***
“You sure you don’t want any?” Brendon asks for the third time. Jon only smiles at him, looking pointedly at the chocolate chip ice-cream Brendon’s eating straight from the container. “No, that’s not what I call proper lunch.”
Brendon hums. Jon focuses back on the email he was writing on his laptop.
“How,” Brendon says around his spoon, “can you know all these people?” It is a fair question. It is his home town after all, and now they’re supposedly going to a party Jon got invited to. “I mean, how do they even know you’re here?”
Jon just smirks at him from where he’s sitting at the floor, next to the half dead plant. “It’s all part of my charm,” he says looking smug, the bastard.
“Hmm,” Brendon hums and takes another spoonful of ice cream. Jon keeps looking at him with a strange look in his eyes.
It makes Brendon blush. He tries to hide it with a frown. “What?”
Jon shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but he does look away at that.
***
They go to the party Jon’s friend is having and someone gives Brendon a beer as soon as he steps inside.
“Jonny!” a guy Brendon has never seen yells and hurries to greet them. He gives Jon a bear hug, patting his back in a very manly way. When the guy finally lets go he turns to look at Brendon. “And who’s your friend?”
Brendon gives Jon a disapproving look, but Jon only grins at him.
“I’m sure I’ve told you about Brendon,” he says, eyes still focused on Brendon. As the guy shakes Brendon’s hand and gives him a meaningful look, Brendon flushes.
“Right,” the guy says. “You look different in person.”
“Um,” Brendon says, feeling uncomfortable. Luckily Jon’s hand wraps around his shoulders.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you around.”
“Have fun!” the guy shouts after them. “The drinks are in the kitchen!”
***
“I’m drunk,” Brendon confesses against Jon’s shoulder. He can feel Jon’s laughter against his cheek.
“Yeah, I noticed,” he says, but he doesn’t push Brendon away so it’s all good.
“It’s all good,” Brendon mumbles closing his eyes.
“Dude, no. No falling asleep on me.” Jon nudges his shoulder with his hand, but he sounds amused, mostly.
“But you’re so soft,” Brendon says still not opening his eyes, not caring that he sounds whiny. He nuzzles into Jon’s shoulder. Jon feels warm against him, and when he pushes his nose against his t-shirt he can definitely smell the familiar scent of Jon - sweat, cologne, smoke and the distant smell of cats.
He hums contently.
“Bren, come on. Let’s get you home,” Jon says standing up, forcing Brendon to sit up on his own.
“Home,” he parrots, and suddenly, he does feel a little sick.
***
Brendon closes his eyes. “I can’t believe I told you,” he says, prompting Jon to let out a frustrated huff in response.
“So you kissed him,” he replies, frowning. “I mean, what’s the big deal? I thought you guys did that all the time.”
Brendon shoves his hands into his pockets which takes some manoeuvring considering he’s lying on the floor. The world has finally stopped spinning at least.
Brendon pouts. “More like a collision,” he mumbles, but when Jon looks at him questionably, he adds, “And you know, it’s just on stage,” only slurring a bit. He pushes his feet against the carpet. “Besides, Ryan doesn’t like me like that.” He never meant to say that out loud, not like that, not so honestly. He turns to look at Jon, who’s looking down at him from the couch.
He has a surprised look in his face.
“Oh,” he says, like he’s only now getting the big picture.
“Yeah,” Brendon whispers, feeling young and stupid.
“Well that sucks,” Jon says after a while. There’s no pity in his voice and Brendon tries his best to swallow down the lump in his throat.
Jon yawns, closing his eyes.
“Yeah well,” Brendon says looking at the ceiling. He’s smiling ruefully, he knows that. “That’s life for you, I suppose.”
Jon hums, but Brendon isn’t sure if it’s to agree with him or to fill in the silence.
“I still think you should talk with him,” Jon says after a while but Brendon doesn’t say anything.
“I will,” he says, but he isn’t sure if Jon even hears him. After a while, when he’s pretty sure he can manage that without falling down again, he pushes himself up. He drapes a blanket over Jon, who’s fallen asleep, mouth slightly agape. Brendon stands there, looking down at Jon.
He sighs and tiptoes to his own bedroom as quietly as possible. He hisses when he hits his toe against the corner of a dresser. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles.
When he gets to his own room, he undresses before crawling into the bed. He didn’t brush his teeth but he isn’t bothered to stand up again. It feels like the room’s swaying. “Fuck,” he says to the silence, closing his eyes tightly.
***
Brendon wakes up hard. He doesn’t really think before he wraps his fingers around his dick, spreads the pre-come along the shaft.
He moves his hand languidly, swipes his thumb over the head and moans, images of his dream still playing in his mind.
It doesn’t really take that long until his back arches and he pushes his head back against the pillow. He comes, groaning, pulling the last of his orgasm out of his body.
When he starts to calm down, his breathing evening out, he sits up, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand. It’s only then he realises the door to his room is wide open.
***
When Brendon emerges from the bathroom, still damp from the shower, Jon’s drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“Morning,” he says, not looking up from the magazine he’s reading.
Brendon looks at him cautiously. “Good morning,” he replies, walking around him to the counter to pour coffee into his mug.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, turning around and leaning against the counter. He watches Jon’s back.
“Yeah, but I woke up when---“ then he pauses, and Brendon can see how his back tenses under his t-shirt. “Yeah,” he ends his sentence, swallows. “You?”
“Great,” Brendon says, taking a gulp of the too hot coffee. “Just great.”
***
Jon’s a bastard and Brendon hates him. A lot.
”I’m,” he says, very pointedly not looking at Jon, “Trying not to think about it.” He thought that Jon wouldn’t have brought it - the kiss between Ryan and himself - up, or better yet, not remembered it at all.
“Hmm,” Jon says from the floor, not looking up or even bothering to open his eyes. “You could talk to him,” he suggests finally, flexing his fingers that are going little numb. He changes his position so that his head is no longer resting against his hands but against the soft carpet. He hums contently, the soft burn of the smoke sill tickling in his throat.
“No,” Brendon says firmly. He looks at the TV, where Chuck Norris is currently hiding behind an old, rusty van. “I think I’m going to grab a beer,” he says after a while, pushing himself up from the couch.
“Do you want one?” he asks Jon, hovering over his head.
“Sure,” Jon replies easily, squinting upwards, and Brendon doesn’t look at him when he walks out, acts like he didn’t even see the hand that was meant to catch him by his ankle.
In the kitchen, he takes two beers out of the fridge. There’s a half-empty mayonnaise jar and a lemon that has seen better days besides what’s left of the six-pack they bought earlier. Brendon frowns, looking around his kitchen. He opens the cabinet doors until he finds an opened pack of Oreos. They are partly melted together, but since he can’t find anything else he takes them with him.
He can hear Jon acting out the pistol sounds and he realises he’s feeling nervous. He grimaces, closing his eyes. What am I doing? he asks himself, taking a long breath before walking back to the living room and trying to look as casual as he can.
“Here you go,” he says dropping the cookies onto Jon’s stomach and leaning down to hand Jon the other beer.
“Thanks man.” Jon sounds pleased as he opens the package. Brendon watches as he eats one, licking his fingers after. He’s almost humming around them and Brendon thinks that maybe the last joint was a bit too much. “Yeah,” he says slowly, and after that he keeps his eyes focused solely on the screen.
***
A new day, a new beginning, is what they all say.
“Hold this a sec,” Jon says, handing Brendon his phone. Brendon doesn’t even lift his eyes from the article he’s reading.
“Hello?” he says into the phone.
“Brendon?”
Brendon stops breathing. He will fucking kill Jon Walker.
“Hi,” he says, quietly scanning the now empty room.
“You haven’t answered any of our calls,” Spencer says, sounding angry, and Brendon grimaces.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
Spencer lets out a strange noise. “Whatever,” he says. “So, how long’s Jon staying?”
“Oh,” Brendon stands up, looks for Jon with his eyes. “I don’t know yet. We haven’t really talked about it.”
Spencer’s quiet for a while. “Maybe you should,” he says. “You should ask about Cassie,” he adds after a while.
Brendon’s brows furrow. “Okay,” he says hesitantly.
“And Brendon,” Spencer says sounding serious. “Call Ryan. He has been painting pictures of crying women and it’s getting a bit too much even for Keltie.”
Brendon smiles, looking out of the window. “I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
***
When Jon eventually comes out of the bathroom, Brendon pushes himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. He hands the phone back to Jon.
“I know you meant well, but that was low, even for you,” he says icily and walks stiffly back to his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
***
There’s a knock on his door and Brendon sighs. He wants to be still angry with Jon, but he honestly can’t be bothered. It feels like a huge weight has lifted from his chest after his talk with Spencer and it is Jon he should thank for that after all.
“Come in,” he says, and watches as the door creaks open and Jon’s head pops in. He looks nervous, biting his bottom lip, and Brendon doesn’t like the idea that he has caused it.
“I’m sorry,” Jon says, looking at Brendon warily.
Brendon rolls his eyes, trying to make the awkwardness go away. “Yeah, I know. It’s fine.” Jon doesn’t look convinced so he adds: “You can repay it by making dinner.”
Jon huffs, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Like I would let you cook,” he says.
***
After the dinner they sit on the balcony. It’s still hot outside, the air too dry. There’s the constant hum of the traffic in the background, accompanied with the low sounds of the music coming from inside of the apartment. Brendon looks up to the sky.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a regular job?”
Jon’s face scrunches up. “What? Like nine to five?”
Brendon hums. “Yeah,” he says, handing the joint back to Jon.
Jon takes a long drag. “Can’t really say I have,” he says, holding the smoke in. “Why?” He lets the smoke out in a slow puff.
Brendon shrugs, feeling uncomfortable. “No reason. Guess I just miss being on tour.”
Jon takes another drag before giving the joint back to Brendon. “Yeah, well, we’ll be back on tour in no time. Soon you won’t be able to wait to be back home.” He smiles, leaning back, closing his eyes.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and takes a drag, the smoke burning in his throat.
***
“Let’s go for a drive,” Jon says and when Brendon looks at him, quirking an eyebrow, he just shrugs. “It isn’t like we have anything better to do,” he adds. So they go. Brendon sits on the passenger seat, feet propped against the dashboard. The sun is shining, and they sing with the radio, and it reminds Brendon of his summers when he was a kid. He hums, and watches as the scenery rushes pass them.
“Where are we going?” he asks, when Jon makes yet another turn.
“It’s a surprise,” Jon says, not even turning to look at him.
Brendon pouts, but decides to let it go. He does like surprises. At some point he must have fallen asleep, head resting against the window, because when he wakes up, his neck is stiff and they are back in front of his building.
He sits up, blinking the sleep away. “Um,” he says a bit groggily, looking around him.
Jon’s smiling. “Morning, sleepy head,” he says to him, voice soft, and Brendon has to look away.
”I bought dinner,” Jon says, and right on cue, Brendon’s stomach grumbles.
“Oh good,” he says. “Are we having a picnic in the car or are we going inside?”
Jon snorts. “Don’t be disgusting.” He opens the car door and then reaches between the seats to take the take-away boxes from backseats.
“Oh, Chinese!” Brendon smiles and hurries out of the car.
***
Brendon thinks that yes, he could totally get used to Jon living there when there’s fresh coffee in the kitchen in the morning.
“I think I love you,” he says, taking in the scent of the coffee. “You should come and live with us. I don’t think Shane would mind.”
Jon hums. “There are pancakes next to the stove.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, taking a clean plate from the cupboards. “Love, Jon Walker. My undying love.”
Jon laughs, and he doesn’t even pretend he’s reading the paper when he watches Brendon taking the first bite.
“So good,” he tries to say. His mouth is rather full, but he’s pretty sure Jon gets the meaning because he’s definitely blushing when he hides behind the paper again.
***
“Call him,” Jon says, sounding a bit aggravated.
Brendon doesn’t look at him. “I will,” he says, and runs against a wall on the screen. “Fuck,” he swears.
“Bren.” Jon sounds like he’s only seconds away from hitting some sense into him.
Brendon closes his eyes. “Later, okay? I promise.”
Jon keeps looking at him but at least he drops the subject. “I’m going out,” he says, before standing up and walking out. Brendon watches himself die on the screen.
“Fuck,” he says to the silence.
***
“Hi,” Ryan says dryly into the phone. “Took you a while.”
Brendon grimaces pushing his sweaty palm against the soft velvet of the couch. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
There’s an awkward silence. “So, how are you?”
Brendon feels like it should be him asking that. “Fine,” he states. “How are you?”
“Good. I’ve been painting a lot lately and stuff.” Brendon can hear Ryan moving around in his apartment.
“So what are you up to today?”
“Oh, we are just about to watch High Fidelity,” Brendon answers, looking at the TV.
“I like the book more,” Ryan says gaining an eye roll from Brendon, because of course he does.
“Yeah well.”
Brendon can hear Keltie say something in the background. “Keltie says Jon owes her money and that she has a memory of an elephant and that he better pay it soon.” Ryan almost sounds like he’s grinning.
“I will. Oh hey, I need to go,” Brendon says, “Jon’s back.”
“Okay,” Ryan sounds like he’s pouting. “Have fun.”
“We will,” Brendon says before clipping his phone shut.
“Who’s that?” Jon mumbles walking to the living room while simultaneously trying to eat a mouthful of popcorn. Brendon grins at him. “Ryan,” he answers and makes grabby hands for the bowl.
Jon’s eyebrows crease. “Oh.” He hands the bowl to Brendon and sits down next to him. “How did it go?”
Brendon hums while eating pieces of popcorn out of his palm. They crunch in his mouth. “Fine,” he says, putting the bowl between them on the couch. He looks at Jon. “I thought you would be happy I finally talked with him?”
Jon doesn’t look at him. “I am,” he says.
Brendon tilts his head. “He said Keltie said you owe her money.”
That makes Jon actually grin widely. “Okay.”
Brendon isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way Jon relaxes next to him. He continues to watch him from the corner of his eye.
“Shall we continue?” Jon asks picking the remote up from the floor. His shirt rides up, revealing a line of tanned skin.
Brendon’s eyes skirt hastily back to the TV screen. “Sure,” he says.
***
Jon falls asleep on the couch before the movie ends. Brendon watches him, the credits rolling on the screen.
It feels unreal somehow, the whole situation. Brendon reaches his hand and touches the tip of Jon’s nose. It makes Jon crinkle his face and Brendon has to bite his lip so that he doesn’t laugh out loud in delight. That doesn’t prevent the smile from spreading over his face.
Brendon sits there a moment, just watching Jon sleep. After a while he starts to feel like a creep so he reaches out and nudges gently Jon’s shoulder. He clears his throat when Jon doesn’t even stir.
“Jon, wake up. It’s time to go to bed.”
Jon opens his eyes slowly, and looks blearily at him, blinking. “Huh,” he mumbles.
Brendon clicks the TV off and takes Jon’s hand. Jon’s palm is warm and sweaty against his own.
“Come on,” he says, standing up, and Jon follows, stumbling a bit.
Brendon doesn’t know why he doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand. Perhaps because he’s feeling too tired, and Jon’s thumb keeps caressing his skin and sending shivers along his arm.
He stops in front of the guest room so he can open the door.
“So,” he clears his throat again. “Sleep well---“ he begins, but is interrupted when Jon pulls at his hand, making him turn around. And then Jon is kissing him, hard, pressing his body flat against Brendon’s.
Brendon lets out a surprised groan, and it takes him two seconds to wrap his arm around Jon, to fist his fingers into Jon’s shirt.
Jon’s a brilliant kisser, and Brendon vaguely tries to figure out why the hell he hasn’t kissed him before, but then Jon pushes a leg between his and the friction makes him shiver.
Jon moans into his mouth when he pushes back, tilts his head so he can fit their mouths better together. Jon’s the one who breaks their kiss, but it’s only so that he can start lining open-mouthed kisses down Brendon’s neck. It makes Brendon want, and he wants Jon - wants him so bad he don’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He ends pulling Jon closer, putting his hands onto Jon’s ass.
“Fuck” Jon groans, arching into him, and when Brendon opens his eyes, he notices how dark Jon’s eyes are. The only sound in the hallway is their laboured breathing.
“I need to,” Jon swallows, and Brendon’s a bit distracted by the urge to lick Jon’s Adam’s apple.
“I need to know you want this,” Jon’s saying, but it takes a while to register in Brendon’s brain. He frowns.
“What?” he says.
Jon’s tense under Brendon’s hands, but they are still close, and Brendon will fucking kill Jon if he’s about to say this is a mistake.
“I mean,” Jon starts again, staring intently at the wall behind Brendon’s right shoulder. “I know you’re kinda in a bad place right now, and if you think that this isn’t something that---“
“No,” Brendon says.
Jon looks at him. He blinks, twice. “No?” he parrots, voice unnaturally high.
Brendon frowns. “I want you, you stupid asshole,” he says, and he would kick Jon normally, but their position makes it rather difficult at the moment.
“But,” Jon says, blinking.
Brendon’s frown deepens. It’s like Jon doesn’t want to have sex with him even though Brendon can feel Jon’s dick pressing against his hip.
“Shut up,” he says. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” He kisses Jon then, twines his fingers into Jon’s hair and pulls him closer. He bites Jon’s bottom lip, pulls it with his teeth before releasing it. Jon groans, and Brendon can feel Jon relax under his touch. When Jon’s hands come to rest on his hips, Brendon wants to smile victoriously.
Then it’s Jon’s hands on his back, sliding up under his t-shirt, him moaning into Jon’s mouth. Jon walks them backwards, guiding Brendon towards the bed.
Bed, Brendon vaguely thinks, and the thought makes him want to giggle like crazy. He manages to get Jon’s shirt over his head, revealing his chest, and Brendon has seen it literally hundreds of times, but now it seems all new to him. He will never be able to forgive himself for how unappreciative he has been in the past. All that skin, and he fucking needs to touch it. But Jon’s trying to pull Brendon’s t-shirt off, and somehow Brendon manages to get stuck in there. There’s elbows everywhere, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to get the stupid shirt off of him.
He knows he’s flushed and his hair is mussed but Jon just looks at him, eyes dark, and suddenly Brendon feels very self-conscious.
“What?” he asks, fidgeting a little, feeling stupid, but Jon only shakes his head.
“It’s just,” he says, still staring. “You,” he says, because he’s a total sap, but it still makes Brendon blush. Then Jon’s kissing him again, pushing him against the guest bed. He stumbles onto it, and then Jon’s already fumbling with his jeans, tugging and fighting with the buttons.
“Why the fuck,” Jon says, “do you have to wear such small jeans?” Brendon doesn’t answer; he’s too busy hating his jeans himself.
Jon grins in satisfaction, cheeks red and eyes focused, when he’s finally able to get the jeans past Brendon’s hips. And everything goes well until he tries to pull the jeans past Brendon’s knees and the jeans get stuck. Jon stares at them incredulously.
”No, no, I don’t care!” Brendon hastily declares, trying to pull Jon back up, but Jon doesn’t let go of the jeans. It makes Brendon groan in frustration.
“No,” Jon says, tugging. “I won’t fuck you with your jeans hanging around your ankles. Just, no.” He shakes his head a little. He’s still staring at the jeans like it’s a personal insult.
Brendon gives out an exacerbated sigh, letting his head fall onto the pillow. But apparently Jon has no heart, because he won’t give in. He just starts tugging at the bottom of the jeans again.
After a moment, Brendon decides to help out, because otherwise they won’t ever be able to do anything. And that just won’t do.
Finally, they’re able to free Brendon from the jeans and Jon dashes them somewhere over his shoulder. In the mean time, Brendon pulls his own underwear off.
When Jon turns around he blinks. He swallows and licks his dry lips.
“I’m so happy you’re naked,” he says, voice hoarse, but that’s as far Brendon’s patience goes, so he latches himself onto Jon, dragging him down with him.
“Less talking, more fucking,” he says, pushes the words into Jon’s mouth, but Jon seems only happy to obey.
***
“How long can you stay?” Brendon asks sometime in the morning, when the light is still too bright and it’s extraordinary quiet outside.
Instead of answering, Jon smiles lazily at him, pulling him closer. “Lets talk about that tomorrow,” he says.
“Okay,” Brendon mumbles against Jon’s skin.
***
“Hmm,” Brendon blinks slowly. His eyelids feel heavy and he buries his head into the pillows again.
After couple of seconds, when he’s starting to be really awake, he turns his head and opens his eyes. It’s a lot darker in the room than usually, and he realises that someone must have shut the blinds.
He sits up in the middle of the bed surrounded by the tangled sheets. “Jon?” he asks, waiting for an answer but the room is silent. He reaches and takes the clock from the nightstand. It’s almost noon.
Something doesn’t feel quite right as he stumbles out of the bed. He pulls a pair of boxers on and walks out of the room. He stops again in the hallway. He tries to listen any sounds, but it’s too silent.
“Shit,” he says and hurries to the kitchen where he’s waiting to find Jon drinking his morning coffee, lazily turning the pages of the morning paper.
The kitchen is empty and clean, and there is no sign of Jon.
Brendon’s heart hammers in his chest. He runs through his whole apartment but when he reaches the bathroom and it too is empty, he has to give in.
Jon has left. It’s like he never even was there.
***
“He’s not answering his calls,” he says, sounding frantic. He takes a drag of his smoke. “I don’t know what I did.”
Spencer’s quiet for a while. “It’s not your fault,” he says, but when Brendon makes a disagreeing sound in his throat, he adds, “Bren, it’s not.”
Brendon gulps down and closes his eyes. “But he didn’t even leave a note,” he says, and he knows he’s sounding like a whiny bastard, but he doesn’t care. The tiles on the balcony are cold against his bare feet and there are goose bumps all over his arms and legs.
“Just, stay there, okay? I’ll call Ryan and we’ll come over.”
Brendon closes his eyes. “Fine.”
***
Brendon’s sitting on his couch, now wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He’s hugging a pillow and staring at the TV screen.
“--- leave a note? You better call me back when you get this, asshole,” Ryan’s saying when he lets himself inside with his own keys.
He stops at the door to the living room. “Hi,” he says sounding wary.
Brendon looks at him. “Maybe there was an emergency,” he says as a greeting.
Ryan’s eyes soften and he comes and sits down next to Brendon. “Maybe,” he says slowly. “We just have to wait ‘til he calls back.”
Brendon sighs, and Ryan gets the hint, snaking an arm around Brendon shoulders and pulling him against him. “Come here,” he says. Brendon snuggles against Ryan and just concentrates on breathing for a while.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” he mumbles against Ryan’s bony shoulder.
Ryan squeezes his fingers around Brendon’s arm. “It’s okay,” he says. “Keltie said it sounded rather hot.”
Brendon snorts and closes his eyes. “She would,” he says.
***
One hour later Spencer arrives with beer.
Ryan gives him a questioning look. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he says.
Spencer looks grim. “Well I, for one, need a drink,” he says and then he comes and squishes himself next to Brendon. “You okay?” he asks, petting Brendon’s hair.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, trying his best to smile. “But I wouldn’t object to a beer.”
Spencer grins at him.
***
“Can’t we, like, kick him out of the band?”
“No,” both Ryan and Spencer say, and it’s totally not fair that they share a brain. Brendon pouts at them.
“Just for a week? I mean, we can take him back after he learns his lesson.”
Spencer gives him a look. “We are not kicking Jon out of the band.”
Brendon pouts some more. Then he burps and his eyes widen. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
***
Brendon wakes up in his own bed. He’s too warm, but it doesn’t take him long to find the reason behind that.
He still wearing yesterday’s clothes for starters, and secondly, he’s not alone in the bed. He’s tightly snuggled between Ryan and Spencer.
“Ugh,” He says, and climbs out of the bed trying his best not to wake the two.
***
After a cold shower he’s feeling much better. Spencer is already in the kitchen making coffee when Brendon appears out of the bathroom.
“How are you doing?” he asks as soon as he notices Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, sits down on a stool and swings his legs. “Fine,” he says.
Spencer keeps looking at him. “I’m sure he’ll call today,” he says before turning back to the coffee maker.
Brendon scowls at the table. “Yeah,” he says.
***
Jon doesn’t call. They don’t hear from him for three days. Brendon is finally able to assure Ryan and Spencer that he really is okay and that he doesn’t need babysitters. They go home but keep on calling him every two hours to see if he heard anything.
He keeps checking his emails and his cell for nothing. It’s like Jon doesn’t want them to find him, and perhaps that’s the truth. Finally Brendon stops checking because it’s just making him feel worse.
He’s busy watching Karate Kid and eating instant noodles when the doorbell rings. He swears.
He runs to the door, not wanting to miss the part where the kid drops from the boat into the lake. Shane shouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but Brendon’s only happy that he won’t have to spend another night alone in the apartment.
He opens the door. “You could have called you forgot your --- keys,” he ends, almost swallowing the last word. It’s not Shane at the door, but Jon.
The smile falters in Jon’s face. “Bren?” he asks cautiously.
Brendon closes his eyes and breathes in, out. He opens his eyes. Jon looks nervous, like he hasn’t slept for couple of nights and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I needed to---” He clears his throat. “I needed to clear some things back home.”
Brendon bites his bottom lip. Jon looks just like himself, familiar, and Brendon wants to reach out and touch his beard. He swallows.
“Come in,” he finally says, looking straight at Jon.
About 9,750 words, R. Jon/Brendon. Girlfriends are mentioned. This never happened, the boys own themselves.
alexalgebra betaed this for me. I don't know what I would do without him. Live without commas, probably. ♥
If You Have a Cloudy Mind
“Hey,” he says to Ryan when he finally finds him at the pool. Well, more like collides with Ryan if he’s absolutely honest about it. The collision makes him lean closer, the hand not holding the smoke curling around Ryan’s elbow. The alcohol is buzzing inside him, warm and comforting, and a lazy smile spreads slowly across his face.
“Hey,” Ryan replies, but all Brendon can feel is Ryan’s hand on the small of his back. “You’re drunk,” Ryan says, but it doesn’t sound accusing, not like it used to sound.
Maybe that’s why Brendon leans in and kisses him then.
***
Brendon’s been back home for a week now and he hates his apartment. He can’t even pretend anymore because he has run out of people who he can bother and he feels like he can’t call his band because, well, they are on a break after all.
He taps his feet against the floor in an absurd rhythm. He glances at his laptop on the table but he doesn’t feel like messing with Garage Band or answering any of his emails.
His apartment is just so fucking empty, that’s the whole problem. He would love to get a dog, but it’s not like he can take it on tour with them and he doesn’t really have anyone who can look after it when he’s away anyway.
Suddenly he has an idea. “Fucking genius,” he mumbles while scrambling up from the couch. He picks up his keys from the table and runs down the stairs two at a time.
In the car, he listens to the Queen album Spencer once bought him and sings along as loud as he can. He parks in a small side street and gets out of his car, the peeping sound telling him the doors locked. There’s a purple minivan parked couple of cars ahead and Brendon smiles a bit bitterly when he walks by it. It feels like it was forever ago since they stood in the driveway and his mom gave him the keys and told him to go to for a drive.
“Time flies,” he sings a bit off-key, as he steps into the flower shop.
***
“I named it Dylan,” he tells Jon later that night. Jon bursts into boisterous laughter and Brendon smiles, looking at his plant perched in front of the large windows. “You would like it. It’s a very pleasant plant. Has very good manners.”
Jon’s still laughing and Brendon’s pretty smug he’s the reason behind it. He flicks through the channels on his TV.
Finally Jon calms down letting out a long breath that resounds in Brendon’s cell. “Oh man, you should have come here,” he says a bit breathlessly.
Brendon doesn’t reply, just curls more into himself on the couch.
“I saw this band yesterday and they were so great. Fuck. I missed Chicago so much,” Jon continues, undisturbed by Brendon’s silence. “Dude, I just know you would have liked them.”
“Maybe next time,” Brendon says, not looking away from the screen.
“How’s Cassie?” he asks after a while.
There’s strange pause before Jon answers. “Great,” he says, voice light. “Bren, I need to go. My mom’s making me dinner and all my cousins will be there, so.”
Brendon closes his eyes. “Sure, man. Talk to you later.”
Brendon wishes his plant knew how to talk. He stares at it. “I don’t know why I bought you,” he tells it. “It’s not like you’re going to survive next time we go on tour.”
Dylan doesn’t reply. “Stupid plant,” Brendon says to it, pouting.
He sighs. “Who am I kidding?” he asks and turns his focus back to the TV.
Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch. Later, when he wakes up, he feels disoriented. He blinks sleepily at the late night commercials playing on the TV. He yawns, feeling stiff and groggy.
It takes him a while to find the remote under the couch.
He pads through the silent apartment to his bedroom. He undresses and crawls under the covers. It doesn’t take long until restless sleep claims him again.
***
They have been home for two weeks and Brendon loathes his apartment. He’s lying on his bed, the sheets tangled up around him. He’s not sure how late it is, probably later than he thinks anyway. His stomach growls but he ignores it, just curls up even more.
His phone is in the next room. He wonders what Spencer’s doing. Probably spending time with his family. Or with Haley.
Brendon frowns.
“I’m fine,” he tells to the empty room and focuses on breathing steadily.
He could always call Cash. He always manages to make him feel better. Besides, Cash thinks it’s cute when Brendon cuddles with him when he’s high. And Brendon doesn’t really mind that Cash doesn’t kiss him when they fuck.
But Cash is on tour somewhere in the east with his band and---
“You should get up,” Brendon says out loud. “Staying in bed all day. What would your mother say?”
The words burn in his throat and he breathes, in and out, until the feeling passes. He makes himself sit up and get out of bed. Sometimes he thinks he should call Pete. Just because. He’s pretty sure Pete would understand.
The clock on the nightstand tells him its half past two.
***
Shane sends him an email from New York where he’s currently filming his new short film. There’s a link to a video in YouTube at the end of the message and Brendon spends rest of the day searching for a video he can send back.
When are you coming back?? he writes; doesn’t add the apartment feels empty without you, or I miss you, you motherfucker because they aren’t those kind of friends yet.
***
“You should come,” Spencer says and Brendon tilts his head, pondering. “Maybe,” he says at last.
“Ryan will be there as well,” Spencer adds, like that will make a difference, change Brendon’s mind somehow.
Brendon continues to leaf through the magazine and swallows the sigh. “He will?” he asks when it’s clear Spencer’s waiting something from him.
“Yeah. Keltie had to leave this morning, so.”
Brendon frowns at the article about the Pope saying sorry about all the bad things the priests have done. He turns the page.
“Bren,” Spencer says and Brendon stops, almost stops breathing, because he knows that voice.
“You should come,” Spencer says again, and he sounds serious, worried, and Brendon has to close his eyes. He takes a long breath.
He forces a smile onto his face even though he knows Spencer can’t see him. “I will, god!” he says, trying to make it sound light, easy. “You should have told me you missed my face this much!”
Spencer laughs. “I miss your stupid laugh,” he says, making Brendon grimace. “But call me when you get there, ‘kay?”
This time, Brendon’s smile is genuine. “Okay. Tell Haley ‘hi’ for me.”
Brendon can almost hear Spencer’s smile. “I will. She wishes she could come as well. She doesn’t know what you will do without her.”
“Bye Spencer,” Brendon says firmly and the last thing he hears is Spencer’s chuckle before he ends the call. He closes the magazine as well. He stares down at his hands resting on the table.
“You’re just lonely,” he says, but he doesn’t know anymore what he’s trying to excuse with that.
Finally he stands up and makes himself a bowl of cereal. He takes it with him to his living room where the TV is already waiting for him.
He watches three old episodes of the Simpsons and feels a little better after. He remembers watching them when he was a kid. It was a special secret between him and Kara.
He stares into the empty cereal bowl and feels sick. Perhaps he should go and visit Shane in New York. Or fly to England. London was pretty cool after all.
He stands up and brings the empty bowl to the sink. Anywhere else would be better than here.
***
Brendon’s late when he finally arrives at the party, but it’s not like he was eager to get there in the first place. He gets out of the taxi and walks into the building.
The party is held in the inner yard, surrounding a big pool that is illuminated by blinking lights. There are maybe sixty people present, shiny and glittery, suited according to the latest fashion, chatting and laughing while swaying with the music.
Brendon wants to turn around and walk away, but he’s no coward. So instead he takes a long breath and walks to the side where he spots the table where people are getting their drinks.
“Thanks man.” He grins to the tall guy who hands him his beer.
The guy looks at him, quirking an eyebrow, and finally grins back. It makes something flutter in the pit of Brendon’s stomach, a familiar feeling he has almost missed.
“Steve,” the guy says, holding out his hand, but Brendon doesn’t really care. It’s not like he’s going to remember it tomorrow anyway. Steve has a fucking beautiful mouth, that’s what matters.
***
“There you are!” Spencer greets Brendon when he steps into the hall where Spencer’s sitting on the couch a beer in his hand. “I was thinking you weren’t coming after all.” He doesn’t sound accusing, even though there’s a wrinkle between his brows.
Brendon sits down next to him and takes a gulp of his beer. He wants to reach out in an attempt to tame his hair, but that would only bring more attention to it, and he knows he’s looking flushed no matter what.
“Have you seen Ryan?” he asks instead of answering and Spencer frowns, looking around.
“Yeah, he’s somewhere around,” he says and Brendon nods. He gives Spencer a look, quirking an eyebrow.
“Did you let him dress you again?”
“Hey!” Spencer says hitting him onto his shoulder. “I happen to know how to dress myself. And I like the vest.”
Brendon grins, feeling light and relaxed for the first time that night. “Well,” he says slowly. “It is very eighties, even though the beard and the bandana are more of the seventies look.”
Spencer glares but it only makes Brendon grin wider. “Well look who’s the fashion guru here,” he drawls and pokes Brendon’s arm, looking pointedly at his corduroy jacket.
“Whatever,” he says. “I love my jacket.” He takes another gulp of his beer.
Someone takes a picture of them sitting on the couch and Brendon frowns, closing his eyes, the after images of the flash dancing behind his eyelids. “I hate when someone does that,” he mumbles, and takes his sunglasses out of his inside pocket.
They sit there in a comfortable silence drinking their beers. After a while Brendon can feel Spencer watching him.
“You’re supposed to be happy now,” Spencer says suddenly and Brendon looks at the wall, trying to hide his grimace.
Spencer sounds worried, and he hates that, hates that he’s reason behind it. He takes a gulp of his beer. When he looks back at Spencer there’s a smile on his face.
“Dude, I am happy,” he says and drapes an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. “More than happy in fact, I’m fucking ecstatic.” After a while Spencer relaxes against him.
“Good,” he says. He takes a gulp of his beer. “So, tell me what have you been up to?”
“I’m,” Brendon starts and saves himself when he notices someone he vaguely recognises. “Hey! Isn’t that Matt!” He hastily stands up and saunters off leaving Spencer looking after him a bemused expression on his face.
***
The very good thing about finding Matt was that Matt had some pot he was willing to share.
Brendon inhales the fresh air, makes sure the sunglasses are still perched up on his nose. He’s feeling loose, and he bites his lip because he feels like giggling, and what the fuck? He gulps down the rest of his drink and saunters towards the bar to grab another one.
‘I should find Spencer’, he thinks absent-mindedly, and walks around a group of people sitting at the pool. He digs his pack of smokes from his pocket and lights one. He inhales the smoke, the burn in his throat feeling familiar. He lets out the smoke out in a puff, tries to make a smoke ring that ends up looking nothing like one.
He turns and ---
“Ugh,” he says, almost loosing his balance. He curls his fingers around someone’s elbow and blinks.
“Hey,” he says to Ryan’s face - Ryan’s face that is actually very close and looking amused. Brendon can tell from the arched eyebrow.
“Hey,” Ryan replies, but all Brendon can feel is Ryan’s hand on the small of his back. “You’re drunk,” Ryan says, but it doesn’t sound accusing, not like it used to sound when they were younger and Brendon would stumble into their bus, late at night, feeling sick and miserable, and Ryan wouldn’t even look at him for days.
But now Ryan’s here, his warm hand on Brendon’s back, slipped under his jacket, and Brendon can feel Ryan’s fingers through his shirt. Maybe that’s why Brendon leans in, closer, and presses his lips to Ryan’s.
But it doesn’t really count, not really, because Ryan doesn’t kiss him back.
“Bren,” he says, frowning, after he has pushed Brendon away from him. He has his hand on Brendon’s shoulder, but Brendon’s isn’t sure if it’s meant to hold him back or make him stay put.
Brendon blinks, looks at Ryan’s unhappy face.
“Huh,” he says. “Shit, I’m,” and he just stares at Ryan, lost. He wishes he could laugh at all of this, but the truth is, he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers after a moment, and then he turns and runs away.
***
Next day, after Brendon has emptied his stomach of everything he had eaten in the last week fuck, he finally picks up his cell from the floor. Ryan has called him four times, Keltie once and Spencer twice. Brendon doesn’t frown at his phone, but he doesn’t put the sound on either. Instead he crawls back under the covers and hides his phone under the extra pillow.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, but finally his head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode if he even thinks about blinking. It’s thirst that eventually makes him crawl out under the covers.
He stands up, pads to the kitchen and drinks three glasses of water straight up. He yawns and scratches his belly. After a moment he takes a bag of chips from the cupboard and eats them standing in the middle of the kitchen.
It’s getting already dark outside as he walks back to his bedroom. After he has brushed his teeth the second time, he picks up his hoodie from the floor, pulls on the first pairs of jeans he finds and tucks his feet into a pair of flip flops. He picks the car keys and his sunglasses from the table and leaves his apartment, leaving his phone sleep under the pillow.
He feels like shouting “Fuck you!” to the whole world. Instead he climbs into his car and hits his head against the steering wheel. “Idiot,” he tells himself.
He only barely misses the lamppost when he backs out of the garage.
***
Brendon’s sitting in his car but he isn’t able to let go of the steering wheel. He’s keeping his jaw too tightly shut and it’s slowly starting to hurt.
He makes himself look, makes himself turn his head to the right.
There’s light in the kitchen and his chest fucking hurts. He has to close his eyes because otherwise he’s going to let out a sob and he is not going to cry. Not this time.
“I’m not,” he tells to the empty car. “I have my friends. I have my band.” But somehow the words sound hollow even to his own ears.
“I have my band,” he repeats, whispers to the fucking ghosts.
He doesn’t see anyone. Maybe it’s better this way anyway, he tells himself. Easier.
Eventually he’s able to start the engine and drive away. “Fuck it,” he mumbles, feeling restless. He drives to the Strip, the bright lights hurting his eyes, but still making him feel better.
“Fuck it all,” he mumbles, and goes to a bar, his only intention to get shit faced.
***
Brendon wakes up feeling tired and nauseous. There’s a horrible pain behind his eyes. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles and buries his head under the pillow, wishing to just fall asleep again. He’s clutching his phone in his right hand when he finally does.
When he wakes up the second time, he has to stand up because he needs to pee. Then he remembers that he left his car in front of some bar and he has to go and pick it up. Assuming it’s still there.
“Shit,” he says. It tastes like something died and decayed in his mouth. The boy looking back at him in the mirror has an empty look in his eyes and an angry looking hickey on his neck.
“Fuck,” the boy in the mirror says, looking grim and unhappy.
***
“You could always come here,” Brendon says, staring at the ceiling above him. It’s a late afternoon and the shadows are getting longer. “I mean, if you don’t have anything else,” he adds, turning to lie on his side, looking at the TV that’s running on mute.
Jon’s quiet for a long time, but Brendon can wait. He taps his fingers against the soft velvet of the couch in an absent rhythm. On TV, Chandler runs after Joey but he’s too late; Joey’s already sitting on the black leather chair.
Brendon hums.
“Yeah, maybe I could come,” Jon drawls into the phone, and Brendon’s pretty sure he’s cooking, can hear him stir and chop and whatnot. “A two-week holiday in Vegas. That doesn’t sound too bad actually.” Jon sounds like he’s smiling.
Brendon closes his eyes. He can almost smell the food. “What are you making?” he asks, turning his face half against the pillow.
“Chicken,” Jon says, “and some rice and vegetables.”
Brendon inhales. The pillow smells like laundry detergent.
“Hey dude, gotta go. Tom’s already here and the food’s ready.”
Brendon doesn’t open his eyes. “Sure. Talk you later.”
Brendon lies on his couch eyes closed. When he finally sits up the room is dim and there’s a weather report on the TV.
Brendon sits up and stretches his neck. He pushes nine in his speed dial and waits.
“Hi,” he says after someone picks up. “Can I have Chicken tikka massala, home delivery, please?” He watches as the girl on TV smiles, pointing at the sun floating over Las Vegas on the map. “Thanks,” he adds after telling them his address.
He sits back and waits.
***
“You look like shit,” is the first thing Jon says to him at the airport where Brendon’s waiting for him.
It only makes Brendon grin against Jon’s neck. When he pulls back from the hug, he gives Jon a look. “Thanks. But you don’t look exactly radiant yourself, mister perfect.”
The truth is, Jon’s looking exhausted. His clothes are crumbled and even his beard looks neglected.
“Well,” Jon says and rubs his neck. He lets out a long sigh. “Things have changed at home.”
Brendon’s smile is tired, but he just doesn’t have the energy to push himself, and it’s Jon after all. Jon has seen him at his worst. “Yeah,” he says. “Tell me about it.”
They stand there, middle of the crowd, just looking at each other. “So, let’s get going, shall we,” Brendon finally says, picking up Jon’s bag from the tile floor.
Jon laughs and drapes his arm around Brendon’s shoulder as they walk towards the doors. “I’m fucking hungry, dude,” he says. “I hope you have food. The shit they claimed was food on that plane had seen better days.”
Brendon doesn’t even try to hide his grimace. “Well, actually, I think we need to go to supermarket if you want something other than cereal.”
“You on some kind of special superstar diet?” Jon asks and Brendon can deal with this. He digs his elbow to Jon’s side.
“Hey!” He pouts. “I happen to like cereal!”
“Sure,” Jon says easily, smiling at him. “I just like to have some diversity. I mean, breakfast food is fine, but cereal isn’t even proper breakfast food.”
“But cereal is so good!” Brendon says pouting. “You’re so not my favourite anymore.”
At that, Jon laughs and ruffles his hair and Brendon might have missed this more than he realised.
***
“So,” Jon says when they are sitting in Brendon’s car, stuck in a traffic jam. Apparently half of the Vegas population needs to get somewhere this early in the morning. Brendon’s tapping his fingers against the steering wheel with the beat coming from the radio.
“Ryan tells me you’re not answering their calls.”
Brendon lifts his chin, his fingers pausing and curling around the steering wheel. He’s glad he’s wearing his sunglasses so Jon can’t see his panicked expression. “He did?” he asks after a while when it seems Jon’s not going to say anything else.
Jon hums in agreement. “Hmm. Wanna talk about it?”
Brendon swallows hard, willing himself to relax. The air-conditioning is making his throat dry. “No, not really.”
Jon’s quiet for a while. “Okay,” he finally says looking out of the window.
Brendon clears his throat. “So,” he says changing the line and staring stubbornly at the number plate of the car in front them. “How are Dylan and Clover?”
It’s a cheap trick because talking about them always makes Jon smile. “They are good,” he says, and when Brendon glances at him, he is, in fact, smiling.
***
“Oh my god,” Jon says when he steps into Brendon’s living room. “You killed Dylan!”
After a silence spent staring at the sad plant in front of the windows, Jon asks: “How did you even manage that?”
Brendon shakes his head. “Dude, I have no idea. I think I might have given it too much water.”
Jon makes a clicking noise in the back of his throat. “That’s so pathetic.”
Brendon starts to laugh, he just cannot help it. The laugh bubbles out of his mouth in almost a desperate manner. “I know!” He says, pushing his palms against his eyes. “I can’t even take care of a fucking plant.”
To Brendon’s surprise Jon pulls him to a hug. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It was a fucking ugly plant anyway.”
Brendon closes his eyes wrapping his arms around Jon, the laugh dying into his mouth. He hugs Jon tighter. “I know,” he says into Jon’s shirt.
***
Brendon shows Jon the guest room. It’s right opposite his own bedroom, but a lot smaller, the bathroom next to it eating up the space. There’s only a bed, and nightstand and a closet in the room, and when he looks at the blue and white bedspread and the white curtains it’s the first time Brendon feels he should have maybe made it look more like someone’s home instead of a hotel room.
“Hey,” Jon says when he notices the guitar Brendon had placed in the corner. “You’re trusting me with Bella?”
Brendon shrugs, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “I thought you may wanna write something. I mean, give you something to do if you can’t sleep.” He’s suddenly feeling awkward, and he seems unable to stop the fidgeting.
Jon just smiles at him before dropping his bags on the floor. “Thanks man,” he says, picking up the guitar. He sits down on the bed and skims his fingers across the strings. He plays a note, then another, starts to hum quietly along.
Brendon grins leaning against the doorframe.
Jon looks up after a while. He looks startled, but just as Brendon is about to ask what’s the matter. Jon blinks the look away.
“Now,” Jon says, laying the guitar next to him and standing up. He grins. “Be a good little host and feed me.”
“Sure,” Brendon says easily pushing himself away from the doorway. “I have coffee and cereal, the food of the gods.”
Jon quirks his eyebrows at him looking amused. “Fine, but tomorrow it’s my turn to pick up the menu.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, but truth to be told, he’s maybe a little too excited about the idea of Jon’s blueberry pancakes.
***
After they have finished eating and Jon has had his second cup of coffee they sit down at the couch. “You should hang something up on your walls,” Jon says after a while. “Make it feel more like a home in here.”
Brendon hums, looking at the empty walls sceptically. “You think?”
“Yeah. You could use Shane’s pictures.” Jon drags his bare feet through the soft carpet. “So,” he says. “What do you wanna do today?”
Brendon shrugs, watching Jon’s toes as he wiggles them. “I dunno,” he says, watching Jon flexing his feet. “We could always go skating?” he suggests after a while.
“Maybe,” Jon says, tilting his head.
***
They end up going anyway. Brendon only has one board and he cannot find Shane’s board even when he looks under his bed -a thing he will regret the rest of his life- but Jon takes his camera and seems happy to take photos of Brendon skating around the half empty parking lot.
It is a hot day, just like the weather girl promised. The sun shines with such a force you can practically see the air oscillate above the asphalt.
Brendon had already gotten rid of his t-shirt. Jon is staying in the shadows, saying he isn’t used to this kind of weather. Still, he keeps smiling at the sky, enjoying the warmth like a cat.
“Look!” Brendon shouts and tries to do a back flip. He can feel how his foot slips; feel the world tilt as he looses his balance. “Ow!” He ends up on his back, staring at the indigo blue sky above him.
He sits up slowly. Jon’s too busy laughing at him to come and help him up. Brendon scowls at him.
“Stop it asshole,” he says and stand up grimacing. He brushes the dirt of his shorts. When he moves the skin on his elbows and on his back feels too tight. “Fuck!”
Jon stops and comes to him. “Let me see,” he murmurs and makes Brendon turn his back to him. Brendon can feel Jon’s fingers hover over his back. In parts his skin feels raw and the touch stings, making him hiss in pain.
“Fucking hell,” Jon says. “We better go inside so I can clean this up.”
Brendon tries to get a look over his own shoulder but Jon’s hand on his arm stops him. “Stop fidgeting,” he says, “and lets go.” He pushes Brendon towards the door.
“Yeah,” Brendon answers, and lets Jon lead him inside, almost forgetting his board to lean against the wall.
***
“Ow!”
Jon snorts. “Don’t be a baby. It couldn’t have hurt. I didn’t even touch you yet.”
Brendon frowns. They are in the bathroom, and he’s sitting on a stool waiting for the sting he knows is coming when Jon starts to pour the antiseptic over the cuts on his back.
“I know I just --- Ow you fucker!” He tries to get away from the pain but Jon’s hand is steady on his shoulder making him stay put.
“Calm down,” Jon says quietly, brushing his fingers over his collar bone.
Brendon breath hitches. Jon’s fingers are tentative on his back as he cleans the cuts with cotton balls. He does keep his promise, and it doesn’t take long ‘til he’s satisfied that the cuts won’t get an infection. Brendon can’t help but to feel a little disappointed at the loss of touch when Jon tells him he can stand up.
He stares at Jon’s hands. “Thanks man,” he says before hurrying out of the tiny space.
***
“You sure you don’t want any?” Brendon asks for the third time. Jon only smiles at him, looking pointedly at the chocolate chip ice-cream Brendon’s eating straight from the container. “No, that’s not what I call proper lunch.”
Brendon hums. Jon focuses back on the email he was writing on his laptop.
“How,” Brendon says around his spoon, “can you know all these people?” It is a fair question. It is his home town after all, and now they’re supposedly going to a party Jon got invited to. “I mean, how do they even know you’re here?”
Jon just smirks at him from where he’s sitting at the floor, next to the half dead plant. “It’s all part of my charm,” he says looking smug, the bastard.
“Hmm,” Brendon hums and takes another spoonful of ice cream. Jon keeps looking at him with a strange look in his eyes.
It makes Brendon blush. He tries to hide it with a frown. “What?”
Jon shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, but he does look away at that.
***
They go to the party Jon’s friend is having and someone gives Brendon a beer as soon as he steps inside.
“Jonny!” a guy Brendon has never seen yells and hurries to greet them. He gives Jon a bear hug, patting his back in a very manly way. When the guy finally lets go he turns to look at Brendon. “And who’s your friend?”
Brendon gives Jon a disapproving look, but Jon only grins at him.
“I’m sure I’ve told you about Brendon,” he says, eyes still focused on Brendon. As the guy shakes Brendon’s hand and gives him a meaningful look, Brendon flushes.
“Right,” the guy says. “You look different in person.”
“Um,” Brendon says, feeling uncomfortable. Luckily Jon’s hand wraps around his shoulders.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you around.”
“Have fun!” the guy shouts after them. “The drinks are in the kitchen!”
***
“I’m drunk,” Brendon confesses against Jon’s shoulder. He can feel Jon’s laughter against his cheek.
“Yeah, I noticed,” he says, but he doesn’t push Brendon away so it’s all good.
“It’s all good,” Brendon mumbles closing his eyes.
“Dude, no. No falling asleep on me.” Jon nudges his shoulder with his hand, but he sounds amused, mostly.
“But you’re so soft,” Brendon says still not opening his eyes, not caring that he sounds whiny. He nuzzles into Jon’s shoulder. Jon feels warm against him, and when he pushes his nose against his t-shirt he can definitely smell the familiar scent of Jon - sweat, cologne, smoke and the distant smell of cats.
He hums contently.
“Bren, come on. Let’s get you home,” Jon says standing up, forcing Brendon to sit up on his own.
“Home,” he parrots, and suddenly, he does feel a little sick.
***
Brendon closes his eyes. “I can’t believe I told you,” he says, prompting Jon to let out a frustrated huff in response.
“So you kissed him,” he replies, frowning. “I mean, what’s the big deal? I thought you guys did that all the time.”
Brendon shoves his hands into his pockets which takes some manoeuvring considering he’s lying on the floor. The world has finally stopped spinning at least.
Brendon pouts. “More like a collision,” he mumbles, but when Jon looks at him questionably, he adds, “And you know, it’s just on stage,” only slurring a bit. He pushes his feet against the carpet. “Besides, Ryan doesn’t like me like that.” He never meant to say that out loud, not like that, not so honestly. He turns to look at Jon, who’s looking down at him from the couch.
He has a surprised look in his face.
“Oh,” he says, like he’s only now getting the big picture.
“Yeah,” Brendon whispers, feeling young and stupid.
“Well that sucks,” Jon says after a while. There’s no pity in his voice and Brendon tries his best to swallow down the lump in his throat.
Jon yawns, closing his eyes.
“Yeah well,” Brendon says looking at the ceiling. He’s smiling ruefully, he knows that. “That’s life for you, I suppose.”
Jon hums, but Brendon isn’t sure if it’s to agree with him or to fill in the silence.
“I still think you should talk with him,” Jon says after a while but Brendon doesn’t say anything.
“I will,” he says, but he isn’t sure if Jon even hears him. After a while, when he’s pretty sure he can manage that without falling down again, he pushes himself up. He drapes a blanket over Jon, who’s fallen asleep, mouth slightly agape. Brendon stands there, looking down at Jon.
He sighs and tiptoes to his own bedroom as quietly as possible. He hisses when he hits his toe against the corner of a dresser. “Fucking hell,” he mumbles.
When he gets to his own room, he undresses before crawling into the bed. He didn’t brush his teeth but he isn’t bothered to stand up again. It feels like the room’s swaying. “Fuck,” he says to the silence, closing his eyes tightly.
***
Brendon wakes up hard. He doesn’t really think before he wraps his fingers around his dick, spreads the pre-come along the shaft.
He moves his hand languidly, swipes his thumb over the head and moans, images of his dream still playing in his mind.
It doesn’t really take that long until his back arches and he pushes his head back against the pillow. He comes, groaning, pulling the last of his orgasm out of his body.
When he starts to calm down, his breathing evening out, he sits up, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand. It’s only then he realises the door to his room is wide open.
***
When Brendon emerges from the bathroom, still damp from the shower, Jon’s drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
“Morning,” he says, not looking up from the magazine he’s reading.
Brendon looks at him cautiously. “Good morning,” he replies, walking around him to the counter to pour coffee into his mug.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks, turning around and leaning against the counter. He watches Jon’s back.
“Yeah, but I woke up when---“ then he pauses, and Brendon can see how his back tenses under his t-shirt. “Yeah,” he ends his sentence, swallows. “You?”
“Great,” Brendon says, taking a gulp of the too hot coffee. “Just great.”
***
Jon’s a bastard and Brendon hates him. A lot.
”I’m,” he says, very pointedly not looking at Jon, “Trying not to think about it.” He thought that Jon wouldn’t have brought it - the kiss between Ryan and himself - up, or better yet, not remembered it at all.
“Hmm,” Jon says from the floor, not looking up or even bothering to open his eyes. “You could talk to him,” he suggests finally, flexing his fingers that are going little numb. He changes his position so that his head is no longer resting against his hands but against the soft carpet. He hums contently, the soft burn of the smoke sill tickling in his throat.
“No,” Brendon says firmly. He looks at the TV, where Chuck Norris is currently hiding behind an old, rusty van. “I think I’m going to grab a beer,” he says after a while, pushing himself up from the couch.
“Do you want one?” he asks Jon, hovering over his head.
“Sure,” Jon replies easily, squinting upwards, and Brendon doesn’t look at him when he walks out, acts like he didn’t even see the hand that was meant to catch him by his ankle.
In the kitchen, he takes two beers out of the fridge. There’s a half-empty mayonnaise jar and a lemon that has seen better days besides what’s left of the six-pack they bought earlier. Brendon frowns, looking around his kitchen. He opens the cabinet doors until he finds an opened pack of Oreos. They are partly melted together, but since he can’t find anything else he takes them with him.
He can hear Jon acting out the pistol sounds and he realises he’s feeling nervous. He grimaces, closing his eyes. What am I doing? he asks himself, taking a long breath before walking back to the living room and trying to look as casual as he can.
“Here you go,” he says dropping the cookies onto Jon’s stomach and leaning down to hand Jon the other beer.
“Thanks man.” Jon sounds pleased as he opens the package. Brendon watches as he eats one, licking his fingers after. He’s almost humming around them and Brendon thinks that maybe the last joint was a bit too much. “Yeah,” he says slowly, and after that he keeps his eyes focused solely on the screen.
***
A new day, a new beginning, is what they all say.
“Hold this a sec,” Jon says, handing Brendon his phone. Brendon doesn’t even lift his eyes from the article he’s reading.
“Hello?” he says into the phone.
“Brendon?”
Brendon stops breathing. He will fucking kill Jon Walker.
“Hi,” he says, quietly scanning the now empty room.
“You haven’t answered any of our calls,” Spencer says, sounding angry, and Brendon grimaces.
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
Spencer lets out a strange noise. “Whatever,” he says. “So, how long’s Jon staying?”
“Oh,” Brendon stands up, looks for Jon with his eyes. “I don’t know yet. We haven’t really talked about it.”
Spencer’s quiet for a while. “Maybe you should,” he says. “You should ask about Cassie,” he adds after a while.
Brendon’s brows furrow. “Okay,” he says hesitantly.
“And Brendon,” Spencer says sounding serious. “Call Ryan. He has been painting pictures of crying women and it’s getting a bit too much even for Keltie.”
Brendon smiles, looking out of the window. “I will. I promise.”
“Good.”
***
When Jon eventually comes out of the bathroom, Brendon pushes himself away from the wall he had been leaning on. He hands the phone back to Jon.
“I know you meant well, but that was low, even for you,” he says icily and walks stiffly back to his room, closing the door firmly behind him.
***
There’s a knock on his door and Brendon sighs. He wants to be still angry with Jon, but he honestly can’t be bothered. It feels like a huge weight has lifted from his chest after his talk with Spencer and it is Jon he should thank for that after all.
“Come in,” he says, and watches as the door creaks open and Jon’s head pops in. He looks nervous, biting his bottom lip, and Brendon doesn’t like the idea that he has caused it.
“I’m sorry,” Jon says, looking at Brendon warily.
Brendon rolls his eyes, trying to make the awkwardness go away. “Yeah, I know. It’s fine.” Jon doesn’t look convinced so he adds: “You can repay it by making dinner.”
Jon huffs, but there’s a small smile on his face. “Like I would let you cook,” he says.
***
After the dinner they sit on the balcony. It’s still hot outside, the air too dry. There’s the constant hum of the traffic in the background, accompanied with the low sounds of the music coming from inside of the apartment. Brendon looks up to the sky.
“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have a regular job?”
Jon’s face scrunches up. “What? Like nine to five?”
Brendon hums. “Yeah,” he says, handing the joint back to Jon.
Jon takes a long drag. “Can’t really say I have,” he says, holding the smoke in. “Why?” He lets the smoke out in a slow puff.
Brendon shrugs, feeling uncomfortable. “No reason. Guess I just miss being on tour.”
Jon takes another drag before giving the joint back to Brendon. “Yeah, well, we’ll be back on tour in no time. Soon you won’t be able to wait to be back home.” He smiles, leaning back, closing his eyes.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and takes a drag, the smoke burning in his throat.
***
“Let’s go for a drive,” Jon says and when Brendon looks at him, quirking an eyebrow, he just shrugs. “It isn’t like we have anything better to do,” he adds. So they go. Brendon sits on the passenger seat, feet propped against the dashboard. The sun is shining, and they sing with the radio, and it reminds Brendon of his summers when he was a kid. He hums, and watches as the scenery rushes pass them.
“Where are we going?” he asks, when Jon makes yet another turn.
“It’s a surprise,” Jon says, not even turning to look at him.
Brendon pouts, but decides to let it go. He does like surprises. At some point he must have fallen asleep, head resting against the window, because when he wakes up, his neck is stiff and they are back in front of his building.
He sits up, blinking the sleep away. “Um,” he says a bit groggily, looking around him.
Jon’s smiling. “Morning, sleepy head,” he says to him, voice soft, and Brendon has to look away.
”I bought dinner,” Jon says, and right on cue, Brendon’s stomach grumbles.
“Oh good,” he says. “Are we having a picnic in the car or are we going inside?”
Jon snorts. “Don’t be disgusting.” He opens the car door and then reaches between the seats to take the take-away boxes from backseats.
“Oh, Chinese!” Brendon smiles and hurries out of the car.
***
Brendon thinks that yes, he could totally get used to Jon living there when there’s fresh coffee in the kitchen in the morning.
“I think I love you,” he says, taking in the scent of the coffee. “You should come and live with us. I don’t think Shane would mind.”
Jon hums. “There are pancakes next to the stove.”
“Oh,” Brendon says, taking a clean plate from the cupboards. “Love, Jon Walker. My undying love.”
Jon laughs, and he doesn’t even pretend he’s reading the paper when he watches Brendon taking the first bite.
“So good,” he tries to say. His mouth is rather full, but he’s pretty sure Jon gets the meaning because he’s definitely blushing when he hides behind the paper again.
***
“Call him,” Jon says, sounding a bit aggravated.
Brendon doesn’t look at him. “I will,” he says, and runs against a wall on the screen. “Fuck,” he swears.
“Bren.” Jon sounds like he’s only seconds away from hitting some sense into him.
Brendon closes his eyes. “Later, okay? I promise.”
Jon keeps looking at him but at least he drops the subject. “I’m going out,” he says, before standing up and walking out. Brendon watches himself die on the screen.
“Fuck,” he says to the silence.
***
“Hi,” Ryan says dryly into the phone. “Took you a while.”
Brendon grimaces pushing his sweaty palm against the soft velvet of the couch. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
There’s an awkward silence. “So, how are you?”
Brendon feels like it should be him asking that. “Fine,” he states. “How are you?”
“Good. I’ve been painting a lot lately and stuff.” Brendon can hear Ryan moving around in his apartment.
“So what are you up to today?”
“Oh, we are just about to watch High Fidelity,” Brendon answers, looking at the TV.
“I like the book more,” Ryan says gaining an eye roll from Brendon, because of course he does.
“Yeah well.”
Brendon can hear Keltie say something in the background. “Keltie says Jon owes her money and that she has a memory of an elephant and that he better pay it soon.” Ryan almost sounds like he’s grinning.
“I will. Oh hey, I need to go,” Brendon says, “Jon’s back.”
“Okay,” Ryan sounds like he’s pouting. “Have fun.”
“We will,” Brendon says before clipping his phone shut.
“Who’s that?” Jon mumbles walking to the living room while simultaneously trying to eat a mouthful of popcorn. Brendon grins at him. “Ryan,” he answers and makes grabby hands for the bowl.
Jon’s eyebrows crease. “Oh.” He hands the bowl to Brendon and sits down next to him. “How did it go?”
Brendon hums while eating pieces of popcorn out of his palm. They crunch in his mouth. “Fine,” he says, putting the bowl between them on the couch. He looks at Jon. “I thought you would be happy I finally talked with him?”
Jon doesn’t look at him. “I am,” he says.
Brendon tilts his head. “He said Keltie said you owe her money.”
That makes Jon actually grin widely. “Okay.”
Brendon isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way Jon relaxes next to him. He continues to watch him from the corner of his eye.
“Shall we continue?” Jon asks picking the remote up from the floor. His shirt rides up, revealing a line of tanned skin.
Brendon’s eyes skirt hastily back to the TV screen. “Sure,” he says.
***
Jon falls asleep on the couch before the movie ends. Brendon watches him, the credits rolling on the screen.
It feels unreal somehow, the whole situation. Brendon reaches his hand and touches the tip of Jon’s nose. It makes Jon crinkle his face and Brendon has to bite his lip so that he doesn’t laugh out loud in delight. That doesn’t prevent the smile from spreading over his face.
Brendon sits there a moment, just watching Jon sleep. After a while he starts to feel like a creep so he reaches out and nudges gently Jon’s shoulder. He clears his throat when Jon doesn’t even stir.
“Jon, wake up. It’s time to go to bed.”
Jon opens his eyes slowly, and looks blearily at him, blinking. “Huh,” he mumbles.
Brendon clicks the TV off and takes Jon’s hand. Jon’s palm is warm and sweaty against his own.
“Come on,” he says, standing up, and Jon follows, stumbling a bit.
Brendon doesn’t know why he doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand. Perhaps because he’s feeling too tired, and Jon’s thumb keeps caressing his skin and sending shivers along his arm.
He stops in front of the guest room so he can open the door.
“So,” he clears his throat again. “Sleep well---“ he begins, but is interrupted when Jon pulls at his hand, making him turn around. And then Jon is kissing him, hard, pressing his body flat against Brendon’s.
Brendon lets out a surprised groan, and it takes him two seconds to wrap his arm around Jon, to fist his fingers into Jon’s shirt.
Jon’s a brilliant kisser, and Brendon vaguely tries to figure out why the hell he hasn’t kissed him before, but then Jon pushes a leg between his and the friction makes him shiver.
Jon moans into his mouth when he pushes back, tilts his head so he can fit their mouths better together. Jon’s the one who breaks their kiss, but it’s only so that he can start lining open-mouthed kisses down Brendon’s neck. It makes Brendon want, and he wants Jon - wants him so bad he don’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He ends pulling Jon closer, putting his hands onto Jon’s ass.
“Fuck” Jon groans, arching into him, and when Brendon opens his eyes, he notices how dark Jon’s eyes are. The only sound in the hallway is their laboured breathing.
“I need to,” Jon swallows, and Brendon’s a bit distracted by the urge to lick Jon’s Adam’s apple.
“I need to know you want this,” Jon’s saying, but it takes a while to register in Brendon’s brain. He frowns.
“What?” he says.
Jon’s tense under Brendon’s hands, but they are still close, and Brendon will fucking kill Jon if he’s about to say this is a mistake.
“I mean,” Jon starts again, staring intently at the wall behind Brendon’s right shoulder. “I know you’re kinda in a bad place right now, and if you think that this isn’t something that---“
“No,” Brendon says.
Jon looks at him. He blinks, twice. “No?” he parrots, voice unnaturally high.
Brendon frowns. “I want you, you stupid asshole,” he says, and he would kick Jon normally, but their position makes it rather difficult at the moment.
“But,” Jon says, blinking.
Brendon’s frown deepens. It’s like Jon doesn’t want to have sex with him even though Brendon can feel Jon’s dick pressing against his hip.
“Shut up,” he says. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.” He kisses Jon then, twines his fingers into Jon’s hair and pulls him closer. He bites Jon’s bottom lip, pulls it with his teeth before releasing it. Jon groans, and Brendon can feel Jon relax under his touch. When Jon’s hands come to rest on his hips, Brendon wants to smile victoriously.
Then it’s Jon’s hands on his back, sliding up under his t-shirt, him moaning into Jon’s mouth. Jon walks them backwards, guiding Brendon towards the bed.
Bed, Brendon vaguely thinks, and the thought makes him want to giggle like crazy. He manages to get Jon’s shirt over his head, revealing his chest, and Brendon has seen it literally hundreds of times, but now it seems all new to him. He will never be able to forgive himself for how unappreciative he has been in the past. All that skin, and he fucking needs to touch it. But Jon’s trying to pull Brendon’s t-shirt off, and somehow Brendon manages to get stuck in there. There’s elbows everywhere, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to get the stupid shirt off of him.
He knows he’s flushed and his hair is mussed but Jon just looks at him, eyes dark, and suddenly Brendon feels very self-conscious.
“What?” he asks, fidgeting a little, feeling stupid, but Jon only shakes his head.
“It’s just,” he says, still staring. “You,” he says, because he’s a total sap, but it still makes Brendon blush. Then Jon’s kissing him again, pushing him against the guest bed. He stumbles onto it, and then Jon’s already fumbling with his jeans, tugging and fighting with the buttons.
“Why the fuck,” Jon says, “do you have to wear such small jeans?” Brendon doesn’t answer; he’s too busy hating his jeans himself.
Jon grins in satisfaction, cheeks red and eyes focused, when he’s finally able to get the jeans past Brendon’s hips. And everything goes well until he tries to pull the jeans past Brendon’s knees and the jeans get stuck. Jon stares at them incredulously.
”No, no, I don’t care!” Brendon hastily declares, trying to pull Jon back up, but Jon doesn’t let go of the jeans. It makes Brendon groan in frustration.
“No,” Jon says, tugging. “I won’t fuck you with your jeans hanging around your ankles. Just, no.” He shakes his head a little. He’s still staring at the jeans like it’s a personal insult.
Brendon gives out an exacerbated sigh, letting his head fall onto the pillow. But apparently Jon has no heart, because he won’t give in. He just starts tugging at the bottom of the jeans again.
After a moment, Brendon decides to help out, because otherwise they won’t ever be able to do anything. And that just won’t do.
Finally, they’re able to free Brendon from the jeans and Jon dashes them somewhere over his shoulder. In the mean time, Brendon pulls his own underwear off.
When Jon turns around he blinks. He swallows and licks his dry lips.
“I’m so happy you’re naked,” he says, voice hoarse, but that’s as far Brendon’s patience goes, so he latches himself onto Jon, dragging him down with him.
“Less talking, more fucking,” he says, pushes the words into Jon’s mouth, but Jon seems only happy to obey.
***
“How long can you stay?” Brendon asks sometime in the morning, when the light is still too bright and it’s extraordinary quiet outside.
Instead of answering, Jon smiles lazily at him, pulling him closer. “Lets talk about that tomorrow,” he says.
“Okay,” Brendon mumbles against Jon’s skin.
***
“Hmm,” Brendon blinks slowly. His eyelids feel heavy and he buries his head into the pillows again.
After couple of seconds, when he’s starting to be really awake, he turns his head and opens his eyes. It’s a lot darker in the room than usually, and he realises that someone must have shut the blinds.
He sits up in the middle of the bed surrounded by the tangled sheets. “Jon?” he asks, waiting for an answer but the room is silent. He reaches and takes the clock from the nightstand. It’s almost noon.
Something doesn’t feel quite right as he stumbles out of the bed. He pulls a pair of boxers on and walks out of the room. He stops again in the hallway. He tries to listen any sounds, but it’s too silent.
“Shit,” he says and hurries to the kitchen where he’s waiting to find Jon drinking his morning coffee, lazily turning the pages of the morning paper.
The kitchen is empty and clean, and there is no sign of Jon.
Brendon’s heart hammers in his chest. He runs through his whole apartment but when he reaches the bathroom and it too is empty, he has to give in.
Jon has left. It’s like he never even was there.
***
“He’s not answering his calls,” he says, sounding frantic. He takes a drag of his smoke. “I don’t know what I did.”
Spencer’s quiet for a while. “It’s not your fault,” he says, but when Brendon makes a disagreeing sound in his throat, he adds, “Bren, it’s not.”
Brendon gulps down and closes his eyes. “But he didn’t even leave a note,” he says, and he knows he’s sounding like a whiny bastard, but he doesn’t care. The tiles on the balcony are cold against his bare feet and there are goose bumps all over his arms and legs.
“Just, stay there, okay? I’ll call Ryan and we’ll come over.”
Brendon closes his eyes. “Fine.”
***
Brendon’s sitting on his couch, now wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He’s hugging a pillow and staring at the TV screen.
“--- leave a note? You better call me back when you get this, asshole,” Ryan’s saying when he lets himself inside with his own keys.
He stops at the door to the living room. “Hi,” he says sounding wary.
Brendon looks at him. “Maybe there was an emergency,” he says as a greeting.
Ryan’s eyes soften and he comes and sits down next to Brendon. “Maybe,” he says slowly. “We just have to wait ‘til he calls back.”
Brendon sighs, and Ryan gets the hint, snaking an arm around Brendon shoulders and pulling him against him. “Come here,” he says. Brendon snuggles against Ryan and just concentrates on breathing for a while.
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” he mumbles against Ryan’s bony shoulder.
Ryan squeezes his fingers around Brendon’s arm. “It’s okay,” he says. “Keltie said it sounded rather hot.”
Brendon snorts and closes his eyes. “She would,” he says.
***
One hour later Spencer arrives with beer.
Ryan gives him a questioning look. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he says.
Spencer looks grim. “Well I, for one, need a drink,” he says and then he comes and squishes himself next to Brendon. “You okay?” he asks, petting Brendon’s hair.
“Yeah,” Brendon says, trying his best to smile. “But I wouldn’t object to a beer.”
Spencer grins at him.
***
“Can’t we, like, kick him out of the band?”
“No,” both Ryan and Spencer say, and it’s totally not fair that they share a brain. Brendon pouts at them.
“Just for a week? I mean, we can take him back after he learns his lesson.”
Spencer gives him a look. “We are not kicking Jon out of the band.”
Brendon pouts some more. Then he burps and his eyes widen. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
***
Brendon wakes up in his own bed. He’s too warm, but it doesn’t take him long to find the reason behind that.
He still wearing yesterday’s clothes for starters, and secondly, he’s not alone in the bed. He’s tightly snuggled between Ryan and Spencer.
“Ugh,” He says, and climbs out of the bed trying his best not to wake the two.
***
After a cold shower he’s feeling much better. Spencer is already in the kitchen making coffee when Brendon appears out of the bathroom.
“How are you doing?” he asks as soon as he notices Brendon.
Brendon shrugs, sits down on a stool and swings his legs. “Fine,” he says.
Spencer keeps looking at him. “I’m sure he’ll call today,” he says before turning back to the coffee maker.
Brendon scowls at the table. “Yeah,” he says.
***
Jon doesn’t call. They don’t hear from him for three days. Brendon is finally able to assure Ryan and Spencer that he really is okay and that he doesn’t need babysitters. They go home but keep on calling him every two hours to see if he heard anything.
He keeps checking his emails and his cell for nothing. It’s like Jon doesn’t want them to find him, and perhaps that’s the truth. Finally Brendon stops checking because it’s just making him feel worse.
He’s busy watching Karate Kid and eating instant noodles when the doorbell rings. He swears.
He runs to the door, not wanting to miss the part where the kid drops from the boat into the lake. Shane shouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but Brendon’s only happy that he won’t have to spend another night alone in the apartment.
He opens the door. “You could have called you forgot your --- keys,” he ends, almost swallowing the last word. It’s not Shane at the door, but Jon.
The smile falters in Jon’s face. “Bren?” he asks cautiously.
Brendon closes his eyes and breathes in, out. He opens his eyes. Jon looks nervous, like he hasn’t slept for couple of nights and there are dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I needed to---” He clears his throat. “I needed to clear some things back home.”
Brendon bites his bottom lip. Jon looks just like himself, familiar, and Brendon wants to reach out and touch his beard. He swallows.
“Come in,” he finally says, looking straight at Jon.