BBB: Like or Like-Like (4/8)

[withoutacure1]

Part 4

It may be their first show with the new material, but they are on. Writing and practicing are all well and good, but while they were prepping the new stuff Tom had missed playing shows like it was a physical ache in his gut.

He even manages to keep it together and not blow a chord when he spots a familiar blond head in the crowd. He doesn’t know what Danielle is doing at the show, but he isn’t about to let it fuck up his night. And he doesn’t let it distract his from his playing, but it does keep him from searching out Brendon’s face in the audience.

He isn’t really sure what that moment of weirdness between them had been earlier. Tom isn’t usually the most expressive guy, but he doesn’t think that he was in the wrong for saying he’s glad his friend showed up to a gig. It just felt like something he needed to say. It isn’t as if he’d asked Brendon to commit himself to Tom in a lifetime of best friendship or anything. Brendon didn’t even act like it was a big deal. Because it isn’t.

Except the fact the he’s still thinking about it kind of makes it feel like a big deal. Tom can’t really put his finger on it, but something about the whole thing felt off, like they were having a conversation about two totally different things.

After playing the last of their set, Tom smoothes a hand over his guitar strings and closes the lid to his case. Whatever, it’s probably nothing. Right now he is going to get drunk with his friends and try to forget that he even has an ex-girlfriend.

Tom looks around the stage to find that his band has already left him in favor of the open bar for performers policy. The rest of his band has probably already lapped him in drink consumption. If that isn’t a sign that he isn’t cut out for this introspection shit, then nothing is. The good news is, they are the only band playing tonight, and they don’t have to immediately break down their gear.

He runs into Jon first. He’s sitting on the edge of the stage with his phone pressed to his ear. He’s no doubt giving Cassie the play-by-play, since she wasn’t able to get out of the house for a show on a Wednesday night. Tom gets an absent-minded wave from Jon as he passes.

Sometimes Tom really envies Jon. He’s barely eighteen, and he already has it all figured out. But then, Tom gets to go take shots with his friends after playing a fucking great show, while Jon has his ear pressed to a cell phone. So there’s that.

As Tom makes his way to the bar -and the sound of Nick Scimeca being an obnoxious jackass, he keeps an eye on the crowd for Danielle and her friends. He knows it isn’t a coincidence that she’s here, but hopes that she doesn’t actually plan on trying to talk to him.

He’s welcomed to the group at the bar with a shot glass pushed into his hand. He doesn’t look to see what it is before knocking it back. The liquor is a pleasant burn down his throat.

The next thing Nick shoves his way is noticeably larger than a shot, and seems to contain considerably more alcohol. He’s barely managed to get out a “Wha-?” before Nick is shouting back over the post-show house music.

“Take it! That’s yours.”

Brendon’s giggle is muffled by Tom’s collarbone, and Nick has already disappeared in the crush of people surrounding the bar. By now he’s probably halfway to getting a girl with a thing for drummers completely trashed.

Which is something that Brendon already seems to be.

Tom puts his hand to Brendon’s arm, pushes Brendon a little away from him to get a better look at his face. Brendon had clearly taken full advantage of his association with the band to get served during the show. He beams sloppily up at Tom, his eyes going in and out of focus.

“Didn’t you hear, Tom? Take me! I’m yours!”

Brendon thinks this is hilarious, and decides to show it by giving up all control of his motor functions with a dramatic flourish of his hand-a gesture that ends with him almost smacking the brunette to his right in the eye.

When she rounds on Brendon with bloodlust written clearly across her features, Tom barely gets them both out of there with a terse ‘sorry’ and an expression that probably fails at apologetic.

Tom struggles to a blessedly vacant barstool in the corner of the bar with a practically limb Brendon clinging to his arm. He isn’t really sure what the hell Nick was thinking-aside from the obvious-when he left with Tom.

Sure, Brendon is more Tom’s friend than Nick’s, but Tom is really not the kind of guy you leave other people in the care of. Tom is pretty sure he is not meant to have that kind of responsibility.

He gets Brendon situated on the stool and does another scan of the crowd, this time adding Mikey and Jon to his list of targets. He’s distracted from his appraisal of the bar by a sudden weight on his back.

Tom turns, the weight of Brendon’s head lifting only to resettle against his chest moments later. Tom is so not used to being the sober one. This would be a hell of a lot easier to handle if he was drunk too.

He stiffens at the thought, the memory of what happened the last time he and Brendon were drunk together stopping that idea in its tracks. Brendon hums his discontent against Tom’s shoulder. Tom pats his head in commiseration.

He glances down at the other boy, and then longingly at the bartender making his rounds. He decides to just nurse a beer and wait for Jon or Nick to come and collect them. It’s already after one, so it won’t be too long.

Tom leans his body back against the wall, careful of Brendon’s slumped form. He’s beginning to wonder if he should be worried. He gets the feeling that Brendon doesn’t drink a whole lot, so it probably doesn’t take much to get him in this state. But he should probably check on him or something.

He shrugs slightly, the ball of his shoulder jostling Brendon to attention. Brendon shifts to sit more upright in his seat, and homes in on Tom.

Tom never really understood Jon’s bizarro weakness for kittens. They’re cute and all, but so are most fuzzy things with big eyes. As Brendon wrinkles his nose and blinks his wide brown eyes in confusion, Tom thinks that he maybe sort of gets it. The kid is seriously adorable.

“Brendon, how much did you have to drink?”

“Dunno. Not too much. But whatever it was, it was de-licious.” Tom watches as Brendon repeats the last word to himself, seeming to enjoy the way the sound of it feels in his mouth.

Well, that answers nothing. “Do you think you’ll need to throw up?” That’s something he should be concerned with, isn’t it?

“No. I’m fine. Never thrown up.”

Tom pulls a face, he is pretty sure that has more to do with Brendon not getting drunk than with Brendon knowing his own limits. Tom really isn’t used to this, he hasn’t been this much of a lightweight since his freshman year.

He surveys Brendon with a critical eye, and scratches idly at his chin in thought. Brendon looks a little worse for wear, but mostly fine. He may not even have a hangover for school tomorrow. Even still, when the bartender comes around again, Tom gets Brendon a water just to be safe.

As if utilizing a sixth sense of knowing when a guy’s guard is down, the same sense possessed by ex-girlfriends everywhere, Danielle chooses right then to make an appearance.

Tom has been avoiding her for so long that he feels like this moment should be biblical and epic, with something like the parting of the Red Sea to herald her arrival. But in a move that is far more sinister, she just pops up right beside him, coming out of nowhere.

Of fucking course.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just takes in Tom, who is mostly supported by the wall at this point, and Brendon, who is completely supported by Tom.

When Danielle speaks, her voice is careful in a way that she rarely is. “Hey, Tom.”

He feels like he should be freaking out about this more. They’ve been broken up for a while, and he’s been avoiding this first, post-breakup conversation for such a long time that he feels like it should be a really huge thing.

But mostly Tom is too caught up in still floating a little from the high of the show, feeling faintly worried about Brendon, and he has also a vague tension headache from the noise of the bar. Somewhere in all of that, there is a kind of pang in his stomach at the thought of talking to Danielle. Huh.

“Dani.”

There is a long pause. “You were good tonight. I like your new stuff.”

She’s standing a little stiff and too far away for it to be completely natural in the packed bar. Her eyes keep darting down to Brendon’s head resting on Tom’s shoulder.

Tom’s gaze follows hers. He knows that Brendon hasn’t passed out; his posture hasn’t gone totally boneless yet. But he’s stopped drinking his water and looks to be content to close his eyes and let Tom hold him up.

Tom smiles a little at the thought.

He turns his attention back to Danielle, searching for a response to her comments. “Thanks. Um, this is Brendon.” He tilts his head to indicate the other boy.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen him around school,” Danielle says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. She seems to be picking her words carefully, and it’s kind of freaking Tom out in a way that seeing her again hadn’t.

This isn’t really how their post-breakup talks usually go.

Those usually involve a lot of angry words from Danielle about his various flaws, a few monosyllabic responses from him. She’d then follow up with the assertion that he’ll never change and he’ll counter with a lame joke that will somehow get a tiny laugh from her. It all ends with the feeling that the first hurdle has been jumped and it’s only a matter of time before they get back to where they’re supposed to be-together.

It’s almost like following a script by now. Except this time there have clearly been some eleventh-hour rewrites that Tom has not been let in on.

“It’s weird. This time… We haven’t been apart for all that long, but you’ve got all this stuff going on that I didn’t know about. The band’s new music, you’ve got a new friend…” her voice wavers slightly over the word friend, making it almost a question.

Tom doesn’t know why she makes it sound like he’s come home from kindergarten with stories of a totally cool new boy he met in class. He isn’t a leper or anything, it’s not the strangest thing ever that he’s made a friend.

He doesn’t really know what he would have said if Brendon didn’t choose that moment to rejoin the living. Brendon shifts against him, craning his neck back to see both Tom and Danielle.

“What’s up?” He still sounds a little muddle from the alcohol, but is mostly coherent.

Tom doesn’t really have any other option but to introduce the two of them. “Hey, this is Danielle. Danielle, Brendon.” Tom’s hand goes automatically to Brendon’s back to steady him as he sits up too quickly on his barstool.

“Oh, hey. Danielle.” He takes a second, every thought clear on his face. His eyes widen in recognition. “You’re Tom’s Danielle?”

If Danielle looked nervous before, she looks downright uncomfortable now. Tom isn’t above feeling a little vindication at that, even as he feels a little peeved at Brendon for saying what he did.

“Um, I guess?”

“Oh, wow. You are just awesome.”

And what? What did Brendon just say?

Brendon is pushing insistently on Tom’s arm now, attempting to sit up under his own power. Apparently to better talk to Tom’s ex-girlfriend about how awesome she is.

“I… Thank you?” At least Danielle looks as confused as Tom feels.

“You dated Tom for like, ever. You must be a saint.” Brendon’s head is bouncing around like a bobble-head in a Mac truck.

Ouch. It really can’t get much worse than when someone you consider a friend sympathizes with your ex. Right in front of you.

“Tom’s talked a lot about you. He said that you’re great.”

It can actually get a whole lot worse.

Quicker than his mind can process, his hand is around Brendon’s mouth, stopping the flow of his words. He isn’t exactly thin-skinned, but it feels a little like he’s just been hit in the solar plexus with a baseball bat. A metal one.

At the sharp sting of teeth digging into his flesh, Tom reflexively drops his hand from Brendon’s mouth.

“Jeez, Tom. What’s that all about?”

Danielle is watching the two of them with all of the horrified fascination of a bystander rubbernecking at a car crash.

“It’s too bad about you guys. It must suck. To have Tom round all the time, and then not anymore?” Brendon nods his head solemnly at this.

“I…” Danielle seems to be at a loss for words. Tom doesn’t blame her; Brendon is making no sense at all.

“Because you are awesome, and Tom is awesome. I like Tom.” He turns to brace his hand on Tom’s shoulder, attempting eye contact with Tom’s chin. “Tom, you are seriously one weird dude, but I like you a whole lot. I’m glad that we’re friends now.”

This fucking kid. That is seriously not fair.

“Yeah, yeah. Me too,” Tom says, huffing out a breath.

A voice speaks from beyond their circled group. “Um. Believe me when I say that I really don’t want to step into the middle of whatever this is, but we really need to start loading the instruments.”

With that, Jon comes to the rescue, like Tom’s freaking guardian angel. His really crappy guardian angel that totally could have shown up ten minutes earlier.

Jon glances at the slightly off-kilter figure in front of Tom, and adds, “The instruments and Brendon.”

Jon crosses the invisible battle line between Tom and Danielle, swoops in and gathers a drooping Brendon against him. “C’mon, Bden.”

Tom feels kind of bereft. Brendon turned out to be a pretty disastrous buffer, but he was still something between him and Danielle. Plus, he’s the one who was the designated Brendon wrangler for the evening.

He keeps his eyes glued to Jon’s back as it disappears into the thinning crowd. “I should probably go help them.”

He feels a light touch on his arm as he moves to go.

“I really did like the show, Tom. We should talk some time.”

Tom scans her face. She really means it.

“Yeah, maybe.” He inclines his head in her direction and heads after Jon and Brendon.

-- --

“Hey, Jon Walker.”

“Yes?”

“I think Tom might be mad at me.”

“…I really doubt that, Brendon.”

“I think I have a big mouth.”

“Like for your face?” Brendon is pretty sure that Jon is making fun of him, but he’s kind of too fuzzy to care.

He suppresses a shudder at the sudden onslaught of cool air as Jon pulls him through the back door of the bar and into the alley. He is content to let himself be led around the van and bundled into the far seat in the middle. Jon even buckles him into his seatbelt.

He flails a hand out to catch Jon’s sleeve when he turns to go. Brendon has something he needs to say.

“I really think he’s mad at me. I got drunk and blabbed to his girlfriend.” He hopes that doesn’t sound as pathetic as he thinks it does, but judging by Jon’s look of sympathy, it really, really does.

“He won’t be mad at you, Brendon. He thinks you hung the freaking moon.” Jon claps Brendon’s knee once.

Brendon likes that Jon does stuff like that. It’s kind of like a dude hug. The manly Jon Walker equivalent of a hug. He still kind of wants a real hug, though.

“Okay, fine.” It isn’t until Jon has wrapped his arms around Brendon, seatbelt and all, that he realizes he said all of that out loud.

Oh well, he still got his hug.

“He really won’t be mad at me?” Brendon whispers the words into Jon’s coat.

Jon pulls back to meet Brendon’s eyes. “Tom doesn’t really get mad. And if I’m right, he really won’t get mad at you.”

Brendon doesn’t really know what Jon is talking about, but if Jon says it, then it’s probably true. Jon’s good like that.

Jon leaves to help the other guys move their stuff back to the van, and Brendon falls into a light doze, oddly reassured that everything is going to be okay.

-

He startles awake at the sound of the van door sliding open.

He really didn’t mean to fall asleep in the first place, but exhaustion hit him like a freight train.

Brendon looks around the van. As far as he can tell, Mikey is the only other person there, and he’s slumped over the steering wheel like it’s a life preserver. The side door is wide open, letting in light from the street outside. Street, not alley.

They are right in front of his aunt’s house. Brendon must have slept through the whole drive, and dropping off the other guys. He’s proven wrong when he hears the sound of voices coming from just outside of the door.

It sounds like Jon and Tom.

Brendon somehow gets his limbs to move and stumbles his way to the open door, braces his body against the cool metal frame of the van. He sticks his head outside, searching for a sign of Tom and Jon.

Jon spots him first, his hand rising to gesture Brendon outside. Brendon trips out of the van, and lands hard on his knees. That seemed like a lot more fun when Jon and Tom did it earlier.

“That’s what I thought,” Jon says.  He shoots Tom a look that is totally indecipherable to Brendon in his current state of inebriation.

Jon pulls Brendon into a brief hug as he makes his way back to the van. “See you tomorrow, Brendon.” He hops into the passenger seat, and the van pulls away from the curb.

Brendon stares after it in confusion. He watches the taillights disappear around the corner. Mikey is going to be super pissed when he realizes that he’s forgotten Tom and has to come back.

“Hey.” And that’s Tom.

Poor Tom, he’s had a really crappy night. First he has that run-in with his ex-girlfriend and then Mikey forgets him. Now he’s stuck here with Brendon.

“Let’s go. You look like you’re freezing,” Tom says.

He really is, but right now Brendon needs to assure Tom that they’ll be back for him any minute. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they aren’t that far away yet. We can probably get Jon on his cell.”

“What are you talking about? They aren’t coming back. I’m staying here.” Tom’s got that look that Brendon’s mother gets when she just cannot believe that she has to explain one more time why Brendon can’t toss his favorite red t-shirt into the load of whites that she’s doing. Brendon is pretty sure that he hasn’t done anything to deserve that look, and he’s pretty sure that Tom of all people doesn’t have the right to give anyone that look.

Tom sighs, his face pinching in a frown as he looks Brendon up and down. “Where are your keys?”

Brendon pats listlessly at the pockets of his jeans. “In my coat.”

“Which, of course, you left at the bar.” Tom turns on his heel, and makes what Brendon thinks is a really valiant attempt at stomping down the path to the house. It is pretty hard to stomp in flip-flops. Especially if you’re Tom Conrad.

Brendon trots along behind him, listening with half an ear as Tom mutters something about killing Jon Walker under his breath.

Brendon almost runs into Tom when he comes to an abrupt stop at the foot of the porch stairs. He turns to look at Brendon. Brendon is quite used to Tom’s whole staring thing, but for some reason this feels more like a glare.

A thought occurs to him. “Why did they leave you here?”

“I told you, I’m staying here.” Tom looks back toward the street over Brendon’s shoulder. “Jon thought that you were too drunk to get to the bed by yourself. So I’m supposed to, I don’t know, put you to bed or something.” He begins to look distinctly uncomfortable as he shares the last.

“Okay.” That makes sense, but… “But why didn’t they just drop us off at your house?”

“Because your aunt will notice you aren’t there in the morning, but my parents are always gone for work when by the time I get up.” Exasperated, that’s what that look is called. “C’mon let’s go figure out how to break into your aunt’s house.”

“Okay.”

-

It is a good thing that Brendon never remembers to close the window all the way after smoking up. It would be a better thing if his window weren’t on the second floor of the house.

“Got it!” Brendon tries to keep his voice down to a hushed whisper. But he has trouble keeping it under control in the best of circumstances, and breaking and entering does not fall under that category.

“Shhh. Okay, do you think that you can push it open?” Tom’s voice is strained, more so than Brendon thinks is called for just from the effort of holding up Brendon’s weight.

Brendon tries not to wriggle too much in Tom’s hands as his fingers press up on the window frame. After a minute or two, the gap between the frame and the windowsill is about a foot and a half tall. He can totally squeeze through that.

He steadies himself on the rough brick side of the house and twists down to whisper-yell down at Tom, “I think I can fit. Boost me up.”

Tom heaves Brendon up, and Brendon grabs hold of the windowsill to lever himself through the window. He lands in a heap on his bedroom floor, the wind knocked out of him.

He is going to have so many bruises in the morning.

Brendon wastes no time in hurrying out of his room and down the stairs to the front door, not really bothering to be too quiet about it. He’d found that his aunt could sleep through almost anything. In his first few days in the house he’d been convinced that he could get sent home by being as much of an inconvenience as possible. That might have involved playing The Smashing Pumpkins at his stereo’s highest volume all through the night. As far as he knows, she never noticed. The neighbors have given him some pretty vicious looks, though.

When he reaches the door, he pulls it open with a flourish, ready to share his triumph with Tom. Only Tom is not standing on the other side of the door. The sight of an empty, worn green Welcome mat greets Brendon. He pokes his head outside, looks to the left and then the right, calling Tom’s name softly.

Brendon may still be a little drunk, but he isn’t stupid. Tom is obviously not at the front door.

He cautiously makes his way around the side of the house. Maybe Tom didn’t understand the plan. It had seemed pretty straightforward: get Brendon through the window, Brendon unlocks the door, and then they get inside the house. It’s only three steps.

Tom clearly did not understand the plan, because he is still standing under Brendon’s bedroom window, practically full-on yelling Brendon’s name. As Brendon watches, Tom begins to pace back and forth, and is once again mumbling to himself. This time it sounds an awful lot like, “What if he broke his neck. Jesus Christ. He would break his neck. God.” And then he repeats the act of yelling up at the window.

Tom is so distracted by his process of yell, pace, repeat, that he doesn’t even notice when Brendon is right behind him. “Um, Tom?”

Tom lets out a loud “Fuck!” and jumps about a foot in the air. Brendon won’t let himself laugh, but it is pretty funny.

“Brendon.” Toms smile is huge with relief, and is all too quickly followed by a scowl. Brendon is seeing a lot of that scowl lately. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that you were okay?”

“Because that wasn’t part of the plan?” Brendon widens his eyes at Tom. Totally innocent, oh yeah.

Tom’s mouth turns down even further. “You suck.”

“I do not suck. I was the linchpin that the held the plan together. We should probably go inside now.”

Tom grumbles something else, and Brendon trails along behind him and up the front walk once more. He knows that he has to be up for school in a few hours, and he hasn’t even started on his homework, and he’s maybe still a little buzzed. But all in all, Brendon is feeling pretty good.

-- --

Tom is forced into consciousness the next morning by the eardrum-piercing sound of an alarm clock.

He is confused. He isn’t used to that kind of literal rude awakening in the morning, he’s usually lulled into waking by the sound of the mellow alt-rock 90s station pouring out of his clock radio.

His confusion is only compounded by getting smacked in the face with a flailing arm that he can be reasonably sure does not belong to him. A few seconds later the grating noise cuts off, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

He blinks gritty eyes up at the ceiling and tries to make sense of the sound of sheets rustling next to him.

“Fuck.”

Brendon.

Brendon’s face appears above Tom a few seconds later, one hand knuckling the sleep from his eye. Tom blinks a couple of more times.

“You’re a terrible friend, Conrad,” Brendon says, pouting down at him. “I feel like I spent the night with my head in a paint mixer. You should keep a closer eye on me.” His mouth opens wide in a yawn.

Tom really hopes he doesn’t do that again. Neither of them had brushed their teeth last night, and he could have lived the rest of his life without smelling the lingering odor of whatever it is that Brendon had to drink the night before.

Tom glosses over what Brendon-the little brat-just said in favor of flinging his arm over his face. He speaks through the fabric of his shirt, “And you should really brush your teeth.”

Brendon puts his hand to his face, blows his breath into his palm and sniffs. The disgusted wrinkle of his nose speaks for itself. Huh, Tom didn’t even believe that move worked. That thought is closely followed by, I can’t believe I’ve made out with that.

Brendon’s eyes crinkle with the grin he beams down at Tom, completely unrepentant. Okay, maybe he can.

Aside from his initial confusion about where exactly he was waking up, Tom’s memories of the night before are all too clear. He blames his lack of alcoholic consumption, and Brendon. Mostly Brendon.

After having to break into Brendon’s aunt’s house-which, what the fuck?-they’d stumbled up the stairs to Brendon’s room. Tom made noises about just sleeping on the couch, but Brendon had given him this ‘don’t be fucking weird, Tom’ look, so they both ended up on the bed.

It isn’t like Tom doesn’t spend the night over at his friends’ places sometimes. It just usually involves more passing out than falling asleep, and less sharing of blankets. Tom had expected it to be weird or whatever, but it really hadn’t been. Brendon had just mumbled, “You were great tonight, Tommy” and drifted off to sleep. Tom was dead to the world soon after.

He thought that after the way things started with them all those weeks ago, it might be uncomfortable to spend a prolonged period of time in such close proximity to Brendon, but Brendon is acting like it’s no big deal, so it’s really easy for it to be no big deal.

Tom removes his arm from its protective covering of his nose to plant his hand smack in the middle of the other boy’s face, and then gives him a good shove. Brendon falls back to his side of the bed, deliberately giving the motion extra momentum so his body teeters off the edge to land with a muffled thump on the floor.

In a move that belies his inebriated state of a few hours earlier, Brendon springs up to his feet, arms raised above his head in a sign of victory.

Tom, long since willing to play appreciative audience to Brendon’s one-man show, rewards him with a half-hearted slow clap.

Brendon pulls a face, and comes around the bed to stand by Tom. “I don’t think you really meant that.”

Tom swings his feet over the side of the bed and stands so he’s looming over Brendon. Tom isn’t all that tall, but Brendon is tiny. “It’s not my fault you can’t feel my sincerity,” he say, his tone dry.

Brendon rolls his eyes at Tom and heads for the door. “Whatever. See if I let you have any waffles.”

Tom feels his eyebrows arch in surprise. Sure they are in a class that teaches cooking, but as far as he knows, once that hour of the day is up, the most Brendon does in the way of cooking involves Pop Tarts and a toaster. And even then he’s pretty sure that Brendon mostly just eats those at room temperature and right out of the wrapper.

Still, Tom usually skips breakfast in favor of more sleep, but he’s already awake, so he isn’t about to miss out on someone cooking for him in the morning. He hits the stairs right on Brendon’s heels.

-

He doesn’t know how, but he somehow completely forgot about Brendon’s aunt.

He met her a few times in passing, but whenever he’s over at Brendon’s place she always seems to be at knitting club, or Bingo Night or working a shift at her post-retirement job in a hospital gift shop. She has a really active social life for an old lady.

It was Jon who reminded him last night that Brendon said he didn’t see her a whole lot aside from at breakfast in the mornings, and that Brendon would definitely need to make an appearance then. Tom had unconsciously begun to think of Brendon as living alone in the house.

Tom is reminded of the existence of Brendon’s roommate, or guardian or whatever she is, by the sight of an older woman stationed in front of the coffee pot. He has the sudden realization that his presence here could be very bad for Brendon.

Tom and Brendon hadn’t talked much about Brendon’s family beyond their initial conversation about how Brendon ended up in Chicago, but Tom got the distinct impression that they would probably take issue with a boy spending the night with Brendon. He somehow doubts that Brendon’s elderly aunt will be okay with it.

He shoots a panicked glance in Brendon’s direction, only to find Brendon looking completely unconcerned while standing in front of the refrigerator, hand gripping the freezer door handle.

“Morning, Aunt Meg,” he says, pulling open the freezer to retrieve a box of frozen waffles. “You remember Tom. He stayed over last night. Had a big test to study for.”

Brendon’s aunt looks up from pouring a cup of coffee to see Tom hovering uncertainly by the door. “Of course I remember Tom. Do you boys want some coffee?”

Brendon pops a couple of waffles in the toaster, and sits down at the small breakfast nook, motioning for Tom to do the same. Tom sits opposite Brendon, giving him a look he hopes conveys his confusion.

He is more than a little alarmed when Brendon leans across the table and begins to speak in a barely hushed voice, “Don’t worry about it. She won’t give you being here a second thought. Sometimes I think she even forgets that I’m here.”

Tom makes a point of actually trying to whisper when he speaks, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, my parents didn’t really tell her why I’m here. I guess they didn’t want anyone outside of the immediate family to know our shame,” Brendon says flippantly, the last bit coming out sounding like he’s quoting someone else. “They just said that I was running with the wrong crowd and needed a new environment.”

Tom is guiltily glad that Brendon doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, because he isn’t at all sure what to say to that. He’s pretty awful at the whole making people feel better thing.

Brendon gets up from the table to get their waffles and two cups of coffee.

When he sets a plate in front of Tom, Tom can’t help but comment, “This is you making me waffles?”

“Yes. You’re welcome,” Brendon smiles smugly at him.

A few minutes later, Tom is wiping the syrup from his mouth while Brendon’s aunt reads the paper at the table to his left. He catches Brendon looking at him when he’s halfway through his second waffle, and has to gulp down a swallow of milk to keep from choking at the ridiculous sight of Brendon’s leering wink from across the table.

-- --

Breakfast ends with a call from Jon letting Tom know that he’s outside. Brendon guesses that sometime last night he missed the conversation where Jon said he would pick them both up for school.

They both rush upstairs and engage in an oddly domestic battle for the sink while they brush their teeth, Tom mostly relying on the cleaning power of mouthwash after realizing that his finger isn’t really getting the job done.

They stop by Brendon’s room so that he can find a quick change of clothes. As he hops his way into a pair of jeans, he notices Tom sitting stiffly at the foot of the bed, his eyes kind of unfocussed and his expression unreadable. Brendon takes in his rumbled hair and t-shirt, the same one that he slept in the night before that probably smells like he spent the evening in a bar, which he had.

Brendon riffles through one of the dresser drawers that is exploding in a veritable rainbow of t-shirts and snags one of the larger ones. He tosses the shirt at Tom’s head.

He watches as Tom stands up and grabs the neck of his shirt, inching it up over his head, revealing the tightly muscled skin of his stomach. Tom puts his hands through the arms of the clean shirt, and as his head disappears in a swath of grey cotton, Brendon realizes that he hasn’t blinked in a good long while.

He averts his gaze and concentrates on buttoning his jeans, which he refuses to believe are any more uncomfortably tight than usual. He only turns back when he hears a subdued “Thanks”.

He shakes his mood off quickly at the sound of Tom’s phone beeping with a text message. Tom doesn’t bother to check it, they both know it’s from Jon telling them to hurry the fuck up.

Brendon grabs his school bag from next to his desk and hurries down the stairs and through the front door after Tom.

Jon’s car is idling in front of the house, its driver reclining with his head titled back against the headrest, his eyes closed. Brendon takes great delight in opening the door to the back seat as loudly as he can. Jon’s car is kind of a junker, and the door makes a satisfying creaking sound as the rusted hinges scrape together. Jon jumps slightly in his seat, his eyes flying open.

Tom shuffles into the passenger seat with much less enthusiasm than Brendon had displayed, but still gets a sharp whap on the should from Jon for the noise.

“Hey! It was Brendon.”

“I know. That’s for making me wait.” Jon turns a grumpy glare on Tom. That’s how Brendon discovers that Jon Walker is not a morning person.

“Morning, Jon!”

Jon musters up an almost-smile for him, looking briefly over the seatback to greet him. Tom grumbles something from the passenger seat about ‘playing favorites’.

“Whatever, dude. I picked up your backpack from your house.” Jon flicks on the directional signal, taking a right toward the school. “I even grabbed you a clean shirt. Thought you might need it. Guess I was wrong.”

Brendon thinks that Jon sounds oddly pleased about that, as he nods to the grey Palo Verde gym shirt peeking out of the open front of Tom’s winter coat.

“Yeah, you were.” Brendon thinks that Tom sounds a lot grumpier answering Jon than he had at being woken up earlier.

Brendon almost says something about it, when Tom’s cell phone beeps from the unchecked text Jon sent before. The sound reminds him of something.

“Crap. I totally left my phone in my coat. Which is still at the bar.” Brendon only sort of remembered that he’d forgotten the coat while he was dressing, throwing on a few extra layers and a hoodie in deference to the stupidly cold March weather.

He’d forgotten about his phone and keys entirely. He really does not want to have to figure out a way to get back to the venue. It will take at least three different connections by bus.

Jon meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, B. We can pick it up later.”

Tom grunts his agreement, “Yeah, we’ll grab it on the way to practice.” Tom still sounds a little grumpy, but Brendon thinks that this time it is probably at the idea of Mikey’s mandatory practice the day after a show.

Brendon runs Tom’s words over again in his head. He likes that. He likes that Jon just offers to drive him without being asked, and that Tom isn’t annoyed that Brendon is tagging along, just seems to take it for granted that Brendon will be spending the afternoon with him, just as he has almost every day after school for the last month.

He watches the blur of buildings and houses they pass as they draw closer to the school. Brendon feels warm in spite of his inadequate winter clothing. He thinks it might have something to do with the glowy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

-

That feeling lasts until around lunch.

Brendon has just finished creating another culinary masterpiece, this time in the form of an extra-large batch of butter pecan cookie, and he left Tom looking somewhat forlorn in the hallway outside of their classroom. It will be the first time Brendon doesn’t join Tom for lunch since their second day as lab partners, and Brendon feels kind of funny about it. But he has somewhere to be and a promise to keep

He stops when he gets to the right number, and pushes open the door while carefully juggling the cookies and the door handle. He’s just about to search the room for Cassie, when he comes to a sudden halt.

Brendon knew that running into Danielle was a possibility; the school just really isn’t that big. But the last place he expects to see her is a at a lunchtime meeting of the Gay Straight Alliance.

He almost didn’t even come to the meeting. The GSA at his old school was kind of a joke. The few kids that were in it seemed kind of militant, and Brendon had more than enough of that in his home life. Plus, there’d been the off chance that his parents would find out that he had joined an organization that the Church strongly opposed and would disown him. He figures that ship has pretty much sailed.

Cassie was actually the one to ask him to the meeting, and he seems to have the same trouble saying no to her that he does with Jon. Brendon thought that it wouldn’t hurt anything to check it out. Or at least it didn’t seem like it would at the time, now he is beginning to rethink that.

Danielle seems to be just as surprised to see him as he is to see her, if the way she blurts out, “Oh, you’re gay?” is any indication.

Brendon notes, in a kind of detached way, that she really is very pretty, even as she turns red to the roots of her dark blond hair. Her question is met with stunned silence. He guesses that even in the GSA, there are some things you don’t just flat out ask.

Cassie appears by his side, puts a comforting hand on his arm and sends a censuring look Danielle’s way.

Danielle is quick to recover. “Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean-! Of course you don’t have to be gay to join. I’m not gay-“ She stops there.

It would be really easy to be a dick about this. He is already kind of predisposed to dislike her. She is Tom’s ex, and Tom is Brendon’s… friend. But from what Tom said, and what little he remembers of their first meeting, she isn’t a bad person or anything. Even if she did leave Tom all stupidly wounded.

Brendon heaves an internal sigh of disappointment. “Don’t worry about it. Not a big deal. I do happen to be pretty gay.” He pauses, his voice going serious. “I hope that’s not going to be a problem.”

Just before she rushes to assure him that it is completely okay to be gay in the Gay Straight Alliance, Brendon breaks into a grin.

It only takes her a second to get it, and her first reaction is to let out a startled laugh and then to deliver a bruising punch to his shoulder. “You jerk! I was about to like, step down as VP in atonement or something.”

Brendon doesn’t even have to force himself to smile back at her.

-

He’s just tossed the cookie-less plate into the trash when a voice speaks tentatively form directly behind him. “Um, Brendon?”

Brendon turns to find Danielle waiting in the now empty classroom, her hands twisted anxiously around the strap of her backpack. “I was hoping that I could talk to you for a second.”

He has the sudden fervent wish that he didn’t let Cassie go on ahead without him. Brendon doesn’t know exactly what she wants to talk about, but the possibilities are few. Either she wants to discuss something GSA related, or she wants to talk about Tom. He really hopes that she wants to enlist his culinary talents in a heteronormative-defying bake sale or something, but he really doubts it.

“First off, I am really sorry about earlier. That was pretty much the worst thing to say to someone who wants to join the club.” Danielle’s eyes are so bright with sincerity that Brendon feels a little sick to his stomach.

He dredges up a smile that came so naturally to him earlier. “It’s really not a big deal. I’m sure I’ve done much worse. I have this really bad habit of letting my mouth run away with me.”

Danielle lets out a small laugh, sounding like she isn’t sure if she’s allowed to find Brendon’s faults funny. She uncurls her hand from the strap of her backpack, straightens her shoulders and expels a noisy breath.

“Listen, I know that this is totally not okay, but I’m just going to go ahead and ask anyway.”

Brendon is getting kind of freaked out by the way she’s looking at him, her expression set in a determined frown, eyes boring intensely into his. “How is Tom doing?”

Dammit, he hates when being right turns out to be a bad thing.

Brendon has no idea how to answer that. Hell, he has no idea if he is even allowed to answer that. He was pretty drunk last night, but he still remembers the expression of horror that appeared on Tom’s face when Brendon spoke to his ex-girlfriend. And okay, maybe that had to do with what Brendon was saying, but he doesn’t think that Tom will be any more on board with giving Danielle updates on his wellbeing.

Perhaps seeing something of that on Brendon’s face, Danielle rushes to assure him, “I don’t expect you to tell me his innermost thoughts or anything I just want to know that he’s okay.” She lets out another loud sigh, her hand flying up to push the hair back from her face. “God, this is so embarrassing. It’s just… this is the longest Tom and I have gone without talking since we first started dating. I just want to know that he’s doing okay,” she repeats.

Something that Brendon said the night before flashes through his mind. It must suck. To have Tom around all the time, and then not anymore.

He is such an asshole.

Brendon’s eyes search Danielle’s face, taking in the resolute expression and the barely concealed look of pleading in her eyes. He knows that this is totally going to come back and bite him on the ass, but he can’t stand there and say nothing. “Tom’s doing well. He practices with the band a lot. He’s happy with their new songs.” The songs she saw him play last night. “Um, the band is thinking of going into the studio to record some stuff soon. So there’s that…”

Danielle seems to relax incrementally with each bit of information he imparts. “He’s discovered a previously unknown talent for cake decorating.”

That startles a laugh out of her. “What?”

Brendon grins in response. “That’s actually how I know Tom. We’re partners in Home Ec.” Brendon ignores the small corner of his mind that screams that that’s not the only place he knows Tom from, and continues, “He’s surprisingly good at making pastries look pretty.”

“Wow. That is… not at all something I would think he’d be good at. Or even try, for that matter.”

He nods, sharing her mirth. “I know what you mean. He’s sort of in his own head a lot, huh?”

Brendon thinks he may have said something wrong by the way her gaze seems to sharpen at his words. But the expression quickly clears, leaving him unsure if he saw anything at all.

“He really is.” She bites her lip, hesitating again. “Thanks for talking with me like this. I couldn’t really ask anybody else. I’m sort of friends with Cassie and Jon, but we don’t really talk much when Tom and I aren’t dating. It just doesn’t seem right to hang out when they’re really Tom’s.”

Brendon forces himself to nod, like he knows exactly what she’s talking about. “Makes sense,” he says.

Danielle’s look turns sheepish. “I guess I just kind of snapped or something. It usually doesn’t take this long for us to get back together.” Her smile looks a little forced when she says, “Guess it’ll just be a little longer this time.”

Brendon’s face feels numb.

He didn’t know-didn’t know any of that. Danielle clearly expects that she and Tom will get back together. As they apparently have many times before. Why didn’t he know that?

He suspected that Tom still has feelings for Danielle, but in the may that everyone still has feelings for an ex. Like he has for Spencer.

They never really talk about Tom and Danielle’s relationship, but Brendon assumed it is like how they never talk about his family. Because it hurt too much, or was too fresh or something. He never once thought it was because they were destined soul mates that would eventually find their way back to each other. He didn’t think that Tom was still totally in love with her.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It isn’t like Tom is ever going to wake up and smell the super gay roses. He was fine with a little bi-curious drunken groping at a party, but Brendon has never had any illusions about Tom wanting to seriously date a guy-to date Brendon.

Except, judging by the way he feels like he’s been sucker punched, apparently he did.

A few students start to trickle in from the hall, marking the end of the lunch period. Brendon needs to leave. “I’m glad I could help. I’ve got to get to class now.”

“Yeah. Thanks again. I know it was kind of awful for me to pull that on you.” She is genuinely apologetic, and Brendon wishes he could hate her.

He has almost escaped when her voice calls him back. “Hey, Brendon!”

Brendon pauses with his hand gripping the metal door frame. “I hope you’ll come to the next meeting. I’d like it if we could be friends.”

He glances back at Tom’s ex-girlfriend, and hopes he doesn’t look too much like he wants to cry. “Me, too.”

-

You’ve reached the mailbox of What did you just press, Ryan! That’s not-. That user is currently not available. Please leave a message after the tone.

*Beep*

“Hey, Spencer. It’s Brendon.”

“I just had an informative talk with Tom’s ex-girlfriend-And no, Ryan, they did not break up because he’s into something freaky. Apparently they broke up because that’s just something they do for kicks.”

“I know it’s not really his fault that I didn’t even know that. Just because I spilled my life story to him only days after we met-“

“I can’t really do anything about it anyway, right? Yeah. I mean, so what if they’re going to get back together? It doesn’t mean that I can’t still be friends with him.”

“I can totally still be friends with him. I’ve managed this long, haven’t I?”

“I’m going to be so freaking platonic that he won’t know what hit him. Straight dudes will like, marvel at our glorious bromance.”

“Thanks, Spence. I know exactly what I’m going to do. Give me a call when you get this.”

“Ryan, I hope you get syphilis.”

Part 5

Master Post