Desire of the Soul (Chapter 1)
Title: Desire of the Soul (Chapter 1)
Rating: PG-13. Swearing included.
Summary: Brendon just wants to be noticed, loved and cared for. Too bad it takes him through hell and back.
Warnings: Eating disorder, slash, eventual boy sex
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Darn.
It’s nothing new, you tell yourself as you stare across the table at your band mates, you’ve gotten out of it before.
Of course it was today, marking the first full week of not eating anything at all, just had to be the day they stopped in Chicago and Jon insisted on taking them to the crappy restaurant he’d eaten at just about every morning for the first half of his life. “The better part,” He says, jokingly pushing Spencer, who just narrows his eyes until Jon suddenly wishes he could’ve kept the joke to himself. Spencer just had that sort of effect.
It wasn’t that Brendon didn’t like Jon or didn’t want to have childhood memories shared with him, especially since his own had been corrupt and forced. Quite the opposite actually; he loved going through and learning more and more about his best friends. Just, when it involved going to get something to eat Brendon no longer felt like a happy camper that everyone was used to him being.
Up until two or three months ago he’d have jumped at the chance to get a big plate of pancakes drowning in syrup with a side of bacon and a chocolate milkshake with a mountain of whipped cream. Now though, just the thought of it grossed him out. Hell, unbuttered toast was enough to send him into a fit of gags. And he’d been doing so well lately. Usually the longest he’d be able to go with absolutely nothing but water was three days. Then he’d crack and end up spoiling himself with a cracker or two. But now, now he was officially one week clean of any foods tainting his body, his goals.
Ryan, sitting next to him in the red vinyl booth, slipped a hand into his. Palms calloused and fingers long and spindly, covering over Brendon’s knuckles and giving a slight squeeze, the pressure reassuring that Ryan was there and not a figment of his imagination. Brendon smiles over at him, noting the way his eyes scan the room. A true artist as his features begin to portray the words he could be writing about this place. The description is clear in Brendon’s mind at least, like it transferred from Ryan’s brain to Brendon’s. Not that Ryan generally kept his writing a secret, even if it wasn’t just lyrics or if he was having an ‘off day’ that generally meant Ryan had written something truly breathtaking that would make Brendon jealous of the way Ryan was able to easily express himself with ink and paper. Something Brendon would never be able to do.
The restaurant itself was charming enough. It kind of kept up a sixties style. The checkerboard tile greeting its guests and the old pictures and records covering the walls casting you into a sea of ‘the good ‘ole days’. They’d been seated right away, the waitress grinning and flirting a bit with Jon, the natural Chicago comer who just seemed to fit into all of these girls’ expectations. Spencer however did not seem quite as amused by this, giving a death glare to end all other glares. Brendon could feel the burn from five steps behind him as they were seated.
Ryan turned to smile back at Brendon now, and Brendon just about melted. It had been a long time in the coming, just a five year wait. It was obvious to everyone they walked past that there was some sort of tension between them. Be it the fact that they were pissed off at each other, Ryan upset with Brendon about not singing something correctly and a fight having escalated or if it was just the fact that they were having a good time, getting just a little too close. Either way it had been Brendon to finally get so annoyed with their game of cat and mouse that he’d just blurted everything out.
“If you’re going to be a wimp about it,” Brendon had said while they had been watching a movie late at night, their hands already clasped together in mock friendship. Ryan had been silent for the past few minutes, their previous loud mouthed conversation lost to the awkward moment and Brendon had leaned to peck Ryan on the lips, gently, careful incase he was just making the moment up in his head and needed to just pull it off as a joke.
It hadn’t been a joke.
“So, what is everyone getting?” Jon said, pushing his menu towards Spencer, who rolled his eyes and stacked his on top of Jon’s and arranged them neatly on the side for the table for the waitress to pick up.
“Hmm, I was thinking about an omelet.” Ryan hums out lowly in his usual monotone, uncaring voice.
“That actually sounds really good.” Spencer speaks up, matching his best friends’ choice. Ryan smiles and squeezes Brendon’s hand again.
“And of course you’re getting the usual feast.” Ryan says with a fond laugh, and Brendon tenses a bit. He hopes Ryan can’t feel it.
“Actually I’m not feeling very hungry.”
They all stare at him, Jon’s head shooting up from trying to make a pyramid out of his little containers of coffee creamer. Spencer raises an eyebrow and gives him a curious glance while Ryan just looks shocked in general. They aren’t used to Brendon rejecting food, aren’t used to him not wanting to eat. But Brendon’s been doing it for the past few months, they just haven’t noticed. He hides, flushes, mashes, and feeds it to others. Never eats, that would mean failure and that’s just all too easy to give in to.
“You feeling okay?” Ryan asks, dipping his head a bit to catch Brendon’s eye. Not that he needs to, Brendon’s naturally attracted to Ryan. Always Ryan.
“Um,” Brendon stops himself from saying that he’s fine, the usual answer any normal person gives when they aren’t okay. Instead Brendon says, “I’ve got a bit of a stomach ache, it’s okay though. You guys go ahead and eat.”
The others give him a last worried glance, but they quickly dismiss it as the waitress comes back to take their orders. She smiles really big at Jon when he orders and Brendon’s pretty sure she draws a heart next to his order. Spencer just snaps out his order at her, purposely making it really complicated (“An omelet with cheddar cheese, wait is it packaged cheese or grinded by hand? Oh then never mind, I’ll take jack cheese with ham, but not too much ham, and the tomatoes should be diced and light…”) so she was fumbling by the end and Spencer sat back with a satisfied smirk. Jon just ducked his head with a smile and Ryan shook his head and ordered a plain omelet.
“And can we get some pancakes, for him?” Ryan asked, his head leaning in Brendon’s direction to signal they were form him to consume. To eat.
“What? No, I said I didn’t want anything.” He spoke up quickly, standing his ground. Ryan’s thumb just moved comfortingly over the back of his hand and gave a small shrug like this was nothing.
“We can take them with us if you don’t want them now. I know you’ll be hungry later and it’ll be better not to hear you complain about how the only thing we have on the bus is a box of Pop Tarts and Red Bull.”
Brendon just huffs. At least he could just toss them out later when Ryan wasn’t looking and say he’d eaten them. That’d put him off lunch and if he timed it just right dinner too. He sips water while the others eat, watching as strings of melted cheese are twirled around forks and deposited into mouths. Jon cuts his French toast with the side of his fork, syrup flowing down like a small stream over the area that’s just been cut and removed. Powdered sugar sticks to the side of Jon’s mouth and Ryan and Spencer laugh while Brendon just stares. Eventually he pulls his eyes away, returning to sip at his water.
He walks out, a growling stomach and a small to-go container with fluffy pancakes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Brendon runs a hand through his hair, the sweat already starting to break out on him and their only on the first song. His fingers move against strings while Ryan plays next to him and Spencer drums behind him. It’s only sound check but they still sound fucking amazing as always. Jon comes in with bass and they all blend to create what they’ve made together. Brendon sways a bit, but he’s pretty sure it’s not the music. He had eaten the corner of a Pop Tart this morning. He always makes sure to eat something the days that they are going to be playing. At least he knows it’ll be really easy to burn off with all the heat and dancing and singing that he does. Every show he’s always drenched in sweat so it shouldn’t be too hard to burn off a small corner of Pop Tart. Still it haunts him, plagues his mind.
“Brendon?” And the music around him stops. Ryan stops playing first, having called to Brendon. Spencer catches on and Jon follows, both of them quieting and looking confused.
“What? I played the correct key and everything, what could possibly be wrong?” Brendon snapped at his boyfriend, sick of his constant need for perfection on their songs. It’s something Brendon just can’t give him, because he’s not perfect, he can’t be perfect like everyone else. He tries and fails at everything. He’s just not and he’s trying so hard to be, for Ryan especially.
“No not that, you just look really pale. You should sit down for a minute.” He says worriedly, looking around for a chair as he removes his guitar. And really that’s not what Brendon had expected.
“I’m fine.” He says quietly. Ryan tries to protest but Brendon raises his voice this time. “I said I’m fine, now can we finish the fucking set?” He asks, looking over at Spencer and Jon who probably don’t deserve the harsh feel of his words, but Brendon really just wants Ryan to drop it.
They move back into place and start up again, the loud protest of Brendon’s stomach drowned out by the music.
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