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Monday was a blur. Brendon had trouble getting out of bed to go to class at all. “Dude,” said Andrew, “did you party too hard over break?”

Brendon had never wanted to punch him so badly. He forced himself to sit up and smile. “No,” he said, “I guess I’m still tired.”

“I hear that,” Andrew grinned. He’d come back to school with a giant hickey on his neck and his suitcase reeking of pot smoke. He had clearly not had the same kind of break that Brendon had.

Brendon’s smile was precariously pasted on. Some kid from band said hi to him as he crossed the quad, and Brendon made himself wave. He really just wanted to lie down on the sidewalk and close his eyes. That sounded amazingly wonderful, actually.

He sat in the back of class and slumped in his chair, staring at the pencil on his desk and not hearing a word the professor said. How could Ryan have done that to him? How could he have done that to Spencer? How could he have misread the entire situation so spectacularly?

Maybe, Brendon thought meanly, that was why Brian didn’t like Ryan. He’d heard Brian bitch about him a couple of times. The bitching was more “that weird kid at the office” and less “that guy who kisses people and breaks their hearts,” but Brendon would take it. He wanted a reason to be mad at Ryan. All he could really work up to was sad.

Brendon skipped lunch in favor of lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, until Andrew came back from class. “For real, dude,” Andrew said. “Is something up?” He sounded curious, but also reluctant, like he was afraid Brendon would actually answer.

Luckily, Brendon was done with the crying portion of the proceedings, and had gone on to the mopey depression. “I’m fine,” he said, and winced at how flat his voice sounded. There was no way he could go to work like this. Brian would be all over him demanding to know what had happened. Gerard was right about Brian; if he thought Ryan was responsible for breaking Brendon’s heart he might do something stupid, like fire him. Brendon was mad at Ryan, but he wasn’t that mad at Ryan.

Okay, be honest. He wasn’t even really mad at Ryan. He just missed him.

How, Brendon wondered, could you miss someone you’d never had? He didn’t even know Ryan’s telephone number, for example. They’d spoken like, four times, and they’d kissed once. There was nothing there to miss. He wasn’t allowed to miss the way Ryan smiled like he was trying not to, or the way Ryan said sort of mean things that weren’t really mean at all. He was never going to get to hang out with Ryan and write songs, or listen to Ryan’s lyrics, or find out what had happened with Ryan’s dad.

“Wow,” said Andrew. “You’re really out of it.”

Oh, damn it; Brendon hadn’t even heard him start talking again. It was too bad Brendon had decided he hated drinking, because this would have been a good day to go get trashed. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Bad news from home?” Andrew asked hesitantly.

Brendon flinched. Was there any possible way for this day to get more painful? He’d lost Ryan – he’d totally betrayed Spencer by accident – and now Andrew wanted to bring up the fact his family hated him and was never going to speak to him again. “No,” he said tightly. “Just… A lot of stuff going on.”

“Well you better snap out of it,” Andrew said. “You look like your dog died or something. Want to go to a party?”

“God, no,” Brendon said. He sat up and grabbed his bag. “I’m going to rehearsal.”

“Whatever,” Andrew replied, opening his laptop. He could only be concerned about other people for brief bursts of time before he got distracted by porn on the internet. It had annoyed Brendon at first, but now he was grateful for it.

He skipped rehearsal because he couldn’t stand the thought of being in a room with other people if he couldn’t manage to pretend to be happy. Plus, if he were in the music building there was a chance of running in to Spencer Smith. Brendon had a list of things to avoid, and “kissing Ryan again” was now tragically at the top, but “talking to Spencer while in love with his boyfriend” was number two. He still wanted to be friends with Spencer, he just couldn’t face him today. He needed a few more days. Or a month.

Brendon wasn’t planning to go in to work, either. He wandered outside for an hour or two until he thought Andrew was probably done in their room and then went back to bed. Tomorrow, he decided, this would feel less like all of his hopes and dreams had been crushed. Tomorrow he’d be able to say this was just a silly crush on someone he barely even knew. Then he and Spencer and Ryan could all be friends and hang out, and Brendon would meet someone else he liked better than Ryan. Tomorrow Brendon would be absolutely fine.

He closed his eyes and huddled under the blankets and tried really, really hard to make himself believe that that was true.

When Brian called the next morning, Brendon was able to do a convincing imitation of himself. “Hey!” he bubbled, “Did you guys recover from the most exciting Thanksgiving ever?” Was that too much? He wasn’t sure how happy he usually sounded at 8 AM.

Brian sighed. “You mean was the whole weekend ruined? Not quite. He pretended to have manners, and got super-polite for the rest of the day, and then spent most of yesterday on the phone with Frank, apparently having some kind of nervous breakdown about… Something. But he asked me to ask you if you’d come to the winter concert on Thursday. I was going to tell you yesterday, but you weren’t around.”

Brian sounded curious, which was just too bad for him. “Yeah, tell him I’ll be there,” Brendon said. He planned to fake the plague, maybe, and avoid seeing all happy people forever.

“Oh, good. He’d be a little heartbroken if you weren’t there.”

Brendon winced. He didn’t want anyone else to be heartbroken. Brian was probably exaggerating, though; Gerard got dramatic about everything. “No problem,” he chirped.

“Are you coming in this afternoon?” Brian asked.

Brendon never wanted to be in a room where he might run in to Ryan Ross again. He knew he’d be tempted to do something awful again if he was alone with Ryan. Brendon tried really hard to be a good person, but some temptations were just unfair. And then he’d never be able to look at Spencer again. “Why?” he said, “Did you need me?”

“Yeah, if you’re around. Gabe is out keeping one of our bands from imploding in the studio, and I need someone extra in the office.”

“Oh,” said Brendon. “Sure. I’ll come in.” Brian was so awesome, he couldn’t leave the guy high and dry. Even if it meant risking a run-in with Ryan. He’d just practice his stone-face and ignore Ryan. If that was even possible. Which it totally wasn’t.

“Great,” said Brian. He paused. He clearly wanted to ask Brendon about Gerard, and Brendon secretly wanted to just blurt the whole thing out – those two had a serious problem with communication. “I was wondering— ”

“Tell Gerard,” Brendon interrupted, “that I haven’t forgotten our deal. He has three weeks. Okay?”

Brian paused. “Should that mean something?” he asked.

“It will to him. You can expect some huffiness.”

“Wonderful.” He could hear Brian rolling his eyes. It was the best Brendon could do, though, without entirely betraying Gerard’s trust. Brendon hung up feeling mildly guilty, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the guilt he was feeling over the entire Spencer-Ryan situation. He figured he could live with it.

Spencer called almost the second Brendon hung up on Brian. Brendon stared at the phone for a long time, trying to decide whether or not to answer it. There was absolutely nothing on earth he wanted to do less than talk to Spencer, except maybe talk to Ryan. And hey, he might end up doing that later, too.

“Hi!” Brendon said. Okay, that was definitely too much cheer.

“Hey,” said Spencer. He sounded a little subdued, as if he suspected his hot and interesting and incredible boyfriend was cheating on him at work. “The project. We need to work on it.”

“I’m working today,” Brendon said. It wasn’t hard, exactly, to sound chipper, but it was exhausting. “Tomorrow after class, maybe?”

“Okay.” He paused. “Listen. Brendon. About Ryan. You’re a good guy and all, I’m –”

There was no way Brendon could pretend to be cheerful while listening to Spencer apologize to him about keeping tabs on Ryan. “No problem!” Brendon said, a little too loudly. “Ryan’s really great, and I’m glad he’s got someone really great like you. It’s really great. I’m going to see him later, and I’ll tell him that this is all really great. Okay?”

“Don’t – Hey, Brendon, don’t tell him, okay?” Spencer said. He probably didn’t want Ryan to think he was jealous and checking up on him, which was hilarious to Brendon, because Ryan apparently needed a lot of checking up on.

“No problem,” Brendon said blithely. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, bye.” He clicked the phone shut even as he heard Spencer starting to speak again. And then he dropped his head on to the desk and closed his eyes and spent thirty seconds feeling sorry for himself.

Just thirty, though. Brendon had things to do and people to smile at. He was trying to concentrate on that.

\ \ \ \ \

Brendon sat at the front desk with his iPod in his ears and tried hard to be inconspicuous. He wasn’t going to actually hide under the desk – he’d considered it – but he was trying not to look friendly, either. Ryan Ross might wander out from the back at any moment and be beautiful and deep and weirdly charming, and Brendon needed to be braced against it.

On the other hand, he was trying really hard to seem like his normal self. Brian kept walking by and frowning. Brendon hoped it was about Gerard. Well, he didn’t hope Brian was having problems with Gerard, he just hoped that Brian was frowning about Gerard, and not because he could secretly read Brendon’s mind and knew Brendon was having one of the worst weeks of his life.

They were busier than usual, which was nice; Brendon read some history of western music while answering the phones and writing notes for Brian. He spent a while reassuring some jackass that he could get a replacement for the guitar he’d lit on fire, Jimi Hendrix-style, and then a while explaining to a singer that tea with lemon was probably better for his throat than whiskey. There were also tons of people calling to see if they could send in tapes of their band, or get someone to come down and listen to them. Brendon was a little worried that one of them would be Jon. He was pretty sure he couldn’t say no to Jon and then Brian would be pissed.

Around dinner time Brian came out and said, “Today is officially nuts.” And then he frowned again and added, “Brendon? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” Brendon said firmly, smiling. “I get to talk on the phone with crazy people. It’s fun!”

Brian looked unconvinced, but Brendon was getting better at smiling when he was feeling shitty. Practice made perfect and all. “Okay,” Brian shrugged finally. “So what time are you planning to get to the school on Thursday? Gerard’s concert starts at six and he’s started reminding me about it every half hour or so. I think he’s worried we’ll be late and we won’t get good seats.”

“I can get there by like, five,” Brendon offered.

“Good. Mikey and Frank will be there, hanging out. I can’t wait until this is over. I’m not sure this is actually good for him.” He narrowed his eyes at Brendon. “Are you completely sure everything’s okay?”

Brendon decided he needed to eat a lot more sugar before he saw Brian on Thursday; he’d do a better imitation of his normal self if he were feeling twitchy. Especially since he’d be especially tempted toward mopiness if he was going to be faced with happy families everywhere he looked. “I might be getting sick,” Brendon lied. He felt a little bit like he was getting the flu, after all; his head hurt and he wanted to crawl in to bed for the rest of his life.

“Oh,” Brian said. “Do you need to go home?”

“I’m fine,” Brendon said, and made himself smile again.

“Because if you get sick and you miss the concert, I think Gerard might die. And then the band –Mikey and Frank and Bob and Ray – are all going to be playing next week, and you have to be at that one, too. If you need to go home and sleep – ”

Why did Brian have to be so nice when Brendon was lying? He could only handle so much guilt in his life at one time. “Brian,” he said, “I’m really, really okay. I’ll take some Sudafed and everything will be fine. Honest.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at Brian over his glasses; that was the kind of thing he normally did when he actually felt okay.

Brian shook his head, but his phone beeped. Gabe was calling with a studio nightmare, and he had to go back to his office to fix it. Brendon slumped and stared at the desk morosely. It was so much harder to pretend everything was okay when people insisted on asking if he was okay. And it was hard to be okay when you were caught between feeling incredibly guilty about something that had happened, and incredibly sad that it could never happen again. Then that sadness made him feel even guiltier. Brendon was a total mess.

He successfully avoided Ryan almost the entire afternoon by bolting for the kitchen to get tea any time it looked like Ryan might be coming out to say hello. What the hell was Brendon going to do if Ryan wanted to talk? Surely Spencer had mentioned knowing Brendon by now. If Ryan apologized, Brendon was going to throw up on him. If he laughed the whole thing off, Brendon was going to die. In fact, if he had to look at Ryan it was entirely possible he’d just die anyway.

Eventually, though, Ryan came out before Brendon could flee. “Hey,” said Ryan, stuffing his hands in his vest pockets. He smiled sideways.

It hurt. Brendon wanted to know why Ryan was always wearing crazy vests and scarves and painting on his face. He wanted to know why Ryan had kissed him if he had a boyfriend as cool as Spencer. He wanted to know if Ryan would throw Spencer over for him, and then if Ryan could live with himself after that, because Brendon probably couldn’t.

“Um,” said Brendon, staring at the floor. “Hey.” He tried to make his body language say ‘go away,’ because he knew he’d never get his voice to do it.

There was a long pause. Brendon risked a quick glance up by looking at the clock behind Ryan; Ryan was frowning a little bit. Was it possible Spencer hadn’t mentioned anything to Ryan? Brendon was going to have to kill them both, and then himself.

“What’s up?” Ryan said finally, like he’d been waiting for Brendon to say something.

“I met Spencer,” Brendon blurted, because he couldn’t stop himself. He was coming apart at the seams.

Ryan’s whole face lit up. It was awful. He looked so fucking happy, and Brendon wanted crawl under the desk and cry. “Oh, yeah?” Ryan asked, and for once he actually sounded pleased about something. “Spencer’s great. I guess you two go to school together, don’t you? That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” said Brendon, and waited for Ryan to get it already, but Ryan didn’t seem to. They stared awkwardly at each other.

“So I was thinking—” Ryan started finally.

As it turned out, Brendon didn’t want to know what Ryan was going to say. He was thinking it had been a bad idea? He was thinking he wanted to keep messing around behind Spencer’s back? There was absolutely no end to that sentence that wouldn’t make Brendon feel even worse than he already did. “I have to go,” Brendon said quickly, grabbing his sweatshirt and his bag. “Brian, uh, asked me to come in today, but I’m really swamped with stuff, and I might be getting sick.” He coughed unconvincingly.

“Oh,” said Ryan. He looked a little disappointed. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll see you Thursday, I guess.”

“Thursday I’m going to Gerard’s concert,” Brendon said firmly. He planned to make his work schedule as Ryan Ross-free as possible, at least until he stopped feeling so awful all the time.

“Oh,” said Ryan, and bit his lip. “After that?”

“I don’t think so,” Brendon said, and edged past him and out to the elevators. Had Ryan looked disappointed, or had Brendon imagined that? Had Brendon been mean, or had he not been nearly mean enough? He wanted to cry again, but refused to let himself. He spent the entire trip to the first floor taking deep breaths and telling himself that everything was going to be fine. All he had to do was keep surviving and it would stop hurting eventually.

\ \ \ \ \

Spencer brought him a bag of sour patch kids. He put them on the table and then folded his arms, like he dared Brendon to say something.

“Um,” said Brendon. His stomach twisted a little. “What’s up?”

“Those are for while we’re working,” Spencer ordered.

“Thank you?” Brendon said, because he wasn’t sure what Spencer wanted.

Spencer looked relieved. “Good,” he said. That wasn’t really an appropriate response, but Brendon was busy pretending to be normal, so he couldn’t really judge. “Next is the point counter-point. You have sources?”

“Tons,” Brendon replied, still puzzling over the candy. He wasn’t going to eat it until Spencer did; what if he secretly knew about Ryan and it was poisoned? But what if he didn’t know about Ryan and he was just trying to be nice and Brendon didn’t eat the candy and Spencer was offended and they were never friends? He pulled out a book he’d gotten from the library and put it on the lounge table. “Here. I marked the pages.” Staring at the primary sources had been the only way Brendon had been able to stop thinking about Ryan for more than a minute or two all day.

“Okay,” said Spencer. “Here are mine. We’ll start with those.” He seemed to be in a pretty rotten mood himself, if the bossy tone was anything to go by. It might not have been. Maybe that was Spencer’s default.

Brendon tried really hard to think about the project and only the project. It was hard, though; Spencer was right there, and he wasn’t saying the words “boyfriend” or “Ryan” or “cheater” or “I hate you,” but Brendon could feel them anyway. Spencer was a cool guy, even when he was grumpy, and Brendon still wanted to be friends with him. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault that Brendon apparently couldn’t keep his mind off people who were taken. Brendon just also wished Spencer had never been born.

Unless that meant Ryan wouldn’t have come out to Philadelphia. Would Brendon be happier or sadder at the moment if he’d never met Ryan at all?

Spencer, Brendon thought resentfully, probably knew all about Ryan’s dad. He was totally the person Ryan talked to when he was sad. They probably had tons of in-jokes and funny shared childhood memories, and Brendon was going to throw up just thinking about it. Damn it.

“Are you even looking?” Spencer demanded.

“Uh,” said Brendon. “For what?”

Spencer frowned at him. “Are you okay?”

He was clearly doing the worst possible job pretending to be fine when it mattered most. Brendon forced himself to smile and shrug. “I spaced out,” he said. “Looking for what?”

“Dates,” Spencer said. “You look tired. Eat some candy.”

Brendon decided that he wouldn’t mind being poisoned so much, now that he thought about it. He took a handful of sourpatch kids and stuck them in his mouth. He hadn’t really eaten much in the last couple of days, and he was surprised at how little he tasted anything. Spencer was watching, so Brendon made a big deal about chewing with his mouth sort of open – that was what he’d do normally, right? – and smiling. Spencer relaxed a little.

“Any big plans for Christmas break?” Spencer asked. “Here, 1127, write that down.”

Brendon obligingly did. “I’m going to have the best Christmas break ever,” he said firmly. “Lots of singing and caroling and eggnog and wassail and Christmas-type things.” At least, that was what his family would be doing, and if he was going to lie to Spencer, he might as well go big. He couldn’t possibly hurt any worse than he did right now, anyway. “How about you?”

“Flying home,” Spencer shrugged. “I wanted to stay, because… Well. People are going to be here.” Ryan is going to be here. He didn’t need to say it; Brendon heard it loud and clear. “But my sisters would kill me if I didn’t go home.”

Brendon absolutely hated Spencer. He got Ryan, and he got a family that loved him. Spencer was the devil, and Brendon hoped his plane crashed. “Sounds awesome,” Brendon said. “We should finish this.”

Spencer frowned again. “Are you okay?”

Right, right; Brendon-from-last-week probably wouldn’t have been so worried about getting work done. He tried to smile big and goofy, and said, “I thought you had other things to do?”

“Yeah, but…” Spencer looked at him for a second and then shrugged. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s finish up.”

That was all Brendon wanted in the entire universe. He tried to remember that he should be making jokes and interrupting, but it was hard. He felt like someone had drained all his energy and left this hollow shell of a person who just wanted to go back to bed. He mainlined half the bag of candy and let the sugar rush get him twitchy; that seemed to relieve Spencer a little bit. Brendon couldn’t handle Spencer feeling guilty about the Ryan situation, too; Brendon felt guilty enough for ten people all on his own. He was feeling a little guilty for hating Spencer, too.

He was enormously relieved when Spencer said, “I guess we’re done,” and Brendon could go back to his dorm room. It smelled like vomit and feet, which meant Andrew had been there recently. Brendon wrinkled up his nose and opened the window as wide as it would go. Cold wind whistled through the room. Brendon wished he’d already bought a winter jacket. It had barely snowed the year before so he hadn’t worried about it. This year, though, even two hoodies and a windbreaker weren’t really enough.

He zipped up his sweatshirt and sat on his bed and stared at his laptop. There was a lot of work he was supposed to be doing, especially if he was going to keep his grades up for his scholarship. He had finals after the Christmas break, if he managed to survive it. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t even thinking about Ryan; he didn’t have the energy to think about anything.

Brendon fell asleep leaning against the wall, and didn’t dream about anything special.

Thursday, Gerard called three times to make sure Brendon didn’t forget about his concert. The third time, Brendon finally told Gerard that if he called again Brendon was going to pretend to forget, and hung up. His head hurt, so he skipped classes – he really didn’t want to spend more time with Spencer at the moment – in favor of sitting in the cafeteria and drinking tea, staring in to space. If it had been at all feasible he would have skipped Gerard’s concert, but it clearly wasn’t. So after a long time doing nothing but feeling sorry for himself he grabbed a bag of Skittles and hopped on the bus to the other side of town.

Gerard’s school was ridiculous. There were parents pulling up in limos and humvees. Brendon zipped his hoodie up a little higher and wondered if they’d let him in without an invitation. Was there a guest list? There were giant iron gates outside the building and tons of non-specific religious decorations twinkling in the early darkness. Brendon shoved his hands in his pockets and reminded himself to look cheerful. Otherwise the first family he saw hugging was going to get kicked in the knee.

“Brendon!” yelled Frank, running over. He grabbed Brendon by the arm. “Hi! You came! I have to tell Gerard.”

“Gerard knows I’m coming,” Brendon said.

Frank crossed his arms and glared. Frank was about three feet tall – knee high to a grasshopper, Brendon’s dad would have said – and it was a weird experience, being glared down by a midget. “Gerard needs reassurance,” Frank said firmly. His tone indicated that if anyone failed to properly reassure Gerard, Frank would kill them. “Bob and Ray are going to stay with you, and I’m going to go tell him.”

“Like bodyguards?” Brendon asked, confused.

Frank shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Bob! Ray! Come show Brendon where the concert is!”

Frank vanished back in to the crowd of kids and parents, and Bob and Ray appeared. Bob was lost inside the world’s largest, furriest jacket, and Ray was wearing a hoodie and a jean jacket that Brendon secretly coveted. Ray was also wearing a knitted hat, which was doing truly amazing things to the silhouette of his hair.

“Yo,” said Ray cheerfully. Bob waved.

“Hey, guys. Is Brian here?”

“For like, an hour already,” Ray said. “Mikey was trying to keep Gerard from totally freaking out, and it was… Only sort of working. So he called Brian to come early, and Brian’s been distracting Gerard with a book on poisonous snakes.”

“They are more afraid of you than you are of them,” Bob said gravely. “Except, they will totally kill you fucking dead if you step on them.”

Gerard’s friends were simultaneously the weirdest and the coolest kids Brendon had ever met. He was a little jealous.

“C’mon,” Ray ordered, ducking through the crowd. Bob followed, clearing a path with his elbows for Brendon.

There were lots of parents standing around, more than a few of whom looked intimidatingly rich. There were lots of kids, too, wearing school uniforms and standing around outside the building. Some of them were handing out programs – Brendon grabbed one, saw that Gerard Way was listed as ‘featured solo’ and immediately asked if he could have a second one. Brian would stick it up on the fridge, but he’d never think to get it laminated and framed. Brendon put it neatly in to a notebook in his bag so it wouldn’t get crumpled, and followed Ray and Bob in to the auditorium.

It was fucking huge. Brendon just stopped and stared for a second. There were risers in front of a giant velvet curtain, and twinkling stars hanging from the ceiling everywhere. Parents were starting to fill up the first few rows, and kids were peeking out from behind the curtain and pointing and waving.

“Brian and Mikey are sitting up there,” Bob said, pointing. “We saved you a seat.”

Brendon was totally flattered. It was the happiest he’d felt since Sunday. He had a family to follow around, at least, and he could pretend it was his while no one else was looking. Mikey was saving seats in the third row, dead center, with a surprisingly stern look. A woman wearing pearls and a fur coat pointed to the seats and said, “Are those taken?”

Mikey’s expression was flat, but also vicious somehow. “Yes,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Go away.” She made a flustered noise, and turned and left.

“Hey,” Brendon said. It wasn’t as hard to remember to be cheerful when he was actually feeling a little better. And the look on Mikey’s face when he turned around – not quite a smile, but as happy as Mikey generally got – made Brendon feel warmer.

“Don’t you have a jacket?” Mikey frowned.

Brendon didn’t answer to middle schoolers. “Which seat is mine?” he asked, ignoring Mikey completely.

Mikey pointed. He got pretty imperious when he was in charge of things relating to Gerard. Brendon sat down next to an empty seat where Brian had left his coat. “Brian’s with Gerard?” he said.

“Gerard threw up,” Ray said cheerfully. “Then he told Brian he was quitting, and Brian told him he wasn’t, and they almost had a fight but Frank intervened. So it should be pretty interesting to see who wins.”

“Definitely Frank,” said Bob, sitting next to Mikey. Ray sat down, too, but kept jumping up to see who else was coming in, and then waving.

“Your parents aren’t here?” Brendon asked.

“We got a ride with Brian. They’ll be here next week, though,” Ray explained.

The auditorium was filling up fast. Brendon would have loved singing for this many people, but he got why Gerard was feeling queasy. There were so many people coming in that they were going to end up with standing-room only. Mikey was still saving seats for Brian and Frank, and he had to be pretty mean about it.

The lights flickered on and off once, and the hum of conversation in the auditorium dropped a little bit. “Where’s Frank?” Ray demanded, standing on his chair. “He better not be late. Gerard will fucking kill him.”

“Me, too,” said Mikey, frowning.

“There,” Bob pointed. Brian was walking out from backstage holding Frank by the arm. Frank was waving cheerfully to someone around the corner and yelling, “It’ll be fine! Just don’t throw up on stage!”

“Hey,” said Brian. He looked at how crowded the row was for a second, then shrugged and just picked Frank up and set him in the seat on the other side of Mikey. Frank didn’t seem to mind the manhandling much. “Well, this is either going to be a disaster or it won’t.”

“Were you talking Gerard down from a ledge?” Brendon asked.

Brian looked mildly embarrassed. “I think I got a little stage-parent-y, actually,” he said, dropping his voice. “I went back and they were putting mics on the kids and Gerard’s wasn’t working and I, uh… I may have stormed over to the electrical board guy and told him to do his job right or I’d do it for him.”

Brendon burst out laughing. “You know Gerard’s not in one of your bands, right?” he asked.

Brian shrugged. He was turning a little red. “I just… He’s nervous enough without technical difficulties. And some crazy mom almost knocked him down the stairs and I told her to watch where she was fucking going. I think I embarrassed the shit out him by accident.”

Brendon couldn’t stop giggling. He was glad he’d come after all. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it someday,” he said.

The lights went down. Frank jumped to his feet and stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. Mikey immediately smacked his arm out of his mouth and pulled him in to his chair. The auditorium fell silent.

The kids filed out silently on to the risers. Gerard was pretty short, standing in the front row. Brendon could see him fiddling nervously with his tie while they all lined up and turned their shoulders in the right way, and the conductor came out. This was the infamous Mr. Guzman, apparently, and he was wearing full-on tails. Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, and Brian rolled his eyes.

They barreled through a bunch of standard Christmas songs, and a couple of Hanukah classics; they chorus sounded good. Almost professional. It was a little scary. They had clearly been trained to look straight out in to the audience, but Gerard was mostly looking at his shoes. He was singing, at least, although he looked a little pale.

And then Guzman introduced kids who were singing solos; three seventh graders were singing Jingle Bell Rock, and then Gerard Way – Frank whistled again – was singing Silent Night. Some of the older kids were going through other songs. Brendon felt nervous on Gerard’s behalf.

All the way through the seventh graders Brendon couldn’t sit still. And then, when Gerard stepped down off the risers looking like he was about to throw up at any second, Brendon clutched the arms of the auditorium chair and bit his lip really hard. Brian looked pretty grim, too. The boys though, all looked totally confident, especially Frank.

Brendon held his breath while the piano started up. If Gerard passed out, Brendon planned to vault the seats ahead of him and grab him. Same deal if he threw up. Gerard was shaking a little bit.

But when Gerard opened his mouth, he sounded good. Better than good; he fucking owned the stage. Brendon’s mouth dropped open. Gerard’s voice was incredibly clear – he had a little more growl in it than Brendon would have expected – and he was hitting notes effortlessly that any high schooler would have flubbed. He couldn’t stay quite still, bobbing around a little as he sang, but who cared; he abruptly had so much presence everyone in the auditorium looked hypnotized. Brendon had wondered about giving a nervous ninth grader a solo. If this was what Mr. Guzman had seen during auditions, he was surprised Gerard didn’t have all the solos.

“Holy shit,” Brian whispered.

“Yeah,” Brendon whispered back.

The second Gerard’s song finished Frank was on his feet – on the chair – screaming and hollering. Brendon was clapping and yelling like crazy too, although he tried to restrain himself. Gerard’s face was totally pink and he looked down at his shoes, and then back up and waved really quickly at his family out in the audience.

“I forgot my fucking camera!” Brian realized, yelling over all the applause. “I totally suck.”

“Take some when you get home,” Brendon advised. “Damn. Did you know he was – ”

“A fucking natural,” Brian beamed. “No! Jesus!”

Gerard looked totally embarrassed – and also thrilled – by the applause, and snuck back to his spot in the chorus. He was clearly looking in to the audience trying to catch Mikey’s eye, and they went through some kind of twin-speak conversation Brendon couldn’t follow, before Mikey flopped back in to his chair and made Frank stop wolf-whistling. Brian clapped a little longer than everyone else, and when he eventually sat down his expression was beyond proud.

“Everyone else should just go home,” Brian whispered.

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Do not sign him up for any pageants,” he whispered back, and laughed when Brian looked like he was considering it for a second.

The instant the concert was over, and the kids went backstage, Frank pushed past everyone else to be the first one out of the aisle. Brendon caught him by the hood and kept him from actually bullying his way backstage. Frank waited impatiently. Mikey wasn’t doing much better, but at least he looked impatient mostly by crossing his arms, instead of jumping up and down. “Where is he?” Frank demanded at least three times before Gerard appeared.

Then, “You did so good!” Frank yelled, throwing himself at Gerard. They overbalanced and would have fallen in the aisle except Bob was there, pre-emptively behind Gerard.

“Yeah?” Gerard asked, ducking his head a little bit and blushing.

Brendon and Brian were not above using their relative height advantages to pry Frank off Gerard. “So awesome,” Brian said firmly, and hugged Gerard, who immediately squirmed away.

“Brian,” he complained, “god, not here.”

“Why can’t I hug you?” Brian demanded.

“Because,” Gerard explained.

“That better not apply to me,” Brendon ordered, and then hugged Gerard before he could explain that it did. In fact, he managed to hug Gerard so that he was pretty well smothered and couldn’t complain about anything anymore.

When he finally let the kid up for air, Gerard’s hair was sticking all over the place and he was flushed from trying to push away. “Oh my god,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Really?” Bob asked. “Because you did throw up and everything.”

Ray and Frank burst out laughing. “I’m going to find Mr. Guzman,” Brian said.

“Don’t say anything embarrassing, Brian!” Gerard yelled. Brendon was pretty sure that there was nothing Brian could possibly say that Gerard wouldn’t claim later had been ‘embarrassing.’ It was one of the perks of being fourteen.

“Good job, Gee,” said Mikey. Gerard hugged him, which apparently didn’t fall under any subheading of ‘embarrassing.’ Kids, Brendon decided, were really fucking weird.

By the time they auditorium emptied out and Brian was done with his completely humiliating conversation with Mr. Guzman – Wasn’t Gerard pretty much the greatest kid ever? Wasn’t Gerard’s voice phenomenal? If Gerard got over his stage fright he could pretty much rule the world, right? – it was pitch black and freezing cold outside. “I’m giving you a ride to your dorm, and you can’t stop me,” Brian said firmly, and waited for Brendon to get in the car. “Plus, where the hell is your coat?”

“It’s not even that cold out, so I left it at home,” Brendon lied. Brian frowned. Eventually he was going to notice that Brendon never had a jacket with him, and he was going to be pissed, Brendon suspected. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “So I can just take the bus—”

Mikey popped his head out of the backseat. “Get in the car, oh my god,” he said, sounding exactly like Gerard. Frank and Bob and Ray were all piled in the backseat, which didn’t have enough seatbelts for that arrangement, and was causing some ferocious fighting about who was going to sit on a lap. Brendon felt ridiculous; Brian was giving a ride to half the ninth grade and also a college sophomore, who really should have had his own ride.

But he climbed in the front seat anyway – Gerard sat in the middle – and let Brian drive him back to campus. And it was weird, given how lonely and depressed he’d been feeling lately, but when the car pulled away with six people waving to him out the window, he got a sudden surge of Things might be all right after all. He waved back until Brian’s taillights faded, and then he stuck his hands in his pockets and headed inside, determined to really, seriously stop moping.

/ / / /

Monday after class, Brendon got back to his room and Andrew had written ‘HAVING SEX! STAY OUT’ on the whiteboard. Brendon almost opened the door anyway, but there were noises coming from inside, and they were honestly a little scary.

Even Andrew got to have sex with someone, he thought bitterly, and sat down in the hallway in a sulk.

He’d been so good all weekend; he hadn’t gone back to Brian’s office so he hadn’t thought about Ryan Ross more than once or twice or a thousand times a day. He’d kept his smile convincing enough that no one had asked him if was upset about something. If the weather had just been a little warmer, and if he’d had anyone on earth he could have talked to about the Ryan-Spencer situation, things would have been fine.

Brendon couldn’t just sit in the hallway forever, though; he had homework to do. His building didn’t have a fucking lounge, so he was going to have to across the quad to Fischer Lounge in Spencer’s building, where he might accidentally run in to Spencer. Brendon was having a lot of trouble implementing the “Make Spencer my new best friend” plan at the same time as the “Avoid Spencer and Ryan like they have the plague” plan. Avoiding Spencer had been a much higher priority all week.

It sucked. It totally, totally sucked. But Brendon was getting used to everything sucking all the time, so he scribbled ‘FUCK U’ on the door back to Andrew, who wouldn’t read it anyway, and hauled his giant bag over to Spencer’s building.

There were other kids sitting around in groups doing work and playing cards. Brendon would normally have introduced himself and maybe tried to convince some of them to let him play – shyness was a not a huge problem for him – but he didn’t have the energy. Plus, total strangers probably didn’t want to hear about his boy problems. Brendon had a headache, anyway.

He turned on his iPod and opened up his book. He had a couch by the window with plenty of room to curl up for a few hours until Andrew and whatever unspeakable skank he was with were done. There were two students making out on the other side of the lounge. Brendon scowled at them. He wished he could call Spencer up and bitch about stupid people. Spencer was probably hilarious when he was being mean.

When Brendon looked up from his book a couple of minutes later, there was Spencer with a whole group of friends. It was almost like he’d wished Spencer in to existence, except for the part where Brendon would have wished him to a deserted island really fucking far away instead. Sometimes it was honestly like Brendon was cursed.

The friends he was with had probably known Spencer had a boyfriend. They’d probably met Ryan. They’d all probably gone on giant horrible group dates. Brendon didn’t make a face, but only because he’d been practicing looking happy for a week now.

“Hey,” said Spencer, magically appearing in front of Brendon. “Christmas cookie?”

“Sure,” said Brendon. He hated everything about the holidays this year, but cookies were always good.

“What’s up?” Spencer said. He was pretty much ignoring his cool friends, which was nice. Brendon tried not to care, and totally failed at it. Why did Spencer have to go and be friendly when Brendon was busy hating him? It just made all the guilt worse.

“My roommate is having gross sex in my room,” Brendon said. “So I can’t so much be there.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “At least he’s in a room. Look at those two on the couch. They’re practically sucking each other’s faces off. Gross.”

Brendon laughed. “You’d think one of them at least would have somewhere to go. And ewww, I think he just sucked her teeth out of her head.”

Spencer grinned and sat down on the couch. “It’s nice of them to share. Like free porn. But even worse, somehow. And boy, free porn would be really bad.”

Brendon’s phone trilled to life. It had a way of doing that when he wished it wouldn’t. This time, though, he didn’t mind; what the hell was he going to talk to Spencer about? How beautiful Ryan was? He smiled apologetically at Spencer, who shrugged. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” said Gerard. “Which building do you live in? I know Brian drove by it, but it was dark, and I can’t remember.”

Brendon super did not need this shit right now. “Where are you?” he asked, closing his eyes.

Gerard hesitated. “Shapiro? Shapiro Hall? Shapiro something, anyway. Is that close to where you are?”

“What are you doing here?” Brendon sighed, standing up. “Gerard! Does Brian know where you are? How did you get here? Why are you here? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not crazy,” Gerard scoffed. “Am I close to your room?”

Brendon clenched his hands in to fists. This was better, after all, than Gerard running away. “You’re on the sidewalk, right?” he asked. “Head downhill. I’m in the building that says Fischer Lounge. C’mon in.”

“What’s up?” Spencer asked curiously.

“Complicated… Uh, almost-family stuff,” Brendon said, because he couldn’t think of a better way to explain it. Spencer looked curious, and Gerard was going to be showing up in a couple of minutes and then Brendon was going to kill him. It seemed polite to try and summarize. “I babysat this summer for a guy who’d just adopted a couple of kids. They’re awesome and great and wonderful, but they’ve had kind of a rough time, and they uh… They can be unpredictable. I guess Gerard hopped a bus here or something.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to kill him and then take him home.”

Spencer just looked confused. “You babysit?” he said. “Really?”

“Yeah, it surprised me, too. But I ended up playing a lot of computer games with them, and teaching them guitar and stuff. It was a pretty good summer.” Hell, it had been, hadn’t it? It wasn’t really Brendon’s family, but he liked to pretend sometimes.

“Huh,” said Spencer. He looked like he was considering something.

Brendon’s phone rang again. By the time he’d answered it he saw Gerard outside anyway. The sky was getting dark and grey like it might rain at any minute. “Up here,” Brendon said. “See?” He waved. “Come on up.”

Gerard honestly didn’t look that out of place at college, with his crazy hair and his black hoodie under his jacket, just a little young. He lit up when he saw Brendon, and pulled off the giant winter coat Brian had insisted on buying him. “Hi,” he said breathlessly. “Wow, this campus is huge.”

“Sit,” Brendon ordered. “No, wait, don’t. What are you doing here? Does Brian know where you are right now? Who’s with Mikey? How did you get here? Are you kidding me?”

Gerard did not look even the slightest bit ashamed of himself. “I’m here to see you, no he doesn’t, Frank, by the bus, and no,” he said cheerfully.

“You took the bus by yourself, and Brian doesn’t know where you are?”

Gerard’s smile faded a little bit. “I’m not a baby,” he complained. “You and Brian are always treating me like a little kid. I can take a bus. I took care of me and Mikey for months, you know.” He crossed his arms.

Brendon knew. He didn’t want to think about it. “Oh my god,” he said. “Call Brian.”

“But I just got here!”

“Yeah, and if you don’t call Brian right this second and tell him where you are, I’m going to drag you home by the neck. Got it?”

Gerard pouted. “Brendon!” Brendon crossed his arms right back. They stared for a minute. Gerard cracked first, though; he threw his hands up in the air and dragged his phone out of his jacket. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll call, and he won’t care, you’ll see.”

Brendon sat back down on the couch. Spencer was watching him intently. “You’re… Actually kind of responsible, huh?”

“Yeah,” Brendon said sourly. “That’s me. Mister mom.”

“—No, Brendon’s right here!” Gerard said. “He’s… No, I sent Mikey home with Frank… No, I’m fine. Ugh, Brian, I know, okay?” He stomped his foot. “I can take the bus by myself! Yes, I—Oh. But I just wanted to… Oh. No.” He sighed and sat down on Brendon’s table. “I’m sorry, then, I guess. Okay. Okay. I will. Bye.”

Brendon felt pretty smug. “Yeah?” he said.

Gerard sighed like a dying man. “He would never have been worried if you hadn’t made me call him,” he groaned, “and now he’s going to give me the ‘I worry about you’ speech. Again. Again, Brendon. That’s like three times this month.”

“Well, stop freaking out and he’ll stop lecturing you,” Brendon said reasonably. “Stop climbing on roofs and throwing up at school and traveling across the city without telling anyone where you’re going.”

“You’re having a pretty exciting December, huh?” Spencer said.

Gerard stared at him. Then he looked at Brendon, tilting his head. Gerard didn’t like most people he met, and he started off wary of absolutely all new people. It had taken Brendon an hour to get him to speak, and the only reason Gerard had ever started trusting him was because Mikey did.

Gerard clearly didn’t quite know what to make of Spencer. But he just looked at Brendon, waiting. Brendon hesitated. He was mad at Spencer, but not unforgivably so; as soon as Brendon dealt with the Ryan Problem he and Spencer were going to be BFF. He had no doubt Gerard would be mean to Spencer for him, but that wouldn’t lead to eternal friendship. Brendon nodded at Gerard, and that was apparently enough to make him relax and smile. Brendon felt pretty weirdly proud of that.

“Hi,” said Gerard, “I’m Gerard.”

“Spencer. Nice to meet you.”

“Any friend of Brendon’s is cool with me,” Gerard said firmly. Brendon winced a little and didn’t correct him. That was the eventual plan, after all.

“Right back at you,” Spencer said, not quite hiding his smile.

Brendon wasn’t really ready to have all the parts of his life crash together like this. “Did you want to talk about something?” he said. “Like how much trouble you’re in?”

“I’m grounded,” Gerard shrugged. In Gerard’s experience that was no punishment at all, and he didn’t take it very seriously. He’d be upset later, when he saw Brian’s disappointed face. That was the only thing that ever got to him. Brendon had practiced ‘disappointed with an edge of sternness’ in the mirror for a while, but he didn’t have it down like Brian did. Gerard said, “So how do you guys know each other?” He was staring at Spencer really hard.

“We have class together,” Spencer answered.

“Oh,” Gerard said. He considered that for a minute. “You’re lucky, then. Brendon is super smart and really awesome.” He crossed his arms and stared Spencer down.

Brendon kind of wanted to laugh, and he also wanted to rush Gerard away from Spencer as quickly as possible, before Gerard’s well-meaning haranguing made Spencer decide to never speak to him again. “So what’s up?” Brendon asked again.

They completely ignored him, because they were still looking at each other challengingly. “Yeah,” said Spencer finally. “He’s pretty cool.”

Brendon’s face was burning. “Oh my god,” he said. “Gerard. You want to – Why don’t we go somewhere. We can talk.” They couldn’t go to his room, though; Gerard was scarred for life enough without seeing gross roommate sex. “I know. We’ll go to the Starbucks and I’ll introduce you to my friend Jon. Plus, I can walk you to Brian’s work from there.”

“I can go home by myself.”

“Too bad.” Gerard made a huffy noise, but that was his default response to everything. He shrugged back in to his coat and Brendon put on both of the hoodies he’d been wearing.

He turned to apologize to Spencer for ditching him so quickly, but Spencer was putting on his jacket. “I could use a drink, too, if you’re not busy telling secrets,” he said, and smiled at Gerard. Gerard had apparently decided he was fine with Spencer, because he just shrugged and wandered across the lounge to stare at the cheesy Monet prints someone had hung up as decoration.

Brendon dragged him downstairs and outside, where it was still really cold. He was waiting for Gerard to explain why he’d hopped a bus all the way across town, but Gerard was more interested in asking Spencer about what classes he was taking. As soon as he found out Spencer was a drummer he started explaining who his favorite drummers were and in what order he and Frank had ranked them, based on Bob’s expertise. Spencer looked a little bemused, but he answered Gerard seriously, and without even rolling his eyes. They talked about Ringo Starr for a few minutes, while Brendon tagged along behind them, feeling jealous.

Brendon was entirely frozen by the time they got to Starbucks. He wanted to go in and get the biggest, hottest drink possible. Instead, he stopped because Jon was standing outside by the corner of the building, wearing his apron and not, like, a jacket. Was he trying to get pneumonia?

“Jon Walker, you are going to freeze to death,” Brendon said sternly.

Jon turned around, cradling something in his hands. He smiled at Brendon. “Hey, you want to be a lifesaver?” he asked, walking over.

Probably not if it involved being cold, but Gerard looked intrigued, and Spencer looked… Well, point of interest, Spencer looked a little like someone had hit him with a brick. “I guess?” Brendon said.

“Someone left this little guy behind the store,” Jon said, “and I’m on shift for another hour. Can you – Do you think you could watch him for a little bit? I can leave early, but I have stuff to finish up first.” The something in his hands shifted and stretched and meowed.

“Oh, shit,” said Gerard, eyes widening. “That is the tiniest kitten in the whole world.”

The tiny grey lump in Jon’s hands shifted again. It was all fluff and eyes and whiskers. “It’s so cold outside, and he’s not big enough to be on his own. I’m going to go get some milk,” Jon said. “Can you hold him? Do you mind?”

He handed the kitten-lump to Brendon before Brendon could respond. He couldn’t have said no, though; Gerard was staring with his heart all over his face. “Sure,” Brendon said. The little cat was warm in his hands, which was nice.

Jon flashed him a giant, grateful smile, which was nicer. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, and went in to the store.

“Can I… Can I see?” Gerard asked. Brendon moved his hands down. Gerard reached out hesitantly and brushed his fingers against the fur for a second. “He’s really soft,” he said quietly.

The kitten shifted, tiny-needle claws digging in to Brendon’s hands. He winced. “Not all of him is soft,” he said.

Spencer looked dumbstruck. “That’s your friend at Starbucks?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s Jon. He hooks me up with drinks and cookies and stuff sometimes.” The kitten opened its mouth and made a tiny yowling noise that made Brendon want to cry.

Gerard petted the kitten again, while it complained. Then he sneezed. “Why would someone just leave him out here?” Gerard asked. “That’s not fair. People suck.”

Brendon considered really hard before he answered, because there were layers to that question when Gerard asked it. “Some people suck,” he agreed, “and do nasty things like that. But what’s important is that people like you and me and Jon all care and try to help.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, Brendon,” he said. “I know I’m not a lost kitten.” He petted it again, wrinkling up his nose like he was staving off as sneeze. “How is he so cute?”

“He’s a kitten. That’s what they do,” Brendon said. “You want to hold him?”

Jon came back out wearing his coat, and holding a cardboard box and a paper cup of milk. “Hey, thanks,” he said. “Look at this poor little guy.” He had a couple of towels in the box. The kitten protested a little when he was moved, but he was excited about the milk, and he kneaded the towel a little before he curled up and went back to sleep.

“Look at him,” Gerard said again, and sneezed.

Brendon frowned. “Are you allergic to cats?” he asked.

“I’m just cold,” Gerard scowled. “I’m not allergic to anything.”

Jon looked up from kitten-rescue duty to flash a smile at them. “So by the way, I’m Jon,” he said. “You must be Brendon’s… brothers?”

Gerard looked flattered. Spencer looked alarmed. “This is Spencer, he’s my partner for the crusades thing,” Brendon explained quickly. “And this is Gerard. He’s… complicated.”

Gerard fucking beamed. “I am,” he assured Jon.

Jon was crouching over the box he’d put on the ground, and he had to tip his head up and squint through his eyelashes to look up at them. Well, to look at Spencer. “Hi,” he said. “I’ve heard about you.”

Brendon had a moment of absolute panic where he thought he might have mentioned the entire Brendon-Ryan-Spencer Clusterfuck Of Doom. It wasn’t until Spencer’s cheeks flared pink and he stuttered, “Really? Brendon kept you kind of a secret,” that Brendon realized they were flirting.

Right in-fucking-front of him. Couldn’t Brendon meet anyone nice who didn’t love Spencer Smith more than him? What kind of fucked up relationship did Ryan and Spencer have, where neither one of them could keep from flirting with the entire world?

Now, if Brendon could just get Spencer to break up with Ryan so he could have Ryan all to himself and Spencer was happy because he had Jon and Ryan was happy because he had Brendon and Brendon didn’t have to die of guilt –

No. That required entirely too much planning, and Brendon had been really tired lately. He scowled briefly at Spencer, who didn’t notice at all. He was busy smiling at Jon like a big cheating, hypocritical idiot. “Ahem,” Brendon said firmly to Spencer.

It took Spencer a minute to register. “What?” he said, and then, “Oh, fuck.”

Gerard sneezed again. “You’re totally allergic,” Jon laughed.

“I am not!” Gerard said. His eyes were getting a little red, and his nose was running, but that might have been from the cold. Brendon was pretty sure it was the cat though, which would put a crimp in Mikey’s secret stare-at-Brian-with-giant-sad-eyes-until-I-get-a-pet plan.

Brendon was freezing. “You guys can stay and watch the cat,” he said, still frowning at Spencer, “but I’m going to go in and get coffee.”

“No, it’s cool. I’m taking him home,” Jon said. “My roommates are going to be pretty surprised, I think, but I can’t leave him out here where it’s cold, right?”

“Definitely not,” Gerard said, and sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Jon picked up the box. “Thanks,” he said. “Hey, Brendon, our gig is going to be right after Christmas. You should come. And uh, you should come, too,” he said, grinning at Spencer.

Spencer had been staring at Jon with a ridiculous, inappropriate look of longing on his face. He dropped his eyes to the sidewalk hastily when Jon looked up. His face was red again. “Uh,” Spencer said finally. “Yeah. You have a band? I’ll be there. I mean, we’ll be there.”

“You, and me, and Ryan,” Brendon interrupted.

Spencer looked at him and flinched. “Right,” he said. “Ryan should come, too. He loves live music.”

“I want to come, too,” Gerard said.

“You’re grounded,” Brendon pointed out. Also, he wanted to keep Gerard as far as possible from this imploding social situation he was involved in. With his current luck, Gerard would fall in love with Ryan, too, and spend all of high school pining away for the same boy Brendon was pining for, while Spencer fucking flirted with Jon.

“But I might not be by Christmas,” Gerard argued.

Jon and Spencer were ignoring them in favor of smiling at each other dopily. Brendon wanted to throw up. “So, I’ll see you around,” Jon said. He shifted the box and the kitten mewled unhappily.

“Bye,” said Spencer. He was still staring when Jon disappeared around the corner.

“I’m cold,” Gerard said, tugging on Brendon’s arm.

Brendon was busy glaring at Spencer, who didn’t even have the decency to be ashamed of himself. “Coffee?” he asked pointedly.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, shaking his head. “Sure.” He followed them in to the store. Gerard was an enthusiastic, if disorganized, orderer. Brendon always got the same thing anyway. And Spencer seemed oddly distracted. “Is Jon part of your fictional future band?” Spencer asked when they sat down.

“Totally,” Brendon said. He wasn’t even sure what Jon played, but as long as it wasn’t drums they’d work it out. Or, shit, he could play the tambourine for all Brendon cared.

“Oooh, can I be in the band?” Gerard asked. “I can sing.”

“You’re too young to get in to the clubs,” Brendon said, blithely ignoring the fact that he was, too, for another year.

Gerard looked pouty, and Spencer crossed his arms. “That’s what you want, right?” Spencer said. Brendon couldn’t figure out his tone. “An excuse to go hang out in clubs and bars and fuck around?”

Kind of, yes, but Brendon wasn’t sure why Spencer sounded so mad. “Yeah,” he said. “That doesn’t sound like a good time to you?” He frowned.

“No,” Spencer snapped. “I don’t drink.” He’d been super happy thirty seconds earlier, and now he looked like a thundercloud.

Next time Brendon decided to go out – if he ever forgot the horror of that last hangover – maybe he could take Spencer along. That would definitely keep him from having too many. Now was not the time to mention that, though; Spencer looked epically pissy.

“Yeah, neither does Ryan, right?” Brendon said breezily instead. “He mentioned that.”

Spencer said, “Yeah, maybe you should think about it.”

“What?” Brendon asked.

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to head back so you guys can talk,” Spencer said. “Nice to meet you, Gerard.”

“You, too,” Gerard said. He’d apparently forgotten he was pouting about not being in the band. Spencer glared at Brendon again – what the hell? – and left.

“That was weird,” Brendon grumbled. Then he noticed that Gerard was looking fidgety about something. “So what did you come all the way across town to tell me?” he asked. “Is it about Christmas again? Did you talk to Brian?”

Gerard stared really hard at his hot chocolate and shook his head. “I’m going to,” he said. “Eventually. I’m working on it.”

Brendon groaned and tipped his chair back. Someone was warbling restyled Christmas carols over the stereo in the background, and it was making him homesick. “You have to talk to Brian,” he said. “Please don’t make me do it.”

“I will,” Gerard said. “I just… Brendon… Hey, can I ask you about something?”

Brendon looked at him. “Sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Um,” said Gerard, kicking his sneakers against the table. “Can I ask you something that’s kind of… Personal? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want, to, though. I don’t… You don’t have to answer.”

“Go ahead,” Brendon offered. He couldn’t think of anything Gerard might ask that he wouldn’t be willing to talk about.

Gerard took a deep breath. “Did you ever have a crush on someone?” he asked hesitantly, and looked up at Brendon.

“Yeah,” said Brendon, resolutely not thinking about Ryan Ross and his stupid gorgeous face.

“Okay, well… Was that person ever… Did you ever have a crush on a boy?” Gerard said. And then he immediately said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just wondering and sometimes people don’t want to talk about stuff or whatever because it’s personal—”

Brendon had never actually come out to anyone he cared about before. It was weird. It made his chest feel all tingly. “Yeah,” he said. “All of my crushes have been on boys, actually. And it’s okay for you to ask me about this stuff, Gee. Really.”

“Oh, good,” Gerard sighed. He was still fidgeting in his chair, though. Did Gerard have a crush on someone, Brendon wondered, and then realized of course Gerard did. Gerard had a giant, life-altering crush on Frank. The entire conversation began making a lot more sense.

“Did you tell anyone?” Gerard asked. “Like, was your family mad? Or your friends?”

Brendon winced. “I never actually told them,” he said. “My family is really religious. They had a lot of… Rules about that kind of thing. I spent a long time trying to follow all their rules, and make them happy. I went on dates with girls. But I couldn’t… It wasn’t who I really was. I didn’t want to pretend, I guess.” He shrugged. It was probably good that Gerard was asking about this today, when it wasn’t the most painful thing ever. It was only maybe the tenth most painful thing, way down the list after Ryan and Spencer and seeing all the stupid Christmas decorations up on the lamp posts just like they would be at home.

Gerard was looking at him, horrified. “But family… They’re supposed to love you no matter what you do!” he protested. “That’s the whole… That’s the entire point of family!”

Brendon basically agreed, when he didn’t feel like crawling back home and promising he’d be good from now on if they’d just let him stay. He shrugged again. “It’s kind of why I left,” he said. The empty space in his chest that was always there lately felt especially twisted up and painful. “I needed a chance to be myself.”

“Oh,” Gerard nodded. “Okay. I wondered if… I mean, I thought, maybe. But… You know we love you anyway, right?” he asked anxiously. “Me and Brian and Mikey don’t care.”

Brendon took a drink to hide the fact that he was in danger of bursting in to tears. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that? He looked deliberately at the wall instead of Gerard and said, “Is this related to something, Gee? Do you have a crush?”

Gerard shook his head really quickly, but his face was red. “Nah,” he said, trying for casual and missing by a million miles. “Not me. The kids at school call me a fag sometimes, but I don’t care. I was mostly just wondering… Um. About stuff. Not gay stuff! Just… Stuff. And I know, it’s not about anyone else’s expectations, it’s about mine, and I can be whatever I want, and blah blah blah.” He rolled his eyes really hard.

Brendon laughed. Clearly Gerard was getting something out of therapy, if he was quoting it so comfortably. “Do I need to go to school and kick some ass?” Brendon asked. Some of those kids from the concert had been way bigger than he was, but he was willing to give it a shot.

“No,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “Please don’t. I already spend, like, half the day keeping Frank from punching anyone.”

Brendon decided not to point out Frank’s glaringly obvious crush on Gerard, either. “Let me know,” he said. “I’m little, but I’m scrappy.”

Gerard giggled in to his hot chocolate and changed the subject to Mikey’s friend Pete, who’d recently set the class fish tank on fire. No one was sure how he’d managed it, but it was all the gossip in Frank’s class. And then Gerard mentioned – trying to sound nonchalant and failing – that he was planning to audition for the spring musical. Brendon barely managed not to burst out laughing. He mentally started penciling in days to spend talking Gerard down from all of his upcoming nervous breakdowns.

They walked over to Brian’s office, where Brian greeted them with crossed arms and a stern expression that he couldn’t really keep up when Gerard explained earnestly that he just wanted to talk to Brendon privately and he was sorry. Brian folded almost immediately and said it was fine, as long as Gerard called first next time and asked permission. Then they beamed at each other. Brendon abruptly, and with no particular context, missed his dad again. It was weird. Gerard went in to the back to talk to Gabe, who for some reason he didn’t find scary at all.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Brian asked Brendon. “I know you didn’t sign up full-time big brothering with us.”

“Nah, I enjoy it,” Brendon said, and shrugged. He wasn’t going to mention to Brian just how much he enjoyed being someone Gerard wanted to talk to. Brian would probably start worrying about him.

“I want Gerard to feel like he has people he can trust and he can confide in, since he thinks I’m too old and shit. Artsy people. I’ve thought about introducing him to Ryan, actually. I could just let them be weird at each other for a while.”

It was funny, but it was also a little painful. Brendon tried not to flinch. Now that he thought about it, there were some similarities between Gerard and Ryan. Brendon wondered if Ryan was as fragile as Gerard was, and if so, was anyone watching out for him the way Brian had Gerard’s back? Not Spencer, who was flirting with Jon when Ryan wasn’t around. It made Brendon mad.

“Ryan’s cool,” Brendon shrugged, because Brian didn’t really need to know just how many hours a day Brendon spent thinking about Ryan Ross and his fucked-up love life.

“Ryan’s weird,” Brian sighed. “Weird, but smart, and he works hard, and I think he might be some kind of alien super genius. I’m a little afraid to ask about the makeup, you know? But I guess it’s his thing, and when I was his age I had already started getting tattoos and shit my mom thought was insane.”

Brendon frowned. “I thought maybe you didn’t like him,” Brendon said, remembering Ryan’s face on Thanksgiving, when he talked about Brian.

Brian shook his head. “First I figured Gabe was nuts for wanting to hire him, but it turned out to be a good fucking idea, and he’s… Well. The bands all love him. He makes me feel old, but that’s not his fault. So do you.”

“C’mon,” said Brendon. “Just because when I was born you were already almost in high school…”

“Dude,” said Brian, “I will pay you not to joke about that anymore.”

“Who’s joking?” Brendon asked innocently. Brian threw a paper ball at him. Brendon grinned.

Ryan stuck his head around the corner. Seeing him, after spending time with Spencer, was a lot like getting punched. Or, no – it felt more like this one time in sixth grade when a kid had pulled the chair out from under Brendon as he was sitting, and he’d landed so hard he couldn’t breathe. It was just like that.

Ryan had crazy blue eyeshadow painted across his face like a blindfold. Brendon was never going to get to smudge it all off during a wild make-out session, and that realization made it hurt even more when Brendon tried to breathe normally. He couldn’t manage a smile.

“Brian? Are you busy?” Ryan asked in his standard monotone. “Because there’s a drummer on the phone who claims he got set on fire at the video shoot, and –”

“I’m coming,” Brian grimaced. “Can you come in tomorrow, Brendon?”

Brendon didn’t look at Ryan, so he couldn’t get nervous. “Sure,” he said. “And I’ll come by the house Friday.”

“Band concert Thursday,” Brian reminded him, and went to the back.

Ryan was standing in the hallway, arms crossed, watching Brendon. Brendon wondered if he was going to say something about Spencer, or about the kiss. Instead, after a long minute, Ryan said, “You’re really part of the family, huh?”

Brendon felt blindsided. “I’m just the babysitter,” he said awkwardly. “I guess… I mean, the kids are pretty fond of me.” Ryan had to stop saying things, especially nice things. It wasn’t fair.

Ryan made a frowny noise. And then he waited, like he wanted Brendon to say something else, but Brendon didn’t have anything to say that wasn’t, “Don’t you feel guilty about me?” or, “Your boyfriend’s just as fucked up as you are.” He couldn’t actually manage to say either of those, though, so he didn’t say anything.

There was a long, awkward pause. “Okay,” said Ryan finally. “I’m going back to work.”

“Good,” Brendon replied. He crossed his arms and stared hard at the floor. Ryan hesitated again, and then finally shrugged and walked away.

Everything kept on hurting. Brendon took a minute to remember how to breathe.

\ \ \ \ \

Andrew had gross sex again the next day, and the next. Okay, Brendon was assuming the “gross” part, but it had to be, didn’t it? He spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday at work trying to avoid Ryan, which turned out to be easy; Ryan didn’t come out to talk to him, and Brendon didn’t go in to the back. It broke Brendon’s heart a little bit more that it wasn’t even hard to avoid Ryan. Ryan clearly wasn’t thinking about Brendon much. It wasn’t fair. Brendon couldn’t stop.

He was waiting to stop feeling bad about it all the time, but his only distractions were Spencer – not very helpful, especially when Spencer was in a bad mood – and Mikey’s concert. Mikey, Frank, Bob, and Ray’s concert, actually. Brendon sat in the audience with Gerard and Brian and listened to fourteen slightly out-of-tune holiday songs. Ray played an acoustic guitar solo, and was generally amazing. Mikey mostly played the tambourine, which didn’t stop Gerard from standing on a chair to cheer because his brother was obviously the greatest tambourine player of all time. All four boys knew how to play the guitar, but three of them had been relegated to the percussion section, where Frank seemed to spend most of his time trying to knock over Bob’s drums without the conductor noticing. Afterwards Brendon got to shake awkward hands with Ray and Bob’s parents. Frank’s mom hugged him. It was nice, if incredibly awkward.

It was cold as fuck Friday when Brendon got over to Brian’s house. His throat had been killing him lately, and it hurt to breathe the frigid air. He pulled further down in to his hoodie.

Mikey wanted to play World of Warcraft, and Brendon was always down for a few rounds of ass-kicking. Gerard lay on the floor with a sketch pad, kicking his feet in the air, drawing Mikey-the-troll eating people’s heads. Brendon worried about that kid sometimes.

An hour or so in to the game Brendon looked up from the screen because his eyes hurt, and noticed what was going on outside. “Holy shit, you guys!” he crowed. “It’s snowing!”

Gerard looked puzzled. “So?” he said. “It’s December.”

“No, it’s like… It’s snowing! A lot!” Brendon walked over to the window. It must have been snowing for a while, because the whole front yard had turned white, and it was piling up a little bit on bare tree branches. This was part of why he’d decided to go to college on the east coast. That, and the fact that it was an escape from his family, who didn’t understand him, and were never going to. He swallowed hard.

Gerard and Mikey exchanged some sort of “Brendon is crazy” look. “The weather report said it was going to snow,” Gerard said reasonably. “It’s not that exciting.”

Maybe not for them, but it had barely snowed at all last winter, and Brendon hadn’t had any snow at all for eighteen years before that. Possibly he also badly needed a distraction from his own thoughts, circling around Christmas and Ryan and Christmas and Ryan. “Yes, it is,” he insisted. “Hey, is that enough snow for snowballs?”

Again, Mikey and Gerard looked at each other first. “Maybe,” Gerard said slowly. “But only if you’re really desperate.”

“I am,” Brendon said firmly. “Get up. We’re going to have a snowball fight.”

“Why?” Mikey asked. “It’s cold outside.”

“Because I’ve never had one, and I want one,” Brendon said, pulling him out of his chair. “Come on.”

Mikey and Gerard grumbled the whole way down, but they put on their coats and hats and mittens obligingly enough. When they got outside the first thing Brendon did was stuff a handful of snow down the back of Gerard’s coat, which made Mikey giggle, so Gerard had to tackle him in to the snow, and they both ended up totally coated. It was falling like crazy, coming down in big giant puffy flakes. Brendon turned his face up and caught some in his mouth, like people did in the movies. It was more cold than really satisfying, but at least now he’d done it.

“Think fast!” Gerard yelled, scraping together a little snowball and throwing it at Brendon. He was normally a really lousy shot, but the snow caught Brendon in the face and exploded everywhere.

“Oh, it’s on,” Brendon yelled back. The snow wasn’t really heavy enough for good snowballs, but it worked just fine when he sat on Gerard and smushed it in his face while Gerard giggled and squirmed. Mikey was watching them from a few feet away, looking disapproving – and dry – so Brendon let Gerard up and grabbed Mikey instead, rubbing snow in his hair. That meant Gerard and Mikey had to gang up on him, throwing snow absolutely everywhere.

Brendon was just starting to get painfully cold when Brian pulled up. “Snow massacre, huh?” he said.

“I think we won!” Gerard replied cheerfully. His face was totally red and his teeth were starting to chatter.

“I think we’re frozen,” Mikey muttered. “I’m going inside.”

“Go take a hot shower,” Brian ordered. Gerard made a face, but he was shivering pretty hard. Brian looked at Brendon and frowned. “Where the hell is your jacket, Urie?” he asked. “Aren’t you cold?”

Brendon was frozen solid. “I’m fine,” he said, trying not to shake. “This was awesome. Is it going to keep snowing? Are we going to get snowed in? Is there going to be a blizzard?” He couldn’t help sounding pretty excited about it.

Brian was still frowning. “Inside,” he said. “All of you. I need to talk to Brendon.”

They trooped inside, Gerard chattering happily to Mikey about the snow fort they were going to build if it kept snowing. Mikey looked dubious. Brian sent them upstairs to change and get warm. Then he grabbed Brendon by the arm and made him sit down on the couch.

Brendon felt a little bit like he was in trouble, but he had no idea why. “What’s up?” he asked. “Something happen at work?”

“Kind of.” Brian looked at him for a minute, and then sighed. “I had the weirdest conversation with Ryan Ross today,” he said.

Oh, god, was it even remotely possible Ryan had talked to Brian about… Oh, god. Brendon was going to be sick. “Yeah?” he asked weakly. “Huh.”

“We were talking about the holiday break and then he said something about... Hey. You know you’re not just a babysitter here, right?”

Brendon’s stomach flopped. “What?” he asked. He was shaking because he was cold, he told himself firmly. Not for any other reason.

“Ryan said you said something about not feeling like part of the family here, and I told him he was wrong. Because I figured you have to know, Brendon, that you’re completely… Well, I guess I should have been more explicit about it, like I was with Gerard. You’d think I’d have learned this lesson by now.”

“I’m not Gerard,” Brendon said, a little stung. He wasn’t some lonely little kid, after all. It was a completely different situation.

“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “You hide it a lot better. Listen, I don’t know how you missed this, but you got adopted, too. By us. As much as I got Mikey and Gerard, they got you. And I’m pretty sure if they heard you calling yourself ‘just a babysitter’ they’d freak out, so… You should cut that out.”

Brendon stared at him. His heart was racing and he wasn’t sure why. He shook his head, trying to figure out what Brian was even saying – Brendon had a family, and he’d lost them, and he couldn’t take Brian’s just because it was there.

“This whole Thanksgiving and Christmas thing,” Brian went on slowly, and Brendon couldn’t stop his flinch. “It’s been kind of hard on you, huh? Being out here, without your family?”

“No,” said Brendon. His voice sounded oddly shaky. He leaned forward, arms on his knees, and tried to concentrate on making it stop.

Brian sighed and rubbed his hand against his forehead. “I did notice,” he said, sounding pretty mad at himself. “I knew you were acting weird. But so was Gerard, and he’s a lot more likely to totally melt down when he’s upset, so I kind of didn’t… Brendon. God, I’m sorry. You could have come over, you could have told me. How can you have Gerard so figured out, and no idea how we feel about you?”

“I’m not… I didn’t want to…” Brendon started. His eyes were stinging, and his throat was totally closing off. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Brian, he wasn’t. He just had to get Brian to stop saying crazy, stupid things.

Brian shook his head. “I’ve learned a trick for when Gerard gets that same look on his face,” he said firmly. “I mean, usually I call you, but that’s not going to work this time, so. When Gerard goes off the rails and looks like he’s about to cry, or he forgets how much we love him, this is what seems to work.” He put an arm around Brendon’s shoulders and tugged him over, until Brendon was leaning against Brian and Brian was…

Brian was hugging him.

“I’m not fourteen,” Brendon said. Why couldn’t he stop his voice from hiccupping like that? “I’m not Gerard.”

“I know,” Brian said quietly, not letting go. “But I think this might work anyway. We love you, Brendon.”

It was crazy, because no one had hugged Brendon in a really long time – no one who counted, anyway – and he’d forgotten what it was like to have someone warm and solid and right there who apparently loved you and didn’t care that you were on the brink of tears. Oh, fuck; Brendon was totally crying. He hadn’t let himself realize how completely he’d been drowning in loneliness until someone else went and pointed it out. He tried to pull away before Brian noticed, but Brian was pretty determined with his whole hugging plan. “I’m sorry,” Brendon said uselessly.

“Why don’t you have a winter coat?” Brian asked, totally ignoring him. “I mean, I thought you were just leaving it at home, but you clearly don’t have one. Didn’t you think that we would notice? I go crazy making sure the boys are warm enough.”

“I was going to,” Brendon tried to say. “I keep forgetting.” He was clinging to Brian a little bit, but Brian wasn’t objecting.

“You’re an idiot,” Brian said fondly. “Honest to god, Brendon, you’re an idiot.”

Brendon couldn’t argue with that while he was still crying. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying, except Brian was still hugging him and Brendon felt like everything he’d been holding inside for the last two years was crashing down around him. How had he survived two years feeling like that? “I didn’t mean to,” he said, which didn’t make any sense. Brian nodded anyway. “I just haven’t talked to them, and you were all happy and I didn’t want to interrupt, and the boys needed me, which was nice, but it wasn’t—”

“Yeah,” said Brian. “I know. Hey. It’s okay.”

Brian didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly know, but it was nice to hear. Brendon wasn’t even sure what he’d been talking about. “I’m sorry,” he said again, trying to get himself under control.

“Stop that,” Brian ordered. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, Brendon. Honestly. We love you, and we should have made sure you knew that sooner.”

“I’m not Gerard,” Brendon said again. “I don’t need – ” He lost his breath and had to take another long, shuddering breath. “I don’t need you to say that.”

“I think you do,” Brian said. “And that’s really okay. You told me the first time I met you that you’d lost your family. It just took you a while to realize you’d found a new one.”

That started Brendon crying again, and he couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t. He tried to hide a little against Brian’s shoulder. Brian didn’t seem to care, but Brendon felt ridiculous. He wished he could stop. Mikey had insisted he was family, and Ryan had rolled his eyes and told him Brian talked about him all the time but he’d... He’d assumed they were both lying, or trying to cheer him up, and he was honestly never going to be able stop crying at this rate.

Loud footsteps upstairs warned him that Gerard and Mikey were heading in to the living room. Brendon sniffled and pulled away, and Brian let him a little bit. He kept an arm around Brendon, though, and Brendon didn’t really mind.

Mikey and Gerard stopped on the stairs, staring. They were both wet, but probably from melting snow, not showers. “Is Brendon okay?” Gerard demanded. He sounded both worried and angry. “Brian, did you say something to him?”

“I’m fine,” Brendon assured him, wiping the last couple of tears off his face.

“Brian,” Gerard repeated.

Brian laughed. “Everything’s okay, except Brendon doesn’t have a winter jacket,” he said. “So we’re going to the mall to take him shopping.”

“No,” Brendon said, “You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”

“Oooh, I want a giant pretzel,” Mikey said, pushing past Gerard to get to the couch. He frowned at Brendon. “I knew you didn’t have a coat. You’re supposed to have a coat.”

“I’m from the desert,” Brendon tried to explain. “We don’t have snow there.”

“But you’re here now, duh,” said Gerard, and rolled his eyes. “He needs mittens, too.”

“And probably a hat,” Brian agreed.

Brendon couldn’t decide if he was more embarrassed or relieved or totally in love with all of them. “I have a hat,” he said. He felt a little dizzy. “And I can get my own jacket,” he said.

“Obviously not,” said Brian. He and Gerard nodded to each other. Gerard turned and grabbed his and Mikey’s jackets off the floor. “Big pretzels for everyone,” Brian announced, ushering them all out to the car.

It was still snowing. Brendon could feel his cheeks freezing where they were still damp. “Shotgun,” he said. He barely sounded like he’d been crying anymore. This whole afternoon was totally absurd. Wonderful, and weird, and utterly, amazingly absurd. He had a real snowfall and a crazy-but-real replacement family who wanted him. Brendon felt like he’d been hit by a car. He felt better than he had been in years.

\ \ \ \ \ \

Brendon had promised to go in to the office over the weekend for a couple of hours and help out, but when he woke up Saturday morning he felt awful. He had a band rehearsal, too, and some writing stuff to do with Spencer. He sat up the whole room went swimmy and sideways, so Brendon laid down again. If he went to sleep for a couple more hours, he reasoned, he’d be better enough to go do all those things.

Instead, the next time he woke up he couldn’t breathe. His nose was totally clogged and his throat felt like it was on fire. He sneezed a few times, and every time stars exploded behind his eyes and his throat hurt worse. Brendon mumbled something incoherent even to himself, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

The door banged open and the lights came on. Brendon moaned and tried to pull the blanket up over his head. “Dude,” said Andrew’s too-loud voice, “are you still in bed? That’s hard core!”

“I’m sick,” Brendon said, under the blanket. “I think I’m dying.”

“Oh,” said Andrew. He sat down and started messing around with his laptop. “That sucks.”

“Can you get me a box of tissues?” Brendon asked. His voice sounded ridiculous; scratchy and phlegmy and raw.

“I’ll bring some tomorrow. I’m going to my girlfriend’s,” Andrew said. He shoved some stuff in his bag. “But when I get back, dude, for sure.”

Brendon couldn’t decide if he was happy that Andrew was leaving – blessed quiet to die in – or pissed that Andrew was as empathetic as a rock. “I’m dying,” he said again.

“Nah,” said Andrew, shrugging. “Probably not. You should go down to health services if you feel that shitty. Don’t be a drama queen. Hey, I’ll see you.” He left. Brendon tried to go back to sleep.

Later – an hour? Three hours? a year? – his phone rang. Brendon put the pillow over his head and waited for it to stop. It was not possible that anyone had ever been this sick before in the entire history of the universe. He had the plague. He had mad cow disease. He had something that was making his entire body ache like he’d gotten beaten up by the football team, combined with that wicked hangover from a couple weeks ago.

He ran out of tissues and was reduced to trying to reuse them without getting horrible killer plague snot all over his fingers. Sniffling really hard helped a little bit, until it made him cough, and then it was so much worse that Brendon couldn’t believe he hadn’t already died.

Which, of course, was when he realized he was about to throw up. Brendon rolled out of bed – the whole room was swaying, was it supposed to be doing that? – and staggered down the hallway to the bathroom, where he proceeded to throw up everything he’d ever eaten. For the record, throwing up while you couldn’t breathe was even more wretched than regular old throwing up. Brendon vowed to never do it again if he survived.

At least the dorm was mostly empty because it was Saturday, and there was no one staring at him or asking if he was okay. Brendon absolutely did not have the energy to lie. He barely had the energy to rinse out his mouth and struggle back to his room.

He got back in to bed and closed his eyes, waiting for death. Death was clearly the next step. Death was the only way he would ever feel better again. Except Death, at this point, would probably only come near him if he provided a hazmat suit. Brendon started giggling, and then stopped again, because his throat and his head and his everything.

Possibly he fell asleep again. It was definitely light outside suddenly. Brendon curled up in a ball and tried not to cough, or sniffle, or do anything else that might involve moving, because he was definitely going to die soon.

His phone was ringing again. “No,” croaked Brendon sternly to the phone, but it didn’t stop; when the ABBA song finally ended and he closed his eyes, it started right back up again. And then again ten seconds after that. Brendon moaned and flailed around with one hand on his desk until he found the phone and flipped it open. “Nnnn?” he said.

There was a pause. “Jesus,” said Brian. “Are you okay?”

“I have the flu,” said Brendon. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to pretend everything was fine – whining was no way to stay in Brian’s affections – or burst in to tears at Brian again until he came over and made everything better. Brendon was a youngest child; he wanted to be babied, damn it. Except, in Brian’s family, he was kind of an oldest child, and they were supposed to be stoic and self-reliant.

Brian was talking, and Brendon had totally missed part of it feeling sorry for himself. “—where the hell you were yesterday. Why didn’t you call? Gabe kept speculating about how long before you showed up as a ‘ripped from the headlines’ corpse on CSI.”

Yesterday? It was Sunday already? Fuck. “Sorry,” Brendon croaked. “I fell asleep.”

“You sound awful,” Brian said. “Are you okay? Do you need someone to come check on you?”

Please, god, yes, that would be wonderful. “No,” said Brendon. “I’m okay. I’m just gonna sleep.” To sleep, perchance to dream. And in that sleep of death what dreams might come? Dreams of breathing, please, god.

Brian made an unhappy noise. “Are you sure? You sound awful. And we just had that long talk about you not being an idiot, Brendon.”

“I’m fine,” Brendon said. “I’m just… I’m gonna hang up and go back to sleep now. Okay, bye.” Brian was still talking but Brendon clicked the phone shut and turned it off so it couldn’t ring again. He couldn’t concentrate enough to lie to Brian, or even carry on a normal conversation. He had a vague idea that he was allowed to be needy and pathetic around Brian now, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. Luckily, if he died soon, he’d never have to worry about it.

Brendon closed his eyes again. He couldn’t swallow, and he’d started coughing, which was making his whole body shake, which made his head hurt worse. This was some kind of fucked up, epic sickness that would probably kill everyone on campus. He needed a plan to get to the health-services building, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it to the door of the dorm. It was all snowy outside, too; he’d probably fall in a snowdrift and wouldn’t get found until spring. Somewhere in the middle of planning – he could call 911 and get a ride in an ambulance from one end of the campus to the other – he fell asleep again.

A banging noise woke him up. Brendon frowned and put a pillow over his head, but it wouldn’t stop. “Go away,” he tried to say, but his voice had mostly given out and his throat hurt like a son of a bitch, so it was more croak and less order. And for some reason the banging got louder, so it apparently wasn’t just in his head.

With supreme, amazing, superhuman effort Brendon got out of bed and over to the door. The room dipped and spun and his stomach voiced its protest by threatening to make him throw up all over everything again. “What?” he managed, pulling the door open and almost falling on his face.

He’d expected Andrew without his keys, or maybe Brian in a fit of parental over-protection. It totally wasn’t either of them.

“Hey,” said Ryan, frowning. “You look like shit.”

Brendon couldn’t argue that point. He couldn’t do much of anything, actually, except stare and hope Ryan wasn’t really at his door. Maybe this was the vision his brain had produced when it ran out of oxygen, because he was actually dying right now. Ryan was wearing his insane coat, and he had stars and birds painted on his cheek, and he was holding a giant paper bag. It made absolutely no sense, and the more times Brendon ran through it in his mind – Ryan. At the door. Ryan? At the door? – the less sense it made.

“Are you okay? Jesus,” said Ryan. “Go lie down.”

“I was lying down,” Brendon protested. “You… knocked. Why did you knock?”

Ryan took Brendon’s hand off the doorknob and pushed him back toward the bed. Brendon wanted to protest that he was just fine, thank you, except he was pretty sure he was about to fall over. He sat down on his bed and grimaced. At least, he thought bitterly, he could be humiliatingly, disgustingly sick around Ryan, and it wouldn’t make his prospects for dating him any worse. Spencer probably never got hideously sick like this. Stupid Spencer.

“Brian said you had the flu. He wanted to come by and check on you, but he got busy, so I…” Ryan looked at the floor for a second. “I volunteered. I don’t know. I get that you don’t want to talk to me, or whatever, but… Here. I brought you soup.”

Ryan took off his coat and started fishing things out of the bag – tissues and Sudafed and cough drops and soup in Tupperware. Brendon did not care that it was wrong or that he didn’t want to betray Spencer; he loved Ryan, okay, and if he had to murder Spencer and deal with that guilt then he just would.

“You… Really? Soup?” Brendon squeaked. Then he started coughing, a really bad fit this time, and ended up doubled over on the bed trying to calm his lungs down so he could breathe.

Ryan sat down next to him like it was perfectly normal and rubbed his back. This was definitely a fever-dream, and Brendon was a-ok with dying if it meant hallucinating like this. Ryan’s hand on his back felt amazing. Except, fuck, Brendon’s t-shirt was all sweaty and he probably smelled like a guy who hadn’t showered in a couple of days and had thrown up everywhere. He tried to edge away a little bit without Ryan noticing.

“You’re kind of a mess, huh?” Ryan said softly. “Brian was feeling pretty guilty at the office. He said you wouldn’t have gotten sick if you had a winter coat. Do you really not have a coat? That’s a little bit ridiculous.”

“I have one now,” Brendon said when he could breathe again. Why did Brian have to go around telling Ryan how stupid Brendon was? Honestly. It was like Brian didn’t even know that Brendon was completely in love with Ryan.

“Good,” said Ryan. “Here, take these.” He handed Brendon a bunch of pills, which he swallowed without even looking. If Ryan wanted to kill him, Brendon didn’t mind. “Why didn’t you just call and say you were really fucking sick and someone should come by?”

“Because I… I don’t know. I’m trying to be more independent.” He let Ryan convince him to lie down again and hand him some Gatorade. He really, really loved Ryan. Which, actually, brought up a good point. Brendon yawned; he had about thirty seconds before he totally passed out in front of Ryan. “Won’t your boyfriend be mad that you’re here?” he asked.

Ryan tilted his head. “Boyfriend?” he said. “I think you have a fever.” He put his hand on Brendon’s forehead – Brendon made a note to fake sick for the rest of his life to get Ryan to keep touching him – and frowned. “Yeah, definitely feverish.”

“No, I’m –” Brendon started, and ended up yawning again, and then coughing. He was so tired from coughing and sniffling that he couldn’t stop his eyes from sliding shut. Ryan was still sitting on the edge of his bed, and it seemed rude, but he couldn’t… Things were spinning again. “He’s going to be mad,” Brendon mumbled.

Ryan adjusted the blankets. Brendon heard him moving things around, but it sounded far away, like Ryan was in another room, taking care of another Brendon somewhere. “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Brendon was already asleep.