cowboys are frequently secretly fond of each other

The Lines You Amend: One More Thing

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 02:08:12 GMT

Hey! One more AMAZING piece of art to pass along!

blondiusmaximus drew an epilogue for The Lines You Amend, and it's just... I am speechless. I know a lot of you wanted to hear about what happened next, and she's drawn it. If I used another 80,000 words I couldn't tell you how much I love it. Go and enjoy, and please let her know her how fantastic it is.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 11:01:42 GMT

A while back I posted The Negotiation Limerick File, and its sort-of sequel The Grasshopper Unit here -- the very, very silly story in which Mikey Way accidentally turns Panic at the Disco in to toddlers.

_kiden has done some illustrations for it, which are gorgeous beyond my wildest dreams and utterly undeserved for such a silly story. There are more (and icons! I took a lot!) over in her journal, including one of Mikey Way that makes my heart sing.

Here's the first: In which 3/4 of Panic hide in the closet. If you enjoy it, please do let her know how amazing it is. ♥ ♥

The Lines You Amend (Frank/Gerard) 7/7 cont.

Tue, 20 May 2008 20:39:19 GMT

Title: The Lines You Amend (7/7 cont.)
Summary: Everybody knows it sucks to grow up.

previously

Gerard cried a little bit, but it wasn't his fault; he knew how scared Ryan got before he went on stage, and he saw the look on Ryan's face when he started to play. He was close enough to the front to see Brendon throw himself at Ryan, too, and Gerard maybe elbowed Bob in the back and Bob turned around looking like he was going to cry, too. Bob liked to pretend he was tough, but he was a total softie.

"You guys," said Gerard, trying to flap his hands, but there wasn't a lot of room in the crowd, so he just tugged on their arms until they moved through the crowd toward the back of the club with him. There was some space at the back, and Gerard took a minute to wave around wildly. "Ryan. Can you believe. Ryan!" he yelled.

Ray sniffled. "I guess they aren't fighting anymore," he said.

"I'm going backstage," said Gerard. "I need to hug someone."

Mikey shoved his way out of the crowd, pulling Alicia by the hand. She was a nice enough girl, even if she did wear a thousand pounds of eye makeup. She didn't do it as stylishly as Ryan did, which Gerard thought was kind of sad. "Brendon," said Mikey.

"Yeah," Gerard agreed. "C'mon."

Mikey left Alicia with Bob and Ray—they knew each other, and she could totally talk about band stuff with them—and shoved their way over to the stage door. Luckily Zack was standing there. Zack's eyes were kind of red, which made Gerard want to hug him.

"It's a fucking mess back here," said Zack. "C'mon." He let them in and waved them toward the corner where all the amps were stacked, and where Ryan was sitting on a pile of boxes, and Brendon was hanging all over him.

"You guys," said Gerard. He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said it again. "You guys!"

"Oh my god, hi!" said Brendon, detaching himself from Ryan and throwing himself at Gerard. Gerard was actually a little taller than Brendon, which was something he was never going to get used to, and he definitely weighed more, but he still almost fell on his ass under the force of Brendon's hug. And then just as he was getting used to the idea that Brendon was there, he was gone, throwing himself at Mikey.

Ryan smiled a little self-consciously and looked at his sneakers. "Did I look like a total idiot?" he asked quietly, while Brendon babbled something at Mikey about being happy and knowing what happiness tasted like.

"Not at all," Gerard assured him. "You looked like pretty much the best boyfriend ever." He paused, and then edged a little closer to Ryan, because he hadn't quite worked it out in his head yet, and he didn't want to make a big public thing out of it until he was sure. "Did that... Do you think that always works? Doing something that's... Big?"

Ryan tilted his head. "I think it depends on who you're doing it for," he said. "Brendon always cries at the end of the movie, you know, he's into..." He waved his hand. "Why, are you planning something?"

Gerard's face got a little hot. "Maybe," he said. "But I can't think of anything that's that big."

Ryan said, "Maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe it's enough if it's honest."

Brendon bounced back over and threw an arm around Gerard's neck. "Are you so excited for Thanksgiving tomorrow? I'm so excited. Do you think Jeanne's going to make mashed potatoes again? She puts that stuff in it—What's that stuff? Anyway it's delicious. I—"

Ryan grabbed his hand and pulled him over, rolling his eyes. "You're a little hyped up," he said. "Maybe some deep breaths would help."

Brendon flailed a little. "No I'm not! I'm just excited, it's Thanksgiving! Everyone's here!"

"I'm gonna take him home, I think," said Ryan. "We'll see you guys early tomorrow, okay?" He stood up, because Brendon was humming with energy, and he was going to pull them both out the door in a second. Ryan stopped long enough to look at Gerard. "Just," he said softly. "Mean what you say."

Gerard nodded. Ryan and Brendon left, with Brendon singing something at the top of his lungs and dragging Ryan along by the hand, and Ryan trying not to laugh. Gerard wasn't great at talking to Frank, and he couldn't think of anything dramatic to do, but he could probably tell the truth, if he could get Frank to sit still and listen.

"I, uh," said Mikey abruptly. "I didn't mention. I invited Pete over for Thanksgiving."

Gerard blinked. "Whoa," he said. "What? Did I miss the détente in the cold war?"

"No," said Mikey. "I'm just trying to thaw things out between us. He probably won't come, since Alicia's gonna be there and all. I just." He shrugged. "Wanted to offer."

"I think that's nice," said Gerard cautiously. "Did he say anything?"

"Not yet," said Mikey. "Patrick said he'd think about it, though."

Right, inviting Pete meant inviting Patrick. "Good luck with that," said Gerard.

Mikey shifted from foot to foot. "I don't think I'm going to sleep at all tonight," he said.

Gerard sighed. "Me, neither."

When the show was over and Brian and Greta drove everyone home, Gerard spent a long time sitting on Mikey's bed, looking at all the stuff Mikey had been doing while he was gone. There was a lot of band rehearsal stuff from school, and some pictures of him and Alicia, and a bunch of new CDs he'd been listening to that Gerard had never heard of. Mostly it was nice to sit in the same room as his brother, instead of just texting him every ten minutes.

Gerard didn't sleep at all. He spent the night staring at the ceiling and rolling over. It was awesome to be back in his house, in his bed, but it was so much quieter than the dorm, and it meant Frank was so much closer. Gerard had managed not to blurt "Soul mates!" at Ray or Bob, but it had been hard. He went over and over and over what he wanted to say, and every time Frank freaked out, or got mad again, or said he'd gotten engaged to Emily while Gerard was away at college, and by the time the sun came up in the morning, Gerard hadn't done much more than toss and turn all night.

He didn't actually drag himself downstairs until mid-morning. He and Brian had compromised a long time ago on a mid-afternoon Thanksgiving meal, which meant Jeanne had been cooking all morning already. Greta was in and out of the kitchen, looking frazzled—Greta never looked frazzled—and Jeanne shooed her out as Gerard walked in.

"Go and keep Brian company," Jeanne ordered. She looked a little bit older than last time Gerard had been home, it was scary. "You two should be enjoying the holidays together, not fussing over the food."

"But I can help!" Greta protested.

Jeanne hugged her. "Honey," she said. "You've already helped. If you could see what it used to be like around here... Now go distract my boy so he'll stop fussing." She gave Greta a little shove toward the living room.

The house wasn't really designed to have a million people in it, but they were doing okay. Jeanne ruled the kitchen with an iron fist, but apparently she was letting Spencer help out. Mikey was sitting on the stairs with Alicia, who was wearing a festive holiday hoodie with evergreens on it, and a ton of eye makeup. She and Mikey had almost-matching glasses, too, which Gerard thought was a little sickening.

So far there was no sign of Frank. Gerard couldn't decided if he was happy or not about that. It gave him a little more time to prepare, but it also made him feel even more nervous. He flopped on the couch, in between the piles of Ryan-Brendon-Jon and Greta-Brian.

"Are you gonna call them?" Ryan asked, elbowing Brendon a little.

Brendon frowned and shrugged. "I should," he said. "Right? It's Thanksgiving? I should call and say hi? Because I mean... I can." He bounced his knee up and down at approximately the speed of light.

Ryan rested his chin on Brendon's shoulder. "We can go upstairs," he said. "If you want me to be there when you call."

Brendon laughed a little shakily. "What are you going to do?" he asked. "Yell at them if they're mean to me?"

"That’s the plan," said Ryan. Jon patted him on the arm.

On the other side, Greta was complaining, "She's letting Spencer cook, but not me."

"Spencer loves cooking, and he never gets to when they're touring," Brian said. "It's not a thing. You want to know what's a thing?"

"Mmmm," said Greta.

"This morning when I got up, you know what she said to me?" Brian asked. "She said to me she couldn't believe I'd found someone the kids loved so much. She said I was lucky. She told me if I screw it up, she'll kill me."

Greta bit her lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Greta sighed and sat down on Brian's lap. "Okay," she said. "I don't know if I mentioned that the holidays stress me out."

"I worked that out."

Gerard slumped a little bit. He was used to having lots of teenagers around, but lots of adults not so much. If things didn't calm down in a second he was going to go back upstairs and hide in his room until dinner.

Mikey was texting someone. "Yo, Gee," he said.

"Yeah?" Gerard asked, leaning over Brian to look at him.

"I got a thing for uh..." He jerked his head toward Brendon. "It's down in the basement. Can you go get it before we eat?"

"Why can't you go get it?" Gerard complained.

"I'm busy," said Mikey, pointing to his girlfriend.

Gerard sighed. "Fine," he said. "What am I looking for?"

Mikey gave him a significant look. "You'll know it when you see it."

Gerard made his most put-upon face and stood up like it took all the effort in the world. Mikey looked unimpressed. Gerard dragged his feet and sighed a lot as he flipped on the lights and went downstairs.

Basements all smelled weird, in Gerard's experience. He wrinkled up his nose. There was Brian's weird old couch and a couple of boxes of Gerard's—and Brian's—comics piled around, and some stuff Gerard remembered playing with when he was younger. Nothing screamed 'give me to Brendon,' though, and Gerard frowned. Mikey was up to something.

At least it was quiet down there. Gerard thought about going back up, and decided he could claim he was 'still looking,' so he flopped on the couch instead. It smelled musty, and he sank so far down into it he wasn't sure he could get up again. Which was nice, actually, and when Brian came looking for him he'd make Brian help him stand up.

The door to the basement opened and closed. "I don't know what you meant," Gerard yelled, in case it was Mikey.

"Yeah," said Frank. "I figured that out."

Gerard froze. He needed to stand up so he could meet Frank eye-to-eye, but when he tried to get up the stupid couch kept sucking him back in, and he ended up flailing around until Frank just appeared in front of him.

Frank looked awesome. His hair had gotten long so it fell in his face, and there were rips in his jeans, but he looked... he looked Frank. Gerard felt it, physically, that Frank-shaped hole getting filled. And even if Frank was pissed, even if he was dating Emily again, even if... Even if anything, at least he was there.

"Hey," said Gerard, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"Hey," said Frank. "Mikey said to come get you?"

"He told me there was something for Brendon down here," said Gerard, trying for casual, because he didn't want to drop the 'I love you' bomb too early.

Frank frowned. "Did you find anything?"

"Not yet."

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, and shrugged. He sat down on the stairs. "I can wait, I guess." He tilted his head. “Your hair is all white. It’s cool.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” said Gerard, trying not to beam. Now was not the time for beaming, not yet. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "Um." He took a deep breath. His hands were shaking a little bit in his pockets, and his throat felt tight. "I uh... I wanted to talk to you? Anyway?" His voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Yeah?" said Frank, tipping his head. "That’s different. Because last time we talked you ran away, and you never answer your phone, ever."

Gerard grimaced. “Yeah,” he said. “That was… That was like, me warming up, I guess. Sorry about the phone thing. Um.” Gerard was going to throw up, he couldn't do it, he couldn't handle this. "You know Ryan, last night?" Gerard blurted finally. "Did you see the concert?"

"When he sang that song?" asked Frank. "He and Brendon aren't broken up anymore, right? Mikey said."

"Yeah," said Gerard, nodding too hard. He couldn't stop shaking. "It's like that."

There was a pause. "What's like that?" asked Frank.

"Um," said Gerard. His hands felt all tingly and his head was buzzing. "I am, I guess."

"What?" asked Frank.

All the conversations Gerard had planned just... Went away. His head was totally empty. Frank was looking at him, and he didn't look mad, but he would in a minute when Gerard told him what he was thinking, and then... And then... "I screwed it up," Gerard stuttered. "With you. All of it."

"You mean the fight we had?" Frank asked. He wrinkled up his nose. "I said some pretty shitty stuff, too."

"Before that," Gerard said. Why was his mouth so dry? "When you..." He couldn't say it, he had to stop and start again. "I was scared that things were going to change," he said. "I was trying to make them not change. With you."

Frank considered that for a minute. "Why would things change with us?" he asked.

"Because I... Because last year I realized that... I finally figured out that I love you," said Gerard, and then he waited to die.

Frank looked at him.

Gerard's heart was pounding so hard it was going to leap right out of his chest.

Frank wasn't frowning. He was just... Sitting there.

"I'm gonna throw up," said Gerard, and sank back down on the couch.

After a minute, Frank stood up. He crossed his arms and stood there in front of Gerard, who was shaking so badly he had to put his head down on his knees for a second. "Explain," Frank said finally.

"I... I knew if I was around you too much you'd know," said Gerard miserably. "And if you knew, things would be weird and different, and I was already graduating and I couldn't... I didn't want to lose... I would have died, okay? But then I screwed everything up anyway."

Frank looked at the floor for a long time. When he looked up, he still didn't look too mad, which Gerard decided was a good sign. "That's why you were avoiding me?" he said. And then, "Because dude, I knew I was in love with you in like, ninth grade. You're kind of slow."

"I know," Gerard said. His heart tried to leap and flutter at what Frank had said, but he crushed it ruthlessly. Frank had known in 9th grade. That didn't mean he felt that way now.

Frank sighed. He sat down on the couch, not close enough to be actually touching Gerard, but close enough that Gerard could kind of sense him there. "So before my birthday last year," said Frank slowly, "I should have said, 'Hey, Gerard. You're my best friend, and I kind of love you and I'm gonna kiss you.' That's what you're telling me?"

"You said you were kidding," Gerard moaned.

"You were freaking out!"

"Well... Yeah!" Gerard said. His heart was thumping again. He risked a look up at Frank. "Anyway, I screwed it all up and then you had Emily, and now..." This was so scary. "I don't know how you feel, now. I just know that I have to be honest about it, or..." He shrugged helplessly.

"I should have just punched you," Frank said. "When you freaked out, you freaked me out." He looked so annoyed, Gerard's heart sank again. "I shouldn't have said that. About being kidding."

"You thought it was funny, I wanted to die," said Gerard.

Frank fidgeted a little bit. "It's just... There was one time, okay, when you first moved in? When you said, if you were ever going to kiss anyone, it was going to be someone like me." He shrugged. "I thought you remembered. But I guess you didn't."

Gerard totally remembered, now that Frank mentioned it, but he never would have thought Frank remembered. "I was panicking," said Gerard. Frank still hadn't said anything about how he felt now, and it was so, so scary, admitting all this stuff. Gerard wasn't going to be able to eat anything at Thanksgiving, he felt way too sick.

Frank looked at him. "That's what you wanted to tell me?" he asked.

Gerard took a deep breath and shook his head. One more thing to blurt out, and then he could go hide forever. "I figured out that... That it didn't matter if things changed. I don't care. Even if you don't feel, um." His voice tried to give out, and he forced himself to rally. "Even if you don't feel that way anymore, I do. I always will. And I just want you back, as a friend, even, I can't... It's so awful everywhere without you, and I... I had to tell you that."

There was a long, horrible pause. Gerard tried to decide where to throw up, and then, after Frank left, where he was going to hide for the rest of Thanksgiving break.

"Gee," said Frank quietly. He leaned over, so he was touching Gerard's arm with his. "I'm... You're my best friend."

Gerard nodded.

"And... And I love you, and I'm gonna kiss you. Okay?"

Gerard couldn't... He didn't know how to... His heart felt like a jackhammer, and his hands were shaking again, and there was Frank, pressing against him, and it was like Christmas, only better, it was like everything. "Please?" said Gerard.

Frank leaned in and kissed him.

This time it was everything it hadn't been before; it was soft and it was warm and it felt like coming home. Frank tilted his head and Gerard tilted his, and even when their noses bumped and it should have been awkward it wasn't. Gerard didn't dare grab the way he wanted to, it felt like a dream, like he was going to wake up and it would all go away, so all he did was slide his hand tentatively around Frank, turning toward him a little more.

"Missed you," Frank mumbled.

"Missed you more," said Gerard.

Frank grabbed his shoulder and held on, like he thought Gerard might go somewhere. Gerard was never going to move again. He was sinking into the couch, and Frank was sinking with him; their thighs were pressed together and Frank's elbow was a little in his stomach, and it was the most transcendently awesome thing that had ever happened in Gerard's entire life.

"Mikey," said Gerard suddenly.

Frank pulled back. "Um," he said. "Could you not say your brother's name while we're making out? It's weird."

Gerard felt his face getting red. "I mean, he sent us down here," said Gerard. "He wanted this to—Shut up! You know what I meant!"

Frank laughed. It was the best laugh in the whole history of laughs. "Mikey plotted this out?" he asked. "Mikey's like an evil fucking genius."

"Not evil," said Gerard. "More like awesome." He moved his other hand tentatively onto Frank's thigh. "Can I... Is it okay if I—"

"C'mere," said Frank, grabbing Gerard's shirt with both hands and dragging them both down on to the couch. Gerard made a totally embarrassing noise and caught himself with his hands on either side of Frank's head. Their legs were all tangled together and Frank was clutching him and laughing, and Gerard was melting from the inside. "You can touch anything you want," said Frank.

Gerard bit his lip. "Anything I want?" he asked.

Frank leered. "Anything you want," he promised, and pulled until Gerard bent his elbows and leaned down to kiss him.

Maybe all the stuff with Cash hadn't been a total waste; Gerard knew to open his mouth a little bit and coax Frank's mouth open, too. Frank's tongue, it turned out, wasn't nearly as weird as Cash's, and even better—even better, Frank was working his free hand up underneath Gerard's shirt, and where he was touching it felt like Gerard was on fire. He tried to balance on one hand so he could touch Frank with is other hand, but it was too complicated to balance and kiss and everything all at once, he wasn't coordinated enough.

Frank kept giggling. "Can I—I've been thinking about this—Let me—" He wiggled a little bit, and if he kept doing that Gerard wasn't going to be very good at this. At least, not for very long. Frank slid both hands under Gerard's shirt and shoved, until Gerard got the idea and sat up a little, so Frank could pull his shirt off.

It got stuck around his head. "Ow, my arm is—Frank, stop, that tickles!" Gerard said, laughing. He would have been happy just to hold hands with Frank, he would have been happy if Frank had just wanted to be friends again. But Frank was laughing and pulling off his shirt, and then Gerard barely had time to feel stupid about having no shirt on before Frank was wiggling out of his, and when Gerard leaned back down his skin was touching Frank's skin, and it made him feel like he was being electrocuted all over.

Electrocuted in a good way.

They made out again, for a while. Gerard tried to be laid back and cool about it, but his hands were on Frank, on Frank's skin. Gerard could die happy.

It didn't mean his brain had shut off, though. He sat up suddenly, and Frank made this awesome unhappy noise that shot straight down Gerard's spine. "Your mom," said Gerard.

Frank just stared at him. "Okay, second rule for making out," he said. "You can't talk about my mom, ewww!"

"Your mom is going to freak out!" said Gerard. "She thinks I'm that weird kid down the block, what's she going to do when she finds out we're soul mates?"

Frank frowned. "My mom loves you, dude. She always has." He paused. "Wait, are we soul mates?" He had a big goofy grin when he asked, and it made Gerard so stupidly happy.

"Yeah." Gerard grinned back. "Cash helped me work that out."

"I'm going to keep making up rules," Frank said. "You also can't talk about other dudes you hooked up with, okay?"

"But what are we going to tell your mom? And Brian! And everyone!" said Gerard. He'd been so caught up in the idea of talking to Frank that he'd never considered the consequences. Like telling people about it. And they had to tell everyone; they were all invited to the wedding. Which, clearly, wasn't going to be for a while, but that wasn't the point.

"They all know," said Frank patiently. "They've all known forever."

"Oh," said Gerard, considering. "Really?"

"Really," said Frank. He started laughing again. "Oh my god, can you wait to see their faces when we go upstairs? Brendon's going to cry."

Gerard smiled uncertainly. "They're all... They're all going to be happy?"

"They're going to flip out," Frank promised. "Especially when we look like we were having sex."

Gerard's heart stuttered to a stop. "When we... Um. Are... Are we going to look like that?"

“Yeah,” said Frank, and grinned. “I mean, I hope we are.”

“Oh,” said Gerard faintly. “That’s… Awesome.” He leaned down and kissed Frank again.

There were little sparks dancing up and down Gerard’s spine every time he touched Frank’s bare skin, and he was a little worried that it was going to be over even faster than it had been with Cash, because this time it was actually Frank, and Frank kept smiling. But where with Cash he’d been nearly paralyzed with terror in case Cash figured out that he didn’t know what he was doing, with Frank he couldn’t worry too much; Frank knew Gerard wasn’t some kind of college sex god. And if Frank was having sex, it was just with Emily, so it couldn’t have been that good anyway.

Frank made a noise and rolled, and Gerard squeaked and fell on his side, stuffed between Frank and the back of the couch. And then Frank, without much finesse, honestly, wriggled his hand down the front of Gerard’s jeans. “These are too tight,” said Frank firmly.

“It’s stylish!” Gerard objected, and then gasped, because Frank’s hand was on his dick.

Gerard tried to stop his hips from snapping forward, but he was having trouble breathing and his brain had shorted out, it was just going Frank Frank Frank Frank over and over and over again. He just had time to mumble “I’m… Oh,” and then he was coming, and he could feel it in his fucking toes, his head was tingling, and he almost knocked Frank off the couch by accident.

Frank, luckily, wasn’t very easily discouraged, and he was already looking breathless and wide-eyed. Their legs were all tangled together, and he was rubbing against Gerard’s leg, which didn’t seem fair, so as soon as Gerard could make his arms move again – it took a second, he was made of rubber or something all of a sudden – he wiggled underneath Frank and shoved his hand down Frank’s jeans. There was something to be said for loose jeans after all, apparently, because Gerard had no particular trouble getting his hand there, except for a brief moment of holy shit I’m touching Frank. He’d barely started to worry that maybe he wasn’t doing it quite right – what if Frank didn’t like the same things Gerard did? What if touching someone else wasn’t like touching himself? – before Frank made an incredibly loud noise and flailed all over and collapsed on Gerard.

He was a lot heavier than he looked, and Gerard didn’t mind at all.

“Huh,” said Gerard after a minute.

Frank groaned and propped himself up on his hands. “You’re not gonna start talking about, like, Emily or anything, right? I’m gonna give you a list of shit to talk about during sex. It’s gonna start with how hot I am, and it’s gonna end with porn you watched and you want to try.”

Gerard giggled, which felt weird, being partly naked and underneath Frank and all. He pulled his hand out of Frank’s jeans and wiped it on the couch, since the couch couldn’t get much grosser. “I was gonna say that was a lot better that time, actually,” Gerard clarified. “Is that on the okay list?”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Frank agreed. He went limp again, smushing his face on Gerard’s neck. Gerard’s neck was getting a little wet where Frank was breathing.

“So,” said Gerard. “You’re my boyfriend now, right?”

“I’m your boyfriend forever,” Frank clarified, and bit him on the shoulder. “Deal?”

“Deal,” Gerard agreed, grinning. “Okay, awesome. Fantastic.”

It was. It was better than fantastic. It was perfect.

\\\

A kid in a hat knocked on the front door, and it took Brian almost a whole minute to place him as Mikey's-friend-Pete's-friend Patrick. "Um," said Patrick a couple of times, and then got a determined look on his face and said, "Is Mikey here?"

"Yeah," said Brian cautiously. The house was incredibly loud, and he wasn't sure exactly where Mikey was. More than that, he wasn't sure Mikey wanted to see Patrick. "Let me check and see if he's around."

"Sure," said Patrick, and put his hands in his pockets. Then he leaned sideways and frowned at Brian's car. Or—no—Brian realized. He was frowning at someone hiding behind the car.

Brian went inside and found Mikey, sitting on the stairs with Alicia. He looked incredibly smug about something. "Patrick asked if you were around," said Brian. "Should I tell him to go away?"

"No," said Alicia immediately. She shoved Mikey with her elbow. "You're going to talk to them."

"I tried to talk to them," Mikey complained, but he stood up anyway. He and Alicia walked over to the door.

He stared at Patrick for a long minute, and Patrick stared back, and then finally Patrick sighed, "He's sorry, okay?"

"Well, me too," said Mikey.

"Well then," said Patrick.

"Oh my god, go talk to him," said Alicia, and shoved Mikey out the door.

Brian wasn't much good at reading lips, which was unfortunate. Pete came bouncing out from behind the car and started gesticulating wildly at Mikey, who crossed his arms. There was some talking, and a lot of Patrick rolling his eyes and Alicia rolling her eyes. Eventually Mikey threw his hands up in the air and Pete threw his up, and they stood there looking at each other. Patrick gave Pete a little shove and Mikey held out his arm grudgingly, and they shook hands.

Then Pete launched himself at Mikey and hugged the shit out of him.

"Awww," said Greta. "That's cute! Are they friends again?"

"I guess so," said Brian. "I don't know. Have you seen Gerard?"

"Not since Frank got here." Greta waggled her eyebrows hilariously. "I have my fingers crossed, I can't believe Mikey invited him. What if they—"

"Don't jinx it," said Brian quickly. "Is dinner ready?"

"Just about," said Greta. She paused and smiled a little. "Your mom told me she was happy I was here."

"I don't know why you won't believe me—"

Greta waved her hands around a little bit. "I just want her to think I'm awesome. Just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Nothing, never mind," Greta sighed. She leaned in and kissed him. "Go get Mikey; we're eating soon."

She went off to round everyone else up, and Brian opened the door and shouted for Mikey. Mikey and Pete were still hugging in the middle of the lawn, and when Patrick finally pulled Pete away, it looked a lot like Pete was crying. He turned and hugged Alicia, and Alicia hugged him back, and then Alicia and Mikey came back in.

"So you guys are good?" asked Brian cautiously.

Mikey shrugged. "He's so dumb sometimes. He doesn't love Alicia anyway; he loves Patrick."

"Uh," said Brian. "Do you know where your brother is?"

Mikey's grin was quick and wicked. "He's in the basement with Frank. I was gonna lock the door, but I guess I didn't need to."

"He's—They're—What?" asked Brian.

Mikey looked so fucking smug it was almost unbelievable. "They've been in the basement for like an hour. I wouldn't go down there if I were you. I'm pretty sure they're not yelling at each other."

Brian just stared at him. "Seriously?" he asked, and he couldn't believe how much better it made him feel, even just the idea that the two of them might be friends again. "Mikey. You set that up?"

"I was tired of waiting," said Mikey. "Is it time to eat?"

"Yeah," said Brian. "Go help Ma set up the big table."

If Mikey had actually facilitated that somehow... Well. Brian was going to hug him, even though Mikey usually hated that. It was a huggy kind of day.

Mikey and Ray and Bob were setting up the table, and Ryan and Brendon were helping Spencer carry food out, and Jon was helping rearrange the furniture. Brian went over to the basement door. He didn't hear anything overtly strange happening, but he wasn't going to open the door and check, either. He banged the side of his fist on the door a couple of times and said, "Guys? Dinner!" and then figured if they didn't come back up, that was just about as good as if they did.

A couple of minutes later, though, the basement door opened, and Gerard and Frank came out. They were holding hands. Brian almost fell over. "Guys," he said, and then he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he said it again. "Guys."

Gerard had a dopey, almost-shy smile on his face, and his t-shirt was on backwards. Frank was beaming like he'd just figured out how to blow shit up using only his brain, and he kept glancing over at Gerard with a just-won-a-prize grin. "Hey," said Frank.

"Oh my god," said Brendon, walking into Brian's back. "Seriously? Oh my god. Oh my god!"

"I know," said Gerard.

There was an explosion of hugging—everyone in the house was suddenly right there in the room, yelling and cheering and Brian was pretty sure Brendon at least was getting teary-eyed. Gerard hugged Brian and then everyone, looking a little bashful about the whole thing, and ended up clinging a little bit to Mikey. Frank high-fived Ray and Bob and let Brendon hug him until Ryan dragged him off, and then went and got Gerard and put his arms a little possessively around Gerard's neck.

Greta was totally pretending she wasn't about to cry, but she and Brendon were holding hands and saying things in teary voices like, "I knew it," and "Have you ever seen anything like it, I could die."

Brian edged over to Gerard. "So you guys are... You worked it all out?" he asked hopefully.

"Yeah," said Gerard, beaming. "We did. We are. It was really scary, but it turned out okay."

"You're gonna be cool about this, right?" asked Frank, frowning suddenly.

Brian decided the better part of valor was to not burst out with "Since the day you two fucking met I have been waiting for this." He shrugged instead. "No shit," he said. "Am I supposed to be surprised?"

"No," said Frank, and hugged him. Frank was a tiny, energetic hugger, and Brian appreciated that. "But if you cry I'm gonna make fun of you forever."

"I'm not crying!" Brian protested. "I'm happy you guys got your shit together, even if it did take forever."

"Shut up," said Gerard happily.

"Dinner!" yelled Jeanne. She looked a little choked up, but not too choked up to start pushing everyone toward the table. She leaned over to Brian and said, "Go get the nice candles."

"We don't have nice candles," he objected.

"I put them in your room so none of the boys would use them," she said. "I want to take pictures, and I want it to look like we are a family that has nice things."

"I don't know why you want to create false memories," Brian complained.

Greta jumped up. "I know where they are," she said. "Be right back."

"Brian," said his mom sternly.

He sighed and pushed his chair back in. "Fine," he said. "I'll go help."

Greta was already upstairs and in the bedroom, opening the drawers of a dresser he barely ever used. Some of her clothes were starting to accumulate in it, though, which was sort of nice. She had her own toothbrush in the bathroom, too.

"I saw her put them in one of these," said Greta, pulling open another drawer. "I thought it was this one?"

Brian was willing to bet his mom had put them in a bag and shoved it under the bed, because she hated clutter. "I've got it," he said, kneeling to grab it.

Greta gasped.

"What?" Brian asked, looking up. He dragged out a bag with all kinds of knickknacks in it that he knew he hadn't bought.

Greta was looking down at him with a totally stunned expression, that melted into embarrassment. "Oh," she said. "Nothing. I... Sorry, nothing." She laughed, and it sounded totally self-conscious. Shit, she was blushing.

"What?" Brian asked again. "Greta?" He pulled out the fancy candles and threw them on the bed, and then he stood up, brushing off his jeans.

"Oh, really, nothing," said Greta, giggling at herself a little bit. She put her hand in front of her mouth. "I just... Um. Ignore me, okay? I got kind of... Swept up."

"Swept up in what?" Brian asked. He grabbed her hand and squeezed a little.

She rolled her eyes and laughed embarrassedly again. "Just," she said. "You know, with Ryan last night and then Gerard and Frank downstairs, and this big family thing, I thought... I guess I... Just for a second, obviously, when you knelt..." She bit her lip. "I probably should have mentioned being a ridiculous romantic, huh? Whoops."

It took him a second, and then he got it, and he could feel the stupid grin pushing at his face. "I hadn't really considered it," he said. "I was trying to respect the fact that you're really young, and maybe you didn't want to get roped in to my insane family."

Greta was blushing again. "No no, it's fine, I just—" she started.

"But if that's a thing we're doing," Brian said, and had to stop, because he was smiling too hard to talk. Greta giggled again like she didn't know what else to do. "You should have told me. I would have gotten a ring, done it right."

"You don't have to," she said, flapping her free hand, but she was beaming at him, and he felt warm all over, tingly, like he'd just run a marathon. "I'm not trying to rush you."

"I was trying not to rush you," Brian said. He took a deep breath and grinned at her. "Hey, Greta?"

Her eyes were huge. "Oh my god," she whispered.

He was going to burst, he was so fucking happy. The whole day was so ridiculous, he didn't know what to do. "How about we get married?"

"Oh my god, Brian," she said, and flung her arms around his neck. She started crying again, too, but he didn't notice until she leaned up to kiss him, and she was laughing, so it was probably crying in a good way. "Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes, I love your crazy family, and I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, and then, "Oh, thank god."

They were kissing again—she was crying, and he was still smiling, and it wasn't the greatest kiss ever but it was certainly the most fervent—which was why the, "Holy shit!" in the hallway came as such a surprise.

Brian jerked back, but he didn't let go of Greta, because he was feeling a tiny bit weak-kneed, and a lot like his bones were made out of jello.

Gerard was standing in the hallway, staring at them with giant eyes and a wide-open mouth. "Holy shit!" he squeaked again.

"Uhhhh," said Brian. It suddenly occurred to him that he had to tell the kids about this, and who knew what the fuck they were going to say.

"Did you two just get engaged?" Gerard demanded.

Greta made a tiny, worried noise, and Brian hugged her. "Yeah," he said. Fuck it; they'd figure out how to explain it to the kids right now, apparently.

"Awesome," said Gerard. Then he turned around and shouted, "Holy shit, you guys! Brian and Greta just got engaged!“ and went running downstairs.

There was a roar from all the people in the living room. Greta laughed a little shakily and hid her face against Brian's chest. "Okay," she said. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it might be."

"Me, too," he said. "That was fine, actually."

"He sounded happy about it," she said. "And Mikey's been trying to match-make for ever, so... I think it's okay."

"It's great," said Brian. "It's amazing. It's wonderful. Just like you."

"Just like you," Greta said. "We should go downstairs before your whole family comes up to gawk."

"Our family is just going to gawk downstairs," Brian pointed out.

Greta smiled at him. It felt like the sun rising. "Our family," she repeated, and giggled. "Okay, well, let them," she said. "There's enough happiness in the house to keep everyone distracted, I think. Should be an interesting Thanksgiving."

Brian kissed her again. "Should be an interesting future," he said, and they went downstairs.

THE END.

The Lines You Amend (Frank/Gerard) 7/7

Tue, 20 May 2008 20:38:29 GMT

Title: The Lines You Amend (7/7)
Summary: Everybody knows it sucks to grow up.

previously

Fall

There was a stream of water trickling down the street and into the drain in front of Brian's house, and Gerard spent an hour amusing himself by dropping sticks and leaves into it and watching them swirl away into the mysterious darkness of under the street. There were monsters down there, of course, and maybe some killer clowns, and Gerard was totally going to draw a comic about how he and Mikey got shrunk and sailed a leaf boat down into the sewer and defeated radioactive alligators.

Greta came out and put her hands on her hips, standing on the sidewalk. "Are you coming in to help?" she demanded.

Gerard shook his head. He was comfortable on the sidewalk, and he had a good stick for poking into the water.

"Fine," said Greta, throwing her hands up. "But when you get to college tomorrow and the only thing you have packed are pink t-shirts and a pair of board shorts, don't call home and complain."

Gerard hid a laugh. "You wouldn't do that," he said confidently.

Greta sighed. "Fine," she agreed, "I wouldn't. You still ought to be packing your own shit."

"I will," Gerard said vaguely. "Later. Or something."

Greta sat on her heels on the sidewalk next to him. "Everybody freaks out," she said quietly. "I mean, last week? Bob totally cried, dude."

Gerard almost giggled again. "He did," he agreed. "So did Ray."

"And they'll both be in the city, and you'll see them all the time, and you can always come home to visit, it's a really fast bus ride and... Just, don't psych yourself out about this, okay? Brian's freaking out enough for both of you."

Gerard looked back at her, squinting into the sun. "I'm pretty sure it's your job to keep him from freaking out," he said.

"There's only so much I can do," Greta sighed. "He's pretty determined to lose his shit. If he doesn't cry tomorrow I'll... I'll eat my hat."

Gerard did laugh that time, he couldn't help it. "You really think so?" he asked, feeling oddly flattered. "He's not... I've been pretty miserable this summer. You think he'll actually... Um. Miss me?"

Greta rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous," she said. "Both of you are. I'm not even going to dignify that with a response. Now, c'mon in and pack, or I really will forget something you want to have with you."

"I'll be there in a little while, okay?" Gerard said. There was this weird stillness in the air, and no one was driving down the street, and he just wanted to sit there for a little while longer, so he'd have something to remember when he thought about home and my street.

"Fine." Greta stood up and brushed off her knees, even though they weren't dirty. "Be careful when you come in; Alicia and Mikey are getting kind of handsy on the couch."

"Ewww," said Gerard.

"Yeah," Greta agreed, and headed back in.

Gerard picked up another leaf and tore it into little pieces, dropping them into the water and watching them swirl away. Tomorrow he was going to go off to the city and everything was going to be different and terrifying and he just didn't want to go in and put his clothes in a suitcase, because if he didn't do that it couldn't ever come true.

Someone kicked pebbles into his stream, and Gerard looked up.

Frank was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, baseball cap on sideways, staring at his sneakers.

Gerard's heart lurched.

"Um," said Frank. "Hey."

"Hey," said Gerard.

Frank scuffed his sneaker on the street. Gerard wondered if he'd come to yell some more.

Frank looked up and right back down. "So I guess you're leaving," said Frank finally.

Gerard wanted to cry. "Yeah," he said. "Tomorrow."

"Yeah, Ray said."

Gerard felt silly staring at Frank, when Frank was staring at the road, so he leaned down and started picking apart the cuff on his jeans where they were coming apart. He was bubbling over with things he wished he could tell Frank, but none of them were coming together in sentences in his head, so he decided silence was the better option.

Frank sighed heavily. "It really sucks that you're going away and we're like. Weird."

Gerard nodded. It sucked harder than anything had ever sucked before, pretty much.

"I don't even remember why we're fighting," Frank said.

Gerard did. He remembered every stupid incident, every second of them not getting along like he'd watched it in a movie, over and over. It was burned on the inside of his brain. "Me neither," he lied, because "You kissed me and it ruined my life," sounded bad.

Frank flopped onto the sidewalk next to Gerard, close enough that Gerard could almost feel their arms brushing, but not quite close enough to touch. Frank had his sneakers in the water, and it made the stream change directions and pool out in the street instead. "I guess, since you're leaving, it probably doesn't matter much anyway," Frank said.

"It definitely doesn't matter anymore," Gerard agreed.

There was a long, painful silence. Gerard watched the water trickling around Frank's sneakers and wished he could take back everything that had happened. Or not. Maybe just do it differently this time. This time he'd tell Frank that they weren't kidding around. This time he'd explain to Frank that he was heartbroken. This time he'd—

"I dumped Emily," said Frank.

Gerard blinked. "Oh," he said. And then, tentatively, "I'm sorry?"

"Dude, you hated her."

Well, he had, but if Frank had dumped her Gerard's animosity was basically gone. "She was okay," he said. "I mean. For a girl."

Frank laughed. "She was okay," he agreed. "I got bored, though."

Frank and Gerard had been friends for four years and they'd never gotten bored of each other. Gerard was definitely proud of that. "That sucks, I guess," he said.

Frank shrugged. "It's just gonna be weird this year, with you guys all gone, and Mikey having a girlfriend and everything."

Gerard had been so busy considering how lonely he was going to be that he hadn't stopped to think that Frank might be lonely, too. "Well," he said. "You could call or something. Or... Visit?" Probably not, since this was the first time they'd talked in months, but Gerard was trying to be a good person, and it wasn't like he could have ever said no to Frank.

"You'll be busy doing..." Frank waved his hand around. "College stuff."

Gerard swallowed down overwhelming terror. "Maybe," he said.

"You're gonna meet people and stuff," Frank went on. He tapped his hands against his knee for a second.

"Maybe," said Gerard again. "I mean. At orientation I basically only met one person."

Frank smiled a little. "You suck at meeting people," he agreed.

"We like, hung out," Gerard said. "And I guess maybe I'll see him around this semester? But we're not like, friends or anything." Just people who exchanged spit, apparently, and Gerard was still a little bewildered by that.

"You should make friends," Frank said. Gerard couldn't tell if he was imagining that Frank sounded a little morose.

Gerard shrugged. Frank was right there, and it was the first time in forever, and Gerard could have sat there with him until they both died. "Cash and I kinda hooked up," he said slowly. It was possible that Frank would jump up and run away, but Gerard felt like that wasn't too likely. Frank would probably just think it was funny.

"Cash?" snorted Frank. "You hooked up with someone named Cash?"

Gerard giggled and then caught himself. "I know, right?" he said.

"Dude. I mean, cool I guess, but pick someone with a better name next time," said Frank.

Gerard had always been really fond of the name Frank. "It's not like I get a lot of opportunities," he pointed out. "I probably ought to take them where I find them."

"Lame," said Frank.

"Nah, it was okay," said Gerard. He squinted behind the house, where the sun was setting. In a couple of minutes he needed to go in and help Greta pack, and then it would be dinner, and then it would be bed time, and then he'd be leaving. Forever. It gave him a weird burst of courage, even as his heart started trying to thump out of his chest again. "It was... It was fine," he said, trying not to let his voice crack. He stood up, and Frank stood up too, and they stood there looking at each other, like Frank was waiting for him to finish, and Gerard was trying to find a way to get there.

"Yeah?" said Frank.

"Only... Only it wasn't quite right," said Gerard, taking a deep breath, and balling his hands into fists. "It wasn't the way I thought it was going to happen."

"Huh," said Frank, tilting his head.

"Because it wasn't... It wasn't you," Gerard blurted. And then quickly, before he could see what kind of look Frank got on his face—horrified? Surprised? Mad?—Gerard mumbled, "See you at Thanksgiving break," and turned and ran into the house.

\\\

Suarez always wore a button-up shirt and tie to work, which Brian thought was pretty cool and indicative of his professionalism, until the day he walked in early and saw Gabe grabbing Alex by the tie and dragging him into his office. Brian barely stopped himself from yelling, "Bleach, bleach, my eyes!" A couple of days later Travis came by to give them both "a ride home," and Brian officially stopped paying attention to what was happening around the office. The less he knew the better.

Greta, on the other hand, had an extensive collection of strapless dresses. Now that he wasn't worrying about office professionalism so much—Gabe sure as hell wasn't—Brian was free to admire her wardrobe and consider all kinds of illicit office affairs. Mostly they were too busy to make that happen, which sucked.

Brian was getting coffee when he heard Greta yell, "No, fuck you!" and the phone slam. He stopped and frowned, because in the year since he'd hired her he'd only heard her yell maybe twice.

"What's up?" he called, looking around the corner to her office.

There was a noise like someone kicking a desk, and she stormed into the hall. "Brian," she said. "Did you or did you not mail out the checks for the Highland equipment? Because this asshole says he never got them, and—"

Brian winced. "I think I forgot," he said. "They went out the week Gerard left, and I... I may have blanked."

She stared at him. "Oh, great," she said. "Then I have to call back and apologize to that jackass?"

"I'll do it," Brian offered. "It was my mistake."

"Sometimes you really suck at your job," Greta snapped. "Do you need me to make you a fucking calendar of what's due when? You know what, I'm going to anyway, because this is like, the third time, and it makes us look unprofessional."

She was clearly so, so pissed, and Brian didn't know what to say. He nodded. "That'd be great," he said. "And seriously, I'll call them and explain what happened. I'll handle it."

"You'd better," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "This is such bullshit."

Gabe's office door opened. "Do you know what I love about you guys?" he bellowed.

Greta looked at Brian. Brian shrugged. "What?" he asked.

"That you two can be stupid in love and still really fucking throw down with each other when you're pissed," Gabe said, and cackled.

"Of course we can," Greta said. "They're totally different things."

Brian tried not to beam like an idiot at her, but it was hard. "You're my favorite," he said.

"Hey!" Gabe yelled. "I'm supposed to be your favorite, you've known me way longer!"

"You don't look as hot as I do in a dress," Greta said, and smiled back at Brian.

"You've never seen me in a dress," Gabe shouted.

Alex stuck his head into the hallway. "Please don't goad him," he said.

Greta burst into giggles. "I love working here because everyone is insane," she said. She put her serious face back on and punched Brian in the shoulder. "Now go fix your fuck up, boss."

It wasn't until later, when Brian was sitting in his office writing an email to Spencer—I hear things are going pretty well out there, any word on Ryan and Brendon?—that he really stopped to consider the situation. Gabe was right. He could work with Greta, and he could date Greta, and they could be two totally different things. And both of them worked. It was a lot like realizing suddenly that he was on top of the world.

"What are you smiling about?" Greta asked, walking in with an arm full of papers.

"I was just thinking that I'm really lucky," said Brian.

"Huh," said Greta. She put the papers down on a free chair. "I was thinking the same thing."

Brian tilted his head at her. "How important," he asked, "Do you really think office professionalism is?"

"Hmmm," said Greta. "Overrated, most of the time, as far as I can see."

He got up and leaned back against the desk, grabbing her hand with his and pulling her over. She was warm and soft and she smelled like flowers, and office decorum be damned, he kissed her. Greta made a little noise in the back of her throat and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I don't think Gabe's right, anyway," Greta whispered, pulling away a little.

"No?" Brian asked. He couldn't even remember what Gabe had said, his brain had shut down in a fuzzy cloud of Greta.

"We're not stupid in love," she said. "We're smart in love. Look at us, making this work."

"It helps," said Brian, "That you're perfect."

"It helps," Greta corrected him, "That you think I'm perfect."

Brian laughed and turned them around, so Greta was leaning against the desk. And then—fuck it, he was the boss, right?—he lifted her up so she was sitting on the desk and he could kiss her more easily.

It didn't hurt that she wrapped her legs around his and hooked her ankles together. It was pretty spectacular, actually, the way her dress rode up a little bit and she was pressed against him. "So hot," he mumbled, and kissed her again.

"Ahem," said Alex's voice behind him. "Do you two mind if I just close this door?"

Greta burst into laughter, and buried her face in Brian's neck.

"How about," said Brian, not turning around, "You shut the door and then you and Gabe take the afternoon off?"

"Yeah, how about that?" Alex asked, and the door shut.

Greta giggled, "You know they're just going to make out somewhere, too, right?"

Brian shrugged, which was hard, with Greta wrapped around him like that. "So?" he said. He leaned down and kissed her neck. "Now seriously. Where were we?"

\\\

By the time Spencer got up, Ryan and Brendon were both sitting on the couch on the bus. Spencer stopped dead in the doorway.

They were sitting next to each other.

Brendon's hand was on top of Ryan's.

Ryan was leaning against Brendon's shoulder.

Spencer was still half-asleep, but he was pretty sure he wasn't seeing things. He stood there, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out if what he was seeing was actually possible.

"Are you gonna keep staring?" Brendon asked politely. "Jon's making coffee." He nodded toward the tiny kitchen on the other side of the bunks.

"I... Sorry." Spencer said. He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess you—" You startled me with the touching, was probably a weird thing to say. "I guess I need coffee," he corrected himself.

Brendon made a non-committal noise and snuggled a little bit into Ryan's side, which Spencer knew from experience was not actually very comfortable. Brendon looked like he was enjoying it, though. Spencer shrugged and walked past them into the almost-kitchen, where Jon was standing barefoot and poking at the coffee maker.

"Why are we all up?" Spencer asked. "It's barely noon."

"Press," said Jon. He smiled to himself. "See what happens when I stop letting you run the schedule for everything?"

"Yeah, I don't know what's going on," Spencer scowled.

Jon bumped him with his hip. "And you get to sleep in," he said. He leaned over like he was going to kiss Spencer, but Spencer turned his face away.

"Morning breath, dude, you smell like a dead shoe."

Jon's eyebrow shot up. "Dead shoe?" he asked.

Spencer rolled his eyes and held out grabby hands. "Coffee first," he said. "Words later."

Jon laughed and handed him a mug. "Here," he said. "Go wake up."

"Nnnn," said Spencer, and went back out to the couch.

He sat deliberately at the other end from Ryan and Brendon, just in case they were going to stop touching on his account. Brendon was saying something to Ryan, and Ryan was shaking his head, and it looked like they were mildly unhappy with each other, but hey, they were talking and Brendon still had his hand on Ryan's.

"What do you think, Spence?" said Ryan abruptly, turning to him.

Spencer clutched his coffee tighter. "About what?" he asked cautiously.

"Interviews," said Ryan, and made that flailing hand gesture that meant he expected Spencer to fill in the rest of the conversation he'd missed by reading Ryan's mind.

"Uhhhhh," said Spencer. He killed time by burning his tongue on the coffee. "Ow. Fuck."

"We don't have to decide right now," Brendon sighed. He put his feet on the couch and his chin on his knees. "Maybe no one's even going to ask the 'is anyone in the band single' question?"

Shit, shit, shit. Spencer wasn't awake enough to answer that for real. "I'm trying not to give you guys advice," he blurted instead.

Ryan and Brendon exchanged a look. "What does that mean?" Ryan asked.

Spencer wished Jon would come out of the kitchen. Things made more sense when Jon explained them. "Jon and I talked about it," he said. "I'm gonna just stay out of stuff."

Brendon sighed patiently. "Spencer," he said, "You love yelling about stuff. You live for giving advice."

"Well not anymore. You two have to talk about all that shit yourselves," said Spencer, staring at his coffee. "I'm done doing your dirty work."

"When have you ever done my dirty work?" Ryan asked.

Spencer glared at him.

"Fine," said Ryan. "Sometimes. But this is just a question."

"Well then you two ought to talk about it yourselves," said Spencer, and stared at his coffee.

He could hear them thinking at each other about him, but he pretended not to. He had opinions, okay, and he wasn't supposed to share them, so he had to concentrate on something else. He wished again that Jon would come out. What the hell was Jon still doing in the kitchen?

"I just think," said Ryan uncomfortably after a minute. "If we... If we talk about it. We're going to end up a niche band, and you... You want to be really famous. And you deserve that."

Brendon made a funny little noise and turned to look at Ryan. "What?" he said.

"I don't want to get in the way of all the things you want," said Ryan, and his voice was getting quieter all the time.

There was a second where Brendon was completely, perfectly still. Brendon was never totally still. And then he turned and threw himself on Ryan, straddling Ryan's lap, arms up around Ryan's neck. "You're ridiculous," he said. "Ryan. I would busk on the corner for spare change if I got to come home to you, you know that, don't you? You have to know that."

There was a long pause. Hesitantly, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to anymore, Ryan tipped his face up, and Brendon tipped his down. Brendon just barely brushed Ryan's mouth with his, and Ryan's hands came up around Brendon's waist. Spencer looked away and grimaced; that was really none of his business, even if he was dying a little bit for the two of them to make up.

"I mean," said Ryan softly, "What about when it's not just girls screaming for you? When it's boys, too? What am I supposed to do about that?"

"It will be a truly awesome day indeed when the whole world acknowledges that I'm a sex god," Brendon agreed. Ryan smiled. "But you're the only person I want screaming for me."

Less tentatively this time, Ryan leaned up to kiss him again, and Brendon made a little happy noise. Spencer decided to move, because that noise sort of sounded like there was about to be a lot of sex on the couch. And ewww, Spencer had to sit there when they were traveling. He was going to get a plastic cover and make Ryan and Brendon sit on it, like at his grandma's house.

"Wait, wait," said Ryan, turning his face away.

"I'm tired of waiting," Brendon complained, sitting back.

"Your family," said Ryan, and just let those words hang there. Spencer sat back down, because there was a good chance Brendon was about to burst into tears.

Brendon bit his lip. His face was always an open book; Spencer could see him thinking, and considering, and abandoning a dozen different answers. "I guess," said Brendon slowly, "That... I mean. Eventually they're going to have to deal with me, right? One way or the other? And... I'd rather have you around for that."

Ryan flinched. "I fucked that up so badly, Brendon, I'm sorry," Ryan started.

"It's fine," said Brendon. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"It's not," Ryan insisted. "I'm going to find a way to make it up to you, I swear I will—"

"It's fine," Brendon repeated, and shut him up with what looked like a very thorough kiss.

If it wasn't actually fine then Brendon seemed pretty determined to pretend it was. Spencer gulped his coffee and stood up. Ryan and Brendon didn't notice. They were pretty caught up in what they were doing, and Jesus, Spencer didn't need to see where Ryan's hands were going, and he certainly didn't want to hear the noises Brendon was making. The one—the only—nice thing about the two of them fighting had been the lack of sex on the bus for Spencer to walk in on. The only bus sex he wanted to think about was his own.

He went back through the bunks to the kitchen, where Jon was smirking with his coffee. "Are you hiding out?" Spencer asked. "You left me all alone in there with the two of them and their just-got-back-together libidos."

"So they're all fixed?" Jon asked.

Spencer shook his head. "They're talking, at least," he said. "They haven't actually decided anything yet. Brendon doesn't seem to care, as long as he gets Ryan."

"Brendon thinks he doesn't care," said Jon. "He wants to stop fighting, I get that, but they need to work something out. Plus, Ryan still owes him a big fucking apology."

"You," Spencer said accusingly, "are totally a secret romantic. God, Jon, I thought I knew you."

Jon laughed. "So, they're busy out there?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Spencer. "Brendon was trying to climb inside Ryan's mouth when I left, and Ryan had Brendon's jeans undone, and it was totally gross." Jon took the mug out of his hands and put it in the sink. "It's like they had no idea I was even in the room anymore. We are not a big enough band to have a bus for each couple, and I love Ryan, okay, but seeing him making out with anyone is gross, especially Brendon, who is also—Um." Jon kept stepping forward, and every time he did Spencer stepped back, until Spencer stepped backward right into the wall. "Jon?"

"Yeah?" Jon asked. He leaned forward a little bit, just enough to roll his hips against Spencer's, and fuck, pajama bottoms weren't really enough to hide Spencer's response to that. Jon put his hand against the wall over Spencer's shoulder. "I was thinking," he said.

"You were?" Spencer asked. If he was breathless it was totally coincidental, and had nothing to do with being crowded against the wall by his totally hot boyfriend.

"We have a good hour before the interview," said Jon. He bent his arm so he could nuzzle Spencer's neck a little. Spencer shivered. "And they're distracted."

"Good thinking," Spencer agreed, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Jon abruptly leaned back. "Except, of course, morning breath," he said. He had a nasty, evil little grin. "So I guess I'll just go brush my teeth and then we can talk about the setlist for tonight."

"You asshole," Spencer said, grabbing his arm. Jon burst out laughing. Spencer yanked and Jon fell back against Spencer again, nose to nose.

"You had another suggestion?" Jon asked.

"Shut the fuck up," Spencer said, wrapped his arms around Jon's neck, and dragged him into a kiss.

\\\

Gerard had expected college to be weird and different. He'd expected to be lonely and freaked out and unhappy and spend all of his time locked in his room on the phone with Mikey, complaining about coming home.

Mostly, as it turned out, he spent his time lying on Cash's dorm-room floor, watching episodes of Battlestar Galactica and Project Runway.

It was almost four in the morning, and two of the Alexes were asleep. The other Alex was sitting on the bed with Cash—it was the Alex with the hair, not the Alex with the scarf, or the other Alex—and they were talking about... Well, something; Gerard had stopped listening. He was busy drawing in his sketchbook on the floor.

"Boston crème," said Alex firmly.

"Bearclaw, I am telling you, when you're hung over that cream shit makes you hurl."

"It makes you hurl, powderpuff. I want more deep fried shit when I'm feeling gross."

Cash snorted. "Gerard, what do you think?"

"Uhhhh," said Gerard, looking up. "About donuts? I like chocolate ones, I guess."

"Right, but what kind do you get when you make a midnight Dunkin' run because you're hungover?" Alex asked.

Cash elbowed him. "Dude doesn't drink, remember?"

"Ohhh," said Alex. "Are you straightedge? That's hardcore."

Gerard shifted uncomfortably. "I'm just... When I was little my parents were in a car accident because of... Anyway, I just don't. It's not like, a thing." The more he was around drunk people at college the more he wanted to start lecturing them about how fucking stupid it was—Gerard, as it turned out, was really worried that he was going to come back to the dorm one day and Alex or Cash would have drunk themselves to death. It was all Gerard could do not to yell, "I'm trying to save your life, here!“

"Oh," said Alex. "Well. Then what's your favorite donut?"

Gerard shrugged. "Chocolate," he said. "With sprinkles." And then, fuck, he got an overwhelming wave of homesickness, because one time he and Ray and Bob and Frank had had a donut-eating contest, and Ray had thrown up everywhere, it had been hilarious, Gerard missed them so much.

"New topic," Cash announced. On the floor Alex-with-the-scarf snored. "Celebrity crush."

"Angelina Jolie," said Alex immediately.

"Laaaaaame," drawled Cash. "Everyone says her. Come up with your own."

"Well who's yours, then?" Alex asked.

Cash said, "Trent Reznor." Which made sense, Gerard had to admit, since Trent Reznor was kind of a weird dude, and Cash was apparently into kind of weird dudes.

"What about you?" Alex asked, nudging Gerard with his foot.

Gerard thought about it for a second. Saying "Peter Parker" was too lame, even for him. Plus, Peter Parker wasn't really real. "Uhhh," he said. "Tobey Maguire?"

"Because of Spiderman, dude, totally," Cash agreed. Cash was incredibly agreeable, Gerard really liked that about him. "Hey, did your ex look like him?"

Gerard blinked. Who the fuck was his ex? Cash hadn't been weird at all when they'd gotten back to school; he'd neither tried to stick his tongue in Gerard's mouth again, nor made fun of him for making out with a stranger during orientation. Gerard was pretty sure Cash didn't qualify as an ex.

"The guy you broke up with before frosh weekend?" Cash prompted.

Oh. Oh. "Not really," said Gerard. He wasn't sure he could talk about Frank without feeling a little teary-eyed. "He was more... Short. And kind of... punky, I guess."

"Was he like, in a band?" asked Alex curiously. "I never had an ex. Does it suck?"

"He can play guitar," said Gerard slowly. "Because my babysit—Er, my friend Brendon, who's in a band? He taught us."

"That CD you played us?" said Cash. "I fucking can't wait for them to come out here. You can seriously get us backstage?"

"Sure," said Gerard, who was pretty sure he could talk Brendon into nearly anything.

"Why'd you guys break up?" Alex asked.

Gerard wasn't sure how to put it. "He... We kind of... Something happened, and I freaked out, and I didn't... I never really talked to him about it, and he got mad at me, and then we had a big fight, and it just sucked all over," said Gerard. He paused. “We had kind of a weird talk right before I left, and now… He keeps calling, and I keep not answering the phone. Because I don’t know if he’s still mad at me or not.”

"Dude," said Cash. "You totally still love him."

Gerard's stomach flopped. "Yeah," he said hesitantly. "I... Guess so."

"You should talk to him!" said Alex. He yawned. "I mean, when you get back home."

"Maybe," said Gerard. He was pretty sure he didn't have the nerve to do that, even after the tentative almost-talk he and Frank had had before he left. It was still too big and scary.

"Seriously, just be like, 'Yo, I sucked, sorry.' He probably still loves you, too. Were you guys serious?"

Gerard fidgeted with his pen. "We were... Um. I don't... We never like, talked about it."

"How long were you guys dating?" Alex asked. On the floor the other other Alex flailed a little bit in his sleep.

Gerard really wanted the conversation to be over soon. "We were... Um. Together? For like, four years."

"Ohhh," said Alex. "Well that's different. Everyone breaks up with their high school boyfriend or whatever when they come to college. It's like, everything is different and you realize you've grown into a different person."

Cash laughed. "You mean that's what Brionna told you," he said.

"Shut up," scowled Alex.

"But I..." Gerard started. He sat up. "I didn't want things to change before I went. Like... We'd always been one way, and things were changing because I was going away, and I didn't want things to change, and that's what we had a fight about."

Cash looked thoughtful—as thoughtful as Cash ever looked, which wasn't very, honestly. "That's backwards," he said. "Now that you're away you're supposed to realize that you aren't the same people and you don't love him anymore."

"But I do," said Gerard unthinkingly. Lots of stuff had changed, but not that. That was never going to change. It was so absurdly, fundamentally true that Gerard had never really considered it like a thing that might change. Until the day he died, he was going to love Frank.

Even if Frank hated him. Even if Gerard left home forever. Even if they had the world's worst fight. Even if... Even if every awful thing Gerard had ever thought came true. Even if Frank married Emily, which thank god didn't seem very likely now, Gerard was going to love him.

"You're not growing apart?" asked Alex.

"We... We couldn't," said Gerard. "He's... We're..." He flapped his hands around helplessly.

Cash was kind of wide-eyed. "Like, soul mates?" he said.

"Yeah," said Gerard, even though he was pretty sure that was an uncool answer. There was just always Frank, and when there wasn't Frank, there was a Frank-shaped hole.

"Then you have to talk to him, dude," said Cash. "You can't let your soul mate just dump you."

"Totally," agreed Alex. He kicked Alex-with-the-scarf awake. "Yo, I'm bored. Wake the fuck up."

"Ung," said Alex.

"I still have a box of bleach, if you still want to dye your hair," said Cash, and laughed.

Gerard nodded distractedly. Maybe new hair would be the thing, so he could go home and be a new version of himself, one who wasn't going to totally fuck up when he talked to Frank this time.

Because the heart-racing, adrenaline-pumping, stomach-flipping thing was... The thing was...

The thing was, Cash was right.

Gerard had to talk to Frank.

\\\

Brian met Gerard on the curb outside the bus station and just stared for a minute.

Gerard had obviously been expecting it; he had his sweatshirt hood up and his head down. "Jesus," said Brian. "Is this some kind of 'fuck you' for all the times I told you to cut your hair?"

Gerard rolled his eyes. He looked a lot like Mikey when he did that. "No," he said. "It's just a thing I did. We were bored."

Brian had never been bored enough to shave his head and dye his hair blond. Blue, yes. White, no. "You have to hug me," Brian ordered, knowing Gerard would throw a little fit about doing it in front of the entire Greyhound station. Gerard sighed like it was a big, traumatic deal, and let Brian hug him grudgingly. Brian was years past being fooled by that; Gerard loved getting hugged. He just hated admitting it.

"When did you decide that Mia Farrow was your fashion icon?" Brian asked, grabbing Gerard's suitcase.

"Briiiiiian," Gerard complained. "I don't look like Mia Farrow! I look totally cool. Cash said so."

'Cash' was apparently a real person, not Gerard's imaginary friend who gave bad fashion advice, according to Mikey. Phone calls from Gerard had been in short supply. He called Mikey all the time, but when Brian got on the phone and asked how Gerard was, he usually said "Fine," and hung up. Greta had taken Brian's phone away from him in September after she figured out he was calling Gerard every single day. "He needs space," she said sternly, which was ridiculous; Gerard hated space.

"Mikey would have come with me," Brian said, "but he's late at band practice."

Gerard shrugged. "I talked to him on the phone last night," he said. "I mean, he said he was with Alicia, so I just figured." He paused. "He also said Jeanne was over, and she was cooking?"

"You only came home to eat," Brian complained.

"Well, yeah," Gerard said. "What, you thought I missed you or something?"

He grinned up at Brian, and Brian rolled his eyes. He opened the car door and let Gerard in; Gerard threw his bag in the backseat. "So how's college?" Brian asked.

Gerard shrugged. "Okay," he said. He crossed his arms and slumped back in the car.

"Yeah?" Brian asked, pulling out. "So you made friends? How are classes? Any cool professors? Working on anything cool in class? How's the city?"

"Oh my god, Brian, you're like the Spanish Inquisition," sighed Gerard. "College is like... college. Everyone's fine. Classes are like..." He shrugged. "You know, classes."

"You could not be less helpful," Brian complained. "Come on. What's going on with your life? You have to tell me, okay, we can't turn into one of those families where no one talks."

Gerard laughed a little bit. "Okay," he said. "College is totally weird. No one tells us when to go to bed or to do our homework and last night we stayed up until 6 in the morning talking about Jello. Like, what it's made of, and if it would make a good supervillain or not. And there are all these people around, and classes are really easy, except then I have a paper due or something and it's really hard. You know?"

"Do you seriously have a friend named Cash?" Brian asked.

"Cash, and his harem of Alexes," said Gerard. Brian made a face, and Gerard laughed. "There are three of them, they follow Cash around, it's pretty cute."

Brian swerved through traffic. "And you're having fun? You're not thinking about dropping out or anything? You've given up your dream of living in the basement?"

"Brian," Gerard complained again. "It's... I mean, it's kind of sucky, not knowing people. But there's this class on comic art I want to take next semester, and Cash is maybe starting a band and I offered to write some lyrics and stuff, and... I mean. It's okay, I guess."

That was so much better than Brian had dared to hope. "Seriously?" he asked. "I thought... Wow. Awesome."

"You thought I'd be a total basketcase," Gerard accused.

"Dude, do you remember your first day of high school? You freaked," Brian pointed out. "And this is so much bigger."

"I remember you freaking out," Gerard grumbled. "Hey, is Greta at the house?"

Brian winced. "Yeah," he said. "She's helping Ma with Thanksgiving dinner."

Gerard gave him a look. "You left your girlfriend and your mom home alone together?"

"It's fine!" Brian protested. He paused. "Okay, I promised I'd hurry back because Greta was seven kinds of panicked, but basically it's fine."

"Jeanne likes Greta, though, right?" Gerard asked. "Because... Greta's pretty awesome."

Brian wanted to beam at him for saying that, but he felt like Gerard might take it back if Brian pushed. Gerard was still a teenager, after all. "She is," he said instead.

"They're starting early," was all Gerard replied, looking out the window.

"Well it's going to be a fucking feast tomorrow," Brian pointed out. "Brendon and Ryan and Spencer and Jon are all coming over, since they won't be home. Alicia's coming over. Ray and Bob are supposed to come by for a while. And..." He paused, looking at Gerard out of the corner of his eye, because he wasn't sure how to say it, but... "And Mikey invited Frank."

"He did?" Gerard demanded, turning. "He didn't tell me that!"

"Well, Frank's coming over," Brian said. God he hoped Gerard didn't flip out. Maybe if they could be civil near each other for the evening they could go back to being friends.

Gerard bit his lip. "Huh," he said. He looked oddly determined. "Well. Um. Okay. I have to talk to him anyway, I guess."

"About what?" Brian asked.

Gerard scowled. "None of your business," he said.

Brian held up his hands in surrender. "Fine," he said. "Don't tell me." He was just glad Gerard had something to say to Frank. Assuming, of course, that it wasn't something as disastrous as whatever had happened last year.

Gerard kept yawning and looking out the window. "You okay?" Brian asked. "Not too tired to go see the band?"

"Don't be stupid," Gerard snorted. "Of course I'm going."

"We're picking up Ray and Bob on the way," Brian went on. "I can fit all of you in the car, and Greta's going to drive Mikey and Alicia. She's always over," he sighed. "Not that I don't like her, she's cool and all."

"Frank was always over, too," Gerard pointed out, and Brian couldn't tell if his tone was wistful or not.

"Frank might be at the concert, too," said Brian cautiously.

Gerard just shrugged. Brian wished for the millionth time he knew what the hell was going on inside that kid's head.

They pulled up in front of the house and Jeanne came out. "My baby!" she said, and Gerard rolled his eyes a little bit, but he let her hug him. "No one feeds you at that school? Come in and get some food." She ushered him in and didn't even look at Brian, who tried hard not to feel snubbed.

When he got inside, though, Greta was waiting to waylay him by the door. "She's like a chef or something," Greta whispered. "She's silently judging me in the kitchen!"

Brian put an arm around her waist. "Nothing about my mom is silent," he promised. "If she were judging you she'd shout about it."

Greta put a lock of hair in her mouth and frowned. "She thinks I'm a bad cook, so I'm a bad mom, so I'm a bad girlfriend, Brian, I can hear her thinking."

"She thinks you're awesome, she said so," Brian assured her. "You need to relax."

Greta made an annoyed little noise and put her head on his shoulder. "I was never going to be that girl, okay? The one who was intimidated by her boyfriend's mom? But your mom is so... Competent."

"Believe me, I know," Brian sighed.

"I want her to like me," Greta complained, tugging on his shirt. "I want her to rave. I want her to go to a Tupperware meeting and brag that her son got the best girl ever."

Brian laughed. "What's a Tupperware meeting?"

"A... You know, one of those things housewives go to. Knitting circle, whatever. The point is she should tell all the other moms to suck it."

He was laughing too hard to answer; she looked so indignant and adorable. "I love you," he said. "And my mom does, too. I'll let her know she's supposed to be bragging. God knows she loves to bore the guys at the Post Office with news about Gerard and Mikey."

"That's all I want," Greta agreed. "Does that sound crazy? I'm not crazy, Brian, I swear, it's just the holidays, and your mom, and what if I burn something? Augh!"

"Okay, listen," said Brian. "You can't lose your shit now. Frank's coming over for dinner tomorrow; it'll be all I can do to keep him and Gerard civil. Plus, Spencer says Ryan and Brendon are okay, but he also says Ryan's planning something for the concert tonight. I don't even know what that means."

Greta sighed. "Fine," she said, "I'll go back in and cook some more. And then tonight, when we're alone, I'm going to totally flip out at you, okay?" She paused. "Your mom's not going to... Does she care if I... Um. Brian. I don't want your mom to think I'm a whore or anything, okay?"

"I promise, she doesn't," Brian said. He squeezed her hand. "She thinks you're amazing, and the kids think you're amazing, and if you weren't spending the night she'd smack me and tell me someone else was going to steal you away for not treating you right."

"Maybe I should go home," Greta fretted.

"Don't you dare." He kissed her, although she was looking over his shoulder. It took her a second to register that he was even there, and let her eyes start to flutter shut. When he could tell she was starting to relax, he tipped his head, resting his forehead against hers. "My mom likes you, okay?"

"Okay," Greta agreed quietly. She took a couple of deep breaths. "So how long before we leave for the concert?"

"An hour, give or take," Brian said.

Greta pushed up the sleeves of her little-old-lady sweater determinedly. "Just enough time to start the pie filling," she said. "Your mom's going to love it. She better."

"She will," Brian promised.

\\\

The last show of the tour meant Brendon was buzzing with energy. Brendon kept looking out at the crowd from backstage and then come running over to Spencer to announce, "I saw Brian!" or "Gerard's here!" Which Spencer fucking knew, since he'd talked to Brian on the phone when they arrived, but he just nodded and took the soda out of Brendon's hand, because he didn't need any more sugar.

Ryan was acting up, too, but for entirely different reasons. He had a completely petrified look on his face, if you knew him well enough to notice it. He was working hard to hide it when Brendon was around, but whenever Brendon bounced up to the curtain Ryan would turn to Spencer, and all Spencer could do was shrug back helplessly. It was Ryan's plan. It was utterly beyond Spencer's power to help him at this point.

"Last show and then two weeks off," said Jon, wrapping his arms around Spencer from behind. "Then we shoot the second video, then we tour Europe. Fucking Europe, dude."

"I know," said Spencer.

"I'm so fucking psyched," said Jon. "And Zack's coming with us, too, did he tell you? He just got word. It's going to be awesome."

Spencer couldn't think about two weeks from now, when he was busy being concerned about what was going to happen in a few minutes. "Uh huh," he said distractedly.

Jon sighed. "Should I be worried?" he asked.

"What? No," said Spencer quickly. He glanced over his shoulder; Jon didn't look especially reassured. "It's nothing to worry about, I mean," he explained. "Ryan just... He has a thing he wants to do. And it's making him nervous, and that's making me nervous."

Jon shook his head. "What have I told you about you and Ryan being separate people?"

"I know, just... I'm gonna really beat the shit out of the drums tonight, I think," said Spencer.

Zack wandered back in from on stage and waved at them. "One minute," he said. He waggled his eyebrows at Spencer, who nodded tightly back. Big plans were afoot.

Jon squeezed Spencer's arm and stepped away. "Rock the fucking house," he said.

The lights went down and the crowd started screaming—Spencer still wasn't used to the idea that people had come to see their band, even if they weren't headlining. It made him tingle all over. Brendon bounced by, running out on stage, the lights came up, and the screams got louder. Ryan looked back at Spencer and gave him what passed for a smile when Ryan was freaking out.

Spencer couldn't see a damn thing from the riser, because he was too far back to see the crowd, even if the lights had been up. He liked to imagine he could see Brian and Greta and the kids out in the crowd. Mostly what he could see was the back of Brendon as he bounded around the stage, singing and waving and playing guitar and piano until Spencer was exhausted just watching him.

Ryan turned around more than usual, wandering back toward the drums to give Spencer looks that ranged from "oh my god," to "I think I'm going to throw up." Spencer used his best "Knock it the fuck off, you're fine," glare in return, but Ryan didn't seem comforted.

Maybe because they were all on edge, but the show was tight. The songs sounded better than usual, Brendon was better with the crowd than usual, the cheers were louder than usual. It was awesome.

So awesome that Spencer nearly forgot about the butterflies in his stomach when they walked off stage. The lights didn't come back up immediately. They were standing backstage, sweaty and disheveled, and Brendon tossed Ryan a happy grin that Ryan didn't return, because he was looking nervously at Spencer. Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists and nodded, once, and patted Ryan on the shoulder. "Zack?" said Spencer.

"Yeah," said Zack, and brought the lights up again. The crowd started yelling.

"Wish me luck," Ryan said under his breath, and headed back out.

Brendon frowned. "What's he doing? Ryan, where are you going?" He started to bolt after Ryan, but Spencer caught Brendon's hand in his. "What?" Brendon asked. "Spencer, what?" Spencer laced his fingers through Brendon's and squeezed, pulling him back from the edge of the stage.

Ryan picked up his guitar and pulled a stool out to the center of the stage. He sat down awkwardly. The crowd were understandably confused; when did the next-to-last band ever get an encore? Their silence was making Ryan's shoulders incredibly hunched and tight, and he was too far away for Spencer to be sure, but it looked like he was clutching the bridge of his guitar tightly enough to snap it. "Um," said Ryan, leaning in to the mic. "Hey."

The crowd yelled back, which didn't make Ryan look much happier. "Spencer," Brendon whined, trying to tug free. Spencer wrapped his arm through Brendon's and whispered, "Shhhh."

"I know this isn't um. Usual," said Ryan after a minute. "I hope you'll uh... Give me a minute." He fidgeted with the guitar and almost dropped it.

Someone in the audience laughed. Spencer could have punched them in the face. Brendon was trying to bounce up on his tiptoes and wiggle out of Spencer's hug, and Spencer had to concentrate on holding him down.

"I'm... Not very good at this. But I. I owe someone a better apology," Ryan said. The audience fell quiet again.

Backstage, Brendon made this little noise, and shook his head. "Hey, just listen," said Spencer quietly. His heart was in his throat, because Ryan had been planning this forever, and Brendon just had to get it.

Ryan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "This was my idea, and Spencer said it was stupid and cheesy, but I decided that was kind of... perfect. So. I guess..." He looked over at them backstage just for a second. Spencer squeezed Brendon's hand, and Brendon tried to nod. Behind them, Jon stepped up, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that Spencer could feel him there.

On stage, Ryan stared at his sneakers for a minute. When he finally looked up, his face was pale, but a little bit hopeful. "I do stupid stuff sometimes, because I'm trying to stop things from... From hurting, I guess. I'm selfish. But I'm gonna try to be better. And I'm really, really sorry about how I handled stuff before."

"Oh my god," Brendon whispered. He curled his hands around Spencer's arms and went still. Spencer was going to have bruises, or else he was going to leave them on Brendon, and he didn't much care. It was nice, the way he could feel Brendon's heart beating. It made Spencer feel less like he might fall over.

"But I do listen. I always do try to... Anyway. This is uh," said Ryan quietly. "This song is called ‘In My Life,’ and it’s by the Beatles." He stared at his hands and started to play.

His voice sounded weak and breathy and a little flat, and he was nervous, so the guitar playing could have been better. The crowd was totally quiet. Brendon started crying two notes in and didn't stop, or move, except to wipe his cheeks off with his hand. Spencer couldn't breathe, he was so fucking proud of Ryan; the way he kept going, even while his voice was shaking.

It felt like they stood there forever, frozen, watching, and then suddenly it was over, and Ryan stood up. The crowd roared as he put the guitar down and waved awkwardly. They screamed and he smiled, but it was tiny and uncertain. He hadn't looked over at the people waiting backstage at all. Spencer thought he heard Gerard and Brian out there somewhere, yelling encouragement.

The audience in the front row on the far side saw Brendon wrench himself free from Spencer and throw his arms around Ryan's neck. They didn't know why, though, or what he was saying as he clung, face pressed against Ryan's shoulder. They didn't see Ryan's real smile, blazingly bright across his face, or the way his hands were shaking where he fisted them in the back of Brendon's shirt. They didn't know that the two of them just stood there for a minute, holding each other, breathing.

"Whatever you want to tell people," said Ryan quietly. "And your family. Whatever you need to do—"

Brendon shook his head and didn't let go. "We'll talk about it," he said. "But... Not right now. You didn't need to, Ryan, I wasn't mad—"

"You deserved a better apology from me," Ryan said. And then, "I swear I'll try harder, I'll be better, Brendon, I can—"

"You're perfect," said Brendon ferociously, and kissed him.

Ryan staggered a little bit—Brendon was clinging so tightly to Ryan's neck that his feet weren't even on the ground anymore—but he balanced himself with a hand against the wall. Spencer was sure he heard an "Awwwww," from the other bands standing around back stage, and that was definitely Zack, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

Spencer took a long, deep breath and willed himself not to get choked up just because his best friend and his other best friend were behaving like real people again.

Jon nudged Spencer with his hip. "I see tears in your eyes, Smith," he teased.

"Shut up," said Spencer, trying resolutely not to sniffle. "I told you. I don't cry."

"Uh huh," said Jon. "So I see."

He put his arms around Spencer and Spencer melted into it a little bit. "It's kind of awesome," said Spencer, as if the whole thing needed defending.

"And now," said Jon quietly, "everything's all better."

"Shut up," Spencer repeated. "It is. Or it will be. As long as they talk to each other."

"I think those crazy kids might just make it after all," Jon agreed. He bit Spencer lightly on the ear. "You know, I probably owe you an apology, too."

Spencer turned his head. "Don't," he said immediately.

Jon was grinning. "C'mon," he said. "You don't think it'd be romantic if I got up onstage and sang The Wind Beneath My Wings? Or the Love Theme from Titanic?"

His stupid adorable boyfriend and his stupid adorable grin. Spencer was not tempted to grin back at him. "Jon, I swear to god, I will never speak to you again," Spencer threatened.

"Liar," said Jon. "You love me."

"Yeah," Spencer agreed, "But I'll still leave your sorry ass if you get up there and sing Celine Dion at me."

Jon pretended to consider. "What about Journey? Or Michael Bolton? What about—"

Spencer was working so hard not to laugh, but it was hard. "I'm serious, Jon, I will never forgive you, ever." He crossed his arms and tried to look stern.

"I'll write you love songs," said Jon happily. "Songs that you have to play the tambourine on. A whole album full of songs about how much I love you and you love the tambourine."

Spencer started laughing, then, he couldn't help it. He was still laughing when Jon leaned up and kissed him.

Continued