![]() The sun feels nice today, warming his back and the tips of his ears. Brendon finds a spot in the grass and sits. Spencer claps him on the back and moves on, probably to the bus. Sometimes he doesn’t know about Jon.īrendon shrugs. Brendon made an excuse, some girl he met in Denver, and they bought it. “Brendon, I know you were really into that girl last summer, but you need to get over it, okay?” He can pull off a joking tone, if he tries. “Coming back from fraternizing with the enemy?” says Brendon. Ryan was the one who broke it off, of course. They’d had a Thing for a while, last summer- a messed up, secret, stolen-kisses-backstage-and-nights-in-hotel-rooms sort of Thing. They met in high school and it was like a switch flipped on. Ryan knows it too: he looks bitterly amused as Brendon leaves.īrendon can’t remember a time when he didn’t love Ryan with every scrap of his soul. “Somebody’ll be by to fix it in a while,” he says to nobody in particular. The silence is broken by Jon noisily crashing onto the bus. Ryan clears his throat again, and Brendon quickly averts his gaze. He grins absently, still staring at Ryan’s hands running through his hair. Though Brendon would never admit it, it looks good on him. “Brendon,” says Ryan eventually, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. That leaves Ryan and Brendon sitting in the lounge alone. Spencer’s over at the opener’s van, trying to “make friends” or something. The bus’s coffee maker is messed up again and Jon goes to get someone to fix it. Brendon wakes up to I Write Sins on the radio and groans as he shuts it off. Well, as normal as a day on tour can be, at least. Brendon doesn’t know what’s worse waking up every day to hear his own voice, or watching Ryan die over and over. ![]()
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