Strictly Under the Influence

Ryan would now like to correct the statement he thought when he first met Brendon.

He does know a guy that's into guys. And the thought that Brendon might like him keeps popping into his head. He doesn't see Brendon for a few days and fears Brendon might actually like him. Or is mad at his reaction, or something. He just doesn't know. And he doesn't know if he wants to know.

Ryan's off today. He's sitting on his couch reading a book, thankful that the AC is working again, because today's another one of those really hot days. Well, he's sitting there cross-legged in the middle of his couch about to turn his page when there's a knock on his door. “Hold on,” he says, marking his place with an elaborately colored bookmark he grabbed from the library. Setting his book aside, Ryan says, “Come in.”

Ryan sees Brendon's head first, then the rest of his lanky body appears. “Hey,” he says timidly. He asks, “You don't, like, hate me or anything, do you?”

Shaking his head furiously, Ryan replies, “No. I thought you might be mad at how I reacted or whatever.” Brendon laughs and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Take a seat,” Ryan offers, scooting over a little on the couch to give Brendon more room.

The younger boy sits and says, “So…”

“So…”

“Yeah…”

“You don't like me or anything, do you?” Ryan wishes he hadn't said that, but it's a little late for that. He thinks it might be really awkward now.

Brendon takes a breath in and Ryan thinks this is it. He's preparing himself for the biggest man-crush he's ever heard or seen. Or even for Brendon to ask him why a guy like him would ever like a guy like Ryan. But all Brendon says is, “Sort of, but not really.”

And Ryan didn't think to prepare himself for that. He's taken aback and doesn't know what to say. But Brendon fills the silence. He says, “I mean, you're hot and stuff, but I don't know. You're obviously not gay, so I know I never have a chance and, yeah…” Ryan thinks Brendon's not telling the truth about how much he likes him. The younger boy is spitting out things in the form of verbal vomit and that's something Ryan only does when he really likes a girl. And assuming Brendon's a lot like Ryan, he comes to the conclusion that Brendon really likes him.

Ryan's head is telling him one thing. And his limbs are telling him another.

He doesn't know what to say or do, so he goes into the kitchenette and grabs a glass, filling it with water. He takes big gulps and sighs when he finishes. “You want some water?” He asks Brendon.

The younger boy shakes his head, holding up a hand and saying, “No thanks.”

_

Ryan twists the little piece of paper between his fingers. The little piece of paper that has Brendon's cell phone number scribbled on it. He peers down at the numbers again and contemplates his chances of catching Brendon at a good time and figures they aren't very good. And anyways if Ryan did call what would he say? Hey, Brendon, I forgive you for being gay and liking me. No, that'd just make things worse. He knows he can't just call and act like nothing happened. Ryan knows Brendon likes him. Well, at least, Brendon thinks he's hot.

Not that Ryan disagrees. He's not conceited, but he does think of himself as a rather attractive person.

A banging on the door brings Ryan back to reality and he goes to answer his door. “Ye-oh, hey Jon, what's up?”

“Ryan,” the landlord says, “you're late on your rent, again. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to move out by the end of next week.” He looks down at a clipboard he has in his hands, then back up to Ryan, an apologetic glint in his eyes, saying, “I'm sorry. I'm going to miss you, but you can't be late on your payments three months in a row, Ryan.” He sighs, “I've let you by with this for too long.”

Ryan nods, knowing he's been taking advantage of his friendship with Jon, and tells him, “I'll try and find a place soon.” He thinks, on the bright side, he won't have to put up with his loud neighbors too much longer. Jon waves at Ryan as he descends down a flight of stairs, leaving Ryan to pack by himself. Shutting the door, Ryan goes to his house phone and calls Jac.

“Hullo?” She asks, groggily.

“Jac? Hey, I've got to move out and was wondering if I could move in with you?” Ryan bites his bottom lip, thinking she could say no.

“Uhh,” she says, and something rustles in the background, “I don't have the room in my house right now. Sorry. Snap, phone's going dead, call you later, love you.”

Click.

Ryan looks blankly at his phone, wondering if she really meant what she said. He shakes off the doubt and calls Brendon.

“Hello, hello, hello,” he says, after Ryan's told him who he was, “How may I help you, today, Ryan?”

“I need a place to stay because I just got evicted?”

Ryan's eyes shut and he's praying that Brendon will take him in, because he doesn't want to go to his dad's, even if it is a last resort. “Sure,” Brendon says. Ryan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding a listens as the dark haired boy continues, “I've got a roommate already, but there's an extra room that needs filling.”

Ryan nods, then remembers he's on the phone and says, “Thank you, like, a billion, Brendon.”

“You want help packing?”

_

Brendon's house is fair sized. Well, at least Ryan thinks so. Brendon insists it's small, but Ryan's still amazed that only two people stay here. Brendon let's Ryan know that his roommate is at work at the moment as they unload boxes from Ryan's Bronco and Brendon's Dodge Dakota. Between the two of their cars, they were able to get everything in one trip. But it took Ryan almost four days to pack it all. So, all in all, it took about five days for Ryan to move out. They take his stuff to the spare bedroom and Ryan's amazed, yet again how nice it is compared to his, well, his old apartment now. The carpet is unstained and actually has a suitable color to it. Ryan kicks off his shoes and socks and takes his foot across the soft, beige carpet. “Wow,” he whispers, “this is really nice, Brendon.” Ryan thinks he could possibly look like a little kid who just got their first tooth-fairy visit, but he isn't quiet sure, so he just keeps being amazed.

Brendon laughs and says, “Not really, I mean, yeah, it's a step up from your apartment, but still, there's bigger and better things out there.”

Ryan just shakes his head and takes a hand slowly across the painted wall still thinking maybe he'll find where the wallpaper is peeling. But he finds nothing. “Anyways,” Ryan says a light flush coloring his cheeks, “let's get started, shall we?”

_

They unpacked everything. Ryan flops down on his mattress, because that's all he had in the first place. A mattress. And the frame it was on in his apartment isn't his.

“We can put the kitchen stuff in the kitchen,” Brendon says. Ryan starts to groan and complain about how much he really doesn't want to right now, but Brendon continues, “Tomorrow, or whenever.”

Then Brendon's front door shuts and someone says, “Brendon? Where the hell are you?”

“Spare room,” Brendon groans.

A tall, thin, dark blonde walks into the room and blinks at Ryan. “You're the kid that Brendon was talking about?”

Ryan turns to glare at Brendon, who smiles sheepishly, then turns back to, who he assumes is Brendon's other roommate, and says, “Yeah. I'm Ryan.” He holds his hand out for the dark blonde to shake.

He shakes Ryan's hand and says, “Spencer.”

Spencer sits on the edge of Ryan's bed and says to Brendon, “Dude, sales keep going down, I think they may close Freddie's soon.”

Brendon gasps, “They can't. I shop there, like, everyday.” He says, “Spencer, where will we get groceries cheap if they close?”