A Dangerous Face and an Almost Illegal Taste

Ryan woke up a few hours later, momentarily confused with the fact that he was in his bunk, tucked in neatly under a sheet. He could hear the television on in the front room, could hear small pockets of laughter and quiet conversation. Someone must have moved him to his bunk. Probably Jon. Jon always moved Brendon when he fell asleep on one of the couches.

Ryan yawned as he rolled out of the bunk, untangling himself from the sheet, and walked into the living area. “Hey, sleeping beauty.” Jon said, looking up from his laptop. “You’ve been out for at least four hours.”

“I slept for four hours?” Ryan asked, voice tinted with disbelief.

Brendon and Spencer, playing poker on the floor while watching some TV show Ryan didn’t recognize, both nodded. “You fell asleep on the couch.” Spencer said. “Jon moved you. Your journal’s there.” He pointed with his left hand.

Brendon was looking at Ryan with an emotion the older boy couldn’t place, but didn’t like. Something that wasn’t quite pity and not exactly concern. Fuck you, Bren. Go back to being a stupid kid so I can hate you.

“Thanks.” he mumbled, walking over the counter and picking it up, along with a pen, sitting down on the couch. He didn’t open it for awhile, just watched the television with mild interest. Then, after realizing he could see Spencer’s cards, started winking and making hand signals to Brendon about whether or not he should bet, annoyance replaced by a playful demeanor.

“What the—“ Spencer spun around, following Brendon’s line of sight. He’d lost seven hands in a row and Brendon sucked at poker. Ryan started giggling. “Fucker.”

Ryan pouted, failing at looking innocent. “Just ‘cause you suck at poker . . .”

“I do not!” Spencer said, looking put out.

Brendon and Jon were laughing and Ryan had a sort of ‘I’m an ass but you love me’ smile on his face. Spencer threw his cards on the floor, rolling his eyes. “I’m done.”

Brendon stuck his tongue out, shuffling the cards and setting them up for a game of Solitaire.

Ryan’s cell phone went off and he pulled it from his pocket, opening it. Sorry about bailing earlier. I’ll make it up to you.

“Who’s the new ringtone for?” Jon asked.

Ryan shrugged. I’ll make it up to you. The hairs on the back of Ryan’s neck stood up. Make what up exactly? There had been a moment, but it was a moment, only a moment. He wasn’t going to . . . make it something it wasn’t. Was he?

And how exactly do you plan to do that?

Ryan opened his journal, scribbling a sentences into it, waiting for his new ringtone to sound, Gerard’s ringtone. Cut Up Angels by The Used. It fit, although Gerard would probably slit his throat if he heard it.

It sounded again and Ryan hit the button on his phone to open the message. I’ll think of something. Meet me tomorrow?

Okay. His breathing was hitched as he hit the send button.

Brendon was watching Ryan through lowered lashes. Spencer was watching Brendon. Jon was watching Spencer watching Brendon watching Ryan.

Ryan didn’t notice any of it. “Hey, uh, Spence?” Ryan asked after a few minutes.

“Shoulders.” the other three echoed at the same time.

“Sure, Ry.” Spencer said, sinking down on the couch beside him, rubbing Ryan’s shoulders through the thin cotton material of his tee shirt.

“Hey, fucker.” Jon said, tossing a pen at Brendon who had abandoned his game of Solitaire as he continued to watch Ryan. “Want to play Mario Cart?”

“Huh? What?” the younger boy asked, snapping back to reality.

“Mario Cart. It’s a video game. We each have a controller and I kick your ass. It’s a disc that you put in a—“

“Shut up.” Brendon said, rolling his eyes. “And, yeah, I’ll play.”

Spencer moved closer to Ryan while the other two boys were setting up the game console. His chest pressed against Ryan’s back, his thigh against Ryan’s leg. His soft breathing on the other boy’s cheek caused Ryan to lean back against him, comforted, sighing heavily.

Spencer&Ryan. Jon&Brendon. They were like two different neighborhoods in the same town. Spencer&Ryan were an out of the way neighborhood where people moved to raise their children and there was no need to chain your bike up at night. Brendon&Jon were the part of downtown where teenagers flocked to avoid their parents. Cheap movie theatre showing month old movies, video arcade, pizza joint, teenagers smoking on the sidewalks.

Or so Ryan thought.

“I’ll be right back.” he told Spencer, standing up and walking to his bunk. He dug among the clothes at the foot of the mattress, emerging with a dark green journal. He walked back to the other room. The entire atmosphere seemed fraught with static electricity when the other three boys saw what he was holding. Ryan had barely put his pen to the paper, however, when that damn ringtone sounded.

He threw it against the wall.

His journal quickly followed.

* * *

He should have been pissed, and to tell truth he was, but there was still something that made him walk out of the bus, nearly trip over his feet, and drag himself to a stupid fucking picnic table waiting for Gerard. There was a knot in his stomach and it tied together a feeling he couldn’t place. Excitement? Nervousness? Confusion? Nausea?

“Hey.” Gerard said, shattering Ryan’s thoughts.

“Hey.” the younger boy echoed distantly. Bastard. Fucking . . . had the stupid journal out and everything. Bastard.

Gerard pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Once again, Ryan shook his head when the older boy offered him the box. “Straight-edge?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No.” Ryan said. “I just think it’s stupid to dance with cancer.”

“Dance with cancer.” Gerard snorted. “No wonder you’re the writer.”

Ryan shrugged, feeling a bit out of place. He felt so . . . young when he was around Gerard. It made sense as he was nearly ten years younger than the other, but it didn’t help the blows his ego was taking. He wasn’t stupid, wasn’t all that absurdly ridiculous, he wasn’t as naïve as some people could be. He just felt like it lately, felt stupid and absurdly ridiculous and naïve as fuck.

Gerard sat next to Ryan on the table, pressing their legs together. But unlike the day before, when Spencer was doing it to let Ryan know he was there, this was scary and almost awkward. The younger boy tensed, wincing at the pain in his shoulders. “You okay?” Gerard asked.

Like you care. “Yeah, fine.” Ryan lied.

“You sure?”

“No.”

Gerard opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes widened when he saw a figure walking toward them. He stood up without a word and hurried across the grass, grabbing his brother by the arm. “What the fuck are you doing?” Ryan heard him hiss.

“He’s a fuckin’ kid.” Mikey snapped. “Have you lost your mind? Has your dick finally taken over your brain completely?”

“Shut up.” Gerard said sharply. “Shut up, Mikey.”

Ryan slid from the picnic table, slowly walking back to his tour bus. Whatever Gerard’s brother was going to say to him, he didn’t want to hear it. Without a direct confrontation he could pretend he didn’t know exactly what we going on, that he was as stupid as Gerard made him feel.

He opened the bus door, glancing over his shoulder to see Mikey shoving his brother and storming off into the darkness. He sighed, stepping into the bus and shutting the door. His journal was sitting on the couch neatly, phone resting on top of it.

Spencer.

It must have been Spencer.

And Ryan stood there for a few moments, wondering exactly what his best friend knew. Was he paranoid? No, he couldn’t be. Spencer was smart, Spencer knew him, Spencer could figure it out. Spencer had figured it out.

“You okay?” a voice asked from the kitchenette, causing Ryan to jump. He thought everyone was in bed. Not Jon. Of course. Ryan rolled his eyes on the laptop on top of the table.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You sure?” Jon asked, sounding a bit more accusatory of Ryan’s lie than worried.

“No.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” he said, turning back to his computer screen.

“Jon?” Ryan asked tentatively. When the older man turned to him attentively, the younger faltered. “Do . . . I mean, would you . . . oh, fuck it. I’m too tired for this shit.” He turned and walked out of the room to his bunk, leaving Jon to contemplate and tap at the table with his fingernails.