I Might Be Holding Your Hand, but I'm Holding It Loose.

"Spencer," he whined into his cell phone, forcing it against his cheek so hard that every button could be seen imprinted on his cheek. Every button backwards.
"What is it you want Brendon?" he sighed.
"You haven't left me too, have you? Because I haven't seen you in a while. And we still need to record an album," he mumbled, bringing his knees up to his chest. "I miss you Spin."
"I'm sort of busy right now," he admitted. "I'm hanging out with Matt. We're gonna go to a football game."
"Spencer. Just, please, listen to me for a bit okay? I am sat here, in nothing but my boxer shorts, shaking. Why am I shaking? The air conditioning is on full, so it doesn't look like I'm shaking from tears. All I want is someone to talk to!"
"Oh, dude," he sighed, running his hands through his hair. "Is Rebecca not in the hotel room with you?"
"She's gone-"
"Shopping. She's always shopping. Why do you let her have your card? Brendon I'll talk to you tomorrow, I'm going to miss the game. I'll see you later."

He hung up and the tone rung clear. It echoed around the room, becoming louder and louder until his vision blurred, faltered and broke. His eyes deceived him, the blurriness soon realized to be tears. A tsunami of tears, the crests of the waves pounding against his raw cheeks.

"E-Ezme?" he stuttered against his imprint giver.
"Brendon? Oh my goodness, are you okay? I'm so sorry about the dart board, it'd been there a while and I didn't think you-"
"Can you come over for a bit?"
"To your hotel room? I..." she paused. "I don't see why not."
"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm all alone."
"No you're not," she smiled. "I'm your friend." she urged, noting the double meaning.
"You've no idea how much that means to me," he grinned, still shivering. "This morning I considered getting the needle, you know the one, from the little packet you get in the sewing kits in hotels, and drawing little pictures on my skin. Hearts, palm trees, eyes. She'd touch me then. She'd kiss me better, and she'd be proud, wouldn't she? But then I realized I couldn't draw!" he chuckled outrageously. "To think, I was going to draw, but I can't do that for shit!"
"To think," she whispered, grabbing her jacket and heading out the door impossibly fast.
“And I’d ruin my tattoos too! Do you like them, Emma? She doesn’t. I like them,”
“I do like them Bren,” she agreed in a rushed manor. “They’re a great representation of you,”
“They are?” he quirked, tracing the outline of the art on his arm.
“I would say so, yes. You’ve always loved your music and especially your piano. The flowers, I know they’re something to do with a tour, but they’re colorful and summery. If you were a flower, you’d be those. It’s like a microcosm of your life in tattoo form.”
“Yeah,” he grinned. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“Are you smiling?” she chuckled lightly and he blushed.
“Maybe...”
“Good,” she noted. “You can always hear it in your tone when you smile. Oh and if you know what’s good for you, let me in. I don’t want to have to break the door down, but that’s always an option.”
He smiled to himself, jumping off the bed, darting to the door and flinging it open. His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around her body.
“Jesus, you’re freezing!” she said, breathing into his shoulder.
“I can deal. Oh, no, don’t loosen the hug, I’m dizzy. I need to clutch to something for a little while, please,” he whispered.
“Sure,” she smiled. “Is there any reason you wanted me to come over?” she asked, tucking her arms under his legs, lifting him up bridal style and into the hotel room. He was far too skinny to be healthy, but she suspected he hadn’t been healthy in a while.
“Company, I suppose,” he sighed, wincing as she ripped open the curtains, still holding him. The light blinded him and made his eyes ache; streams of reality wanting to come in, say hello, have a slice of cake.
“So you didn’t want to talk about anything specifically, or admit to anything?”
He was placed on the bed, his limbs curling into their natural ball. She ruffled his hair and chose some clothes from the drawers, frowning when she noticed ninety percent of it was Rebecca’s clothes.
“Not that I can recall.” he nodded, stretching out of his ball, into a star. She smiled.
“Shame,” she nodded and turned the temperature to something much more moderate. Emma licked her lips and gathered what she needed from the bathroom, placing it together, then returning to the main room. She extended her hand to him.
“What are you doing?” he whispered, as if it was a secret. She bent down to his level, whispering back.
“I’m helping you, like I promised I would. Now get your cute ass up so I can do just that.”
He giggled and obliged, taking her hand, slowly following her into the bathroom. Two fingers pushed his chest so that he sat on the toilet, and he looked up at her with wide eyes. She held his chin, and he half-expected for her to kiss him, but instead he felt a razor glide against his cheek.
“Remember when I had to help you shave your face?” she chuckled. “Because you’d never had a beard before, and school didn’t tolerate stubble,”
He smiled as a response, not nodding for fear of slicing his cheek. Her smooth finger tips massaged moisturizer into his slightly more happy face, tapping it lightly to finish.
“There, nice and smooth. Now let’s get you dressed.”
“Wait, is it alright if I have a quick shower? I can brush my teeth, and sort out my hair at the same time, and I’ll-”
“Bren,” she chuckled. “I’m not in control of you. Do whatever you want.”
I’m not under my control either, he thought as she left the room.

Before she knew it, Brendon had traipsed back into the room, towel loosely hung at his pelvis.

“Feel better?” she asked.
“Oh, so much,” he laughed light heartedly and shook his hair so the droplets hit Emma. She raised her eyebrows, smirking, as he swiftly changed his towel for a clean pair of underwear and skinny jeans. Loose, skinny jeans.
“You’re looking a lot healthier now,” she smiled as he sat next to her. “But maybe a shirt would be good. You’re staying at mine tonight, okay? I’m going to fatten you up. Ice cream, nachos, popcorn, Chinese food; anything. You name it, we’ll eat it. Tarantino galore. Acapella slightly tipsy singing. Sound good?”
He clutched his hands to his chest, nodding quickly. “That sounds fucking... amazing, Emma. God, I just,” he paused, smiling and shaking his head, indicating he wasn’t going to continue. “I wish I’d never done that to you all those years ago. I’m sorry. I know it’s not worth much, but I am. It was out of character, wasn’t it? I mean, why, why would I ever cheat on you? You were my best fucking friend. I guess you still are,” he blushed lightly, biting his bottom lip and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

He crushed his lips onto hers in a soft, needed, kiss. His internal organs shattered into minuscule pieces at the contact, weighing down his stomach. They broke away and their foreheads kissed. Their breath meshed, as did tears.

“C-Can I still come back to yours tonight?” he stuttered.
“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” she smiled, wiping away her tears with her sleeve, letting out a forced bout of laughter.
“I figured that, after what just happened, we’d-”
He was interrupted by another kiss. “Come on, pack your shit, I’m not letting you stay here. Not just tonight, for the next night, and the one after that,”
“And the one after that.” he smiled.
“You’re kinda my best friend too, Bear. I’m not letting you be ripped apart by that bitch. I don’t care what you say, or how much you care about her, I care about you more, so I win. Now come on.”
He stared at her in awe, but nodded, and fumbled around the room for his few belongings.
“Oh, and Brendon?”
He looked up.
“I forgive you.”