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

Brendon peered over Ezme's shoulder as she began to write up the first few parts of her article. She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows and covering her notes.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"I just, uh, no," he blushed and quickly scurried off to the soundproof booth, not wanting to meet her gaze again. It made her laugh, because it was as if he was an innocent teenager again, who had had no contact with girls, and if they did anything more than brush past them, they got an erection. Which she wouldn't put past Brendon, considering how long Spencer had said he had been out of action.
She didn’t know how Brendon did it.

Spencer tapped his cymbal for one last time, sweat beads dripping from his forehead, his arms in a hurried frenzy, beating the shit out of his drum kit. In a beautiful way, of course.
As soon as he finished, he jumped up from his kit and skipped out of the booth in a jolly fashion, wrapping his drenched arms around Emma from behind, the both of them laughing.
“Hey, sweaty freak, I was clean until you came over here,”
“Oh no you weren’t,” he smirked and squeezed her, making her groan as she struggled for air, but she really didn’t mind. Spencer had been one of her closest friends before, even if they didn’t spend much time together beforehand, the times they did they had fun. It was mainly her and Brendon who had spent time together; now Brendon barely acknowledged her. Or so she thought, anyway.
“You really give it your all.” she stated, referring to his drumming.
“I do try,” he smiled and ruffled her hair, letting go of her and sitting on the opposite chair, gulping down a bottle of water, crushing it and throwing it at the glass of Brendon’s booth, making him jump, trying to regain posture as fell off his stool.

“I want to slap him.” she admitted, watching Brendon fumble around for the
“Oh, we all do,” sighed Spencer, crossing his legs. “Ryan and Jon took the easy route out and left him to his own devices. But his own devices, apparently, means he’s lumped with me. We both know I’m not going to help him,” he smiled weakly. Spencer had tried, boy, had he tried, but nothing could shake Brendon out of his almost comatose state.
“Is there something wrong with him? Did he get ill, did someone die?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Not that I’m aware of. I love him to pieces but I really can’t be bothered anymore,”
“Hence why you called me out here,” she nodded. “You want me to help him.”
“If you could, Emma. I completely understand if you don’t want to, considering what he did to you, actually, don’t help him at all because he has brought this on himself. He makes me so angry!” he shouted, pushing pack his sweaty hair. “He fucks so many people around! I screamed at him for what he did to you, you did not deserve it. Can’t he see you were the best thing to ever happen to him?”
“Spencer,” she said quietly. “Calm down. Yeah it stung, but it’s meant to, isn’t it? I loved him and I kinda thought we’d never leave each other, but things happen for a reason. Why didn’t he stay with Alex after I’d gone?”
“He didn’t love Alex. Alex loved him, but Brendon didn’t return it.”
“Unrequited love,”
“Yeah.” he sighed and Ezme stood up, pulling Spencer into a tight hug. It was like Spencer had had to deal with a troubled child all by himself, and it’d finally taken its toll. He wanted to cry a bit, he wanted to fucking sob, but that just wasn’t in his nature. Some stupid little feeling was gnawing at him, and he couldn’t quite decipher what it was, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
“I want to help you out Spence, I really do, but-”
“It’s Brendon. Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he smiled into her shirt, nuzzling his face into her. He took in her scent, and it was familiar and comforting. It settled his nerves.
“I can,” she gulped. “I can try. It may take me a while to, for lack of a better word, ‘heal’, but I’ll do my best, okay? He most probably won’t want my help, because he doesn’t think anything is wrong, but it’s blatant there is,”
“Please,” he laughed and let go of her. “He thinks you’re God. Look at those desperate eyes of his – he thinks you’re God.”
They both turned to look at Brendon in his booth, tuning his guitar, biting his lip and eyes sullen. It looked as if they had been forced back into his head, too far, sunken and miserable. When he looked up he immediately turned away; petrified.

Brendon knew something was wrong. He was fully aware of this, he just didn’t know why it was happening. His life was good now, right? He had the dream job, he had his friends, or friend, he had his fiancé and he had his family. He even had Bogart.
But not once had he thought about how much he’d hurt Emma. He assumed, because she was the one who left him, that it was her choice. She didn’t love him anymore, that was it, she wouldn’t hurt, she wouldn’t need time to heal.
He decided that she was either a damn good actress, or she really didn’t care.

He kinda wished he hadn’t pressed the button to listen in to their conversation.