Written Tragedies.

The eulogy was disgusting. That was one thing each of the boys agreed upon. Sitting in Brent’s basement, drinking warm, stale beer, they abused the minister who summed up his life without ever really knowing him. Having a minister, first of all. What the fuck? Ryan was the most atheistic person on the planet. And the dude was up there talking about how he was God’s child and he was being welcomed into the hands of the Father–it was all the boys could do not to jump up screaming, or leave the chapel then and there. Fuck afterlife. Ryan had written a whole fucking song about it.

"Give us this day our daily dose–"

No, shut up. Brendon couldn’t even think of the words now, let alone play them, sing them. Let alone do it in front of a crowd of sweaty teenagers. God, it was ruined. Ryan’s entire life, both literally and figuratively.

Naturally, the death hit Brendon the hardest. He had been stony and virtually speechless since that day, and he stayed that way in Brent’s basement, even amongst friends. His hand was gripping the dusty bottle of beer so hard it was shaking.

His best friend. Or who he’d thought was his best friend. Brendon loved Ryan, loved his genius, and they spent so much time together, going over songs, going over who knew what, anymore. It was always Ryan that did the talking, and it was Brendon who hung on to his every word.

Spencer and Brent were too wrapped up in themselves to notice Brendon’s new mannerisms. Natural, of course; grief for another makes one extremely selfish. But still. Brendon should have been shouting the loudest over the minister’s inconsistencies, but instead the most response coaxed out of him was a barely-heard grunt, and even that was probably more due to the alcohol or discomfort than the conversation.

Brendon had known the dead boy for the shortest amount of time, yet it was undeniable that they were the closest. Brendon’s musical talent, for one, had immediately drawn Ryan to him; the kid played everything. And God, could he sing. It was something that Brendon had always felt strangely about, how Ryan thought Brendon could sing his words better than he could himself. How Ryan thought of him as talented, when Ryan was clearly leagues ahead. It was why Brendon felt odd about speaking now; he had used this voice too often to convey Ryan’s thoughts. He was the older boy’s outlet, for fuck’s sake. And Ryan was always so picky about the words… Brendon went over a couple of lines of a song in his head, just to see, but was quickly interrupted.

“No, Brendon, the emphasis is here, not there.” Brendon shuddered as the echo of his voice was called to mind. Of course he was doing it all wrong, he couldn’t do it without Ryan there.

Truthfully, Brendon never thought he was as good a singer as Ryan. Not for his songs, at least. Ryan was the writer, and he deserved to sing his own words. And now he never would. Now they’d never be heard.

The thought was enough to send the boy into hysterics, but he still didn’t move a muscle.

Truthfully, Brendon never really cared all that much about the band. Not like Brent or Spencer did, especially not like Ryan did. Truthfully, the only thing Brendon really cared about was Ryan.

Since day one, that was all that mattered.

“Hey, Brendon,” Spencer says, turning in his seat while the teacher is facing away. “You ever been in a band before?”

“Uh, no,” Brendon replies, a little warily. He hadn’t spoken much to the boy who’d sat in front of him all year.

“Huh, well, you play guitar, right?”

“Yeah.” Oh, and I also play bass, piano… Brendon didn’t mention that.

“We need a guitarist.”

“…Oh.” Brendon says, a little reluctantly. “Well I… I don’t know…”

“Come on, man, just come out and play for us. We really need one. Only for a couple of gigs, see if you like it. I mean, if Ryan thinks you’re good enough.”

To this, Brendon stays silent. He doesn’t really know what to say, and if he’s being honest, Spencer is pretty much forcing this on him in the first place.

“Ryan’s real particular, see… it’s no offense. Just come down to my place tomorrow, I bet he’ll like you.”

Brendon was always a pretty awkward kid, not really tall, but lanky anyways, and his glasses were always sliding down his nose. A band was for cool guys, ones that smoked pot and scored girls and drank and weren’t Mormon. Brendon was reluctant for a reason. Until he actually went, of course. Spencer ended up getting his scrawny ass and his guitar case there, and no matter how reluctant Brendon was, he still loved music, and he was willing to give it a try.

In the classroom, Brendon had pictured Ryan has some huge, badass guy with underage tattoos and stubble and shit. Not like this stick-and-bones kind of guy, who, now that Brendon thinks about it, he’d actually seen a few times around the halls. He dresses funny and has really big feet and his voice, when he talks, is awfully soft-spoken and almost monotonous. Brendon couldn’t manage a tone like that if he tried; he’s too jumpy.

“So, play,” Ryan tells him, and Brendon does.

The rest could have been history, but it wasn’t, because Ryan was dead now.

It’s a few months later, and Ryan is frustrated. Sometimes his perfectionism is too strong for his own good.

“God dammit!” he yells. He shakes his head and throws his guitar roughly to the ground, throwing himself beside it in the same manner. “This isn’t working!”

“It sounds great, Ry,” Brendon tells him, but as usual Ryan doesn’t listen to the compliments. Brendon hands them out too often for them to really mean something.

“No it doesn’t. It sounds like shit. My voice is all wrong for this.” He huffs another frustrated sigh.

Brendon hesitates, knowing that giving Ryan advice about his own songs can be a little, well, dangerous, but continues anyways. “Maybe you should try, um, singing it a bit louder. Like I know you’re miked and everything, but if you want it to have sort of an edge…” Brendon trails off, because Ryan is looking at him like he’s a complete idiot.

“Singing louder isn’t really going to do anything.” Ryan says, condescending tone in place. “Let’s just try it again,” Ryan is almost rolling his eyes as he rises back up from the ground.

“No I mean!” Brendon cuts himself off, not meaning to sound as loud or high-pitched as he did. He just wants Ryan to listen to his idea, is all. “I mean like–like–this.” He sings the first couple lines of the song, trying not to look at the older boy for fear of that were-you-dropped-on-your-head-as-a-child? look. He can’t keep his eyes trained on the ground long, though, and they eventually wander up to Ryan’s face.

It’s awestruck, and Brendon immediately stops, afraid he’s upset him as it’s so easy to do when it comes to the songs.

“I mean… if that’s how you want it to sound, more like, just–”

“You sing it,” Ryan interrupts abruptly. “You sing it, that was… just sing like you did there.”

“What?” Brendon exclaims. Is Ryan pissed at him? Is this like a punishment, for telling him how to sing his words? Is Ryan just making a fool of him before he kicks him out of the band? “But I–I don’t sing!” Brendon squeaks out the pathetic excuse.

Ryan just looks at him, shrugging back into his guitar strap. “You do now.”

And so Brendon sang. For Ryan. He sang every song just like Ryan told him to, and perhaps because of that a connection was forged. Brendon understood those words more than anyone else on earth, and because of that he understood Ryan more, too. He started stringing the metaphors together. Started realizing there was more to this boy than meets the eye. Of course, anyone could really see that; Ryan was always the sort of character that just screamed, “I AM A COMPLEX AND UNIQUE INDIVIDUAL” at you. But because of that, most people didn’t really take him seriously.

Brendon, on the other hand, took him very seriously. Probably too seriously. Brendon stared at those words until his brain was half-baked and he hardly knew what was real anymore. He drank up Ryan’s alleged ideas of God and skewed sense of humor. He loved every second of it. He knew how disturbed the boy’s mind was, because he lived in it every day. It only made sense that after awhile, Brendon's mind would start taking after that.

Ryan wasn’t nearly as perceptive or crazy as Brendon made him out to be. It was sort of like analyzing novels in English class. Everyone knew the stuff you talked about wasn’t anywhere near the author’s radar while he was writing. But Brendon never really picked up on that.

When Brendon fell in love, it wasn’t with Ryan. It was with the words. But of course, Brendon didn’t know that. He didn’t know a lot of things, really; all he had been doing for the past year was living in a world of what Ryan wanted, willing to do anything to win his trust and his admiration. And now that Ryan was gone… Brendon was just lost. He needed Ryan. He needed the words.

Perhaps that’s why Brendon began hearing them again.