Status: completed
Because I Can't Have You
throwing stones in the ocean.
“I wish,” said Brendon and the dark-haired boy threw himself back onto his seat, sending the office chair rolling across the room.
“What do you want this time?” Spencer asked, sticking his head into the room, Brendon’s man-cave. “Smoothie?” He held his hands out to show Brendon the Styrofoam cups. Smoothie Palace. Serving fresh and healthy delights since 2003.
Brendon shrugged and got up to grab one of the smoothies. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just wish.”
“I wish that we could rent a cabin in the mountains, like … that one time,” Spencer said, clearing a spot on the couch and sitting down amid the open novels and half-filled notebooks. “You can’t seem to write anything these days.” Harsh, but sometimes harsh was the best way to deal with Brendon.
“But we ended up not keeping anything we wrote in the cabins,” Brendon pointed out.
Spencer took a sip of his banana-peach-swirl and raised his eyebrows. “Correction,” he said. “Ryan ended up not keeping anything he wrote in the cabins.”
Brendon flinched at the mention of their ex-lyrist, guitarist, co-founder. “Stupid, fucking prick,” he muttered under his breath and turned away to rapidly blink the tears from his eyes.
“You have to give him up someday, Brendon,” said Spencer in a soft, hesitant voice. “Let him go.”
Brendon mumbled a response and it sounded an awful lot like Don’t want to.
“What did your mother tell you when your favorite pair of pajama pants got too small for you?” Spencer asked in a soothing tone, watching Brendon prowl back and forth over the littered floor of his office.
“I had to give them away,” Brendon muttered, eyes darting from the dusty bookcases, to the cobwebs on the chandelier, back to the dust.
“And what was the reason she gave you?”
“I outgrew them.”
Spencer nodded encouragingly. “And what else did she tell you?” he prompted.
“She would buy me a bigger pair that fit me,” Brendon answered with a confused frown. “So what?”
“Now replace your pajama pants with Ryan,” Spencer suggested.
Brendon’s brown eyes widen in first shock, then anger. “No,” he hissed. “I won’t do that. I’m not the one to throw people out like trash like that. That’s not me.”
Spencer sighed and tried again. “Let’s go back to the pajama pants,” he said and Brendon nodded fervently because that was safe territory. “When your mother gave you the new pair, the ones that were big enough to fit you comfortably, how did you feel?”
“Delighted,” Brendon replied automatically. “They had a cool reindeer pattern and they felt nice against my skin.”
“And were they a good replacement for the old ones?”
Brendon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “They became my new favorite.”
“Don’t you see?” said Spencer. “Maybe Ryan used to be your perfect fit, but you’ve grown, and now you have Sarah, and she suits you just as well.”
Brendon’s forehead furrowed and he frowned. “But what about when I outgrew those new pajama pants?” he asked. “I had to buy another replacement.”
Spencer nodded. “That’s how relationships work, Brendon,” he said. “You keep growing and changing and finding new fits. Like Ryan. He has Z now.”
“Ryan’s in the fucking mall, trying on every fucking pair of pajama pants,” Brendon muttered under his breath.
Still stubbornly loyal to his ex-best friend, Spencer chose to ignore the singer’s comment—“That’s why you need to let him go.”
“But what about marriage, Spencer?” replied Brendon, mocking the drummer’s condescending tone. “Do people just suddenly stop growing then?”
Momentarily stumped, Spencer silently sat and thought about it while Brendon smirked triumphantly, unsure of what he had won.
“Marriage is when you love someone enough that it doesn’t matter if you fit perfectly or not,” Spencer said softly. “When you see and accept someone’s flaws and still love them.”
Brendon opened his mouth to argue back, but Spencer cut him off before he could say anything: “And when they can do the same for you.”
Defeated, Brendon closed his mouth, took a long drink from his smoothie, and kicked Spencer out of his office. “I don’t appreciate your psychotherapy games, Spencer Smith!” he called out, locking the door, but he could still hear the drummer’s quiet chuckle through the wood.
“Funny, neither did Ryan.”
“What do you want this time?” Spencer asked, sticking his head into the room, Brendon’s man-cave. “Smoothie?” He held his hands out to show Brendon the Styrofoam cups. Smoothie Palace. Serving fresh and healthy delights since 2003.
Brendon shrugged and got up to grab one of the smoothies. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I just wish.”
“I wish that we could rent a cabin in the mountains, like … that one time,” Spencer said, clearing a spot on the couch and sitting down amid the open novels and half-filled notebooks. “You can’t seem to write anything these days.” Harsh, but sometimes harsh was the best way to deal with Brendon.
“But we ended up not keeping anything we wrote in the cabins,” Brendon pointed out.
Spencer took a sip of his banana-peach-swirl and raised his eyebrows. “Correction,” he said. “Ryan ended up not keeping anything he wrote in the cabins.”
Brendon flinched at the mention of their ex-lyrist, guitarist, co-founder. “Stupid, fucking prick,” he muttered under his breath and turned away to rapidly blink the tears from his eyes.
“You have to give him up someday, Brendon,” said Spencer in a soft, hesitant voice. “Let him go.”
Brendon mumbled a response and it sounded an awful lot like Don’t want to.
“What did your mother tell you when your favorite pair of pajama pants got too small for you?” Spencer asked in a soothing tone, watching Brendon prowl back and forth over the littered floor of his office.
“I had to give them away,” Brendon muttered, eyes darting from the dusty bookcases, to the cobwebs on the chandelier, back to the dust.
“And what was the reason she gave you?”
“I outgrew them.”
Spencer nodded encouragingly. “And what else did she tell you?” he prompted.
“She would buy me a bigger pair that fit me,” Brendon answered with a confused frown. “So what?”
“Now replace your pajama pants with Ryan,” Spencer suggested.
Brendon’s brown eyes widen in first shock, then anger. “No,” he hissed. “I won’t do that. I’m not the one to throw people out like trash like that. That’s not me.”
Spencer sighed and tried again. “Let’s go back to the pajama pants,” he said and Brendon nodded fervently because that was safe territory. “When your mother gave you the new pair, the ones that were big enough to fit you comfortably, how did you feel?”
“Delighted,” Brendon replied automatically. “They had a cool reindeer pattern and they felt nice against my skin.”
“And were they a good replacement for the old ones?”
Brendon nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “They became my new favorite.”
“Don’t you see?” said Spencer. “Maybe Ryan used to be your perfect fit, but you’ve grown, and now you have Sarah, and she suits you just as well.”
Brendon’s forehead furrowed and he frowned. “But what about when I outgrew those new pajama pants?” he asked. “I had to buy another replacement.”
Spencer nodded. “That’s how relationships work, Brendon,” he said. “You keep growing and changing and finding new fits. Like Ryan. He has Z now.”
“Ryan’s in the fucking mall, trying on every fucking pair of pajama pants,” Brendon muttered under his breath.
Still stubbornly loyal to his ex-best friend, Spencer chose to ignore the singer’s comment—“That’s why you need to let him go.”
“But what about marriage, Spencer?” replied Brendon, mocking the drummer’s condescending tone. “Do people just suddenly stop growing then?”
Momentarily stumped, Spencer silently sat and thought about it while Brendon smirked triumphantly, unsure of what he had won.
“Marriage is when you love someone enough that it doesn’t matter if you fit perfectly or not,” Spencer said softly. “When you see and accept someone’s flaws and still love them.”
Brendon opened his mouth to argue back, but Spencer cut him off before he could say anything: “And when they can do the same for you.”
Defeated, Brendon closed his mouth, took a long drink from his smoothie, and kicked Spencer out of his office. “I don’t appreciate your psychotherapy games, Spencer Smith!” he called out, locking the door, but he could still hear the drummer’s quiet chuckle through the wood.
“Funny, neither did Ryan.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Yes, let's go back to the pajama pants, Brendon.