The Calendar

Over an agonizing year later, and he can go home. To Jon's house, to Spencer's pool, to Dallon's smirk, to Ian's smile, to Ryan's arms.

His hands don't always work properly, and he has trouble doing things like writing or holding a fork. There are few holes in his memory, but nothing he can't sorta stitch together on his own. One thing that remains gaping, however, is the importance of a calendar. He's not sure why having one with him feels so necessary, because he hasn't seen one at all in the past year or so. It's something to do with his life Before the accident, something that is gone in the After.

Jon's mother is a sobbing mess when he walks in the front door, throwing her arms around him and kissing his face like a son returning from war. Jon takes his bags and leads him upstairs to his bedroom, helps him put his stuff away, and leads him across the street to Spin's house. The street-crossing itself makes him clutch at Jon's hand, eyes darting in search of potential danger. They make it across safely, however, and Ian runs over from his yard and gives him a bone-crushing hug. Dallon stands aways away and just smiles and waves.

Spencer almost cries when he gathers him into yet another hug. He's not really sure how to make his arms hug back, but they do, and he and Spencer stand there hugging for a long time.

"Brendon."

It's a little gasp of a breathy word, but he's pushing away from Spencer and running to the scrawny boy with too much make-up on, and Brendon fucking twirls Ryan around because, good lord, "I love you."

It's not like his friendships and non-romantic relationships don't mean as much to him: it's the fact that he never got to say it before, did he? But he can say it now, and he says it again and again and pulls Ryan's mouth to his greedily, savoring the feel and taste and the way his stomach still twists, even after all this time.

When Jon hands him a grey calendar, Brendon finds himself scared to open it, and he's not sure why. When he does, however, he just looks up and smiles at Ryan. "I didn't know your birthday was coming up."

See, in the date boxes of calendars, Brendon Urie sees grey blurs. However, if he squints hard enough or knows someone in the box, he can see something really clearly, like he does now.

George Ryan Ross III, 1986.

Birthdays, not death days. Because when he almost faced Death himself, Brendon discovered how to see life.