That One Night

“Have you seen Jon? I can’t…I can’t find him,” Brendon says, stumbling and tripping over his own feet. He can’t really tell whose shoulder he has his hand on, but he thinks it’s someone he knows until the person turns around and it’s obvious that he’s never met this person before.

“Who are you looking for?”

“…Jon. You’re pretty,” Brendon smiles, looking up into the boy’s face. He smiles, turning away for a second, laughing a little bit, then turning back to look at Brendon.

“Um, thanks. Is it your friend that you’re looking for?”

“Yeah! Jon. I thought you were someone else, I thought you’d know where he was but you aren’t who you looked like from behind.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, I don’t think I know any Jons here tonight.”

“You’re like,really, really pretty, you know? Like, you could almost be like, a really pretty girl.”

“Uh…thank you?” the boy laughs.

“You know, I’m totally fucking trashed right now,” Brendon says.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“You’re not drunk at all, are you?”

“I actually just got here not that long ago -- I had to work late tonight, so…I haven’t really gotten started yet.”

“Hey! I know where the kitchen is! Do you want to go get a drink? I need a refill, anyways!”

“Sure,” the boy nods, and Brendon grabs him by the wrist and begins to wind his way through the small crowds of people towards the kitchen. There’s a stack of red, plastic cups on the counter next to a few kegs of beer and several bottles of various liquors. Brendon grabs a cup, holding it out for the boy who takes it and fills it with beer.

“What’s your name?” the boy asks.

“Brendon.”

“Brendon. Hey, Brendon,” he says, looking down at the counter and seeing a black Sharpie, there for people to write their names on their cups, and picking it up, uncapping it. “You’re cute. I’m gonna write my number on your arm, okay? So you can call me some time…when you’re sober.”

“You mean you’re leaving me?!” Brendon pouts.

“No, no, I’m not leaving you. I just want to give it to you now, before…I forget it.”

“Oh, okay!” Brendon smiles, and holds out his arm. The boy pulls Brendon’s arm closer to him and begins to write “Call me! --Ryan” and then his phone number. When he’s finished, he drops Brendon’s arm and sets the marker back down on the counter.

“I’m Ryan, by the way.”

***

Later on in the day, after the Advil has kicked in, Brendon is feeling much better and much less hung over. There’s still the dull, nagging pain behind his eyes when he looks directly at a light, and there’s still the occasional pang of nausea that sets in every now and then, but other than that, he’s almost completely back to his normal self.

He’s alone in the apartment that he shares with Jon, and he’s not even sure where his roommate went. But he’s preoccupied anyways and he doesn’t even notice when Jon comes in until he says something.

“Hey, Brendon, what are you doing?” Jon asks, looking over Brendon’s shoulder at the desktop computer that they both share, located in their living room.

“Oh, Jon, hey. I hope you don’t mind, I hacked into your MySpace.”

“Again? I swear to god, if you put yourself as my number one in front of Cassie again--”

“No, no, I didn’t change anything! I just had to look at Spencer’s profile but it’s private so I had to come on your account to see it,” Brendon explains, and Jon gives him a quizzical look.

“Why…did you have to look at Spencer’s profile?” he asks.

“So I could find Ryan’s,” he answers. Jon sighs, rolling his eyes and falls down onto the couch adjacent to where their computer is set up.

“Brendon, you’re obsessed. …And how did you get onto my MySpace in the first place?”

“Uh, Jon, your passwords are so easy,” Brendon says, turning around. “Clover-Nine-One-Seven? Really? Your last password was Dylan-Nine-One-Seven. You need to make passwords that aren’t the names of your mom’s cats and the date of your birth.”

“They’re my cats, they just live with my mom, okay? It’s not my fault they don’t allow pets here.”

“Whatever, anyways, that’s not the point. I found Ryan’s MySpace, but for orientation, it says ‘straight’!”

“Hm,” Jon mumbles.

“Is he actually straight or is he closeted?” Brendon asks, turning around in the computer chair to look at Jon, who gives him a bewildered look.

“How would I know?!”

“You’re friends with him!”

“No, I’m friends with his friend. I’m acquaintances with him,” Jon corrects.

“Well, that’s still more than I am with him.”

“Well, it seems you know more about his sexuality than I would, seeing as how you probably would have banged him if you hadn’t--”

“Don’t…even,” Brendon interrupts. “And he would have banged me. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’m not up with the homo lingo.”

“It’s not even lingo, it’s just a technicality.”

“Whatever.”

“You should ask Spencer!” Brendon says.

“…Ask Spencer…?”

“If Ryan is gay.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that, Brendon,” Jon says.

“Why not?! He would know, wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know, maybe, but I’m not just going to be like ‘Hey, Spencer, is your best friend who I don’t really even know that well gay?’ That’s just…no. I’m not doing it.”

“You are such a bad best friend, Jon!”

“I am not!”

“You’re a life ruiner. You ruin peoples’ lives!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re a fugly slut!”

“Brendon, stop quoting Mean Girls.”

“Boo, you whore!”

“Don’t you have a class tomorrow that you need to finish homework for or something?” Jon asks.

“Haha, it’s summer, that doesn’t work anymore.”

“Shit, you’re right.”

“Jon, will you please try to find out more about Ryan? And, you know…whether he’s gay or straight or bi or closeted or…whatever?” Brendon begs.

“Why? I thought you weren’t going to call him anyways.”

“I’m not! I just want to know.”

“You are so weird. I will never, ever understand what goes on in that head of yours.”

“…I’m gonna take that as a compliment, you know.”

“Yeah, you would.”

“Will you please find out for me?” Brendon asks again, and Jon sighs.

“Alright, I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Okay! What?!”

“If I find out that he is into guys…like, for real, like, not just wanting to experiment or whatever, you have to call him,” Jon says, and Brendon stares at him almost as if he’s never even seen him before.

“You’re joking, right?”

“No, I am not joking. If he’s gay…or bi, even, you have to call him. And the only reason I say you don’t have to call him if he’s curious is only because I love you and you’re my best friend and those types of guys hurt you way too often.”

“Oh my god, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Brendon smiles.

“I know, right? Like, two minutes after you called me a life-ruiner and a fugly slut and a whore, too.”

“You know I don’t mean that stuff, though.”

“Yeah, no, I know. But do we have a deal?”

“…Maybe.”

“Brendon.”

“…I don’t know.”

“Brendon!”

“Fine! Yes. We have a freaking deal, okay?”

“Okay. Good.”