The Cat and the Bird

Ryan was the cat and Brendon was the bird.

Ryan was found in the boy's bathroom ignoring the tagged walls as he admired his reflection in the dirty mirror. He preened himself in the hallways with a compact that he had stolen off an ex-girlfriend, his hands hovering by his ears as he adjusted his dusty brown hair. He submerged himself in a world of beauty and perfection - a world with straighteners and hairspray and eyeliner that bordered his gorgeous, rusty eyes.

Brendon was found prowling across a stage with a microphone grasped in his lean fingers as he belted out lyrics that made his lungs scream. The adrenaline it gave him was a comfort - it forced a barrier between himself and the audience. He loved the stage because when he wasn't on it, he was meek and forgettable.

Ryan was the cat and Brendon was the bird.

"I love your eyes," Brendon had commented the first time they had met, before his gaze snapped back down to the cracked concrete beneath their feet.

Ryan had barely remembered him two minutes later. He could only recall the compliment he had been issued, to which he had responded with a seemingly appreciative smile, while really he had been thinking, of course you love me.

Two months later, Spencer was sitting on the floor with his homework out in front of him, scribbling down words frantically. Ryan was sprawled across his bed, staring at the ceiling. His homework sat next to Spencer patiently, waiting to be completed.

Spencer paused to bite the end of his pen for a moment, contemplating an answer, before saying, "Are you busy tonight?"

Ryan grunted and turned his head slightly, his hand raising to pull at a strand of hair without thinking. "Depends; why?"

"Concert."

Ryan's nose wrinkled, and Spencer raised his hands defensively.

"Don't judge it. You don't even know who's playing!"

"Fine, who is it then?"

"'Kay, well do you remember Brendon?"

Spencer was met with a blank look as Ryan sorted through all the compliments he had received in his mind. It took a few seconds before his eyebrows arched, signalling he remembered. He couldn't recall the face, but he heard I love your eyes, echoing in his mind.

"Sort of."

"He's the lead singer."

Ryan heaved a great sigh and pulled himself up onto his elbows so he could look at Spencer scrupulously.

"I dunno. It sounds..." He scrunched up his nose in distaste.

"Give it a chance, Ry! I've heard them before, they're really good."

Ryan snorted with amusement. "You give out compliments too easily, Spence. Have some standards." Like me.

"Please, I don't want to go alone."

The beautiful older boy smiled. This was what he had wanted - Spencer giving signs that he needed him there. Ryan knew he was needed - people needed him more than he needed them. That's what happened when you were perfect.

"Fine, but you're paying for the drinks."

Ryan knew fully well that as he strutted between the aisles of seats that he was being watched by at least ten pairs of eyes. Probably more, as he remembered just how nice his eyeliner was looking that night.

The second he sat, he began to grow impatient. People around him were talking but none were approaching him - not my fault I'm unapproachable, he thought - and the band were still backstage somewhere. He fidgeted in his seat, rearranging the position of his legs every few moments before settling on folding his arms across his chest like a child who didn't get his way.

After ten minutes of thinking about how he could be somewhere where he'd be noticed instead of there, the band finally appeared on stage, much to his relief. Unfortunately, he then had to endure them plugging in and experimenting with their instruments. This earned a noticeable groan, and Spencer glared at him to shut up.

He tried to watch them - interest himself in them - but it didn't really seem possible. The boy tapping on the microphone looked vaguely familiar, and he could see his lips forming the words 'I love your eyes,' in his mind's eye, so he guessed this was Brendon.

The guitar started up a few minutes later, sounding ragged and a little off beat.

Ryan cringed and leaned over to Spencer slightly. "Please, can we just g--"

His jaw dropped.

Puzzled, Spencer glanced at him and seemed surprised at Ryan's dumbstruck expression. He'd never seen his best friend do this before - ever. Ryan didn't... like things.

"He can... sing," he stated, breathily.

The corners of Spencer's lips were pulled upwards in a sly smile as he turned to face the stage once again.

In reality, it was more than just, "he can sing". It was so much more. The boy on stage was confident with fiery eyes as he stalked around his band mates, the music he was creating much more intense than any of their instruments. Ryan couldn't help but glance around at the audience - all of them were captivated. Brendon was like the pied piper. Ryan felt that his voice mirrored Ryan exactly - every piece ever captured in his reflection.

They'd make the perfect pair. That voice was the only thing that could compliment Ryan's features even better than his own make up.

He has a beautiful voice and I have a beautiful face. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

"Sing for me, Brendon."

Ryan was on the bed and Brendon was on the floor. Brendon had wanted to go to the movies, but Ryan had said no, that he wanted to stay home.

"But I'm tired, Ryan."

"Sing, damnit, Brendon."

Brendon sang.

They were lying on Brendon's bed. They weren't touching, because when Brendon had dared to attempt snaking his arms around Ryan's waist, the older boy had shoved him away.

"Sing for me, Brendon."

Brendon ran his fingers up Ryan's arms, trying to distract him, but Ryan slapped his hand away with a glare.

"Sing, your voice is nice."

Being around Ryan gets tiresome after a very short time - a lesson Brendon learnt quite quickly. Ryan had to have things his way. He was narcissistic; at least, Brendon thought that was the proper term for it. Up himself was the term usually used by surrounding teenagers.

Whenever Brendon refused to do something, Ryan grew furious within a few moments. The younger boy was too afraid to take it a step further. He always gave in.

That was, until Sunday night.

They had both been on the floor, watching the flickering TV, when Ryan had requested for him to sing. Brendon had said no - Ryan's tone grew more forceful.

No.

Ryan started yelling.

No, no, no!

Ryan leapt to his feet, screaming obscenities as he tried to intimidate Brendon into it. He merely cowered on the floor for a few moments, mumbling, "no, no, no," under his breath. Each time he said it, the perfect boy became even more enraged.

The yelling started to scare him - he coped horribly with conflict - so he stood up and ran toward the door, but not before Ryan grabbed his collar and started shaking him with his fist to his throat.

"I made you," Ryan hissed, and Brendon could feel his blood boiling. "I made you, I made you! You wouldn't be beautiful without me!"

Brendon flinched and Ryan released him, roaring in anger. His arm snapped out and grabbed the remote that had been sitting on the bedside table and launched it at Brendon's head.

The younger boy yelped and ducked, hugging one of his arms tightly around him as he reached for the door handle with the other. He fled the room, hearing an ornament shatter against the wall while Ryan seethed.

"Get out!" Ryan shouted from within his room. "Get out! I never want to see you again!"

As he was rushing up the hallway, the crashing continued. As he walked out the front door, he could hear Ryan screaming abuse. As he ran down the driveway, the night air was alive with anger.

I don't need Brendon.

I did him a favour really. I don't really like that much about him - just his voice. Nothing else about him is that special. He's got a crooked nose, a mediocre haircut and asymmetrical ears. He's horrible really. How could you have lowered yourself to that level?

Really, Ryan? Don't you have any standards? You're going to end up like Spencer soon.

Ryan was the cat and Brendon was the bird.

Ryan was egocentric and thought he could do no wrong. That everyone else was at fault but himself.

Brendon flew away whenever he got frightened.

The devil holds Ryan's mirror while he preens, gnarled scarlet claws grasping the base while he walks. The devil lurks behind Ryan's back, whispering compliments in his ear and making him swell with pride. The devil smirks and pushes Ryan's eyeliner pencil a little closer when he's having doubts.

You're perfect Ryan.

All is vanity. Vanity is hell.

Brendon found Ryan three months later in the boy's bathroom, the mirror shattered and broken veins in his wrists.