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It's been an exceptionally slow Wednesday so far. Brendon supposes it's because tomorrow is Thanksgiving, but he's not thinking about that. It'll be a normal day of work for him tomorrow, and he isn't thinking about his mother's turkey and the whole family grouped around the table, isn't thinking about laughter and warmth and the sound of forks scraping over porcelain.
At least he'll have the whole Friday off. He could use the money, but just the thought of a whole day to himself, nothing to do but sleep and eat and sleep some more, it's enough to make his knees go weak. Three hours more today, and then eight tomorrow. He can do that.
"Brendon?" Haley asks, and he blinks tiredly and pulls himself back into the task at hand.
"Yeah," he says, "sorry. Anyway, in order to clean this, you just lift the lid and take this thing here out, right? Just use water, no soap or anything, or it'll make the smoothies taste funny." He's distantly aware of the doorbell, but he clicks the filter back into place before he looks up.
A moment later, he almost wishes he hadn't. After all, it's not like he's been trying to forget about Ryan and Ryan's hands and the choked, helpless noises he made while humping Brendon's leg—Right, yeah. It's not like Brendon's been trying to forget about that for the better part of today's shift. And today's classes. Not to mention last night.
How the fuck has this become his life?
"Hey," Spencer says, obviously smiling at Haley while simultaneously pretending not to do just that. If he were anyone else, it might be cute. As it is, Brendon bites back a groan.
"I'm going to take my break," he tells Haley, "need some fresh air," and he doesn't know why his voice rises to carry to where Ryan is standing still and unreadable with Spencer. "If you need me, I'll be out in the back alley."
She gives him a slightly surprised nod. "Yeah, okay, sure."
Brendon turns on his heel and tells himself he doesn't want Ryan to follow. It's not like they have a... thing or whatever. They don't. They just sort of fell a few times, and the other's mouth happened to be there to catch them. Brendon just needs some fresh air, that's all.
He lets the backdoor swing shut and leans against the rough concrete of the wall that separates the opposite house from the small alley. It's just a connection between one road and the next, hardly ever frequented and bereft of any charm, overflowing trashcans beside the backdoor of the smoothie shop. Brendon squares his shoulders, shifts his weight and tips his head back, glaring up at the clear sky. It's times like this that he wishes he smoked.
Not that he could afford it.
He's just about done with his monologue on how he really doesn't want Ryan to come out here, twelve minutes left of his break, when the back door creaks open and Ryan peers out uncertainly. Brendon straightens and gives him an unimpressed look. "Couldn't wait till Tuesday, or what?"
Ryan doesn't answer right away. He closes the door behind him and steps out into the alley, and it's pretty random for Brendon's mind to notice how Ryan's t-shirt is so tight and scene that it rides up to show a slice of white skin above the waistband of his black jeans. Brendon has always liked contrasts.
Ryan's flat voice shakes Brendon out of his musings. "What, you're assuming that every detention's going to end now with spunk in your pants?"
"Pot, meet kettle." Brendon makes his lips curl. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who got so loud I had to shut you up with my mouth. Seems like it's been a while. Girls not putting out for you, Ross?"
"Well, you see," Ryan says smoothly, stepping closer. Brendon doesn't budge. "I just thought a homophobic Mormon boy would pose more of a challenge."
