Continued from here.
---
When Brendon comes back downstairs, scrubbing his hand through wet hair and grateful for the clear-headedness the hot water has afforded him, Ryan's perched on the kitchen table, phone pressed to his ear. He is, Brendon notices with absent-minded delight, blushing.
"Oh my God, shut up," Ryan says, voice thick with laughter, and that's good at least, Brendon thinks, maybe he'll stop being such an uptight little shit, "Shut up, I can't – put Spence on, you're ridiculous." He adds, quickly, "And I am sorry," and then smiles a little, quick and small. Brendon hangs around in the doorway despite himself, curious.
"Hey," Ryan says, quieter now, almost regretful. "I'm sorry. I didn't – I just forgot. I'm really – I wouldn't ditch you on purpose, you know – and – no, I couldn't have died, Spencer, you dipshit," and his voice is so fond. "I'm just – my dad's away, you know, and." He hunches down, and then looks around as if on instinct, gaze locking on Brendon. Brendon raises his chin and steps into the kitchen, defiant, and Ryan says, without looking away, "Yes, with Brendon."
Brendon takes a few steps inside, and Ryan says, "I'll talk to you later, okay. Sorry." When he hangs up, Brendon leans across the table and kisses him, and Ryan curls a hand around his neck and tilts his head, opening his mouth easily.
"You stopped being a jerk?" Brendon mumbles against his mouth, and feels Ryan's lips twitch up into a smile.
"For a little while, maybe," Ryan says, and that's good enough for Brendon.
---
It's a lazy kind of day, really. Brendon bought some schoolwork in a bag and this close to the end of the semester (the end of high school, and God, he can't wait) he can't really afford to neglect that, so after breakfast (and Ryan does end up making pancakes, the sucker) he spreads his stuff out over the kitchen table and works for nearly three hours. Ryan spends most of the time on the computer (insisting he's writing an essay, but Brendon suspects the use of AIM).
When he's done, though, he wanders upstairs and stretches, falling back on Ryan's bed with a yawn. It's not meant to be an overtly seductive thing (Brendon's pretty sure that if he tried any of that, even now, it would end with one or both of them laughing hysterically) but he gets barely any warning before Ryan glances at him and practically pounces, sliding his hands up under Brendon's shirt. Before they really do anything, though, Brendon's stomach starts grumbling loudly, and soon Ryan's laughing too hard to do anything but run his hand along Brendon's side, so absently Brendon doubts he even knows he's doing it.
They eat again, and then watch another movie, and then Ryan drives Brendon in to his 5-9 shift at the Smoothie Hut. For a while, Brendon's unsure, and eventually he says, "Should I grab my bag and you could maybe drop it off at my place on your way back?"
"My dad won't be back until late tomorrow," Ryan says, almost mildly, and that's that.
About fifteen minutes before the end of his shift, Haley nudges him, grinning slyly. "Hey," she says. "I think your boyfriend's here."
Brendon flinches despite himself. "What? I don't have a boyfriend," he says on auto-pilot, and Haley turns bright red.
"Oh," she says. "Oh my God, I'm sorry, I just assumed with—"
"With what?" Brendon hisses, almost frantic.
"Well," Haley says, flushing. "It's just – he's Spencer's friend, right? And you two disappeared that time here, and the way he picks you up and drops you off sometimes, I just figured—"
"We're friends," Brendon says, roughly, and then makes a face, because that's not true, either. "We're not even that close, seriously, we're like – like study buddies or something."
