Ryden Oneshots 【2】

What We Invented

Summary: Now Brendon really doesn’t mind having boys in his bed, especially pretty ones and the one currently occupying his sheets seems quite pretty. It’s just…he likes to know who the boys in his bed are and he has absolutely no idea who this boy is.

Brendon never really thought of himself as the type of kid who would be sent by boarding school, but his parents thought it would be good for him. Or they just got tired of dealing with him and decided life would be easier without him, which is what Brendon suspected. So here he was, packed into the back seat of his mother’s sedan between an old suitcase and a cardboard box, on his way to Colorado to settle into what would be his home (and school) for the next two years.

The school, called the Marrin School for Young Men (Brendon kind of thinks this is the stupidest name for a school he’s ever heard), is nestled into the Rocky mountains an hour and a half away from Denver and the pictures Brendon’s seen of it are gorgeous. But Brendon’s a teenage boy and he can recognize beauty but he can’t admit it. It’s also supposed to be the nineteenth best school in the country and Brendon just thinks nineteen is such a random number, why would you advertise it?

Brendon’s actually a little bit excited, but he would admit it only on pain of death. He keeps up a front of indifference, with a little bit of hostility mixed in, wedged between his possessions while his mother chatters away excitedly in the front seat and his father concentrates on the road because they’re starting to get into the mountains and the roads are difficult. Brendon’s stomach twists in knots and bows and he thinks he’s more nervous than he is excited. He feels a little like he’s going to throw up and he wonders if it’s nerves or the curves in the roads.

***

Brendon’s room is larger than he expected. There’re two beds and two desks and two dressers and two nightstands and room to move around. There’s only one closet and that would bother Brendon if he ever hung up his clothes. One half of the room is completely furbished and finished and full of someone’s possessions, books and CDs and clothing strewn across the floor. Whoever they belong to obviously didn’t bother to clean up.

When Brendon and his parents arrived at the school, they were met by a pretty young lady in a nice dress with a large ring shining on her left hand. “I’m Nancy Martin,” she smiles at them, “the receptionist here at Marrin.” She proceeds to inform him that the head of the school is at a conference and can’t meet with them right now, but she’ll be happy to show Brendon to his room.

Brendon’s parents help him unpack and wait for almost six hours, but the head of school never shows up and they have to get going because they have a hotel reservation in Denver and it’s getting late. Brendon’s mother cries a little and hugs him and Brendon’s dad pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. Brendon assures them that he’ll call every week and write letters because his mom always says that she’s proud of his handwriting. They leave and Brendon can hear the click of his mother’s shoes on the wooden floor of the hallway and he feels just a little abandoned.

“I should unpack,” Brendon says aloud to himself and then looks around and realizes all his stuff is already put away. He’s having a strange day. So he lays down on his freshly made bed, pulling the blanket his aunt made him for his twelfth birthday over his head and falling asleep.

He dreams about marrying a construction worker until he’s awoken by the sound of a door slamming.

“Oh, shit,” someone mutters. Brendon wiggles a little and pushes himself up just enough that the blanket slips off his head. “Damn, did I wake you up?”

“Yeah,” Brendon replies sleepily, sitting up all the way and glancing blurrily towards the door where a boy in jeans and a white shirt is leaning against the wall, looking at him.