Chapter Text
History Class 10:00 A.M. Day One
"Why don't you say a few things about yourself?"
Brendon found himself standing in front of roughly fifteen kids, his palms sweating profusely as he stuffed them in his too-tight jeans, trying to find something about himself that wouldn't give off the 'attention deficit, failed-mormon, loudmouth,' rep he had fabricated for himself in Public School.
He pulled at the hem of his charcoal-colored tee, the room suddenly seeming too warm and stuffy as he brushed his hair out of his eyes, his stomach churning nervously. He took a deep breath.
"Like what?" Brendon asked, trying to keep his voice steady as he tilted his head upwards a bit.
He glanced around the classroom, his head feeling significantly lighter than it was when he had been seated in his desk without the vicious stares of every kid in the room on him. His eyes met with a buff, dark-haired boy with a full beard and a frown that faintly reminded him of a Neanderthal, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at him with his cold, blue eyes. That kid probably wanted to kill him. And so did that one next to him with tattoos and the leather jacket. The teacher probably couldn't stop it from happening, and for half a second Brendon wondered if his life was really worth 78 hours of porn.
The class was mostly boys, all shooting Brendon murderous looks as he swept his eyes across the desks, hoping at least one of them would be tolerable. He hadn't planned on going twelve months without a single friend to talk to, but now that he was standing in front of fifteen possible candidates for this position, he decided that maybe solitude wasn't the worst thing in a place like this.
He tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes as he shifted his weight around on the balls of his feet.
"Start out with where you live." The teacher suggested, his dark curls falling into his exhausted, baby-blue eyes.
Brendon decided his home address was possibly the worst thing to tell a class of teenagers labeled as delinquents as he felt the fake smile disappear off of his face, raising his eyebrows.
"Las Vegas."
A girl in the back snickered.
"Right." The teacher continued, looking far too unconcerned with Brendon's existence, "What do you like to do in your free time?"
Well, the fact that he got himself into this armpit of a private school for downloading endless hours of porn into the school system might give some insight as to what he does in his off time.
He sighed, picking at a loose string on his t-shirt.
"I, um–" He began, trying to come up with something that didn't make him seem like a serial masturbater. "I sing a little, play guitar and, uh a few other instruments." He finalized, not wanting to sound cocky by listing off everything.
"Fascinating." The teacher said and Brendon couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "What are you looking forward most this year?"
"Leaving." Brendon answered honestly, gaining a few grins from his classmates.
"What was that?"
"Um, learning, I meant," He shifted uncomfortably, scratching at the skin on his neck with his unevenly chewed fingernails.
"Alright, well you can sit now," He said, as Brendon practically collapsed into his chair; the stares of a few people still pressed against his back.
"Also, I'm Mr. Trohman, if you ever have any questions about the school, or have any problems with students, come to me and I'll show you to Mr. Harris's room and he'll help you out." Brendon nodded, feeling his lips fold together in an uncomfortable smile. "Welcome to first period history."
"I'm thrilled," Brendon deadpanned under his breath as he reached under his wooden desk, almost accidentally grabbing the kid next to him's ankle as he tried to get his book, his fingers trembling.
"Hey, watch it or I'll use that foot to break your nose."
Brendon felt his face go pale as Mr. Trohman began to teach, writing a page number on the board in front of them in a purple expo marker.
"S-sorry, I didn't mean to I was just trying to get my book, I di–"
"Chill out man." The boy laughed in a hushed voice, his smile creating creases by his lively, coffee colored eyes. "I'm just messing with you."
Brendon felt himself smile in relief, flipping to the page as the lecture started.
"I'm Jon," the boy said, flicking at the thin page of his textbook. He had short, dark brown waves that didn't come lower than the bottom of his earlobe, a few pieces strewn across his forehead in a swept motion. He scratched at his stubble, pursing his thin lips as he folded his muscular arms over his chest, grinning childishly.
"Brendon," Brendon responded, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"So I heard," Jon said, flicking his eyebrows before darting his eyes back to the front of the room, "How long you staying here for?"
Brendon felt his stomach flop, hoping to god this Jon kid wasn't a rapist.
"Four terms." He answered quietly, tapping a dull pencil against the binding of the large, navy book in front of him.
"Not bad," Jon sighed, slumping down in his chair, "that's only a year." He paused, scratching at his beard again, "What'd you even do to get here?"
Brendon fought back a laugh, realizing how dumb the truth would sound, but decided to go for it anyway. "I, um, downloaded like, three days worth of porn onto a school laptop," He mumbled, feeling a slight blush prickle in his cheeks, "but like, I forgot that all laptops were connected and well, my principal wasn't too happy when he found roughly twenty viruses and a video of naked girls popping balloons with their asses on his computer."
Jon stifled a chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. "That's amazing," He uttered in-between his fingers, looking over at Mr. Trohman who had turned his back to the class in favor of writing down some more notes on the whiteboard.
"What about you?" Brendon asked, pretending to take notes as he shifted his eyes towards Jon.
"I may have gotten into a heated argument with the principal, and well, flipped his desk, which did end up breaking his computer and a few pictures of his daughter. But she was ugly so it's not like they mattered much." Brendon let himself chuckle, tapping the edge of his pencil against his paper softly.
"How long?"
"Three years, this one's my last." He answered, his smile deepening.
"God damn," Brendon said, trying to imagine staying in this hell hole for three years.
"You should sit with me at lunch today, I'll introduce you to some of my friends who aren't quite as..." Jon paused, his eyes shifting around the room.
"Murderous?" Brendon finished, jotting down a few words Mr. Trohman had underlined on the board.
"I was going to go violent, but I guess that works just the same."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." He mumbled, scribbling a few sentences down in his messy handwriting.
He had already done roughly two years on the cold war, the list of familiar names and battles seemingly mind-numbing as his eyes caught a glare on the board.
"Can anyone tell me who created the term Cold War?" Mr. Trohman asked, turning back around to face his students.
Not a single hand went up.
"C'mon, no one?" He asked, his lips looping downwards in a disapproving frown. "Ross," He said, his glare focusing on a boy in the back of the room, his thumbs shifting vigorously over the screen of his phone.
"Sorry, what?" He asked, his hazel eyes darting upwards as he ran his hand through his messy bangs.
"Who invented the term Cold War?" The boy smirked, his smile enhancing his handsome features as he reclined in his chair, raising his eyebrows.
"Robert Frost."
"No, Mr. Ross, that's not–"
"Is it Snow Miser?"
"No, it's–" "Wait! It's Frozone!"
A few kids laughed half-heartedly.
Mr. Trohman rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly. "Ryan, I don't have time for this. Does anyone know who named the Cold War?"
Brendon raised his hand, his heart sinking into his stomach as Mr. Trohman called on him. "It was um, George Orwell I think," He mumbled, dropping his hand as his eyes adverted towards Ryan who had gone back to using his phone uninterestedly.
"Correct and you've been here less than an hour, thank you Mr. Urie."
Brendon winced at the use of his last name, picking at the dead skin on his lower lip with his teeth.
Jon looked up from drawing a cat on Brendon's paper, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "How'd you know that?" He whispered, his voice tight.
"Um, I already did the Cold War in public school." He answered, adding a whisker to Jon's drawing. Jon looked at him and then down at the cat, shrugging as started to shade in the tail.
"Well, Toto we're not in public school anymore."
* * *
Lunch 12:30 P.M. Day One
English went almost the exact same as history, except there was no Jon to help him through it. Just him in the back corner of the shafty, dark room with a stack of books he'd already read through four times before in his life. Apparently, it was an extended period, which meant he was trapped rereading To Kill A Mockingbird and Catcher In The Rye for an extra, excruciatingly painful thirty minutes while stealing desperate glances at the large, old-fashioned clock above the whiteboard. The cafeteria was nothing special, but it was remarkably nicer than the dingy English classroom and felt almost like a breath of fresh air. Large, circular tables were positioned at random, no more than five or six kids cluttered around one on their plastic chairs, shouting wildly. Large, floor to celling windows lined the walls; construction paper, Halloween decals taped onto them artfully.
Brendon sighed, his eyes dipping to his tray, a sad looking pea rolling into his mashed potatoes as he shifted his weight. The food didn't look horrible, but he just wasn't hungry. Plus he never liked peas really, he thought they we're too–
"Brendon!" He heard a voice call and his head immediately shot up to find Jon, waving at him from across the room.
He smiled in return, a few people looking over at him as he weaved his way through tables, trying to ignore the stares and giggles from a group of kids a few feet away from them. He stopped at Jon, putting his tray down and sliding into the seat next to his, an anxious smile spread across his lips.
"Nice ass." The boy sitting on the opposite side of Jon remarked, grinning devilishly.
Brendon frowned, taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"Gabe!" A tall, black-haired girl next to him shouted, elbowing him in the shoulder. "You can't just do that!"
The boy, Gabe, smiled roughly, his cheekbones creasing his sultry, burnt umber colored eyes. "Really? Watch me."
"Hey Jac, nice ass!" He yelled at a girl waking by, her straight, blond hair flying around her face as she whipped her head in his direction furiously.
"Fuck you Saporta!" She snapped, flipping him off as she stormed away, her thin eyebrows drawn together in annoyance.
Gabe just grinned, his dark hair falling into his face as he blew her a kiss, crossing his long legs arrogantly.
"Jesus Christ." The girl groaned, spearing a piece of her limp caesar salad with her white, plastic fork.
"You're just jealous I've never complimented your ass," Gabe said matter-of-factly, stretching his long arms above his head.
"Bullshit."
"Deny it all you want Victoria, but eventually you'll fall for my numerous charms and good-looks,"
"Um, guys," Jon interrupted, his voice rough with tension, sending Brendon nervous glances as Gabe smiled at him darkly. "I was hoping on not terrifying the new kid." The girl smiled at him apologetically, sinking a little bit in her chair.
"But, uh anyways, this is Brendon." Jon said, as Brendon sat, not knowing how to react.
"I'm Vicky," The girl said sweetly, flipping her silky black ponytail off her shoulder.
"Nice to meet you," He said, smoothening out his dark gray t-shirt.
"Brent." A fat, muscular boy sitting across from them mumbled, his greasy, dark brown hair veiling his face.
"Bienvenido mi amigo, me llamo Gabe," Gabe said, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he grinned.
"What's your star sign?" Vicky asked him suddenly, grinning as she batted her long, dark eyelashes.
"What?" Brendon asked, confused.
"Victoria's an aspiring psychic," Jon clarified, picking at his mashed potatoes.
"Your star sign determines who you'll get along with, duh." She said, stuffing a piece of lettuce and a crouton into her mouth.
"Oh," Brendon said, his stomach twisting uncomfortably, "I, um think I'm an aries."
Vicky's face lit up, her light blue eyes widening, her cheeks full of salad as she made excited noises.
"Oh my god he's an aries!" Gabe teased in a high-pitched voice that was supposed to be Vicky's, failing his arms with mock excitement as he bounced in his chair.
Vicky frowned, finishing her bite of salad as she smacked Gabe on his bicep. "Aries get along with Capricorns well," She stated, clearing her throat, "Your outgoing personality and my rather shy, quiet one balance each other out in social situations." Brendon didn't think that shy or quiet were two words he would use to describe Vicky, but he decided that it would be best to just smile and nod.
"You'll get along well with Gabe, naturally, as a Libra, you both have great social skills and will find it easy to bond."
Gabe frowned, picking up a scoop of his mashed potatoes with his spoon before dumping it in Vicky's salad. "I don't bond Victoria," He protested, as Vicky scowled down at her lunch, before picking up the plastic container and flipping it upside down over Gabe's tray.
Brendon felt himself smile, shyly ripping at his napkin. "You guys are like a married couple," He observed, letting a short chuckle escape from his lips. Gabe pretended to vomit as Vicky made a face, furrowing her shaped, black eyebrows together.
"Impossible," Vicky responded, her face bristling in disgust, "our signs are much too different to be compatible in the slightest."
Brendon raised one eyebrow before taking a spoonful of mashed potatoes and forcing it down his throat, despite how unhungry he was.
"Show me your hand." She said, reaching across the table towards Brendon.
"Why?" He asked, holding his hand in towards his chest.
"Because I told you to." Reluctantly, he complied, her small, spindly hands feeling cold against his skin as she traced the lines in his palm with the tip of her finger. She closed her eyes, Brendon turning to Jon before mouthing the word 'help.'
"Hmmm," She hummed as Jon laughed to himself silently, shrugging as he shoveled a forkful of peas into his mouth. "I think you're most compatible with a Leo, but you're most attracted to Scorpios."
Brendon bit back his laughter, his eyes shifting towards Vicky again. "By the way your hand feels, I can tell there's plenty of nervous tension, indicating you've already met him," Brendon pulled his hand back abruptly as Vicky opened her eyes, a soft smile pressed against her lips.
"Him?"
"Your soulmate. Significant other. Future lover. Y'know, him."
Gabe laughed, his eyes glimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"I'm not gay," Brendon said, his eyebrows pulling together as the corners of his mouth turned downwards.
"Yet." Vicky supplied, raising her eyebrows knowingly as a smile flickered at the edges of her mouth.
"So, which dorm are you staying in?" Jon inquired, obviously changing the subject, stabbing at the peas on his steel lunch-tray.
"11," Brendon said, stirring his mashed potatoes weakly.
"Sweet, you get to join me amigo," Gabe said, smiling at Brendon widely, "Well, me and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Edgy." "
Who?" Brendon asked, puzzled as he put his spoon down.
"Ryan Ross," Gabe answered, spearing a piece of lettuce and bashing it against the edge of his tray.
"Who's that?" Brendon asked as Vicky looked over at Jon who suppressed a laugh.
"Ryan? Ross?" Gabe repeated, raising his eyebrows skeptically, "Do you live on a cloud or are you just plain dumb?"
"Hey now," Jon interrupted him, "he's been here less than three hours."
Gabe scoffed. "He should still have figured it out by now."
"Yeah, but who is he?" Brendon asked again, growing slightly impatient. Jon laughed, turning around to face the most crowded table in the Cafe,
"Hey Ryan," he called, drawing the attention of a tall, slender boy, a wide grin on Jon's features. "I like your jacket."
The boy looked at him, scowling and then down at his jacket, his thin eyebrows pulled in together before rolling his eyes and turning back towards his friends.
"Are you trying to get us strangled?" Vicky asked Jon angrily.
"You know he killed someone right?" Gabe asked, his dark eyes flaring irately.
"He didn't kill anyone," Jon insisted, brushing them off with a wave of his hand.
"I'm sharing a dorm with a murderer?" Brendon asked, his brown eyes wide with alarm.
"No," Jon assured him, taking a bite out of his sandwich, a piece of lettuce getting caught on his lips.
"Oh yeah, but you don't live with the guy," Gabe said, defiantly, "I'm pretty sure I heard him sharpening his knife at two am last night. How am I supposed to assume I'm not his next victim? After all I would be asleep and vulnerable."
"Relax. It's like, not even ten hours together. Plus why would he want to kill you out of all people?"
"Why would you want to kill anyone, period?" Vicky interjected.
Brent grunted. "If I wasn't being watched by twenty armed police officers every minute of the day, I'd have killed him by now."
"Maybe he would want revenge," Gabe speculated, as Brendon looked around in horror. "Revenge for what?" Brendon asked, taking a sip from his almost untouched water bottle.
"Y'know," Gabe said, his eyes shifting towards Ryan again, his voice low. "I might've accidentally worn one of his shirts once."
Brendon snorted, almost gagging on his water. "You can't be serious. That's not an adequate reason to kill someone."
"Is any reason an adequate one for murder?" Vicky exclaimed, dramatically slamming her milk carton against the table top, causing a slight splash over the mess on Gabe's tray.
"Well, I also avidly hit on Jac so that could be motive." Gabe said, shrugging his toned shoulders slightly.
"Jac?" Brendon asked, carding through his front bangs with his fingers.
"Ryan's girlfriend." Jon clarified, nodding towards the blonde practically draped over Ryan's lap, running a finger through a soft-looking lock of his ashy-brown hair. Gross.
"She's a nightmare," Vicky groaned, tapping her manicured, multicolored nails against her arm. They were polished, yellow and brown, and reminded Brendon of a really glossy, old banana. "She has no class, uploaded her nudes to her school's website."
"I say fortunate mistake, if you know what I mean," Gabe said, winking at Brendon.
Brendon wiggled his eyebrows, a small grin emerging on his lips.
"She's such a taurus," Vicky spat, shooting an angry glare in their direction.
"Maybe you're jealous," Jon suggested, dipping his fork into Brendon's peas.
Brendon pushed his tray towards him, his eyes meeting Brent's momentarily as he held his gaze awkwardly.
Brent turned away after a second too long of uncomfortable eye contact, an uneasy feeling filling Brendon's stomach as he looked back at Vicky.
"I couldn't date him." Vicky said, "he looks like a taurus too."
"He seems bad, but I wouldn't dub him taurus level bad," Brendon joked, watching Jon inhale his entire stack of mashed potatoes.
"Taurus or not, I think he's an asshole." Gabe responded, glancing over at Brendon.
"Bitter," Jon grumbled, his mouth full of Brendon's sandwich as he looked over at Ryan again, a seemingly charming smile plastered against his face as he laughed lightly, stroking Jac's hair. Brendon wondered if that's how he killed his victims. Lured them into his trap with good-looks and pretty sounding laughter before spearing them and ripping out their intestines.
"Not bitter. Ryan is an axe wielding maniac and I will prove it." Gabe challenged.
"Thirty dollars if you prove it before Halloween." Jon said, a small piece of turkey that was caught in his beard falling onto his tray as he brushed it off.
"Deal." Gabe said, crossing his arms over his chest.
For some reason, and not because he favored Jon, he really hoped that Ryan wasn't a psychopath. Logically speaking, it might've been because he had no desire to spend a year sleeping in the same room with someone plotting his murder, but he couldn't place it.
"You gonna finish that?" Jon asked Brendon before gesturing towards his water. Brendon sighed, shaking his head.
He guessed he wasn't.
* * *
Anatomy 1:30 P.M. Day One
"Alright, class this is Brendon. He's new and in need of a lab partner. Any volunteers from the people working by themselves this term?" Mr. Harris asked, one of his large hand's resting on Brendon's shoulder.
He looked over the classroom, his brain fogging with unfamiliar faces. No Jon, no Gabe, no Vicky, and no Brent. He wasn't quite sure if he classified Brent as a friend yet, but still, he would be better than a stranger.
"I'll take him," He heard a soft, tension-free voice call out. His head was immediately drawn towards a tall boy sitting in the back who was pushing his ashy-brown bangs out of his light amber-colored eyes.
That's it. He was marked for death.
"Ryan," Mr. Harris remarked, shocked, "that's, um... very generous of you."
Brendon felt his legs move hesitantly towards him, every nerve in his body on edge as he dropped his arms to his sides.
"Oh, wait um Mr. Ross?" The teacher asked, Ryan lifting his head up again to look at him.
"Mmm?"
"Do you like Brendon's shirt?"
Brendon felt himself blush, resisting the urge to cross his arms over his chest. It was dark gray with the Led Zeppelin logo written across his breastplate in white font. Not exactly distasteful, but suddenly he was very self-conscious about it.
"Yes?" Ryan responded, his eyes flickering from Brendon back to Mr. Harris, confused.
"Good. Now, don't light it on fire like you did to Tom's."
Brendon felt his face loose color, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.
"Now, today we're prepping for our dissection of a rat's stomach," Mr. Harris began, as Brendon shuffled into the seat next to Ryan who gave him what he assumed was a smile.
God, Brendon thought, his heart spiking into his throat with distress, if this kid didn't kill him, he was going to do it himself.
* * *
Dinner and Freetime 5:34 P.M. Day One
The faint smell of cigarette smoke and old books filled Brendon's nose as he stood in the doorway of his new room, flecked light filtering in through a small, dusty window on the opposite wall. He had probably made the wrong choice of not joining Jon and Gabe in the rec yard to play football, or even by declining Vicky's offer to help him get caught up with schoolwork in the library in favor of unpacking, but he ultimately decided that it had been a pretty eventful day and truthfully, he didn't feel like doing much of anything besides lying in bed and staring up at the celling.
Maybe that was the point of this school, to exhaust kids until they had no other options but to wrap themselves up in covers and cry while regretting whatever dumb thing they did to land themselves a bed in this prison.
Brendon had determined that it wasn't a bad plan, from what he had experienced, it was rather effective.
He took a few steps inside, shutting the lightweight door behind him as he looked around the small space, sighing loudly. A set of bunk beds were pushed up against either of the dark gray walls, off white covers sprawled across the twin-sized mattresses, fading yellow and orange shadows casted across them from the setting sun outside. The room itself wasn't tiny, Brendon figured that it only appeared smaller because of all the junk inside of it. Above the bed on the right were large posters of strikingly average looking women, some torn at the neckline due to what Brendon assumed would be nudity. He wondered why anyone would want to keep them considering the fact that they almost looked like decapitated heads, not quite sure why anyone would voluntarily wake up to that. Dirty clothes were piled on the bed below, along with a Spanish-English dictionary and a cheap, yamaha recorder that had bite marks all along the tip.
He turned towards his suitcase, right where he left it by the door this morning, his heart sinking into his stomach when he realized that this morning seemed like ages ago.
Was every day going to be like this?
Christ, he hoped not. Not that his first day had been a total flop, but how great can a first day be when you're thrown into a clusterfuck of uncontrollable, hormonal, adolescents?
He sighed again, letting his breath buzz past his lips as he picked up the suitcase and slowly dragged it over to the opposite side of the room, the wheels catching on the fraying, gray carpet. He tugged at it, his stomach warming with frustration before he kicked it irritatedly with the toe of his sneaker, trying to unhook the wheel that was hanging onto the carpet so tightly he could almost imagine it whispering 'I'll never let go Jack.'
"Fuck," He mumbled, kicking it harder, this time mostly out of annoyance as he ignored the throbbing sensation in his big toe. "I fucking," he kicked it again, feeling a pop as the wheel came loose, but kicking it a fourth time for good measure.
Suddenly, he jumped, fighting back a yell as someone laughed.
"Pathetic."
He immediately turned his head towards the left side of the room, focusing his gaze on the boy who was now sitting up in the top bunk, smoothening down his ruffled hair as he half-smiled, his honey colored eyes appearing almost golden in the lighting.
"I hope you don't plan on getting into any fights anytime soon." Brendon felt heat spring up into his cheeks, swallowing hard as he pulled on his suitcase, bringing it closer to his body.
"Wasn't on my agenda." Brendon said, nervously tugging at the hem of his shirt. "What beds are open?" He asked, adverting his eyes as he glanced around the room.
Ryan sat there quietly, watching Brendon for a second as he folded his hands.
"The one under mine's open. Gabe sleeps on top of the other one and uses the bottom for masturbating."
Brendon felt his lips fold into a smile as Ryan laid back down, his hands stretching above his head and pulling his pillow over his eyes.
"Wow, great. Thanks."
Brendon tensed as he took a few short steps in Ryan's direction, every nerve in his body resisting getting closer to the boy who had most likely killed someone and seemed cold-blooded enough to do it again. Well, there was no real proof that Ryan was a killer, and despite what Gabe had said he had actually been somewhat friendly towards Brendon so far and didn't seem that horrible. But then again it could all just be part of his plan to–
"Need a blanket?"
"Huh?" Brendon asked, his eyebrows folding together as he looked up, dragging his suitcase behind him.
"I, um kind of abducted all the blankets in September, well, I would've but Gabe sleeps naked so I gave him one, but I mean you can have one, if you want." Ryan said, his voice even but seemingly tense.
"Yeah sure, I'll take one," Brendon said, resting the luggage against the bedpost before reaching up to Ryan who was offering him a course, unfolded comforter that reminded him strongly of a fire blanket, briefly causing him to wonder why they had to take that precaution.
It smelt distinctively like smoke, vanilla, and what Brendon assumed was just Ryan. Not bad at all, just different. For some reason, it made him uneasy. He put it down on the sheet next to his pillow, taking a deep breath.
"Do you have respiratory problems or something?" Ryan asked, frowning down at Brendon as he tucked his hair out of his face.
Brendon scowled, heaving his heavy bag onto his bed with a loud thud. "No?"
"Then stop sighing so much, it's depressing me."
Brendon decided that he would in fact stop sighing, seeing as that it could justify a knife through his gut.
"Right, sorry." Brendon said, zipping his suitcase open as his eyes flickered towards the dresser under the window. "Can I use that?" He asked, pointing to it as Ryan fumbled around his bed for a few seconds before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, his fingers flicking with the metal lighter absent-mindedly.
"Third drawer."
"Thanks," Brendon mumbled, picking up a stack of his shirts, a few pairs of pants and ball of mismatched socks before sliding them all under his arm and stuffing them clumsily into his designated compartment.
Brendon watched as Ryan took a drag, the thin smoke pooling at the celling before draping downwards like a waterfall.
"You, uh, been here long?" Brendon asked, trying to make small talk as he walked back over, removing his glasses, toothbrush and deodorant before putting them down by his bedside.
Ryan laughed, smoke escaping his lips as he sucked on the inside of his cheek, touching his cigarette to his mouth again. "You could say that."
Brendon felt fear stir in his stomach but he didn't say anything, proceeding to take out a picture of him and his sister before putting it back, seeing as he barely had enough room left on his night stand.
"Girlfriend?" Ryan asked, as Brendon looked up–shocked, not knowing that Ryan had been watching him.
"No, she's my sister." Brendon said, rummaging through his stuff. His thumb ran over his Kill Bill poster, but he quickly decided that maybe this wasn't the place for it.
He hadn't brought a lot, opting to leave his guitar at home along with most of his personal possessions. He had probably under packed, but for some reason that felt like a good thing; like the less space he could take up the better.
He almost sighed, but caught himself, pulling the suitcase off his bed and sliding it under the mattress, deciding that he had done enough unpacking.
"Ryan? It's Jac."
Brendon jumped as a barrage of loud knocks emitted from the door, followed by someone twisting the knob aggressively.
Ryan's eyes widened as he stubbed out the cigarette on the side of his bed, his eyebrows raising in shock.
"I'm not here." He told Brendon quietly, pulling the mass of rugged, cream-colored blankets over his head, making himself as invisible as he was when Brendon had entered the room. Brendon felt himself nod before walking over to the door nervously, running his fingers through his hair.
"Um, can I help you?" He asked, pulling the door open to reveal a short, relatively pretty blonde girl, her back arched over her hips, lips pursed.
"Is Ryan here?" Her voice was pitchy and high, sounding a lot happier than she looked.
"No, actually he's not, I uh, haven't seen him." She scowled, her eyebrows knitting together as she crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her shirt down and exposing some cleavage. Brendon tried not to stare.
"You're a bad liar. There's smoke, he's in there." She insisted, trying to push past him as he shifted in front of her.
"Smoke's mine," Brendon lied, smiling at her sweetly.
"Then where's your cigarette?"
"Just put it out." Jac exhaled, scrunching up her nose in frustration as she peered over his shoulder. "I saw him going towards the library at dinner maybe he's–"
"Ryan? The library? You must think I'm stupid." She retorted, cocking her hip to the side.
"Nope, just pretty." Brendon said, a faux smile spreading across his face, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. If Ryan wasn't going to kill him before, now it was certain.
Jac's face softened, her dark eyes shifting towards her feet as she stuffed her hands into her pockets.
"Alright fine, I'll check the library. Tell me if he shows up."
Brendon nodded, promising he would before shutting the door and turning back towards Ryan, letting out a deep breath.
Ryan popped back up, his hair sticking out every direction as he batted at it swiftly, trying to get it to stay in place. "Thanks I owe you." He mumbled, fishing through the tawny sheets and pulling out another cigarette, his fingers trembling slightly as he lit it, taking a deep drag.
"Why are you avoiding her?" Brendon asked, flicking a fallen piece of hair out of his eyes. Ryan shrugged, his eyes breaking away from Brendon's, a long whisp of smoke sliding past his pink lips.
"I would kill for a girl like that to be all over me." He remarked, flopping onto his bed softly, the springs groaning under his sudden weight.
"Yeah, but she's insane." Ryan said, and Brendon didn't have to see him to know he rolled his eyes.
"Aren't all the hot ones?"
Smoke rolled down Ryan's bunk, almost completely veiling one side of Brendon's bed.
"You smoke?" Ryan asked suddenly, Brendon's stomach immediately flopping at the suggestion.
"Um, no I don't." He answered truthfully, his head sinking deeper into his pillow as he pulled the blanket over his chest, the vanilla-cigarette-Ryan smell filling his nose.
"There's a first for everything," Ryan tried, dangling his hand down by Brendon's bunk, a cigarette loosely clamped in-between two of his long fingers.
"I'll probably choke," Brendon insisted, as Ryan wiggled his fingers languidly, "respiratory problems remember?"
"Fine, I'll have to come up with some other way to kill you." Ryan remarked, his hand starting to pull upwards just as Brendon reached out and seized the cigarette, his fingers grazing against Ryan's skin before coiling around the smoke, the paper still warm from Ryan's grasp.
"You got a lighter?" Brendon asked, shoving it in between his teeth as Ryan laughed–surprised, a trail of smoke sweeping downwards from his bed.
He dropped his hand down again, this time a metal lighter suspended in his fingers.
God, he had to be joking about the killing thing. Messing with him. There was no way he would be that blunt about it...
"So, you know about those rumors?" Brendon asked him, his voice wavering with unsure tension as he struggled to light his cigarette, the flames lapping at the tip. Ryan chuckled and Brendon felt his stomach twist in discomfort.
"What rumors?"
* * *
Lights Out, 8:30 P.M. Day One
Brendon stared at the bottom of Ryan's bed as taps played loudly throughout the speakers in the hallway, signaling lights out.
Ryan played along on his harmonica, adding to the effect with his wheezy, melancholy notes.
Brendon didn't want to die here. He was only seventeen, he hadn't been out of the United States, he hadn't been accepted into college,– hell, he hadn't even had sex yet! He was too young for this, he was inexperienced, he was... probably overreacting, but that's besides the point. He hadn't even lived through a fraction of his life yet and he was certain he was not ready for some corrupt, nice-smelling delinquent to take it away from him.
He rolled onto his side, a loud snore emitting from Gabe as Ryan's harmonica stopped, a soft guttural groan escaping his lips.
Brendon huffed gently, balling the blanket up by his chin as he felt his heart sink, knowing very well that there was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight.