(Halloween Chapter!!! Wahoo!! This came a little late, lol. But whatever, I've been depressed and just not in the mood for writing, so suck my non existent dick if you're mad about the wait. Also there's anotherrrrr partyyyyy in this chapter, whoops. There's not much you can do with high school AUs to be honest, and the school is supposed to be a bunch of little rich snots anyway, so oh well. Rich kids love cocaine and parties, in my experience [which I have lots of, because I go to school with a bunch of wealthy druggies. Hah.] Also,,,, for those who were wondering, the "Walk Of Shame" was running nude across the grounds. Fun, right? Anywho, this chapter is super long to make up for the fact that I haven't updated since August ahahahaha sorry. Anyway YOLO it's 4 AM but I don't have school so ha.)

Everybody Scream! It's Halloween!

.....Is what is on the poster that Brendon hands me.

"A Halloween Party? The kids at this fucking school party every weekend. What's different about this one?" I ask skeptically, and Brendon grins. "Well, for one thing, it's an actual school party. No college campus bullshit. And, you dress up and wear masks."

"Masks? Costumes?" I say flatly. "What's the fun in that?"

"The fun in that, Mister Ross, is that everyone gets intoxicated VIA hidden flasks, and no one knows who the other person is. Everyone ends up hooking up, and plus, you get an excuse to wear a tux or fancy costume. You bet your skinny ass that the girls are going to be in tiny dresses and the boys will be impeccably dressed, too."

I blink. Oh. Well... that does sound fun.

"Are you going?" Is all I say, my voice slightly faint as I imagine the party. I have a slight flare for dramatics, I admit, and I can see the party perfectly in my minds eye: girls in gauzy dresses and handsome boys with combovers and black suits. Mystery in the air, along with drunken debauchery.

Not to mention, I could hook up with a guy, and not be labeled as a faggot.

Beautiful.

"Yeah, I'm going." Brendon says, unknowingly steamrolling over my train of thought. "Everyone goes, trust me. You can't miss it."

"Good thing I don't plan on missing it, then." I say, and a grin breaks across Brendon's face. "Perfect. What will you go as?" He asks, raising an eyebrow, and I shrug. "Maybe a ghost? I could have a white tux and mask. What will you be?"

He chuckles softly. "You'll see. I'll be a fucking showstopper, just you wait."

And unlike most things Brendon says, I don't doubt it.

"There's a place to rent costumes and shit. There's formalwear, too. It's downtown. Most kids use it." He says, and I nod. "Perfect."

***

"Ryan!" A voice calls, and I turn to see a tiny blonde blur darting up to me. Then the blur stills, and I identify it as Jac.

"Oh, hello." I say, and she smiles toothily, tilting her head. "Hey, you going to the dance?" She asks, and I nod. "Yeah, I finally got my costume all figured out. You?"

"I'm going. Maybe we'll see each other there, yeah? It's kind of Hookup Central, so maybe we can resume what we left off at that last party.." She says, her voice trailing off suggestively.

"Maybe. But you never know, there are lots of chicks begging for my attention." I say jokingly, and she snorts. "I don't doubt it. I've been in liplock with two guys since you, and you were by far the best kisser. I'd love to, uh, go horizontal sometime. No strings attached."

"Oh. Sounds fun. I might take you up on that, sometime. Maybe at the dance." I say, although I've got my heart set on sex with a boy. "Sure," She exclaims coyly. "Or... you could come over. We could have a little pre-party, and get dressed together?" She asks, and I smirk. "Sounds fun. I'm in."

"Perfect. See you then!" Jac exclaims, and she pecks me on my cheek before hurrying over to her friends. What is with girls and running like startled cats everywhere? I sigh, beginning to walk away, my books clutched to my chest. Around me other students yell and laugh as they hurry to class.

"Dude, you just got some major pussy!" A voice crows, and I turn, seeing Gabe Saporta. I laugh. "It's getting ready for a party, not an orgy."

"Oh, Ryan. Dear, sweet, innocent little Ryan. I have a feeling that with that one," He says, motioning towards Jac's general direction, "That you won't be clothed during your time in her dorm room."

"You're disgusting." I say fondly, and he snorts. "I know. Now c'mon, we're going to be late to Chem. Ms Larson will have our heads on plates, and how is Jac going to suck the prick of a dead man?"

"Shut up."

***

Despite Gabe's predictions, my evening with Jac has been fairly chaste. Sure, she's pranced around in a lacy red bra and panties set, occasionally perching on my lap or pressing quick kisses to my forehead, but no actual kissing, let alone sex. I'm all dressed in my tuxedo, and my mask is resting on her wooden vanity, ready to be slipped on.

Also, we're both extremely drunk. When I arrived, Jac pulled out two bottles of champagne, concealed in a shoebox in her closet, and before I could protest, she popped the top off, and foam spilled over the bottle and down her hands. Jac quickly began to lick up the foam, running her tongue up and down the bottle, an action that left me momentarily speechless.

Since then, we've progressively gulped down the first bottle and talked (well, slurred) about music and stupid things like who fucked who, and Hollywood Drama. Apparently Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson broke up. I knew they wouldn't last.

Baby can't you see, I'm calling... a guy like you should wear a warning....

My head snaps up, and I laugh as I see Jac tipsily swaying her hips along to Britney's rasping voice. She walks over, sitting in my lap and giggling. I smile up at her, and she wiggles her eyebrows playfully. 

"The taste of your lips..." She sings along, before leaning forward and kissing me, tilting her head to the side. I sigh lightly against her lips, running my tongue across her teeth and brushing her cheek lightly with my hand. I love kissing Jac. Not only is she good at it, but... it's easy. She doesn't ask, I don't tell. There are no worries, no commitment. Just tongues and flesh and fire. Metaphorical, of course.

My hands wander down her back, and I fiddle with the clasp of her bra, but to my surprise, she pulls away.

"Nuh uh, buster." She whispers, resting her forehead against mine. "No sex for you. Not from me, anyway."

I raise an eyebrow. "You alluded to it the other day. What changed?"

She laughs throatily, before burping lightly. "Oof. I need to lay off the bubbly. But to answer your question... him. I see the way he looks at you, dear. And more importantly... I see the way you look at him."

"Him?"

"The faggot. Your roommate... Brendon. The hot one? Nice pick, my friend. And for the record, I'm fine with kissing you. As I said before, you're great at that. But I won't spread my legs just because you're in denial. I may be loose... but I'm not that loose."

I stare at her, my jaw probably on the floor. "I'm--I'm not gay." I whisper, and she snorts. "Liar." 

"Well, I don't like Brendon."

"You're right. You don't like him. You love him, Ryan."

The roof of my mouth feels dry, and I make a choking sound at the word 'love'. " You're right, you do need to lay off the bubbly. I hardly know him, Jac." I whisper, and she shakes her head. "You don't always need to know someone for a while. Here: talk to me about him. What do you like about him? Why do you enjoy being his roommate? Also, do you want a cigarette? You're pale as fuck." She says, talking so fast that I can hardly keep up.

"I... I don't know? And yes, I want ten." I say, and she rolls her eyes, grabbing a carton and lighter. "I'm not that generous." Jac says, placing one between her lips and lighting up, a cloud of smoke puffing out from her nostrils. I pull one out and roll it between my fingers. "I'm not in love." I say petulantly, like a child, and she smiles condescendingly at me. "Sure you aren't. Just talk to me about him. What are his looks like? What do you guys do together? What do you like about his personality?"

"Well..." I say, dragging out the word. She touches her lighter to my cigarette, and I take a long drag, thinking. "He's tall, but not as tall as me. And he has dark hair and big eyes.. his body is skinny but definitely muscular." I recite, not even paying attention to what I'm saying. "And we smoke weed a lot of the time, and listen to music. He has a beautiful voice. And I love his goofy hyperactiveness, and how dramatic he is. I could hang out with him forever, holed up in our dorm..."

Jac stays silent, and I just sit there, the cigarette in my hand slowly burning down. "Oh." I finally say, and she smiles. "Oh. I guess... I guess I do..."

"Love him? Yeah, you do." She says, and I look down. "But he doesn't love me. And how in the hell am I supposed to tell him?"

"What are you fucking waiting for? Kiss him!"

"I can't kiss him! God, no. Maybe I'll tell him one day, but tonight is my crazy hookup blackout drunk night. Feelings don't fucking matter."

"Don't you want to have an adorable movie moment kiss? Don't you want to date, and marry, and make little Brendons and Ryans?" She says, and I flinch. "That's a little forward. I haven't even told him, and also, that's not genetically possible."

"Well, I could carry a baby for you guys! I would be honored. And you two are like... soulmates." She says dreamily, throwing an arm across her forehead like a damsel in distress. I snort.

"We aren't 'like... anything' yet, Jac. We probably never will be." I say, and her eyes widen. "Don't say that! Never say never. Now, c'mon..." She says, flicking her cigarette ash onto her vanity. "Put that out, and let's make you dazzle. If you won't impress your prince, then you might as well stun everyone else."

And so for the next hour, we get into our costumes and drink more and more champagne, laughing and dancing to shitty pop music. I twirl Jac around and around, and her poofy white dress flutters through the air. Finally, I help her put her mask on, and she finishes doing up my tie with a flourish.

"There." She says, pecking my lips. "If I was a horny closeted gay, I'd smash."

And somehow, that's the best compliment I've ever received.

And also the strangest.

***

The dance is simotaniously tacky and realistic. Glittery stars hang on the celing, and there's a huge table laden with food and a giant bowl full of cider, which Jac says is "spiked with vodka". I steer clear of it. There are some students in costumes, while others are simply wearing formalwear, but all have masks concealing their faces. The Monster Mash is playing, and kids are swinging their hips and dancing together, laughing loudly.

Jac is across the room, and somehow, even though she's just wearing a simple white dress, she stands out. Her hair is pin straight and she's wearing a pair of silky flats and a mask made from the same fabric, and she looks hauntingly elegant. I asked her what she was, and she stared at me for a good minute before finally saying. "An angel. Duh."

Well, I guess Halloween is the day to pretend to be something you're not.

My eyes scan the room, past kids laughing and dancing, past guys secretively smoking joints in the corner, and past the snack table, and my gaze lands on a lone figure, drinking out of a flask. He looks lonely, but more than that, he looks single. Score.

I slowly walk towards him, pulling out my own flask that Jac handed me (full of Rum) and taking a quick gulp of liquid courage.

"Evening." I say, walking up to the boy, who is short and dark haired. "You're only wearing a tux and mask? Not very creative of you." I say, eyeing his gelled back hair. He scoffs. "No, my friend. I do have a costume. They call me Bond... James Bond." He says, and I laugh, my voice slightly more high pitched than normal thanks to alcohol.

Nice to have met you, James Bond. Where's your gun?" I ask, and he shoots me a mega-watt smile. "It's against school policy to have weapons, real or fake. So no fancy tools for me." He says, pouting his surprisingly full lips and giving me a thumbs down. I laugh.

"So, what does Mr. Bond drink?" I ask, and he tilts his chin up. "Normally, water. But tonight, cheap vodka I got at a random store. I haven't had much though, although you seem to have."

"What?!" I say, laughing. "I'm fine."

"You're visibly swaying on your feet."

"Psssh. I can hold my alcohol." I say, and he laughs softly. "Fine by me, as long as I can get you into bed."

"Oh." I mutter. "Am I that obvious?"

"Yes. Extremely. But, I'm interested. You seem to be packing a good body under that suit, and I have lube and condoms in my dorm. I've even got cigarettes, for after sex. Or joints, whatever strikes your fancy."

"Hah. That sounds like something my roommate would say." I say, chuckling but then freezing. No. No thinking about Brendon.

"Your roommate must be a very smart guy." Is all James Bond says, and I laugh. "Maybe so. We don't exactly spend our days discussing academics. Now, do you want to get a drink? I hear that the cider is spiked."

"Sounds like a plan."

***

"You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk! I'm just in a party mood, James. Don't ruin my fun."

"Let me take you back to my room. You're a mess, Ry...an." James Bond says awkwardly, and I giggle, wrapping my arms around his neck. "No, no. Let's dance..." I singsong, swaying to the beat of the song playing. He chuckles softly, pushing a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. "You're cute. Come on, now." He says, and before I can protest, he grabs my hand, lightly tugging me out from the throng of partying students.

I hardly notice the cold nipping at me, because wow, I feel dizzy and the whole world seems to be tilting on it's axis. I'm leaning against James for support when I stumble over air, almost falling on my face, but I feel sturdy arms grab me, and I gasp. "Don't worry, Ryan." He whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my cheek. "I've got you. I always will."

I'm too surprised to even remember to ask how he knows my name.

When we get to James's room, I lean against the wall while he fiddles with his key. Finally, we stumble in, and I inhale deeply, smelling pot and also....

Guitar polish?!

My eyes pop open, and I shakily look around the room.

Band posters. Splayed textbooks. Shag Rug. Photo of Brendon and I, running across campus completely naked. (Courtesy of Gabe and Spencer.)

This is my room.

Which means...

I slowly turn to face James, who is not James anymore, but rather Brendon, with a black tuxedo and slicked back hair. His wide brown eyes stare anxiously at me.

Before I can think, before I can even react, we both blurt out phrases at the same time.

Him: "I knew it was you all along."

Me: "I love you, Bren."

We stare at each other for a minute, and then at the same time, we lunge forward, our lips connecting solidly. I tilt my head unthinkingly as a warm, blissful feeling bubbles through my chest, and I know.

I know that this is where I belong.

***
(Brendon's POV)

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

So this is what kissing Ryan Ross feels like. I force myself to commit it to memory. Every second, every time Ryan flicks his tongue or cups my cheek in his hand, I memorize the detail, soaking it all in so I can pour over the memory later.

Kissing Ryan Ross, it turns out, is excellent. His tongue is stroking against mine, hot and wet, and he's grasping my lower back tightly, squeezing every so often.

Fast forward a few minutes later, and Ryan is splayed out onto his bed, mouth open and breathing heavy.

I stand a few feet away, unsure of what to do, but his eyes are beginning to droop, so I start forward, tugging a blanket over him. Just as I'm about to step away, he grabs my hand, and I blink, staring down at it.

"Ryan..?" I ask, and then he slowly guides my hand onto his crotch. I blink, my mouth going dry. I have a few options here: take advantage of a drunk boy, or keep my mounting arousal in my pants. I pull my hand away.

Goddamnit. Why am I such a good person?

"No," He croaks, and God, he's the picture of messy perfection: Hair splayed across his face artfully, a slight blush from the kissing, and a soft, kissable mouth that's spilling out panting noises. "Please, Brendon. I need you. Do it." He whispers, and I shake my head.

"N-No. It's wrong." I say, finally getting my voice back, and he stares at me, his face blank.

"Fine." He says, looking down and slowly unbuttoning his tuxedo pants.

I can't look away. I can't look away when Ryan tilts his head back, exposing his pale throat and exquisite jaw. I can't look away when he tugs down his boxers. I can't look away when Ryan begins to jerk off slowly, his eyes vacant and dazed. He's staring right at me, completely out of it. I wouldn't be surprised if he has no clue about what's going on, about how severe this situation is. I feel my stomach tighten, and oh, God, I'm painfully hard, and I can't look away from this voyeuristic show.

"Fuck!" Ryan cries, and I see him mouth my name before coming all over his sheets and suit, his whole body shaking as he thrashes around and moans.

Well. That's not returnable.

Now that he's ridden out his orgasm, he's fading fast, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. I walk up to him, looking down into his eyes.

"You're so beautiful. I love your face. I love your body. I love you. And I wish you would have had sex with me." He whispers, and something inside me wants, tells me to lean forward and have my way with him.

But no. Not okay.

"Shh. Sleep. I'll be here in the morning." I say, my voice shaking slightly from arousal. I would be worried about him noticing, but he's pretty much conked out.

"G'night, Brenny. Dream of me..." He says, before his eyelids flutter shut.

I sigh, looking down at his sleeping form. "Only if you dream of me."

***

The next morning, I wake up on the floor.

Yeah, you heard that right.

Guess I was more drunk than I thought.

I glance over to Ryan's bed, blinking when I realize that he's gone. The sheets are stripped down, the tuxedo hanging over the back of his chair.

Just then, the door opens, and Ryan enters, clutching a McDonald's bag. "I got Egg McMuffins, my favorite Hangover Cure. Happy Post Halloween. I got so wasted last night, man. I only remember going inside Jac's room. The rest is kind of a blur. Hey, do you know who I hooked up with? My sheets were covered in, uh, my pleasure." He says, snorting.

Oh.
Oh.
Alright. Yeah, it's cool. I'll be okay. My heart totally isn't slowly withering into a million pieces.

"Uh... no." I say smoothly, much more calm than I actually am. "I just remember you coming home with a brunette. Leggy, green eyes. Don't remember her costume."

"Huh. Well, I didn't see any used condoms, so hopefully she was on The Pill. The world doesn't need any more George Ryan Rosses, that's for sure."

"Yeah. Haha." I say softly. "Hopefully. Listen, I'm going to go for a walk. I'll—I'll talk to you later?"

"Sure!" Ryan says, smiling, his face blissfully ignorant of what went on last night.

I kind of wish I could look that unknowing, too.

But what's the thing that stern parents often say?

Oh, right.

Too little, too late.