2003, November

Ryan texted Brendon his address when he got home and almost immediately after doing so, Brendon had called him.

"Um, hello?" Ryan spoke first, unsure as to why Brendon would call instead of text.

"We live, like, right next to each other!" Brendon's cheerful voice came loud through the phone.

"That house is for sale?" Ryan said, as more of a question, his tone high. He knew that, why did he even ask? It's just going to make Brendon talk more.

"Well, yeah, but, no. It was for sale, and my parents bought it! They aren't the best with planning, so we moved here first, and stayed in a hotel for a bit. Now we're going to start moving in," Ryan could practically hear Brendon smiling through the phone, but Ryan only felt sick.

"That's cool," he croaked. He didn't want Brendon right next to him. There's no way to take his medication at night, there's no way to keep Ryan's mind away from Brendon's thoughts when he sleeps. God, this is such a nightmare.

"So when do you want to start working on the project?" Brendon asks cheerfully.

Shit, shit, shit. The project. The essay, fuck. All about people like him. Everything biased and wrong. Great.

"Um, let's get it over quickly... Wanna come over tonight?"

"Yeah! Sure!" Brendon said happily, and Ryan hung up, ignoring the nauseas feeling rapidly spreading in his stomach, and the strange tingling in his feet.

•••••

"Coming!" Ryan yelled, when he heard the loud, fast knock on the door. Cursing to himself, he realized he had forgotten to take his meds when Brendon called him. Usually he takes the second two after he gets home from school. He rushes to the kitchen, and dry swallows both of the pills quickly. They should kick in soon enough. Hopefully soon enough.

"Hey," Brendon said, looking up at Ryan, who looked just above Brendon's eyes. "Hey," Ryan replied, moving aside, motioning for Brendon to come in.

Closing the door after him, he kept his eyes down as he walked in front of Brendon. "Follow me."

Brendon followed Ryan, his eyes mostly not where they should be, but occasionally they wondered to the colorful paintings on the walls. There was a ton of those positive affirmation phrases hung around. Brendon stopped in the middle of the long hallway to read them, and Ryan hadn't noticed until he got to his room. Rolling his eyes, and shaking his head, he returned to the hall to find Brendon.

"'The ability to live is a gift. We cannot take simple things for granted; even simply reading is a gift.'" Brendon read aloud. "That's... neat."

"Why are you reading my mom's self love posters?"

"Is that what you call them?" Brendon asked, laughing.

Ryan shrugged, and leaned on the wall as Brendon began reading aloud more of the phrases.

"'I respect those who are different; being accepting is the way to an increase in knowledge. Knowledge, being power, love being my driver.'" Brendon paused momentarily, staring at the phrase. "What does that one even mean?" He asked ridiculously.

"To be quite honest, I don't have a clue," Ryan shrugged slightly again. "Mom just hangs them up. I haven't actually read them all."

"She sounds like a very nice lady. Hey, where is your mom?" He asks, much too quickly, turning to face Ryan; who hadn't realized he had been staring at the back of Brendon's head. He was now looking directly into his eyes.

"She's- Oh," Ryan's vision began darkening rather quickly. "I- Think... I'm, I'm gonna faint-" Ryan slipped from the wall, and almost hit the ground, had Brendon not grabbed him, unaware it only gave Ryan a worse headache to wake up to later.

Not soon enough at all.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, shit! How- why- fainted? What do you even do with people that faint? What? What the fuck? Don't you need, like, ice cold water? His mom isn't home... Um. Room. He has a room, right? Of course he has a room-

Brendon lifted an unconscious Ryan into his arms, and carried him through the hall. Brendon regretted staying in the hallway, now, as he didn't know which room was Ryan's. Ryan mumbled nonsense against his chest, managing to drool on him slightly. Eventually he peeked into a room with an acoustic guitar, and it seemed enough like a teenage boys to be Ryan's. It was his best guess, at least.

Brendon laid Ryan down gently onto the bed, and sat at the end of the bed, waiting for Ryan to wake up. He worried on his lower lip, and his leg shook violently, although he was unaware of the rapid motions as he waiting for Ryan to wake.

•••••

Ryan woke up around four in the afternoon to a certain, annoying, teenager sat on the floor of his room. He still had jeans on, but he was tucked into the blankets of his bed. Brendon hadn't noticed him wake up yet. He was intently staring at the screen of, what must be,  his own laptop. The title, annoyingly, said 'Cephalfertarians: What We Know' in big bold letters.

Ryan propped himself on his elbow, and that was when Brendon noticed him. "Oh! You're up, um, I didn't know what else to do, so I kind of took your phone, I called your mom, she said this happened a lot and it's okay, and um," Brendon rushed out his explanation at a humorous pace. Ryan would laugh if he didn't have a headache.

"I started our essay," Brendon offered, looking towards Ryan, who as usual, looking anywhere except Brendon's eyes. "Do you feel okay?" He asked softly.

"Yeah, I just have a headache and I'm kind of tired," he said, getting up and moving to his drawers to grab pajamas. "I'm going to change into way more comfortable clothes and grab some medicine. I'll come back and help with the essay," Ryan explained, walking out of his room, leaving Brendon to sit on the floor alone.

•••••

Five p.m. rolled around and Brendon was bored. He was beginning to wonder if Ryan's mom even lived with Ryan. He's sure she does, but what if she didn't? Also, if he was going to be their neighbor, very soon, would him and Ryan be like childhood friends in twenty years? He's not really a child, but a teenager. Would they be high school sweethearts? He doesn't think Ryan would agree to that.

"What do you have so far?" Ryan asked.

"Um," Brendon mumbled, shifting the laptop to Ryan who sat beside him on the ground. He covered the floor in blankets, so it's a bit comfier now. Ryan's eyes scanned the first paragraph in annoyance.

'Cephalfertarians: What We Know

     Although they are increasingly rare to due failure to maintain the disorder, we still manage to know a great deal about Cephalfertarians. They can read other people's thoughts... Involuntary, voluntary... In a recent study, it was proven that 'about 76% of all Cephalfertarians are male (2005).'

"This needs some work..." he said quietly, more to himself than Brendon. It was a group project, to be fair, and Ryan had been passed out for the first half hour that the essay was being created.

"Yeah," Brendon agreed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I'm not very good at writing. I've never had a very good grade in English. I forgot to warn you."

"No, no, it's fine. We'll work on it together," Ryan assures him. He wishes he could explain why the entire essay would never be correct. Even if it lacked every grammatical error possible, it wouldn't change the fact that whoever, or whatever, is reporting on Cephalfertarians is wrong. So incredibly wrong.