Though Brendon is intensely curious, he's decided that he's not going to ask anymore about Ryan's mother. If Ryan wants to talk about his home life, he can. If not, well. Brendon will just have to wonder.

He wants to ask, he really does, if only because it might make Ryan feel better to talk about things. But the fact remains that Timothy's finger was purposefully sliced by Ryan, with a knife, and Brendon's fears of being hurt have returned in full flow.

They sit in Brendon's room, on Brendon's bed. Ryan is strumming absently on the acoustic guitar, humming to himself, and Brendon is nervously watching him. He honestly just doesn't know what to do anymore, or how to act. He feels like he's next to a bomb that could go off at any second.

Except, it isn't a bomb. It's Ryan, his boyfriend, with his pretty face and soulful eyes. It's a boy who has probably known no love in his life, if Brendon's brief interactions with his parents are anything to go by, and who lashes out, almost as though he has no control over it. He wishes he could just pull Ryan close, and quietly ask him to throw away his knife, but he can't bring himself to. It's hard for him to even touch him, however much he wants, no, needs to.

"What are you thinking about?" Ryan asks, breaking apart Brendon's thoughts and causing him to look up, with a start. Ryan's gazing at him, a fond expression on his face, and the innocence of such a look almost makes Brendon forget about the violence.

Almost.

"Nothing much," Brendon lies, shrugging, and looking down at his knees. Ryan sets the guitar carefully down onto the floor, with a small sigh. With long, thin finger, he smoothes Brendon's hair from his cheek, and presses a small kiss there.

"Don't lie," he murmurs, into Brendon's ear. "Tell me. I want to know."

Brendon shakes his head. He doesn't want to get into this. He's afraid that either he'll end up emotionally hurting Ryan, or Ryan will end up physically hurting him. Neither are particularly things he wants to happen. Ryan lets out a heavier, more impatient sigh, and puts his arm around Brendon's shoulder.

Brendon shrugs him off, and immediately feels guilty.

He looks up, despite himself, to see Ryan staring at him with wide, puzzled eyes. "Brendon," he says, slowly and cautiously, his voice so hurt that Brendon feels like the shittiest person on earth, "have I done something wrong?"

No, Brendon's mind says, but out loud he mutters, "Yes."

Ryan blinks. "What?"

Brendon's palms begin to sweat, and he wipes them on his jeans, feeling beyond nervous. "I. It's nothing really. It's just that. Well. Never mind, can't we just forget it?"

"No," Ryan says, firmly. "I want to know. Now."

"You stabbed somebody," Brendon replies, helplessly, his stomach flipping anxiously. He closes his eyes, in a grimace, once the words are out. "I mean, it wasn't a stab. But, you like. You used a knife and intentionally hurt somebody. I know it was for me, and I appreciate it, but you used a knife and I don't --"

"Right," Ryan interrupts him, his voice hollow and empty. He stands up from the bed, slowly, and takes a few steps away from it. "Right. I get it."

Brendon stares at the floor, breathing a little stilted from nerves and horror at maybe actually losing this, and then looks up, not really knowing what could happen, and if he has it in him to fight for what he wants. He fidgets with the covers of his bed covers, worriedly. "You get what?"

"In fact, fuck that, I don't get it," Ryan snaps, shaking his head and glaring down at Brendon. "You know what I'm like. You know what I do. I nearly stabbed you once, so you're surprised that I made a little cut on somebody's finger - the person who beat you up, at that?"

Brendon doesn't know what to say. He can't reason with that, because it actually kind of makes sense. "I just. Well. It scared me a little, that's all."

"That's all?" Ryan scoffs. "Don't make out it's nothing, now. You can't even touch me anymore."

"I can, I just --"

"Why would you get into a relationship with somebody who you knew could do that?" Ryan asks, gazing intently into Brendon's eyes, actually looking curious rather than angered, as if he's genuinely puzzled by it.

Brendon swallows, and then shrugs, helplessly. He doesn't actually know. He stands up, as slowly as Ryan had, and tentatively lifts a hand to brush Ryan's cheek with one finger. "Because I like you," he says, eventually, in a small voice. "I really, really like you."

Ryan seems to physically soften, and, with a small smile, he moves forward to catch Brendon's mouth in a gentle, cautious kiss. Brendon smiles against it, relieved and thrilled that everything seems to be going alright again, but then Ryan's fingers brush his hip and he flinches.

Ryan pulls back, sharply from the kiss, staring at Brendon.

"Right," he repeats, in a tiny voice, that suddenly goes much louder. "Right. Fuck you. You can either fucking forgive me and accept what I am, or you can't. You can't have the best of both worlds, Brendon."

Brendon shakes his head, regretting it, desperately, and moves forward to try and pull Ryan towards him. Ryan shoves him, hard, backwards though, causing him to fall heavily upon the bed. The boy looks around, searchingly, and then picks up Brendon's guitar again, looking maddened.

"Fuck you," he shouts, and Brendon thinks he glimpses tears of hurt or anger or something else in Ryan's eyes, before the boy brings the guitar down, hard, onto the floor, and the neck of it snaps.

"What the hell are you doing?" Brendon asks, leaping to his feet and tugging the broken thing from Ryan's fingers. He stares at it in horror, and then back up at Ryan, hurt and indignation and shock swelling up inside. "What the fuck? My dad got me that, and I never get to see him."

Ryan stares at him, looking shocked at himself, and then down at the guitar. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding stunned. "I didn't. Um. I didn't --"

There is the sound of footfall on the stairs, and then Brendon's door swings open, revealing a very concerned-looking Mrs. Urie. "What's going on?" she asks, and then her eyes fall upon the broken guitar, and narrow. "What happened?"

"Erm, I accidentally, well," Ryan trails off, and then looks at Brendon with the guiltiest expression that Brendon has ever seen him wear. Suddenly, Brendon forgives him, and wants nothing more than to be able to pull him back onto the bed and show him how much he forgives him.

"I see," Mrs. Urie says, coldly, as she looks at Ryan. "I think that you had better leave."

"No, I need to --"

"No, you need to leave," she repeats, holding the door open. "I'm sorry, Ryan, but I'm not going to have people come round and break my son's things and still expect my hospitality."

Ryan looks at Brendon imploringly, but Brendon can't say anything that he wants to with his mom in the room. Instead he says, wincing immediately at the sharpness of the words, "I'll see you at school, I guess."

There's a moment of silence, in which Ryan stares at him, lips slightly parted, and then a look of disgust passes over his face, and he shakes his head. "Bye then," he mutters, and pushes past Mrs. Urie to head downstairs. The front door slams a few moments later, and the sound tears straight through Brendon, who sinks back down onto the bed, miserably.

"What a rude boy!" Mrs. Urie exclaims. "Breaking your things like that, it's ridiculous. I've got half a mind to get into contact with his parents and see what they have to say about it."

"Don't," Brendon tells her, urgently. The last thing he wants is Ryan to be in more trouble at home. "It's not worth it."

"Not worth it? Your dad bought you that, and it's not like you seem him that often. I think --"

"I don't really care about the guitar at the moment," Brendon tells her, in a mumble, causing her to fall silent. "I'm more bothered that Ryan probably hates me now."

"I thought you weren't friends, and you were just working on a project together?" his mom asks, uncertainly.

"No, we're definitely, um, closer than that," Brendon shrugs, not quite feeling up to coming out, just yet. "Well. We were, anyway."

The past tense hurts Brendon more than he ever thought it could, and he sighs, heavily. "Can you give me a bit of time alone, Mom?"

"Of course," she sighs, and walks over to him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. "Call me if you need anything, won't you?"

"Okay," Brendon smiles, gratefully, and she leaves.

She leaves him to take off his glasses, curl up on the bed, and cry over his own foolishness in falling for an unpredictable, beautiful, disturbed boy.

*

"He hasn't even looked at me all day," Brendon sighs, staring blankly at the computer screen, his fingers absently tapping the keys. He's typing gibberish into his word document, instead of working on the History essay he's supposed to be writing. "I don't know what to do."

"I know," Spencer says, seriously, from his side. "Forget about him. Distance yourself from him."

"I can't do that," Brendon sighs, miserably.

"Brendon, I'm sorry, but you have to see the problem. Timothy is a bastard and all and I'm not bothered he got hurt after what he did to you - but Ryan stabbed him. He stabs people! There's no way you'd ever have a functional relationship, you'd be on tenterhooks the whole time."

"But when he's not like that, when we're alone, he's so sweet," Brendon explains, remembering their Saturday spent entwined together on Ryan's bed, with a painful sweetness. "He's more than sweet, actually. He's amazing. He's kind and vulnerable, and shy, and you have no idea how much it hurts to know that he probably hates me now. Why couldn't I have just been grateful that he'd got revenge on Timothy? I'm so stupid, and I've ruined everything now. Not to mention that --"

"You really like him, don't you?" Jon asks, quietly, from his other side.

"Yeah, I do," Brendon sighs, glumly tracing his finger around the R on his keyboard, not really realising that he's doing it. "Fuck, I. I really do, yeah."

"Then talk to him," Jon suggests, and Spencer makes every sign of wanting to interrupt, but falls silent as Jon shakes his head. "I don't condone him stabbing anybody, of course not. But he obviously feels a lot for you, too, Brendon, and if you just both leave it now, neither of you will be happy."

"But what do I do?" Brendon asks, the smallest glimmer of hope blossoming inside at Jon's words.

"Talk to him," Jon says, simply. "Sit down, calmly, and just tell him how you feel. If he flies off the handle or hurts or anything like that, you'll know that it's not going to work. But it sounds as though it will, from the way you talk about him."

"But if he does hurt Brendon, what then? Is it worth it?" Spencer demands, frowning heavily, and he looks at Brendon. "I'm all for you being happy and everything, I really don't want you to suffer. I'm just worried that you're going to get hurt, and then how could I forgive myself for letting you get involved with him?"

"I really appreciate your concern," Brendon smiles at him, honestly, and a little sadly. He understands Spencer, completely, and he knows that if he had any common sense within, he'd agree with the boy and never give Ryan a second glance again. But he's never had much common sense. "I just, I just want to see if things work. If they don't, then fine, I'll have to move on. But if there's a chance that things could be okay between us, I won't be able to live with myself if I don't try for it."

Spencer doesn't look happy, but he sighs, with a slight shrug. "I guess it's not my choice. But be careful, okay?"

"I'll try," Brendon smiles, relieved that Spencer is accepting his decision to talk to Ryan. Then, he turns to Jon, and smiles even wider. "Thanks for the advice. I'm going to take it, I'll try to get him alone the first moment I can."

"Anytime," Jon laughs, and then glances at his boyfriend. "If it goes wrong, Spencer, you can blame me."

"Oh, I can think of a few things that you could do to make up for it," Spencer laughs, and then seems to realise what he's just said in front of Brendon, flushing. "Um. I mean --"

"Maybe I should let Ryan stab me after all," Brendon laughs, despite Spencer's embarrassment. "It sounds like it would do wonders for your sex life."

Jon laughs, clapping him bracingly on the shoulder. "Well, it's a worthy cause to sacrifice yourself for."

Brendon laughs, Jon winks, and Spencer lets out a groan of humiliation, burying his face into his hands.

Brendon, though, doesn't miss the small smile the embarrassed boy sends in Jon's direction, and he can't help but grin. Even if he and Ryan are struggling, he's happy to know that some people can find love sweet and painless.

Not, his mind hastily corrects, that he's in love or anything.