The first thing that Brendon notices when he gets home is a jacket hanging up with the rest that he's never seen before. It is, he realises upon closer inspection, a men's jacket, and it smells faintly of tobacco. He decides - though he has no idea why - that he really, really doesn't like it.

Leaving his bag against the wall, he cautiously heads through to the kitchen, where he can hear voices drifting from. He opens the door but doesn't enter, instead studying the occupants with a frown. His mom is sat at the table, laughing - and next to her is sat a tall, bulky man that Brendon's never seen before.

"Uh. Hi. Mom, what's going on?"

She looks up from her conversation and smiles, warmly, at her son. "Hello, Brendon. What do you mean, what's going on? This is Rodney, he works with me and he's come home for dinner."

"I've heard your mom cooks amazingly," the man laughs, with a wink at Brendon. Brendon recoils slightly, not liking the tone of his voice one bit. "You're Brendon, then? I've heard a lot about you."

"Really? I've heard nothing about you. I would have thought that Mom would have mentioned you if you're friends enough with her to come home for dinner, but I guess it just slipped her mind. I wouldn't be surprised, really, because we never have anybody round for dinner normally, especially not a man, so I wouldn't get too --"

"Woah, does the kid ever shut up?" Rodney laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. Brendon narrows his eyes, but doesn't say anything more. His mom looks nervous for a moment, looking between the two men, and then puts a hand tentatively on Rodney's forearm.

"Brendon has ADHD," she explains, quietly, with an imploring look at her son to stay calm. "It's a condition that makes him --"

"I know what ADHD is," Rodney says, again with the irritating laugh. "It's just a load of crap invented to make an excuse for misbehaving kids. My sister's kid supposedly has it, and she always uses it to let him get away with stealing. It's ridiculous."

"Well, for your information --" Brendon begins, hotly, but his mom shakes her head at him, pleadingly.

"How was your day at school?" she asks, biting her lip anxiously, and Brendon hasn't got the heart to start an argument if it's going to hurt her.

"It's was okay, thanks," he shrugs, and then the memory of Ryan inviting himself round hits him, and he grimaces. "Actually, I'm having somebody round for dinner tonight, too. He's coming over to work on a music project so I guess he'll want food too. He's coming around at about six."

"You're having a friend over?" his mom asks, her eyes going wide and a smile blossoming over her face. "Really? That's great! I'll make a bigger dinner, in that case."

"Thanks," Brendon smiles, shaking his hair from his eyes. "I'll, uh, leave you both to it, then. I have to go tidy my room."

He leaves before either of them can say anything else. He doesn't really want to see his mother and Rodney talking. He knows just what's going on, too; the man is obviously trying to get his mom in bed, and the thought makes him feel a bit sick. She hasn't been with anybody, as far as he knows, since his dad left - and he'd rather it stay that way.

Still, he thinks, as he shuts his bedroom door behind him, he can't be the only male in her life forever. Whilst he thinks on this, he sets about tidying his room the best he can, tipping countless lollypop sticks and wrappers into the trash and hiding his Disney videos in the bottom of a drawer. Once he's done this, he carefully lays his guitar and bass out in the middle of the room, just in case Ryan wants to play either of them.

He's got no idea why he feels even more restless than usual, because he doesn't want to admit to himself that he's pretty much terrified about what might happen.

Sitting down at his computer, he tries to take his mind off the gnawing worry by checking his email and playing a couple of games. It works better than anticipated, and soon he's gunning down imaginary men on his screen, laughing and talking to it, forgetting reality. Before too long, though, he hears the noise of a knock on the front door over the sounds of his game, and pales.

He glances at his watch. It's six, already.

"Oh, hell," he mutters to himself, running a quick hand through his hair, and bounding out of his door and down the stairs. He skids to the bottom of them and pulls the door open, before he can hesitate. It is, of course, Ryan, who is staring at the ground with his hands in his pockets. "Hey. How are you? It was, uh, nice of you to come and all."

Ryan raises his eyebrows at the pleasantries, and pushes past Brendon into the hallway. "I'm fine," he says, slowly, looking around. "This is your house?"

"Yeah," Brendon says, licking his lips nervously. "Um. All of the music stuff is upstairs but my mom is making dinner, so I'll check what time that'll be ready for because she's got a friend round so I think it will be made early tonight."

"I'm having dinner?" Ryan asks, the first flicker of emotion coming over him - a look of surprise. Brendon decides, suddenly, that Ryan looks much nicer when he's actually animated, and then tells himself that that's a weird thing to think about a stranger.

"If you want it," Brendon nods, walking through to the kitchen, Ryan following him. "My mom is happy to make some for you. In fact, I think she already has. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it is," Ryan replies, quietly, as they enter the kitchen. Brendon's mom is now setting out four plates at the table, all full of steaming food, and Brendon smiles. Everything has obviously been timed pretty well by fate. Making the smile slip off his face, however, is the fact that Rodney is sitting in his chair, looking down at his dinner with a large smile.

The adults look up as the two of them enter, and immediately Brendon's mom smiles and bustles over, examining the newcomer. "Hello, dear. You must be Ryan? It's so nice of you to come over to see Brendon."

"Yeah, I'm Ryan," the boy replies, not looking at her, but instead gazing at the dinner. "You didn't need to make me any food."

"Don't be silly, of course I did," she dismisses, with a laugh, and then motions to the table. "Take a seat and dig in, boys. I'll just get everybody a drink."

"Thanks," Brendon smiles at her, and sits down, opposite Rodney. Ryan takes a seat next to him, and Brendon begins to feel awkward again. This meal is going to be nothing but weird, especially with two totally unexpected guests - one of which is the boy that everybody fears at school.

In a few minutes, the meal is well underway, and Brendon begins to feel a bit more comfortable. Most of the conversation is between his mom and Rodney, whilst Ryan hasn't spoken once. The dinner itself is gorgeous, as usual. Rodney, especially, seems to like it, and keeps piling chicken onto his plate. He offers some to Brendon, who has none on his own plate, but Brendon shakes his head.

"No, thanks," he says, wrinkling his nose at the food.

There's a clatter from the side of him, and everybody looks towards Ryan to see that he's dropped his fork onto his plate, his eyes narrow. "Your mom just spent ages cooking a meal, and you're not even going to try it?" he asks, sounding disgusted.

Mrs. Urie gives a nervous laugh, and shakes her head. "Brendon's a vegetarian, Ryan. It doesn't really matter to me, I know he's not going to eat any meat I cook."

"Oh. Okay, then."

With that, Ryan lapses into silence again. Brendon stares at him, feeling a sudden conflict of emotion. Half of him is a little intimidated about the suddenness of the reaction. At the same time, though, he's quite pleased that Ryan would actually care about his mom's feelings. Though he doesn't know the boy, at all, it's strangely satisfying.

"A vegetarian?" Rodney snorts, regarding Brendon with a disdainful expression. "Why the hell would you want to be one of them?"

Brendon can feel his cheeks glowing, from anger. He really doesn't want a scene with this man, especially not in front of someone from school. "I just don't like eating dead bodies, really. I think it's, well, morally wrong and all."

Rodney grunts, disapprovingly, but doesn't press the issue further. Instead, he takes a large bite out of his chicken, and smiles at Brendon once his mouth is full. Brendon has to flex his fingers to stop himself doing something drastic. His mother seems to notice the tension, for she clears her throat, and looks towards their other guest.

"So, Ryan, what do you think of our Brendon? Is he fitting in well at school?"

Ryan looks up from his dinner, looking startled to be asked, and glances at Brendon. The meaning of the look is perfectly clear - this question is ridiculous. However, he shakes the hair from his eyes and mutters, "He's fitting in the same as everybody fits in."

Her smile falters slightly at the strangeness of the answer. "He does? What sort of fitting in is that, then?"

"Uh." Ryan looks at Brendon, again, almost accusingly, as thought it's his fault his mother is so concerned. "From what I've heard, people think he's a bit weird because of his, uh, condition. They don't really know what to think about it."

Brendon looks down at the table, his cheeks now burning. He's not surprised, really, about people finding him weird. The same thing happened in his old school, along with certain other things, and it led to him leaving. Still, hearing the words so bluntly said makes him want to cry or something. It's not his fault he's how it is, and he wishes that people would just accept that.

Brendon's mom looks a little shocked, and quite upset, as she stares at Ryan. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she gives a nervous little laugh. "Well. Well, I guess that kids can be cruel."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Ryan shrugs, idly playing with his fork and looking down at his dinner. "If it's not one thing, it's the other. They'd find him weird for anything they can, they're like that."

Brendon, despite his mortification at the revelations, can't help but look up at Ryan at this, eyes wide. Ryan had said, he's sure, they are like that. Not we're like that. Before he knows what he's doing, he asks, "Don't you think I'm weird?"

Everybody stares at Ryan, awaiting his reaction. He takes a moment to think, chewing slowly, and then shrugs again. Looking straight into Brendon's eyes, he murmurs, "Well, a little."

Rodney barely manages to stifle a laugh. Brendon's mom gives a small sound of dismay. Brendon, on the other hand, looks at his dinner, trying to ignore the strange swell of hurt and disappointment swelling inside of him. "Um. Okay then. I-I just --"

"Being weird isn't necessarily a bad thing, you know," Ryan tells him, and then clears his throat. "Thanks for the dinner, Mrs. Urie. Can we work on our project now? I should go home soon."

"That's quite alright, honey," Mrs. Urie smiles, thinly, and she still looks overly stunned and offended at the insults to her son. "You're welcome whenever you want."

"Yeah, we should probably get on with our project," Brendon mumbles, getting to his feet. He feels a little better now that Ryan's said being weird isn't bad, but he still feels strange. He just can't work out the boy beside him. "Thanks for the dinner, Mom."

His mom smiles at him, reassuringly, and the two teenagers leave, Brendon leading Ryan up to his room. He's even more uneasy than before; he doesn't want to spend time alone with Ryan. Though he's less worried about being stabbed now - Ryan hasn't shown any violent tendencies just yet - he knows that Ryan most likely doesn't like him. He's not sure why he would like him, but the knowledge still hurts somewhat.

"Uh, this is my room, then," Brendon announces awkwardly, motioning around as he shuts the door behind them. "Um, feel free to sit wherever you like, on the bed or whatever. I mean, you don't have to sit down if you don't like, even, um - whatever you want, really."

Ryan shoots him a strange look. "I'll just sit on the bed."

"Good idea," Brendon nods, as Ryan does so. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, and then settles onto his computer chair. "Um. As you can see, I have a guitar and a bass guitar, but I don't know what you play. That's if you even play anything, because if you don't we can just --"

"I play guitar," Ryan says, reaching over and picking it up. He examines it, carefully, and sighs. "Do you have an acoustic one?"

Brendon nods and reaches under the desk, pulling out his acoustic guitar, which he's never really played before. He's better with his electric one, and even then he can only play fairly simply chords. Ryan takes it and studies it, and then nods, seemingly satisfied.

"So. So, uh, yeah. I could sing, if you want, and if we need bass in it I could practise and get better, but I'm not too confident with writing lyrics. Are you? Because I write them sometimes but I'm not sure they're every any good because nobody else has ever looked at them and I'm not sure I have a way with words, and they always come out wrong because --"

"Can I ask you something?" Ryan interrupts, his eyes on Brendon and slightly narrowed.

Brendon feels a strange flip of nervousness deep inside. "Er. Yeah, sure."

"Do you always ramble or is it just because you're scared?"

"I always ramble," Brendon says, helplessly, not knowing quite what Ryan's getting at. "Why would I be scared, anyway?"

"Because it's obvious that Spencer Smith has been telling you all about me."

Brendon pauses, eyebrows raising. "Um, no, he hasn't told me --"

"Fuck this," Ryan mutters, standing up and putting the guitar back onto the floor. He shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes, and casts Brendon a dark look. "I'm not going to sit here with someone who can't even meet my eye because of rumours."

Brendon stands up, as well, surprised. "What about our music project?"

"We can work on it another day," Ryan decides, walking out of the room before Brendon can stop him. He turns in the doorway, however, and surveys Brendon coldly. "I'll see you at school."

"Wait, you --"

Ryan, however, doesn't stop as Brendon tries to call him back, and soon his footfalls can be heard on the stairs, and the front door slams behind him. Brendon stares at the spot where Ryan had been stood, mouth slightly open, and then he shakes himself.

He has no idea what's just happened, or why.

Shaking his head, he heads for the phone to ring up Spencer and tell him what's gone on, but as his eyes fall on the bed, he freezes. Ryan, it turns out, left something behind.

Laying on the bed - evidently having slipped out of the boy's pocket - is his army knife. With wide eyes, his heart racing, Brendon leans over and picks it up, tentatively. The knives are all tucked into the container, and so Brendon tugs one of them out, and then his breath catches in his throat.

There's the strange, dry rust of blood on the blade.

He drops it as though it's suddenly burned red hot, backing away and biting his lip, hard.

He doesn't know what he's more disturbed about; the fact that there's blood on the knife, or the fact that he's going to have to give it back to the boy. The thought of having to hand something like that to Ryan, who will probably know instantly that he's seen the blood and will add Brendon's own to it, terrifies him.

Sinking into his computer chair, Brendon bites his lip again, and reaches for the phone. Hopefully, Spencer will know what to do. If not - well. Brendon's enjoyed life while it's lasted.