Brendon walks through the grass to his last class - Music - with a heavy heart.

Beside him walk Spencer and his friend, Brent, deep in discussion about computers or something. Brendon isn't really paying attention. All he can think about is how awful this lesson is likely to be, what with Ryan so mad at him and Mrs. Harris being so patronising all of the time.

Just as they near the building, however, three bulky figures step out of it, their eyes firmly on Brendon. Brendon's heart sinks and beats faster at the same time, somehow. He stops, and his friends stop with him, their eyes wide as the newcomers stroll casually towards them.

"Fancy seeing you here, Urie," Timothy laughs, with a gleam in his eye. His two companions - who look even bigger and thicker than him - share a knowing look. "Where are you going?"

"To class," Brendon replies, coldly, though he doesn't feel half as confident as he's sounding. "In fact, we should probably go now. We'll be late otherwise."

"Yeah, your friends should go," Timothy agrees, with a look at Spencer and Brent. "You two, fuck off. Urie and I need to talk."

Brent nods, with a guilty look at Brendon, and walks off towards the building. Spencer, however, crosses his arms and shakes his head. "No. I'm not about to leave Brendon here with you three, without anyone to back him up."

"Aw, has Smith got a backbone?" Timothy jeers, looking nothing but amused. "Fine, then. If you want to be witness to this, it's up to you. It's not as if you're going to stop me."

Brendon takes an automatic step back, eyes wide. He really, really isn't in the mood to get beaten up - but hell, Timothy is captain of all the sport teams, and he knows he'll never be able to outrun him. "Look, you don't need to --"

"Your boyfriend Ross isn't here to save you now, is he?" Timothy asks, softly, and moves closer. Ryan's name, however, suddenly makes Brendon remember the conversation of the night before - "Do you know why none of them ever say anything to me? Because I stand up for myself. That's all you have to do."

Ryan had thought he was one of them, because he couldn't stand up for himself, and suddenly, adrenaline-pumping through him, Brendon wants to prove himself to the boy, even if he's not there. "Fuck you," he growls, at Timothy, and he shoves the taller boy hard in the chest, causing him to stumble backwards, obviously surprised by the move. "Just leave me alone, okay? I've not done anything to you, and just because you're so narrow-minded that --"

Timothy laughs, the sound loud and obnoxious. "Wow, look what we have here. Somebody who thinks they actually sound tough."

"For your information --"

Brendon gets no further, however, as a fist slams into his face. He tumbles backwards onto the grass from the force, and he tastes blood, and fuck it hurts. Before he can even think to stand up or defend himself, however, one of Timothy friend's kick him in the side, winding him, and probably splintering a few ribs, too.

"Leave him alone," comes Spencer's angry voice, and the other boys laugh.

"I think that's enough for now," Timothy announces, sounding overly pleased with himself. "See you later, Smith, Urie."

With that, he and his friends leave the school gates, laughing to themselves and congratulating each other. Brendon lays, curled up in the grass, for a few minutes, not wanting to move. Spencer kneels by his side, and smoothes the hair from his forehead. "Shit. I'm sorry. I should've --"

"Not your fault," Brendon mutters, and then winces. He's got a split lip, and it even hurts to talk. He somehow manages to sit up, even though his head is spinning. He gingerly touches his tongue to the cut, and then winces. "We should g-get to class."

"Are you sure?" Spencer asks, with a frown. "It'd probably be best if I helped you home, you're bleeding pretty badly."

"No, I can't skip Music," Brendon sighs, unsteadily getting to his feet. Spencer helps him, gripping his arm firmly. "I need to t-talk to Ryan about our project. Anyway, I don't want Mrs. Harris to get mad with us for not going."

"If you're sure," Spencer shrugs, but he sounds doubtful. They walk to the class, Brendon cursing the very day that Timothy Ashfield was born, and enter, nearly ten minutes late. Mrs. Harris looks up from her desk, along with everybody else in the classroom, and takes in Brendon's thoroughly dishevelled appearance.

"Sit down," she says, and that's all she says, for which Brendon is thankful. He probably would have cried or something if anything else had gone wrong and he'd been in trouble. He walks over to his desk, and slumps down behind it, heaving a great sigh.

His side is probably really bruised, and it kind of hurts to breath, but he doesn't think that anything is broken. His face is worrying him more - he thinks he might have chipped a tooth, and there really is a lot of blood, so much that he had no idea his lip could hold so much.

He glances around, to see that most people are just getting on with their work and ignoring the fact that he's just stumbled into the class, evidently having been beaten up. However, as he looks towards the back of the class, he finds Ryan staring at him with a stunned expression.

The boy frowns, slightly, and mouths, "Who did it?"

Brendon mouths back, "Timothy", and Ryan's expression instantly darkens. He gets out of his chair and marches towards Brendon, who starts in surprise. Ryan fingers close tightly around one of Brendon's arms, and he looks towards the teacher.

"I need to go," he tells her, and she looks up, surprised. Upon seeing that it's Ryan, however, she looks a little nervous.

"Well, if it's urgent, I suppose --"

"Brendon and I need to do some urgent work on our music project," he explains, tugging Brendon to his feet. Brendon stares at him, more than a little confused, but Ryan offers no explanation to him. Mrs. Harris's eyes trail over Brendon's split lip and Ryan's angry expression, and she sighs, evidently having worked something out.

"Very well, you can go," she sighs, and looks back down at her desk, carrying on marking some or other. Ryan collects his bag from his desk, and then just about marches Brendon from the room by the arm. Brendon casts a worried look back at Spencer, who is looking bewildered, and then they're out of the room, and heading out of the school.

"We'll go back to mine," Ryan says, decisively, as they walk out of the gates. Brendon worries, for a moment, that they might run into Timothy, but to his relief there's no sign of him. "It's like, two seconds away from school."

"Uh, o-okay then," Brendon says, not knowing what the hell is going on, and a couple of minutes later they stop in front of a humble, fairly small house. Ryan unlocks the front door and ushers Brendon in, shutting the door fairly quickly behind them. "Um. What --"

"Go upstairs," Ryan orders, with a nod at the staircase. "The first door on the left is my room. I'll get some water or something to clean you up."

"I --" Brendon sighs, deciding he's in no state to question things, and just gives in. "Alright."

Ryan nods, satisfied, and goes off in the direction of what seems to be the kitchen. Cautiously, Brendon walks up the stairs, wincing as his side aches with each step. Once he reaches the top, he finds himself in a corridor, with several doors leading off it. He goes into the one that Ryan directed him to, and finds himself stood in a small, claustrophobic room.

It's not so much claustrophobic because of the size, Brendon decides, as he perches on the bed. It's just so cluttered and poster-clad. There's a computer on a desk against the wall, and a couple of guitars against the other, but aside from the bed and a small beside table, and a box full of clothes, there's not much furniture. There are countless books and journals and little ornaments scattered everywhere, though.

Brendon closes his eyes, and lets out a heavy sigh. It's hardly the first time he's been punched, but it never gets any easier. Tentatively, he feels his side, and grits his teeth. He's definitely going to have a bruise there. He begins to wonder, begins to despair, about what his mom is going to do when she sees he's been hit. She thinks she's moved him away from all of that.

The door swings open, and Ryan enters, arms full. He sets down a bowl of warm water on the floor, along with some antiseptic cream and a towel, and kneels in front of Brendon. He frowns, staring intently up into Brendon's eyes, and Brendon - once again - feels that bizarre twitch deep inside.

"How did it happen?" Ryan asks, dipping the towel into the water and folding it up in a small square.

"Um. Timothy and two of his friends came up to me, Spencer and Brent in the yard. He told the other two to leave - Brent did - and then basically said that, um, you weren't there to defend me this time. So I told him to fuck off and leave me alone, and pushed him - and then, well, you can see." Brendon gestures to his face, cheeks burning. Now he's said it, it sounds stupid, and Ryan probably thinks him pathetically weak.

"Hold still, if you can," Ryan orders, but softly, and he presses the damp towel to Brendon's lip. Brendon lets out a hiss of breath, and automatically moves back, but Ryan slips a hand round to the back of his head and holds him still. "I know it stings, but we have to clean it or it could get infected."

Brendon nods, but still lets out a whimper as Ryan presses it to his lip again. Ryan sighs, lightly, his fingers now lingering on the back of Brendon's neck. The touch calms Brendon, but he still squirms a little. He always does that, though, and he's trying to be as still as possible.

"Shh," Ryan murmurs, at Brendon's whimper. He cleans the blood up, quickly and gently, and then drops the towel into the water. He leans back, and studies Brendon, again. "Why did you pick a fight with them? That was stupid."

Brendon feels suddenly indignant. "You told me, yesterday, that I had to stand up for myself. So I did."

"You did this because of what I said?" Ryan asks, in surprise, his eyebrows raising. Then, he shakes his head, and picks up the cream. "It was still stupid. Anyway, put some of this cream onto the cut. It's going to sting like mad, but you need it."

Brendon takes it, reluctantly, and does as Ryan says. It does sting, but he's felt worse pain, and so he rubs it on without complaint. Ryan takes it from him when he's done, and puts it next to the bowel. He stands up, and sits down next to Brendon, with a sigh.

His hip is touching Brendon's, and Brendon is feeling strangely nervous, and he suddenly says, "Do you still think I'm one of them?"

Ryan surveys him, almost coldly. "I hope you didn't get yourself beaten up to get my approval."

"I didn't," Brendon says, honestly. "It just kind of struck me that I don't need to take that from people, let alone some idiot from the football team who thinks he's a thousand times better than me because he gets all the girls and is popular and can sit still without having to stand up every few minutes. I just thought that it was time I stood up for myself, and yeah, you kind of inspired that, but I didn't --"

"You're not one of them," Ryan cuts across him, quietly. "I don't know what you are, except for stupid, but you're not one of them."

Brendon smiles, and then immediately regrets it when his lip throbs painfully. "I guess I'd rather be stupid than like everybody else, in that case."

Ryan laughs, and Brendon feels a warmth inside that he can't really explain. Ryan glances at the clock, and the smile slips off his face. "My, uh, parents are due home now. Maybe it would be better if we got out of here."

Brendon's curiosity is piqued at this, and he asks, cautiously, "Why would we need to leave if your parents are coming home?"

Ryan's expression darkens, and Brendon feels a flicker of fear, suddenly remembering the boy's reputation. Just by looking at him, Brendon could imagine him threatening to stab someone, and he bites his lip, already feeling guilty. Why did he have to ruin the nice atmosphere, again?

Ryan opens his mouth - to most likely reply in a scathing tone - but he pauses as both boys hear the front door slam open, and a pair of voices drift up the stairs. "You fucking whore," comes a gruff, male voice, and then a female one screeches back, "Don't you call me a whore, when you spend all night with hookers."

Ryan swears, softly, under his breath, and stands up. Over the shouts downstairs, he says to Brendon. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Where to?" Brendon asks, torn between surprise and concern at the argument downstairs, and amazement that Ryan seems to still want to spend time with him, even if they're not doing their project.

"I don't know, we'll just go for a walk somewhere," Ryan mutters, distractedly, and opens his bedroom door. The sound of the voices increases, but Ryan ignores it. He sets off down the stairs, and Brendon follows, alarmed at the fact they're nearing the arguing parents.

The pair of them stand by the front door, faces red and voices loud. Mr. Ross is tall and well-built, with dark hair and an even darker expression. Mrs. Ross is tall and thin, with bleached blonde hair and a sharp, drawn face. They fall silent, however, as Ryan and Brendon reach the bottom of the stairs, and gaze questioningly at them.

"Uh. This is Brendon, from school," Ryan mutters, looking at the floor rather than either of his parents.

"It's nice to meet you, Brendon," Mrs. Ross smiles, though it seems rather forced, and her chest is still heaving from the argument. "Are you in Ryan's grade?"

"Yeah," Brendon nods, noticing that both adults are now looking at his cut lip with wide eyes. "Um. It's nice to meet you, too."

"We're going out," Ryan tells them, shortly, and throws open the front door. "Come on, Brendon."

Brendon tries to feel a bit indignant at being dragged around like a puppy, but he doesn't really want to ruin things again. He spares Mr. and Mrs. Ross a quick, nervous smile. "Erm, bye, then."

"Bye," Mr. Ross grunts, and his hand closes around Mrs. Ross's arm, pulling her firmly towards the kitchen. As Ryan closes the front door behind him and Brendon, the argument has already started again, and Ryan slams the door as hard as he can.

"Sorry about that," he mutters, his hands in his pockets as they begin to walk.

"It's okay," Brendon shrugs, choosing - wisely, he thinks - not to talk about them anymore. Evidently, it's a bit of a sore subject, and he can see why. He's never heard to people yell so hard before. They walk in silence for a few minutes, seeming to be heading in the direction of the park, and as they near it, it suddenly strikes Brendon how rude he's been.

"Thank you," he says, and Ryan starts, having evidently been lost in thought. "I mean, for cleaning the cut and everything. You didn't need to do it, but I really appreciate it and everything because if my mom had seen me with blood everywhere she probably would have taken straight back to school to see the teacher, and I can just say I banged my mouth now because it doesn't look as bad and everything. So, uh. Yeah. Thanks."

"It's okay," Ryan says, quietly. They head into the park, and walk alongside the high hedges, that line it. There are only a few people on the grass - one middle-aged woman walking her dogs, and a couple of kids from 7th grade playing football. As they carry on next to the hedges, however, Ryan stops, suddenly, and Brendon follows suit.

"There are voices," he whispers, with a nod towards the hedge. He pulls Brendon closer to him - and just why does Brendon feel suddenly nervous? - and leans close, to listen. "I think - yeah, it is. It's Spencer Smith and Jon Walker."

"What?" Brendon asks, loudly, but Ryan makes a sign for him to shut up. He does so, pressing his ear against the leaves to listen. Ryan is still holding his arm, seeming to be unaware of doing so. Sure enough, Brendon can soon hear voices, low and conspiring.

"Um, w-why did we have to come somewhere private?" comes Spencer's voice, breathy and nervous.

"I just thought it would be nicer to be able to talk without everybody listening," Jon explains, and Brendon feels a bit guilty about eavesdropping, but Ryan's still holding onto him and he doesn't much feel like pulling back. "I've kind of got something to tell you, too."

"What?"

"Well. I mean, I've never told anybody before, but. Well. I think I'm gay."

Brendon's eyes go wide at Jon's admission, and he shares a startled look with Ryan. Then, Spencer murmurs, voice oddly husky, "This is a bit of a weird coincidence, because. Well. I'm bisexual, I think, but definitely leaning towards being, um, gay."

Brendon chokes in surprise, and the two voices fall silent, evidently having heard. Ryan mutters, "Oh, shit," grabs Brendon's hand, and runs. The run, flat out, for five minutes, and a stitch begins to form in Brendon's bruised side, but for some reason he just doesn't care because Ryan's fingers are warm entwined with his, and he's laughing, but he doesn't know why. He guesses it's the thrill of nearly being caught.

They come to a stop outside of Ryan's house, both breathing heavily, and Ryan lets go of his hand. Clutching the wall for support, he tries to regain his breath, laughing slightly. Brendon leans against it, trying to slow his racing hearts and swelling lungs, unable to keep the smile from off his face. He's not that shocked about Jon and Spencer's admissions - but he does feel ridiculously guilty for eavesdropping, and silently hopes that they didn't see him running off.

Ryan shakes his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "Do you think they saw us?"

"I hope not," Brendon laughs, and then winces as his lip stings. Ryan sobers up, instantly, and stands up straight. Brendon feels a little uneasy. "What?"

"If Timothy or anybody else ever touches you again," Ryan says, slowly, "tell me, alright?"

Brendon nods, with a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."

Ryan shrugs, and runs his hand through his hair. He glances towards his house and sighs, heavily. "I should probably go in."

Brendon glances at his watch, and nods. "Yeah, same."

"Come over tomorrow?" Ryan asks, looking at the floor rather than at Brendon. "We could do some work on the project. My parents won't be in."

It's a Saturday tomorrow, and though Brendon has arranged to go to the mall with Spencer and Jon, he's sure he can find time to come round. "Sure. Do you want me to come round at any particular time?"

Ryan shakes his head, with a small smile. "No, I won't be doing anything all day. Whenever is best for you, really."

Brendon smiles, and Ryan bids him goodbye, disappearing into his house once more. Brendon watches him go, still smiling, and then sighs, turning to walk home.

Rumours, he's decided, shouldn't be believed at all.

Ryan doesn't really seem the type of have attempted to stab anybody, and he hopes it stays that way.