What is knowledge?

When I woke up the next morning with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, I took that as proof of my horrible luck. I knew that something had to be coming for me after an amazing night like that one, and sure enough, it took the form of Brendon Urie's cold.

Despite my illness, I still went to class and played at the Aubergine, although I did consider skipping Advanced Piano Studies a few times that week. Professor Leopold wouldn't understand my suffering, but that wouldn't matter. I deserved a break from his class. Nevertheless, I continued to show up, if only to make a half-hearted attempt to keep my GPA up.

A few nights went by, and my cold only got worse. By the end of the week, I was so congested that I could barely speak. How could Brendon sing with a cold this bad? He had sounded gorgeous every night he was at the Aubergine, yet I was sure that he had suffered just as much as I was. How else would I have gotten this cold? Nobody else that I knew had a cold during that week.

To counteract my misery, I stayed at the Aubergine for longer than usual that Friday. I knew that only more sleep would help me get rid of that cold, but Brendon made me even happier than a peaceful rest would have. I spent most of the night chatting with him and simply enjoying his company, and I thought that it was one of the best decisions that I had ever made.

On the way home, however, the medicine that I had taken earlier in the day began to wear off. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, and I felt as if death was coming for me. I was well aware that I wasn't really dying, but that was what I imagined death was like - coughing and sneezing in the cold, harsh winter air, unsure if you were ever going to make it home.

Eventually, I did find my way into Flack Hall, and I quietly opened the door to Room 27. Patrick seemed to be sleeping soundly, but I still tried to be as silent as possible as I entered the room.

That was when my body betrayed me, and I let out a loud sneeze.

Patrick bolted upright and turned on the lights. "Ryan!" he shouted. "Can you at least try to be quiet? I was trying to sleep!"

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Patrick," I said. "If you don't mind, I'll just finish getting ready for bed, and then we can both sleep." Patrick didn't respond, but he gave me a glare. "What do you want?" I asked.

"This isn't the first time you've done this," Patrick told me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him.

"You've been going somewhere every night," Patrick said as he climbed out of bed. "You're always getting home late and waking me up, and it's driving me insane. Ryan, where have you been going every night?"

I gasped. How did Patrick know all of this? For that matter, how could anyone know anything? He had always been fast asleep each night when I came back to the dorm room, or so I thought. Perhaps I had been wrong about that. If I was wrong about something like that, what else could I be wrong about? Were some of my core beliefs completely and utterly wrong? What would I do then?

I didn't want to answer Patrick's question directly, so I diverted his attention. "You've been driving me insane too," I said. "Have you ever considered not waking up at five o'clock in the morning?"

"That's just when I wake up!" Patrick exclaimed. "I can't control it!"

"At the very least, you could avoid blasting Elvis Costello songs in my ear," I said. "I don't even like his music, and I definitely don't like hearing it that early in the morning."

"How is that possible?" Patrick asked. "I thought everyone liked Elvis Costello."

"I hate to break it to you, Patrick, but not everyone likes the same music," I said. "In some ways, life would be much better if everyone was the same, but in other ways, it would be far worse. There would be no point in making friends or talking to other people at all, and we would never progress as a society because we would all have the same ideas, beliefs, and flaws..."

"Let's get back on topic," Patrick said. "Where have you been going every night?"

"It's not important," I said, yawning. "Can we please just go to bed?"

"Not yet," Patrick said. "I want to know why I'm losing so much sleep. Is it because of the Guyliner Club? I bet it has something to do with them. You're always hanging around those guys."

"It's sort of related to the Guyliner Club," I said.

"I would say that the Guyliner Club is having meetings in the middle of the night, but there's no reason for them to do that every night," Patrick said as he began to pace around the room. "There has to be something else involved."

I didn't even bother to respond to that one. Patrick could think whatever he wanted to. Knowledge was meaningless unless it had some truth behind it. Besides, Patrick would panic if he knew that I was spending every night at a bar. He seemed like the sort of person who would do that.

"I've got it!" Patrick exclaimed. "You have a girlfriend! You've been sneaking out every night to be with her, which is honestly kind of cute."

"Patrick, that makes absolutely no sense at all," I said. That was a particular piece of false knowledge that I just had to correct.

"Maybe it's a boyfriend you've been seeing every night," Patrick suggested.

"Brendon's not my boyfriend!" I exclaimed.

"Who's Brendon?" Patrick asked.

Sometimes I forgot that not everyone knew the same people that I did, but how could I even begin to explain Brendon? He was both my friend and my confidant, and he had an angelic singing voice to go along with his stunning looks, but that barely scratched the surface of who Brendon was.

"It's kind of complicated," I eventually answered.

"Can you at least try to explain yourself, Ryan?" Patrick asked. "I've never heard of anyone named Brendon in my life."

"Actually, you have heard of him, since I just mentioned him," I corrected.

"I've never heard of anyone named Brendon before today," Patrick said. "So who is he?"

"He's just a friend of mine," I explained, although that wasn't quite accurate. Patrick was my friend too, and I didn't have the same relationship with him that I did with Brendon. In fact, I wasn't sure how to describe my relationship with Brendon at all.

"Why would you sneak out to see him every night if he was just your friend?" Patrick asked.

"He's just a very close friend," I said. "Can't you accept that?"

"I don't think you're telling me the whole story, Ryan," Patrick said. "I have the right to know why you've been waking me up every night for over a month."

"If that's the case, then why have you been waking me up at five in the morning?" I asked.

"I told you that already," Patrick said. "That's just when I wake up."

"Nobody naturally wakes up that early," I said as I folded my arms over my chest and glared at Patrick. At that point, he was doing nothing but keeping me up for far longer than I needed to be.

"I naturally wake up that early," Patrick insisted.

"Can we please just both go to bed?" I asked. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

"Not yet," Patrick said. "Where have you been going every night?"

I was more than ready to give up, so I did. I sighed and explained, "There's this bar called the Aubergine Dream that the members of the Guyliner Club took me to a while ago. I'm the piano player there now, and I've been going to the Aubergine every night. Brendon is the singer that I'm accompanying."

Patrick's eyes opened wide. "Ryan!" he exclaimed. "You can't do that! You're not twenty one yet."

"I'm not actually drinking anything," I said. "I'm only playing the piano. It's harmless."

"I don't think so," Patrick said.

I knew in my heart that going to the Aubergine wasn't the worst thing in the world, even if Patrick refused to accept it. I was only socializing, making music, and having fun, and none of those things were inherently evil, no matter how you defined good and evil. "There's nothing wrong with going to the Aubergine, Patrick," I told him.

"I think there's something wrong with it," Patrick said. "I'm telling Campus Services about this."

"Come on, Patrick," I said. "That's not necessary."

"I think it is," Patrick said. "You're leaving campus every night to engage in illegal activity and returning just before dawn. I think that Campus Services should know about this."

"I'm not doing anything illegal," I said. "I've never had a drop of alcohol in my life."

"I don't believe you," Patrick said.

"How about this?" I said. "I'll come home a little bit earlier as long as you stop waking me up at five o'clock?"

Patrick considered the offer for a few minutes while I crashed onto my bed. I had already missed too much sleep, although if Patrick accepted my offer, I might be able to get a little bit more rest than usual. "I suppose that works," Patrick said. "If I hear any more about this, I'm telling the administration though."

"That's fine," I said. "So long and goodnight, Patrick."

"Goodnight, Ryan," Patrick said as he turned out the lights.

I shut my eyes, imagined kissing Brendon goodbye, and just slept for the next several hours. In fact, it was nearly noon when I woke up, and Patrick was long gone. I rolled out of bed and started working on my philosophy paper, glad that Patrick had kept his promise. For the first time since I had arrived at Kale University, I didn't hear a single Elvis Costello song that day.

The only problem was that Patrick refused to speak to me. When I tried to sit next to him at dinner, he moved to a different table, and when I approached him in the library, he had his nose in a biology textbook, completely ignoring my presence. I wanted to be friends with my roommate, and the Aubergine had completely wrecked our relationship.

Were all of the people at the Aubergine worth losing Patrick? I wasn't sure. Patrick was annoying before this, but he had been an excellent friend in other ways. I didn't want our friendship to die, but it might be worth it if I could keep my job and the relationships that I had developed with the people at the Aubergine.

That night, I didn't stay at the Aubergine long after the show. "Why are you leaving so fast, Ryan?" Brendon asked me. "What's the rush?"

"My roommate wants me to come home earlier so I don't wake him up," I explained.

"Got it," Brendon said. "I had a roommate my freshman year, and he kept judging me for coming here. I'm kind of glad that I'm living by myself now."

"That must be nice," I said. Although I did appreciate having Patrick around, living with him could be a pain.

"It is nice, but I get lonely sometimes," Brendon said. "Anyways, I'll see you tomorrow, Ryan."

"See you soon," I said as I gave him a quick wave. I walked back to Flack Hall, still suffering from that cold that Brendon had given me. When I arrived back in my dorm room, Patrick was still awake and working on his homework.

"I'm home, Patrick," I said, but he didn't respond to me. Instead, he continued to work on his homework as if I wasn't there.

I knew that Patrick hated me because of what I had told him, but what did it mean to know something like that when all it did was hurt both of us?