Why do we create art?

When I opened the door, I was glad to see that the show hadn't quite started yet. The drum set was set up and Spencer was waiting to play, but Brendon was nowhere in sight. I made my way through the bar and towards the stage, where I approached Spencer. "Hey Ryan," Spencer said as he fumbled with his drumsticks. "We've been waiting for you. Where were you?"

"I got caught up at a party in my dorm," I explained. "Where's Brendon?"

"Ryan!" Brendon shouted as he emerged from the far back of the room. "There you are! I need some help with something."

"What do you need help with?" I asked.

Brendon pulled me aside, grinned, and said, "I was thinking about wearing eyeliner, and I figured that you were really good with that sort of thing..."

"Thanks Brendon," I said as I gave him a small smile and tried not to let my heart explode out of my chest.

"Could you help me with my eyeliner?" Brendon asked. He sat down and handed me an eyeliner pen.

"I think I can do that," I said. I crouched down to get a better look at Brendon's face and frankly, I had no idea how I could make it even more beautiful than it already was. Despite my worries that I would screw up somehow, I carefully outlined Brendon's gorgeous brown eyes. I decided to go for a relatively simple look with a few red accents and by the time I was done, I thought it looked nice. It wasn't my best work, but it didn't hurt that Brendon's face looked sublime before I even began.

"Are you done yet?" Brendon asked me several times while he tried his best not to move around. He wasn't exactly doing a great job of that, but what could I expect? He was naturally hyper.

I looked at his face one last time just to make sure that everything was in place, and as it turned out, Pete was right. Makeup did make a guy look beautiful.

Brendon scrambled into the restroom to take a look, and I followed him. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he couldn't resist a smile. "Ryan, this looks amazing," he said. "How did you get so good at this?"

I shrugged. "I just practiced a lot," I said. "Also, Pete Wentz gave me a few good tips."

"Yeah, but Pete's guyliner doesn't look as good as yours," Brendon said.

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

"I think so," Brendon said. "Anyways, let's go out there and play. It's way past nine in the afternoon."

Brendon and I returned to the stage, and while I quietly snuck over to the piano bench, Brendon took a long sip of his peach and lime daiquiri, grabbed the microphone, and started to sing. He sounded just as beautiful as he always did, and I tried not to let that distract me as I played. I was getting better at the various songs that Brendon had me play, although I almost always got distracted while I was playing. How was Spencer able to ignore Brendon and just play? For me, Brendon was a presence that demanded my attention, no matter how much I wanted to focus on the music.

During that particular show, I had the misfortune of messing up the very last chord of the last song. I don't think anyone else in the bar noticed, but I couldn't help but feel as if it was another example of my awful luck. Why did Brendon have to be such a hindrance to my playing? I couldn't decide whether he was the best or worst thing that had happened to me so far that year.

Once all of the applause had died down, Brendon wandered over to me. "Ryan, are you okay?" he said. "You look like you have a fever you can't sweat out."

"I'm okay, Brendon," I insisted, although even I wasn't quite sure of how I felt. My mind was turning in circles, and thinking about Brendon too much only made it worse.

"Okay," Brendon said. "Thanks for doing my eyeliner, by the way."

"No problem," I said as I played a couple of notes on the piano. There was a moment of awkward silence before I asked Brendon about something that had been bothering me for a while. "Brendon, why do you do these shows?"

Brendon shrugged. "I just think it's fun," he said.

"That can't be the whole story," I said. "There must be something deeper."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's just because it's fun," Brendon said. "Do I need a better reason? Playing here lets me make music, drink peach and lime daiquiris, and meet cute boys all at the same time, and honestly, that's all I need."

"I suppose I could understand that," I said.

"Besides, I think you should ask yourself the same question," Brendon said. "Do you have some sort of deep reason for wanting to be here?"

I thought about it for a while, and in the end, I wasn't sure that I didn't. I had no desire to admit my own hypocrisy to Brendon, but I had come for the money and stayed for the people here at the Aubergine.

"That's what I thought," Brendon said after several minutes of silence. "Ryan, you might be a hypocrite, but I still think you're brilliant."

"Thanks Brendon," I said. "You're pretty smart too."

"I wouldn't say that," Brendon said. Of course, I needed to argue my case, so Brendon and I kept chatting until I was practically falling asleep. By some crazy miracle, Brendon never seemed to need to sleep, so although I hated leaving him, I was always the one going home early. "Remember to show up on time tomorrow!" Brendon called as I left the Aubergine.

"I will, Brendon!" I shouted as I waved to him. Even as I walked back to Flack Hall, I couldn't wait for the next day's performance. It may have had no purpose other than entertaining Brendon, Spencer, and I, but that didn't make it any less valuable.

I opened the door to Room 27 again, and I got ready for bed while Patrick snored softly. Once I was ready, I slipped into bed and turned out the lights, glad that Patrick hadn't noticed anything.

I only got a few hours of sleep that night, since Patrick still felt the need to wake me up at five o'clock in the morning. "Patrick?" I mumbled when he started blasting Elvis Costello in my ears. "Can you please sleep like a normal person for once?"

"I'm already up," Patrick said. "I couldn't go back to sleep even if I wanted to."

"That doesn't mean that you have to wake me up," I said. I reached for my phone and saw that I had Great People of Mathematics and Advanced Piano Studies that day, along with a Guyliner Club meeting. Patrick's schedule was a bit heavier than mine, so he would probably be gone for most of the day. Maybe I could take a nap in between the meeting and work.

I tried to go back to sleep, but nothing I did could help me return to my dream. It was a good dream too, if only because Patrick hadn't woken me up in my dream and Brendon may or may not have been involved. Then again, maybe that's what life is about - reality waking you up from your sweetest dreams.

At around seven, I lifted myself out of bed and trudged downstairs. I quickly ate a small stack of pancakes and headed to Advanced Piano Studies, where my professor was busy taking all of the fun out of my favorite activity. I suffered through an hour of practicing, attempting to avoid my assigned Rachmaninoff concerto by practicing the music that I had been playing with Brendon.

"Ryan Ross!" Professor Leopold shouted when he entered my practice room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just practicing," I said.

"If you want to get better on your instrument, you'd better get going on that concerto," Professor Leopold said. "You're performing it in two weeks."

"Two weeks!" I shouted. "You just assigned it to me on Friday!"

"This wouldn't be a problem if you practiced what you were supposed to, Ryan," Professor Leopold said.

"Fine," I said as I gave my professor a nasty look and started practicing the barely playable concerto. As soon as Professor Leopold left, I slammed my fingers on the piano keys, creating a dissonant chord, and returned to playing whatever I wished.

Great People of Mathematics went by without a problem, and before long, it was time to head over to the Pendragon Center for my Guyliner Club meeting. When I arrived at the meeting, there was a large easel directly in front of Gerard's usual spot, along with a box of paintbrushes and a variety of colors of paint.

"What are all of the art supplies for?" I asked.

"I decided to get started on my senior project," Gerard said. "I'm going to paint you guys."

"Ooh, this sounds fun," Pete said. "Can you paint me with my fidget spinner?"

Gerard rolled his eyes and answered, "Of course not. This is my project, not yours. Who wants to be painted first?"

"I'll go first," Frank answered. Gerard pulled a chair over so that it was near the easel, and Frank sat in it. Gerard immediately began to paint, occasionally glancing over to get a better look at his boyfriend.

"Frank, I swear that you have just the right face for this," Gerard said as black and white paint flew from his paintbrush.

"Thanks," Frank said. Meanwhile, Pete, Laura, and I chatted about our classes and the Aubergine, and the conversation continued even while Gerard painted each of them.

I was the last to be painted. I sat down in the chair next to the easel while Gerard created his piece of art. As I tried to sit as still as I could, I wondered why Gerard was putting so much effort into his art project. The easy answer was that it was so that he could graduate with an art degree, but that didn't answer why he was going after that art degree in the first place. Art wasn't something that had any obvious purpose in society, so why did we do it anyways?

Humans can be strange and irrational beings sometimes, and art may be the ultimate expression of that. Just about everyone I knew, from Brendon to Professor Leopold to Gerard, loved art with a passion that rivaled my passion for figuring out why they loved art so much, and even I could appreciate a beautiful painting or a lovely piece of music. It may not make much sense, but the best things in life didn't have to make sense - they were beautiful anyways.

Brendon immediately popped into my mind, but I pushed him away. As much as I had grown to like him, I couldn't let him become a distraction. There had to be some way to get me out of my mind, but I hadn't thought of it yet.