Quiet Contemplations and Careful Advice, Part 1
“I’m going out,” Ryan announced and the door of their shared hotel room slammed behind him. Brendon just managed to look up in time to see it close. He had the room to himself. Ryan would definitely be back in twenty minutes to grab his equipment before they needed to leave for the semi-finals.
But what should he do with that time? He was tired of his phone, and he was way too lazy to go find Spencer and Jon. Plus, he’d already spent the day with them, and didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Sure, they’d both said that they liked him, but everyone grew tired of him eventually. Even his parents.
He rolled over and stretched out along the bed before letting out a huge yawn. Man, he was tired. He could sleep or something. Probably a productive use of his time, considering he and Ryan would probably fight over beds again that night. Instead, he glanced at the pile of clothing that surrounded his suitcase. After some contemplation he groaned and got up to pick up his shit. At least then Ryan couldn’t get mad at him about it.
As he shoved his scattered clothing back into his suitcase, he eyed Ryan’s neatly closed suitcase to his side. Maybe it had been an accident but Ryan had left the black notebook sitting on top that Brendon had seen him writing in earlier that day.
In any other circumstance Brendon probably would have let it be but it looked like a journal and Brendon was running out of ideas on how to make Ryan like him. If he could just get anything, a hint of how Ryan felt about him then maybe he could fix everything between them.
He looked around the room guiltily despite being the only one there, before he crept over to Ryan’s suitcase and picked up the journal. He quelled his guilt and then flipped to the most recent page. It wasn’t a journal entry, not really, just scribbles, and lines. He saw Spencer’s name repeated a couple of times in a mess of text that blacked out the whole page. It was completely illegible and overlapping, more like a piece of art than writing. The knot in Brendon’s stomach was enough to make him realize that maybe he was getting in way over his head.
He flipped to the previous page which was less scribbling and just Ryan’s blocky handwriting in all upper case. It wasn’t a journal entry either. It was a poem.
I will revolutionize love.
No longer will I conform
To this
Ridiculous preset that society has handed me.
I will wear his beardburn proudly on my face.
I will start a revolution in his eyes
And crumble establishment
In his kiss.
Brendon’s hands were trembling as he read it; as he realized. Sure, he knew Ross liked guys, he’s seen him and Tom in the bathroom, but somehow this poem was the most undeniable proof he’d found that he might have a decent shot with Ross. You know, if he could get Ryan to stop hating him for two seconds.
He started to flip through the notebook and it was full of poetry. He found some the was definitely about Keltie (nothing nice) and some that seemed like it could be about Jon or Spencer. Some of the poetry Brendon couldn’t make any sense of, as he sat on the floor flipping through pages. One of the pages was dog eared and Brendon flipped to that one and found a poem for Remembrance Day, with whole lines and passages scribbled out and added in the margins.
The only thing Brendon didn’t know how to deal with was this mysterious “He” that Ryan would refer to in some of his poems. Did he have a secret boyfriend? Maybe they were about Tom?
He flipped back to the first poem he’d found and let his fingers trace over the letters. Maybe someday Ryan would write poetry about him? Maybe he had already?
Just as Brendon was about to check for something, anything about him, he heard the card slide in the door and he dropped the book on Ryan’s suitcase and threw himself across the floor to his own suitcase.
He made it just in time and Ryan opened the door to see Brendon sitting peacefully on the floor folding clothes into his suitcase.
Ryan stared at him, his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth prepared to ask a question. Brendon beat him to it though.
“I knew if I left it, you’d be bitching about my mess in no time,” he said.
Ryan nodded and went into the bathroom without another word. Brendon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and finished cleaning up his clothing. He quickly changed into his collared shirt and dress pants before Ryan could get out of the bathroom. He’d packed his equipment into his bag in preparation for the next game already and so he just had to wait for Ryan to pack up. He didn’t need Beckett on his ass again
Ryan came out of the bathroom and stared at Brendon again.
“You don’t need to wait for me,” he said icily.
“I shouldn’t have to wait for you,” Brendon corrected. “But apparently I do, and whose fault is that?”
“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” Ryan grumbled. He changed in the bathroom while Brendon scrolled absently through Twitter.
They stood silently in the elevator together as they rode down to the lobby to meet their team. They were early for a change and Mr. Beckett nodded sagely as the stepped off the elevator. The team boarded the bus, and Brendon picked a place at the front with Jon and Spencer. Ryan glared at him as he walked past, but he didn’t comment on Brendon forcing himself into Ryan’s place in his old friend group.
Jon and Spencer talked amicably for most of the ride to the arena, while Brendon put his pump up playlist on and bobbed along to the music. They were heading into the semi finals, and if they lost this game they’d be out of the tournament. He tried to bring his focus in, to prepare himself for the game. He closed his eyes and counted his breathing.
“Woah, Brendon’s going total zen on us,” Jon joked.
“Pre-game ritual,” Brendon mumbled, trying to keep his focus on his breathing.
“That’s way more hardcore than me,” Spencer said. “I just need to put my equipment on in a certain order. I’m no Glenn Hall, that’s for certain.”
“Once I tape my stick, the stick can’t touch the ground until I get on the ice,” Jon added.
“You just play houseleague, why does it matter?” Spencer said.
Jon shrugged, “Houseleague is way more intense than you think. Not that you would know, Mr. Big-Shot OHL draft goalie.”
Spencer blinked, “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I know what you meant.”
“Can you guys be quiet for like a minute? I’m never sitting with you before a game again,” Brendon complained.
“Someone’s serious,” Spencer teased.
“You guys are totally wrecking my vibe,” Brendon whined.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Jon said. “Wouldn’t want the Princess over here to play a bad game because Spence and I don’t know how to shut up.”
“You really don’t,” Brendon agreed.
“Fine, go back to your meditating,” Spencer said.
“I will,” Brendon said and closed his eyes again.
Their bus pulled up to the arena several minutes later, and the team piled out to retrieve their equipment from the compartments under the bus. Brendon mourned his childhood tower bag as he swung his hockey bag over his shoulder.
The team warmed up quickly and then changed for the game. The game started out fine. With Brent gone, there were no major penalties, but Ryan and Brendon’s lack of teamwork made scoring difficult even if they were both good players. Ryan’s unwillingness to pass to Brendon was obvious - at least more so than usual. By the end of the first half, the score was tied, 0-0.
As Brendon returned to the bench, he chewed his mouthguard in frustration. They had missed so many opportunities to score because Ryan refused to act like they were on the same team. In fact, if Brendon was any judge he would say that Ryan was acting like he was the only person on his team -period.
Mr. Saporta started chewing them out before his line even had a chance to sit down.
“You boys call that hockey? I didn’t see a single pass. You’re on the same team! Honestly!”
Mr. Beckett patted his arm sympathetically.
“Listen closely,” Mr. Saporta said. “When you line goes out again, I want you to set up for popcorn.”
“But we’ve never done that in a actual game before,” Ryan protested.
Brendon smiled smugly to himself. Popcorn was an offensive zone entry play that would involve Ryan passing the puck to Brendon for a snapshot goal. They’d practised lots of plays together and during the practices they’d always turned out fine, but Ryan seemed hesitant to use any of the practised plays.
Brendon turned back to the game where their defensive line was attempting a breakout. He cringed as the right winger of the other team top-shelved it, scoring the first goal of the game.
The third line went out to take the faceoff and Brendon could feel himself holding his breath, praying that they wouldn’t let another goal be scored on Spencer.
“Mr. Saporta please!” he heard off to his side and saw Ryan turned around, talking quietly with their coaches.
“Was I not clear, Ross?” Mr. Saporta said, his eyebrows raised and his expression sour. “I’m the coach and we’re doing the plays I say we are.”
“Urie can’t do it though! Popcorn is just going to cost us another goal! He can’t play hockey and he can’t skate fast enough to beat their defense,” Ryan said. “Put somebody else on my line.”
“We’re not changing the lineup in the middle of a tournament,” Mr. Saporta said, scandalised. “And you’re gonna do the play I tell you to.”
“Fine. Whatever. If it goes badly then don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ryan spat and turned back around to face the game.
Brendon could feel his stomach drop as he listened to them. They all thought he was worthless. Even the coaches. His father was right, he would never make it to the NHL. He wouldn’t even make the OHL. Nobody thought he was any good at hockey.
The referee blew his whistle and Brendon’s line skated out onto the ice. Brendon’s body felt weighed down and clumsy. He felt uncertain of himself. How did popcorn go again?
As the puck dropped Brendon snapped out of it. He resolved himself to play better than he’d ever had before. To show Ross he could do it, that he was worth his time.
Alex and Ryan set up for the pass, and Brendon moved into position. But then the defenseman moved in front of him, blocking his pass and Brendon had no choice but to retreat back and set up for a slap shot, his worst shot.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Ryan’s stick came down hard against the puck, and it was flying towards him, way harder than Ryan should pass a puck to his own teammate. And he hadn’t passed in front of Brendon, to his awaiting stick. He’d passed directly to him, clearly aiming right for the blade of Brendon’s skate.
Brendon tried to shift his stick to catch the puck but he wasn’t moving fast enough, and as his twisted his stick around his body, he tilted off balance. The horror on his face as he went tumbling to the ice -not even because of a check, but because of his own clumsy skating- was uncomparable to anything he’d felt in awhile.
The defenseman grabbed the puck and passed it up and Brendon was up in a flash, skating after him. He caught up and tripped the winger with his stick. The whistle blew and he sighed. A penalty for sure. It was done. He’d just proved everyone who had ever doubted him right. He felt sick.
“What the fuck Ross!” he said skating over to the other boy. “What the fuck is your problem! You won’t pass to me and when you do it’s fucking lousy.”
“Don’t blame me for your fancy skating over there,” Ryan smirked. “Maybe you’re just a lousy player.”
“Fuck you!” he screamed, and skated to the penalty box. God, he hadn’t even done anything wrong and Ross was being a piece of shit to him, as usual. It was like he had no common decency, no sense of congeniality.
They managed to hold the score during the power play, and as Ryan skated back to the bench he felt the need to flip him off despite his hockey gloves.
They managed to score two more points before the game ended, scoring the second one two minutes before the final buzzer. The whole rest of the game Brendon felt as if he was totally useless out of on the ice. None of his teammates passed to him, and the only time he touched to puck was poke checks. It was like he wasn’t even on the ice. He felt so invisible and useless. Brendon wasn’t sure when he’d ever played that badly.
Alex Greenwald got the MVP award, and then the team retreated back to their changeroom to celebrate their victory.
They removed their equipment and Brendon grabbed one of the first showers. They weren’t going back to the hotel before grabbing dinner as their game had been later than the day before.
The whole team showered and then piled into the bus.
When the bus pulled into the parking lot of Boston Pizza, Brendon had to restrain his laughter. Boston Pizza was such an standard hockey celebration place. On top of that, his teachers had probably gone out of their way to find to the only Boston Pizza in Montreal.
The clambered out of the bus and into the restaurant, chattering as they went. Brendon trailed behind Jon and Spencer, who chose a seat by the coaches. They had a long table set up like they had the night before at St. Hubert’s.
Much to Brendon’s dismay (and simultaneous pleasure -he was always conflicted) Ryan and his grade twelve friends sat next to them. Ryan glared at them as he sat down but didn’t say anything. Obviously the team wasn’t yet aware of the feud between Ryan and Spencer yet.
“Spencer? We can move if you want to,” Jon whispered.
“Why would we do that, Jon?” Spencer said, his smile strained. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“If you say so,” Jon agreed.
Brendon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Even if he didn’t like Ryan, there was something wrong about Ryan and Spencer fighting each other.
“So about that game...” Brendon put out awkwardly.
“Oh my god,” Spencer groaned. “That was such a lucky game. We shouldn’t have won. You all played like shit.”
Jon laughed, “That’s how I was feeling about the game.”
“I, of course, played fantastically and all of you owe me your fucking lives,” Spencer said and then glanced quickly at their teachers. “Pardon my French.”
Mr. Beckett and Mr. Saporta weren’t paying attention but Ryan snorted. Spencer scowled and Ryan covered his mouth and turned away.
“Can’t you guys just like, fight it out and make up?” Brendon asked.
Spencer tutted sympathetically, “Oh you poor naive child, still victim to the throes of hypermasculinity. My hormones do still allow me to hold grudges if I want to.”
Jon snickered.
“Um, excuse me, who wore a dress for our English project? Was it either of you numbskulls?” Brendon asked innocently. “Oh wait, it was me.”
Jon and Spencer laughed and Brendon beamed.
They went quiet and the conversation next to them rose in volume.
“I’m honestly so insulted,” Ryan was saying. “Like this is an insult to my French culture, you know? We could have gone anywhere but we found the only Boston Pizza in the whole damn city. It’s fucking stupid.”
Brendon, Jon and Spencer rolled their eyes.
“Yo, Ross!” Brendon called.
“What?” Ryan snapped.
“You made me go to Subway, you fucking dipshit. That’s even worse because your country doesn't have the good cookie,” Brendon grinned.
Ryan’s friends snickered, as did Spencer and Jon.
“You’re from fucking Alberta, the only thing you know about culture is pickup trucks and the destruction of the environment for profit,” Ryan said.
Brendon laughed, “You forgot about country music.”
“Whatever asshole,” Ryan grumbled and returned to his own conversation.
A server came around to the table to collect drink orders and when he left Brendon stood up.
“Bathroom,” he said and Spencer motioned him away.
He found the bathroom easily and checked to make sure there was so one inside. He sighed with relief. He picked a urinal and unzipped his pants.
He had just started to take a piss when the door opened. He froze and looked to the door. Ryan walked in and Brendon’s fly was up before the door even had time to close.
He tried his best to ignore Ryan as he washed his hands, but Ryan wasn’t even going to the bathroom, he was just leaning against the wall staring at Brendon intently.
Brendon wiped his hands on his pants -they were dress pants, he’d made a big mistake. He intended to leave right away, but he could still feel Ryan’s eyes on him.
“Okay, so what the fuck Ross?” he said sharply.
“What?” he asked smugly.
“Fuck yo-” Brendon cut himself off and took a breath. “You know what you fucking did to me. You humiliated me during a game in front of the whole varsity team. Fuck you.”
“Are you sure that had anything to do with me? Maybe you just can’t play hockey,” Ryan replied.
“Fuck you, Ross,” Brendon said. “You’re a real nasty piece of shit. You think you’re such hot shit, but you hate all of us and don’t think we don’t know. Nobody wants to be around an asshole.”
“You don’t know anything about me. People do like me,” Ryan said coldly. “At least I can actually play hockey.”
“I can play hockey. I’m a fucking good hockey player,” Brendon shot back angrily.
“Oh, are you? Then you call that last game good hockey?” Ryan leered.
“What the fuck is your problem Ross?” Brendon asked.
“Funny how you made the varsity team when you when you don’t even contribute to the team,” Ryan continued.
“Fuck you,” Brendon hissed.
“You started it,” Ryan replied.
“I’m defending your fucking friends to you because apparently you don’t give a shit about them,” Brendon said.
“You know what your problem is? You think you’re better than the rest of us. Just because your dad was NHL doesn’t mean you’ll ever get there,” Ryan commented.
Instinctively Brendon lunged forward and pinned Ryan to the wall, his forearm pressed against Ryan’s neck.
“If you ever, ever say anything about my father again in my presence I’ll skin you alive,” Brendon threatened. “Got it, Ross?”
“Crystal,” Ryan spat.
Brendon shoved himself off of Ryan and stepped back. He stared coldly at Ryan, as if daring him to him to say anything. Ryan straightened himself up and stared back.
The air was heavy with tension as they waited for each other to make the first move.
Finally, “Can’t stand to hear your dad’s name insulted? Guess you owe him something for paying your way onto the team.”
Brendon didn’t attack him, just stared at Ryan. His hands were shaking and his breath was erratic. He wasn’t good at anything, not hockey, not making friends, not school nothing. He wasn’t anyone, wasn’t anything. And he never would be. Without his father’s name ironed onto his back would he have made it this far? Ryan didn’t think so. Ryan didn’t think anything of him.
Well, that may have been so but Brendon had one weapon left in his arsenal.
“You know what? Maybe I’m a lousy hockey player. Maybe I’m riding my father’s fame,” Brendon said quietly. “But at least I don’t write shitty poetry pinning for girls and boys you don’t have the time of day for otherwise, you bastard. At least I actually give a shit about people.”
“What?” Ryan stared at him in confusion, but then realization dawned on him. “You read my fucking journal? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“ ‘I will start a revolution in his eyes” how can you write shit like that when you ignore Tom pleading for you to take him back? How can you write all that shit you did about Keltie when you played her for so long? You just destroy people and then try to play the fucking victim,” Brendon seethed, his words cruel and pounding in his ears. “You don’t even take care of your friends.”
“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME,” Ryan screamed, and Brendon had never shut up so fast in his life. “You don’t know anything about my friends, my life, anything I’ve been through! You read through my personal shit -without my permission- and then you accuse me of stuff you know nothing about! Vas-t'en chez l'yable. Tsé pourquoi t’as pas des amis? C’est ça! Personne t’aime. Tu tiens à personne.”
“Shut up,” Brendon stammered. “It was just a bunch of stupid poetry.”
“No, fuck you, Brendon Urie. Fuck you. You don’t get to come in here and accuse me of any of this and then act like you did nothing wrong. You violated my personal privacy. You insulted my life, my emotions, my fucking everything. You- you bastard,” Ryan said angrily. “I never want to see you, let alone speak to you ever again. If you ever, ever try to fuck with me again I will ruin you. You understand? Goodbye NHL dreams. Now get out.”
Brendon turned and fled from the bathroom but he could already feel his lungs seizing. As he walked through the restaurant, he bumped into Mr. Beckett who was heading in the direction of the bathroom.
“Brendon?” he said, confused, but Brendon couldn’t stop moving he just dashed out of the restaurant.
He didn’t want to cause a scene, no he couldn’t cause one. Once he was safely out of sight of the door he collapsed onto the curb. He was choking out sobs as he struggled to breathe properly. He’d fucked up. He’d really fucked up this time. His big fucking mouth, his stupid fucking father and he stupid fucking pride. He’d finally hit the point of no return.
“Brendon!” Mr. Beckett called and ran over to him. He kneeled down on the curb next to Brendon. “Are you okay?”
Brendon nodded slowly but then, looking at Mr. Beckett’s face he shook his head.
“Shit, okay look at me,” Mr. Beckett said, briefly panicking and then regaining composure. “Is there anything you want to tell me? Is there anything I can do?”
Brendon shrugged and stopped himself from sobbing again.
“Do you want to take a walk maybe? Can I get you some water?” Mr. Beckett asked.
“Did anyone see me running out of the restaurant?” Brendon asked weakly.
“No, no one saw. Just me,” Mr. Beckett said.
“Okay. I just want to wait here for a little while,” Brendon whispered.
“Sure, no problem,” Mr. Beckett said. “I’m gonna just sit here and wait with you, alright?”
Brendon nodded in acknowledgment and Mr. Beckett sat down next to him. They waited for a couple of minutes, just until Brendon was sure that nobody would be able to tell he had been crying. Then they walked back in together.
“Hey man, where’d you go?” Jon asked as Brendon reclaimed his spot.
“Oh, you know me,” Brendon said. “I went out to take a smoke.”
He glanced over to where Ryan was back sitting with his friends and his stomach clenched horribly.
The team ate their dinner. Jon and Spencer talked for the most part, while Brendon sat quietly, picking at his food. Mr. Beckett kept sending him worried glances but Brendon ignored him.
When the team returned to the hotel, Ryan and Brendon went up to the room they shared. They didn’t say anything to each other and Brendon walked around Ryan carefully. He let Ryan take the bathroom first, let him chose and TV station and the bed he wanted to sleep in. Brendon didn’t say anything to him at all and gave him a wide berth of as he moved around their room.
Ryan wouldn’t even look at him.