Brendon laughed softly, watching Ryan strum on the strings of his guitar with reckless abandon, creating chords that hurt to listen to. His hair fell over his eyes, and he was chewing on his bottom lip in concentration, not knowing how it sounded, but continuing on, because the vibrations were all he needed to imagine. He glanced up at Brendon's amused expression and rolled his eyes, reluctantly handing the instrument back.
"That sounded great" Brendon signed.
"Shut up" Ryan replied with a swift movement of his fingers, shoving the other boy. "Can you play something now?"
Brendon nodded, and began to pluck the strings, while Ryan watched intently. He loved to watch Brendon play, see his fingers move decisively in a way that no doubt transformed those vibrations into a beautiful sound. "What is is?" He signed, glancing up at Brendon's lips and watching him say "I made it up." And then, he started to sing. His eyes fluttered shut, his mouth moved into words that Ryan couldn't really decipher when he strung them out. But he loved it nonetheless.
Though Ryan was more of a writer, Brendon still made songs. It started off as a means of rebellion, an escape from the Mormon-friendly tunes that his mother forced upon him and his sisters. But then came Ryan. Ryan, with his fragile looking body and guarded eyes and chapped lips. Ryan, who when Brendon approached three years ago, waving and introducing himself, had frowned in what looked like surprise. He had shook his head, bringing a finger to his ear, and then Brendon understood. Then Brendon begged his mother to take him to the book store that afternoon to buy "Sign Language for Dummies" so he could come in the next day, singing a greeting in Ryan's direction painfully slowly but with a triumphant smile on his face.
After Ryan, the songs started to change. He wrote about his eyes. His fingers. The way he'd blush if he caught Brendon looking at him. He'd known he was screwed early on. But he was content to keep doing what he was doing. Writing songs, stealing glances, seeing Ryan's face behind his eyes as he jerked off in the shower. He was getting along fine. He was.
"I love it" Ryan signed after Brendon strummed the last chord and set his guitar aside.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The glances were getting longer, Brendon had noticed.
"I... I have to be home for dinner" Ryan stood up, Brendon following, their knees knocking together.
"See you tomorrow?" Brendon asked, holding his arms open and tilting his head, making Ryan smirk. But he still hugged the boy back and nodded. Fuck, Ryan smelled good.
"Bye" Brendon murmured as Ryan closed the door behind him, completely unaware.