Chapter Twenty Five

Brendon was sitting on the couch, his legs draped over the back of it and his head hanging off the bottom, his his fluffy brown locks sweeping the floor as he swayed his head to a fro to a beat that didn't exist. Spencer was sitting on top of the newly repaired coffee table, tapping his nails against the thin wood, drumming to a song that wasn't there.

"Anything?" Brendon asked, tilting his head up towards Spencer.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied before exhaling dramatically.

"This sucks!" Brendon exclaimed. "I haven't even been able to write my name since Ryan left!"

"And Jon," Spencer added somberly.

"Right," Brendon said quietly. "And Jon." His attention was drawn to the ceiling once more. "Well, we have to Taco Song," Brendon said after a long stretch of silence.

"No way in hell are we using the Taco Song," Spencer stated.

"It's a perfectly good song! We just have to replace some of the words like..." Brendon trailed off in thought.

"Replace which words?" Spencer asked? "Taco with..." Brendon spaced out again. "With?" Spencer asked, starting to get annoyed.

"Burrito?" Brendon offered before bursted into giggles. He drew his knees up to his chest, causing him to flip clumsily onto the floor.

"Genius, Bren," Spencer said after giving in to a smile.

"Well, I don't see you writing any big hits!" Brendon exclaimed.

"That's because, according to you, a monkey that just took three hits of speed could do better than me," Spencer said throwing his hands around Brendon.

"Right now, I'd rather the monkey," Brendon said, crossing his arms and turning his nose up at Spencer.

"So let's call Ry," Spencer said casually.

"Excuse me?" Brendon said, relieved he wasn't drinking anything at that time or else he'd have spat it out all over the floor. He lifted his eyebrows, crinkling his forehead, hoping, no, praying he had heard Spencer wrong.

"You said you couldn't write without him, and it would explain our epic failure with this album, so just suck it up and give him a call."

"It's not that easy. He hates me now. Completely and utterly hates me," Brendon said, suddenly fascinated with his fingernails.

"Even if he says no, it wouldn't hurt to just call."

"Fine. But I'm not calling. And if it ends up with Ryan storming out and me with a bloody nose, don't blame me!" Brendon interjected while getting up to fetch a soda from the fridge.

Spencer smirked to himself before retrieving his phone from his pocket.

"Spence?" Ryan answered after the fourth ring, his tone surprised as if he were expecting to be on the receiving end of a joke.

"Yeah, hi, Ry," Spencer grinned into the words. "What are you up to?"

"Well, um, nothing, I guess," Ryan said, his tone reluctant and distracted. "Why?"

"I was just wondering if you could come over," Spencer spoke into the phone. "Just for a bit," he added. "I'm trying to write a few songs for Panic's new album, and you know how bad I suck as this, so, uh, could you maybe come help me?"

"Um, sure, I guess so," Ryan agreed, reluctance still laced his words. "It's just weird that we haven't really spoken in months and I'm the first person you call."

"Yeah, super weird," Spencer said, adding a nervous laugh.

"I'll be over at your place in a half hour," Ryan replied.

"Actually, I'm at Brendon's right now," Spencer said, forcing another small laugh.

There was a silence. "Oh," was all that was said. Ryan's reply was quick an emotionless. Completely unreadable.

"Yeah, but, it's OK! I'll, um-"

"Is he there?" Ryan asked, interrupting Spencer.

"Well," Spencer paused. "Yeah, but I'll be here too!"

"Spence, I'm not sure about this," Ryan's vacant voice sounded from the speaker.

"I know, I know, but we don't have a single song written, and we've been trying for months. He said he can't write without you," Spencer confided in Ryan. "And it's true! The only thing he's written is some song he calls 'The Taco Song' and let me tell you, it's just horrible. Even for a taco," Spencer laughed and looked up to make sure he was out of earshot with Brendon. Brendon was lying on the counter playing with the kitchen sink, turning the faucet on and off. He looked up at Spencer who answered him with a thumbs up in reassurance.

"I just..." Ryan trailed off.

"It'll be OK. I promise," Spencer said, hoping he wasn't lying. "I'll be right here with you guys. And you can leave whenever you want, I won't force you to stay." Silence took over the phone line. "You still there?" Spencer said, executing the silence.

"Yeah, I'm still..."Ryan interrupted himself. "How is he? Brendon, I mean." His voice finally forming a body.

"Oh, he's, uh," Spencer trailed off to have another look at Brendon. "He has his head in the sink."

"No, I mean , is he still..." Ryan said, leaving another sentence unfinished.

"Honestly, Ry, he's a mess. He can't even sleep well at night without the thought of you in his mind. He tries not to talk about you much, but I can see it in his eyes. He lights up like crazy whenever I mention anything remotely related to you. You're always in his head." Spencer looked to Brendon again and gave him a small wave.

"You think so?" His voice wavering between concern, doubt, and hope.

"I know so, Ry."

"I guess it won't hurt to be in the same building as him just for an hour or two. I'll be over soon," Ryan finally answered and clicked off.

"OK, put on your good socks; Ryan's coming over!" Spencer yelled from the living room.

"You mean it?" Brendon yelled, almost falling off the counter. "When's he coming? How's my hair? Should I vacuum?" Brendon said all in one breath. He sat up on the counter and ran his hands roughly through his hair.

"He'll be here in about half an hour, and your hair is atrocious." Spencer replied.

"What do I do? This place is a mess!" Brendon said, jumping off the counter. He started buzzing around the apartment filling his arms with empty cereal bowls and dirty laundry and dumping it all in the kitchen sink.

"The place is fine," Spencer assured him, plucking a sodden sock from atop of the newly formed pile. "Besides, imagine how weirded out he'd be if he saw you living in a clean house."

"So it's too clean?" Brendon asked, his words laced with desperation. His hands flew back into his hair, clutching fistfuls of hair.

"Bren," Spencer placed his hands on each on of Brendon's shoulders. "Calm the fuck down," he said with a confident smile.

"That's easy for you to say," Brendon pouted before having a seat on the coffee table. "He doesn't hate you."

"He doesn't hate you," Spencer said, worried he may have just lied. "He's probably over the whole thing by now!" He sat next to Brendon and threw his arm around his shoulders.

"No," Brendon pouted. "He's not."

"Yeah, probably not," Spencer agreed with him.

Late update D: And only one chapter to go! *sniffle* Be strong! *sob* Don't cry! ...Time to curl up in my sock drawer and sleep for days. ~Ember