The Naked Truth [Ryden]

Eighteen: You Done Fucked Up Boy

Brendon hadn't been home in at least two days, so when he got there to find the place trashed, it was a bit of a shock. Ryan had gone off to meet Pete, who was crying for some unknown reason, so Brendon was on his own in the mess that was his house and his life.

He walked around in a stupor, checking the windows and doors for signs of a break-in, but everything was fine. Everything was as he'd left it. Which meant -

He dialled Dallon's number with shaking hands, but it went straight to voicemail.

Dallon. Dallon.

He'd done this.

Brendon called Ryan, but that went to voicemail too, and he gnawed on his lower lip, making it bleed. Truth be told, he couldn't be bothered to clean up, and truth be told, he kind of deserved this.

He called Ryan again, leaving a shaky voicemail, something about his house being trashed and the fridge being empty and milk all over the floor, and he burst into tears before dialling a number he never thought he would, especially for this situation.

"Brendon." Spencer sounded tired, Spencer sounded done.

"Spence, I - I - my house, it's - it's a mess, I don't - I can't - it had to have been Dallon, but he won't - he won't - answer his phone a-a-and -"

"Hey, hey, Brendon. Breathe. Okay?" His voice turned considerably more sympathetic at the realisation that Brendon was in such a state, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Uh-huh."

"Alright. I'll be there soon."

He hung up, and Brendon sat down in among the mess, shaking more than he ever had before. The couch was on its side, the coffee table upturned, the books removed from their bookcase. The picture frames were smashed, the pictures taken out and ripped, and there was an excessive amount of glass on the floor - with a suspicious smell of alcohol around. In short: it was carnage at its finest. A work of art, so to speak.

The thirteen minutes it took for Spencer to arrive felt like thirteen years, and when he walked in and found Brendon staring into space, he had to admit that he found himself feeling the tiniest bit sorry for him. He exhaled, sitting beside the dishevelled pornstar and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Dallon did all this?" He said quietly, and Brendon nodded. "You really think so? He doesn't seem the type."

"Nobody's broken in. He was the only one here. I left him here to go and see -" he stopped, his mouth falling open. "Maybe he got angry that I ditched him for Ryan. I mean...it was kinda mean of me."

Spencer's phone buzzed but he ignored it; Brendon didn't even notice it. He leaned his face closer to the younger's, wiping the sudden tears away from his flushed skin. "It was a bit of a dick move, Bren, but..." Brendon's eyes met his and he felt the air leave his lungs in a whoosh; he really needed to stop with the whole I need you thing, Spencer was a fucking sucker for that. "What Dallon needs to realise is that he's not the only guy in the world that you want to sleep with."

Brendon's hand found its way to Spencer's cheek, and then to his jaw, his neck, his eyes full of regret. "Spence...I'm sorry, I - I - I messed everything up, and I - I didn't realise how great you were, you - I - Spencer, I'm -"

"Have you been drinking?"

"No, I just - I just - I'm sorry -"

"Hey, it's okay." He took Brendon's hands, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm here. I'm here."