In Case The Scene Gets Nastier

Part 1

  They're the tiniest kids in their class, always have been, and the sight should be ridiculous, but no one ever laughs. Instead they whisper it through the hallways on the way to lunch, the tension already there – "Hey, hey. Ross and Urie are at it again. You coming?" The question is unnecessary. Everyone always comes.

There's something about it, something that means it escapes the gossip, the rumours behind it, everything that normally happens in high school. No one knows why they do it, except maybe Spencer and Jon, and no one particularly cares, either. The way Ross and Urie fight is ugly; awkward fists and knuckles cracking and grunts, and the crowd that gathers around them is nearly always silent.

Ross's fist slams into Urie's nose, unbalanced but strong enough, and Urie spits out a curse word and launches himself upwards, slamming the top of his head hard into Ross's mouth. They roll over, Urie trying to get back on top, gain the upper hand, and Ross spits blood and saliva into his eye; Urie cries out and slams his hand up into Ross's face, smacking him dizzy.

"Fuck you," Ross sneers when the bell rings and the other students disperse. They stay there, shoving at each other with blind, uncoordinated fury.

"Fuck you," Urie tells him, and slams his knee upward into Ross's balls. The bell has rung and the quad is empty apart from them, but they stay there, mud and grass and blood and boy, until one of them wins. One of them always wins.

---

Mr. Way's office is not what most people would expect from a principal's office. Ryan's been there a few times now, more than a few times, more than a few times in the last school year, even, so he's not surprised anymore. Yeah, there's a signed poster from some off-Broadway theater play hanging on one of the walls, dark and gloomy in black and white, and there's a painting with red splattered all across the canvas, but speaking of red and splattering, Ryan really is more concerned with the blood that still trickles from the corner of his mouth.

He absently wipes at it with the tissue the secretary gave him, after an exasperated look at him and Urie when they were marched in by the Biology teacher, firm hands clasping their shoulders. It's not like they would have pulled away, anyway; no one crosses Hurley.

Ryan sucks in a breath that tastes a little metallic and refuses to look at Brendon, sitting quiet and small in the chair next to him. Ryan hopes he managed to knock out a front tooth. Maybe that would make Brendon shut up for a while.

"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Brendon hisses out.

Ryan raises a brow even though it hurts a little, the skin besides his right eye feeling bruised. "Thinking about the way you shut up right after I got my knee into your balls. It was wonderful."

"Well," Brendon starts, and Ryan is sure it would be a typically arrogant statement, just like any other time Brendon opens his mouth, but the office door opens and the principal walks in. He takes in their appearance and sighs audibly.

For a moment, Ryan feels stupid and guilty. It passes quickly enough.

"How many times," Mr. Way begins, sounding close to giving up, "have I given you the talk now?"

"Within the last month?" Brendon asks, and this, this is why Ryan hates him, because Brendon can never keep his mouth shut, always has to pretend he's got something to say when really, he's just a dumb little kid who somehow managed to skip a year because everything with numbers and formulas just falls into his lap.

Mr. Way raises an eyebrow. "You proud of your record, Brendon?"

Brendon raises his chin, smirking. "I think most people would be quite glad for any method I've used to get Ross to come down off of his high fucking horse—"

"Oh, like anyone gives a shit about what you do," Ryan snaps, and the principal sighs, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing at his eyes.

"Boys," he says tiredly. "I think we'd all agree that the sooner we can deal with this, the better. I expect that you both know, too, that at this level of constant violence and breaking of school rules, I'm expected to suspend you both, as well as calling your parents and asking them to come into the school in order to try and deal with these circumstances."

Brendon leans forward on his chair, eyes wide and urgent. "Sir—" he begins.

"I know," Mr. Way says, simply. "I'm not going to resort to those methods just yet."

Ryan eyes Brendon warily out of the corner of his eye. Brendon sees him looking and scowls, and Mr. Way makes a face at them.

"Stop it," he says. "I've decided if you two are going to waste this much of my time, I'm going to start wasting some of yours. You will be attending detention two nights a week for the rest of the term and sort some of the school's files that need updating."

"Sir," Brendon says, "I work after school."

"I'm aware of that," Mr. Way says. "You'll have to rearrange those two shifts. I'll expect you to report at the front office from four to six thirty every Tuesday and Friday. Starting tomorrow. That way, you can still grab something to eat and use the break to get some of your homework done."

Ryan folds his arms. "No offence, sir," he says. "I'd rather you called my dad."

"Well, it's unfortunate for you that this comes down to my judgment and not yours, then," Mr. Way tells him. Ryan narrows his eyes and next to him, Brendon smirks.

"Fine then," Ryan says coldly, and rises from his seat. "Can I go now? I'm late for History."

"Attitude, Ryan," Mr. Way warns, but he nods his head towards the door and Ryan walks out, swinging the door back with accidental force into Brendon's face. The sound of Mr. Way's groan from the office is clearly audible.

"Well, I hope you're fucking happy," Ryan bites out, when they're outside. Brendon turns without looking at him and walks off down the corridor, chin up, arms straight by his side. Ryan rolls his eyes and yells after him, "Oh, ignoring me, real mature!"

Brendon keeps walking.