In Case The Scene Gets Nasty

Chapter 1/9

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—"