Sugarcane and Easy Mornings (Lynn Gunn/Alexa San Roman)

01. lynn

***A/N:  I do not, nor have I ever liked Justin Bieber.  But I know Lynn and Brendon both do, and I needed them to have a common interest that starts their conversation, so in the interest of plot and character, I had him be the catalyst of their relationship.

Edit:  in the time since this chapter was originally published, I have discovered that Lynn does, in fact, have an actual older brother and if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have learned how to play guitar and PVRIS would probably not have become a thing.  I could've let this slide, but for some reason when I write with real people I have to keep the original details as accurate as possible even in an AU setting, so.  The beginning of this chapter has been rewritten to account for Lynn's real older brother, which I'm okay with because the original version of the beginning of this chapter wasn't all that great to begin with.***

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"So let me get this straight," Alex says, brow furrowed, as he takes another sip of the Coke they're splitting, courtesy of Lynn's babysitting money. He's sprawled out on the couch, legs outstretched, feet propped up against the armrest, leaving Lynn sitting cross-legged on the floor, just like every other night. (Alex is kind of an asshole that way, but then again, Lynn's the one who called dibs on the bed when they first moved in, so it's only fair.) "You met some random guy on a park bench, talked to him for, like, two minutes about the latest Justin Bieber album, and took him up on a job offer at some cafe you don't even know the name of?"

Lynn rolls her eyes, taking another bite of her chicken nugget. Sometimes, if she squints and tilts her head 90 degrees, she thinks she can see why Alex views her as this small, innocent creature he needs to protect from the big, bad world. But really, there is nothing necessary about this whole older brother act. For starters, she has an actual older brother, and though he's long since graduated and moved on with his life, he's still only a short phone call away if Lynn ever needs him. Here's the thing, though: Lynn doesn't need him, because she's eighteen now. She has a driver's license. And she can actually vote—not that there's anyone worth voting for, but that's beside the point, which is that Alex Babinski has no reason to be worrying about her at all.

"Okay, first of all," she says, holding up a finger, "it was ten minutes, not two. We talked about a lot more than Justin Bieber. Second, his name was Brendon--Brendon Urie.  And third, I do know the name of the cafe. It's North...North something...god, what was it again? Something about north and rain...Whatever.  He told me."

Alex snorts. "Ten minutes? Ten minutes gets you...what, name, number, a random fact about someone's kitten or something? Talking to someone for ten minutes doesn't make you an expert, Lynn. He could be feeding you a pack of lies. And what the hell kind of name is Brendon Urie, anyway? Sounds like a fuckboy."

"Like you would know about fuckboys," Lynn says, stealing the Coke from his hand and taking a sip. She grimaces; the fizz is starting to die down, leaving nothing but glorified sugar water in its wake. "You've never fucked a boy in your life."

"Neither have you," Alex points out. Lynn sticks her tongue out at him, too lazy for the middle finger. "All I'm saying," he continues, taking a bite out of his Big Mac and chewing thoughtfully, "is that I'm concerned for your well-being."

"I'm not a kid anymore, Alex," Lynn says--whines, really, her head tilted and her eyes wide and pleading like a puppy's. "We're in college. You have no reason to be concerned."

"On the contrary, Lyndsey," Alex replies, and Lynn sighs, sticking her bottom lip out in a pout, because she really hates it when he goes full name on her. He's not her mom, for God's sake. "I have every reason to be concerned about you. Do you know how much shady shit goes down in college? Believe me, I know. And look at you. You're literally a child. You look like a cross between a puppy and a kitten. Your voice is like a swarm of butterflies."

Lynn squeals indignantly in response, spilling ketchup on her pant leg in the process, and Alex bursts out laughing. "See?" he says. "What did I tell you?"

"Fuck off," Lynn snaps, wiping furiously at her pants with a napkin. Groaning, she takes another sip of the almost-flat Coke. "Don't you have a Brian to be drooling after?"--Brian being their other roommate, who plays bass in their almost-but-not-quite-band they've been trying to organize since seventh grade and whom Lynn believes to be the object of Alex's affections.

Alex shoots her a glare before replying, "Nah, he's working, remember? And I'm not about that club life." He steals a fry from the carton and plops it in his mouth. "Fine, fine. Go work with the fuckboy and his little fuckboy friends. But don't come crying to me if you get locked in a basement and forced to strip for middle-aged men."

Lynn sighs, making a propeller noise with her lips. She sets down the cup and places a hand over her heart. Neither of them are religious, so she grabs her psychology textbook and sets her other hand on top, face sober. "Alex Babinski, I solemnly swear that if I, Lyndsey Gunnulfsen, get locked in a basement and forced to strip for middle-aged men, you will be the first to know."

"That's the spirit," says Alex, taking a sip from the cup before wincing and spitting it back out. "Fuck, this is awful."

"Tell me about it," Lynn says, grabbing the cup from Alex's hand and dumping its contents into the potted plant by the door before throwing it in the trash. "Wanna grab a beer?"

"You are eighteen years old," Alex replies sternly, but he catches his keys when she tosses them to him and follows her out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.  As they head down the stairs, Lynn's hood drawn over her head and Alex in nothing but a t-shirt, he asks her, "So when do you start?"

Lynn shrugs nonchalantly, opening the car door and slipping into the passenger seat.  "Tomorrow."

Alex groans.