how to kill a straight guy // ryden

step 8: let the disease set in

"Just cup your hands together and put them under it."

Spencer made a face before pressing the sides of his hands to each other, slowly raising them under the water that poured from the fountain. His sleeves only became a little wet, but other than that, it was fine, and he smiled lightly at the cool liquid pooling in his palms.

That is, until he was splashed in the face.

"Jon!" Spencer shrieked, said man only laughing as the younger boy quickly backed away from the fountain with hands covering his face, which really only made the situation worse since his palms were already soaking wet.

"You're the one who wanted to cool off."

"Not that much!"

"Oh suck it up pussy."

Spencer then did this pouting, pissed off kind of stance, blue eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed with his arms tight against the side of his body. There were three steps—one, two, three—before Spencer was back at the fountain, bottom lip bit between his teeth as he quickly bent over at the waist to get a handful of water where it pooled and whirled to the side to splash it in Jon's face. His aim hit dead on, the bassist tripping back over himself with arms hanging loosely in the air as his brown t-shirt dripped water droplets onto the grass. Spencer just laughed.

And the Manchester Park memorial fountain war had begun.

A small smile pulled itself onto Brendon's lips as he leaned his head back on the tree he sat against, black eyes watching the various directions his two friends took as they chased each other around the cement monument in between them. There was a splash from Jon—oh, missed. One from Spencer hit the older man in the back as he tried to run away, a loud wail sounding from Jon as his body froze with the cold impact. Spencer was literally giggling like mad, hands occasionally going up to his face at the times Jon would splash him with dirty water, in which he'd do back. It was adorable, sickeningly adorable, and Brendon couldn't help but to look away, back down into his lap where he had previously been analyzing the width of his wrists. With distraction gone, his smile faded when he began to think about it again, looking down at those joints pressing disgustingly tight against his skin. He took one of his hands to wrap thin fingers slowly around his wrist, his thumb and finger greatly overlapping when he stretched them around. That had never been the case before, well, at least he hadn't realized it until today. He sighed, feeling the bones of his spine dig into the rough surface of the tree behind him as he took the breath.

Seven months.

Brendon's head snapped back up when he heard a loud cry, looking just in time to watch as Jon finally captured Spencer. Strong arms had wrapped themselves around the boy's waist in a tight grip, Jon grinning wide behind the drummer as Spencer struggled and whined in a futile attempt to escape. Aw, how cute. However, Brendon made a sympathetically pained face when the younger boy's leg lifted itself at the knee, swinging back to kick Jon right in the shin and said man sounding out a lament of pure excruciation as he crumbled to the ground.

"Ow, fuck!" Jon yelled for all innocent park bystanders to hear, balled up on the grass with his knees to his chest as he tenderly held his wounded leg. "What the hell?!"

"You started it!"

"That doesn't mean you violate me!"

"Oh suck it up pussy."

And Jon froze, auburn eyes turning up slowly to look at smug blue ones. There was a long, drawn out moment of silence as they stared at each other, and Brendon could swear a tumbleweed rolled by at some point in time.