how to kill a straight guy // ryden

step 11: please take note [part one]

"What do you think happens when we die, Jon?"

Said man took a glance at the boy beside him, a shifty sort of look that allowed him to keep his concentration on the dark road in front of him. "When we die? Hm, and you're asking me something like this becaaause...?"

"Just curious," he replied back. "Let me into the beliefs of Jon Walker."

Jon breathed out a small chuckle in return, taking another one of those cautious glances at the younger man. "Well, I do believe that—God forbid if we wreck—you will be a big, dead, bloody splat on our windshield if you keep sitting like that. Doesn't it make your head hurt or anything?"

He just shrugged his shoulders, not intent of moving from his upside-down position draped over the passenger seat because, "It helps me think."

"That...is a giant load of shit."

"Yeaaah, but it just makes me that much more ridiculous."

Jon shook his head, leaning forward in his seat to rest forearms on that giant circle of a steering wheel that he was maneuvering. "You are quite ridiculous, Brendon," he said, taking advantage of the unchanging straight progress of the highway to look over at the singer for more than three seconds. Black eyes were looking back up at him, head hanging from the neck over the seat. Thin hands were clasped over his stomach, sticks of legs traveling up the back of the boy's seat to bend at the knees over his headrest. And he was smiling up at him in that goofy way, but, at least it was a smile. Jon raised an eyebrow at him. "Just how long do you plan to stay up with me tonight anyway?"

"Until you answer my question."

"Oh, I get it. Now we're bargaining," Jon said dramatically. "Well then, here's my term. I won't answer until you answer me: have you eaten yet today?" And Brendon's smile slowly turned into a frown, dark eyes shifting in what could be taken as a dash of shame. He hated when Jon asked him that question; it was always the same answer, and Jon knew that too. And just like all the other times, he knew that the older man had judged instantly what the silent response meant, for he then turned his head away, back to the long stretch of road that extended in front of their bus. He wouldn't answer Brendon at all now. "That's what I thought..."

"Jon, you can't do that!"

"Why? It's your fault for not eating like I told you to."

"I am a grown man. I think I have the capability to decide when I want to eat and when not to."

"Grown man?" Jon looked over at him, doubtful auburn eyes portraying the underlying smirk underneath. "You're on crack, right?"

Brendon let out a small huff, a whine hanging on the end of the puff of air. "It's just a simple question. Answer me!"

"Eat something!"

"I'll eat you if you don't answer me!"

"That's hurtful and sexually disturbing at the same time!"

And Brendon would say something back if he wasn't laughing, slowly and carefully curling his body until his legs swung down from the seat and he could sit upright once more. "Let's strike up a different deal then," Brendon found himself saying, not able to help that smile that still pulled at his lips in amusement. Jon could always make him feel better, no matter if they were talking about diseases, mental problems, or unrequited love. Jon always made him feel better.

"A new deal?" The older man turned to look at him, bottom lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. "Why? I was starting to warm up to the sexual one."