S T U P I D ; joshler

Tyler Doesn't Talk and Brendon Does't Stop (REWRITTEN)

High school is always either easier for the quiet kids or complete shit. No in between.

You've got your stereotypes; school shooter, depressed, tormented, abused, always the scape goat for some white mom's charitable facebook post.

The quiet kids were just easy targets or no target, because it wasn't like they got into drama anyway. It's hard to argue with a brick wall; they crumble and crumble yet their resolve never does. It's stupidly fucking poetic.

Usually the quiet kids just sit back, like a back drop; extras in some stupid high school movie and some other metaphor that's totally irrelevant to the plot. It's like Sharpay in HSM. Why's she there? Who knows, but she's fun, right?

The point is, Tyler is quiet. He dances beyond he realm of quiet, even, because Tyler doesn't speak and no one really minds- no one that counts, anyway. It's called selective mutism, and no, that's not something you can choose (not necessarily,) but rather involuntary based on anxiety and outside stressors.

Tyler is friends with Brendon Urie, which has to count for something, considering that he never shuts his fucking mouth. It's the typical yin and yang thing that so many cliche stories love to rely upon, but that's beside the point. Not that Tyler is complaining about the whole chatter-y thing, because being selectively mute has its perks, one of which is being an extremely good listener. Tyler could win an olympic gold medal for that (he promises), and it seemed as though that was exactly what Brendon needed, anyway, so Tyler would happily oblige.

So it wouldn't be horribly cliche to point out another group. The jocks, the assholes, the preps, all of the others who didn't see eye to eye with Tyler or ignore him for some reason.

There were those select few people, that definitely minded that Tyler didn't speak. They felt as though his lack of speech affected them on a personal level when really it wasn't any of their goddamn business. It's like Mike Pence feeling personally attacked by every gay kid in America, when they give zero fucks about his crusty white ass, but that's neither here nor there.

Tyler didn't really make much of an effort to stand up for himself because he never really saw the need to. Something adults fail to realize is that antagonizing or ratting out bullies really does little for kids. The bullies get madder and the victim can't hide behind a teacher or their faux confidence forever.

Brendon tried to help sometimes, but the word "stupid" only stung so many times before falling flat on its metaphorical face.

"I would sell my left testicle just to get Ryan Ross or Dallon Weekes to even acknowledge me," Brendon whined, rather loudly, considering that both boys were chatting happily on the opposite side of the math classroom, "and that's saying a lot because you know how much I love my left ball in particular."

Tyler smiled, a sort of airy chuckle pressing through his nose. He looked up at Brendon, before pulling his hands up and giving him a small thumbs up. Tyler used his body to communicate with an impromptu sign language often.

"Was that an okay to sell my balls?"

Tyler held up his index finger.

"Right, only the one ball, yeah," Brendon scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "Seriously though, am I ugly?"

Tyler shook his head with a sigh, before bringing his phone out and typing in his notes, "not ugly, just annoying."

"Thanks, Ty," Brendon huffed, falling back into his seat. "You always know what to say."

Tyler raised his eyebrow, waiting for Brendon to process the complete concept of what he'd just said.

"Type. You always know what to type, you little nitpicking prick."