one caress + brendon/josh/tyler

one.

The flow of air in the room is stagnant, almost too thick and still.

The window is cracked, the drab curtains fairly outdated, though they match the aura of the room.

The soft, almost inaudible pressing of the telephone buttons and then the rustling of paper as he leafs through the pages of the thin binder, his back facing his back. His back is pressed into the chair, digging into his spine through his thin shirt but he doesn't care.

He twists his fingers through the corded phone as he presses another button, the nine.

There is a quiet breath, the clearing of his throat. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

His voice isn't low in any sort, in fact it is rather airy, higher-pitched, like he believes he is treading into uncharted territory. Brendon's finger hovers over the seven, swallowing thickly with the phone against his ear. It sort of buzzes a little, and if he breathes, it sounds like one of his ears is plugged.

"Uh huh, sure," Brendon breathes, trying to act like he hasn't faltered in the slightest. He presses the seven, and then the six, still twirling the cord in his fingers. If he twirls it just enough, he could potentially cut off the circulation in his pointer finger and then maybe get the hell out of here.

"Do you believe in God?"

Ryan, Brendon can feel, turns in his direction, or maybe he can just hear him doing so. The office is very small, it is easy to hear every sound within it. Ryan runs a hand over his mouth.

Brendon stretches his arm out in hopes it will relieve the tension that is only growing stronger both within him and the room. The air is thickening and so is his throat. Ryan still has his everlasting easygoing aura, and Brendon wishes he were him. He wishes he were content with himself.

"Um..." He removes the silent phone from his ear, and his finger from the cord, and he hasn't even finished typing in the number yet. He turns slightly, swivel chair following his hips, and he avoids Ryan's eyes. He looks at his forehead instead, though quickly darting to the phone receiver to place the phone back on its stoop.

He continues, "I - I guess I don't - don't really know." The phone clicks into place and Brendon pushes a lock of raven hair out of the way of his eyes, flipping it back to match the rest of his coif.

Ryan finds his eyes, and his lips are pursed for a moment. Brendon cannot read his expression, whether it is disappointment or acceptance or plain indifference. "That's okay," he mumbles after a moment, still looking at Brendon directly. It makes Brendon feel small under his gaze, and his shoulders slump slightly more than usual.

Brendon's lips part, and he fumbles with his hands, not enjoying how Ryan's deep eyes feel on his body. "I guess every time... I... pray," he licks his lips, "I kind of feel like I'm being phony?"

He bounces his leg up and down, and the old swivel chair squeaks along with him.

Ryan purses his lips again, but now, his expression is definitely a little more understanding. "I - I think everybody can feel like that sometimes." His voice is airy, and Brendon wonders if he's trying not to cry or if he just normally speaks like this. They do not know each other very well.

Brendon thinks for a moment that Ryan might be done talking, but Ryan continues, "But I also think that those are moments where it's really important to lean back on your faith."

Brendon catches his eyes for a split second, chewing on the inside of his mouth, right where his bottom lip and teeth meet, still fumbling with his hands. "I trust that'll take you forward." Ryan sort of nods his head at Brendon, a silent and vague motion, though Brendon sort of understands it.