Mediocrity 50% [Brallon: Deja Vu, Book 1]

1

Brendon was the living embodiment of 'gifted kid burnout'. Literally. You look it up on the Internet and Brendon could relate to every single thing listed. Perfectionism? Check. Trust issues, particularly with authority figures? Making a list and checking it twice. A need for instant gratification, even with a penchant for procrastination? Triple check. Quitting everything that doesn't come easily to you, but having too much pride to ask for help? Check, check, checkity, check. Absolutely zero work ethic? Please give me some work ethic, because I seem to have lost mine. Interest in psychology? Well, that one was obvious.

Brendon had been the valedictorian at his high school, graduating with a perfect GPA, and stellar SAT scores. He'd had his pick of schools from across the country, many offending full ride scholarships for his academic achievements. He had been raised in a small, rural town in southern Alabama, but no longer had outgrown any accent he'd had while still living there. A poor country kid with a big spirit, destined to change the world. His parents were always pushing him to do more, be better, which, over the years, had gotten more and more frustrating. Eventually, he had settled on attending Harvard University. They hadn't offered a full ride scholarship, which Brendon took as a challenge, leaving him, as a graduate, swimming in the Pacific Ocean of student loan debt.

Now, however, he was living in Los Angeles, California, after he cut lol of his toxic old friends off in honor of a brand new start. He recognized that it was a dick move, but never found himself missing his old life, just wishing his current one was different. A life with him in the spotlight more, instead of working a total of three part time jobs trying to pay off his student loans for the Bachelor's degree in psychology he'd done absolutely nothing with. It had been two years since he'd graduated from Harvard and moved to LA. He was floundering, an extrovert with little to no social skills, an incredibly short attention span, while juggling being a chronic insomniac, suffering from sleep deprivation after taking the night shift one too many times. He lived on the products of his espresso machine.

Brendon was a decently tall man, with brown hair that was getting darker as he got older. He had plump lips and hickory eyes; a voice as rich as salted caramel no matter if he was speaking or singing. He'd taken a particular shine to psychology and the mysteries of the human condition in his sophomore year of high school, after he'd rabbit holed through Wikipedia pages and Psychology Today articles about various mental disorders and what have you. Brendon, in high school, before his motivation to do anything had jumped off a cliff, leaving him behind, had also been passionate about biology, politics, advocacy for LGBTQ+ groups and racial issues, medicine, performing arts, his guitar, singing, writing, teaching, and about a million other career paths that he had abandoned if he had not immediately excelled at them. He'd always been indecisive, however. It was never this or that, but always both. He wanted to do everything, see everything.

Currently, his close friend Ryan, though not the one Dallon knew, was sitting on the black couch in Brendon's minuscule condo that he could barely afford the rent on, even with working three part time jobs. Frivolous spending had always been a part of his nature. The space was a mess, as he owned more things than the condo had square footage. It was cluttered with knick knacks and various other belongings. 

Ryan was playing video games on the XBox that he had bought Brendon for Christmas a year ago. He had practically claimed the gaming console as his own again, because Ryan was here almost every other day. More often than not, if he schedule allowed it. He had a key, as did Spencer. Everyone trusted Spencer with their keys and secrets, even though he did know a lot of people and mixed them up sometimes, he did know how to keep his mouth shut. Typically, he forgot the secrets after a few weeks, though. Spencer's key ring was a sight to behold, a bunch of apartment keys, his own house key, a key to the gallery, a key to the back door of the nearest Walmart. Spencer claimed he'd found in an alley and had put it on his key ring so he wouldn't forget to turn it in, but it blended in so much to the rest of the keys that he did exactly that. Despite Brendon having no motivation nor work ethic, his friends and equally annoying alarm forced him to drag himself through his busy work schedule, which meant he hardly ever had time to unwind. He really needed to quit his job at the book store. Or the record store. Or his waitressing gig. Any one really. Since he was hardly there any more, he gave Ryan a key to the place and his XBox, as well as the couch, was now Property of Ryan Ross. He was thinking of printing out a sticker that said it and slapping it on the back of the couch.