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torakowalski did something hard on Monday. And I promised her something as a reward. This is it. T'is but a tiny, silly, overly sweet thing, babe, but I hope you like. (I love you LOTS AND LOTS. Well done, my dear. This was also almost Brendon/Andrew Garfield, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about Andrew with anyone but Jesse, even if I was quite sure Jesse was in love with Emma Stone in this verse.)
ETA: And somehow I was deciding between two titles and named it BOTH. Ooops! Only one remaining now.
Title: How Well We Rhyme
Fandom: Bandom/Spider Man Reboot Verse
Pairing(s): pre-Brendon/Peter Parker
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 927
Summary: It's not that Brendon wants to go home. It's not.
Author's notes: The title is from Josh Ritter's "Bright Smile, Dark Eyes." Because, well.
Normally, Brendon likes college. He really does. Empire State University gives him a kick-ass grant (he only has to work two jobs to keep up with the room and board part, which, really, he's totally willing and able to do that, especially because none of them involve blenders) and he gets to play music all day (nearly) and--yeah. It's great.
It's just that he can't figure out his final Composition project, and he has no one to play it for. It's just that Thanksgiving is coming up in four weeks, and according to the conversation he just had with his parents, he's not going home. It's just that today, he got back his Chemistry midterm (stupid required science credit) and he got a C- and he's skirting the edge of a B- in that class and if he goes any lower, he'll lose his scholarship.
It's just that he doesn't really know anyone that well yet.
"Dammit," he mutters, scratching a pattern into his desk with his pen. His breath hitches a little, which, he's not crying, he's not, he's just tired. He swallows.
The door behind him opens.
"Hey, B." Peter sounds a little harried, but he nearly always does. His roommate is doing a double major in Political Science and Biology, of all things, and he's working some kind of super time-consuming photography job at the newspaper. Brendon always wants to ask him what Spiderman is like (the pictures Peter takes are awesome) but he hasn't quite worked up the nerve to do so yet.
"Hey Peter," he says, and he's pretty proud of how steady his voice is. He doesn't turn around, because he's sure his face isn't--he's not all that good at hiding what he's feeling. That's what got him into trouble in the first place, back home. Apparently you're supposed to look enraptured during services, even if you aren't really feeling it.
But apparently Peter is way more perceptive than Brendon has been giving him credit for, because there's a crash like he just dropped a bunch of stuff he was carrying and before Brendon can turn around and check what happened, Peter is next to him, hand on Brendon's shoulder.
"What's going on?" he says, dark eyes serious. "You don't sound so good."
Brendon shrugs, tilting his head at the Chemistry test on the desk. It's as good an explanation as any.
Peter winces. "Ouch," he says sympathetically. "That's not fun. But, like, Brendon, do you need help in Chemistry? Because I can help, I'm, you know. Okay at it."
"You practically never sleep," Brendon says, shaking his head. It's a nice thought, but obviously Peter is completely delusional. "I know you're good at it, dude, but you're never around, when would you have time to help me with my shit?"
"I can make time," Peter says vaguely, and he's still holding on to Brendon's shoulder. "I mean. I don't suppose you're going to be around for Thanksgiving? You're probably going home, but we'll just make time when you get back."
Brendon swallows, poking at the desk again. "No, um. I'll be here. I'm not, like. Not going home." They are talking, every now and then, but Brendon doesn't think his parents are quite at the point where they'd want him back for a big family holiday. Too many opportunities for conflict.
"Shit, that sucks." Peter ruffles his hair. He obviously has no idea why Brendon can't go home, probably thinks it's a money thing. "Still, you can come to mine. My aunt May cooks a mean turkey, and I can drill you on covalent bonds, it'll be all kinds of fun." Like it's nothing, inviting Brendon into his home.
He can't even bring himself to joke about the Chemistry tutoring because he thought he'd be eating in the school cafeteria and then hanging out by himself in his room, so, like. "Thanks," he says, looking up at Peter, and there's a moment where he isn't sure, when he thinks maybe--he takes a breath, and Peter smiles, squeezing his arm a little before letting go.
"Anything for my roommate." He grins at Brendon. "Feeling better?" It's like Peter actually wants to know. Brendon tries on a smile.
"Little bit, yeah," he says.
"Come on," Peter says, and then he does one of those split-second moves and is suddenly standing by the door. "I brought I-passed-my-Intro-to-Political-Theory-midterm movies." He holds up Fargo and then he holds up Aladdin.
"You love me, you really love me," Brendon deadpans, and something flashes in Peter's eyes.
"You're alright, I guess," he says. He climbs on his bed, beckoning Brendon to join him. "We're eating all the chocolate and watching all the--well, two movies. Right now." He sets up the laptop, sliding in the first movie.
Brendon pulls himself up to sit next to Peter, hesitating a little before Peter extends an arm and rolls his eyes at him. And what is Brendon supposed to say to that, really?
Peter's arm around him feels good, too good, but Brendon can't really say no. He feels so safe, like this, and he knows Peter hasn't really fixed anything, but he feels less alone, like maybe it'll be alright. Like he can share stuff that matters.
"Hey, if you want, I'll play you what I've got of my final project later," he says softly, glancing up at Peter. "I need some input."
Peter smiles, this shy, bright smile that always makes Brendon's heart clench a little. "That'd be awesome," he says. "Now watch the movie."
torakowalski did something hard on Monday. And I promised her something as a reward. This is it. T'is but a tiny, silly, overly sweet thing, babe, but I hope you like. (I love you LOTS AND LOTS. Well done, my dear. This was also almost Brendon/Andrew Garfield, but I wasn't sure how you'd feel about Andrew with anyone but Jesse, even if I was quite sure Jesse was in love with Emma Stone in this verse.)ETA: And somehow I was deciding between two titles and named it BOTH. Ooops! Only one remaining now.
Title: How Well We Rhyme
Fandom: Bandom/Spider Man Reboot Verse
Pairing(s): pre-Brendon/Peter Parker
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 927
Summary: It's not that Brendon wants to go home. It's not.
Author's notes: The title is from Josh Ritter's "Bright Smile, Dark Eyes." Because, well.
Normally, Brendon likes college. He really does. Empire State University gives him a kick-ass grant (he only has to work two jobs to keep up with the room and board part, which, really, he's totally willing and able to do that, especially because none of them involve blenders) and he gets to play music all day (nearly) and--yeah. It's great.
It's just that he can't figure out his final Composition project, and he has no one to play it for. It's just that Thanksgiving is coming up in four weeks, and according to the conversation he just had with his parents, he's not going home. It's just that today, he got back his Chemistry midterm (stupid required science credit) and he got a C- and he's skirting the edge of a B- in that class and if he goes any lower, he'll lose his scholarship.
It's just that he doesn't really know anyone that well yet.
"Dammit," he mutters, scratching a pattern into his desk with his pen. His breath hitches a little, which, he's not crying, he's not, he's just tired. He swallows.
The door behind him opens.
"Hey, B." Peter sounds a little harried, but he nearly always does. His roommate is doing a double major in Political Science and Biology, of all things, and he's working some kind of super time-consuming photography job at the newspaper. Brendon always wants to ask him what Spiderman is like (the pictures Peter takes are awesome) but he hasn't quite worked up the nerve to do so yet.
"Hey Peter," he says, and he's pretty proud of how steady his voice is. He doesn't turn around, because he's sure his face isn't--he's not all that good at hiding what he's feeling. That's what got him into trouble in the first place, back home. Apparently you're supposed to look enraptured during services, even if you aren't really feeling it.
But apparently Peter is way more perceptive than Brendon has been giving him credit for, because there's a crash like he just dropped a bunch of stuff he was carrying and before Brendon can turn around and check what happened, Peter is next to him, hand on Brendon's shoulder.
"What's going on?" he says, dark eyes serious. "You don't sound so good."
Brendon shrugs, tilting his head at the Chemistry test on the desk. It's as good an explanation as any.
Peter winces. "Ouch," he says sympathetically. "That's not fun. But, like, Brendon, do you need help in Chemistry? Because I can help, I'm, you know. Okay at it."
"You practically never sleep," Brendon says, shaking his head. It's a nice thought, but obviously Peter is completely delusional. "I know you're good at it, dude, but you're never around, when would you have time to help me with my shit?"
"I can make time," Peter says vaguely, and he's still holding on to Brendon's shoulder. "I mean. I don't suppose you're going to be around for Thanksgiving? You're probably going home, but we'll just make time when you get back."
Brendon swallows, poking at the desk again. "No, um. I'll be here. I'm not, like. Not going home." They are talking, every now and then, but Brendon doesn't think his parents are quite at the point where they'd want him back for a big family holiday. Too many opportunities for conflict.
"Shit, that sucks." Peter ruffles his hair. He obviously has no idea why Brendon can't go home, probably thinks it's a money thing. "Still, you can come to mine. My aunt May cooks a mean turkey, and I can drill you on covalent bonds, it'll be all kinds of fun." Like it's nothing, inviting Brendon into his home.
He can't even bring himself to joke about the Chemistry tutoring because he thought he'd be eating in the school cafeteria and then hanging out by himself in his room, so, like. "Thanks," he says, looking up at Peter, and there's a moment where he isn't sure, when he thinks maybe--he takes a breath, and Peter smiles, squeezing his arm a little before letting go.
"Anything for my roommate." He grins at Brendon. "Feeling better?" It's like Peter actually wants to know. Brendon tries on a smile.
"Little bit, yeah," he says.
"Come on," Peter says, and then he does one of those split-second moves and is suddenly standing by the door. "I brought I-passed-my-Intro-to-Political-Theory-midterm movies." He holds up Fargo and then he holds up Aladdin.
"You love me, you really love me," Brendon deadpans, and something flashes in Peter's eyes.
"You're alright, I guess," he says. He climbs on his bed, beckoning Brendon to join him. "We're eating all the chocolate and watching all the--well, two movies. Right now." He sets up the laptop, sliding in the first movie.
Brendon pulls himself up to sit next to Peter, hesitating a little before Peter extends an arm and rolls his eyes at him. And what is Brendon supposed to say to that, really?
Peter's arm around him feels good, too good, but Brendon can't really say no. He feels so safe, like this, and he knows Peter hasn't really fixed anything, but he feels less alone, like maybe it'll be alright. Like he can share stuff that matters.
"Hey, if you want, I'll play you what I've got of my final project later," he says softly, glancing up at Peter. "I need some input."
Peter smiles, this shy, bright smile that always makes Brendon's heart clench a little. "That'd be awesome," he says. "Now watch the movie."