Brendon doesn't make it home until nine. He's been on edge since lunch but he didn't want to make a scene.

Carina held his hand for as long as she could, he so unbelievably thankful for her. He didn't have to say anything for her to know it was getting bad again. Her eyes were glowing, her cheeks were flushed, and she pressed a kiss against his forehead before he left.

Now he's alone at his apartment, that doesn't smell like cinnamon spice at all.

He decides it's going to smell like marijuana, already rolling a joint.

His hands shake as usual, it seems to get harder every day. Hair falls in his face, he has to readjust his glasses, nothing feels like everything.

Brendon sighs after struggling for so long, burning the end before taking a drag.

He does this too often but not enough, it helps him though and that's what matters.

Brendon basks in the feeling after the high has finally gotten to him, the ceiling fan buzzing and his breaths becoming louder. He sinks into the couch, eyes stuck to the wall and just feeling it. It's better, his heart follows the mellow track he's on and everything is fine.

He thinks about buying a TV soon, being far too quiet for his liking.

Loneliness lingers but marijuana mends with his soul, allowing him to feel welcomed for a little while instead of drowning in self pity.

It's like that for the rest of the night until he finally has the decency to sleep, crashing while everything still was in slow motion. The fan creeks loudly in the living room, he wished he would have closed his door. It was too late for that though, he was already asleep seconds after his body hit the sheets, shoes still on, glasses on the coffee table in the other room.

It's eerie.

***

Brendon is a bit laid back the next day. He usually is after a something like that.

Being around his mother always made him emotional. Physically or mentally, he never can register the reality of the situation and it was one of the biggest factors that egged his anxiety on.

It's so hard seeing your own mom in that situation.

He sits in the breakroom eating his salad, chewing to himself. He's clad in a white button up and some dark gray slacks as usual, other office workers laughing along to what another said across the room. Yeah, Brendon really is a loner. It's not intentional, though, and that's what makes it worse.

Obviously his co-workers will talk to him, but usually for their own benefit.

People in this work setting were selfish.

Brendon sighs, eating a cherry tomato.

He looks out the window, seeing the scenery of other tall buildings and rushing cars. He feels so small in this world.

"Hey, Bren." Brendon hates when people call him that here.

He looks forward once more, seeing one of the most hard working women at the cubicles. Debby. She had fair hair and full lips. She's okay, tolerable, she brags a lot.

"Hey."

She starts to get comfortable in the seat in front of him, bending forward until her elbows were pressed against the table. She smiles, lipstick a deep rogue color. It suits her. Brendon is waiting for her mouth to run. Debby talks a lot, whether she was willing to admit it or not.

"So," Brendon feels his breath becoming heavier already. "The Ryan's and I are going out to the pub tonight, we were wondering if you wanted to go."

Debby Ryan, Ryan Adams, and Ryan Ross. They were a power trio here.

It was confusing at times being around the three of them, mostly the two Ryan's, but Ryan A preferred to be called Ryland. It was weird, Brendon forgot how it even started. It stuck, though.

"Um. . ." He mumbles.

"Ugh! Brendon!" Debby whines, sitting back. "You always back out of my offers so soon."

Brendon frowns. "I haven't even said anything. . ."

"Yeah, and I can already tell you're gonna say no." Debby argues, crossing her arms with a pouted lip.

"I'm just not comfortable going out. I have a hard time." He shrugs, continuing to eat his lightly dressed salad.

"I know, and that's why I'm trying to help you put yourself out there." She makes it seem so simple, Brendon wished it was that easy. "I'm sure if you just went places with us you'd get people clinging to you in seconds." Debby grabs a cherry tomato from the container with his salad and pops it into her mouth.

Brendon bites his lip. "It's not that simple for me."

"Because you're blowing it out of proportions."

He clenches his fists beneath the table, exhaling deeply at the remark.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She sighs, realizing her mistake. "I just. . . I feel bad. I know how alone you feel, it's really obvious. I just want to help you; I want to see you happy."

Brendon stays quiet, eyes shifting downwards.

Is it really that obvious?

His stomach nearly churns at the thought, leg starting to bounce.

"I'm really thankful you care so much about me Debby, but I just can't." He shakes his head, eating the last of his food.

She looks disappointed, messing with her nose ring as another way of biting her tongue. Brendon's lucky she's thoughtful enough to keep stuff to herself-- most of the time. She really was a blabber mouth. "Promise me you'll try to push yourself, somehow? You don't have to go out, just. . . You can figure it out."

Brendon rolls his eyes subtly, bitterly. "I promise."

Debby stands up, satisfied with that.

She leans over the table, pressing a kiss to Brendon's temple. They aren't this close, he doesn't know why she's acting like this.

Debby walks out of the break room, heels clicking loudly against the floor. He sees her skirt ride up while she does so. He smiles to himself, leaning back into the chair after shaking whilst shaking his head. Debby wasn't that bad, he can deal with her.

He thinks about her words the rest of break, maybe she was right.

***

Brendon is half asleep when he gets home, he usually is with work after the weekends.

He unbuttons his shirt, chest bare for no one except for himself to see. He needs to shower, badly. His hair can't stand straight because of how long its been, falling down onto his forehead and reminding him of his haircut in highschool.

God, no.

He drags his feet along the floor until he's in the bathroom, turning on the shower before he's fully undressed so the water can warm.

Brendon looks at himself in the mirror, he's becoming pale.

Then he notices how his lips are chapped, and then he notices how much his facial hair he has grown, and then how prominent the bags underneath his eyes have become. And then, and then, and then.

He's a mess.

He steps into the shower once it's a decent enough temperature, moaning in relief when the hot water hits his back, already relaxing his tense muscles.

Brendon slowly falls back into his rhythm after a long few days. Using coconut shampoo and pomegranate conditioner, fingers soothing on his scalp. He closes his eyes, allowing his body to be drowned out by the comforting warmth and pleasant smells. He hums the songs stuck in his head which also happened to be on the last CD he listened to.

Music was a safe place for him.

The shower lasts longer than it usually does, he needed it today.

Cold air hits him as soon as he's out, drying off his hair as much as he could before tying a towel around his waist.

Brendon wasn't all that confident in his body. People like his sister and Debby tell him he's well off but he has a hard time believing it. Most people do. He has a natural built frame, not too scrawny and not too broad. He's kind of in between, which isn't such a bad thing, he is just troubled with anxieties.

Soon enough he's dressed, laying down on his bed.

He doesn't smoke tonight but maybe tomorrow.

He's only staring at the ceiling. Debby's words dancing around in his mind.

She was a bit pushy. Maybe that was just her way of trying to make new friends. Whether she was controlling or not, she did seem to care at least a tad about Brendon's happiness and that's important to him.

Will a significant other really bring him the happiness he needs, though? Debby surely thinks so.

Brendon's tried.

His lips twitch into smiles at Starbucks and he offers to buy people's drinks sometimes.

Whatever he was doing wasn't working.

What more could he do? He couldn't even explain how nervous he gets trying to talk to anyone. How was he supposed to know if this lady had a boyfriend or not or if this man was even into other men? It's such a hard cycle. Stressful. Nerve wracking. He can't handle it.

Brendon wonders if it's even possible to put yourself out there without actually putting yourself out there.

He's feels incapable of anything.

He groans, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his face into the pillows. They were cold.

He thinks, and thinks, and thinks, then Brendon suddenly holds his breath when a thought comes in mind.

Online.

Maybe that's what Debby meant. The only possible way to put yourself out there without actually doing so is to turn to the internet. That's the only thing that makes sense to him.

Brendon sighs, now thinking what he could do.

Does he even want to put himself out there or is he doing this for Debby?

No. This is for himself. He's sick of not being enough, not doing enough and not being able to satisfy his own needs. It gets tiring having to be your own person, because sometimes even he doesn't understand his wants and needs. Although the thought of being in a relationship is menacing itself, part of being in a relationship is comfortability.

Brendon grabs his phone, going to the app store and stupidly writing 'dating app' when no names come to mind.

He sees a few he's heard of like Match and OkCupid. He scrolls a bit further until Tinder catches his eye. He's heard about it over and over around work, he knows it's an extremely popular dating app.

He reads through the reviews and sees nothing but good things, he installs it.

Brendon bites the inside of his cheek, moving his toes anxiously while it downloads.

Soon enough it's on his home screen, he clicks on it and begins making an account.

Most things he needs to fill out are normal, like his name and age.

Then comes his description, and his mind immediately goes blank. What is there to write? Brendon has come to the conclusion that he is the most uninteresting person you could meet, which already in itself is a turn off.

"Fuck." He groans.

I love music and coffee.

It's terse but so is he, he deems it good enough and carries on creating his profile.

It asks for 'his anthem' and one song quickly comes to mind.

Bohemian Rhapsody.

Brendon adds his pictures reluctantly, not having very many pictures of himself at all. He has a difficult time deciding which ones he looked good in but finally he found six he was happy with.

Brendon huffs, finally finished with his entire profile after a few more things to fill.

He presses a button to conclude he was finished and was brought to the beginning of it all. He decides to get comfortable in bed, piling pillows behind him until he was propped up to his liking.

It was going to be a long night, but that might not be such a bad thing.