Brendon searched through his cabinets as soon as he could will himself out of bed the next morning. He had to make sure he was ready for tonight. He had to make sure he knew what he would be making for dinner; and after a long search and only coming up with few ingredients despite having gone grocery shopping just last week, he decides to make spaghetti.

Yes, Tyler made it the first time he came over, but it's really the only thing he has to make, and it's one of the only things he's good at making.

It works as well as it can.

By three, it's when he starts feeling anxious again.

He tries to remind himself everything would be okay, because Tyler said so, and he feels alright putting trust in them. Still, though, it's not enough to calm him down. Tyler can't predict the future-- no matter how wonderful that would be-- they can only hope for the best. Brendon knows that's what he does himself in any situation, but hope seems to be failing him now.

It's not long before he's sitting outside on one of the old benches in front of the apartment complex, taking long hits of his wax pen, and watching a moving truck pull up.

Brendon, as per usual, observes.

Once the truck is parked, a woman with blonde hair pulled into a pony tail and a loose-fitting white tank top comes from the driver's side.

She goes around the truck and lifts the back end, a big smile pulling at her cheeks.

He's confused for a moment, but that's before seeing a little boy stand at the end of the truck, reaching out for her with grabby hands and a smile just as wide as hers.

Almost instinctively, Brendon takes one last hit before tucking his pen away in his sweater pocket.

These must be the new neighbors.

The woman holds the boy at her side, bouncing him up and down a few times before looking up at someone else, who hops down onto the cement. It's a man who seems about her age, Brendon guessed they're in their early twenties.

They seem like friends more than lovers, she's thanking him.

He loses focus fast, not bothered. They seemed nice enough, but really, anything was nicer than his old neighbors.

It's then when his phone vibrates, reminding him of why he was out here clearing his head in the first place.

Strangely, it isn't surprising this time to see Tyler's name instead of Josh's.

Hey. When should we come over?

Brendon looks at the time, frowning when he realizes he's been out here for nearly an hour. It didn't feel that long, no, not at all. Maybe his reoccurring thoughts consume him more than he'd like to admit.

Six would be good.

It will give me time to cook.

It's been a while since he's made an actual meal, and not one with directions from a box. He's afraid of messing up something as simple as spaghetti, but he needs to fucking deal with bumps in the road.

Okay. See you then.

Send your address, yeah?

He does, and afterwards, slips his phone back into the pocket of his jeans.

It takes a moment before Brendon finally notices the small feet in front of him. He slowly but surely lifts his head up from his lap, the little boy looking at him with big brown eyes. He smiles at Brendon, playing with his fingers and shuffling his feet.

The two of them stare at one another momentarily. It's temptation, but hesitance.

"Do you live here?" The youngest asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

Brendon bites his cheek, nodding. "Yeah, I do."

The boy nods with him, mutually. "My momma and I are moving in. She says our house was too much money." He shrugs.

Brendon doesn't know what to say. He's trying to ignore the fact that he's stoned out of his mind in front of a child, and that it's weird how his mom isn't there to introduce the two of them.

Then, it dawns on him he's probably ran off.

He sits up a little straighter, forcing himself to collect his thoughts. Brendon clears his throat. "Uh, maybe you should go back over there with her."

He gets a shaking head in response. "I don't wanna listen to the grown up stuff."

"Well, your mom's probably gonna be scared when she realizes you're not there." Brendon can barely comprehend anything coming from his mouth; he's mindlessly trying to make sense of himself. The boy, though, seems to understand what he's trying to get at.

"Okay." He mutters. Looking over his shoulder at his mother, who seems to notice his lack of presence. He, still, doesn't make a move.

He turns back to Brendon instead. "You should say hi. I wanna make friends here. Do you have any kids like me?"

"No, I don't. Sorry." Brendon mumbles, watching the woman practically jog over to them. It's understandable.

She crouches down to her son's height and pulls him to her chest. "What are you doing?" She sighs, running a tense hand through his hair. "Don't just run off, bub."

"Sorry, Momma." He says against her skin. "I wanted to say hi."

She nods, cradling his head and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Brendon, though appreciating the sincere love, sits there awkwardly, eyes hooded, mentality foggy.

The woman notices the off atmosphere. She stands back up, gently holding the boy's shoulders while looking down at Brendon, grinning ear to ear. She's charming.

"Hey. Sorry if he was bothering you." She ushers.

Brendon's quick to shake his head. "It's fine."

The woman nods. "Uh, well, I'm Hayley, and this is Jack." She looks down at her son, eyes gleaming just at the thought. "We're moving into apartment twelve."

Pretending to be sober has never Brendon's strong suit, and still, he tries his hardest to put on an act. "Yeah, you're beside me. I'm eleven. And Brendon." He pauses, brows furrowing. "My name's Brendon, not. . . Not eleven."

Hayley giggles. It's soft. "I assumed so." She hums. "It's nice to meet you Brendon. I suppose we'll be seeing you around?"

Brendon swallows thickly, mouth dry. "Yeah."

"Awesome." She murmurs wholeheartedly.

When silence falls over them, Hayley looks over at the moving truck, the man who remains unnamed pulling out a few boxes. She purses her lips together and messes with the metal bracelets on her wrist.

"We've still got a long day ahead of us. This is our third round." She chuckles, trying to mask how tired she is. "I guess we should get going. Say goodbye, Jack."

Jack frowns for a moment but nonetheless waves a departure, brown hair falling in his face. "Bye bye!"

Brendon can't help but think about Tyler in this situation. He doesn't understand how they can find this disgusting. Here's a kid full of affection and smiles, full of kindness and love, yet they claim to see the negative side of this.

He doesn't get it, he's not sure if he will.

"Bye, Jack." He smiles lazily. "And bye, Hayley."

She grabs her son's hand, waving along as well. "Bye." She says with a smile that hasn't faded, carefully turning around and walking back towards the moving truck.

The simplicity of each word was solely because of the marijuana in his system, Brendon knows as soon as he's sober his mind will be running about the little boy and his mother. If it was just him, and no drug copilot, that conversation wouldn't have gone as smoothly as it did. At all. He would have been flustered at the first word, his hands would have began shaking violently, and his chest would have gone heavy.

But, for now, he doesn't care-- not at all. He carefully stands up from the bench and makes his way inside instead of forcing himself to worry.

He takes his time going up the stairs, seemingly not able to go any faster, and by the time he's inside his apartment, he already starts pulling everything out to make dinner.

Brendon had to put a lot of trust in himself to ensure the food would come out well, no matter how sluggishly he was making it. He never forgot who he was cooking for; he needed this to be as good as it could.

This was a first impression, this was a test.

Maybe it's foolish trying so hard on something so little, he just wanted Tyler and Josh to be as content as they can.

There's too much ahead of them.

***

Brendon isn't the only one who seems to come early to things, because by five-forty, he gets a phone call from Tyler. He's finished making the spaghetti by now, and sweat lightly matts his forehead as he answers the phone.

"You never gave us your apartment number." Is how they answer.

Brendon blinks.

"Oh, uh, are you guys here?" Anxiety. Complete and utter anxiety washes through him in just seconds.

"Yeah. I think we took someone's parking space." They mutter. "Oops."

It's amusing, but Brendon can't find it in himself to smile like he might of. He's keeping his phone steady by holding it in between his shoulder and ear, slipping his sweater back on in a rush.

His hands are trembling. It's starting.

"O-okay, um, I'll be out there in just a second." He stutters out, the pounding in his chest loud and clear.

"Okay." Tyler replies easily. Brendon's about to hang up until he hears them continue after a long few seconds of silence between the two of them. "Hey, calm down, okay? It's all going to be alright."

Brendon forces out a deep breath, closing his eyes gently to focus on doing so, even a little bit. He processes Tyler's words through and through until they settle in his heart; he believes it, he has to. It's the only thing he's willing to do that wouldn't leave him being a complete mess right now.

"Yeah. Thank you." He nods to himself. "I'll be right out."

Then, he hangs up.

Brendon swallows thickly when he leaves his apartment, walking down the hall and stairs with a horrid churning in his stomach. This is it. He's exposing so much in such a small space. He's letting them in, literally and metaphorically.

When he makes it outside, Hayley is still there clearing out the truck. He chooses to ignore this, ignore the thoughts, too bothered with other people.

He doesn't see Tyler and Josh until they emerge from their car, Tyler coming from the driver's seat and Josh coming from the passenger's.

Brendon's heart skips an unusually long beat, he's morbidly overwhelmed.

"One, two, three." He's whispering to himself. "One, two, three."

He walks towards the two of them in a march after this, unapologetically and abruptly burrowing himself into Tyler's shoulder and wrapping his arms around them tightly. He just wanted them close, he wanted them there, he wanted their support. He exhales deeply against their shirt, eyes closing as they hold him back. They sense every ounce of insecurity in him, and instead of asking why, they stay silent and follow. Giving him what he needs without the vocal support to do so.

Tyler lets him stay like that for as long as he'd like, which is a lot longer than casualty insisted.

"Fuck," he grumbles against their shoulder. "Fuck. Okay." He pulls away, meeting their eyes momentarily before looking over at Josh.

He smiles, almost sadly. Probably sadly. Brendon's a wreck.

"Are you ready. . .?" He asks sheepishly.

"Are you?" Josh replies.

Brendon nods, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater. "Yeah."

He glances over to the moving truck again, and Hayley is looking right back. Observing. Questioning. Wondering.

He clears his throat, turning away. "Okay." He says, and the three of them silently make their way to his apartment, up the stairs and through the hall. Apartment twelve is wide open when they're finally in front of his home, maybe it always was and he was too out of it to notice.

Jack, too, catches a glimpse of Brendon through the door and smiles big, waving excitedly.

Brendon smiles in a small manner in return, wave not as sparatic, but meek.

The interaction is over quickly, nerves getting the best of him when his hand meets the doorknob.

Tyler and Josh both don't rush him, no matter how simple it may seem, no matter how put up they are with all the stalling. They stand there, going at his pace as promised, and Brendon looks to them briefly for reassurance before opening the door.

"I cleaned all of yesterday, I-I hope it looks nice." He murmurs, holding the door for them to walk in.

Once they do, Tyler looks around a bit, features nearly amused which throws Brendon off. He closes the door.

Josh seems to notice this and speaks up for them, or something like that. "It looks like our old apartment."

"Really?" Brendon asks.

He nods, smiling. "The layout is like, the exact same."

Brendon hums, eyes shifting downwards, mind running. He feels horrible, inside and out. He'd rather be torn to pieces than deal with the immense intimidation and judgement happening before him. He wants to puke.

"God, I'm sorry." He shakes his head disapprovingly. "Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna eat?"

They both nod, eyes wandering around still. They take in every corner, every room, every piece of furniture, every blank wall. They take in it all, and Brendon can't say anything because he did the exact same thing the first time he went inside their home.

Josh and Tyler follow him into the kitchen.

"What d'you make?"

Brendon looks over to Josh, pursing his lips. "Spaghetti."

Tyler seems interested in the conversation now, ripping their eyes away from examining the apartment and instead looking towards Brendon. "Was this an undeclared war I don't know about?" They're smirking, hands stuffed into the pockets of their pants.

Once again, they're wearing rather oversized pants. In black, their whole outfit consists of that color. Those boots from day one making another appearance, and they have chains dangling from their studded belt. Brendon's Adam's apple bobs the more he notices every detail they've added; they're wearing a short shirt that might as well be classified as a crop-top, with a long sleeved fishnet shirt underneath. It doesn't hide much-- most of their shirts don't. He can see their bellybutton. More than just that.

Brendon blinks a few times, finally meeting their eyes. He decides to try his hardest to play off the nerves. "Maybe." He shrugs.

Josh's eyebrows raise. "Does this mean I make the official decision on which is better? 'Cause I. . . I don't know if I can handle that."

"Handle what?" Tyler questions.

"Well, I mean, aren't I biased? You're my husband."

Tyler squints their eyes at him. "No, be honest. Now I want to know."

Brendon quietly, with wide eyes, makes plates for everyone.

What has he started? Maybe making spaghetti was a bad decision. Tyler and Josh are talking to one another, going back and forth, and he's too focused on the task at hand to pay attention, though.

"Is bottled water okay? Uh, that's all I really have." Brendon mutters.

They both nod, they're in sync.

When Brendon quietly asks for them to grab a plate, Josh mumbles an, "I don't know Tyler, this looks really fucking good." Which, unsurprisingly, Tyler rolls their eyes to.

"Eat it." Is all they say.

"God, let me sit down or something first." Josh chuckles, turning to Brendon for guidance.

It takes him a moment to realize he's hosting, he's in charge, he makes the decisions. He shows them around tonight, and so that's what he does, bringing them to the livingroom which is really only a few steps from the kitchen.

The three of them have to figure out how to sit on a small sofa that really is only used to fitting one person.

Brendon sits in the right corner, tucking himself as far away as he can because he's so used to doing that, while Tyler and Josh are sitting easy, allowing themselves to get comfortable.

They make do, everyone touching knees, it's fine.

Tyler throws one leg over the other, turning to Josh expectantly.

"Stop staring at me." Josh laughs, twirling spaghetti around his fork. They don't cooperate; if anything, their stare gets more intense.

Josh shrugs in defeat, opening up wide and stuffing in a mouthful of pasta, so much to the point where he has to chew with his mouth open a few times because he really did just eat that much.

"You're so gross," Tyler whispers jokingly. Brendon's lips twitch.

"Shh." Josh emits, lifting his finger to silence them.

"What are you--"

"Tyler, be quiet, I need to configure my official statement." He mumbles, closing his eyes and licking his lips. Now, Brendon is biting his bottom lip to refrain from smiling like an idiot.

Tyler huffs, but nonetheless keeps quiet with a small chuckle to fall from their mouth. They sit back and finally eat some of the food for themself, seemingly pleased but don't speak up about it. It's enough for Brendon.

Soon, Josh is nodding to himself, opening his eyes back up and turning to the two of them. "Okay."

"Okay?"

He nods again. "I have decided. . ." He pauses, and Brendon is now certain that this time, it's for dramatic effect. "Tyler needs to step up their game." He announces, smirking so mischievously that it makes Brendon's heart thump in a fitful manner.

Tyler pauses, and turns to face forward in order to process everything.

After a moment, they shrug, nodding as well. "I agree." They say. "This is really good, Brendon."

If he thought his heart thumped sporadically before, gosh, was he wrong. Having Tyler look over at him with what could only be classified as muddled admiration made his heart go crazy, as well as his cheeks. He heats up as soon as the words come from their mouth, going red all the way to his ears.

He smiles timidly, then not so much. "Yours is really good too, I-I'd say better."

Tyler shakes their head, and Josh says, "Hey, I make the official decision, Brendon."

The latter rolls his eyes with a huge grin and rosy cheeks. "I'm just saying." He cocks his head a bit playfully, the sound of his heart like heavy music in his ears.

"And I'm just saying, yours is better." Josh snickers as Tyler gives him the side eye.

Silence falls over them for a moment, and so do the nerves once again. No matter how much Josh or Tyler might distract him with something humorous, it lingers. Anxiety. Trepidation of something horrid happening. The chance of disaster will always get the best of Brendon, and all he does is cower into the corner of his sofa, shoving forkfulls of spaghetti into his mouth so he couldn't say anything dense.

He holds himself back from so much.

"You really don't have a TV," Josh speaks up, it makes sense.

Brendon pulls one knee to his chest, licking any excess from his lips. His mouth goes crooked. "Yeah."

"Do you ever plan on getting one?" He asks. Why is he so focused on this?

"Um, maybe soon. I don't know. . . I'm not home that often, but when I am I'm just super bore--"

"Oh my god." Tyler cuts the both of them off from their conversation, throwing their head back in distress. "Can we please talk about it? It's so bad."

Brendon furrows his eyebrows, terrified to question what they mean.

"What are you talking about?" Josh seems just as confused as Brendon, it's only reassuring enough.

Tyler shakes their head, amused again. They chuckle quietly to themself, saying, "You know exactly what I mean, Josh." Then they're turning to look at Brendon deeply. He crumbles at just the look, at their words. What has he done that he's unaware of? He can feel himself slipping, fast.

Tyler's looking at him, and Brendon's looking at them.

"Do you smoke pot?" They deadpan.

If only Brendon knew beforehand how much one question could make his entire body feel suffocated in a mere second.

"Tyler. . ." Josh is practically scolding them.

Brendon has to set his plate down on the coffee table, now both knees are pulled to his chest. He needs to ground himself before anything so he can process this. It's so fast, everything happens so fast, and Tyler can tell quickly that maybe being abrupt was probably not the correct way to go about this. Brendon's huddled into his knees, arms wrapped tightly around them like a shield from the world. His breathing gets heavy, labored, scared. He gets scared.

Brendon shakes his head repeatedly, eyes wide. Wide out of absolutely dreadful shock.

"Brendon, I'm sorry. . ." Tyler whispers.

"I-I. . ." He can't get it out. Weights are laid on him from every angle, it feels like. "Why did you-- what-what makes you think that?"

Tyler is quiet for a moment, they sigh. "As soon as we walked in I could smell it."

Brendon laughs bitterly, he hadn't even thought about that. He thought he was being so careful, when in reality, he's practically basking in the smell of something he's been trying to hold off talking about for too long.

Brendon huffs in defeat. "I do. I do smoke weed." He confesses, his chest feels heavy enough to impale his heart. It seems like has. "It's not that I-- it's medical."

He lifts his head once more, revealing how distraught he's become over this, shamefully. He can't help but imagine how this one conversation could ruin what they had built up for well over a month.

Tyler and Josh both are looking at him, waiting, wanting him to continue.

Brendon slaps a hand over his face, rubbing the sorrow from his eyes. He shakes his head again. "I have. . ." He sighs, fucking frustrated. "I have GAD." Tyler and Josh both seemed suprised, but not completely grasping it. "It's an anxiety disorder. And-and I have social anxiety too." He mutters, embarrassed, really.

He's full of problems, full of mistakes. Tyler and Josh seem like Gods greatest gifts compared to him.

The stillness between the three of them makes Brendon's head spin.

He's made a mistake having them come over.

"That. . . Makes a lot of sense." Tyler finally says, practically finished with their spaghetti. Josh too.

Brendon frowns. "What does that mean?"

Tyler shrugs, setting their plate down next to Brendon's. "I don't mean that in a rude way. I just mean, you're a lot more timid than most people. And maybe that's good, because I'm. . . Not. If it isn't obvious by now." It's very obvious by now, Brendon wants to say, but his mind is too focused on other things to expose that. "I'm sorry for bringing that up. You should have told us when you were ready."

Then, Josh asks, "When were you going to tell us?"

Brendon stays quiet for a while after that, guilty. Always guilty. "I don't know. . . I-I thought I would have the balls to say it eventually. I thought I would have the balls to say a lot of things, eventually."

The final statement is his subconscious speaking for him, it's all just one big mistake.

Josh's stare becomes more concerned. "What do you mean?"

Brendon shakes his head, turning forward and placing his chin onto his knees to ignore both of their eyes on him. "Nothing."

"Brendon,"

He doesn't budge. He can't.

"I don't like talking about myself. Why can't-- why can't you guys talk about something?" He's already told them so much more than he's willing to, he doesn't want to go any further.

"Like what?" Josh asks.

Brendon lifts his shoulders, exhaling headfully. "I don't know."

"Well, what do you want to know?" He'd like to know everything. He'd like to know how the two of them met, who proposed, how they came to the conclusion they were interested in having a relationship that included more than just themselves, when Tyler figured out they were non-binary, maybe why their family isn't as prioritized as Josh's.

Brendon bites his lip. "A lot."

Tyler looks down at him, and says, "Ask away."

It's too much, though. He stands instead. "Can we play cards or something if I do? I just, this is a lot."

"If that makes it more comfortable for you, then yeah. That's fine." They side-smile, all lip and cheek.

Brendon nods as a response, shuffling into his room to go through the drawer beside his bed. He hadn't played with this stack of cards in forever, and really, if he played cards during each confession, it could help him cope with whatever it might be. The panic. The nerves. The anxiety. He needed to do something hands on; it calmed him down.

He doesn't forget to take off his sweater, he's too hot to be wearing it in the first place and he almost forgot his wax pen had been sitting in his pocket the entire time.

Brendon's all over the place.

After finding the cards, he makes his way back into the livingroom, seeing how both Josh and Tyler's plates are free from food, while Brendon's barely touch his.

He's not hungry anymore, anyways.

"Let me clean up real quick." He mutters to them, placing the box of cards down on the coffee table and stacking everyone's plates together, making his way into the kitchen.

He scrapes all his leftover food into the pot of spaghetti and cleans their plates, savoring this short time alone as much as he can. He's trying to ignore the fact that he wholeheartedly just told Tyler and Josh his biggest insecurity, his biggest flaw, his biggest secret. It might seem like nothing, but to Brendon, it's everything. It's what controls his actions every day, it's what makes him so afraid to do simple things.

It is everything. And now they know.

Once he finishes scrubbing the plates longer than he probably needed to, he comes back into the room and sees that Tyler and Josh have already settled on the floor right beside the coffee table, Tyler's thigh resting on top of Josh's, while Josh has an arm around their waist and is rubbing soft circles into their exposed happy trail.

Brendon clears his throat, never one to be controlled by temptation but Tyler and Josh are masters at pushing past every layer he holds.

He sits, close, or maybe not far enough.

"What are we gonna play?" Josh mumbles questionably.

"Slap Jack." Brendon answers. "Is that alright?"

Tyler nods, content with Josh's hand rubbing at their stomach but also to reassure Brendon that it's more than good.

"Tyler and I get very into card games. Well, games in general." Josh informs, watching Brendon shuffle the deck easily. He's done this one too many times. "You have been warned." He chuckles at himself, eyes gleaming and Brendon can't help but smile a bit.

"I should be warning you." He says.

Josh raises his eyebrows. "Now I'm a little scared."

Brendon only chuckles and passes everyone their cards, pushing his glasses up so they wouldn't fall if he made any fast movements.

Before they begin, Josh moves his arm away from Tyler's waist and instead uses both his hands for putting down his cards. Tyler doesn't seem to mind, they do the same.

Now, they start playing, going around in a oddly shaped triangle.

"Are you going to ask us questions?" Tyler finally speaks up while placing a card down.

Brendon nods, but not before he's slapping the deck of cards that had built up when he sees Josh placed down a Jack. He grins widely when adding them to his own stack, this was going to be a breeze for him.

"Uh, okay." He murmurs afterwards. "I don't really know what to ask. . ." It's untrue. He has so many things to ask, but he doesn't know what's acceptable and what's not.

"Anything." Tyler reminds.

The two of them seem to be very open, which is helpful, but also nervewracking.

Brendon purses his lips. "I, I really want know how you guys met." He says, placing a card down. "I mean, Josh told a little, but not that much."

Josh's face immediately erupts with a cheeky expression, before he's snickering quietly to himself. Tyler gives him this look, this look, a warning that isn't very clear to Brendon, but it also makes his heart beat a bit faster.

"I swear to god, Josh." They whisper, shaking their head and continuing the game.

"I guess we have to tell him now, hmm?" He's smirking, nudging their shoulder with his.

Tyler shakes their head, a blush meeting their cheeks, quickly.

Josh though, seems entertained, he turns to face Brendon again. "So, while I was in college--"

"We met at a fucking frat party, how romantic." Tyler cuts in, paranoid that Josh would expose something else about them, and Brendon has no idea what it could possibly be, or if he really wanted to know.

Brendon tilts his head a tad. "I never went to any of those."

Tyler shrugs. "I only went to a few. It's not really my kind of scene."

"Then why'd you go?" He wonders.

Josh slaps the stack, which takes them both by surprise. They dismiss this, Tyler continuing with a bit of hesitance. "You know,"

Brendon really doesn't.

Tyler sighs, putting a card down. "I had a lot of sex when I was in college." They state blatantly.

"Oh," Brendon breathes, hands becoming shaky unannounced.

"You still fucking do." Josh says.

Tyler rolls their eyes, ignoring him to the best of their ability. "Next question." Is all they mutter, focusing on the game instead of their husband's horribly mischievous look beside them.

Brendon's too caught up at what they just said. "Uhm, who. . . who proposed?"

Josh pushes air from his mouth, making a pfffft kind of noise. "Me. Jesus. If Tyler would have proposed, we would still only be dating." He murmurs, shaking his head at the thought.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't think I'd ever get married." Tyler answers, lifting their shoulders. "If Josh wouldn't have proposed, I definitely wasn't going to. I couldn't even imagine someone ever thinking I'd be the one to marry." They chuckle a bit, not because of joy, more so because it's mildly depressing.

Brendon frowns, mostly because he's in that state of mind right now.

"I'm happy now, though. Really happy." They ensure.

Brendon is about to say something in response but instead slaps the Jack when he sees Tyler placing it down, hitting their hand in the long run. He apologizes, the two of them chuckle together.

Once he has the cards tucked into his own, he suddenly asks, "How's Jim?"

Tyler and Josh both smile. Heartwarming.

"He misses you." Josh tells him.

Brendon smiles, too.

"He's my favorite." He announces, his absence affecting him profoundly.

"You seem to be his favorite too, which hurts my feels a little bit, since he's our dog." Josh laughs, carefully examining the stack as everyone places their cards down.

Brendon curls his toes. "Don't be jealous."

He and Josh meet eyes, they're always so warm and inviting. Brendon isn't sure he'll ever get over them. "I'm not. You deserve all the love he has to give." He says, the sincerity clear.

Brendon blushes again. "Stop."

"He isn't going to stop." Tyler states. "Josh is the biggest fucking flirt."

Brendon has come to learn that quickly, ever since the two of them had lunch together. He wouldn't stop.

"You love it." Josh utters to them.

"Maybe I do," is all Tyler says, slapping the deck.

***

For a while, the three of them lose focus on the questions and instead pay mind to the game. Maybe Brendon was right for warning them, because so far he has won four times, while Tyler and Josh had each won once.

"Brendon, you really are good at this, holy shit." Josh mumbles, amused.

"You don't even know." The latter replies.

Nearly every weekend he spends playing cards with Carina in the game room while their mothers play chess beside them. Over the years, he's learned most strategies and techniques. Over the years, he's become rather skilled in any card game it might be: Slap Jack, Egyptian Ratscrew, Go Fish, War, Crazy Eights.

Name it, he can do it.

"Do you play a lot?" Josh thinks aloud.

"Yeah. Most weekends." He shrugs, shuffling the deck to play their seventh game.

"Are you in some crazy card league? Is that why you're busy on the weekends?" Josh jokes, biting his tongue as he snickers. They all laugh, three in harmony.

That would be a lot better than his reality.

"I wish." He cracks a smile. "But, no."

Brendon's trying his hardest to distract himself from where this conversation is headed. It's upsetting how nervous he gets talking about something as simple as his weekends, which had been taken over by a horrid sickness.

And when Tyler speaks up, once again, it sends him reeling. "What do you do on the weekends, anyways?"

Brendon doesn't want to answer. He ignores it. "Let's keep playing." He mutters.

Tyler's not as pliant as Josh is, though. They sense the trepidation in his voice, but still push. Not harsh, not angrily, just curious. Maybe it's for the best, maybe having him opening up on high demand is good for him. Because, knowing Brendon, he'd stall for as long as he could.

"It's. . . Just, personal." Brendon whispers.

They all have cards in their hands, but don't make any move to play.

"Are you comfortable with telling us?" Josh asks.

Brendon looks down at the floor, chest never getting a break from the heaviness he has been feeling the entirety of the day.

He shrugs again. "I don't know." He's helpless. "It's a lot."

Josh and Tyler seem to understand. Josh lays his cards down onto the coffee table and scootches closer to Brendon until they're side-to-side, delicately tangling their fingers together and allowing Brendon to rest his head against his shoulder.

"If you need time, we'll give it to you, it's okay." He ensures.

Brendon shakes his head. "It's, it's important. You guys deserve to know." He's frowning.

He lets his heart go steady with Josh's thumb rubbing against his knuckles, it's reassuring him that they both are there for him, that they will give him time to cope. Tyler and Josh aren't going to turn away because he has a few problems, would they? Josh's hand in his is assuring safety.

They're waiting for him to continue, again. This night is overwhelming.

"Uh, I guess. . . Well, my mom," he huffs, feeling incapable. There's a lump in his throat the size of a tennis ball.

Tyler's face is softening, they're tough for only so long.

He tries to proceed, for them. For himself. "My mom has dementia, and uh, I. . . I-I take care of her on the weekends." He figures his body forgot how to pump blood for a bit, he feels deceased. Rotten. Disgusting. Lost.

"Holy shit," Josh mumbles.

Tyler says nothing, they like to stay silent. It's okay. They process things inaudibly.

"If that bothers you, I'm sorry. . . I just, my siblings don't fucking do anything, and I feel so bad." Brendon's shaking his head with so much doubt. He doesn't want anything to be real. "She needs me."

"How long have you been taking care of her?"

He sighs. "A few years."

"Years?" Josh breathes. He's flabbergasted. "That's insane. I'm so sorry."

Brendon shrugs numbly. "It's the least I can do. She's my mom."

"I get that, but you have a life too, Brendon." He's frowning as well. Brendon doesn't get why. "I mean, don't you want to do something during the weekend besides taking care of her? Could you maybe get a caregiver?"

"It's too much money. Way too much. Maybe for a few days, but definitely not full-time." Brendon never wanted to bring them into this, it's selfish of him. "Besides, no one visits her except me. She. . . She doesn't deserve that. My brothers and sisters never go to see her, I'm all she has. Even," he groans. "Even if she doesn't understand, I do. That's what makes it worse. I know that no one gives a shit except me. It's so bad."

After temporary silence for each of them to gather their thoughts, it's Tyler who speaks up.

"Maybe we can come with you sometime." They suggest.

"You don't. . . You don't have to do that." Not that they need to see what happens behind the scenes, anyways.

"This is a big part of your life. I think it should be a big part of ours, too." They reason, fiddling with the chains on their pants. "And, eventually, you're going to meet our parents, right? So why not."

Brendon nearly forgot that was something that needed to happen at a certain point. Meeting the parents.

He's intrigued, and questioning.

He wants to know more about the two of them.

"Because, I don't want it to become your problem too." Not that his mother is a problem. No, she's not.

"So what if it does? Your problems should become ours." They're talking about their relationship as a whole, which really doesn't have a certain label other than three people finding interest in one another.

Brendon squeezes Josh's hand tighter. "Maybe, I don't know."

Then it hits him like a fucking train that he couldn't, god, he couldn't bring Tyler over yet. How would he explain that to Carina? Who is Tyler to her? Nothing. Tyler's name means nothing to her, albeit meaning so much to Brendon. He couldn't bring them over because he wouldn't cave and confess, he'd lie in front of both of their faces and say this is my friend. Maybe that is the truth, but also it's not. This isn't friendship. This is a search for love in the thickness of the world.

"Holy shit." His eyes widen. What is he doing?

"What?" Josh asks, brows furrowed.

Brendon lets go of his hand, tears quick to brim his eyes. He's a terrible person.

"Tyler, I'm so sorry." He mutters. "I'm so sorry. Oh, my god."

They seem muddled. More than muddled. They don't understand what's going on; Brendon has instead moved from Josh to them, once again hugging them as tightly as possible, begging for forgiveness from an act they have no idea he's committed.

"What are you talking about?" They whisper in his hair, rubbing his back.

"I've been such a shitty person." He whispers back, closing his eyes tightly.

"What do you mean?"

Brendon breathes them in, savoring the smell of axe deodorant and vanilla, because it's Tyler. Tyler's there, mostly in spirit, but tonight they're here. With him. Holding him. Unknowing of the truth.

"At the retirement home, I-I have a friend, Carina. Fuck, she's my bestfriend." She's his best friend yet she doesn't know anything. Funny how that works. "I haven't told her about you. At all. I just-- she knows about Josh, but not you. I'm sorry. I am. I'll tell her. I'm just so fucking scared. . . There's so much to explain." He trembling upon their skin, gripping the fishnets and prodding.

Tyler doesn't do anything but pull him into their lap, allowing Brendon to bracket his legs around theirs.

"It's okay," They say.

Brendon's unsteady breath falls onto their shoulder, loud in their ear. He's distressed. "No. It's not."

"It is. I understand." Tyler tells him, rubbing soft circles like Josh had been doing to them, into his back, his tailbone. "Brendon, it's not the easiest thing to explain our whole situation. It's not going to be easy telling her that you're pursuing a relationship with a married couple, and one of them happens to be a big fucking queer." Tyler is a big fucking queer, and that's okay. Brendon grows from them.

He huffs. "I'm still sorry. You. . . You know I care about you, yeah, I do. A lot."

Tyler chuckles lightly. "I know."

Brendon nods, grateful.

"You tell her when you're ready, okay? That's your decision. You choose. Not me, not Josh." They mutter. Brendon hasn't been this close to a person in so long, but he can't find it in himself to care. He's sitting in their lap, chest-to-chest with them, and if he listened close enough he could probably hear the beat of their heart.

Josh soon holds Tyler's unoccupied hand. This is going to work.

All worries of losing everything the three of them had built up vanish before his eyes. As he sits here with Josh to his side, and Tyler much closer than that, he has a feeling it really will be okay. No matter how much anxiety or stress this next weekend is going to be, or maybe the next, or possibly the other one-- he can do it. He has to. He needs to.

Tyler means more than fear.

Tyler means more than insecurity.

Tyler's sitting with Brendon in their lap, rubbing away exactly that. Their holding his demons, and casting them to the side for now. Hopefully forever.

Carina deserves to know the truth, and Tyler deserves to live in it.

Brendon is just going to have to push, and that's okay. He can definitely use some of that, sometimes.

For the first time tonight, his mind and heart are truly at ease, not because he isn't littered with problems, or because he smoked them all away, it's because he has the smell of axe deodorant and vanilla reminding of how much he has, and what he obtains.

He's alive.