sodamnskippy

“There is something seriously wrong with you.”

Kevin jerks his head up. Carden is looming above him, half under the overhang. He’s got an army jacket on, rain beading up on the canvas, and fingers pinching a cigarette, hand half curled over the tip to keep it dry.

Carden stares down at him. He shifts a little, gaze dropping to the kittens in Kevin’s lap, then he rolls his eyes. He flicks his cigarette out into the rain and grabs the handlebars of Kevin’s bike from where it’s leaning up against the side of the shed. “Come on,” he says, and then he starts off across the field without looking back.

“Uh.” Kevin scrambles to his feet, juggling the kittens. Two of them have fallen asleep, lumped together. The third paws at his sweatshirt, and its mouth opens in a soundless, pathetic meow. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers, then follows Carden up into the parking lot. He at least needs to get his bike back.

When he gets to Carden’s car, though – an old, beat-up Bronco – Carden’s already trying to stuff his bike in the backseat.

“It, uh—there’s a lever to make it fold up,” Kevin says.

Carden gives a noncommittal grunt, but he steps back and lets Kevin move forward – and Kevin drops the squirmy, awake kitten in Carden’s hands on his way past, and when he turns back around again, Carden’s sort of—grinning down at it, and Kevin’s heart hitches, then starts pounding. It’s almost painful, being this breathless, but Carden is grinning at a kitten, and Kevin’s pretty sure he’s never seen that look on Carden’s face before.

“I’m really enjoying this debate on what we should wear,” Miranda says, flipping her hair over her shoulder and fiddling with her amp, “but maybe we should concentrate on the fact that we’ve never performed live before? I’m kind of worried about how Brendon isn’t actually an octopus, no matter how many limbs it seems like he has – what are we doing about the piano?”

“I know the guitar parts on Lefty Persuasion,” Bill says. “And there’s no reason why everything has to sound exactly the same, you know. We can improvise. Also.” He curls a finger over his upper lip, tilts his head back. “I’m going to wear a mustache.”

“Please don’t,” Patrick says.

“Too late. It’s decided,” Bill says. “I’m going to make Kevin wear one, too.”

Kevin blinks. “Uh.” He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to wear a fake mustache, but Bill’s sort of hard to say no to.

Miranda strums a chord and messes with her pedal. “Kevin’s not wearing a mustache,” she says.

“Are you volunteering to be my mustache buddy then?” Bill asks Miranda, grinning. He saunters over and hooks an arm around her shoulders. “They’ll tickle when we kiss, like whiskers on kittens.”

Miranda elbows him in the side; Bill half-stumbles away from her with an oof, mouth still curved up in amusement.

“So if anyone’s interested,” Miranda says pointedly, “I’m going to play Weak In The Knees now.”

“Spencer Smith is indeed a catch,” Bill says. “Also, if you’re going straight, Urie, you might want to reconsider the random boy make-outs. You’re sluttier than Jonas here.”

“Above the waist doesn’t count, right Kev?” Brendon says, and Kevin says, “Keep me out of this,” because Kevin is most definitely gay. He’s never said it out loud, maybe, but he’s never bothered to deny it.

“You sound like Wentz. It doesn’t work for him, either,” Miranda says.

Brendon huffs and says, “Wentz is dating a girl.”

“Wentz wants to marry Patrick, he has entire blog dedicated to it,” Bill says, and Patrick palms his face and groans.

“I hate my life,” Patrick says.

“Oh, you lie, you love it—wait, wait, Spencer Smith?” Miranda says. “Wasn’t he the drummer for Summer Daze?”

Kevin thinks back, but all he remembers about Summer Daze is the costumes and face paint – he’s pretty sure the drummer had a tiny mustache and goatee.

“Ryan’s Spencer, oh, that makes so much sense, he bought him that watch,” Brendon says, nodding. “He saw us at The Cell for Tenderfoot Junction.”

“Great,” Patrick says.

Brendon waves his hands around. “No, no, don’t worry, I cleverly deflected him with trickery—”

“He played dumb,” Kevin says. “I don’t think Smith bought it.”

“I don’t know, Brendon’s dumb is pretty convincing,” Miranda says.

“Stop picking on my tiny friend,” Bill says, wrapping an arm around Brendon and tugging him close. Brendon burrows his head under Bill’s chin and shoots Kevin a smile and an eyebrow waggle.

Kevin shakes his head. His friends are ridiculous.