So, yeah, Brendon didn’t get up unless weed was promised- and not some half-assed ‘you’ll get it [i]after,[/i] Bren’, or a sweeter, more manipulative ‘but you do your best work when you’re [i]not[/i] high’. Brendon, frankly, vehemently disagreed- Jon came up with [i]that[/i] line when he was high, [i]that[/i] working title literally just meant ‘weed’, and that lyric was [i]about[/i] being high. He strongly believed that this new ‘pipes afterwards’ rule was just to punish Brendon and Brendon alone. So, in rebellion against the dictatorship of Spencer, Brendon decided he wasn’t going to get up- in fact, he’d stay in bed, preferably asleep, unless someone physically dragged him out. And he was a dead weight when he wanted to be, despite being considerably small. Not only was this effectively an efficient protest, it was a clever excuse for Brendon to just be lazy and not have to do any work for once, like they did every day without fail. He was sure they could handle it without him, and he stuck by that even when his three bandmates argued that he was the lead vocalist, he needed to tie up loose ends. Ryan even promised him more writing liberty if he didn’t sleep in so long. Brendon, apparently, could not be swayed.

What helped was that not everybody was on board to drag him out of bed first thing in the morning- Ryan was his guardian angel of sorts, his saviour, defending his honour against the wrath of Spencer and the passiveness of Jon, he supposed. Thank god for Ryan fucking Ready. That particular morning, Brendon had been in and out of consciousness a considerable amount of times, and he happened to be half awake when Ryan (he knew by his gait; you live long enough around someone...) entered his room, hovering by the doorway. Brendon mentally dared him to even think about trying to get him out of bed. To his surprise, he was better at telepathy than he had initially believed, and he heard the door shut and Ryan’s footsteps retreating. Brendon, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t be disturbed for some time (unless Spencer got particularly annoyed by his absence, but Brendon had a death wish), drifted off right away, enclosed in his fluffy mountain of blankets. It was way too warm in there to even consider going out into the relative cold so he could listen to Jon play the same bass tab fifty times in a row.

Unfortunately, Brendon’s good fortune didn’t last him long, and when Ryan came hunting for him next, he had just finished kicking his blankets aside, deciding that he could only cope with so much cosiness. He was half-awake, and this time Ryan seemed adamant, approaching his bedside and just leaving the door wide open, letting more light stream in from the window in the hallway opposite his door. Letting out a quiet noise of complaint, Brendon turned over and groped to find himself a pillow, pulling it over his head. [i]Brendon.[/i] He faintly heard his name and decided quickly after smothering himself with a pillow that it was really too hot for this, so he pushed it off the bed with a sleepy growl of sorts, resting his head against the remaining pillow again and willing Ryan to go away. Unfortunately, he didn’t heed his pleas, and Brendon sighed inwardly when he felt Ryan’s hand against his temple, cracking one eye open and pouting at him. [i]Bren, hey, wake up.[/i] [b]”Go away,”[/b] He protested immediately, mumbling, letting his eyes shut tight again. Brendon really hated him right now. [b]”I really hate you right now.”[/b]

In obvious distaste, Brendon batted Ryan’s hand away, pushing it off his temple and then fully turning over onto his other side, facing away from Ryan, the traitor who was supposed to be on his side. [i]Check it out, I got you breakfast.[/i] He didn’t care. If it wasn’t weed, he wasn’t interested right now. Though... he imagined he’d be hungry later. Brendon stirred, partway convinced. [i]We gotta practice.[/i] Do we, though, Brendon thought; maybe you guys need to, I don’t. [i]If you don’t wake up, [/i]Spencer’s [i]gonna come in here.[/i] Brendon’s opened quickly and he let out a deep sigh of disappointment before he turned over again to face Ryan, propping himself up on one elbow and snatching the muffin with his free hand, turning it over, considering. He then sat up, resting his back against the headboard, eyeing Ryan, clearly irritated. [b]”You’re dead to me,”[/b] He announced, crossing an arm over his bare chest and narrowing his eyes, shaking his head to get some curls of hair out of his eyes. This morning, the last thing on his to-do list was ‘fix his hair’. [b]”You’re like, Spencer’s little lackey.”[/b]