[1-2] OPEN

[threedimensions]

Dimensions: [1-2]
Timeline: Summer 2015/Summer 2016
Title: Open
Summary: Brandon wrestles with his decision to keep his sexuality under wraps once the band goes on another tour.
~5k




They had all known it was coming the second the chick from the magazine said the g-word. Brandon had been uncharacteristically quiet all morning after they'd gone back to the lounge in the venue to wait for sound checks; the look on his face when he'd had to figure out the right answer (or, a good enough answer), and the way he'd been chewing at the insides of his cheeks since he'd simply muttered, "No...no girlfriend..." had made them all brace for his no doubt broody mood for the rest of the night. He'd likely be wrestling with himself again, no matter how many times he'd stated that he'd already made his decision, but...with this being the first time it came up directly, none of the rest of them were surprised that he wasn't as confident in his previous declaration as he'd thought.

What was actually a little surprising was how he blurted it out to them later that night, after the show and on the bus while they were trying to relax enough to get some sleep while traveling to Somewhere Fucking Else—while they were all prepared for him to be sullen and cranky, as he always was when trying to take on something big, none of them expected him to ask them all for their thoughts on this. He'd asked their input and advice lots of times before, like that time his family moved away and he had to decide to stay or go with them, but not about his relationships. Maybe Mark or Kylen, but Kylen wasn't here, and as he hadn't consulted Mark on his original decision, they figured he would do as he'd done before and beat it into submission himself. It was, after all, his own personal business.

"Do you guys think I should be out?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling and holding the joint out for Andrew.

None of them said anything; Keith gave him a quick glance, one that Andrew knew said, Why am I supposed to care?, and Andrew and Mark exchanged a look. "That's up to you," Mark said after a moment.

"I know it is," Brandon said, eyes still skyward. "I just want to know what you think."

"I think nothing," Andrew said casually. This was partly true, due to the effects of the joint and the high he was still riding from the concert that afternoon and being able to see so many fans' excitement when they talked to them. One teenage kid wanted to do a funeral scene for her picture during meet and greet and he had laughed for what felt like two hours, totally ruining it although she'd assured him it was fine.

"I think that I don't care," Keith said. He paused. "But not to be a dick. I really don't care either way."

"We don't really get a say," Mark said. "That's something really personal that you have to decide."

Brandon finally lifted his head enough to give them all, in turn, an impatient look. "I know," he said again. "But I'm asking for your say. It could affect you, too."

"How?" Keith asked.

"Do you want to be known as a gay band?" Brandon asked flatly.

He shrugged. "Why not? Fall Out Boy is pretending to be a rock band."

"Oooooh!" Andrew cheered. "Point!"

"They're still popular enough from that emo shit that they can call themselves whatever they want and be fine and still pull stadiums," Brandon said. "We're trying to get off the ground." When nobody said anything for another long moment, he sighed in aggravation. "I know you guys don't want to say anything because it's my shit and it's up to me," he said again. "But I'm asking. I have pros and cons. I need outside input."

"I just...really don't care," Keith said.

"I dunno," Andrew said slowly, and Brandon looked at him sharply—not ready to be angry, but eager for feedback. "It could be good?" he offered. "I mean, there's not a lot of openly gay musicians right now—not in the rock genre, anyway. Not enough, maybe. Well, I guess maybe there are lots, but they're also, you know, too afraid to say anything."

"I'm not afraid of shit," Brandon said at once. "The reason I decided not to before is because I didn't want to get any attention specifically because of it. If we were going to get attention, it needed to be because of our music."

"Right, but..." Andrew trailed off. Brandon just looked at him, this time patiently waiting for him to go on, so he thought about it for a moment before continuing. "Okay, so, like you said, we're still trying to get off the ground. Maybe it would help. Yeah, it'd partly be a bunch of dumbass singling you out shit, which you'd have to be prepared for, but...it's still attention? People that might not have thought to listen to us would. A lot of people are getting a lot more supportive, so it'd be a good thing. So...that attention would help, because if we're getting more plays on, like, iTunes and Spotify and Sirius and those, it'll drive up other numbers and shit, and then even more people would take notice."

Brandon nodded. "I thought of that."

"Okay, so...what are your drawbacks? Just that it's—"

"—nobody else's fucking business," Brandon said along with him. Andrew grinned at him, but he frowned, and Andrew glanced at Mark, who hadn't said anything for a while and was misting smoke out through his nose. "And.... how some people are. You guys know that I don't like drawing attention to it," Brandon said softly, eyes down on his lighter. "That's deliberately drawing attention to it."

"Not necessarily," Andrew said. "You don't have to start walking around wearing a rainbow flag and organizing a rally. But like, earlier today?" He shrugged. "You could have just made the correction, acted like it was no big, and moved on."

"That would not have been no big," Brandon said. "It would have turned into a thing." He frowned down at his lighter now, the sticker that his thumbnail was scraping at. "You've never had to make an announcement like that or tell anyone. You don't know how people can get. It feels different when it's directed at you, when someone looks at you like that. You don't know how that feels."

"That's true, I don't," Andrew said, although he'd been considering the 'probably bi?' one for a while. Not quite ready to go there, and he was hesitant for that very reason, so he got it. "The first time you mention it, yeah. You would've gotten some follow-up questions. Just like you will if you do decide to say anything. But that's what I mean—like, if you know it's coming, and you plan for it, you can turn it into something good? Use the time to talk about support and wanting to be a good role model and representation and whatever else you can think of." He shrugged again. "If they get too personal, shut them down and just say, 'That one is none of your goddamn business, but what else have you got?'"

"If we cared about being also thought of as gay, or the band as a whole, and getting shit because of it, and that made us want to tell you to have to not be out when you wanted to be," Keith said, "that would make us huge fucking dicks." He paused. "And not that kind that you like."

"You," Brandon said dryly, "are a laugh riot."

"I know, I'm laughing right now."

"Aw, you can handle lots of huge dicks," Andrew said, and put his hands up to protect his face as Brandon threw his lighter at him. "No, I'm serious!" he said, although he snickered. "Just—dude, if you want people to know, don't hold back just because you're afraid it's going to get negative press or that some used pantyliner is going to call us all some seventh-grade bully shit. If it can help us by taking advantage of it, and you're cool with it, take it! Everyone else uses their advantages, so why not you? Take what some view as a weakness and make it a strength. Turn that frown upside down. Keep calm and carry on. One man's trash—"

"Are you just saying random fucking phrases right now?" Keith demanded.

Andrew looked down at the joint in his hand. "Maybe. Don't rain on my parade, man. Don't tread on me. Laughter is the best medicine." He paused. "Have a gay day?" Brandon held his hand out. Andrew looked at him for a moment, confused, then realized that he had Brandon's lighter from when it was thrown at him. He handed it back, realizing a second too late what was going to happen, and this time it hit him in the throat. "Ow, dick! Here I am trying to be supportive! I guess it's true, you are what you eat."

"You really want to go there?" Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. "I'd rather be a dick than a pussy, so fuck you."

"Hey." Andrew leveled a finger at him. Brandon raised his eyebrows higher, ready to combat further. "I'll have you know that pussy is delicious." Brandon looked like he was going to gag, which Andrew found hilarious. "I'm sorry...you're so gay." He gave his friend a huge grin when Brandon started to glare at him again. "So? Do you want to let everyone else know? It's still totally up to you, man."

Brandon seemed to finally realize that Mark hadn't contributed anything to this conversation except his comment at the very beginning when he passed him the joint that had gone round again. "What do you think?" he asked him. Mark shrugged. "No, really," Brandon said softly. "I really want to know what you think."

Mark thought about it for a moment while he exhaled. "I think," he said finally, "that you already know what you want. I think them assuming that you're straight this time bothered you more than you thought it would." He paused. "I think it really bothered you to play along to it."

"I guess it did," Brandon said, frowning down at the joint, which was almost gone. "I kept thinking...what if they include that question on there and Jack sees it?"

"Nah, he'll understand," Andrew said. "I mean, it's the truth, right? You don't have a girlfriend."

"Did you talk with him about not being out?" Keith asked.

Brandon shrugged. "Yeah. He said the same thing—that it was up to me. But..." He glanced at Andrew. "It made me think what you said. I had a perfect chance to correct them, and I didn't. So...I lied. About who I am. Or...what I am, I guess."

"Who," Mark said.

"Who?" Andrew asked, confused.

"Who," Mark confirmed.

"Who?!"

"You sound like a really angry owl," Keith said.

"Who you are," Mark said. "Not 'what'. You're not a thing, you're a person. And as a person, sometimes you have to make decisions about how much of yourself you show the rest of the world. This...it's a really serious, really personal decision. I'm sorry, but I won't tell you what to do. All I'll say is that in all the time I've known you, you've never been the type to hide or to back down from a fight. You come out swinging. It kinda seems to me like you already know what you really want. If you need more support to make it happen, you got it."

"What he said," Andrew said proudly, as if he'd said it all himself.

Brandon nodded thoughtfully, inspecting the gooey bits of sticker that remained on the back of his lighter as he'd picked all of the paper off of it. "I guess I still need to think about it a little. But...thanks."

"You know how people are," Keith said. "They're going to say what they say and think what they think. All you can ever really control is what you say for yourself."

"True," Brandon said. They were all quiet for a moment, contemplative, and then Brandon seemed to realize that their joint was gone and got up to retrieve another.

Andrew thought he had really decided then and there, but it was a couple of weeks later, during another wind down sesh after a show, when Brandon mentioned to the rest of them that he'd decided that, the next time it came up organically, he wasn't going to lie, wouldn't hide that part of himself away. "I know that there'll be some negativity, because there's always something. But maybe there'll be more positive." He paused and shrugged. "Or maybe it just won't be a thing. That'd be the best thing, honestly. Why does it ever have to be a goddamn thing? It doesn't matter."

"Maybe in our lifetimes, it won't be," Andrew said. "You're not going to cause nearly the hubbub that Lance Bass did. Of course, you're not in a world-famous boy-band...which I know just breaks you up inside..."

"Every day," Brandon said, rolling his eyes.

"I know what you mean, though. Whoever you want in your bedroom hasn't got shit to do with how good you play or the songs you write. Maybe, by you deliberately proving it, you'll help someone else down the line— someone else that wants it to be even less of a deal, and you'll make it easier for him."

"Yeah, maybe." Brandon shrugged. "I'm still not going to make a point of it, though—if it comes up, it comes up. Otherwise, my main focus is on the band, on the music, like it always has been."

Brandon focused on the music; he seemed to be a little on edge for a while, but when nobody ever asked him about a girlfriend or any other sort of comment, any other assumption, he seemed to relax, to forget about it. They finished that tour with only one time that he seemed just on the point of it—when Andrew offhandedly mentioned that he missed his girlfriend while they were away from home for so long, and the radio DJs they were interviewing with commiserated but didn't say anything to the other guys—but he apparently decided that that wasn't 'organic' enough (whatever that meant—Andrew wasn't sure what pesticides had to do with gayitude, but Brandon had seemed confident with his phrasing and no one else had said anything) and he let it pass.

That autumn, they (well, mostly Brandon and Mark) wrote the band's third album (thanks to 'focus on the music' evidently being code for 'I'm a dictator and I like it and you're gonna like it too, because dictators gonna dictate'), and recording started up in full sweatshop just after the start of the new year. They toured for six weeks when it was released, one of several openers for a hugely popular band, and signed on for Warped again that year. More and more they started to notice kids in the crowd wearing their shirts, coming to their Meet & Greets, not just the headliners'. That spring, one of their new singles made top twenty, and the offers for more interviews, radio spots, podcasts, and YouTube clips started rolling in.

It happened during Warped in the summer of 2016, almost an entire year from Brandon's initial discovery that no, staying completely closed and shut down about that part of his life was never really what he wanted, no matter how touchy he could be on the subject. They were in a shared green room for one the main stages, two bright-eyed young women with journalist passes going from bandmember to bandmember, of any band they could get to talk with them for five minutes at a time. They turned away from Nick Gates, the lead guitarist of of Fun Size, as he gave them some smart ass answer about their cryptic song titles, insisting that every one was really an allusion to a Hot Pocket, and seemed to zero in on the No Name Band crew.

Andrew was texting Liona, Keith was playing Super Mario Run on his phone, and Mark and Brandon were discussing the possibility of switching up which songs they each had lead on for the ones that Andrew sang, since Mark didn't have to focus on singing too and could then handle lead easier, though, depending on the song, he couldn't play the solos as well as Brandon could. Brandon was in the middle of a sentence, suggesting that Mark just improvise something—to 'pull something out of your ass'—for the fifteen seconds Brandon's solo for a particular song was, when they converged, asking the same old questions ('Is it everything you've ever dreamed?' 'How did you guys meet up?' 'Where do you get your song ideas?' 'Do you miss home?') and sticking microphones in their faces.

Too eager, Andrew thought, watching Mark lean back against the sofa he was sitting on to avoid a mic in the nose. "Yeah, of course," he said. "I definitely miss my own bed, I miss my family."

"Girlfriend?" the brownette girl asked, giving him an obvious once-over. "You guys are coming up hot. Any special ladies in your lives?"

"Not right now," Mark said.

The blonde girl next to her had been eyeing Brandon, and she pushed her mic a little closer to him. "How about you, Brandon? Lead guitar has to give you a good in with the women."

"I wouldn't know," he said. "I'm gay."

They both froze for a second, and then he almost got a taste of both mics and voice recorders as they swung in close to his mouth. "Are you coming out?" the blonde girl asked, her voice much more businesslike. "Brandon Hayes, lead guitarist of No Name Band, admits that he's gay?"

Andrew saw him hesitate just slightly, but it was just slightly too late to take it back unless he wanted to play it off like a joke, and he was definitely not a fan of that shit. "Yup," he said.

"Are you gay?" the brunette turned her mic to Mark.

"Nah," he said. "Just single."

Both women promptly forgot about him and began firing questions at Brandon, not bothering to ask for the exclusive interview, but launching right into it. The others were quiet while he picked his way through their questions (Yes, he had a boyfriend. Yes, he'd always known that he was gay. Yes, the others had always known it. No, it didn't really influence his songwriting. No, he hadn't been deliberately keeping it a secret, it just hadn't come up. Yes, he was open and perfectly fine with everyone knowing. Not like they would have kept it off the record even if he wasn't...And so on and so forth) and by the time everyone but band members and crew were ushered out of the lounge, he looked like he'd hit with a ton of bricks, knowing that some form of that interview was going to be edited and posted online by the end of the night. Maybe only in a couple of hours.

"Well, that was exhausting," he commented, when none of his own band mates said anything while the first opening band got sound levels and prepared to go on stage. He looked at his hands, and Andrew was a little surprised to see that they were shaking slightly. "Jesus," he said, and tried to laugh. "I probably sounded like a fucking moron."

"You were fine," Mark said. "They weren't prepared either, and some of that was uh, minefield-y. You'll get another offer, probably soon, and you'll be ready for it."

"Yeah." Brandon brought out his phone and opened the text app, and Andrew assumed he was telling Jack about what had just happened.

A few minutes later, someone who Andrew was fairly sure was called Jake Reiner approached them. "Sup," he said, hands in his pockets and a mildly uncertain look on his face.

"Yo," Andrew said.

"Uh...so, can I ask you guys if you were just talking to those two Buzzfeed interns about one of you being gay?"

"Is that who they were?" Brandon looked up. "Huh." Then he looked back at his phone and resumed texting.

When no one commented further, Jake zeroed in on Mark. "Um, so, was it you?"

"It was me," Andrew said, and gave a big shiteating grin. "Love the penis, I do."

"Your own doesn't count," Keith muttered.

"No, it was one of them on the couch," Jake said, pointing to Brandon and Mark.

Mark was squinting at him a little, which Andrew knew meant he was trying to figure out what was up. He seemed just about to speak when Brandon locked his phone screen and stuffed it back into his pocket. "It was me," he said, his tone of voice a little heavy, as if he was preparing to fight.

"Aww, really?" Jake suddenly seemed hugely disappointed, his shoulders sagging.

"Yeah," Brandon said, frowning a little. "Why?"

"I just thought it was him." Jake gestured to Mark and sighed. Then he blinked and put both hands up. "Not because I was interested! Seriously!"

"Suuuure," Andrew said.

"You fuckin' liar," an amused voice from behind them said.

"Fuck you," Jake shot back at his band mate, Nick Gates. "You're a dick."

"And you're fifty light." Nick held up his hand and rubbed together his thumb and first two fingers, the 'cash' sign.

"Ass clown," Jake huffed, while he dug out his wallet and began counting out money.

"You guys had a bet on whether or not Mark was gay?" Brandon asked.

"We knew one of you was," Nick said, swiping the handful of bills and rifling through it. "We heard PR talking about it once, but we didn't get a name, just that it was one of the guitarists."

"I so thought—are you sure?" Jake asked Mark.

Mark snorted. "That's kind of a stupid question."

"But...my twin brother's gay? My gaydar is spot on."

Mark shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I like girls. He doesn't."

"And you thought it was me," Brandon said to Nick, not quite making it a question.

Having satisfied himself of his winnings, Nick shoved the wad of cash into his pocket and shrugged. "I don't know, man. I just didn't think it was him, and I've never once heard you talk about a girlfriend. Or any girl ever, or even look up when really hot ones are around. Did y'all see Third Rail's merch girl, the one with the blue hair and the red lips? Mm." He grinned fondly in memory. "But when she came over to talk to you, you looked her in the eyes."

Brandon rolled his eyes. "Respect," he said. "Try it sometime. Also, great detective work. Keith doesn't ever talk about girls either, and he's completely straight."

Nick shrugged again. "Don't be mad, bro, I was just saying. It's not like any of us give a shit—I just wanted to take this asshole's money."

A stagehand stuck his head in the door and called out that Fun Size was on in ten. Jake sighed heavily, mumbled "Sorry" to Mark, and headed over to prep for their show.

"Peace, man," Nick said, and held his hand out to Brandon. "I'm up fifty. Grab you a beer later."

Brandon seemed to decide that he'd meant no harm and was still cool. "All right," he said, and clasped hands with him briefly before he had to get fitted with his wireless receiver and earbud. "I guess that wasn't so bad," Brandon said after a moment. "Other than being betted on."

"Yeah." Andrew shrugged. "He said 'beer'. You can decide later than he meant 'entire bottle of vodka'."

"That's true." His phone chimed and he opened the message. "Jack says he thinks I'll be happier now that it's finally out in the open." He paused, then nodded. "He's right. For a really long fucking time now I've just been kind of waiting. Always on the edge, trying to find the right time." He sighed.

"You could have just brought it up yourself," Keith said. "Nobody said you had to wait."

"That would have defeated the purpose of me saying that I don't want it to be a thing and to get attention because of it."

"Oh. Right."

"But I guess...in order for it to not be a thing, I just need to let it be a thing for a little while."

"Pretty much," Mark said. "I bet it'll chill before you think if you just roll with it."

Brandon nodded. "You're right. You guys are all right. I...well, I guess you all know me. You know how I can get." He shrugged, which was the closest he could probably come to an apology for how tightly wound he could be, especially about his sexuality.

"See, now if only you could remember that the next time we're in the studio and you're behaving like a maniacal polar bear beating the carcass of a dead penguin," Andrew said.

Brandon gave him an impatient look. "You are literally poles apart."

They were called fifty minutes later, during which time Brandon continued to text Jack and the others were either fairly quiet (Keith and Mark) or chattered about various crap (Andrew). After the concert, when they were loaded back onto their tour bus, Brandon got his phone back out and studied it intently for several minutes before suddenly reaching out and grasping Andrew's arm hard. "Holy fuck, it's up already," he murmured.

"Really?" Andrew wasn't that surprised, but, then again, it had been a few hours, and it didn't sound like the two interns that had been around had succeeded in getting anything else really useful.

Brandon held his phone out between them and scrolled slightly, where Andrew could read a short blurb in the beginning about their band and Brandon's position in it, their most recent single that was gaining in plays throughout nearly all of the music streaming services, and then an almost-verbatim transcript of the conversation they'd had with Brandon earlier, if it could be called a conversation.

There were dozens of comments already, and when Brandon scrolled to them eagerly, Andrew leaned back; Brandon noticed and took his phone back, not looking up when Andrew clapped him on the back and then said, "Good luck, man. It might get shitty sometimes, but we got your back, okay?"

At that, he did look up, seeing that Keith and Mark were looking at him too. He smiled slowly. "Thanks," he said.

"We didn't do anything," Keith said.

Brandon shrugged. "You did."

"Well, then, any time!" Andrew said.

"What else can you take credit for?" Mark asked, amused.

"See, there's the spirit. I dunno, I'll find something." Andrew pointed at the joint Brandon had just pulled out from his sunglasses case. "That's mine. I'm sharing with you all because I'm such a cool dude."

"Cut him out," Keith said to Brandon.

Brandon snorted. "I might, except he's the one that mostly talked me into it. I mean, you two were right—it was my call and whether you weren't invested in it either way or wanted me to come to it myself, that's fine. But sometimes, I guess, even when part of me knows what I want, I still want to hear it from an outside source. I knew it was okay. But I didn't know it." He looked back down at his phone, where he'd still been reading comments and reactions to the article. "I have an email from Peter—he's gotten two offers for actual interviews for me. I'm going to do one." He looked at Mark. "I always fought about it before because it was just me on the line. This is you guys, too. It's our band, it's our lives."

"People will find reasons to shit on anything," Mark said. "We've always fought with you before, man."

"Yeah. You have." Brandon was quiet a moment, looking at the joint, then he fished his lighter out of his pocket and lit it, probably before a spate of non-alcoholic I love you man took him over. Not that Brandon ever talked about his feelings, Andrew thought as he passed it to him first and he eagerly took a huge hit from it. This all was highly unusual, but he supposed this wasn't a situation that came up often, and he could definitely understand Brandon's nerves being on high tension because of it.

"Dude." Andrew lightly kicked Brandon's ankle while Keith handed the joint to Mark. "Like, I'll help you prepare for the interview, if you want. I bet you I can think of every dumbass question they're going to ask and more. Saying it out loud to us will probably help you get ready to talk about it with everyone else."

Brandon thought about that while Mark hit off the joint and held it out to him. "I should probably take you up on that," he said.

"Excellent." Andrew rubbed his hands together.

"Oh, god, what did I just sign up for," Brandon muttered.

"Hey! I need to be just as stupid as they're going to be in order to help!"

"He's been trying to help for a long time," Mark said to Keith.

"You have no fucking idea," Keith said, closing his eyes.

"Hey, I don't see either of you offering to think of gay questions." Andrew looked at Brandon. "Ready?"

"No." He took an extra-huge hit from the joint and held it out while holding his breath. While Andrew took it, he waved his hand in a bring it on gesture.

"Okay, so, get this. Um..." Andrew stopped as he immediately forgot the first question he'd been thinking of.

"You're a lot of fucking help," Brandon said as he exhaled.

"Fine! Are you a top or a bottom?"

"Whoa." Keith put his hands up.

"Seriously, man?" Mark said.

Brandon just punched him on the arm really hard. "Don't blame me," Andrew said, wincing and rubbing his bicep. "That was a test. I gave you a line for that."

Brandon thought about it. "Oh, right. None of your goddamn business. Next?"

"See? I'll bet you fifty bucks that someone's going to ask. Probably more than one someone." He continued to rub his arm. "Jesus, ow."

"I'm just about done being bet on about this shit." Brandon looked at Mark. "You were bet on too—Gates owes you a beer too. Or, like, eight."

"Fine with me," Mark said. He took a pull off the joint Keith handed him and held it out to Brandon. "You really want prep questions?"

Brandon hesitated and then shrugged. "Yeah, if you got 'em. I don't know when Peter's going to schedule that interview, and other than the standard shit like 'When did you know' and 'How did your parents react' and 'Have you ever been with a girl', I guess they could still throw something at me I won't think to prepare for." He looked at Mark. "What have you got?"

Mark shrugged. "Just that you maybe shouldn't tell them how much you hate Pride and the rainbow."

"I don't hate them, I just...yeah, I guess you're right. No reason to go there yet."

"Oh, I know!" Andrew sat up as something else occurred to him. Brandon preemptively made a fist, and Andrew grinned.