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The Emptiness of Day to Day [2/6]

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 16:27:56 GMT

Title: The Emptiness of Day to Day [2/6]
Author: playful_people
Rating: Overall NC-17. (PG-15)
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Brendon Urie
Summary: "Don't get attached to me..." When Ryan stumbles across a pale, sickly boy named Brendon in the Vegas desert, he'd never imagine how hard he'd end up falling for him. Brendon is just a regular boy from Vegas with a very big secret. One so big that it might just destroy Ryan.
Disclaimer: Not true.
Warning: Character death, sadness.

Ryan is beginning to realise that he thinks about Brendon Urie far more than is actually healthy.

It begins with small, innocent thoughts. A memory of the kiss. A sudden thought of how lovely his lips were. A shadow of the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Inevitably, it gets decidedly less innocent. He feels like some hormonal teenager, instead of a 22 year old guy, when he wakes with sticky sheets, night after night, and a head full of dirty dreams.

The thing is, he can just imagine how Brendon could … well. Look when he orgasms. At the thought, Ryan flushes and his jeans grow uncomfortably tight, and his nights get even more restless. He just can’t help it though. How can he? That brief kiss, that small connection – it had sent tingles up his spine and a fire through his body, and he wants nothing more than to reclaim that.

Sadly, he’s not seen Brendon since. Two weeks have passed since the park incident and though he’s been tempted to call the boy, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to. Brendon obviously felt weird about this kiss. The warning to ‘not get attached’ must have been a bluff. Ryan had acted on impulse and it had backfired. He’s just going to have to forget the beautiful boy, somehow, and move on. He’s just going to have to …

He jumps, suddenly, breaking from his day dream. In his pocket, his phone is vibrating obnoxiously against his thigh. He frowns, thoughts of Brendon flushed and moaning and coming into his mouth (oh God, he really needs to stop thinking of such things in the middle of the day), clearing from his mind, and he reaches for his phone.

“Hello?” he asks, a little indifferently, as he raises it to his ear.

“Ryan?” comes a heavy, tearful voice, and Ryan’s stomach drops. “C-can I come over, please? I don’t know where you live, b-but I need to get out of this house and see someone. See you.”

"Of course," Ryan says to Brendon right away. He rattles off his house number and says goodbye to Brendon as he hangs up and promises to be there soon. Ryan sets his phone on his desk and stands up, looking awkwardly around his room. He can't have Brendon sitting in the living room, surrounded by all the full and empty liquor bottles. Ryan rushes to his window seat and fixes the pillows, still feeling like a teenage girl.

He shoves scraps of paper with parts of lyrics into his drawer and makes his bed (for once), before flying down the stairs to see if his father is home. He glances out the front window and sees with relief that he's at work, or at a bar, but Ryan can't really afford to care at this moment in time.

He sits, leg bouncing, on his living room couch, waiting. He strains his ears, listening for the sound of an approaching car, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

When he hears the sound of a car turning into his driveway, his eyes widen. When he hears the door slam, he takes a step. When he hears the unmistakable crunch of the driveway under a person's feet, he takes another step. When he hears a knock at the front door, he runs to it and flings it open.

Brendon is standing, clutching his stomach, eyes wide and red.

"Ryan," Brendon says, in a quavery voice. He blinks once before dropping his arms and wincing, as he steps through the threshold to hug Ryan tightly. "I j-just needed a friend." He breaks into quiet sobs, face pressed into Ryan's neck. Ryan supposes he should feel awkward, but he doesn't. He hugs Brendon back tightly and leads him towards his room.

"The rest of the house is dirty," he explains to Brendon's unasked question. Brendon just nods and lets go of Ryan, following him up the stairs. Ryan pushes his door open and Brendon sends him a watery smile before darting over to the window seat.

"This view is amazing," Brendon remarks. Ryan can feel the big pink elephant in the room, but he doesn't ask Brendon what's wrong, or why he needs a friend. He has a feeling Brendon will tell him on his own time. Ryan walks over and sits beside him, looking out the window with him.

"Yeah, it is." He feels immensely awkward talking about the view from his room, but it's all he can do, isn't it?

“You have a nice house,” Brendon mumbles, looking down and twisting his fingers together. His cheeks are still red and tearstained and Ryan just wants to kiss them, kiss whatever pain there is away. Brendon glances up and their eyes meet and suddenly, subtly, the atmosphere changes. “It’s … cosy.”

“Thanks,” Ryan replies, with a helpless laugh, and silence falls. He begins to remember all of the dirty dreams and the weird fantasies and finds himself staring, again, at the curves of Brendon’s lips. Cheeks glowing, he looks away, across the room. He has no idea what’s going on or why he’s feeling this way, but …

“Ryan?” Brendon whispers, and he looks back at him. He finds the boy staring at him, intently, eyes burning and glittering indescribably. He tilts his head to show he’s listening, and Brendon smiles, just a little. “I wondered …”

“What?”

Brendon gazes at him with wide, pleading, beautiful eyes. “Can I stay the night?”

Ryan's heart leaps to his throat and as he struggles to speak, his mind whirls. (He's pretty sure Brendon can hear it, but who cares?) Ryan licks his lips and looks directly at Brendon, staring into his big eyes.

"Yeah, sure," Ryan says in what he hopes is a cavalier voice. "Anytime."

Brendon beams and his eyes literally sparkly. "Thanks," he murmurs. Brendon shifts closer to Ryan and leans his head against his shoulder and takes a deep shuddering breath.

"A-are you...um, okay?" Ryan asks in a soft voice, wrapping his arm around Brendon and squeezing him tightly. Brendon shrugs and continues to stare out of the window. "I'm always here to listen, if you want to talk about it...?" Ryan sighs.

Brendon nods and looks up at Ryan. His cheeks are red and wet, the outer corner of his eyes are puffy and also wet. Ryan bites his lip and uses his free hand to wipe away a stray tear, near the corner of Brendon's lips. His tear drop clings to the fore part of Ryan's finger, which lingers on Brendon's cheek as the rest of his hand cups his jaw.

Brendon stares up at Ryan, blinking slowly, tears building behind his lids. He tries to blink them away, but they just keep falling and Ryan keeps wiping them away, hand shaking, heart pounding.

"Brendon," Ryan whispers, voice cracking. He hates seeing people like this; broken, confused, alone. Before Ryan can keep talking, Brendon takes a deep, shuddering breath and speaks in a quiet, broken voice.

"I just need a friend."

Ryan hesitates for a mere second before leaning forward, lips tracing Brendon’s tenderly, and he whispers, “I’ll be your friend, Brendon. I promise.”

Brendon lets out a strangled whimper from the back of his throat and he moves forward, desperately, pressing their lips together. His hand slips down to grip Ryan’s waist, painfully hard, and Ryan moans into the kiss. Brendon’s tongue sweeps across Ryan’s lower lip and then pushes through them, deepening the kiss. It’s hot and clumsy but tender and Ryan can feel his insides melting, swirling, madly.

“Ryan,” Brendon gasps into his mouth and they’re moving, stumbling somewhere, and Ryan can’t believe his legs are even supporting him at this point. They fall back – on the floor? on the bed? – and Brendon’s hands are slipping up his sides, running across his skinny frame. “Ryan…”

Ryan breaks the kiss to breathe, to think, because he’s seriously about to explode from the sensations and the butterflies and the feeling, the indescribable feeling that he gets when they kiss. He realises that they are on the bed, in fact, and that Brendon is … Brendon is lying underneath him, licking his lips and staring up at him with wide, beautiful eyes.

“Oh God,” Ryan mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to the boy’s jaw. “Oh God, Brendon, you’re beautiful …”

“Don’t,” Brendon gasps, as Ryan slips a hand up his shirt, palm running against the smooth skin there. He pulls back at the protest, but Brendon leans up again, catching his mouth in a clumsy kiss and putting his arms around Ryan’s neck, pulling him back down.

Ryan smiles against his lips – those lips - and Brendon hooks a leg around Ryan’s, their bodies pressing urgently together.

Again, Ryan finds himself moaning into the kiss, hating the material between us. The friction he’s getting by being pressed against the boy beneath him is enough to make him hard and he’s tempted to test how far Brendon is willing to go. But, then, he thinks, no, because he doesn’t want to scare the boy and he’s obviously got some commitment problems, and anyway, kissing is good. Kissing is perfectly alright with Ryan Ross right now.

Brendon’s teeth suddenly sink into the softness of Ryan’s bottom lip, causing him to groan into the kiss, and then Brendon’s hands are trailing down to lightly cup his ass. Their bodies press closer together and now Brendon is the one moaning, and the sound is just as perfect as Ryan imagined it would be. “Brendon,” Ryan hums against his lips, parting their mouths so that he can move down the bed.

His fingers fumble with Brendon’s shirt buttons because he’s actually shaking slightly. He has no idea why he’s feeling so much, so soon, but he doesn’t feel like questioning it. Instead, he smoothes his hands up the revealed, soft skin of Brendon’s chest, tracing a nail lightly around one of the gasping boy’s nipples. He can’t help but lean down and bite the firm skin of Brendon’s abdomen, but softly, and Brendon lets out a shaky breath.

He leans up to push their mouths together again, shivering a little as he slides his tongue between those beautiful lips, and he rocks his hips forwards and moans and Brendon is pulling him closer and it’s so, so --

“W-wait,” Brendon says, suddenly, his voice strangely weak. His hands find Ryan’s shoulders and he pushes him away. Ryan lets him, and stares down at his uncertain, terrified expression. Brendon licks his lips, his breath coming in pants, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

"W-what?" Ryan says as he clambers off of Brendon. He doesn't go far, but he inches away, leaning against the wall. "What's wrong, Brendon?" Ryan sighs and closes his eyes. He hears Brendon take a shuddering breath before sitting up. Brendon lets out a soft sound of pain and when Ryan's eyes open, he's hunched over, holding his stomach.

Brendon opens his eyes and sits up, and Ryan's heart pangs when he sees the tears coating Brendon's eyes. Brendon licks his lips and crosses his legs and arms, staring at Ryan.

"I'm sorry," he repeats and a few tears cascade down his pale cheeks. Ryan cocks his head to the side, because he really wants to know what Brendon is sorry for.

"For what?" Ryan asks, mimicking Brendon's position.

"Everything," comes Brendon's quiet answer. "For dragging you into this."

"You haven't dragged me into anything," Ryan points out and Brendon looks up hopefully. "If I didn't want you here, I would've said no to you staying over." Brendon blinks and swallows, looking away.

"I wish it wasn't like this," Brendon whispers and Ryan ignores him. He doesn't care what Brendon wishes would or could happen. He cares what Brendon wants to happen.

"Do you still want to stay?" Ryan asks. Brendon nods, without looking at Ryan.

"I want something to believe in," Brendon admits quietly after a few minutes of silence. "I want to believe in you."

"Then believe," Ryan says without hesitation. He doesn't know what Brendon wants from him, but all he knows it that he wants Brendon. Ryan licks his swollen lips and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Ryan crawls over to sit beside Brendon. Their arms are touching, brushing lightly, but Ryan wants moremoremore. He bits his tongue and waits for Brendon to speak, swallowing down his words.

"Ryan?" Brendon whispers in a cracked voice.

"Yeah?" Ryan replies, just as quietly.

"I want to tell you what's wrong..." Brendon says. "But I don't want you to leave me. I need a friend and you're all I have."

"I'll listen to you whenever you need me," Ryan promises. "Always."

"Can I tell you then?" Brendon says and he's started to cry again. Ryan turns to Brendon and nods, swallowing again.

"Yes," Ryan murmurs, eyes tracing Brendon's plump lips.

"I'm sick," Brendon says in a broken voice. "I'm dying, Ryan."

Ryan's stomach drops as his heart stops, and his eyes flicker up to Brendon's. The younger boy's eyes say that he's telling the truth, and his bottom lip is quivering. He's staring at Ryan, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything.

"Oh, Brendon," Ryan mumbles, wrapping his arms around Brendon and pulling him closer. Brendon leans against Ryan's chest and cries, shaking violently. Ryan holds onto him tightly and cradles him down into a lying position. He wants to ask Brendon whathowwhywhen, but he feels like it can wait until morning. Brendon latches onto Ryan and continues to sob, until he hiccoughs himself into sleep. Ryan holds him all night long, his own tears masking his cheeks.

The Emptiness of Day to Day [1/6]

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 23:00:48 GMT

Title: The Emptiness of Day to Day [1/6]
Author: playful_people
Rating: Overall NC-17. (PG-13)
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Brendon Urie
Summary: "Don't get attached to me..." When Ryan stumbles across a pale, sickly boy named Brendon in the Vegas desert, he'd never imagine how hard he'd end up falling for him. Brendon is just a regular boy from Vegas with a very big secret. One so big that it might just destroy Ryan.
Disclaimer: Not true.
Warning: Character death, sadness.

The desert stretches out either side of him as he drives down the dusty, colourless road. He hates this, hates the deformity of the sky with its endless blue. It doesn’t make sense that something can look so perfect without crumbling, without decaying. He doesn’t like that, not at all. He just wants things to fit together in his mind.

Ryan sighs and brushes a few stray strands of hair from his eyes. If he’s honest with himself, he loathes driving. Travelling. Even though he wants nothing more than to escape, this sort of driving, this sort of meaningless wandering to clear his head, well. It’s just that. Meaningless. He never ends up going anywhere, just home.

He’s about to swing the car around and head back to the city when, all of a sudden, he notices something out in the sand, a little way away from the road. He pulls the car to a halt, boot slamming down on the break, and squints out of the window. Unless he’s seeing things, there’s somebody laying face down in the sand, unmoving.

Ryan turns the key, cutting off the ignition. He gets out of his car, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. He cares off his jacket, stowing it in the backseat, before straightening up and looking out into the stretch of sand and dirt and death. He grabs his water bottle from the car, and slams the door, hearing it echo in the vast emptiness. He walks around his car and off the paved road into the dirt of the desert.

He can feel the heat attack his body as the cool air conditioning from his car disappears from his skin. He walks towards the person, lying on the ground, his boots kicking up sand. The air is dead, without a breeze, so the dust floats back to the ground. It's eerily silent and Ryan doesn't like it. He looks into the sky, squinting as the sun blinds him, and -no surprise here- there are no clouds. Of course there's not. There's never any rain in the desert, what is Ryan thinking? That somehow he drove out of Vegas and the rolling sand hills are following him?

He shakes his head and decides he's going to cut down on his vitamin water intake.

He's not really sure why he's walking towards this person. They could be playing hide and seek with their friends, or a killer lying in wait for their next victim. The moment these thoughts enter Ryan's head, he rolls his eyes at his stupidity. There's nowhere to hide in the desert, and why the fuck would a killer lie in the middle of the desert?

As he approaches the person, he notices that they’re dressed in a shirt and jeans that are a little worn and torn. He frowns. There’s something weird about this whole situation and he’s not exactly sure what. They seem to be a male, too, if his figure is anything to go by. He’s got a shock of dark hair, but Ryan can’t see his features. He’s not entirely sure he wants to; what if the person is dead?

A shiver passes through him at the thought and he firmly pushes it out of his mind. No. It’s nothing that dodgy, it can’t be. Now a little reluctant to get involved in whatever is going on, he kneels down next to the person and tentatively places a hand on their shoulder. It’s warm, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” he mutters, a little hoarsely. He pauses to lick his lips, and shakes the man’s shoulder. “Hey, are you alright, man?”

He gets no reply and so, biting his lip nervously, he slides his hands underneath the man’s torso and twists him round so that he’s lying on his back. Once he does so, ignoring the disturbed dust causing a fuss, he glances at the man’s face. He blinks. It certainly is a man. A beautiful man, at that.

The man has dark hair that's falling into his eyes, and it's so, so shiny that Ryan just wants to touch it. The man has a pronounced jaw, and it's clenched shut as though he's having a nightmare. The man's lips are pouting and Ryan finds himself tracing the contours of them with his eyes. They're plump and full and pink and perfect. Ryan looks away from the man's face and grazes his eyes over the his body, seeing if there's an outline of a wallet. There's not. He goes back to staring at the man's lips.

Ryan is shamelessly staring at the unconscious man's lips when he shifts. Ryan's eyes dart up to his eyes and he waits for him to awake. About a minute or so passes before his eyes open and stare at Ryan curiously.

"Water?" Ryan offers, pushing the bottle into the man's view. The man attempts a smile and props himself up slowly, graciously taking the bottle. He uncaps it and gingerly takes a sip, before taking a gulp. Ryan watches him worriedly, afraid that he'll drop down suddenly. Upon a closer look, Ryan realises that the man isn't really a man, more like a young man or an old boy. Ryan decides that he's around his age, or younger.

"Thanks," he says, pushing the bottle towards Ryan. Ryan's heart stops at the melodic tune in the man's voice. It's sweet, but harsh, and quiet, but loud.

"Welcome," Ryan replies, capping the bottle. "What's your name?"

“Brendon Urie,” the man says, a little weakly, and he runs a tired hand over his face. Glancing at Ryan, he adds, “you?”

“Ryan Ross,” Ryan replies, and suddenly feels a swoop of concern as Brendon winces and his smile falters. “Are you alright? Why are you out here? What’s happened?”

“I think I need some sleep,” Brendon murmurs, closing his eyes. He’s startlingly pale now and Ryan wonders if now is the right time to panic. There’s something wrong with this situation, something that’s making him really uneasy. What’s he supposed to do, though? This kid obviously needs rest, and he can’t just leave him here.

“Well, do you need a ride?” he asks, tentatively, and Brendon’s eyes fly open. He looks suspicious, glancing towards the car, and then bites his lower lip. Ryan hope he doesn’t sound too seedy when he says, “I’m heading to Vegas.”

Brendon sighs, and looks up at Ryan with large, heartbreaking eyes. “I don’t really have home to get a ride to.”

Ryan blinks and ponders what the hell that's supposed to mean. Brendon has closed his eyes again by now, and Ryan notices with a start, that his chest is rising and falling a slow, very slow, rate.

"There's loads of hotels in Vegas," Ryan says, before adding, "clean ones, that is."

Brendon chuckles hoarsly, before coughing slightly. He holds his hand out and Ryan places the water bottle in it, after twisting off the top for him. Brendon nods in thanks and sits up slowly before taking a long drink. He finishes off the bottle and looks apologetically at Ryan.

"Sorry," he says. Ryan raises an eyebrow because he really has no idea what he's talking about. He's too entranced by the way Brendon's lips move to fit around the bottle.

"What?" Ryan says, blinking out of his reverie. Brendon smiles, but it's so small that Ryan feels like it can't be called a smile.

"I finished your water," Brendon explains, holding up the empty plastic bottle. Ryan shrugs and takes it from him, stowing it beside him.

"That's okay, I have more in my car. I have this thing with drinking water out of bottles," he shrugs again and avoids Brendon's questioning eyes. He sees him bite his lip and sigh. He stands up shakily and Ryan unfolds himself, reaching a height just above Brendon's. Brendon runs a hand through his own hair and sighs again.

"Alright, I'll take that lift. Could you drop me off at the corner near that small coffee shop on Sixth?" Ryan blinks and crosses his arms, although not angrily.

"I thought you said you had nowhere to go?" he inquires. Brendon smiles a dark, beautiful smile.

"I said I didn't have a home, I live somewhere, but it's not a home," Brendon says in a quiet voice. "Home is where people love you, where you feel safe. A home is different then a living space."

"Meaning what?" Ryan says, interested. They start to walk towards his car, and he stares at his feet, afraid to meet the dark eyes of Brendon.

"Meaning I live with my parents and sibilings, but it's not home. Home isn't here." Ryan nods because somehow, somehow he knows exactly what he means.

He walks around to the side of the car with Brendon, and opens the door for him. Brendon gives him a brief smile of thanks – which Ryan finds himself savouring every moment of, adoring the twist of his lips – and slides into the seat. Ryan slams the door and walks around to his own side and gets in, immediately moving to grab another water bottle from the back and handing it to Brendon.

“I’ll get us back to Vegas, then,” Ryan says quietly, starting the engine. He doesn’t know what to say about the house/home comment and so he just sighs, pushing his foot down on the pedal, slowly turning the car around so he can face the direction of the city once more. “I’ll get us back to our houses."

Brendon blinks, and glances at him again, features drawn into the slightest frown. “Our houses?”

Ryan smiles, just a little bitterly. “Yeah. Home isn’t here, after all.”

He doesn’t expect Brendon to laugh, but he does; a short-lived laugh that runs down Ryan’s spine nonetheless. Ryan smiles at him, more genuinely this time, and reaches down to put the CD player on. They begin to drive back across the empty, deathly silence of the desert, Brendon looking out of the window and tapping his fingers against his knee, in time with the music.

Ryan keep glancing at Brendon out of the corner of his eyes, feeling quite concerned for the boy. He doesn't want him to pass out, but it seems like he probably won't. Brendon's continuously sipping the water from the bottle Ryan gave him, whereas Ryan has already finished his. He has this...thing, about drinking water out of bottles. It's kind of a like an OCD compulse, but not, at the same time. He's never been able to explain it, but really, he hasn't wanted too.

"All I think about is waiting and all the people we are fading into...farther from you, everyday..."

The Third Eye Blind song Farther fades off into the silence of the desert before the steady hum of Slow Motion starts to play. Ryan begins to hum along; it's always been one of his favourite songs. He's mumbling the words under his breath out of habit, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"Miss Jones taught me English, but I think I just shot her son," Ryan's soft voice carries in the small car, and he can see Brendon looking at him. He stops singing, self-consiously, and instead focuses on the road. He's surprised when he hears Brendon take a deep breath -deeper than a breathing breath- and start to sing.

"...in the chest you cannot run, now he's bleedin' in a vacant lot, the one in the summer where we used to smoke pot..." Brendon trails off and stares out of the window, avoiding Ryan's staring eyes.

"You have an amazing singing voice," Ryan says once he's finally found his own voice. Brendon turns his head and smiles at him sadly, but Ryan doesn't notice the sad element to it. He's a lot more focused on the way Brendon's lips curve upwards, slightly puckered.

"Thanks," Brendon replies, almost a tad shyly. They go back to driving in silence, lost in their own thoughts. The desert flies past them, and the sky stretches.

When the song ends, Brendon presses back and replays the song, and they continue to do so until they reach the coffee shop on Sixth. As Ryan slows the car to a stop by the curb of the small shop, Brendon turns to him and smiles.

"Thanks for the ride, Ryan," he says. "I appreciate it, really." He gets out of the car, and Ryan rolls the window down, leaning across the seat.

"Brendon, wait!" Brendon turns around and leans down, looking at Ryan.

"What's up?"

"Um, can I give you my number?" Ryan asks, before adding in a rush, "because I want to make sure you get home okay. I'm worried." Brendon chuckles softly and nods, before getting back in the car. Ryan reaches into the back, producing a black permanent marker.

Brendon smiles as Ryan writes his phone number on Brendon's hand, before taking the marker from him and writing his own, plus his house number.

"Come visit me some time," Brendon says as he gets out again. He walks towards the coffee shop before turning to wave goodbye at Ryan, a smile on his face.

"Oh man, what a beautiful thing..." Ryan turns off the CD and drives home, Brendon's parting words ringing in his ears.

The next day, Ryan finds himself curled up on the window seat in his bedroom. He rests his forehead against the cool glass of the window, eyes roaming the street below and coming to rest on a car trundling down it. He frowns, straightening his long limbs, eyes narrowing. So, his father is coming home. Great.

He heaves a sigh and stands up, walking towards his bedroom door and carefully shutting it. He doesn’t want to have to face the man when he inevitably drags himself to bed. His father has probably been spending all night at a strip club, again, drinking himself to the point of unconsciousness. He can hear the front door open and quickly walks back over to the window seat.

It’s not that Ryan’s mistreated or he has an abusive home life or anything like that. Sometimes he feels stupidly dramatic for wanting to get the hell out of this city, get the hell out of this house. It’s just that he’s not really got anybody here, nothing and nobody to cling to and certainly no real family to comfort him. He never has and it never worried him too much, but as he ages and he can see how his father destroys himself, well. It just … scares him.

He often finds himself wondering if people are born with self-destruction in their bloodstream, if he’s really as doomed and as trapped in his predetermined destiny as he feels.

Sighing again, he leans back, letting his thin fingers trail over the outline of his cell phone in his pocket. It hasn’t vibrated all day, much to his dismay. If he’s perfectly honest with himself, there’s a certain someone he’s been thinking about all night, despite his firm vow not to get attached to anybody in Vegas so that when he escapes he’ll be completely free.

Ryan pulls out his phone and turns it over slowly in his hands, thinking. He glances at the scrap sheet of paper he had written Brendon's number on before taking his shower, and contemplates calling.

No, he thinks to himself. He can't let himself get more attached to the boy he met in the desert, as much as he wants too. As much as he wants to see his face, feel his warmth, touch his lips...

"No," Ryan repeats out loud, before typing in Brendon's number. He's about to hit TALK when his bedroom door opens.

"What?" his father mumbles before shaking his head and setting a glare on his son. "Shouldn't you be out looking for a job?"

Ryan rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, a stance he has grown accustomed to using. "I already did. I put in a couple applications, drove around trying to find somewhere new, blah blah."

Mr. Ross purses his mouth and sighs heavily, shaking his head. "You need a job."

"I finished college, dad. What more do you want from me?" Ryan says exasperately.

"A job," his father says, only a bit slurred and Ryan realizes he's not as drunk as he previously thought.

"I'm going out," Ryan mutters, pushing past him to get out. He gets to his car and backs out of the driveway, glancing up to see his father watching him from the window. Ryan pulls out his cell phone again and presses TALK. Nobody answers.

Ryan shrugs and tries again, and again, and again. Brendon's phone keeps ringing until it gets to voice mail and Ryan's kind of worried now. What if he had passed out somewhere, alone? How was he supposed to find him?

The thought of Brendon, hurt and alone and pale, makes his stomach squirm horribly, and before he knows what he’s doing he lets the address he kind of maybe memorised flash through his mind. Without hesitation or any consideration of how weird this might be, he turns the car around and heads through the city.

Towards none other than Brendon Urie’s house.

All the way there, he worries and worries, trying Brendon’s phone constantly. The boy never picks up though and by this point Ryan is feeling sick. Sure, he doesn’t even know Brendon and he has no right to worry, but he can’t shake the image of him lying down in the sand, unconscious and dehydrated and alone, from his brain.

“Pick up,” he pleads, quietly, as he tries again. It rings once, twice, four times, seven, ten, and then … voicemail. Again. He swears and hangs up, other hand tensing around the steering wheel. Damn. Glancing at the street sign as he turns the corner he realises, with a jolt in his stomach, that he’s already reached Brendon’s road.

He squints his eyes out the window, searching for Brendon's house number. He finds it quickly and turns off the car, leaving it by the curb. He steps out of his car and walks up to the house, heart pounding.

He has no idea what Brendon's going to say when he sees Ryan -- if he's here. He swallows down his nerves and raises a shaking fist, rapping twice on the door. A slightly muffled wail slips through the crack in the door and Ryan's heart clenches painfully.

The door swings open and reveals a middle-aged, tanned woman. She's breathing heavily and clutching a phone, tears glistening on her face. Her taunt face turns into shock as she sees Ryan, cleary a person she's never seen before.

"Um, hi, you must be Brendon's mum, sorry for-" Ryan starts, before Mrs. Urie cuts him off.

"Are you a friend of Brendon?" She exclaims, pulling him inside the house. "Do you know where he is? Oh, please tell me!" A few more tears leak out of her eyes before Ryan registers what she's said.

"He's not here?" Ryan asks, eyes wide. Mrs. Urie wails softly and crosses her arms tightly, shaking.

"No, I can't find him, and -- and," she looks up at Ryan, tearfully. "You have to find him and bring him home, please!"

"But -- but," Ryan stutters. Mrs. Urie stares up at him, and Ryan thinks she looks terrified. "Okay, I'll try to find him."

She lets out a noise of joy and hugs him tightly, before gently pushing him out the door. "Hurry, hurry, it might be too late!"

Ryan tries to ignore the heart pang he feels at these words.

He literally sprints over to his car as the door shuts behind him, now-justified worry and panic rising desperately within him. Mrs. Urie looked so, so upset and desperate and there’s got to be something more than her son – who was, by the looks of it, an adult – just missing for the day. There’s got to be a reason for her to worry, and that’s worrying Ryan, too.

He goes perhaps a little faster than he should down the street, wheels screeching madly, until he slams his foot down suddenly. It’s a little dangerous and, sure, he nearly gives an old woman on the sidewalk a heart attack, but he’s just realised something.

… Where the hell is he supposed to look?

With a heavy sigh, he lets his head drop onto the steering wheel. If he was running away – or whatever it is Brendon is doing – where would he go? He thinks for a couple of minutes, before suddenly raising his head. That’s it. The park. The small, secluded, park that rests mid-way between their houses. Gut tightening with determination, he slams his foot onto the pedal once more.

He pulls to stop, brakes squealing loudly. He gets out of his car, a water bottle clutched in his hand and he looks around the park. There's a lone figure sitting on a beach, listening to their iPod. Ryan suddenly smiles when he realises it's Brendon, Brendon who is safe. He walks over to him and sits beside him.

"Hey," Brendon says when he notices him. He pulls the earbuds out of his ears and sighs, looking at Ryan. "How'd you find me?"

Ryan shrugs and glances away. "Lucky guess. I always come here when I need to get away."

"Oh." Brendon is staring at Ryan, so Ryan looks at him as well. "How did you know I wasn't at home?"

"Um," Ryan says. He explains how he called a couple times -- even though he called a lot more than a couple. He tells Brendon how he went to his house and his mom was worried, and how he figured out he was here.

"Oh," Brendon says again. "Well, I'm glad you found me and not my brothers."

"Why?" Ryan asks, as his heart picks up speed. Brendon's lips curve into a smile and his leg starts to shake as he shrugs.

"I'd rather sit and talk with you."

Ryan doesn’t mean to beam. He doesn’t mean to let a redness creep up his cheeks. He doesn’t mean to let his heart swell. But … he does. He does and he doesn’t stop it. He just shifts slightly closer to Brendon on the bench and let’s the warmth from his side spread to Brendon’s colder one.

“I’m glad you would,” he murmurs, softly, and Brendon keeps smiling, glancing at Ryan with an almost shy expression. He brings his hand down to rest on Ryan’s, on Ryan’s knee, and his skin is just as soft as Ryan imagined. Actually, it’s softer, but somehow firm and comforting. He swallows, hard. “Why is your mom so worried about you?”

Brendon immediately tenses and looks away, down at the floor. He gives a little shudder which makes Ryan’s insides ache with sympathy, and then laughs, bitterly.

“She’s … she’s protective, my dear old mother. She’s just … worried. About things.”

“About what?” Ryan asks, quietly, and through all his concern and worry he can’t help but stare at Brendon’s mouth as he speaks, the way his lips twist and turn and pout and …

“Do you always stare at people’s mouths when they talk?” Brendon asks, suddenly, and Ryan meets his gaze. Brendon’s eyes glitter, and there’s a teasing expression on his beautiful face, and Ryan bites his lower lip.

He's mezmorized by Brendon's eyes and he sounds kind of far away when he speaks. "Sometimes," he admits. "I like the way people form their words, how they fall out of mouths."

"That's interesting, actually," Brendon says, the teasing expression gone, replaced with a thoughtful one. "I've never thought of it like that."

Ryan smiles and feels himself blush. "Yeah, I pretty much have no social life." Brendon chuckles, and his hand is still resting on his knee.

"To be honest, you don't seem like someone who would. No offense," Brendon adds after a slight pause. "It's just...you seem reserved. And perfect. Like nothing bad is going on in your life..."

Ryan blinks and cocks his head to the side. "Thanks, I think..."

Ryan's mind suddenly registers that Brendon is moving closer, maybe by accident, maybe because he wants...Ryan almost shakes his head, because how does he even know if Brendon's gay?. Ryan leans in a little bit and feels Brendon's breath ghost over his moist lips.

Ryan makes a split second decision and closes the gap between their mouths.

He has no idea why he's kissing an almost-total-stranger, or why he suddenly feels like his stomach has tightened. He also has no idea why he's moving closer to Brendon, who is kissing him back, who is gripping his waist. Ryan's mind swirls into a messy haze of want as he curls his long fingers into the material of Brendon's shirt. Brendon's tongue sweeps across Ryan's lips, and just as he's about to open his mouth, Brendon pulls away.

"No, don't," Brendon says, and he's kind of panting. Ryan's eyes widen and he shifts away.

"What?" Ryan asks, because he's pretty sure Brendon was kissing him back.

"Don't get attached to me, Ryan," Brendon says, a slight plead in his voice. "You'll only get hurt in the end, don't, please."

"What do you mean? I won't get hurt!" Ryan exclaims. He wants this -- really, really wants this. Wants Brendon. He had vowed to never get close to anyone, make it an easily break from Vegas...but now. Now he wants Brendon and wants him badly.

“You will,” Brendon tells him and the sincerity and the sadness in his voice makes Ryan want to hug him, tightly, and tell him that everything will be okay. He makes a move to, moving his hand to brush a few strands of hair from Brendon’s large, dark eyes, but Brendon catches his wrist and shakes his head. “I’m sorry Ryan. I can’t let you do this. I can’t hurt you.”

“But –-”

“I’ll get in touch, okay?” Brendon smiles, softly, and leans forward to plant a light kiss to Ryan’s forehead. His lips brush against Ryan’s skin, and Ryan actually lets out the smallest of whimpers. He tries to catch Brendon’s mouth in a kiss as the boy pulls back, but he’s too slow. Brendon stands up, putting his earbuds back into his ears. “See you, Ryan.”

He gives him a last, sad smile, and walks off. Ryan stares after him, still out of breath from the kiss, and it takes him a few moments to regain his composure before he can respond with a quiet, “Bye, Brendon.”

But Brendon is already walking out of the park and out of sight.

Torn (Standalone)

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 17:26:43 GMT

Title: Torn (Standalone)
Author: playful_people
Rating: PG-15
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker (Jon Walker/Spencer Smith if you squint)
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon has never been the most decisive of souls. But when he's forced to make a choice, make a choice between his first love and his new crush, what will the consequences be?
Disclaimer: Not true, fiction, fake fake fake.
Author's Notes: Again, a production from the minds of peopleexisting & playful_lips

Okay, okay. So maybe Brendon shouldn’t have decided to reveal his quite obvious crush on Jon, to Jon, in such a manner. But Jon was just walking past with that blue shirt on? Brendon couldn’t resist. He raised his hand and brought it down, hard, in a slap across Jon’s ass.

Now, here he is, with Jon turning slowly on the spot, eyes wide and bewildered, and Brendon is thanking whatever God there is that they’re alone in the room. He doesn’t exactly want his confession to come out in front of everybody. He feels his cheeks colouring as Jon stares at him, eyebrows raised.

“You alright, man?” Jon asks, in an attempt at normality, but his voice is rather higher and breathier than usual.

"Um," Brendon stutters out, biting his lip. "Fine, fine." He turns around and strides away, because, fuck, did he just slap Jon Walker's ass?

He gets to the bathroom door of their hotel room and walks in, gripping the counter. He looks at himself, and he can see he's shaking. He's not really that surprised, though. He SLAPPED JON WALKER'S ASS and WALKED AWAY. What.

Brendon sighs deeply and closes his eyes, blocking out his reflection. Where is Ryan Ross when he needs him?

“You know, Urie,” comes a low, gentle voice from the doorway, causing Brendon to freeze, “you’ve never been a good liar. Remember when you told me you hadn’t slept with Ryan, and he told me you had the next day? I never believed you, not for a second.”

Brendon goes red at the memory because that’s not what he wants to think about now. He wants to think about … think about Jon. Jon, that blue shirt, that body, that smile, that … He shakes his head, takes a steadying breath, and turns to look at the man. His legs almost give way as he realises that Jon is a lot closer than he’d imagined, looking faintly curious, but nothing more.

“I – I’m not lying, I -”

“If there’s something wrong,” Jon murmurs, tenderly, protectively, “you know you can tell me, yeah?”

"Um, y-yeah," Brendon mutters, clenching his eyes shut and looking away before opening them. He looks in the mirror again, past himself and sees Jon staring at him, looking worried.

"There's nothing wrong," Brendon sighs, because it's true. There is nothing remotely wrong with liking Jonathon Jacob Walker, but, you know, the fact that he's JON WALKER. Brendon sighs at the internal battle in his head and turns back to Jon, eyes determined.

"I want you," Brendon breathes out. "Jon Walker, I want you."

Jon let’s out the smallest noise that might be a moan or a groan or a sigh, or maybe even an exclamation of disgust, and Brendon has to close his eyes. He can’t bear to see the reluctance, the rejection, the sight that will break his heart.

But, then, there’s a hot breath on his cheeks and hands sliding round to cup his ass, bringing his body forward. His eyes fly open and he finds Jon, Jon,

Jon, touching him, moving closer, their bodies pressing together tentatively. He swallows, hard, and wonders what on earth is going on, if something is finally going right.

“J-Jon --”

“Shh,” Jon orders, moving forward to ghost his lips over the plump shape of Brendon’s own. “You want me, Brendon? How long for? Since … since Ryan turned you away, or is it something – something more?”

"Ryan never turned me away, Jon," Brendon whispers, closing his eyes, trying to breath evenly. "I told him how I felt about you and he backed off. We made up that lie so you wouldn't find out. I think, I think Ryan still likes me, but I don't care, I want you."

Brendon opens his eyes for a split second before pressing his lips against Jon's. He pulls back and sighs, leaning into Jon's touch.

"I've wanted you since you joined this motherfucking band, Jon," Brendon murmurs, desperately. He just really, really needs Jon to say something, do something.

Jon definitely moans at these words and the next thing he knows, Jon is pressed against him, kissing him hotly, tongue sliding against his without hesitation. He feels a thrill, a thrill of requited love, of finally, of the moment, of Jon’s hips rocking themselves into his.

Fuck. He feels at home.

“Brendon,” Jon murmurs, raggedly, as they part for air, his hands now gripping Brendon’s arse painfully hard. “You – you should have said, you should have told me sooner. I’ve liked … God, I’ve liked you just as long.”

Brendon gasps against Jon's mouth at the words, and then he's kissing him against, kissing him with flourish and want and, fuck, need. Jon moans into his mouth as Brendon's slowly hardening cock rubs against his leg and Brendon just bites his lip in response. They continue to kiss, up against the counter, arms and legs and hearts tangled into one. Their breathing is ragged, and fast, and breathy, and Brendon doesn't want to be anywhere else.

There's a knock at their hotel room door and they break apart suddenly, looking at each other with wide eyes.

“Uh.” Jon pauses nervously, and licks his swollen lips. Brendon bows his head, cheeks still flushed and erection still very much there. There’s no way they’ll look innocent. “C-come in.”

The door opens to reveal none other than Ryan, who strolls in with a bright smile. “Hey, guys, I just thought --” he breaks off when he sees them, smile fast fading, and his eyes widen, flicking between the two of them. “Oh. Oh. Right. I’m interrupting something, am I?”

Brendon can’t ignore the bitterness in the question, and he winces, ready to apologise despite doing nothing wrong, before Jon takes his hand. He turns to Ryan with a kind, timid smile, and replies with, “Well, yeah. You are.”

Ryan blinks and his mouth opens slightly, before he closes it again. He nods firmly, once, and looks at Brendon.

"Well, if this is what you what..." Ryan says, a lump forming in his throat. He swallows, hard, and turns to the door wrapping his fingers around the door handle. He turns his head back and his eyes flicker to Jon.

"Take care of him for me."

And with that, Ryan opens the door and disappears into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.

But that movement, those words, that heartbroken expression … it brings back the rush of feelings, the swell of that teenage crush, the ‘love’ he’d proclaimed for Ryan before Jon had even entered the picture. He swallows hard, blinking back tears, and before he knows it, he’s at the door.

He opens it, and rushes out, grabbing Ryan’s thinner arm between his fingers. Ryan tenses, and turns to him, trembling slightly. “What, Brendon?”

Jon slowly walks towards the doorway, finally leaning against the frame. “Yeah,” he says, softly, sounding hurt, and Brendon’s heart twitches madly. “What, Brendon? What’s it going to be?”

Brendon sighs deeply, but doesn't release Ryan's arm. He tightens his grip, while his eyes dart between Ryan and Jon. Jon and Ryan.

Ryan, the boy who made him who he is today. The boy who makes his heart beat at an insane rate. The boy he lost everything too; his mind, his heart, his virginity. The boy who, if he thinks about it, he can't really live without. He stares into Ryan's eyes, and he can read every. single. emotion. The hurt, the hope, the doubt, the love. Brendon's eyes search hungrily over Ryan's face, memorizing it even more than he already has. Ryan's bottom lip is trembling, and there are teardrops clinging to the ends of his long eyelashes.

Brendon bites his lip and tears his gaze away and looks at Jon.

Jon, the boy who makes his heart beat wildly as well. The boy who makes him laugh, makes him smile, makes him dinner. Brendon stares into Jon's dark eyes and tries to read them, but he can't. At least, not as well as he can read Ryan's. Maybe it's because he's known Ryan longer, or maybe it's a sign of who he should choose.

Brendon shakes his head and sighs as he drops his gaze to the floor, his hand still gripping a shaking Ryan.

He looks back at Ryan, and bites his lower lip. He can’t live without him, he just can’t. But … but they had their chance, they had their love, and Brendon couldn’t deal with it because he felt guilty for being so in love with Jon. Finally, after an eternity, he lets go of Ryan’s arm and sighs.

“Ryan, I love you,” he whispers, and he hears Jon let out a whimper from behind him. “But – but we’re best friends, we’re … we’ve had our time, and it didn’t work.”

Ryan stares at him and Brendon swears he can see the boy’s heartbreaking, he can see it in his eyes. The eyes that reveal everything. Not like Jon’s eyes, Jon’s eyes … that he knows he’ll have to look into, more, at close range, to truly understand. He needs to explore, blossom, move on from his ‘first love’ and fully fledge into himself.

Ryan swallows and steps away from Brendon, tears finally spilling out over his lids.

"Al-alright," he stutters out, staring at the floor, not meeting Brendon's eyes.

"Ryan, look at me," Brendon whispers. Ryan looks up and stares into Brendon's eyes, love and hurt and pain throbbing in them. Ryan shakes his head and looks away, stuffing his hands in his jeans pocket.

"See you...at the show tonight," he says in a quiet, broken voice. He chokes back a sob and spins around, striding to the room he's sharing with Spencer. As the door closes, Brendon can hear Ryan choke out Spencer's name through his tears.

Brendon gives a great, shuddering sigh, hugging himself, his mind wondering, wondering, if he’s made the right choice. Half of him wants to run after Ryan and pull him close, crushing their lips together and curling his fingers around the boy’s thin hips and … oh. Oh God. Oh, God, Ryan…

“Jon,” he whispers as he turns to the man, his voice trembling. “Jon, can you – can you hold me or kiss me or just do something? I need to know if I’ve made the right choice.”

The low murmur of Spencer’s voice can be heard as he comforts an obviously crying Ryan, and Jon suddenly flinches. Brendon stares at him, bewildered, until Jon says, “I – I’m not sure you have, Brendon.”

"W-what?" Brendon stutters. Jon sighs, a great, deep, heaving sigh and runs a hand through his hair.

"If you need me to kiss you, hold you, whatever, to prove to yourself that you made the right choice, then...then you obviously haven't." Jon looks away from Brendon, who blinks and takes a step back.

"Ryan," he murmurs, tugging at his hair. "Ryan, fuck."

"Go, go get him," Jon says, a small smile upon his handsome face. "You two are made for each other, really."

"Are - are you sure?" Brendon mumbles lowly. He feels so, so bad. Jon nods and a bigger smile spreads across his face.

"Absolutely. I'd rather you be in love with Ryan, then in like with me. Go on, be happy, Bren," Jon says. Brendon allows a small grin to creep onto his face as he throws his arms around Jon's neck.

"Jon Walker, you're amazing!"

"I try, I try," Jon says, laughing. "Now go get your bonnie-lass, or lad...yeah!"

As he releases Jon, beaming and breathless, he plants one last, lingering kiss upon the older man’s lips. Jon sighs against him, closing his eyes, and when Brendon pulls back he murmurs, “I do like you, though. I do, I never lied about anything. It’s just that … Ryan …”

“I know,” Jon replies, quietly, still smiling, albeit a tad sadly. “I know.”

Brendon smiles and then turns to the hotel room, drawing what’s left of his courage together. Taking an attempt at a calming breath, he raises his hand and knocks on the door. The sounds behind it cease almost immediately, and the door opens at once. It reveals a very pissed off looking Spencer Smith. Brendon winces.

“Listen, Spence, I want --”

“I don’t care what you want right now, Brendon,” Spencer cuts through him, and he glances at Jon for the merest of moments before going red and looking away again. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

"Spencer, please," Brendon pleads, thinking somewhere in the back of his mind that if he needs to get on his knees and beg -yes, beg- he will. Spencer folds his arms and steps out of the room, quickly closing the door.

"Just let me explain, please!" Brendon whines, pulling his pout onto his face. Spencer sighs.

"Two minutes. Go."

"Thank you!" Brendon exclaims before launching into the whole story; how much Ryan meant to him, but then he had had the feelings for Jon, so he broke up with Ryan, and then kind-of-not-really got with Jon and then ran after Ryan and then picked Jon and then is now picking Ryan. He finishes in one big breath and looks up into Spencer's cold blue eyes.

"So what?" he asks.

"So - so what?" Brendon exclaims increduously. "I love Ryan, and I need him, and I know he needs me, so just...move!"

Spencer raises an eyebrow and doesn't move. "What if that's not enough anymore, Brendon? Ryan's tired of it all. He tried to forget you, tried to start over with Keltie. But now she's gone because she knows how he feels about you. Hell, he's even admitted it to her, Brendon. You're ripping him apart."

Brendon stares at Spencer, open mouthed. They stand silently, staring at each other before,

"Spencer!" Brendon explodes. "Get the fuck out of my way and let me see the love of my life!" Spencer's mouth drops open as does Brendon when the door behind Spencer opens.

"Bre-Brendon?" Ryan's quivering voice whispers. Spencer sighs and rolls his eyes, before stalking off down the hallway towards Jon. Brendon comes face to face with Ryan, who is puffy and red-eyed. "What - what do you want?" Ryan's voice does sound tired and broken. The sounds stabs at Brendon's heart saying you did this, you did this.

"Can I...uh, can I come in? I want to talk to you. Need to. Please?"

Ryan looks down at the carpet, and there are tears drying steadily on his cheeks as he contemplates a reply. “Okay,” he sighs, at last, and stands back to let Brendon in. Brendon lets out a small noise of relief and enters the room. Before shutting the door behind them both, he glances back to see Spencer and Jon talking, softly, standing close to one another. He winces at the jealousy spreads through him, but then he shuts the door, and turns to Ryan.

“Ryan, listen, I --”

“I know,” Ryan whispers, still not meeting his eye. He leans against the door and crosses his arms loosely. Brendon is momentarily distracted by the curl of his fingers, the pale skin relaxed. “I’m … I heard it all. I heard what you called me.”

“The love of my life?” Brendon clarifies, quickly, and Ryan finally meets his eye, nodding. His eyes are filled with undecipherable emotions, swirled in honey. “Because you are. I meant it. I’ve been – I’ve just been stupid, Ry.”

“Yeah,” Ryan laughs, humourlessly. “Yeah, you have.”

Brendon sighs and nervously looks around, and seriously? When was he ever this nervous in front of Ryan before?

"I'm sorry, Ry, really," Brendon mutters, eyes downcast. Ryan breathes in and tightens his arms, but doesn't reply. "I'm stupid and I messed up, and I just..."

"Just what, Brendon?" Ryan sighs, his voice still cracked and eyes still sad.

"I just need you, so, so much."

"You've said that once before," Ryan points out. "And then about a week later you confess you want Jon. What happens next? We get back together and then suddenly you want Spencer?"

"God, no," Brendon says without hesitation. "Spencer is like an older brother who's younger than me. That would just be weird, and incestual. Just like if you two got together..." Brendon shudders.

Ryan cringes and nods. "Yeah, totally."

They fall into a semi-comfortable silence, each of them waiting for the other to say something first.

“The Jon thing …” Brendon trails off, and he can feel his cheeks growing warm. “I can’t lie, I have to be honest. I do like him and, then, I just felt so guilty for liking him whilst dating you. It wasn’t like I liked him more, it’s just that --”

“Brendon,” Ryan cuts through him, quietly, taking the smallest of steps forward. “I know. I heard everything you said. I … I guess I understand. It’s just a bit …” he trails off, biting his lip awkwardly. “It’s just a bit hard to forgive you, you know?”

“I completely understand that,” Brendon says, at once, stumbling over his words a little as he rushes them. “But – but do you think we can … try again? Start again? I’ll try this time, I promise, I will.”

Ryan bites his bottom lip, dropping his arms to stuff them into his jeans pocket. He watches Brendon, staring him straight in the eyes, honey locked on chocolate. Brendon doesn't falter under his gaze, but takes an unsteady step forward.

Ryan bites his lip harder, move closes the gap in between them by wrapping his arms around Brendon. Brendon latches onto Ryan's waist, holding him closer, breathing in his shampoo. Ryan's long arms are curled around his neck, and he's shaking, and trying to breath normaly, but Brendon just does things to him.

Ryan pulls away, but keeps his arms around Brendon's neck. His eyes search Brendon's hungrily, trying to find an ounce of a lie in them. He can't.

Brendon licks his lips and tries not to blink, tries not to breathe

"I think...I think we can start again," Ryan murmurs, eyes still searching. "But, but you'll have to..."

"I know," Brendon agrees and he's not sure what he's agreeing too, but he knows he will do anything for Ryan. Ryan nods once, and moves his head forward, capturing Brendon's lips in a soft, tentative kiss.

Brendon lets out a gasp of surprise but kisses him back firmly, feeling right at home. Ryan pulls away blinking and biting his lip, but smiling at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Brendon whispers, sincerely. “I’m sorry and I … I love you.”

Ryan hesitates for the smallest of moments, the tiniest flash of uncertainty in his eyes, and Brendon’s smile falters. Ryan seems to see this, for he quickly kisses the tip of his nose, and then murmurs, “I love you, too. It’s just … I just hope you won’t break my heart again, Brendon. I’m not sure I can take it if you do.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Brendon vows, and he means it. Jon … the lingering thoughts are still there, the feeling is still very much prominent, but Jon and he aren’t in love. It will pass. It has to. “I’m yours, Ryan.”

Ryan smiles, despite himself, and nuzzles his lips into Brendon’s jaw. “You know that I’ve always been yours.”

Riddles and Truths (Standalone)

Thu, 14 Aug 2008 22:44:40 GMT

Title: Riddles and Truths (Standalone)
Author: playful_people
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
POV: Third
Summary: Their relationship; pushing, pulling, falling apart, falling back in love. Repeat.
Disclaimer: Not true, fiction, fake fake fake.

"Ryan, what the fuck?" Brendon hisses, tears coating his pale cheeks. Ryan's back is to him and he's looking out the open front door. The bright moonlight shines, and casts a shadow, Ryan's form thinning and stretching.

"Your life is like a thin sheet of paper," Ryan repeats, and Brendon still has no idea what the fuck that means. "If it's ripped, teared, cut, you can just go grab a new one. A sheet of eight by ten white printer paper is useless, nobody needs it. You can always find another."

"So you're saying I'm useless and that nobody needs me?" Brendon clarifies, crossing his arms, trying to breath normally.

"In a sense, yes."

"You're an asshole, Ryan," Brendon snaps as he turns to walk up his stairs to see if Ryan will follow him. He's fully turned around and straining to hear Ryan's breathing.

"Maybe so, but at least I'm not a sheet of paper."

Brendon stands still for two minutes, waiting. By the time he turns around and runs to the open door, the exhaust from Ryan's car has already floated into the air, and disappeared, Ryan along with it.

He swallows, hard, his throat constricted and sore, staring out across the distance. He can’t see Ryan’s car at all, he can’t see Ryan at all, and that scares him more than anything else. The truth of Ryan’s words, about just how useless his life is and how little it matters in the world, are hitting home, causing a real, raw, physical pain in his gut.

It’s five minutes before Brendon finally turns his back on the streets and heads back inside. He can’t … he can’t really remember the last time he felt like this. So numb. So helpless. So alone. But he is alone, he is, he is, and he’s going to have to --

The dull sounds of an engine make him freeze in the doorway, every bone and muscle tensing. He knows the sound, knows it so, so well. Ryan’s car. Cautiously, half-hopefully, even a little angrily, he turns, to see that Ryan is slamming out from the car and marching over to him, face pale but determined.

“You,” the other man hisses, stopping just before him, startlingly close. “You, you, you’re insufferable.”

Brendon laughs, bitterly, ignoring his tear-stained cheeks and his fury as he says, “Yeah, well, hello to you too.”

"Why do you do this to me?" Ryan groans as he threads his hands through his own hair and tugs harshly. Brendon stares at him quietly, arms crossed.

"Why?" Ryan shouts, turning away. Brendon reaches out to him and grabs at his arm, but Ryan jerks away. Brendon's eyes widen as he sees tears masking Ryan's caramel eyes.

"Ryan, what-"

"Just shut up, shut up," Ryan mutters, blinking fast, trying to get rid of his tears. "I hate you, I hate you!" Brendon's mouth falls open and his arms drop, and he just stares.

"What?" Brendon says quietly.

"Fuck, Brendon, I'm scissors and you're paper, and I'm ruining you. You're making me ruin you! Why? Why do you love me?" Ryan exclaims, a big, fat tear sliding down his cheek. "I just need to finish this, cut you open, leave, forget..."

"You'll never be able to forget," Brendon says in a low voice. "And I don't know why I love you. Why do you love me?" Ryan looks at him, all sad eyes and a turned down mouth, completed with a quivering bottom lip.

"I love you far to much," Ryan whispers, crushing his lips against Brendon's. Before Brendon can respond, Ryan turns and escapes into the night once more.

“Fuck, no!” Brendon shouts after him in frustration, breaking out into a run to follow. He manages to catch up without too much trouble and he grabs onto Ryan’s arm, tightly. Ryan lets out a noise of complaint and then trips, clumsily, as he tries to push Brendon away. They tangle together, falling down onto the hard sidewalk together, with it’s strobe light moonlight and cement.

“Get off me,” Ryan growls, fingers tightening around Brendon’s biceps, struggling underneath him. “You’re an asshole, you don’t understand, I’m slicing you apart and you just don’t --”

“Shh,” Brendon snaps, and it’s not tenderly or lovingly, it’s harshly. He’s straddling Ryan and glaring down at him, ignoring the boy’s struggle. “Shut the fuck up, for once, and listen to me.”

Ryan finally, finally, stops struggling, and he nervously licks his lips, before sighing shakily and waiting for Brendon to continue.

"I love you, and I don't care, if you're "ruining my life"!" Brendon exclaims, hands pinning down Ryan's thin wrists. Ryan swallows, and his Adam's apple bobs, and he waits, waits, waits.

"I want you in my life, and if that means, ruining it, then so be it! You're worth it Ryan, you are." Ryan shakes his head and avoids Brendon's eyes, his body still shaking under Brendon.

"I'm not, I'm not. I'm useless and stupid and a fuck up. Maybe I'm the paper and you're the scissors, or maybe I'm not even paper, and I'm dust, floating away into the air." He tilts his head back and it smashes against the cement. He stares into the sky, stars reflecting in his heavily clouded eyes. Brendon watches him thoughtfully.

Ryan twists his wrists and sighs shakily, moving his hips. "Get off me, I need to leave."

Brendon shakes his head and stays firmly where he is.

"Now, Brendon, please," Ryan's voice breaks over please and now he's sobbing, and he can't wipe his face, or cover it. Brendon leans down, kissing away the tears, but Ryan shakes his head and he's moaning because he just doesn't want to feel anymore.

Between each kiss, Brendon murmurs, “Ryan, Ryan, I love you,” against the skin, relishing the saltiness against his lips. He ignores Ryan’s moaning because he knows that if he pays attention, every bit of determination within him will waver and he’ll have to let him go. He never, ever wants to let him go again.

Finally, he pulls back, and shakes his hair from his eyes, still pinning Ryan down firmly. “Ryan,” he whispers, hoping he doesn’t sound as heartbroken as he feels at the resistance. “Ryan, talk to me, not in riddles but in truths. Talk to me and tell me why you … why you obviously don’t love me anymore.

Nothing but moans are his answer, as Ryan begins to cry even harder, struggling fruitlessly. “Ryan,” Brendon cries, voice cracking, as the first tears begin to slide down his own cheeks. “Ryan, I love you, just … please, just talk to me.”

"Brendon," Ryan cried, harshly, suddenly stopping his struggles. "I still love you, you fucking idiot!" He ignores the hurt look on Brendon's face and closes his eyes. "I can't do this, I can't willingly hurt you, Bren. I can't." More tears leak out of his red eyes and he tugs out of Brendon's grasp. With his right hand he gropes inside of his pocket and pulls out a cigarette and tries to light it.

"No, fuck," Brendon moans, grabbing it and throwing it over his shoulder where it lands in the grass. "No, you're not blaming this on the cigarettes, or your metaphors, or your doubts. Fucking talk to me."

Ryan looks up at him with starry eyes and sighs, wishing desperately he could tell him what was wrong, what wasn't right.

“Ryan,” Brendon says, sharply, crawling over to him and cupping his face in his hands, running a finger up and down the perfect line of his jaw. “Ry, please, I’m here for you. I’m always here for you, whether you want me or not.”

Ryan twists away from him shaking his head, and Brendon feels something snap inside. “Fuck!” he half-screams, standing up and glaring down at the broken boy, eyes narrowed and tears rolling hotly down his cheeks. “Even if you leave me, I’m going to be here for you. Always. Waiting, waiting for you to miss me, if you even would. I love you and you’re not hurting me. Just fucking relieve me of my ignorance, please!”

Ryan sits up and puts his head inside his hands, still shaking. Brendon can hear him say something, but it's not loud enough for him to decipher.

"What?" he snaps, rather harshly. Ryan raises his head, and his face is dry, but his eyes are full of tears.

"I'm scared," Ryan whispers, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Of what, Ryan?" Brendon says in a softer voice, but he stays where he is.

"You." The word is quiet and for a second Brendon isn't sure whether he actually heard what Ryan said.

"Me? What? Why?"

"I love so much...you have so much power over me," Ryan says, still quite quiet. He's staring up at Brendon with huge eyes, and quivering lips.

"Power? What?"

"I've never been in love," Ryan admits. "Not until I met you. You could break my heart, so easily. I couldn't do it, couldn't survive it."

Brendon stares at him silently, dumbfounded.

"So, I thought that maybe, maybe if I broke your heart first, you couldn't do it to mine," Ryan whispers, a lone tear pushing its way out of his honey orbs.

“You … what?” All of the energy leaves Brendon’s body and he slumps down to his knees, by Ryan’s side, beginning to tremble. “Ryan, Ry, what? I would never - never - break your heart. Oh, God, you thought …” he trails off, and closes his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I love you, I love you, I swear.”

He can hear Ryan talking, moving, but he ignores him. Instead, he buries his face into his hands, tears staining his fingers. “I love you,” he mumbles again, unable to look back at the love of his life for fear of his heart just breaking in half, breaking, even though he swears it’s already done so. “You want to break my heart? Ryan, fuck, don’t - please, don’t, I – I love you, just – just stay, just forget, we’ll be together. We will, we’ll be fine, I swear.”

"No, Brendon, stop, don't," Ryan mutters, clutching onto Brendon, holding him close. "I don't want to break your heart, really, I don't. I love you too much." Brendon continues to shake, but Ryan doesn't let go, instead, he tightens his grip and stuffs his head into the crook of Brendon's neck.

"I love you, I love you," Ryan mumbles against Brendon's skin, baring his teeth to nip at his neck. They're laying in the grass, and it's tickling Ryan's arms, but he's cant, won't let go of Brendon. Ryan snuggles his head into Brendon some more and sighs deeply, waiting until they're both done shaking. There are tears leaking out of his eyes, but he doesn't want to be anywhere else.

"We'll be fine, if you say so, we will, we will," Ryan whispers. "We can be a single sheet of paper, and create our world, binding ourselves together. We'll become a book, a book so thick and full of life that people won't want to put us down. We can do it."

“We can,” Brendon whispers, the hope and love swirling into a delicious cocktail, billowing up, swelling up, causing tears to spill from his eyes, brushing down into Ryan’s hair. “God, Ryan, we can. We both can.”

He pulls back slightly, heart ricocheting against his ribs, and when he looks down at Ryan now he sees his Ryan, not some broken imitation. Ryan sighs, shakily, moving a hand up to cup Brendon’s jaw. “We’ll be such a beautiful story, Bren.”

Brendon smiles, and leans down to press their lips together, softly, before pulling back again. “We’ll get our happy ending,” he whispers, and he means it, leaning down to kiss the love of his life once more.

We Lost Ourselves In A Darkened Dream [1]

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 17:50:03 GMT

Title: We Lost Ourselves In A Darkened Dream
Author: playful_people (cowritten by playful_lips & peopleexisting )
Rating: NC-17 overall, for now PG
Pairing: Ryden, background Joncer.
POV: Third, varies.
Summary: AU. Ryan Ross is an author, with a bad case of writer's block. Brendon Urie is a struggling actor, looking for his dream. Both are frustrated with their lives and their dead end situations, only slightly eased by the presence of their best friends - Spencer and Jon, respectively. But some situations require something more than a best friend, something...deeper.
Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot belongs to us. :)
Author Notes: This is our first real cowritten fic, so I hope you all like where it goes.

Well, Brendon thinks, as he comes down the stairs that Sunday morning. That’s not exactly what he wants to see when he’s just woken up.

He rolls his eyes and walks straight past Jon, who is practically cooing over his new laptop, and takes a carton of milk out of the fridge. As he turns back to his friend, taking a large swig of the milk, he realises that Jon’s got that look of love on his face, again. It only ever gets there when new technology enters the house.

“You,” Brendon informs him gravely, slumping down on the couch next to him, “are freakishly nerdy, you know that?”

Jon glances up from the screen, his hands flying over the keyboard at a ridiculous rate, and quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, thank you very much. I’ve kind of gathered after you telling me every day for ten years.”

Brendon winks at him, and then flicks on the TV with the remote. Some news programme comes on, but he can’t really focus on it, not with Jon tapping away next to him. He’s even letting out odd noises of pleasure as he finds new awe-inspiring things about the laptop. Brendon tries not to let it distract him.

The fifth time that Jon lets out one of the small noises of delight just about snaps what was left of his patience in two. Brendon grabs the laptop, slams the lid down, and half-throws it onto the table. Before Jon can do anything to retrieve it, Brendon throws an arm out to block him and shakes his head.

“No, Jon,” he warns, sternly. “No more computer time for you this morning.”

“But it’s new,” Jon mutters, his voice thick with longing and his eyes glued to the thing. He tries to get up to get his hands on it again, but Brendon gives him a sharp look, and he stops. “Oh, come on. What else can we do on a Sunday morning?”

Brendon pauses, trying to think of something that might successfully distract his best friend. “We could go out and get some fresh air?”

“Fresh air?” Jon asks, suspiciously. “By fresh air, is there any chance you mean pot?”

“Actually, no,” Brendon laughs, honestly. “But now you mention it…”

“No,” Jon replies, firmly, and Brendon’s face falls. “Come on. You know how much money we’ve spent on it this month, already. It’s not like you even like smoking it that much. You just like having something to put in your mouth.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha. Very witty, Walker.”

“Did you really expect anything but wittiness?” Jon asks, sounding genuinely surprised. “Anyway, I don’t know about this ‘fresh air’. Where would we go?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Brendon sighs, lightly, in a falsely innocent voice. He hopes that Jon will believe him, but Jon knows him far too well for that. The older man’s eyes narrow, suspiciously. “We could go for a quick wander to --”

“-- the theatre?” Jon finishes for him, knowingly, and Brendon goes a little pink as he nods. So, maybe he’s not exactly been subtle. Maybe he drags Jon there nearly every day just to see if there’s any new work. Maybe he’s a little overenthusiastic about getting an acting job.

Ever since he was five and his mom took him to see a production of some overblown, flamboyant musical, he’s wanted to be on the stage. In school, he’d always go for the main part in productions, and – much to his amazement – he always got them. When he stood on the platform, staring out into a sea of faces, he felt alone. Strangely, that was a good thing. He felt like he truly was the character he was supposed to act as.

After leaving school, he went from job to job, from bookstore to café to mall, all the while trying to make it in the acting business. But now, at the age of 24, he’s still not ‘made it’. He gets parts in plays, occasionally, which are shown at the theatre. But they’re never very big plays, and the audience is hardly huge, and it never goes anywhere.

“Only if you want to,” he shrugs, feigning indifference, but Jon just smirks. He knows Brendon too well, obviously. They’ve been best friends since they were 15 and 16, Brendon being the youngest, and they know all of each other’s traits and habits. “I mean, it doesn’t matter if --”

“No, we should go,” Jon says, getting to his feet. “I mean, only if we can stop by the computer store on the way back. They’re letting people try out that new Xbox 360 game for free, and it sounds like it’s mind-blowing.”

It’s hard for Brendon to resist sighing heavily at this, but he just about manages it. He’s not always sure why he and Jon are so close when Jon is such a … nerd. He’s been a computer technician for a good few years now, opening his own private business, and it’s a healthy thing that brings in good money. Brendon wishes his own dream could be so easy to accomplish.

“Alright then,” he sighs, but he’s smiling. “We can go and play on your silly little game on the way home.”

Jon immediately agrees, and heads off to get changed into something other than just shorts. Brendon quickly gets himself a mug of strong coffee from the kitchen and by the time he’s done with it, Jon’s ready to leave. He’s dressed casually and inconspicuously, as usual, in a bit of a contrast with Brendon’s tight jeans and bright t-shirt.

They leave, once Brendon’s grabbed his sunglasses from the side. The theatre is only fifteen minutes away, when walking, and they reach it soon enough. Brendon pauses in front of it, an uncontrolled smile spreading across his face. The place just feels like home to him.

He’s examining the rusting sign, Fabrication when Jon nudges him in the shoulder. He turns, questioningly, to see his best friend pointing, silently, at the notice board that’s nailed to the wall. Brendon frowns, and steps closer to it, examining it. His breath catches in his throat.

Brendon’s first thought is what kind of a name is Ryran?, before it suddenly hits him that there are going to be auditions. For a play. He beam blossoms over his face, and he grabs Jon’s arm, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“A play! Jon, a play! With actual auditions! Armand! I like the name Armand, don’t you? See, I’m meant to play the part. This is it. This is it, Jon! A play! A play with --”

“You haven’t got the part, yet,” Jon laughs, shaking his head, but he looks fairly excited for his friend. “You’ll definitely have to try out, though.”

“Of course I will!” Brendon says, as though it’s obvious – because, really, it is. “You’ll see. If this Ryran Ross is there, or whatever, he’ll be stunned by my charm. You’ll see.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “I’m sure I will. Now, can we go to the shop? I really want to play that game.”

“Sure!” Brendon says, because he’s far too excited to even be exasperated anymore. He’s going to go to the auditions, and he just has to get the part. It’s rare that any original play is produced, rather than just endless Shakespeare, so it’s a bit of a big deal. For him, at least. Jon doesn’t seem very bothered.

As they make their way back across the street, Brendon babbling on about just how amazing this all is, the sky begins to brighten slightly. The day suddenly seems much nicer to Brendon. After all, he has the prospect of a future in his reach. Maybe there will be people from Hollywood there.

Jon is just in the middle of telling him to calm down, when he suddenly knocks into somebody walking in the opposite direction. “Oh, um, sorry!” he says, as the person takes a couple of steps back, rubbing the spot on his shoulder where they clashed. Brendon glances at him and, for some reason, chooses to study him for a couple of seconds longer.

He’s a bit taller than Brendon, and he’s skinnier, and he’s undeniably … not handsome. The word doesn’t seem to fit him. Brendon wonders, vaguely, if pretty would be more appropriate, before he forgets about the boy and thinks of the play, and all the possibilities it could present.

“It’s okay,” the man reassures Jon, not meeting either of their eyes, and carrying on his walk. Brendon watches him go for a couple of seconds, and then they carry on their own journey. The fact that he’s sure to be sat in some stupid shop surrounded by nerds for at least an hour can’t even annoy him.

The Desert Wasteland.

Who knows what might happen?

x

Ryan sits, staring at the plant, eyebrows furrowed. The branches shudder as a soft wind hits them, and a small green leaf falls to the concrete. Ryan sighs and taps his index finger in an annoyed fashion on the backspace key of his laptop.

A small bleep is heard from the machine sitting on his lap, and he looks down at the screen, squinting at the little pop-up. He moves his finger to the mouse-pad and clicks on the bubble, tapping out a beat with his foot as he waits. His e-mail pops up and he purses his lips, thinking. He reaches past his colourful scarf and into his black vest pocket, producing a pair of large oval reading glasses.

He pushes them up the bridge of his nose and tilts the laptop cover backwards. He clicks on the inbox button and waits impatiently for it to load. An explosion of internet pop-ups appear and he flinches, trying to click every one of them down before a virus infects his personal computer like they had on his home one. When the pop-ups are exited, and the email is opened, Ryan squints down at the small print.

FROM: Hazel Chaucer
TO: Ryan Ross

Hey Ryan. How are you? Good? That's good. How's the writing coming along? Not so well? It's okay. That doesn't matter at the moment, anyway. What I have to tell you is way more interesting, really. There's a theater downtown, The Fabrication. Have you heard of it? Probably not. It's a small-ish theater, with big dreams. They just acquired the script of their next performance. It's entitled "The Desert Wasteland". Does that sound familiar? Of course it does! It's the title of your first novel, Ryan. How exciting is this? You can take off time from writing your new book, and instead, help out with the play. The director and writer requested your help (they both emailed me a couple days ago), and I replied with a yes! They need your help to fix up the script to suit the on-stage performance, and they want ideas for songs. The auditions for Armand Whittaker and Sophie Gebrielle will be taking place on Saturday at 3:00 pm. The other parts have already been cast. They really want you there (the director specifically), so please, please try to make it? Email me back and tell me if you're going to do this! (And, for the record, you better.)

Ryan finishes reading the email from his agent slash publisher slash whatever the heck she was, and sighs dramatically. He purses his lips as he clicks new, and refrains from typing one word. "SURE". How easy would that be?

FROM: Ryan Ross
TO: Hazel Chaucer

Hi Hazel. I'm good, thanks. The book isn't coming along well. But you already knew that. Sometimes you amaze me with the ability to answer your own questions spot on. Of course I'll do the play! It's an easy way to get out of writing my book – whoops, just kidding. I'll be at the theater around 2:30, if you talk to the director before then. I think I'll go check out the theater this afternoon; I haven't been there specifically, only walked past it. Call my phone if you need me for an emergency. Cheers.

Ryan hits send and closes the internet window, going back to his blank word document. His worry lines appear again, and his mouth turns down, fixing itself into it's permanent frown. He has an internal battle with himself, and hits the red x finally.

The young man drums his fingers on the café table, looking out into the street. He watches countless cars whiz by, and an abundance of wacky characters walk past, but nothing gives him inspiration. He sighs and flicks his longish brown hair out of his eyes, while fixing his headband. He stares across the street as he sips his tea, watching a young mother argue with her toddler.

The child is screaming and throwing her fists into the air, and Ryan thinks he even sees her stomp her tiny little feet. The mother reaches out for her, trying to shush her, but the toddler screams louder. People walking by stare down at the girl, a disapproving look on all their faces. The mother decides to yell back and it's taking all of his self-control to not cover his ears publicly.

Ryan stands up, pushing the small metal chair away from the table and tosses a couple dollars on it. He fits his laptop into the case and slings it over shoulder, nodding to the waitress.

He escapes the small outdoor patio and walks down the street, heading towards the theater. His mind buzzes with ideas for the play. He thinks of what types of songs they should be singing, and how they should be sung; he even writes some lyrics in his head. (His lyric-writing talent is unknown to Hazel, which may come in handy)

Ryan turns the last corner, blinking in the bright sun. He can see the tall theater rise above him, and he smiles despite himself. The theater is decaying, and dirty, but Ryan can see why there's always lineups. The theater creates some sort of...magical feeling within it. Ryan has walked past the theater in the nighttime, when the bulbs are bright and glowing, and when the people are lined up, waiting for the show to begin. It's like a fairytale, in one of the only clean parts of New York.

When he was a boy, he used to wish that he had some acting ability, or some singing talent; the stage had always appealed to him. When he grew older, he realized that the stage wasn't for him, but writing was. When he was a teenager he had won a few town writing contests. It helped him get in contact with the right people (including Hazel).

Ryan's phone buzzes in his pants, and he groans, stuffing his hand into the pocket. He pulls out his phone, and flips it open, squinting down at the message.

Ry-
are you coming home for dinner? i'll make something big if you are. any preferences?
– Spence

Ryan smiles at the text message from his best friend and roommate, typing back yes and okay and no. He shuts his phone, just as a body slams into him.

"Oh, um, sorry!" the man exclaims with wide eyes. Ryan raises a hand, signalling that it's okay and with his other hand rubs his sore shoulder. Ryan glances up from the ground and looks at the man who bumped into him, and decides that he's not harmless. The man has slight scruff on his on jaw, and messy brown hair.

"It's okay," Ryan murmurs, not looking into the man's eyes. He notices that the man is with a friend, and Ryan takes a couple seconds to evaluate him. The boy has dark brown hair, and really big brown eyes. Ryan's first thought is he is so perfect for Armand!. Ryan even contemplates asking the boy if he was going to try out, but he doesn't think the boy will appreciate a total stranger asking him personal questions.

Ryan nods slightly to the two boys in front of him, and veers around them, continuing on to the theater. When he reaches the front doors, he peers inside but it's dark and empty so he turns back to the wall. There's a bright yellow poster sign, and Ryan's mouth turns into a scowl as he reads it.

"Ryran Ross?" he mutters angrily, crossing his arms. "They couldn't even get my name right!" A man in a suit walks by and glares at Ryan, turning his nose up when Ryan stares back. It's like the man has never seen anyone talking to themselves in New York City. Now really, come on.

Ryan huffs and turns on his heel, and starts the short walk back to his apartment. His laptop bag hits his side as he walks, his long strides taking him home quickly. He thinks of the play, and how excited he is to be helping with it. Maybe this will be his chance to shine.

x

A/N: The way this fic will be written is a little different for us, and it's a bit of an experiment. playful_lips is going to write Ryan's sections, and peopleexisting is going to be writing Brendon's. This chapter was a mix of both but from now on we'll each be writing one chapter alternately and not telling each other what we're going to be doing, plot-wise. So, both of us know basically just as much as you about where this might end up. :D

You're Not Over It [standalone]

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:57:36 GMT

Title: You're Not Over It [Standalone]
Author: playful_people
Paring: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: PG
Warning: Swearing, angst!
POV: Third.
Summary: After a failed friendship that ended in mysterious circumstances, neither Ryan nor Brendon think that they'll ever get another chance. But an argument in the school cafeteria could change all that.
Disclaimer: Not true, fiction, fake fake fake. Title credit to us, though.
A/N: This sprouted from a role-play conversation on MSN between us. Enjoy! Comments are appreciated.

Brendon trails slightly behind Gabe and Pete as they enter the cafeteria together. His mind is elsewhere – on what he’s having for dinner that night specifically – but he snaps back to reality as they pass a table, at which a fellow student is sat.

“Stupid, stupid math homework,” the boy - Ryan Ross - mutters to himself. “Can’t you be easy for once?”

“What the fuck are you muttering about, Ross?” Gabe snaps, as the three of them come to a halt. Pete stands by Gabe’s side, looking coolly intimidating, but Brendon doesn’t stand with them. He’s not sure that he wants to see what’s obviously about to happen.

Ryan looks up, his eyes wide. “Um. Nothing.”

Pete swipes his papers from the desk, surveying them with a distasteful expression. “What this then? Can’t you even do simple math, you retard?”

Gabe and Pete both share a look, and laugh, obnoxiously. Brendon joins in, hoping he sounds as convincing as he wants to, and he swears he sees Ryan flinch. It’s probably just his mind playing tricks on him, though.

“Gi-give that back, Wentz, c-come on,” Ryan stutters, looking flustered and helpless.

“Aw, has little baby Ross got a stutter?” Gabe coos, taking the homework from Pete. He holds it in front of Ryan’s face and, with a smirk, tears it straight in two. As the pieces fall to the ground, Ryan’s eyes darken and narrow, his gaze following them.

“F-fuck off, Saporta,” he growls, standing up. “Go away.”

Brendon figures it’s time to step in. If he doesn’t intervene, Gabe will take it upon himself to deal with Ryan, and that could go horribly wrong. “Hey, Gabe, did Ross actually just try and tell us what to do?” Brendon laughs, praying again that it sounds believably spiteful. “I don’t think we should let him get away with something like that.”

Ryan’s eyes instantly flare to life, and he rounds on Brendon. “Fuck off, Urie. You’re not as tough as you think you are, with your,” he raises his fingers, to quote the next words, “‘bodyguards’”.

Brendon narrows his eyes, and takes a step closer to the defiant boy. “What the fuck did you just say to me? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you vent all your feelings in your shitty poetry anymore?”

“You heard me,” Ryan snaps, coldly, “and you don’t know shit, Urie.”

Brendon can feel Pete and Gabe readying themselves for a fight, and he’s beginning to feel pretty pissed off himself, and so he grabs Ryan’s shirt front, bringing their faces closer together. “Listen to me, Ross --”

Just then, Gabe’s phone begins to ring, cutting him off. After a quick, quiet conversation, Gabe hangs up, and his eyes are glinting evilly. “Eric says he’s cornered that Smith kid. Come on, he needs back up.”

Brendon doesn’t care about Eric and his violent methods of getting people’s lunch money. All he cares about is getting Ryan to shut up and stop making everything worse. “You and Pete can go,” he informs them, “but I’m staying here to show Ross who’s boss.”

The two of them shrug, sharing a look, and leave, but not before shoving into Ryan as they do so. Brendon, however, stops him from falling, as he’s still holding tight to the material of his shirt. Ryan, however, pulls away, looking disgusted.

“Fuck off, seriously. I’ve never done anything to you.” He crosses his arms, and looks away, his whole stance that of defiance. Brendon glares at him, wondering how on earth somebody can lie with such little shame.

“Don’t tell me to fuck off, okay? You don’t know who you’re talking to.”

Ryan meets his eye, looking livid. “I know exactly who I’m talking to. Brendon Boyd Urie, most popular guy at our school. Secret ex-best friend of Ryan Ross. I know exactly who I’m talking to, or…well. I used to know.”

Brendon only falters for a second, he swears. “Riiight. Of course you do. So you know that I’ve always stopped Gabe and Pete doing anything bad to you? They were going to beat you up so badly you wouldn’t have been able to walk for a week, but I stopped them.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Ryan asks, bitterly. “Didn’t want it on your conscience? Of course not. Poor little baby Brendon didn’t want to have that haunt him around. Or are you afraid I’d go tell your mother? Her and my dad still talk, you know. Of course you don’t, what am I saying.”

He lets out a short, sarcastic laugh, that’s unsettlingly uncharacteristic. For some reason, that makes Brendon’s blood boil. “If you’re going to be an ungrateful little shit, I’ll let them break your nose next time. Of course I know our parents talk; my mom is always asking why you never come round anymore, and what am I supposed to tell her? The truth? I’m sure you don’t want her to think any less of you, do you?”

Ryan’s eyes go wide. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don’t play all innocent and misunderstood with me. You know perfectly well how you broke --” He trails off, finally having said too much. He can feel his cheeks beginning to glow as he glares down at his shoes. “Fuck this. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Fuck you,” Ryan snaps back. “Tell me what you were going to say.”

Brendon is beginning to wonder just when Ryan got so confident, so crass. He looks him straight in the eye, and says, coldly, “No. I told you, it doesn’t matter anymore. We don’t matter to each other anymore, we’re not friends, and we never fucking will be.”

It suddenly strikes him that the room is silent, and he glances around, before cursing. “Shit. Class has started.”

As he looks around at the empty cafeteria, he swears he hears Ryan murmur something that sounds suspiciously like, “Who says you don’t matter anymore?” He looks round at Ryan, sharply, to see the boy retreating, pulling his backpack onto his bag. “You might want to get to class, Urie. Don’t want your groupies to worry about you.”

An indescribable feeling of fury and determination and annoyance runs through Brendon at these words, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Ryan’s arm and slamming him, hard, into the wall. “Listen to me, Ross,” he growls, as Ryan winces, his head hitting the wall. “Do you seriously not know why I stopped talking to you? Why I shut the door in your face when you came round? Of course you do. I was hardly subtle, so don’t act like the tragic little boy now.”

“I seriously do not know,” Ryan tells him, angrily. “I don’t fucking know, and you’re obviously not gonna tell me. So let me go.”

When Brendon speaks next, his voice is oddly quiet and low. “No. I’m not letting you go, Ryan.” He blinks, and raises his voice slightly. “Fuck it. I-I meant Ross.”

Ryan blinks, as well. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name since my fourteenth birthday party.”

“Um. Well, yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever said it, but…” He trails off, again, shaking his hair from his eyes. After all, he’s got Ryan pinned against the wall. It’s hardly a time for nostalgia. “It doesn’t matter.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “If you’re not gonna tell me what you meant, let me go. I need to get to class. That ‘skinny, nerdy, friendless boy in the corner’ can’t miss class, can he?”

So, maybe that makes Brendon feel shitty and guilty. Just maybe. “I never called you that. That was Pete.”

A humourless laugh leaves Ryan’s lips, falling hotly on Brendon’s, and Brendon has to pull back slightly. “But you never stopped him, so it’s just as bad.”

“I…look. Fine. Fuck this. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you.” He let’s go of Ryan at last, and walks away, before calling over his shoulder, “I guess I’ll see you later, Ross.”

As he walks away, regret and anger and self-loathing coursing through him, he hears Ryan yell “Asshole!” after him, and something within him snaps. He turns, and as hard and as quickly as he can, he slams Ryan into a row of lockers lining the wall. “I thought I told you not to shit talk me?”

“Seriously! Do you have nothing better to do than terrorize your old best friend? Just fucking leave me alone.” Ryan sags against the locker, his eyes downcast, and his expression nothing but miserable. For some reason, that stirs the unthinkable inside of Brendon.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice cold and quiet, “my old best friend who broke my heart.”

“What?”

Brendon’s cheeks go a little pink, but his voice remains steady. “You heard me. Don’t play ignorant, either.”

“I’m being fucking ignorant. Do you think I wanted to lose you as my best friend? How did I break your heart? We were never together. You never fucking showed any interest in me like that, so I didn’t show any back. Fucking tell me what you’re thinking.” He prizes Brendon’s hands off him, but stays against the lockers, breathing heavily.

For the first time, doubt flickers into Brendon’s mind. “You don’t actually remember?” His eyes darken, his body still pressing against Ryan’s. “You remember that night when we got drunk by the river, don’t you?”

“I don’t remember, but I do remember getting drunk with you.”

Brendon doesn’t meet Ryan’s eye, and when he speaks, it’s all in a rush. “I told you everything that night. I spilled my fucking heart out to you, and … I told you something that I never thought I’d say to anybody, and what did you do? You told me how hot you found that Alex guy in History. So I kissed you and … and you just pulled back and ran away. You’re such a fucking coward, and it’s obvious that hasn’t changed.”

Ryan’s face turns blank, and his eyes go wide. “I-I – Brendon, I – I’m sorry. I really… I can’t.” His voice turns to a whisper. “I ran away?”

It’s just too hard to be close to Ryan, now. Brendon pulls back, shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away. “Yeah, yeah you did. But whatever, you know? I’m over it, and it didn’t mean a thing anyway.”

“Fuck you. Now you’re just lying. Tell me the truth.” He grabs Brendon, and spins him around. He’s suddenly close to him, his eyes wide and dark. “You’re not over it.” He lowers his voice to a whisper, impossibly close. “You’re not over it…”

Brendon leans closer, whispering weakly, “I…yeah, I am. I don’t give a damn about you anymore.” Slowly, he lets his lips trail lightly over Ryan’s cheek, and then to the corner of his mouth.

Ryan’s eyes flutter shut as he breathes in the familiar scent of Brendon’s cologne. “Stop.” He turns his head, and reaches into his bag, pulling out a tattered notebook. “I may be a coward, but I still feel the same as I did three years ago.” He thrusts the notebook at Brendon. “Read it. Read it all.”

Brendon takes the notebook, studies it, but then hands it back. “No. If you’ve got something to say, just tell me. You know, actually be brave.”

Ryan hands it back, determinedly. “Fine, but take it anyway.”

He takes a deep breath. “On September 3rd, three years ago, I wrote: There's something weird happening. Something with Brendon. He hasn't been the same since the river on my birthday. I was supposed to tell him I liked him, but we got too drunk, too wild. I guess that's why teens shouldn't drink.” He looks away from Brendon, blushing. “On September 10th, three years ago, I wrote: Brendon's been ignoring me. I haven't talked to him properly in seven days. I want my best friend back. And on December 15th, three years ago, I wrote: Gabe and Pete punched the shit outta me today. Brendon just stood there and watched. I guess it's true that the people you love turn out to be your worst enemies.”

The words settle into Brendon’s mind, and he pales. “You can't... you don't know how much it fucking hurt to watch them do it to you. But how the hell could I have stopped them? Since then - I mean, it broke my fucking heart - but since then, I've stopped them. I promise, I'd never let them hurt you again.”

Ryan shrugs, and turns away, his every movement breaking Brendon down a little more inside. “Whatever, Brendon. We’re…we’re obviously not made for each other. I get that.” He looks at Brendon again, his eyes nothing but saddened. “I just wish it could’ve been different.”

Brendon knows exactly what he needs, in that moment. He pushes Ryan, gently, back against the lockers, and whispers, “Just … let me pretend for one minute that it’s different, okay?”

“W-what?”

He smoothes Ryan’s dark hair from his eyes, with a shaking hand. “I just need your permission to pretend everything is different, for five seconds.”

“What if I don’t want to give you my permission for five seconds?” Ryan whispers. “What if … what if I want to give you permission for more…”

Their lips are impossibly close now, and Brendon can feels Ryan’s light breath brushing his mouth. “Do I have your permission, Ryan?”

“It depends … depends on how long you want to pretend. Or if you … you don’t want to pretend and just be … real.”

“I...I don't know. I just want to feel, just for a second, that I didn't fuck everything up. That I would be worth you.” One of his hands slip around Ryan’s waist, pulling their hips gently together.

“Fuck just for a second. Just fucking feel it.”

With that, Ryan leans forward and presses him lips against Brendon’s, almost desperately. Brendon lets out a small groan from the back of his throat, kissing back. He pulls back after ten or so seconds, or an eternity, breathlessly. “I … God. I felt everything. More than … more than anything I’ve ever …” He shakes his head, and takes to kissing Ryan’s neck, his lips trailing over his Adam’s apple.

Ryan’s head rolls back, hitting the off-white wall. “Brennn.” He lifts his arms, and brings Brendon’s hips closer, tilting his neck up. As he threads his long fingers into Brendon’s hair, he asks, “Does this … this mean … We’re. What’s happening, what are we?”

Brendon shakes his head, suddenly feeling unnerved and hesitant. “Don’t talk. Don’t … just let this happen, okay?” He presses his lips back to Ryan’s, hungrily. Ryan groans, in the back of his throat, sweeping his tongue inside of Brendon’s mouth.

Before he knows what’s happening, Brendon tenses, and pulls back. “Ryan, we’re … we’re in the middle of school. Anybody could see …”

Ryan closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, regaining his breath. “You started it.” He opens his eyes again, and crosses his arms. “If you don’t want to do this, whatever. I’m not just going to be on the side with you, and at school let Saporta and Wentz beat me up. You pick.”

“I…” Brendon twists his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt, helplessly. “I want… I mean, I more than just want you. Of course I do. But I can’t just … I can’t just come out to the entire school lose all my friends and … it’s not as black and white as that.”

Ryan blinks. “Well.” He sighs. “You know I want you too. So whenever you pick ... you can't have both, Bren. I mean, uh, Brendon. I don't just want to be on the side while you're still horrible to me at school. You need to pick.”

Brendon smiles despite himself, softly. “Bren? I kind of like …” He shakes his head. “I mean, I won’t … I won’t pick on you at school, okay? I won’t, and if you want to carry on with this, you’re not going to be on the side. But, fuck it, Ryan, I’m not like you. I can’t just wear what I want and say what I want and not be worried. I worry, and if I turn my back on those two, they’ll never forget it.”

“We're graduating this year, Brendon. Do you really need them? You're likeable by yourself ... I know for a fact nobody likes them. They only tolerate them because they're fucking huge, and creepy, and your friends. If you're with me ... who else do you need? We used to be inseparable.”

Brendon shakes his head and looks down at the floor, speaking in a self-loathing tone. “Yeah, well, I fucked that up, didn't I? Things have changed now. Things have...I like you more than I ever have. I told you I loved you when we were drunk, and now I'm --” He falls silent, and turns away. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never … I’ll never be worth you. I never have been.”

“Brendon,” Ryan says, sharply. “Don’t fucking say that. It’s not fucking true. If you want me, I’m there. I’ve … I’ve always been there.”

It’s ridiculous, Brendon muses, how much his heart is fluttering in his chest. He takes the smallest of steps closer to the boy, his tongue running across his bottom lip. “I'm just...I wish I was brave, Ryan. But I'm not. I don't know if I can risk everything, however much I love... I-I mean, however much I want this.”

Ryan just sighs, and shrugs, half-heartedly. “Alright. It’s your call. You know where to find me…”

He picks up his bag, and heads off to class. Brendon stares after him, and finds himself whispering, almost silently, “Ryan … wait. Please.”

Ryan falters and glances back over his shoulder. “What, Brendon?” He sounds defeated, and that just about breaks Brendon’s heart.

Brendon bites his lip, nervously. “You know when we were...were friends, and we used to play that truth or dare game all the time?”

“Yeah. We had some great laughs.”

Smiling at the memory, Brendon continues. “Yeah, I remember when my mom caught you climbing on the roof, and --” He shakes his head, smile fading slightly. “Well. Um. I was always the brave one then, wasn’t I? Or maybe I was just stupid.”

“We were both brave in our own way Brendon...I was the weird kid you befriend, that was brave. I actually opened up to you, became best friends with you...that was brave.”

Brendon looks down at his feet. “Yeah...yeah, I guess you were. I was...I've been the coward all along, haven't I? I only found the courage to kiss you when you were drunk, and I could never tell you why I didn't speak to you again. Now, I'm just the fucking same, hiding behind my 'friends'. I don't know why you'd still...still want me. I'm just a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Ryan whispers. “You’re admitting all this … this is cowardly …” He takes a deep breath, and looks away, his voice still in a whisper. “I still want you ‘cause I … ‘cause I need you … ‘cause I still love you.”

Brendon’s heart nearly stops, and his breath catches in his throat. “Look … look at me, and say that again.”

Ryan takes another deep breath and turns fully around, walking back to Brendon. “Brendon.” He cups Brendon’s face in his hands, and stares into his eyes. “I love you.”

Brendon closes his eyes, just want to live in this moment forever. He presses his lips, briefly, to Ryan’s, before pulling back. One of his hands finds its way around Ryan’s waist. “I love you, too.”

Ryan smiles. “I-I … Th-that’s good, then?”

Brendon grins, brightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. I think I’ve picked my side.”

“I think you’ve picked right, too.” Ryan flicks his neck, and then kisses it, softly.

At the sensation, Brendon moans slightly, tossing his head back and tangling his fingers in Ryan’s hair. “So … so we’re together now? We’re going to tell everybody?”

With a shy grin, Ryan says, “It’s up to you.”

He flicks Ryan’s nose, with a small smile. “I think … yeah. I don’t want to hide this.”

“Good,” Ryan smiles, and then looks away. “Do you want to tell Wentz and Saporta first … or let the school tell them?”

Brendon’s heart suddenly seems to be beating faster. He looks down, bites his lip, and takes a deep breath, looking back up with a determined expression. “I’ll tell them. Fuck what they think, I don’t care if they don’t like it. Not if I’ll have you.” He smiles slightly, kissing Ryan briefly on the lips again. “If you’ll have me, after how much I’ve fucked up.”
Ryan laughs, brightly, and buries his face into Brendon’s neck again, as Brendon traces his lips through the softness of his hair. “Always.”

We Are Nobody [Standalone]

Sun, 22 Jun 2008 23:02:11 GMT

Title: We Are Nobody [Standalone]
Author: playful_people
Paring: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Rating: PG
Warning: Swearing, angst!
POV: Third.
Summary: Ryan is sulking on the roof of the cabin. Brendon just wants to help.
Disclaimer: Not true, fiction, fake fake fake. Title credit to us, though.
A/N: This sprouted from a role-play conversation on MSN between us. Enjoy! Comments are appreciated.

Ryan sighs when hears the slot in the roof open and close, but he turns his face away, into the sun. He can hear Brendon skip towards him, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wishes he would be more careful.

"Ryan! What're you doing up here?" Brendon says, beaming. Ryan turns and glares at him through his lashes.

"Thinking."

Brendon sits down beside him, close enough that their bodies are touching. "What'cha thinkin' about?"

"Nothin'," Ryan says, turning his head to stare at Brendon.

"Oh," Brendon says, a puzzled look etched upon his face. "Well. Why aren't you inside? I was just about to challenge somebody to a game of Guitar Hero, and you just disappeared."

"Yeah," Ryan huffs. "I'm not inside because I want to be alone. And you know I hate Guitar Hero."

"Don't start on the game, you know you love it really," Brendon takes Ryan's hands and starts to play with them. "Why d'you want to be alone though? We should go and bake something, don't you think? I'm bored."

"No, I hate it. You know that B," Ryan stares down at their entwined hands before closing his eyes. "I want to be alone, because I have no idea what the fuck do to anymore."

Brendon is silent for a moment, and Ryan thinks he might drop the subject. He doesn't.

"In what sense?"

Ryan opens his eyes and looks at Brendon sadly. "In every sense. Music, the band, my lyrics, Keltie...you." Brendon stays silent for a few moments, staring straight into Ryan's eyes.

"Oh." He lets go of Ryan's hands and hugs his knees to his chest. "Oh. Have...have I done something wrong?

Ryan blinks suddenly as Brendon lets go of his hand. He twists his hands into a ball, in his his lap. "No. But, um. No. You're just...I can't. No."

"I'm sorry," Brendon says as he plays with the knees of his jeans, not looking up. "I mean, I've obviously done something. I'll just...I don't know." He stands up, as does Ryan. "If you want to be alone, I'll go and see if Jon needs any help with the dinner. Um, I'm sorry, again."

Ryan's eyes widen and he steps backwards. "No, B, you haven't done anything wrong. It's just...I can't explain it right now." Ryan turns and starts to leave the roof before Brendon can.

Ryan hears Brendon rush forward, and then he feels him grab his arm. "Look. Don't leave. Tell me." Brendon smiles tentatively. "I want to help."

"Bren..." Ryan sighs and turns to Brendon, eyes wide and full of honestly. "I don't think I love Keltie anymore."

"Good." Brendon lets go of his arm and steps back, clapping a hand to his mouth. "Oh. Shit. I didn't mean..."

Ryan chuckles softly and shrugs. "Yeah, no, it's okay. I guess it's just hard admitting it to myself. We've been together for so long..." Ryan looks at Brendon with sad eyes. "What am I gonna do?"

"Nothing," Brendon says as he takes a step closer and flicks Ryan's nose. He smiles at him. "Well, you have to tell her. But then....just be. Be with Spencer and Jon and the music. Oh, and me."

"How am I supposed to tell her?" Ryan says, his small smile fading quickly. "I haven't just been without her? Ya know? It's just...I don't know. For a writer, I can't even think of fucking anything to explain myself." Ryan's silent for a couple of moments, contemplating. "Will you help me?"

Brendon bites his lip, looking away. "Can't you just tell her the truth? I mean, is there a reason you don't love her anymore? Oh, and," he strokes Ryan's forearm, absentmindedly. "Of course I will. You know I'd do anything for you."

Ryan stares at Brendon as he looks away, and sighs. "Yeah, like I'm just going to go up to her and be like 'I don't love you anymore, I was just passing the time because I love someone else who doesn't love me back', yeah, that'll go over-" Ryan's eyes widen and he covers his mouth. "I-i mean. Uh-uh."

Brendon's eyes go wide and he takes a step back. "You...you love somebody else?" He's silent as his eyes darken, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. He turns away, laughing bitterly. "Wow. That's just...perfect, you know? You should tell whoever the lucky girl is."

"Bren," Ryan says, reaching out to grasp Brendon's arm firmly. "Brendon, look at me."

Brendon flinches, but doesn't pull away. "I..." He says, but doesn't look up. "What?"

"Brendon. Look. At. Me."

Brendon sighs and looks straight into Ryan's eyes. "What?"

"I never said I was in love with a girl," Ryan whispers, still holding onto Brendon.

"You. Um..." Brendon gives a strangled laugh. "You didn't need to. I mean, Jac, Keltie...it's always been easy for you, hasn't it? I mean, you've always been happy with them. Girls, I mean. You're like, um, straight. You didn't need to say anything."

"Brendon," Ryan groans. "Are you actually this stupid, or are you pretending?" Brendon gives a nervous laugh.

"Um. Pretending? Pretending that I think you're the straight one?" He splutters and coughs a little bit. "I mean, like. Not the straight one, but just straight. Yeah. Like, um. Yeah, I'm being honest."

Ryan rubs his temples. "You're really, really stupid." He takes a quick stride forward and grabs Brendon's dace with his large hands. "Really stupid." He presses his lips against Brendon's, softly.

Brendon stays motionless for a second, before pulling away and stumbles back. He glares at Ryan and says sharply, "What? No, no, you can't – Jesus. You can't just do that. Fuck."

Ryan stares at Brendon, baffled. "And why the fuck not. I've known you long enough to know you want it, and as much as I hate to admit it, I want it just as much as you do. So why the fuck can't I, Brendon?"

Brendon licks his lips and takes another step back, avoiding Ryan's eyes. "You... you can't just kiss me like that, because you're lonely and you don't fancy your girlfriend anymore. You can't understand what it's like, to have watched you and her, all the time, always so fucking in love. If you really wanted me and knew that I...I want you, why didn't you just do something earlier?"

"Because I'm stupid? Because I was with Keltie? I was originally with her to PROVE to myself that I didn't want you, didn't need you. And after a will, I learned to love her. But you were always there, in the back of my mind, always fucking there. I don't think you realize it's your face I see. Yours, not hers. Fuck Brendon. I really thought we could've done this. I always thought if we didn't work out, it'd be MY fault. I'd push you away, I'd not respond to a kiss I had been waiting for for years. But in reality it's you. You're pushing me away, and I get that." Ryan sighs and hugs himself.

"I'm going inside...you know where I am if you change your mind." Ryan turns and walks to the slot on the roof to get into the cabin. "It's always been you, Bren." Ryan looks over his shoulder. "You." And then he disappeared into the cabin.

Ryan can distantly hear Brendon say, "Oh, you fucking idiot, Brendon Urie." Ryan is already down the hallway, but he can hear Brendon rushing after him. "Ryan! Wait!"

Ryan turns his head and disappears into the washroom, locking the door. "Fuck." He threads his hands through his hair and slides down the bathroom door, coming to a stop on the cold tiles. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Brendon stands on the other side of the door, wringing his hands, hearing Ryan's swearing. "Ryan? Just open the door. Please. I want to...I need...Look, please? Open the door."

"Why should I? You obviously don't want me anymore, I can't go through this. Just...just go away Urie." Ryan's heart breaks as he speaks, but he knows it's for the best.

Ryan hears Brendon sigh, and then speak in a small, lifeless voice, almost close to tears. "Fine, I'll just....Yeah. Fine. Whatever you want Ross." Ryan can tell Brendon has walked away, down the hallway.

Ryan bangs his head against the door. "What the fuck is wrong with you Ryan?" He stands up and wrenches open the door, flying down the hall towards Brendon. He reaches Brendon and spins him around. "Please don't speak in that voice, it fucking kills me." He pulls Brendon close and hugs him tightly.

Ryan feels Brendon tense, but soften and hug him back. "It's...it's okay?" He moves his hand around Ryan's waist resting in the small of his back. "It's...okay. I promise."

Ryan hugs him tighter. "I feel like such a fucking girl. But don't leave me, please."

Brendon gently walks Ryan back into the wall, and pulls back slightly, breathing heavily. "I won't. You know I won't. Do you know how many times I wish I could walk out of your life, when I knew you were fucking Keltie in the next room? But I couldn't. I never will be able to."

Ryan flinches at the semi-harsh words and slumps against the wall. "Bren? Do you wish I hadn't kissed you?" Ryan feels defeated and worn out, and he just wants to be happy.

Brendon let's go of Ryan's waist, looking hesitant. "I...Kind of of." Brendon can't meet his eyes, and that's totally explainable.

"Oh. Oh." Ryan picks himself up from the wall and walks towards his room. "I'll see you at dinner, then."

"Wait! No, look." Brendon grabs Ryan's shirt front and pushes him back against the wall, leaning so close to him that their noses are brushing." Look...I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what the fuck did you mean, B?"

"I mean....I guess that I..." Brendon gazes at Ryan's lips, and then straight into his eyes. "Oh, fuck it." Brendon closes his eyes and leans forward, brushing his lips over Ryan's, feather-light.

Ryan starts to respond eagerly, but pulls away. "No, no, wait. Tell me. What?"

Brendon brushes hair from Ryan's cheek, looking shy and hesitant. "I... I kind of wish you hadn't kissed me because I thought that...I thought that you didn't want me, and so I fucked it up. I thought you only wanted anybody who'd have you because you were lonely. I thought you just wanted me because I love you and so I'd -- oh. Shit." Brendon winces and takes a step back. "I - I didn't mean-"

Ryan's jaw drops. "I'm not the type of guy to want anyone who can have me, because technically I still have Kelts...not like I want her, and seriously Brendon-Wait. What. What?" Ryan finally actually hears what Brendon said. :You know what? I love you too. I already said it on the roof, don't be shy. I love you B." He pulls Brendon closer.

Brendon licks his lips. "Um. You...you, um. You love me? You actually...fuck. I'm sorry I ever thought that - I mean, I -Why am I still talking?" He cups Ryan's face and stares determinedly into his eyes. "I love you. So much." He kisses him softly.

Ryan fists his hands into Brendon's shirt, pulling him flush against him. "Love you too, B."

Brendon pulls back, breathless and beaming. "So. Still want some alone time?"

"Only if alone means with you." Brendon laughs at him, flicking his nose.

"Great. I've fallen for the soppiest nerd on the planet."

Ryan flicks Brendon's neck in return. "Fuck off!" But he's smiling as he entwines their hands.

"JUST GO FUCK ALREADY!" Jon shouts from the kitchen.

"Just be quiet," Spencer warns.

Brendon grins happily and meets Ryan's eyes, his grin turning more shy. "Well. If Jon says so, who are we to disagree?"

"We are nobody." Ryan pushes himself off the wall and pulls Brendon towards his room, the door slamming behind them.