Ryan takes acid and is convinced he's a glass of orange juice. Slash. Ryden.
So one day after they took acid and after Brendon burst into tears after watching a really sad movie on the bathroom wall and the refrigerator had disappeared when Ryan went to get a snack, they ended up making out on Ryan’s bed.
Brendon started to push Ryan down onto the bed when suddenly Ryan stopped kissing him and shoved him off of him. Ryan shook his head, but was giggling. “No, Brendon, you can’t do that,” he said.
“I...can’t...do that?” Brendon asked, raising his eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I’ll spill and die, duh,” Ryan said.
“What?” Brendon asked, the swirling of the wall making it harder to pay attention to what Ryan was saying.
“I’ll spill and die!” Ryan said.
“Uh. Why?” Brendon asked.
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, stupid, because I’m a glass of orange juice!”
Brendon stared at him incredulously, feeling considerably more sober. “Ryan, you’re not a glass of orange juice...”
“Yeah, I am!” Ryan said.
Brendon rolled his eyes and decided not to argue it. “Okay, can I just fuck you into the wall or something?”
Ryan thought about it. “You can’t have sex with a glass of orange juice,” he decided.
Brendon shook his head. “No, look, we have to,” he said, and then tried to kiss Ryan.
Ryan pushed him away, making a face. “Dude, you’re so weird! Why are you trying to make out with a glass of orange juice?”
“You’re not a glass of orange juice! If you were, how could you talk?” Brendon demanded.
“What?” Ryan asked, staring at him. “I’m not talking.”
“Jesus motherfucking Christ!” Brendon yelled and dragged Ryan to the mirror. “Look! You’re not goddamn orange juice!”
Ryan stared at his reflection that burst into giggles. “Wow, that’s so much orange juice!” Ryan said.
Brendon glared at him. Then he got distracted by the ceiling talking to him about fish and turkey sandwiches and manga. Then he remembered Ryan and tried to kiss him again.
“Stop! I’m orange juice!” Ryan insisted. “I’m going to tip over if you keep touching me!”
Brendon got mad. He knocked Ryan over. “Look, you’re not fucking orange juice! You’re not fucking spilling!”
Ryan laid on the ground, flailing around, screaming, “Oh my god! I’m dying! I’m spilling! I’m dying!” Finally, though, he stopped flailing and looked thoughtful. “Oh,” he said quietly. “I’m not orange juice.”
Brendon rolled his eyes. “Yep. Can we have sex now?”
Ryan giggled. “Okay!”