He's not overreacting; he's being a teenager. RYDON one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
So here’s the thing, or The Thing as it were (or The Huge Great Whopper of a Thing That Shall Cause Doom to All, as one Ryan Ross privately thinks of it as); a boy in the black, worm-eaten heart of Las Vegas has just been dumped by a girl. But not just any girl, oh no, the Love of His Life. The Yin to his Yang; the lemon to his lime; maybe even as serious as being the Pop to his Tart. Stupid metaphors aside, the point of The Thing still stands. Thus meaning that Ryan Ross does not, because when teen angst and the pain of being, well, a teenager is weighing you down how can there possibly anything to stand for other than showing oneself off as a barer of aforementioned pain? And Ryan, for all the grieving of the loss of such innocently perfect young love, cannot even bare to stand for that. Not anymore.
He’s sitting instead. Sitting, or rather slumping, on the couch in the living room that has only ever witnessed heartache and agony. Of course, this line of thought could just be down to the fact that Ryan’s being even more negative now than he is when he’s at the standard Ryan-level of negativity and tomorrow perhaps it will seem that only indescribably fantastic things can happen in the presence of the couch, but for now the couch may as well be a mourner at the funeral Ryan is mentally holding for all the positive things that may have once abided within his skinny being.
In reality, not the depths of Ryan’s hormone-drunk misery, the couch really is just a couch and a scruffy one at that. In fact, now that he thinks of it, Ryan’s pretty sure that the couch is even older than he is and hasn’t been washed for at least a decade of this time. Come to think of it, how would one even go about washing a couch; would you put it in a giant washing machine or would it fit in the bathtub? Well, it’s a mystery to Ryan.
Back to focus though; Ryan is slumped, not sat, on the ancient relic that is his couch and just trying to think of The Thing without curling into a ball of nothingness before disappearing in a puff of sweat-scented smoke. Or steam. Steam might be more likely in the current heat, Ryan thinks.
It is this thought of heat that brings his deep brown eyes down to the half-eaten tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough flavour ice cream, because the store was out of the trippy apple pie one, and for once Ryan doesn’t care that he’s consuming more sugar/fat/calories than a pregnant hippopotamus. What he does care about, however, is the fact that the sugar/fat/calories isn’t helping to fill the huge gaping hole that The Thing has left him with. Which is rather worrying because, in all honesty, this was his only plan for filling said gaping hole and if three-and-half tubs hasn’t done it yet, when will the plan start to be at least a little successful?
Never, Ryan decides, because ice-cream isn’t capable of kissing you back like the Love of His Life can. Ryan knows this because, in the past three hours somewhere in the middle of the second tub, he tried. But then again, if it can’t kiss back then it can’t go off kissing other guys with it’s sweet deliciousness. This, Ryan concludes, can only be a good thing and proceeds to shovel another lump of the substance into his mouth.
He is in the middle of pondering the moral ethics involved, if any at all, in lawfully marrying a tub of ice cream when a tirade of knocks punch a hole through his sugar-induced coma like The Thing punched his heart out of his fucking chest. Not that he ever did like that thing much, always made the hurt of life hurt that little bit more.
“Ryan Ross, open up!”
Great, Brendon Urie; someone far too sickeningly happy for Ryan to want to be around right now. Yet at the same time he finds that he actually has to fight of the grin that wants, fucking /wants/, to spread across his face at the sound of his friend’s voice.
But Ryan’s a stubborn bitch and he’s perfectly happy being miserable over some half-melted ice cream, dammit, so he says nothing. Just tries to think of ways in which he could destroy the world that might possibly, just possibly, let everyone know how shit it feels to be George Ryan Ross the Third at this current moment in time. So far all he has is various schemes involving Godzilla-sized doughnuts and one particularly tempting plan involving a giant pair of hair straighteners, a megaphone and a psychotic hamster with the power of speech.
Yeah, sometimes Ryan scares even himself.
“I know you’re in there, Ry, and I’m not leaving until I’ve made you feel all like sunshine an’ rainbows again!” The younger than Ryan, although still as stubborn as, boy stops as though seriously considering something before carrying on with his shamelessly deafening shouting. “Or at least like the moon and stars, because rainbows kinda look like that time my cat threw up on your brand new Converse. And nobody wants to feel like cat sick.”
If it wasn’t for the sincere care behind the tone in Brendon’s voice that makes it perfectly clear that he is just being honest and not making light of the situation, not even a little tiny bit, Ryan might be tempted to go open the front door just to punch the guy in the face. But Ryan’s Ryan and Brendon’s Brendon, meaning that no punch is delivered purely because no nastiness was meant by the words spoken. Hell, if anything the words are making Ryan’s impulse to grin flare up again like a forest fire.
Ryan of course catches himself, remembers that The Thing only happened a few hours ago so the world must imminently be ending, and so returns to his beloved ice cream. Apart from all that’s left is a pathetic little puddle of what was once something good, a rather fitting metaphor for how Ryan is feeling, he thinks. Taking this to be a sign from the Gods of Teenaged Angst, Ryan decides that his life couldn’t possibly get any worse than it is right now.
All this equates to one thing; nothing. Nothing meaning that Ryan makes no move towards the door and no sound to even let Brendon know that he’s listening to him yammer on in that way that’s just so, so…. Brendon-y that Ryan can’t help but want to allow himself to feel at least a little better.
Yet nothing is done on Ryan’s part, not a single thing other than breathing and the occasional sigh that teenager’s with too-long hair are infamous for birthing, but everything is done on Brendon’s part; more knocks, the throwing of rocks at the door and Ryan is pretty sure he even hears the younger preforming a tap-dance on the garden path. Why? Ryan has no idea.
Apart from he does; it’s Brendon being Brendon, just the way he’s meant to be. Crazy and irrationally and completely irreplaceable.
“I mean it, Ryro! If you don’t open up I’ll…” He pauses and Ryan lets himself ponder what outrageousness Brendon could possibly come up with in his clearly hyperactive state. Not that he’s ever been in any other state and if he has then this miracle has never had the good grace to occur in Ryan’s presence. “I’ll get Spence to come over and mother you!”
The empty ice-cream pot is off of Ryan’s lap and on the matted carpet even quicker than Ryan is opening the front door because, although he loves his oldest and dearest friend, he’s already been mothered by him once today. And that in itself was traumatic enough.
Spencer Smith is one of those people who is more like an angel than Jesus and more willing to help than a robot designed for slaving. Combine those two facts with the idea that Spencer has in his head of Ryan being in need of someone to coddle him because his dad’s a drunk and his mom fucked-off sometime in the past sixteen years, and you have one extremely overprotective best friend. Seriously, Spencer Smith may be a year younger than Ryan, but that does not in any way shape or form stop him taking all responsibility for his best friend. Like that time when Spence was five and gave Ryan his cherry popsicle because Ryan had tripped whilst holding his, mean that he wound up with a cut knee and no popsicle. Well, until Spencer gave him his and insisted on kissing his knee better like Spencer’s momma always did for him.
So it had been clear very early on in the relationship that Spencer was the guardian and Ryan the guarded, despite the age difference, but nothing could have prepared Ryan Ross for the almighty attack of motherliness that came his way exactly twenty-seven minutes after getting dumped. Let’s just say it involved lavender-scented moisturiser, bright pink cupcakes and, rather worryingly, many quotes from Oprah being recited unto him like a fucking sermon.
Not to say that Ryan didn’t appreciate it, but he just doesn’t think that he could take getting Spencered ( a term originally coined by Urie some years ago) again should Brendon see fit to involve the final third of their trio in his own attempt at making Ryan feel better. Which is why Ryan’s stood facing Brendon Urie, who is holding a plastic bag in one hand and has a teddy bear tucked snuggle under one arm, with a look on his face that could kill if such a thing were possible.
Brendon smirks at that, a cocky smirk that has just the right amount of fondness swirled within it to make it clear to even a stranger that this kind of thing is perfectly acceptable between the two of them, and then offers Ryan a wink that, for reasons unknown to the older lad, makes his tummy gurgle. Most likely because it means Brendon’s up to something.
Yeah. That must be why.
“And yet here you are, opening your door to me.”
When Ryan lets the grin fight it’s way onto his features, partly because it’s genuine and partly because it’s so blatant that Brendon wants to see it that is somehow makes him want to do it, Brendon pulls him into a one-armed hug kind of affair before releasing him into a cold sort of feeling that Ryan would have been thankful of just a few minutes ago.
“So, how’s it going?”
There’s an unasked question there, of course there fucking is, and Ryan immediately picks up on this. It’s Brendon asking him if he’s okay and if he isn’t, is there anything he can do to make it feel any better? It’s asking if Ryan’s in that kind of place where the world is ending and consuming tub after tub of overpriced ice cream is the only thing that could possibly make life any shade of better.
So Ryan is extremely surprised when he finds himself launching into a new hug, this time a full-on-snuggle-type-thing, holding onto Brendon for dear life as Brendon is him, and nodding hard in response.
“Alright, Brenny. Everything’s going good.” The words are choked on tears, throttled as though oxygen is gold and Ryan is the poorest man on Earth, but there are undoubtedly honest.
“But Spence said you were misera-“
“I was.” Ryan nods again, seemingly trying to hide deeper into his friend as though he can bury himself away from the thing that doesn’t feel so much like The Thing anymore. “Not now though.”
And annoyingly enough, Ryan thinks, it has a lot to do with Brendon being there.
“Oh. That’s…” Brendon blushes, maybe even stutters a little in a very un-Brendon-like way, and Ryan hopes he’ll just simply accept that Ryan never wants to move from this spot again because from this perspective his view of the world doesn’t seem half as bad as it did mere minutes ago. “That’s good, Ry. Real good.”
He stops, swallows, and then traces his free hands through Ryan’s hair like he’s never felt anything so perfect in all his life. Ryan would compare it to how the so-called ‘love of his love’ was doing it to him just last night, if only it was completely different. Different in a completely good way.
“She wasn’t right for you.” Ryan raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised when the statement doesn’t hurt as much as it did coming from Spencer earlier amidst a barrage of Oprah gospels. “She smelt of McDonald’s all the time, and everyone knows you prefer Burger King.”
Ryan giggles, actually fucking giggles like the world isn’t going to end, and somehow finds himself nuzzling into his companion’s chest as though trying to open some sort of metaphorical door into a place he wasn’t even aware he wanted to be in until now. Or maybe he did realise it, just didn’t Realise it like he is currently.
He breathes in heavily, inhaling everything about the very thing that’s making him feel better than himself and notices, with a smile, that Brendon smells faintly of the cheap air freshener they use in the local Burger King.
“What’s with the bear, Bren?”
The addressed beams like a lighthouse and makes the teddy join in the hug by forcing it against Ryan’s chest whilst keeping himself pressed as tightly to his friend as humanly possible.
“It’s a Brennybear. To give you hugs when you’re sad and lonely and dumped.” He nods self-righteously, making Ryan’s eyes roll out of habit, before resuming that sweet stroking of Ryan’s hair, his fingers occasionally tracing patterns onto the other’s cheek like a ghost of something yet to come. “And I’m not around. Because you won’t be any of those things anyway if I’m around.”
Ryan blinks a little, his heart warming in a kind of fairy-tale way at the thoughtfulness of it all. It was never like this with whatshername, it was all Her Her Her and even then she acted like she wanted more. Acted like Ryan’s gifts and endless affections were all stupidly inadequate for someone as fabulous as herself.
He feels inadequate right now too, but this is a nice kind of inadequate, if that makes sense. Like with her it was forced upon him by herself, but here it’s natural because he knows nothing will ever be good enough for Brendon purely because Brendon’s perfect. Or rather not perfect; just Brendon.
It’s not the first time thoughts like this have crossed Ryan’s mind, but it’s the first time he’s allowed them to linger. Largely because they couldn’t have been allowed to before, because of that silly girlfriend of his, but can now.
Oh boy, they sure can.
“I get the sad and the lonely, but how can I not be dumped because you’re here?”
He wants to cringe for sounding so desperately obvious in what he wants the reply to be, how desperate he’s sounding but he doesn’t cringe because he’s so close to Brendon right now that he’s afraid the younger would feel it if he did.
“Because I’m here.” Brendon repeats, his chest rumbling with a chuckle that shakes Ryan’s body like an earthquake. “Because I’m with you.”
Ryan thinks he gets it, really he hopes he does, but he knows that life screwed him over in the area of social skills and so he just doesn’t want to let himself believe it but-
“And before you ask; yes, I do mean ‘with’ in that sense, you moron. If you want, I mean.”
Just like that, the world really isn’t ending; it’s just beginning. The sun is just dawning and shining down on what will be something fantastic, but better. Better than perfect, too. Something so better than perfect and fantastic that Ryan can only describe it as Brendon.
Yeah, everything is gloriously Brendon. At least until the next apocalypse.
A/N: So once again, this is the first thing I’ve written in a very long time and it definitely isn’t the best, but I hope it’s alright. I don’t really like the ending all that much; seems a little rushed (because it maybe was). This was inspired by a teddy that my nan bought me today (don’t laugh) that’s wearing a dressing gown that kinda made me think of the video for Nine in the Afternoon (I have named him Ryro), it was also inspired by the insane amounts of ice cream that I have been consuming due to heat.
Anyway, I hope you liked this and thanks for reading! :)