Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco
Too-Loo-Rye-Ay
He's a weird one, that Ross kid. I don't understand him, and I understand a lot of things. I understand how people work. I know how to make them happy, or sad, or angry, or anxious. I like to call myself the 'people whisperer'. It sounds stupid but I consider myself that. I understand poeple better than most. I can pick out symptoms of depression, I can tell what's going on in someone's minds.
I can do that for everyone, except Ross.
He wears tighter jeans than I do, and I wear pretty tight jeans. His hair is in some form of Mohawk, but with long bangs. I've heard he calls it the 'Ryhawk'. I wouldn't tell a living soul but I find it kind of cute. His eyes are this chocolate brown that tell me everyone and nothing all at the same time. They kind of annoy me.
I'm friends with the girl that claims to be his 'best friend'. She wears hot pink lacy fingerless gloves, black nail polish, and has black hair that's cut like a boy's, with long bangs that fall into her dark brown eyes that flash red when she's angry. She's pale and kind of vampire-like. She's nice, though, and I like her. Her boyfriend, Patrick, he's hilarious. He's a senior, like her. I'm a senior, too, and so is Ross.
I wish I knew Ross's actual name. All I know is his last name.
It takes me exactly three months to gather enough courage to strike up a conversation with Ross. We're at Patrick's house - his parents are away for the weekend and he's notorious for his all-night parties. I spot him cradling a red plastic cup in one hand and texting with the other as he huddles away near the fireplace. It's a cold December night, I can understand why he's there. I'd be there too. His eyes look up from his phone, and my eyes lock with his. A brief smile flits across my lips, I feel it go. His lips curl into something - not a smile, not a smirk, a mixture of the two. Fuck it, I think. I make my way across the room, and end up standing next to him.
"Hi," I murmur. He looks up, and his eyes meet mine.
"Hey."
"You're that Ross kid, right?"
"It's Ryan," he mutters, and he seems to instinctively pull his sleeves over his wrists. He has long since abandoned his red cup, and his phone is shoved in his pocket.
"I'm Brendon," I reply. In my mind, I keep saying his name. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. It sounds good. It feels good. I feel good.
"Nice to meet you, Brendon. You're the Urie kid, right?" His question is laced with a joking tone, and I let a soft laugh pass my lips.
"Yeah."
"She tells me you play guitar." He nods his head towards the girl in the pink gloves.
"Yeah. Wait, you've been asking around?"
"Maybe."
I'm nervous now, and yet slightly delighted. It's at this moment where I realize: I have a crush on him. Ryan Ross. He's gorgeous. His chocolate brown eyes still tell me nothing. It doesn't annoy me anymore - it makes me want to know him. There's a little silence, before he speaks again.
"Okay, so maybe I was asking round. I'm sure this isn't the first time it's happened to someone like you."
What does he mean? I tilt my head.
"You're quite gorgeous, Mister Urie. Don't tell me you haven't seen the way girls look at you in the halls."
I blush a little at this remark. I've never been told I'm 'quite gorgeous' before. My reply is short, and stuttered.
"T-thank you."
"No need to thank me. How about I go get us a drink? I'll leave you to find us a seat." He flashes me a sweet smile. I nod once, my throat unable to produce anything other than a "a-a-ah, okay." He leaves me and I scan the room for an empty couch. I find one near the fire and as soon as I allow my body to collapse down onto it, Ryan arrives back with two cans of .. is that Coca Cola?
"Coke. I wasn't sure if you drank or anything," he explains, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.
"I do, but I prefer Coke. Thank you, Ryan."
"Tell me about yourself."
His face falls. And then, he opens his mouth.
"My full name is George Ryan Ross. I've attempted to kil myself about 6 times. I met her - " he gestures to the girl in the pink gloves; " - in therapy. She was in there for drug abuse. We bonded over our mutual hatred of everything except music. We ended up going to the same high school. Then she met Patrick, and we kinda became a trio. Couldn't see one of us without the other two. I started feeling third-wheelish. I like music, my cat, and makeup. I play guitar, and sing. I'm gay. Your turn."
"My full name is Brendon Boyd Urie. I've attempted to kill myself exactly 6 times. Before he died, my father abused me. I met her - " I gesture to the girl in the pink gloves, whose lips are now entangled with those of her boyfriend's; " - in my shop class. We were building doll houses, and she almost sliced her finger off. I've had few friends through my life, the only ones that have stuck are her, Patrick, and these other guys: Pete, another Patrick, Joe, Andy, Gabe and William. I play guitar, and sing. I'm gay, too."
It seems almost as if we were meant to be.
"Sing something for me."
"Anything?"
"Yes."
I think for a moment, and slowly begin to sing.
"Poor old Johnny Ray,
Sounded sad upon the radio,
Moved a million hearts in mono.
Our mothers cried,
Sang along, who'd blame them?"
I don't get another word in before he stops me, eyes wide.
"You sing like an angel."
I blush.
"You really do, Brendon."
His hand snakes into mine. My blush intensifies.
"You should come check out this little band I'm in. We're called The Young Veins."
I nod. I've heard of them.
"And this feels kinda stupid to ask, but would you consider going on a date with me?"
"I'd love to, Ryan."
This time, it's his lips that curve into a wide smile. His hand squeezes mine, and I can't even help myself. I lean across, and this may be the alcohol in my system, but I press my lips gently to his. And he responds, and everything is glorious. My eyes slip closed as we kiss, lips meshing together in such a beautiful way that I swear I can hear angels singing. He slowly pulls away, resting our foreheads together.
"You're an interesting one, Urie."
"You're an interesting one, Ross."
"How about we form our own little duo? I think Tallulah - " Finally, that's her name; " - and Patrick are sick of me. And you seem like the only other person that can stand me."
"I like that idea, Ross."
And he shuts me up with another deep, heavenly kiss. I hear Come On Eileen playing softly in the background, and he hums against my lips.
"Too-loo-rye-ay, Brendon."
"Come on, Ryan."
Title and cut(s) belong to Come On Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners. Adore the song. I felt like writing a Panic! oneshot, because Ryan and Brendon are so fun to play with. I was thinking, would you guys like a second part to this? Like, should I make it a two/three-shot, covering their relationship? Anyways, too-da-loo.
He's a weird one, that Ross kid. I don't understand him, and I understand a lot of things. I understand how people work. I know how to make them happy, or sad, or angry, or anxious. I like to call myself the 'people whisperer'. It sounds stupid but I consider myself that. I understand poeple better than most. I can pick out symptoms of depression, I can tell what's going on in someone's minds.
I can do that for everyone, except Ross.
He wears tighter jeans than I do, and I wear pretty tight jeans. His hair is in some form of Mohawk, but with long bangs. I've heard he calls it the 'Ryhawk'. I wouldn't tell a living soul but I find it kind of cute. His eyes are this chocolate brown that tell me everyone and nothing all at the same time. They kind of annoy me.
I'm friends with the girl that claims to be his 'best friend'. She wears hot pink lacy fingerless gloves, black nail polish, and has black hair that's cut like a boy's, with long bangs that fall into her dark brown eyes that flash red when she's angry. She's pale and kind of vampire-like. She's nice, though, and I like her. Her boyfriend, Patrick, he's hilarious. He's a senior, like her. I'm a senior, too, and so is Ross.
I wish I knew Ross's actual name. All I know is his last name.
It takes me exactly three months to gather enough courage to strike up a conversation with Ross. We're at Patrick's house - his parents are away for the weekend and he's notorious for his all-night parties. I spot him cradling a red plastic cup in one hand and texting with the other as he huddles away near the fireplace. It's a cold December night, I can understand why he's there. I'd be there too. His eyes look up from his phone, and my eyes lock with his. A brief smile flits across my lips, I feel it go. His lips curl into something - not a smile, not a smirk, a mixture of the two. Fuck it, I think. I make my way across the room, and end up standing next to him.
"Hi," I murmur. He looks up, and his eyes meet mine.
"Hey."
"You're that Ross kid, right?"
"It's Ryan," he mutters, and he seems to instinctively pull his sleeves over his wrists. He has long since abandoned his red cup, and his phone is shoved in his pocket.
"I'm Brendon," I reply. In my mind, I keep saying his name. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan. It sounds good. It feels good. I feel good.
"Nice to meet you, Brendon. You're the Urie kid, right?" His question is laced with a joking tone, and I let a soft laugh pass my lips.
"Yeah."
"She tells me you play guitar." He nods his head towards the girl in the pink gloves.
"Yeah. Wait, you've been asking around?"
"Maybe."
I'm nervous now, and yet slightly delighted. It's at this moment where I realize: I have a crush on him. Ryan Ross. He's gorgeous. His chocolate brown eyes still tell me nothing. It doesn't annoy me anymore - it makes me want to know him. There's a little silence, before he speaks again.
"Okay, so maybe I was asking round. I'm sure this isn't the first time it's happened to someone like you."
What does he mean? I tilt my head.
"You're quite gorgeous, Mister Urie. Don't tell me you haven't seen the way girls look at you in the halls."
I blush a little at this remark. I've never been told I'm 'quite gorgeous' before. My reply is short, and stuttered.
"T-thank you."
"No need to thank me. How about I go get us a drink? I'll leave you to find us a seat." He flashes me a sweet smile. I nod once, my throat unable to produce anything other than a "a-a-ah, okay." He leaves me and I scan the room for an empty couch. I find one near the fire and as soon as I allow my body to collapse down onto it, Ryan arrives back with two cans of .. is that Coca Cola?
"Coke. I wasn't sure if you drank or anything," he explains, a shy smile creeping onto his lips.
"I do, but I prefer Coke. Thank you, Ryan."
"Tell me about yourself."
His face falls. And then, he opens his mouth.
"My full name is George Ryan Ross. I've attempted to kil myself about 6 times. I met her - " he gestures to the girl in the pink gloves; " - in therapy. She was in there for drug abuse. We bonded over our mutual hatred of everything except music. We ended up going to the same high school. Then she met Patrick, and we kinda became a trio. Couldn't see one of us without the other two. I started feeling third-wheelish. I like music, my cat, and makeup. I play guitar, and sing. I'm gay. Your turn."
"My full name is Brendon Boyd Urie. I've attempted to kill myself exactly 6 times. Before he died, my father abused me. I met her - " I gesture to the girl in the pink gloves, whose lips are now entangled with those of her boyfriend's; " - in my shop class. We were building doll houses, and she almost sliced her finger off. I've had few friends through my life, the only ones that have stuck are her, Patrick, and these other guys: Pete, another Patrick, Joe, Andy, Gabe and William. I play guitar, and sing. I'm gay, too."
It seems almost as if we were meant to be.
"Sing something for me."
"Anything?"
"Yes."
I think for a moment, and slowly begin to sing.
"Poor old Johnny Ray,
Sounded sad upon the radio,
Moved a million hearts in mono.
Our mothers cried,
Sang along, who'd blame them?"
I don't get another word in before he stops me, eyes wide.
"You sing like an angel."
I blush.
"You really do, Brendon."
His hand snakes into mine. My blush intensifies.
"You should come check out this little band I'm in. We're called The Young Veins."
I nod. I've heard of them.
"And this feels kinda stupid to ask, but would you consider going on a date with me?"
"I'd love to, Ryan."
This time, it's his lips that curve into a wide smile. His hand squeezes mine, and I can't even help myself. I lean across, and this may be the alcohol in my system, but I press my lips gently to his. And he responds, and everything is glorious. My eyes slip closed as we kiss, lips meshing together in such a beautiful way that I swear I can hear angels singing. He slowly pulls away, resting our foreheads together.
"You're an interesting one, Urie."
"You're an interesting one, Ross."
"How about we form our own little duo? I think Tallulah - " Finally, that's her name; " - and Patrick are sick of me. And you seem like the only other person that can stand me."
"I like that idea, Ross."
And he shuts me up with another deep, heavenly kiss. I hear Come On Eileen playing softly in the background, and he hums against my lips.
"Too-loo-rye-ay, Brendon."
"Come on, Ryan."
Title and cut(s) belong to Come On Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners. Adore the song. I felt like writing a Panic! oneshot, because Ryan and Brendon are so fun to play with. I was thinking, would you guys like a second part to this? Like, should I make it a two/three-shot, covering their relationship? Anyways, too-da-loo.
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