FicWad

A/N It's time for a rewrite. I hope you enjoy. Things will be different. Don't complain.
CHECK OUT THE CHARACTERS FACES: http://johnny-bravado.livejournal.com/920.html
WC CHAP 1: ~5000. DEAR. LORD.
-

Ryan never expected much out of his high school experience, or his life for that matter. But school, shockingly, has turned out pretty well. In fact, the normal kids would think he's got it all. A big house, a father with a good job, a bunch of friends, it's everything a teenager could ever want.

Except it hasn't exactly ended up that way.

It's easy to hide with the usual CoverGirl foundation and a few pain killers. It's easy to dismiss any of the rumors and kick anyone's ass who doesn't believe him when he says everything is great. It's not something Ryan minds either. He likes his double life with nobody knowing what happens when he spends too much time near his dad. The whole idea of being two completely different people is appealing to him. Home is where his heart isn't, in his case.

The smell of disgusting cafeteria food fills the room as Ryan sits at the end of his table, listening in on Gabe and Alex's conversation. They're so stupid to Ryan, but more interesting than the uneaten slice of greasy but whole grain pizza in front of him.

“So, like, what happened? I can't believe the police busted them. Classic.” Gabe chimes. Apparently there was a party, that Ryan didn't make it to, that got busted. Four students suspended.

“Some neighbors. I really don't know, cos I left so fast.” Alex explains. “The people who got caught were some college kids and high schoolers. What college kids want to hang out with us anyway? They had some good beer though 'parently.”

Everyone takes a minute to process the words that have just came out of Alex's mouth. Even though Alex has been here for months, he still sounds like he's fresh out somewhere in the UK. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“Beats me.” Gabe stretches. “Whataya think, Ry?”

“That those kids are idiots and shouldn’t have chosen a house that has eighty year old neighbors, that's what I think.”

“Exactly,” William adds. “Ryan, when can we have a party at your place for once? It could fit the whole school!”

“Never,” Ryan responds immediately. “I'd be royally fucked if my dad came home the next day to see the house isn't clean.”

“That's why you have a maid.” Gabe enforces.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “No, Gabe. His maid comes on Mondays. So did you hear? Our school is full of gays.” William exclaims, exasperated. He sits next to Alex and slamming down his books. Not angrily, though.

“What?” Half of the table says.

“Yeah, like, okay. You know that Junior, Brendon, and that Shane kid? That party that got busted- they got caught doing a little more than making out in a bedroom! Apparently Brendon's a bottom." Everyone winces. "I know right? I almost gagged. So, yeah. Crazy shit. So someone kicks them out, I don't remember who. So that's like, twenty gay kids in our school.”

“It's spreading like a plague.” Ryan hears someone say.

Ryan holds his breath.

So maybe his friends don't know him that well. Not entirely.

“Yeah, well, those are the people we know about. You guys are all straight right? I mean, I am a perfect package and none of you guys get boners looking at me. At least that I know of.” William laughs, as well as a few others. “I mean, I'm not checking your pants.”

Ryan has to nod.

Suddenly Ryan feels his phone vibrating and his world stops.

“I gotta answer this,” Ryan says as he's pulling it out of his tight jeans. He leaves the table, making his way to the bathroom as quick as he can without making it look suspicious. “Hey,” Ryan rushes. He doesn't call his dad any name anymore. He isn't really deserving of being called Ryan's father.

“George,” A low, raspy voice answers. “You are coming to work right at seven today. But let me tell you, the absolutely shitty job you did yesterday... you'll have to make it up to me.” Ryan stops breathing. “You always have to make things up to me.”

Ryan scratches the side of his head, “Sorry, I tried? I had to get stuff done early, and-”

“Your excuses are so... terribly thought out. Almost as stupid as the fact that you've been working here so long and still can't remember to take the numbers off the calling list. You're not even working on a car when you do that shit. Those are child mistakes. ” His father takes a breath and Ryan just wants to collapse on the floor. “You're still a child when I've done my best to make sure you aren't.”

“Alright. I understand.”

“Good. Glad I got to remind you. Feed yourself tonight.”

He swears he heard “why'd I keep this kid” under his dad's breath, but he tries to convince himself he didn't.

The line goes dead.

All Ryan has ever wanted to do was be something to his dad. He still is that kid that never gets anything right, always forgets something, always messes up on stupid things. Ryan thinks he's the biggest fuck up, always getting in the way of someone's success. He, personally, will never be successful. Ryan never thought anything he does can make a living, especially something as trivial as guitar. Because how many guitarists are there in the world? Too many. How many of them get actual jobs? Barely any. So he's just going to work on everything he needs to do, pass it, then choose when... if he's ready.

Ryan remembers everything. “Dad, why can't you call me Ryan?” He'd ask innocently. At eight, Ryan never knew how seriously his dad took things.

“Because it isn't your first name.”

“Mom called me Ryan.” Ryan would counter.

“But your mother was an idiot. Like you.” And unexpectedly, Ryan received a push hard enough for him to land of the ground.

That's basically when it all began. The surprise release of tension his father got from the pain he'd inflict. It changed Ryan's whole life. And Ryan still thinks it's his fault.

His heart rate has increased and he feels like he's going to pass out, something that happens when he gets nervous. He leans over the sink, focusing on his breathing.

He knows he's a loser. Who does this? What eighteen year old senior, who's a guy, has a panic attack in a bathroom?

Of course someone walks in. Of course he gets more freaked out.

Ryan freezes, even tries to hold his breath, and it feels like his heads going to explode.

“Uh, you alright?” A low voice that is unfamiliar to Ryan asks. Ryan doesn't respond, but starts to shake and holds onto the sink a little tighter. It always has to get this bad. He always has to have remember every single time his dad's hand has been laid on him. Why can't he just get hit hard enough so that he doesn't remember it the next day?

The footsteps get closer, almost close enough to hover over him. Ryan is gone at that point. His focus is on completely different things that the guy could ever understand. His knees buckle and he just gives up, only to be caught by the guy he still hasn't tried to identify. He can't remember. There are only a few things he can right now. “It's all my fault,” Ryan whispers, “It's all my fault, she's gone, she's gone, and he- he-” Ryan forgets where he is. “I-I-I-” Ryans struggles against the touch. The arms wrap awkwardly around his torso and the guy has a sharp intake of breath, bringing him onto the ground and Ryan clutches onto him, almost for protection even though he's now sitting against a wall. “He'll get mad g-get me o-out,”

He squeezes his eyes shut and curls into whoever or whatever he's gotten a hold of. “I- I-” Ryan lets out jagged breaths, it becoming harder to get air in and out of him.

“Hey, hey, you're not there, you're in a bathroom at school,” the low voice reminds him. “Breathe,” The guy says, then starts counting out under his breath. Ryan struggles to hear but follows the instructions, listening to the calm voice and he starts to quiet down. The room is silent other than Ryan's rough breathing. “Do you remember what just happened?”

Ryan shakes his head, embarrassed. He gets himself up slowly. “I'm going home.”

“You can't just leave school,” the guy points. “I mean, unless you go to the nurse.”

Ryan huffs and leans his back against the sink. It's true. He can't go to the nurse because the woman is already suspicious of him, and the school is extremely strict on only being able to leave if you have opens. This place is more like jail than school.

“I've ditched once. I only have study hall and music theory left. So technically I can just come back for that.” Ryan bites back. Yeah, he's ditched way more than once. Not that it's a good idea, especially it being an AP course.

“You're in my music class. Right.”

“Well, uh, see you then I guess.”

“Yeah, I'm Brendon, by the way, if you need to talk or something,” Ryan's throat goes dry. He's the gay guy? Well, fine. He is wearing incredibly tight jeans. And Ryan can't help but find him attractive with those big eyes and dark hair.

That shouldn't be important right now.

“'m Ryan.”

-

Ryan has never cared for his sexuality. He has liked men, and he has liked woman. Of course he has had more experience with girls, but he has never preferred a specific gender more.

Looking at Brendon, well, he could just turn him fully gay on looks alone.

And when Ryan sees someone he likes, he goes after them. But in this case, he doesn't know. He was never a fan of his hookups knowing him, his weaknesses, or anything along those lines. Nothing else except sex. That's not possible with Brendon; he knows.

It was a bittersweet idea to actually go to music theory today, because Brendon waltzed right in and sat right next to Ryan while he's still contemplating what he's going to do.

“So, is there a reason you had the panic attack in the bathroom today?” Brendon whispers in the mostly quiet room.

“Uh,” Ryan lets out a breath and rubs his eyes. “Was thinking too much.” Which is true.

“Oh.” There's a pause. “I- my sister has panic attacks sometimes too. She doesn't have them for any reason, but yeah-”

'That sucks.” Ryan cuts him off.

“Do your parents know you have them?” Brendon catches Ryan's guilty eyes.

Ryan doesn't reply, he just quickly looks away and flips to the next page in his packet.

They work in silence, both of them not getting much done. Ryan eventually just stops writing, his mind being far too busy for him to focus.

“You know, if you tell anybody about what happened in the bathroom-” Ryan starts.

“Yeah, yeah. You're 100 pound self sure is scary.” Brendon smirks.

“I'm serious.”

“I'm Brendon.”

“Really? Grow up,” Ryan rolls his eyes. Brendon rolls his back sarcastically.

“Why?”

“Because you're a fucking senior in high school.” Ryan mutters.

“Only a senior in high school. I've got my whole life ahead of me.”

“You're impossible.” Ryan grabs his water and takes a sip.

Brendon scoffs. “Rather that than being easy. I've heard things about you.” He murmurs into his hand.

Ryan chokes on his water. “Pardon? I'm easy?” Brendon keeps the same closed-mouth grin while looking back down on his paper.

“Are you implying that I'm easy?” He asks.

“Well, technically no. You're pants are way too tight. Nobody would want to spend their time trying to get them off.”

Ryan can't figure out where this conversation has gone. It's going a thousand miles an hour. “Like yours aren't?”

“You're trying to show off something that doesn't even exist.” Brendon laughs but stops when he sees Ryan's infuriated expression. “Calm down, Ross.”

-

“Ryan,” Brendon says after the bell rings. “Doing anything after school?”

“Well, no,” Ryan admits. He doesn't have work until seven anyway.

“Meet me near the flag pole?”

“Why? I don't see us getting along that well.”

“Cause it'd be fun to hang out? Maybe we'll surprise each other.”

“We have two completely different definitions of fun.” Ryan mutters.

But a part of Ryan wants to say yes.

“I tried.” Brendon starts to walk off.

“Brendon,” Ryan calls out. “Give me five minutes.”

“Sudden change of heart?”

Ryan smiles makes his way to his locker.

-

Most of the kids have already left, showing Brendon's lack of punctuality. Ryan nervously picks at his fingers and calluses that are from playing guitar, hoping Brendon will come soon because he hates looking like an abandoned puppy.

“Hey,” He hears feet dragging from behind him.

“What the fuck,” Ryan stands up, looking at Brendon's bleeding nose. There's blood on his shirt- it being the only thing he can wipe the blood with. He sees a bruise forming under the redness. “Who did that?”

“Eh, it's happens. It was nobody,” Brendon answers halfheartedly.

“Idiot, you're limping too. Sit down.” Ryan motions him to the bench.

“Who new. You actually cared about people.” Brendon says, tilting his head back and pinching his nose.

Ryan blows off the comment. “Don't tilt your head back. It will just make you choke on your own blood.” Ryan has learned a thing or two about bloody noses.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? I don't have a tissue and I have enough blood on me.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, again, and goes digging in his backpack for a shirt he uses when he ran cross country in the fall.“Fine, follow me to the car.”

Ryan stands up and Brendon holds out his arms. Ryan takes his hand and helps him, not letting go of it until he reaches his car.

“Looks expensive.” Brendon remarks, “Daddy's little boy?”

“Anything but.” Ryan mutters, trying not to sound irritated. “I got a job at Earl's down the street, then I work with Dad.

“How's the nose?” He asks.

“I feel guilty for using your shirt.” Brendon frowns, still holding it to his nose.

“I won't need it 'till next fall anyway.”

“Cross country?”

“Ever since eighth grade, yeah. Ryan always has liked running, or being fast. So far Brendon hasn't complained about his driving. He's usually abusing the speed limit.

“Sweet.” Brendon sniffles. “I tried track. I sucked.” Ryan turns on the car, “Where are we going? You don't know where I live.”

“Figured I could let you borrow one of my shirts and clean yourself up at my place- I- uh, owe you. Parents will always notice.” Ryan shakes his head, “And yeah, track's fun. Sprints are the best.”

“Do you do any sports?” He asks.

“I'm just a music kid- nerd, whatever. I always wanted to get involved in something athletic. I learned how to surf last summer.”

The fact that Ryan is having a casual conversation with this kid is beyond him. The kid that slept with Shane. He stops thinking about driving for a moment and ends up having to slam on the breaks at an intersection.

“Uh, sorry.” Ryan apologizes, face turning pink.

“Dude,” Brendon laughs. “Nice.”

“So surfing? Where'd you learn that?”

“Hawaii. Went to go see family there.” Brendon muses.

Ryan smirks. He can totally see some Hawaiian in him, and it's hot.

He mentally slaps himself.

“Wow.” Is all he can say. It's not common for the people around here having much travel experience.
Unless it's Alex Turner. Freaking exchange students have seen it all.

“Who gave you the bloody nose?” Ryan can't help but ask again.

“Well, uh,” Brendon babbles, “Some guy.”

“Who?” Ryan pushes.

“Um,”

“I will literally stop this car if you don't tell me,” Ryan bites.

“Some guy named Alex.” Brendon admits, visibly shrinking into the seat.

“Turner? British accent?”

Brendon nods. Great.

“I'm going to kick his ass, Christ.”

Ryan has had a lot of issues with Alex Turner. First of all, he can barely understand what he is saying with an accent thicker than his personality. Second of all, he is one of the best poetic writers in school right next to him, and the sure fire favorite when it comes to who's the favorite in Mrs. Notolli's creative writing class. And finally, the fact that even though Alex has a skinnier stature than Ryan, he still has the guts to beat people to a pulp.

“He's such a dick,” Ryan starts, “just because he's foreign and good looking doesn't give him the right to just treat others like shit. Like, seriously, all the girls never shut up about him. He's such a dick.” He repeats.

“I think you hate him almost as much as I do,” Brendon points. “He beat the shit out of my cos I'm gay. That little homophobe. I swear, when I get the chance I'm going to-”

“You aggressive little fuck,” Ryan laughs, turning into his driveway.

They share a second of laughter. “You're house is nice,” Brendon says in awe.

“Well,” Ryan sighs, it's true. The house is made out of brick and is three stories high, and god knows how many square feet. They walk into the spacey area and up the stairs.

“So, uh, shirt,” Ryan says, “they may be too big you you.” He grabs one from his clean laundry pile, and tosses it too him. Brendon is just standing at the doorway quietly. Ryan can't help but wonder just how buff he is. Because, well, he looks like he'd have a really nice chest. He can't help feeling slightly attracted.

Because that's face it. He's more gay than straight at this point in his life.

“Um, do you have somewhere I can get changed?” He asks quietly.

Ryan couldn't hear him. “Pardon?”

“Uh, bathroom or something? For me to get changed?” He repeats. Ryan nods once.

“Down the hall to the right.” Ryan points.

“Thanks,”

Ryan waits a few moments until he feels impatient. He has been in the bathroom for a while, and how long does it take someone to change a shirt? Christ.

“Hey,” Ryan knocks on the door, “everything alright?”

“Yeah, I-” Brendon opens the door, “I was still bleeding, and I figured I'd just take care of it. Thanks for the shirt.”

Brendon's hair is a little ruffled and the shirt is wrinkly. The bruise on his face is completely visible with the blood wiped away. “My parents are going to kick my ass if I come home with this.”

Ryan nods and walks into the bathroom with him, then kneeling down to get the makeup he has. “This should work, but I don't know if you'd like it on your pillow when you wake up in the morning.”

“Makeup? Dude, I don't even know how to put it on.”

“You look like the kind of guy who spends time with the costume department,” Ryan scratches his face.

“I don't.” Brendon lies.

Ryan grabs a brush and a jar of concealer. “Well, at least you aren't swollen anymore.” Ryan grabs a stool that was originally just used for decoration, then puts it in front of the toilet. “Sit,” he orders.

Brendon huffs and takes a seat on the toilet. “When I asked to hang out I didn't mean makeovers.”

Ryan smiles and puts concealer on the brush. “Well, what were we going to do?”

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Brendon says. He flinches when Ryan brushes the cream on his skin. “About earlier today.”

Ryan shakes his head, “It was just a panic attack. I was freaking out about the end of the school year. That's getting closer, you know.”

Brendon studies him, their faces being rather close together. “You're lying.”

“No, I'm not.” Ryan says. He is, but still. Nobody else is able to detect it.

“I think you are,” Brendon whispers.

Ryan tenses. “Fine. If I was lying, how would you know.”

“You're really obvious with your eyes,” Brendon notes.

“Are you some kind of mentalist?” Ryan sounds half-serious.

Brendon continues, “You looked towards the left before you said anything. Coming up with a lie.”

“Cool, yeah,” Ryan says, rubbing in the last of the concealer with his fingers.

“Am I right?” Brendon mumbles. “You were saying some stuff, you know, during the panic.”

“Yeah, well, disregard it.” Their eyes meet each other's for a brief moment, both of them looking away once they do.

Ryan pulls out a different color of concealer which is almost like a gel. It's a dark color, as in African American.

“Uh, Ryan,” Brendon stops him. “I'm not black.”

“Your freckles are.” Ryan comments. “I've done this before.”

It takes a few minutes for Ryan to finish, there being an awkward silence. “Why have you done this before? I can't imagine anyone beating you up.”

Ryan swallows. He makes sure not to look left but instead he focuses on what he's doing. “You'd be surprised.” Ryan smirks.

“I'm done with you.” Ryan grabs a spray bottle, “Close your eyes.”

“Is that hairspray?” Brendon asks, half panicked.

“It'll keep the makeup on, chill.” Ryan answers. Once he sprays him he caps the bottle and puts the stool back. “I'm done.”

They both stand up and look in the mirror. “Thanks, wow. Can't tell the difference.”

“You've never looked better.” Ryan says smugly.

Brendon smiles at his reflection and then at Ryan's. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“Uh, yeah,” He admits. “C'mon, you said you wanted to hang out. Let's at least watch TV or something.” He really does his best to change the subject without it being too noticeable.

Brendon follows Ryan downstairs and grabbing snacks. Both of them went for the Twizzlers Ryan had hidden away, so they got at least two things in common by now.

“Okay, what about old cartoons?” Ryan asks as they watch Cartoon Network.

“Uh, they're hilarious, duh.” Brendon smiles, “I mean, seriously, if you find it funny when you're five, you'll probably find it funny when you're fifty.”

Ryan grins and then wavers. “Yeah, my dad was like that. He'd watch it with me before I went off to school.”

“Catdog was my favorite. I never understood how they went to the bathroom though.”

“Me either,” Ryan shrugs. “Rugrats. Remember that?”

“Creepy as fuck, now that I think about it.” Brendon's eyes widen as he turns to look at Ryan on the other side of the couch. “No, like, the background music- the art was all trippy and shit.”

“I tried watching an episode last night, couldn't do it.” Ryan shakes his head at himself. “Don't tell,”

“Who's there to tell?” Brendon eyebrows squeeze together condescendingly.

There's silence between them, only slight crunches being audible as they watch Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends.

“This is depressing,” Ryan concludes. “Think about it, these characters don't actually exist. A widowed woma-”

Brendon gasps. “Shut up! You're ruining it.” He flicks a crumb at Ryan's arm.

“Don't deny it!” Ryan fights back, moving closer to him and whipping him on the arm with a Twizzler.

Brendon grabs the Twizzler and takes a bite. “It's mine now.”

“But it was mine.” Ryan pouts.

Brendon puts the twizzler in his mouth. “Lady and the Tramp?”

He scoffs. “Funny.” Ryan just grabs another piece of candy.

Ryan doesn't know if he's being flirty or just an idiotic friend. Either one's acceptable, he supposes.

He shifts himself to be more comfortable and rolls up into the couch. “I'm so fucking tired,” He says, just realizing it. Ryan didn't get much sleep last night with his dad messing around downstairs.

“Tired is like, a personality trait for me.” Brendon shrugs. “Want that blanket?” He asks, referring to the one on the other chair.

Ryan hums, “Yeah.”

“Will you share?” Brendon gets up.

“No,”

“Yes you will.”

Brendon puts the blanket on the both of them and sits down closer to Ryan, it not being a big throw blanket at all.

“You're hogging it,” Brendon mumbles, pushing Ryan slightly.

“It's my blanket.” Ryan growls, taking even more.

Brendon studies him then, looking at his messy hair and his thin stature curled up into a ball, fingers gripping onto the blanket tightly. Ryan's eyes are drooping closed, and he shifts to finally give Brendon a bigger piece of blanket. He considers leaving to let him sleep in piece, but his own exhaustion is catching up to him and he takes the blanket and curls up too. They both sleep.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Are the words Brendon wakes up to. Ryan pulls himself off of Brendon, his head was laying against his shoulder.

“I'm late, I'm fucking late.” Ryan cries. It's 7:15. “Can you take yourself home or something?”

“Uh, yeah?” Brendon says confused.

“I'm so sorry, okay um, I'll see you tomorrow. Fuck.”

“Isn't your dad your boss? He'd get over it?”

Ryan laughs bitterly as he grabs his keys. “Funny.” And he's out the door.

–

Ryan sneaks into work as if he's been here ever since six. He smears oil on his smock and arms and jumps under a car, fixing the parts on the list his dad left for him.

“You were late,” The low voice says, “Of fucking course you were late.”

“I've been here the whole time. I had a stomach ache and had to use the restroom.” Ryan tenses up under the car, hoping he sounded believable. He feels his forehead start to sweat.

His father doesn't respond and just walks into the other part of the shop. Dodged that bullet.

He works silently for the next five minutes, worrying if Brendon found his way home or not. What if he lived, like, ten miles away? What an asshole move. He can't help but pick up his phone and call Spencer. He has to call more than once, making him more nervous.

“Dude, seriously, I'm throwing up right now. Can it wait?” Spencer sniffles.

“I'll bring you some soup after work. Do you have Brendon Urie's number?”

“Uh, yeah, why?”

“Can you call him and see if he found his way home alright?” Ryan asks urgently.

“Why?” So that's the only word Spencer can choke out.

“He was at my place and I was late for work-”

Spencer dry coughs again. “Yeah, yeah, so you left him like a lost puppy, dickhead.”

“I did.” He admits.

“Call you back.”

Ryan continues working worriedly until he spots the light on his phone go off. “So, Brendon is still walking home.”

“Still?”

“He lives twelve miles away from you, Ryan. That's the other side of town.”

“I'm such a dick.” Ryan whispers. “Is he close to home?”

“Think about it. It takes a person twelve minutes to walk a mile. You left him, what, a twenty minutes ago? You're lucky it's light out.”

“No parents or anything would take him home?”

“They're at a food pantry or something. I'd take him home but y'know, I'm practically dying.” Spencer always makes whatever is going on with him sound like it's the worst.

Ryan finishes what he's doing and grabs his keys, “Did he say where he was?”

“Making his way down Grandbank going towards Effort.”

“'kay.” Ryan says, getting into his car.

It wasn't hard to find Brendon. The sun is only halfway down and Ryan spots his t-shirt from the bottom of the hill.
“Hey, Brendon. Get in.” Ryan says after he rolls down the window.

“You're supposed to be at work,” Brendon points out as he climbs in.

“Not tonight, don't worry about it. Where do you live?”

“Desert Bird.”

Ryan sighs. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you lived so far away.” He looks at Brendon sorrily.

“It's fine, you have work and stuff.” Brendon shrugs it off.

After a few seconds of silence, Ryan feels responsible to break it. “Hey, so it would help if I had your number, you know, for future reference.” Ryan gives Brendon his phone, letting him put in the number.

“Hah, are we doing this again?”

“Um- well, uh, if you wanted to. Like-”

“Yes, we'll hang out again. But if it's at your place I'm bringing my own car.” Brendon jokes.

Ryan nods. He really doesn't mind Brendon's company, so it wouldn't hurt to hang out with him. Plus, Brendon totally knows about him. And if Ryan left him walking home alone he would be called out as a totally asshole and his reputation may be ruined. Not to mention he could tell people what happened in the bathroom. It just wouldn't end up well.

Once Brendon points out his house, Ryan parks the car.

“Thanks for the ride.” Brendon unclicks his seat belt. Brendon says. “About earlier... the makeup thing. You have to wear it too?”

Ryan flinches. “Yeah, so?”

“Why?” Brendon asks. Ryan just studies Brendon's face, looking at his work.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Brendon.”

Brendon dismisses it.

“I'll find out one day, see you.”


---

SO obviously this was really long.

You'll have to be patient with chapters because I have lacrosse and stuff.

If you want to check out my other ryden fics on my LJ don't hesitate! I have a Ryden wedding, and some scribblings. Yay.