"I think I'm going crazy...thats the only explanation. I'm going completely nuts." he said while staring out the window that sat twenty floors above the rainy city.
"umm..Ry, who are you talking to?" Brendon Urie asked after sticking his head into the adjoining hotel and glancing around at dark room that was completely empty except for the figure of Ryan Ross sitting in the middle of his bed.
"well I guess its ok. Just don't answer yourself back," he started to head back into the other room, the fully lighted room that was currently filled with the rest of their band and friends before turning and asking, "Ryan, are you ok?"
"...yea Brendon, I'm fine. I'm just tired ok? can you actually do me a favor and close the door behind you." Ryan asked his friend softly.
"sure man. Just if you need to talk, I'm here. night." Brendon said as he shut the door and headed back into the light.
"yea...I'm going crazy." Ryan once again sighed to himself before getting up and fishing out his notebook out of his suitcase. This resulted in him tripping over Brendon's shoes that for some reason seemed to find the middle of the floor a good place to be. Both on the way there, and the way back to the bed.
Ryan clicked on the bedside light and glanced outside one more time before starting to write...
Crazy is subjective I suppose. If I THINK I'm crazy, doesn't that make me sane? ugh, I fucking hate this shit. I'm not nuts. I'm just...tired and overworked and stressed. and quite frankly sick and tired of screaming girls throwing themselves at my feet. God does that sound completely and utterly pompous. I don't deserve it, which sounds like false modesty but I don't really believe I deserve having girls want to fuck me. 'cause that's all they way. They want to fuck a rock star. They want to say they bedded George Ryan Ross. Which, shouldn't be a problem. Therein of course lies the problem. What red-blooded 20 year old man doesn't want to bang whatever tail he can get? Don't get me wrong, I'm not a saint...and why the hell am I writing this as though someone is reading it. Fucking stream of consciousness. Maybe I should publish? fuck the music thing. Nevermind where was I? Yea, not a saint. I'll take what I can get. Esspecially if I'm fucking some blonde, brunette, red-head, purple, pink, whatever the hell shade of Manic Panic they've got in today I can forget about what I've been thinking so hard on...god that was a bad choice of words. God I was fine until a few weeks ago, I didn't think like this. The thought didn't even cross my mind. Friends, we're JUST friends. Who cares what it looks like, who the hell cares how we act. Ok, so admittedly I was a bit of a fan before everything blew up (so to speak), but its normal to be appreciative of someone you admire. right? Right. I'm just appreciative of talent...not the way his jeans
"fuck..." Ryan hissed to himself while ripping the sheet out of his notebook. Staring at it and re-reading it for what seemed like eternity but was more like thirty seconds he jumped up and grabbed his lighter. Walking across the room and into the bathroom he quickly turned on the sink faucet. Staring once more at the paper he ignited it and held it til it burned up the half of the page he had written on before tossing it into the running water.
Turning his face up from the running water he jumped at the sight of his reflection, pale and withdrawn that it was, and was shocked to find that at some point he had started cry. Not the big sobbing tears you'd find in over dramatic movies, these were just a few frustrated tears that slipped out. Swiping furiously at his face Ryan stared himself down in the mirror and quietly proclaimed with just the mirror and his makeup as witness'
"You do not have feelings for Pete. Your just friends. Your just going crazy. You are not gay."
Ryan quickly turned out the light, walked into the bedroom, layed down on his bed and passed out. Hoping upon hope for a dreamless sleep, instead of one plauged by the presence of a certain bassist.
Around 5 the next morning Ryan woke up from some subconscious alarm and glanced over to the other bed fairly unsurprised to see no one there. Getting out of bed and padding across the room he opened the door in between the two rooms and choked back his laughter at seeing everyone passed out with an infomercial telling him to buy hair in a can on the television. Carefully and quietly he picked his way across the floor, stepping over Brendon, an empty case of beer, Patrick, a few cans of soda, a bowl of chips, and various other people and products before finally reaching the television and turning it off.
"geez...party much?" he said almost silently as he observed that no one had even twitched at his intrusion on their states of unconsciousness. Ryan glanced around once more trying to see through the dim room at who actually was there. Spencer and Jon had managed to kick everyone except their girlfriends and one other person out of their beds. Well Jon had suceeded in just having himself and Amy in his bed. The third lump in Spencer's bed was just more proof to Ryan's theory that his oldest friend could be persuasive but he had far from perfected the his abilities, despite what he himself may think. It seemed that Pete was just that much better at getting his way then Spencer, that and he signs their paychecks.
Ryan smiled slightly as he watched his friend and current object of confusion sleep. Half of his body hanging out of the bed.
'The shirtless half' Ryan was shocked to feel himself focus on that one fact out of all the others he could be thinking of. 'sure, my first thought can't be that he's gonna wake up with a neck pain'
Ryan closed his eyes, put his head down and sighed before opening them again and looking up only to jump in shock as his eyes met another pair of brown ones. Flushing and pushing down the lustful feelings those eyes stirred up in his belly he began to quickly ramble to the silent figure that was just observing him sleepily.
"umm...morning. go back to sleep. It's early. I was just turning the tv off." before doing what basically resembled something between an olympic sprint and high jump over his friends and into his own room.
Closing the door and leaning against it Ryan slid down to the floor and dropped his head into his hands. Taking a few deep breaths to calm his frazzled nerves he thought to himself
'...right. crazy. competely fucking nuts. I need to find a chick. I just need to get laid. its been too long.'
With those comforting thoughts in his head he stood up and walked across the room and climbed back into bed. Then spent the rest of the early morning, until Brendon stumbled in around 10 and he pretended to get up for the day, staring at the hotel room ceiling being haunted by a pair of warm brown eyes, familiar laughter, and the thumping of his heart that not so strangely resembled a bass line.
'just need to find myself a girl' he repeated over and over in his head trying to drown out everything.