"You were living before me, so you can live without me," I said coldly, surprised at my own voice, my own calmness. "I wasn't living until I met you,"
It was early morning; 9:00am, and I was sitting on the front steps of my run down apartment building. Loud techno music was pumping out of the third floor, shaking the very frame of the complex.
I didn't live in the risquÃ© part of Vegas. It was more like the suburbs where I was, just with apartments and a shitload of condos. Twenty four thousand some odd acres. Half a million dollar houses, Escalades and four wheel drive attitudes. You know those people, the ones who think they can drive 60 fucking miles an hour when there's half a foot of snow on the ground, just because their car has four wheels that receive power from the engine. Just because their car has automatic brakes that lock up at any slight fishtail.
The wind blew slightly, the cold air slicing at the skin on my face like tiny razorblades, sending my hair into my eyes and obscuring my vision. A friend once said to me emo boys only cry because their flippy bangs poke at their eyes, and their jeans are so tight it squishes their... Well.
I forcibly pushed back my soft hair with trembling fingers. Fingerless gloves were stylish, but definitely not made for winter. No matter how heavy a coat I was wearing, or how many scarves, my hands were always cold.
That boy said he'd be here exactly 4 minutes and 39 seconds ago.
"Ryan, I love you!" A giant fucking bear could've just grappled me into a hug and I wouldn't have known the difference.
"Hey Brendon..." My muffled voice floated out from between Brendon's shoulder and my mouth.
Brendon was the kind of boy who was pretty much on a constant PMS rampage, only a lot more happy and a little less blood.
If that makes any sense at all.
Brendon pulled away, giving me the trademark Urie grin, his huge gorgeous lips stretched out, teeth shining like a freaking blinding beacon in the night.
Brendon Boyd Urie. Best friend of Me, George Ryan Ross.
"Let's go get that coffee I promised," He said, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the sidewalk.
My face flushed, and if I wasn't so flustered about him grabbing my hand, I would have taken the time to appreciate the warmth my face felt for those few seconds.
The tar was that five-year-old-worn-out gray color it turns after a few years of baking in the sun. Cracks were visible, from frost heaves, cyclists, and whatever sin may have come upon this ground.
My feet scraped gracelessly against it, and I couldn't help but notice how Brendon seemed to have a strut of his own, practiced to perfection. He wiggled his nice, er, huge, I mean- girly ass, and stepped each step like he was a prince.
Despite the cold, the sun beat down on our faces, slightly warming our shaking bodies, our chattering teeth. By noon, it would surely be an acceptable tempurature, but you never know by the way the snow was still swirling around the cold, desolate town.
The thing about Brendon was, I hated the very core of him. Loathed every atom of his being.
I hated the way the tip of his nose turned red in the cold. I hated his huge trademark grin. I hated how beautiful and contagious his laugh was. I hated how outgoing and outspoken the boy was. I loathed his red, thick-rimmed glasses. But what I hated most was how much I loved him for every little imperfection and annoyance.
I, Ryan Ross, of the male gender, was in love with his best friend, Brendon Urie, also a boy.
It definitely didn't help that he was always touching me, snuggling against me, hugging me, and saying things like "you look like a golden god."
I wasn't even gay, that I know of. I still think some girls are attractive, and all my life I've been attracted to them. So I tell myself it's just a friendly feeling. Just 'love' in the sense that we were best friends. I tell myself this as I lay in bed, freshly awoken from a fantasy I shouldn't be having, especially about Brendon.
I tell myself this, and don't believe it.
Brendon was still holding onto my hand as we entered the cafe that was just around the corner from my apartment. I, regretfully, wrenched it from his grasp, feeling as though every eye in the shop was on me.
I was vulnerable, and I was self-conscious.
The tile in the cafe was a sickly green color, that could make you literally visualize the bile that was coming up from your stomach at the moment. I looked away, to the counter, the marble a dark brown color with white and auburn specks.
Hands and bills, and cups of coffee. Doughnuts, pastries, and hands. Bills, change, repeat. All exchanging, all moving.
The line moved until Brendon was one person away from the lady at the counter, her eyes a piercing green that made me feel like she could see right through me. Black hair like electricity, flying in all directions. Nose ring in place, long black talons.
"What do you want? I'll buy for you." Brendon said, fishing into his virgin tight jeans, and bringing out a black leather wallet.
"You don't have to get anything for me... I'm not hungry," I mumbled, feeling my stomach churn. Truthfully, I was hungry. But I always felt bad when people, for lack of a better word, wasted money on me. And I always felt nervous deciding what to eat, don't ask why. Even I don't know.
"No, it's fine, really," Brendon said, turning to me. "Do you want coffee?"
My stomach bubbled again at the thought of coffee on an empty stomach. Definitely a no-no for Ryan.
"Um, no thanks. Just maybe a muffin orsomething..." I trailed off. When had I become so nervous? Oh right...
He smiled warmly at me, turning to the lady that pretty much scared me shitless.
"One medium coffee, black, and two cornbread muffins, please." I heard Brendon's voice say from in front of me.
The lady, insert glance at nametag here, /Linda/, clacked her sharp talons onto the register, entering codes and amounts foreign to me. The register clicked, dinged, screeched and fed out a short receipt. Brendon handed her the cash. Hands, bills, receipt, change, fingernails. She smiled at him, suprising me at how warm and white it was. No sharp fangs.
In no time, god I hate that saying, the food came to the counter, and Brendon grabbed it, motioning for me to follow him.
Normally, we went to his car and ate there, but today he brought us to the back of the shop, by a sun ridden window.
The table was one of those stupid couple ones fit only for two, wobbled at the slightest touch, and was covered in a sticky substance I definitely didn't want to know about.
Brendon energetically gave me my muffin and starting on his own, ripped apart the saran wrap, and stuffed almost half into his mouth. I just rolled my eyes, carefully opening the clear plastic of mine.
I always hated saran wrap and how i stuck to every fucking thing but what you wanted it to.
I finally freed my muffin from it's death trap, and started picking at it, popping small bits of the top into my mouth. That was always my favorite part, the top. It somehow tasted better to me.
Outside, the snow had lightened a bit, so now it was almost as if it wasn't snowing at all. Cars pasted here and there, every minute or so. The Doppler Effect constantly happening.
A car approached, insert far away car rumble. The car was directly in front of the cafe, insert loud car whoosh. The car was past the shop, and going on towards its destination, insert far away rumble again.
"So, Ryan," Brendon started, sipping at his coffee, I grimaced. "I met a girl today."
"Really?" I said, in that tone of voice that is interested-but-not-so-interested.
"Yea, she's really pretty," Brendon said, emphasizing every possible letter of pretty. I got the point from when he said 'girl'.
"Tell me about it."
"Well, she has this long curleyish brown hair, kind of the color of yours actually. And she has these beautiful brown eyes, almost like honey, but no so light, you know? And let's just say, she's got it going on." All the while he was talking, he seemed interested, but there was a look in his eyes that I couldn't place. And I am the master of reading eyes.
As much as it pained me to listen, I snorted. "Sounds like a keeper." Did I just say that? Shit.
"I don't know about that... I mean, she's pretty and all, but I'm not sure if I'll keep her around, you know?"
"Yea," but I didn't really know at all.
Brendon shifted gears, the car lurching a bit, staling almost for a split second, before revving up and increasing the speed. We were on our way back to my apartment. Brendon was going to drop me off to return home to skanko-whatsherface, then probably eat her face off for a good half hour.
Jealousy much? Yea, it's pretty hilarious.
I tugged at the scarf he had given me. He thought I looked 'oh-so cute and coollddd' and decided I needed another scarf, when I was already pretty much suffocating from the one I was wearing. Mine was brown and crochet knit, while Brendon's was scratchy and scarlet red. I didn't mind though.
I shifted in my seat, the leather squeaking and making me even less warm than before. Why does leather have to be so cold? More importantly, why does Brendon have to turn the heat off?
The interior was worn and old, red leather, red dash. It was a 'vette, 1973, and a masterpiece if I do say so myself. The outside was perfect though. Brendon brought it in to a shop and they got rid a few dents and scratches, gave it a new paintjob, and called it new. They also put in new bumpers, which was costly because it was the only year in the 'vettes that they had chrome rear bumpers, and plastic front ones.
The beauty of a car slowed to a stop, and I looked up to see my old, falling down apartment before me. I looked to Brendon and he smirked.
"I'll see you later, babes," and that asshole pinched my cheek.
I scrunched up my nose before biting my lip.
"Bye," I whispered, pulling myself out of the car, and carefully shutting the door. Brendon pulled away shortly after, and in a way, leaving me in the dust, unknowing.
It wasn't until I had peeled off every little layer of clothing, other than a shirt and jeans, that I realized I still had Brendon's scarf. Mentally slapping myself, I grunted, putting all of it back on. I looked at the ugly thing and couldn't help but plaster a goofy grin on my face. It looked like Brendon had made it himself...
... Actually, that wouldn't surprise me.
I sighed, deciding Brendon probably wanted this back, and I could easily walk to his house [damn me and not having a car]. It's all fine though, Brendon only lived about a block or two away.
I pushed the front door open, the slab of wood creaking in it's frame, hinges squeeking loudly. I quickly shut the door behind myself, mentally making a note to buy some lube, er, oil.
The techno music has ceased playing ever since I had gotten back, but now was replaced with some random hardcore, screamo, death/sex metal, posthardcore/experimental crap that sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
I opted for running to Brendon's, it would make me warmer and take less time. I suddenly felt like all I wanted to do was lie in bed for the rest of the day.
Running, more like jogging, was a harder task then I thought with all these layers on. I felt like I was wearing 10 pounds of clothing.
My breath was coming out if gasps of condensed moisture and carbon dioxide, forming little puffs of white smoke before my eyes. Scenery passed, but didn't change. There were houses upon houses, all the same mini mansions that were being put of everywhere now. Trees, cars, kids, and sometimes dogs passes my line of vision. I could see Brendon's small house in view now. It was at the end of the street, on the corner, powder blue with two stories, a basement, but no attic.
I knew Brendon enough to not knock on the door, he wouldn't mind, and I couldn't find the strength or will in me to raise my lazy ass hand and knock.
I opened the door, glad it wasn't locked [when is it?] and immediately went for the living room, seeing as the Television was on. The television with it's 500 some odd channels, with nothing on to watch.
Needless to say, I could've dropped dead at the moment I stepped foot into that living room with it's shit brown carpet, and sunshine yellow walls that just seemed to mock me. Brendon was currently, ahem, /riding/, this young brunette. And, for God's sake, he wasn't relieving this girl of her virginity, they were fully clothed, but if they happened to be naked, I'm sure Brendon would take the opportunity. There was no kissing, suspiciously, just mad flirty giggles and smiles and fucking sickening gestures.
I made a sort of strangling cat in a bathtub noise [not one of my better ones], and Brendon looked up to see me practically standing there like a fish out of water; pale and gaping. His face sort of fell, and I dropped his scarf and fucking ran.
If he didn't know I was slighlty attracted to him, he would now. Because I'm such a pussy and I ran for it. By now, it was far into the day, noonish, and it was raining. Just my luck, the temperature warmed enough just to make the snow turn to god forsaken rain. It wasn't pouring, but it wasn't that light sprinkle you just seem to love.
I tore up the tar with my dress shoes, pageboy hate flying off my head behind me. I didn't dare to go back for it, I just kept running, leaving my emotions behind to deal with later. Running until my legs felt like numb lead, until my lungs were screaming for air, until my feet hit the grass of the park that was near my house. I tripped slightly, grabbing onto the sides of the nearest trashcan and heaving the contents of my stomach [See: muffin] into said trashcan. I didn't even want to think of what had been put in the trashcan previous to my projectile vomiting.
I was now soaked to the core. Soaked inside and out, feeling as though the raindrops were my sorrow, every single drop that hit me hurt more, until I was reduced to a shell and shaking and teeth chattering on the cold earth.
I let a little rain collect in my mouth, before swishing it around and spitting it out, trying to rid my mouth of the acrid taste of vomit.
Loud footsteps came pounding up near me, and I just knew who it was and I wasn't too happy about seeing him.
"Ryan!" Brendon pretty much shouted, causing me to cringe.
He kneeled next to me, concerned plastered onto that face that I loathed so much. He placed his left hand on my shoulder, but I twisted away. I was having a bitchfit and I knew, but I couldn't stop it.
"What's wrong?" He asked, like he didn't know. How could he not, unless he's blind. But I'm sure even a blind man could see what I felt for him.
"Nothing, B-brendon. I'm fine, just go back to your house. You d-don't want to keep sk-that girl waiting." I said, teeth uncontrollably chattering.
Brendon looked into my eyes, his eyebrows furrowing hard in concentration. "What are you hiding from me?"
I stood up and turned away from him, walking down the path further, his footsteps quickly following.
"You of all people should know. G-god, it's so obvious Brendon. Even after all t-this time trying to convince myself against it, I have to admit it's t-true."
"What's true?" He said again, true confusion in his voice. I stopped abruptly, turning around to face him.
"You know what.. I t-think it would be best if I left you alone, all together. I mean, we've been friends for all this time, we've had our laughs. I can go out and meet more p-people. You too, it'll be good for us..." Oh god, what was I saying? I sure as hell didn't mean any of it. I was overreacting because I knew-/thought/ I was found out. But the words just kept coming and I couldn't stop them. Surely I would start bawling my eyes out if I couldn't control myself.
"Ryan, what are you talking about? Is this about Stacy... Or, what? I don't get you, why are you freaking out?" He put his hand on my face and it burned. I looked down, his hand sliding from my delicate skin.
"Don't touch me, you'll just hurt me more."
Brendon gulped, his eyes shining, and oh fuck, now I've made the boy cry.
And the words, they kept coming. More and more, and as each fucking syllable passed my lips, I hated myself more and more.
"You were living before me, so you can live without me," I said coldly, surprised at my own voice, my own calmness.
Brendon opened his mouth, realization coming to his eyes, and I knew he knew now. I braced myself for the inevitable.
He moved in, and I knew this was the moment my heart would fucking break into thousands of tiny pieces and no one would be able to put them back together.
His face was inches from mine. His orbs of chocolate bore into my honey ones. He said in the most serious tone I have ever heard him use.
"I wasn't living until I met you," and he crashed our lips together with so much force I could feel it in my bones.
If I wasn't so distracted by his lips, I would've thought how freaking clichÃ© this was and how much it made me sick.
Instead I let the feeling of Brendon's lips against my own. It was innocent, no tongues, no crashing of teeth or thrashing tongues. Just lips to lips, and true feelings radiated off of Brendon like fire.
He pulled away, and he looked at me this time with open eyes. I could see into him, his very soul and I got the message.
The rain still poured down on us, chilling us to the bone, but we couldn't feel it.
All we felt was the warmth from each other and all we saw was the love coming from each others eyes and piercing into each others hearts.
I never did ask him about the girl, and I didn't want to. I'm pretty sure she's more than history.
Our lips just inches from each others, our breath making small puffs of smoke, the rain still lashing at our clothes; We were warm.
And we were secure.