Even in death, there are those that can ruin lives. But in life, there are always those than can save us.
Ryan Ross always dreads conversations with his mother.
He never wants to talk to her about how she thinks he should come home, give up on this silly band thing, call his father.
He hates hearing her try to control him like she always does.
Today was the absolute worst.
Ryan is lying in bed listening to the soft pit-pat of the faltering rain against the hotel room window. He's turned on his side, towards the window and away from the door.
His lips are a light pink, his outfit is the usual white t-shirt, slightly too small jeans, and black and white striped socks (purchased by Brendon) that he always wears on days when they aren't playing a show. The intricate black design on his face is smeared but not nonexistent.
The one thing he hasn't been doing is crying for that fucking bastard.
But he wasn't there.
A pause. He could hear her sniffling on the other side of the phone.
"Your father's dead. He died from alcohol poisoning last night."
Just like always, his dad has ruined his life. Tonight, they had to play the biggest show of their lives, but now, everything's on hold. Ryan's been silently waiting for this moment for a while, and now, it's finally happened.
The worst part? Ryan's so fucking pissed. His life, his dreams, his career are on hold now. Everything's on hold for a man who never gave a shit about his son. But Ryan Ross isn't vengeful. And that's why they've cancelled the show. Because he needs to be there. Because, no matter what, that was his father.
Ryan hears the door creak open, and knows he should turn and tell whoever it is that he's fine and ask them what time their flight has been rescheduled for.
But instead, he just lies there, barely breathing, until the stranger wraps his arms around Ryan's waist and snuggles his face into Ryan's back.
"I'm so sorry, Ryan."
"25,000 tickets. You know how much alcohol that money would have bought him?"
"Don't worry about the show. We'll play another one. You just need to get better."
"He needed to get better. I should've done more. God, he would've hurt me for this. I was off 'painting my face and prancing around' instead of helping him."
Ryan is sobbing now, and the boy next to him grips his body tighter, forces him to turn around so that the two of them are face to face.
The other boy reaches up with a pale, thin hand and pushes Ryan's bangs behind his ears, wipes the tears that are cascading beautifully down his cheeks. If he wasn't hurting so much, the boy would tell Ryan how great he looked. Everything about him was simply picturesque.
"He was an asshole. He didn't deserve a son like you. And that's why you left. Because you're better than what he made you. You're better than him. You..."
Ryan is intrigued, and he wants to hear what the boy has to say.
"What? I'm what?"
And suddenly, Ryan swears he hears the rain slowly coming to a stop as the boy moves closer to him, taking one of the hands from Ryan's waist and placing it behind his head. His chapped lips brush past Ryan's soft ones, and they connect briefly, Ryan sighing and closing his eyes, forgetting all about this world, the regrets, his father. Their lips move together like nothing else in the world matters, and at the moment, nothing does. When they move apart (only slightly...Ryan doesn't want to lose the only safe connection he's got), Ryan cracks a tiny smile and interlocks his fingers with the hand still resting on his hip.
"I think we'll be okay."
The boy simply shakes his head and nuzzles his head into Ryan's chest, looking up into his honey brown eyes.
"No, I know we'll be okay."
And just like that, Brendon Urie has calmed the storm. Only, it's not the one outside the bedroom window.