Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > The Lies Hurt More Than the Truth
Pairing (s): Spencer/Ryan, Brendon/Ryan
Summary: He's not depressed, he's just tired of people asking if he is. Spencer isn't helping, and Brendon is just a stupid naive boy who thinks life is just one big game. LOVE TRIANGLE.
AN: My first slash story. meep. So please be kind. I've been working on this for awhile, so it's my baby. :]
**
Spencer is a good friend, a loyal and supportive friend; he rationalized with himself for reasons not to end a long-term friendship, but most of the time Spencer annoys the hell out of him. Spencer always seemed to think he was his sole right to help him and tell him what to do, how to get his life in order. He wasn't falling apart; he wasn't turning into an alcoholic or drug addict. He preferred to be alone, and ever since his father's death, they couldn't seem to grasp that concept that he needed time to think. Ryan being alone didn't necessarily add up to suicidal Ryan.
He's twenty-years-old and hasn't lived at home in almost three years, but sometimes he still feels like he is still at home, constantly being prodded and watched.
He had just reached for his notebook when the curtain to his bunk sprung open, the light hitting him harshly in the eyes. He was about to snap at Spencer for the up-tenth time for doing that without announcing his presence, for god's sake, he could've been masturbating or something--
"Oh, it's you, Urie," he said, watching with disinterest has Brendon uninvitingly sat down next to him, noisily munching on a cookie. He was wearing that ridiculous pink head band to match with his equally absurd pink shirt that read in big bright letters, 'Spooning leads to Forking'.
"Why do you call me that? I don't go around calling you 'Ross'," he pouted, smiling at him and popping another cookie in his mouth and offering the bag towards him, and he shook his head. Brendon and his damn cookies, he knew exactly what to get him for Christmas now: Cookie Monster shirt, and knowing Brendon, he would proudly wear it.
"No thanks," he said, sighing and putting down his notebook in defeat. So much for peace and quiet. Brendon must've just returned from his interview, and once Brendon was back on the bus, there was little hope for quiet.
"So, what's up? Spencer is talking about how you've been in your bunk all day, care to talk?" asked Brendon, friendly concern etched on his features. He wasn't demanding or overbearing like Spencer, Brendon had a different, milder approach albeit direct approach, he just outright asked, unlike Spencer, who would drop aggravating questions. And sometimes he couldn't help talking to the younger boy, wondering if Brendon's upbringing had something to do with it. All-praise-the-lord bullshit and going to church and helping others bullshit they all learned at church--
"I-I'm working on this song," he began slowly, debating if he should show Brendon his notes. He always did, considering eventually Brendon would end up singing them onstage, it was a private thing between them. Singer and lyricist, Brendon was the voice and he was the writer. It always found it easier to let someone else speak his words, his emotions. "Not turning out like I want it. It's just...irritating me, that's all."
"Ah, I see," said Brendon, his expression eager, he started to fidget in his excitement and leaned over, disappointed he had shut the notebook from his prying eyes. "Can I see what you have?"
He instinctly pulled it closer, remembering it had left the draft in his other notebook, which was still in the duffel bag. "Erm, not yet. How mad is Spencer?"
Brendon didn't seem to mind the change of subject. Besides, it wasn't such a big secret of the fight Spencer and him had earlier that morning. He had refused to get up for the interview, and Spencer exploded, saying he couldn't afford to miss another interview and people were starting to wonder. Ryan had been too tired to respond and just went back to his bunk, fuming. Brendon had come into the back, saying it was all right he could handle it and go in his stead. He never liked it when Brendon covered for him, or seemed to calm down Spencer for him; he just generally hated others caring for him, especially someone younger.
He hated Brendon Urie at first, for being so fucking happy all the time. He still had that innocent boyish charm about him, and laughed a whole easier than he ever did. He didn't seem stricken with a horrible past or with parents who didn't love him. No, that was unfair, he rationalized, things weren't always easy for Brendon Urie, his parents went through a hard time when he told him he was leaving the church and pretty much out of their lives to pursue a music career. They were skeptical at first, refusing to talk to him and even got far enough where Brendon was on his own to support himself to pay for his one bedroom apartment they all shared when first starting out, but they lightened up and got drawn into the idea once their record dropped and it selling faster than anybody ever imagined it would.
But the younger boy grew on him, with his quiet talks and bursts of over-active excitement. He really had a nice way to break the awkward silences and take control of the audience, captivating them, and Brendon was a natural onstage dealing with people as he was off stage. Ryan sometimes wondered if they had gotten a therapist instead of a singer that day they held auditions.
"I think he's over the main hurdle," Brendon said, nervously looking at him, as if this whole thing had been his fault. "are you still mad?"
"No," he lied, sighing, "just wish he could learn to mind his own damn business."
"C'mon, he's your best friend," said Brendon jovially, "he only cares a lot about you. You have what? Fifteen years? I swear, you guys should get married. My parents never fought this much."
Ryan was too stun trying to realize that Brendon's bible-hugging, goody two shoes parents ever fought to care that Brendon was insinuating Spencer and him were like a couple. Brendon frowned when he realized the bag was empty and no more cookies were left. Ryan smiled despite himself; Brendon was such a damn kid sometimes.
"You're right; Fifteen-years is an incredibly long time," he began slowly, "any suggestions?" If he were talking to Jon, he would up with something atrocious and sexual, but Brendon wasn't like that. He wasn't as badly corrupted as the rest of them. /Yet/, Jon would say with an evil smirk on many occasions when they teased Brendon for still being a virgin. But who knew? Maybe Brendon would turn out to be the sluttest one out of them all one day.
"Oh, I totally know what you should do," began Brendon, a big grin on his face.
He groaned. "Please don't ever say that word again. It makes you sound like a stuck-up cheerleader from the movie Clueless."
"Ok, seriously. He's your best friend, I don't know. I've only known him for two years," Brendon said, furrowing his brows in concentration, "I'm sure an apology will suffice. "
"Please, I've never apologized to him and I'm sure not gonna start now," he said firmly, thinking if anyone should apologize it should be Spencer, who started this damn mess like such a emotional girl. He certainly had all the criteria. Loud, shrieking, yelling, constantly badgering him, he wondered if he had a girlfriend disguised in his best friend's body sometimes. "He acts as if I'm gonna do something stupid." Maybe he should, just to get him off his back and prove him right, that would make him happy and less irritable.
"I think the best thing you should do is show him how wrong he is," said Brendon, contradicting his thoughts, and Ryan fixed him a confused stare, and Brendon blushed momentarily, trying to find the words to explain, "I-I mean, erm, go out or something. He's always saying you always stay in your bunk and do nothing. Start living man, we're young and we're fucking famous, yeah?"
"Please don't let that get to your head, Urie," he said, rolling his eyes. "We're not that famous."
"Ok, you're right, you know when you're famous when you go to Pizza Hunt and everybody recognizes you," said Brendon with a wide grin. "Or when you're at Starbucks and the girl drops your coffee because she realizes who you are." Brendon wore an insanely big grin now, and he laughed when Ryan shook his head at him in shame, only Brendon Urie would take it as a good thing if someone spilled perfectly good coffee in favor of recognizing him and asking for an autograph.
"Apparently this newfound stardom has yet to go to your head," he said sarcastically. "Soon girls will be chasing us down the streets, going through our garbage---"
"Who's going through our garbage?" asked a sudden voice and they heads whipped to the right to see Jon standing there, a curious look on his face. He had on his black hoodie and sweat pants, his hair tousled, apparently just woken up from his nice nap in the small cramped mini living room on the bus.
"Hopeless fangirls," he answered.
Jon just looked at him like they were crazy, his eyebrows shooting up high onto his forehead his eyes looking between the ridiculously looking dressed Brendon, to him, with a dumbfounded, 'Please help me' look. Jon paid no heed to his desperation and smirked, walking to his bunk across from underneath Brendon's, pulling out his iPod and cell phone, walking back to the living room, shaking his head in dismay. Bastard.
Brendon startled him when he suddenly wrapped his arms around him, announcing he had an idea.
"You should come to Pete's party," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, surfing through it quickly and shoving it under his nose so he could see Pete's party invitation on their bus. He had gotten a similar one this afternoon but chose to ignore it; Ryan never understand how getting drunk and high led up to a 'good' time. To him, being around drunks were more trouble than they were worth and definitely weren't 'fun'.
"No," Ryan said, ignoring the hurt look that flashed through Brendon's eyes. Brendon knew how he felt about Pete Wentz's out of control parties. Plus, he didn't feel like seeing one of his close friends get drunk off their asses again. Spencer had gotten drunk once and he hadn't spoke to him for days in his anger, and Spencer swore to never do it again, but he couldn't control Brendon. Brendon was young and away from his parents and still had that teenage rebellion in his system that he never got a chance to let out.
"Please, I promise it'll be fun," Brendon pleaded, an adorable pout on him. It should be outlawed.
He coughed. "Fun."
"I've never been," Brendon said hurriedly, "I really wanna go, but Jon flaked out on me."
"Ok," he said, but Brendon continued to ramble. He really didn't have much of a choice in this, either he went with Brendon and attempted to have some sort of 'fun' or he could be stuck on this bus, with Spencer filled with awkward silences and glares. "Brendon, I said ok!"
"Oh, sorry, didn't hear you," Brendon said, blushing.
"Brendon?" he asked and the younger man turned to him with a curious look.
"Please change your shirt," he said, and Brendon just smiled. "Sure, Ryan."
**
AN: Thanks for reading. Please tell me what you think. :)
Summary: He's not depressed, he's just tired of people asking if he is. Spencer isn't helping, and Brendon is just a stupid naive boy who thinks life is just one big game. LOVE TRIANGLE.
AN: My first slash story. meep. So please be kind. I've been working on this for awhile, so it's my baby. :]
**
Spencer is a good friend, a loyal and supportive friend; he rationalized with himself for reasons not to end a long-term friendship, but most of the time Spencer annoys the hell out of him. Spencer always seemed to think he was his sole right to help him and tell him what to do, how to get his life in order. He wasn't falling apart; he wasn't turning into an alcoholic or drug addict. He preferred to be alone, and ever since his father's death, they couldn't seem to grasp that concept that he needed time to think. Ryan being alone didn't necessarily add up to suicidal Ryan.
He's twenty-years-old and hasn't lived at home in almost three years, but sometimes he still feels like he is still at home, constantly being prodded and watched.
He had just reached for his notebook when the curtain to his bunk sprung open, the light hitting him harshly in the eyes. He was about to snap at Spencer for the up-tenth time for doing that without announcing his presence, for god's sake, he could've been masturbating or something--
"Oh, it's you, Urie," he said, watching with disinterest has Brendon uninvitingly sat down next to him, noisily munching on a cookie. He was wearing that ridiculous pink head band to match with his equally absurd pink shirt that read in big bright letters, 'Spooning leads to Forking'.
"Why do you call me that? I don't go around calling you 'Ross'," he pouted, smiling at him and popping another cookie in his mouth and offering the bag towards him, and he shook his head. Brendon and his damn cookies, he knew exactly what to get him for Christmas now: Cookie Monster shirt, and knowing Brendon, he would proudly wear it.
"No thanks," he said, sighing and putting down his notebook in defeat. So much for peace and quiet. Brendon must've just returned from his interview, and once Brendon was back on the bus, there was little hope for quiet.
"So, what's up? Spencer is talking about how you've been in your bunk all day, care to talk?" asked Brendon, friendly concern etched on his features. He wasn't demanding or overbearing like Spencer, Brendon had a different, milder approach albeit direct approach, he just outright asked, unlike Spencer, who would drop aggravating questions. And sometimes he couldn't help talking to the younger boy, wondering if Brendon's upbringing had something to do with it. All-praise-the-lord bullshit and going to church and helping others bullshit they all learned at church--
"I-I'm working on this song," he began slowly, debating if he should show Brendon his notes. He always did, considering eventually Brendon would end up singing them onstage, it was a private thing between them. Singer and lyricist, Brendon was the voice and he was the writer. It always found it easier to let someone else speak his words, his emotions. "Not turning out like I want it. It's just...irritating me, that's all."
"Ah, I see," said Brendon, his expression eager, he started to fidget in his excitement and leaned over, disappointed he had shut the notebook from his prying eyes. "Can I see what you have?"
He instinctly pulled it closer, remembering it had left the draft in his other notebook, which was still in the duffel bag. "Erm, not yet. How mad is Spencer?"
Brendon didn't seem to mind the change of subject. Besides, it wasn't such a big secret of the fight Spencer and him had earlier that morning. He had refused to get up for the interview, and Spencer exploded, saying he couldn't afford to miss another interview and people were starting to wonder. Ryan had been too tired to respond and just went back to his bunk, fuming. Brendon had come into the back, saying it was all right he could handle it and go in his stead. He never liked it when Brendon covered for him, or seemed to calm down Spencer for him; he just generally hated others caring for him, especially someone younger.
He hated Brendon Urie at first, for being so fucking happy all the time. He still had that innocent boyish charm about him, and laughed a whole easier than he ever did. He didn't seem stricken with a horrible past or with parents who didn't love him. No, that was unfair, he rationalized, things weren't always easy for Brendon Urie, his parents went through a hard time when he told him he was leaving the church and pretty much out of their lives to pursue a music career. They were skeptical at first, refusing to talk to him and even got far enough where Brendon was on his own to support himself to pay for his one bedroom apartment they all shared when first starting out, but they lightened up and got drawn into the idea once their record dropped and it selling faster than anybody ever imagined it would.
But the younger boy grew on him, with his quiet talks and bursts of over-active excitement. He really had a nice way to break the awkward silences and take control of the audience, captivating them, and Brendon was a natural onstage dealing with people as he was off stage. Ryan sometimes wondered if they had gotten a therapist instead of a singer that day they held auditions.
"I think he's over the main hurdle," Brendon said, nervously looking at him, as if this whole thing had been his fault. "are you still mad?"
"No," he lied, sighing, "just wish he could learn to mind his own damn business."
"C'mon, he's your best friend," said Brendon jovially, "he only cares a lot about you. You have what? Fifteen years? I swear, you guys should get married. My parents never fought this much."
Ryan was too stun trying to realize that Brendon's bible-hugging, goody two shoes parents ever fought to care that Brendon was insinuating Spencer and him were like a couple. Brendon frowned when he realized the bag was empty and no more cookies were left. Ryan smiled despite himself; Brendon was such a damn kid sometimes.
"You're right; Fifteen-years is an incredibly long time," he began slowly, "any suggestions?" If he were talking to Jon, he would up with something atrocious and sexual, but Brendon wasn't like that. He wasn't as badly corrupted as the rest of them. /Yet/, Jon would say with an evil smirk on many occasions when they teased Brendon for still being a virgin. But who knew? Maybe Brendon would turn out to be the sluttest one out of them all one day.
"Oh, I totally know what you should do," began Brendon, a big grin on his face.
He groaned. "Please don't ever say that word again. It makes you sound like a stuck-up cheerleader from the movie Clueless."
"Ok, seriously. He's your best friend, I don't know. I've only known him for two years," Brendon said, furrowing his brows in concentration, "I'm sure an apology will suffice. "
"Please, I've never apologized to him and I'm sure not gonna start now," he said firmly, thinking if anyone should apologize it should be Spencer, who started this damn mess like such a emotional girl. He certainly had all the criteria. Loud, shrieking, yelling, constantly badgering him, he wondered if he had a girlfriend disguised in his best friend's body sometimes. "He acts as if I'm gonna do something stupid." Maybe he should, just to get him off his back and prove him right, that would make him happy and less irritable.
"I think the best thing you should do is show him how wrong he is," said Brendon, contradicting his thoughts, and Ryan fixed him a confused stare, and Brendon blushed momentarily, trying to find the words to explain, "I-I mean, erm, go out or something. He's always saying you always stay in your bunk and do nothing. Start living man, we're young and we're fucking famous, yeah?"
"Please don't let that get to your head, Urie," he said, rolling his eyes. "We're not that famous."
"Ok, you're right, you know when you're famous when you go to Pizza Hunt and everybody recognizes you," said Brendon with a wide grin. "Or when you're at Starbucks and the girl drops your coffee because she realizes who you are." Brendon wore an insanely big grin now, and he laughed when Ryan shook his head at him in shame, only Brendon Urie would take it as a good thing if someone spilled perfectly good coffee in favor of recognizing him and asking for an autograph.
"Apparently this newfound stardom has yet to go to your head," he said sarcastically. "Soon girls will be chasing us down the streets, going through our garbage---"
"Who's going through our garbage?" asked a sudden voice and they heads whipped to the right to see Jon standing there, a curious look on his face. He had on his black hoodie and sweat pants, his hair tousled, apparently just woken up from his nice nap in the small cramped mini living room on the bus.
"Hopeless fangirls," he answered.
Jon just looked at him like they were crazy, his eyebrows shooting up high onto his forehead his eyes looking between the ridiculously looking dressed Brendon, to him, with a dumbfounded, 'Please help me' look. Jon paid no heed to his desperation and smirked, walking to his bunk across from underneath Brendon's, pulling out his iPod and cell phone, walking back to the living room, shaking his head in dismay. Bastard.
Brendon startled him when he suddenly wrapped his arms around him, announcing he had an idea.
"You should come to Pete's party," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, surfing through it quickly and shoving it under his nose so he could see Pete's party invitation on their bus. He had gotten a similar one this afternoon but chose to ignore it; Ryan never understand how getting drunk and high led up to a 'good' time. To him, being around drunks were more trouble than they were worth and definitely weren't 'fun'.
"No," Ryan said, ignoring the hurt look that flashed through Brendon's eyes. Brendon knew how he felt about Pete Wentz's out of control parties. Plus, he didn't feel like seeing one of his close friends get drunk off their asses again. Spencer had gotten drunk once and he hadn't spoke to him for days in his anger, and Spencer swore to never do it again, but he couldn't control Brendon. Brendon was young and away from his parents and still had that teenage rebellion in his system that he never got a chance to let out.
"Please, I promise it'll be fun," Brendon pleaded, an adorable pout on him. It should be outlawed.
He coughed. "Fun."
"I've never been," Brendon said hurriedly, "I really wanna go, but Jon flaked out on me."
"Ok," he said, but Brendon continued to ramble. He really didn't have much of a choice in this, either he went with Brendon and attempted to have some sort of 'fun' or he could be stuck on this bus, with Spencer filled with awkward silences and glares. "Brendon, I said ok!"
"Oh, sorry, didn't hear you," Brendon said, blushing.
"Brendon?" he asked and the younger man turned to him with a curious look.
"Please change your shirt," he said, and Brendon just smiled. "Sure, Ryan."
**
AN: Thanks for reading. Please tell me what you think. :)
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