Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > The Lies Hurt More Than the Truth
Telling the Truth Hurts, But It's Better Than Lying
0 reviewsBrendon and Ryan go to Pete Wentz's party, drunk confessions, and a hard talk between Ryan and Spencer erupts.
0Unrated
AN: This chapter was difficult to write, but it had to be done. I really don't know much the tour bus life, but I suspect it's miserable and cramped at times, so with that said: I hope this chapter comes out being somewhat realistic.
**
The scene was exactly how he pictured it. Messy and people and beer bottles loitered the place, suffocating him almost with overheat. The music was loud, he could feel it in his eardrums, drowning out the random giggles and screams and maybe even moans as he went to sit down.
He sat down in a corner, sipping a little of his drink. He never liked the taste of alcohol, even when he was seven and he had his first taste. It was bitter and tasted horrible, but it did give him a little buzz, relaxed him even. He felt the pressure in his head diminish and he took several more sips, bored and watching Pete with Patrick in the center table, participating in a drinking game. Whoever could hold the most liquor would win. Right now it looked like Pete was about to top off his chair as Patrick slammed down his shot glass after drowning it.
"You--you're...a...f...ucking mule," Pete said, his eyes blinking against the fatigue. He was sweating profusely now, and Patrick was laughing. Andy was behind him, telling him to give it up.
"Hey, you're Ryan Ross, right?" asked a high-pitched voice above him and he squinted to see a pretty blonde haired girl in front of him, dressed up like an ordinary teenager, jeans and sneakers, with a tight black top. A groupie.
"Y-yeah," he said, gulping. Her apprehensive face broke into a grin. "I can't believe you're actually here. I asked the guys if you would be, but they said--"
"I'm not into the scene, yeah," he said, giving her a polite smile but wishing she could go the fuck away.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say I love your lyrics, they're so deep and meaningful," she continued, praising him. He normally wouldn't mind, if the fact was she looked terribly underage and probably wanted to know if he would have sex with her, or maybe she simply wanted an autograph. But he could barely keep her face focused let alone move his hand to even scribble his illegible signature.
"T-thanks," he said, his eyes wondering where the heck Brendon was.
"I'm Megan,” she said, batting her eyes and smiling at him.
"Ryan."
She giggled. "Of course I know who you are, silly."
He frowned, shifting in his seat. Of course she did, but that didn't change the fact he spent his entire life learning whenever you met someone new, it was polite to introduce yourself. He smiled at her to contain his groan of displeasure.
"Ryannn!" said an all too familiar voice from behind him, a pair of arms suddenly embracing him from behind, and Brendon's face fell into in the crook of his neck and shoulder, his lips on his neck. "I've missed you."
Megan's eyes widened and she smiled. Ryan sighed, knowing she was probably thinking the entirely wrong idea. Brendon was known to be overly-affectionate when drunk.
"Me too, Brendon, me too," he said, reaching up and petting his hair as if he were a pet, detangling his arms away from his neck and standing up and examining the younger boy, who just smiled at him happily and threw his arms back around him, declaring his love.
"I love you, too," he said, thankful for the intrusion, but wondering if this was worse and walking the drunken Brendon off the bus, passing by an intoxicated Pete Wentz who was snarling at Patrick for cheating.
They nearly tripped over someone on their way out. It was Joe, who was cradling himself a bottle of Jack Daniels and crying. Ryan had never seen a grown man cry before and it disturbed him a little.
"S-sorry," he croaked out, blinking, his eyes terribly
bloodshot. "Ryan Ross, is that you?"
"The one and only," he managed to reply as he fought to keep Brendon upright, or flailing away from him. Brendon got even more easily distracted when he was drunk. But he was adorable even when he was drunk, and he didn't mind so much. At least he wasn't like his old man, who got violent.
"I didn't recognize you," Joe continued, putting down his bottle and it was apparent that he was drinking to drown away sorrows, because Joe Trohman wasn't a big drinker, not enough to drown an entire bottle of whiskey by himself.
"It's all right," he said gently. Joe cracked a lopsided smile back.
"I b-better get back in," Joe sniffled, rubbing his red eyes and shakily standing up, almost tipping over but grasping the handle of the bus door for support. He gave Ryan an encouraging smile, "I'll be fine, see you around, Ross."
Ryan watched him disappear back onto the overcrowded bus, his arms still around Brendon's waist, who was hugging him back with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. He supposed from an outsider's point of view it would look like they were embracing passionately, but he knew better.
"I'm sorry," rasped Brendon once they got to the entrance of their bus as he tried to open the door, but the younger boy stilled him, putting an hand on his arm. "I wanted...I dunno, make you feel better. Get you out the bus so you could have some fun. Looks like I'm the only one who did."
"It's alright Brendon, come on, we really need to get you to bed," he said, cutting off the rest of Brendon's sentence and ushering him inside. Jon and Spencer were surprisely still up, playing a video game on the Xbox. Jon didn't say anything, just glanced over and turned back to the television in front of him, but Spencer gave him a very disappointed look and Ryan wasn't sure who it was aimed at; himself or Brendon. He selfishly hoped it was Brendon. He passed them on his way to the bunk area, telling Brendon he needed to get change and go to bed.
"So I saw you talking to that blonde chick earlier," Brendon said, sitting down across from him, kicking off his shoes. His hair was a mess and his eyeliner was completely smeared, and he smelled like cheap beer. In a word, he was completely trashed.
"Please, she didn't look a day over sixteen," he said, suddenly itching for a smoke. He wasn't a daily smoker, but sometimes he had the urges and needed the nicotine rush. He found his pack and a lighter, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. Brendon shot him a distasteful look.
"I hate when you do that," Brendon muttered, yawning loudly. "Smoking is nasty."
"So is drinking," he retorted, raising a brow. "You're going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, Urie."
"Urgh! Please stop calling me that, you remind me...I don't know. Nobody calls me that," he complained, irritation in his tone and Ryan smiled, never seeing this side of the nineteen-year-old before, who was too young to drink like most teenagers who did. Ryan had never one of those teens even when he had all the opportunities, he was just tired of being surrounding by alcohol since he was a kid.
He nearly jumped off his bunk when he noticed Brendon had climbed over to his, fixing him a pleading look. For being drunk, he hadn't lost his coordination.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes looked sincere but dilated. "I just...want you to like me, that's all."
Ryan shot him an open stare, taking another puff of his cigarette before replying, "What are you talking about? Of course I like you, who else's drunken ass would I carry?"
"Oh please, you've never liked me," Brendon insisted, and Ryan rolled his eyes, seeing that Brendon was one of those drunkards who got emotional and whiny.
"You're making no sense," he said, "just go to sleep. You're not a bad person for drinking. I don't hate you, I've never had."
Brendon just fixed him that lost look, and Ryan felt his heart jump when the younger boy placed his hand on his cheekbone, tracing down to his jaw. "You're so pretty."
He gulped, shaking his head and pushing him further away, hoping he didn't catch how he was visibly shaking. "Just go to sleep, Brendon. You're drunk."
"All right," he said after a pause, his face crestfallen and dropping his hand. "Sorry."
He shuffled back to his bunk and starting taking off his pants and shirt and Ryan tried his best not to stare, concentrating on finishing off his cigarette before stomping it out on the ashtray he always kept beside his bunk. He wasn't sure what just happened, but knew neither of them would forget it, even if Brendon was drunk.
He made sure Brendon had made it safely to his bunk before leaving the area, passing the living room and into the kitchen, searching for a bottle of water. He opened the fridge when Spencer walked in, and he closed it harder than he meant to after he retrieved the bottle of water he was looking for.
"Ryan, we need to talk," he said, breaking the silence. He looked a lot more calm and collected than he did earlier this morning.
He opened the bottle, sitting down in the cramp kitchen and gestured him to sit across from him. Better to get this over with now, he thought.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Spencer began, taking the chair next to him, hesitating slightly, "I'm just worried about you, that's all."
He nodded, accepting his best friend's apology. The look Spencer gave him reminded him why they were best friends, because he doubted anybody else could handle his mood swings as well as Spencer Smith, who had been his best friend since five, who had always been there for him, who had encouraged the idea of starting a band to begin with. He really didn't know how he would've made it these past few years without his best friend beside him.
"I'm sorry too for being a jerk," he replied, dropping his eyes, staring at the table, "I'm just not used to people...caring so much." It was the truth, before the band, Spencer and him only saw each other in school or sometimes outside of school to hang out, but this was his first experience of practically living with his best friend. In a cramped tour bus with three other guys and no room for privacy, it made sense one of them would snap.
Spencer gave a sigh of relief, giving him a hopeful look. "So we're still friends?"
"We're always friends, Spencer," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I'm not gonna throw away fifteen years of friendship over some stupid fight this morning."
Spencer gave him a pointed look. "You know, I wasn't so sure if you still considered me your best friend. I mean...we never talk much anymore. Not even at the funeral or now. I just been feeling like...you're just drifting away, Ryan."
Ryan blinked at his words, unable to fully process exactly what Spencer was trying to convey to him. He cursed himself for drinking, knowing that was part of the problem for not understanding. His speech sounded so cliché.
"Spencer...erm, trust me, you're not the only who I'm not talking to," he said hastily, looking up to see his hurt look, "if you really want to help me, just give me some space."
"Space," Spencer shot back at him, "I've tried to do that, but it doesn't seem to work. You just go back into...whatever world you've been in lately. The band needs you, I need you." Spencer said, his voice cracking at the end and he scooted closer to him, putting a comforting hand on his arm. Ryan just looked at him, seeing how much turmoil his friend was. "Can you please try?"
"Spencer," he said warningly, shaking off his hand, beginning to feel stifled. "I'm fine. I'll be better once you get off my back. Not everybody can be like you, or like Brendon, who can never stop smiling."
"All right, I'll back off," Spencer said, sounding hurt by his tone of voice. "Just come say hi to me every once in awhile. The only time I really ever see you is when we're onstage, and that really doesn't count."
"Spencer..." he faltered, "maybe you just stop thinking this as a bad thing. I think we need a break from each other, we'll always be best friends, but right now, I just can't stand to be around you."
Spencer gave him an inflicted look and nodded numbly once his harsh words sunk in. Ryan bit his lip to stop the flow of a sudden apology rising, he didn't want to apologize, and if he did, he would be lying. He was tired of lying enough as it was, if he couldn't be honest with his best friend, who could he be with?
**
AN: Hope you guys liked this chapter. I know I enjoyed writing it. 'Till the next chapter. Ciao.
**
The scene was exactly how he pictured it. Messy and people and beer bottles loitered the place, suffocating him almost with overheat. The music was loud, he could feel it in his eardrums, drowning out the random giggles and screams and maybe even moans as he went to sit down.
He sat down in a corner, sipping a little of his drink. He never liked the taste of alcohol, even when he was seven and he had his first taste. It was bitter and tasted horrible, but it did give him a little buzz, relaxed him even. He felt the pressure in his head diminish and he took several more sips, bored and watching Pete with Patrick in the center table, participating in a drinking game. Whoever could hold the most liquor would win. Right now it looked like Pete was about to top off his chair as Patrick slammed down his shot glass after drowning it.
"You--you're...a...f...ucking mule," Pete said, his eyes blinking against the fatigue. He was sweating profusely now, and Patrick was laughing. Andy was behind him, telling him to give it up.
"Hey, you're Ryan Ross, right?" asked a high-pitched voice above him and he squinted to see a pretty blonde haired girl in front of him, dressed up like an ordinary teenager, jeans and sneakers, with a tight black top. A groupie.
"Y-yeah," he said, gulping. Her apprehensive face broke into a grin. "I can't believe you're actually here. I asked the guys if you would be, but they said--"
"I'm not into the scene, yeah," he said, giving her a polite smile but wishing she could go the fuck away.
"Anyway, I just wanted to say I love your lyrics, they're so deep and meaningful," she continued, praising him. He normally wouldn't mind, if the fact was she looked terribly underage and probably wanted to know if he would have sex with her, or maybe she simply wanted an autograph. But he could barely keep her face focused let alone move his hand to even scribble his illegible signature.
"T-thanks," he said, his eyes wondering where the heck Brendon was.
"I'm Megan,” she said, batting her eyes and smiling at him.
"Ryan."
She giggled. "Of course I know who you are, silly."
He frowned, shifting in his seat. Of course she did, but that didn't change the fact he spent his entire life learning whenever you met someone new, it was polite to introduce yourself. He smiled at her to contain his groan of displeasure.
"Ryannn!" said an all too familiar voice from behind him, a pair of arms suddenly embracing him from behind, and Brendon's face fell into in the crook of his neck and shoulder, his lips on his neck. "I've missed you."
Megan's eyes widened and she smiled. Ryan sighed, knowing she was probably thinking the entirely wrong idea. Brendon was known to be overly-affectionate when drunk.
"Me too, Brendon, me too," he said, reaching up and petting his hair as if he were a pet, detangling his arms away from his neck and standing up and examining the younger boy, who just smiled at him happily and threw his arms back around him, declaring his love.
"I love you, too," he said, thankful for the intrusion, but wondering if this was worse and walking the drunken Brendon off the bus, passing by an intoxicated Pete Wentz who was snarling at Patrick for cheating.
They nearly tripped over someone on their way out. It was Joe, who was cradling himself a bottle of Jack Daniels and crying. Ryan had never seen a grown man cry before and it disturbed him a little.
"S-sorry," he croaked out, blinking, his eyes terribly
bloodshot. "Ryan Ross, is that you?"
"The one and only," he managed to reply as he fought to keep Brendon upright, or flailing away from him. Brendon got even more easily distracted when he was drunk. But he was adorable even when he was drunk, and he didn't mind so much. At least he wasn't like his old man, who got violent.
"I didn't recognize you," Joe continued, putting down his bottle and it was apparent that he was drinking to drown away sorrows, because Joe Trohman wasn't a big drinker, not enough to drown an entire bottle of whiskey by himself.
"It's all right," he said gently. Joe cracked a lopsided smile back.
"I b-better get back in," Joe sniffled, rubbing his red eyes and shakily standing up, almost tipping over but grasping the handle of the bus door for support. He gave Ryan an encouraging smile, "I'll be fine, see you around, Ross."
Ryan watched him disappear back onto the overcrowded bus, his arms still around Brendon's waist, who was hugging him back with his arms wrapped around his shoulders. He supposed from an outsider's point of view it would look like they were embracing passionately, but he knew better.
"I'm sorry," rasped Brendon once they got to the entrance of their bus as he tried to open the door, but the younger boy stilled him, putting an hand on his arm. "I wanted...I dunno, make you feel better. Get you out the bus so you could have some fun. Looks like I'm the only one who did."
"It's alright Brendon, come on, we really need to get you to bed," he said, cutting off the rest of Brendon's sentence and ushering him inside. Jon and Spencer were surprisely still up, playing a video game on the Xbox. Jon didn't say anything, just glanced over and turned back to the television in front of him, but Spencer gave him a very disappointed look and Ryan wasn't sure who it was aimed at; himself or Brendon. He selfishly hoped it was Brendon. He passed them on his way to the bunk area, telling Brendon he needed to get change and go to bed.
"So I saw you talking to that blonde chick earlier," Brendon said, sitting down across from him, kicking off his shoes. His hair was a mess and his eyeliner was completely smeared, and he smelled like cheap beer. In a word, he was completely trashed.
"Please, she didn't look a day over sixteen," he said, suddenly itching for a smoke. He wasn't a daily smoker, but sometimes he had the urges and needed the nicotine rush. He found his pack and a lighter, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it. Brendon shot him a distasteful look.
"I hate when you do that," Brendon muttered, yawning loudly. "Smoking is nasty."
"So is drinking," he retorted, raising a brow. "You're going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, Urie."
"Urgh! Please stop calling me that, you remind me...I don't know. Nobody calls me that," he complained, irritation in his tone and Ryan smiled, never seeing this side of the nineteen-year-old before, who was too young to drink like most teenagers who did. Ryan had never one of those teens even when he had all the opportunities, he was just tired of being surrounding by alcohol since he was a kid.
He nearly jumped off his bunk when he noticed Brendon had climbed over to his, fixing him a pleading look. For being drunk, he hadn't lost his coordination.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his eyes looked sincere but dilated. "I just...want you to like me, that's all."
Ryan shot him an open stare, taking another puff of his cigarette before replying, "What are you talking about? Of course I like you, who else's drunken ass would I carry?"
"Oh please, you've never liked me," Brendon insisted, and Ryan rolled his eyes, seeing that Brendon was one of those drunkards who got emotional and whiny.
"You're making no sense," he said, "just go to sleep. You're not a bad person for drinking. I don't hate you, I've never had."
Brendon just fixed him that lost look, and Ryan felt his heart jump when the younger boy placed his hand on his cheekbone, tracing down to his jaw. "You're so pretty."
He gulped, shaking his head and pushing him further away, hoping he didn't catch how he was visibly shaking. "Just go to sleep, Brendon. You're drunk."
"All right," he said after a pause, his face crestfallen and dropping his hand. "Sorry."
He shuffled back to his bunk and starting taking off his pants and shirt and Ryan tried his best not to stare, concentrating on finishing off his cigarette before stomping it out on the ashtray he always kept beside his bunk. He wasn't sure what just happened, but knew neither of them would forget it, even if Brendon was drunk.
He made sure Brendon had made it safely to his bunk before leaving the area, passing the living room and into the kitchen, searching for a bottle of water. He opened the fridge when Spencer walked in, and he closed it harder than he meant to after he retrieved the bottle of water he was looking for.
"Ryan, we need to talk," he said, breaking the silence. He looked a lot more calm and collected than he did earlier this morning.
He opened the bottle, sitting down in the cramp kitchen and gestured him to sit across from him. Better to get this over with now, he thought.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier," Spencer began, taking the chair next to him, hesitating slightly, "I'm just worried about you, that's all."
He nodded, accepting his best friend's apology. The look Spencer gave him reminded him why they were best friends, because he doubted anybody else could handle his mood swings as well as Spencer Smith, who had been his best friend since five, who had always been there for him, who had encouraged the idea of starting a band to begin with. He really didn't know how he would've made it these past few years without his best friend beside him.
"I'm sorry too for being a jerk," he replied, dropping his eyes, staring at the table, "I'm just not used to people...caring so much." It was the truth, before the band, Spencer and him only saw each other in school or sometimes outside of school to hang out, but this was his first experience of practically living with his best friend. In a cramped tour bus with three other guys and no room for privacy, it made sense one of them would snap.
Spencer gave a sigh of relief, giving him a hopeful look. "So we're still friends?"
"We're always friends, Spencer," he said, rolling his eyes dramatically. "I'm not gonna throw away fifteen years of friendship over some stupid fight this morning."
Spencer gave him a pointed look. "You know, I wasn't so sure if you still considered me your best friend. I mean...we never talk much anymore. Not even at the funeral or now. I just been feeling like...you're just drifting away, Ryan."
Ryan blinked at his words, unable to fully process exactly what Spencer was trying to convey to him. He cursed himself for drinking, knowing that was part of the problem for not understanding. His speech sounded so cliché.
"Spencer...erm, trust me, you're not the only who I'm not talking to," he said hastily, looking up to see his hurt look, "if you really want to help me, just give me some space."
"Space," Spencer shot back at him, "I've tried to do that, but it doesn't seem to work. You just go back into...whatever world you've been in lately. The band needs you, I need you." Spencer said, his voice cracking at the end and he scooted closer to him, putting a comforting hand on his arm. Ryan just looked at him, seeing how much turmoil his friend was. "Can you please try?"
"Spencer," he said warningly, shaking off his hand, beginning to feel stifled. "I'm fine. I'll be better once you get off my back. Not everybody can be like you, or like Brendon, who can never stop smiling."
"All right, I'll back off," Spencer said, sounding hurt by his tone of voice. "Just come say hi to me every once in awhile. The only time I really ever see you is when we're onstage, and that really doesn't count."
"Spencer..." he faltered, "maybe you just stop thinking this as a bad thing. I think we need a break from each other, we'll always be best friends, but right now, I just can't stand to be around you."
Spencer gave him an inflicted look and nodded numbly once his harsh words sunk in. Ryan bit his lip to stop the flow of a sudden apology rising, he didn't want to apologize, and if he did, he would be lying. He was tired of lying enough as it was, if he couldn't be honest with his best friend, who could he be with?
**
AN: Hope you guys liked this chapter. I know I enjoyed writing it. 'Till the next chapter. Ciao.
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