Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Like A Knife

If We're Talking About Boundaries...You Have None.

by PanicxFOBx4Everx 0 Reviews

Brendon and Ryan are the best of friends. Will their friendship play into the drama with Cammy and her relationshis with them?

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Romance - Characters:  - Published: 2008/04/26 - Updated: 2008/04/27 - 988 words

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Like A Knife Part 18

We finally let go of each other and tumbled to the ground, laughing the whole way down. I landed directly across form him, and crawled over to lay next to him; the dizziness kept me from standing. I wanted to finish the song, after we had sung through the second verse.

“We’re going down, down. Down, down. We’re going down, down,” I said, almost right in his ear.

“A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it,” He finished my thought.

We didn’t talk for a while; instead we just stared at the sky, bodies useless from spinning. And we fell asleep.

*Ryan’s POV*

I woke up, Brendon basically on top of me on my couch. I pushed him off, a little embarrassed, and he fell to the floor with a thump.

“Fuck, Ry, I was sleeping,” He complained, rubbing his side that had hit the floor as he sat up.

“You were on top of me!” I defended myself, a smile on my still half asleep face. He had stayed over last night, after Cammy had left. “You broke my personal boundaries.”

“Please. You don’t have any boundaries,” He laughed.

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” I insisted, his gaze locked in mine.

“You were on your roof last night with a girl that isn’t your girlfriend, looking at her like the world depended on it. You hurt your best friend, who just happened to be that girl on the roof, enough to make her cry herself to sleep for days on end. You let me sleep on top of you. And then you try to fix things that probably can’t be fixed. What boundaries are we talking about here? Because, as far as I can see, you have none,” He explained cleverly.

“Fuck you,” I told him jokingly. “I have boundaries.”

I got up and walked to the kitchen, ready to make myself some breakfast. Brendon remained in the living room, almost immediately turning the TV on to the cartoon channel.

“Ry? Can you make me pancakes?” He asked from the other room.

“Can’t you just have cereal?” I suggested, going through the cabinet filled with boxes of Captain Crunch and Honey Bunches of Oats.

“But I want pancakes,” He insisted, like a young child.

“Fine. I’ll make you some pancakes,” I gave in, laughing.

“Can you put bananas in them?” I heard him request.

“Bren, I don’t have any bananas,” I replied.

“Go buy some,” He demanded.

“No,” I disagreed.

“Yes,” He said again.

I grabbed my keys, still in my pajamas, and walked out of the house in a huff. He was so stubborn most of the time; at least he was something that hadn’t changed lately. He was the good old Brendon Urie that we all knew and loved, the same one I had known from day one. And we all knew we loved him for that; he truly was my best friend, as much as I tried to pretend not to on occasions like these.

Fifteen minutes later, I was back in my house with a bag of bananas, starting to make Brendon’s pancakes. He was still watching cartoons intently, laughing to himself at small, classic jokes. For as long as I had known him, Bren always had the power to make anybody laugh without realizing it, to get you to do something you didn’t want to do without realizing he had persuaded you. It was a strange but incredible feeling to know that one of my friends had more power than a lot of people did. And he knew just how to use it to his advantage.

I placed the pancakes on two plates and returned to the living room, watching as my friend’s eyes lit up. He outstretched his arms, eager to eat.

“Pancakes!” He squealed, gladly taking the plate. “No fork?”

“Go get your own fork,” I told him, realizing he was watching an episode of Spongebob Squarepants on Nickelodeon. He looked at me with huge, pleading brown eyes that always found a way to make me give in.

“Please?” He asked again.

And I got up and got him a fork. We were the same old friends we used to be; loving each other while we hated each other. Brendon always got the better side of me on every occasion. After we finished our pancakes, his eyes got wide.

“I want to play football. Don’t you?” He questioned randomly.

“No, not really. Why?” I wondered, still in awe from his unsystematic way of thinking.

“Because I want to. Let’s call everybody up and see if they’ll come play with us,” He insisted, grabbing his cell phone from the coffee table next to the sofa. He began dialing a number, allowing it to ring a few times. “Hey, Spence. Want to come play football with me and the rest of the guys?...Well, because I want to…You will? Okay, see you in a few.”

I rested my head in my hands and sighed. I waited as he called Jon and the guys from Fall Out Boy. He had called everybody but Pete and Cammy at the end, and finally dialed Pete’s number.

“Huh? That’s funny. He wouldn’t pick up,” Brendon said, closing his phone. “I’ll try Cammy.” He pressed one number, indicating that she was on his speed dial. I wasn’t surprised. “She won’t pick up either…You said she went to Pete’s house last night, right? I’m kind of worried.”

Truth be told, I was, too.

“Maybe we should go check on them. Just to make sure everything’s all right,” I suggested. “But let me get dressed first.”

“I’m driving,” He called.

“No, you’re not,” I objected.

“Yes, I am,” He persisted.

And I let him drive.





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