In hell without him.
He had expected to live with it.
But it wasn’t working out.
He hadn’t spoken to anyone in his school for three weeks.
He didn’t plan to speak to anyone ever again.
Until Spencer Smith, his old childhood friend had talked to him.
Things went faster than Ryan could’ve ever imagined, and as the wound on his hand slowly turned into a beautiful silver scar, Brendon turned into a beautiful memory, that Ryan would recall every time he needed inspiration.
He was learning to push those painful memories away.
He formed a band, with Spencer and another guy called Brent.
Everything was complete.
Ryan felt contented.
But secretly he was still dead inside, clinging selfishly to the hope that he would someday meet Brendon Urie again.
Every lyric he wrote about love, every song he composed about living, he thought about Brendon.
And every time he dreamt, the smiling face of his past lover would drift into his mind.
And every day he would play his little charade of being happy and being complete.
Until, that day.
The day Brent told them he had found a guitarist for the band.
“He’s a really nice guy, he’s really contented, and you can tell when he smiles. He’s got a girlfriend, a nice car, everything most guys want.” Brent would babble on about this new guy who was supposedly amazing.
Ryan would just nod dumbly and continue to tune or play his guitar to himself and think of different ways to pronounce a word that would fit into a song.
The day came.
When Mr. Fantastically-wonderfully-contented-and-happy would turn up.
Ryan and Spencer had been discussing ways that the new guy could play Ryan’s chords.
Brent had rushed happily to the door when the bell rang.
“Hey guys! He’s here, and he brought his girlfriend too!” Brent called to them.
Ryan didn’t look up when they entered the room.
He glanced up carefully, looking through his fringe so he didn’t have to raise his head and show his face.
The first thing he noticed was the guy’s left hand.
It had a silver scar on it.
One identical to the scar on Ryan’s left hand.
It couldn’t be.
No, it wouldn’t be.
But it was.
Ryan looked up completely and stared in absolute disbelief.
His eyes were wider than they’d ever been; his mouth was dropped into a nice, round ‘o’ shape.
He dropped his guitar onto the sofa beside him.
“So, guys, this is him, the guy I’ve been talking about.” Brent continued, not noticing Ryan’s obvious disbelief.
“This is Brendon Urie.”