FicWad

The room smelled of dirty laundry and salty tears, a distinct odor of sorrow and disinterest. The attic bedroom was simply decorated - a desk, bed, and a few posters scattered on the wall. Brendon bounced slightly on the bed, feeling extremely awkward and suddenly alone. Being by himself in a stranger's room was not the first thing he pictured himself doing at any given time after school hours. Especially being alone in a stranger's room who had caught him trying to capture an intensely private moment. He hoped to God that the camera obscured his face.

It was coming to mind that it was pretty ridiculous that he was in the room; he didn't know the guy for one. His name was Ryan, and he was sad and lonely. That was about the extent of his knowledge about the inhabitant. Curiosity killed the cat, but that's only because the cat didn't think first. Like Brendon didn't think about the reaction you'd get if you stuck a complete and total stranger in your bedroom.

So he wasn't expecting the scream that a very confused Ryan let out moments later, upon returning to his room, his sanctuary, after school.

"Who the hell are you?" he said, searching Brendon's face for any sign of familiarity. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

Brendon scratched his head, not really prepared for this part of things. He was so obsessed with knowing more that he'd forgotten how awkward question asking was. "I'm Brendon Urie. I live across the street. Um, your mom let me in." He cocked his head, getting a good second look of Ryan. Pale, skinny, floppy-haired, copper eyes; not unattractive at all, he decided.

"That doesn't explain anything!" he said, calmer, but still exasperated. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Well, um..." said Brendon, trying to think quickly, "my mom sent me over here. Since you're my neighbor and all she thought we should, uh, get to be best friends or something." He shrugged. "It's a mom thing. Anyways, your mom told me to just come up here and wait."

"So you just... sat in my room, waiting for me to come home?"

"Well, um, yes. Yes I did."

"But we've been here for an entire month now, and today you just decide to come and visit?"

Brendon was regretting his decision to show up in the first place. “Well, we’ve kind of been busy.”

Ryan saw a flash of sorrow in Brendon’s eyes akin to his own and softened. “Okay, I suppose we could head outside and talk or whatever. Just give me a minute to change, okay?”
He nodded as Ryan went off to change in his bathroom. He happened to leave the door open a bit on his way, and Brendon had a pretty good view of his backside. For such a skinny kid, thought Brendon, he sure has an amazing figure. His eyes wandered up, only to find Ryan’s smirking face in the mirror. He blushed – had Ryan seen him practically molesting the older boy with his eyes?

Ryan walked out, changed into some skinny jeans and a nondescript tee shirt. He was in control of the situation now, confident and bubbly – nothing like Brendon had seen him two mornings before."Let's go," he said, grabbing Brendon's arm and practically dragging him down the stairs. He was startled, but managed not to trip despite the fact that Ryan wasn't letting go.

"We're heading out, mom, so be back soon, okay?" he said to his mother. Mrs. Ross only smiled slightly, happy to see her son socializing and funcitoning normally after the shock earlier that week.

He finally let go as they were walking out onto the porch, and Brendon rubbed the spot where Ryan's hand had left a light red mark. The cool autumn wind ruffled their hair and stung their faces, but it wasn't unpleasantly cold out. The scrawny trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the streets were nearly deserted in the pre-rush hour period. The neighborhood seemed at peace with the world just then, and you could lose yourself in your own head.

"What school are you at?" asked Ryan

Brendon sighed. "Paolo Verde. My favorite place on the planet," he said sarcastically.

"Ah," replied Ryan, "I'm at Bishop Gorman. Transferred there couple of weeks ago, but I'm still trying to catch up with everything. It's like being a freshman all over again," said Ryan, rolling his eyes.

Silence filled the air as they walked further along the suburban sidewalks.

"So," started Brendon, "any hobbies?"

"I'm really into music, I guess. I play guitar, sing a bit. Write a lot of crap," he joked, a little bitterness showing behind the jest.

"I've always wanted to play - never really got into it though, too lazy to go and take lessons or teach myself or whatever," laughed Brendon.

"I could teach you, if you'd like," said Ryan coyly. "You'll have to supply the instrument. But I don't mind at all."

Brendon smiled. "That'd be cool," he said, noticing the hint of more than just lessons behind Ryan's smile.

"So, if music's not your thing, then what do you enjoy, Mr. Urie?"

"Photography, actually. Mostly during the mornings, though. It's actually kind of nice out here then, quiet and peaceful. I saw you out here the other day, actually. Why were you sleeping outside?"

Ryan froze, going from bubbly and flirty to reserved and cold in an instant. "You were the one... with the camera. What did you do with that picture?" he hissed, startling Brendon.

"It didn't take," he stuttered, "my camera was out of film. I don't use a digital, and I ran out. There's no picture, Ry."

"Don't call me Ry," he spat, "and I think you should go. Now."

For the second time that week, Brendon was running, startled, away from Ryan Ross.

*

Ryan stared at the textured ceiling of his bedroom, spacing out.

No one was supposed to know. His mother knew, and he sure as hell knew, but not even his father knew. If George Ross knew, god only knows what might've happened.

Then this Brendon kid shows up in his room, having seen him the day after he got the news. What in the world was he going to do? What if he was lying about the picture?

Of course, his rational side aruged that the boy had no reason to lie, and that if it weren't for Ryan's nasty behavior, he wouldn't have suspected anything, but the paranoia and sorrow were too heavy to make him listen.

What if the tests came back positive? What would happen to his mother, he wondered? Could she handle his father alone? What if the kid found out? Would he care, or would he avoid him like he carried the plague? Had he ruined the only shot at a friendship he'd have in this strange town?

The questions pushed at him until they wore him out and lulled him to sleep.