Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Salvation
Salvation the Second
0 reviewsUrie was nothing but an average young man, working a 9-5 office job to pay the rent, until the day he met Ryan Ross, a prostitute on the streets of Chicago who turned his world upside down and taug...
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A week passed. It could have been two, but who was counting? All that time, and not once had he heard from that boy. Brendon didn’t even know his name. Every time the phone rang for the first few days, he had jumped up like he’d been stung and run to answer, but ended up instead with long, drawn out conversations from family members insisting that he return home at once. And so he lost all faith in the phone and took to brooding about the boy in his spare time.
Who was he, and where did he come from? More importantly… how had his life come to this? Try as he might, Brendon couldn’t imagine the circumstances that would lead such a person to a bitter life of prostitution and pretend love in bathroom stalls and dirty alleys. I wonder what kind of person he was before he learned how to hate everything.
Brendon sat in an office chair in his cubicle- his office, as he insisted it be called- and stared dully at a stack of documents and spreadsheets he was supposed to be entering into the computer. His mind continued to wander, eyes staring vacantly from the clock to the window and back again. There was only an hour to go, and oh no it was starting to rain, and now there was only 59 minutes. He tapped his pencil against the deck, and then did it again in quick succession. Brendon smiled to himself and picked up a stray pen from behind the keyboard, drumming out a rhythm on his desk and trying to think of chords to go with it while keeping an eye out for his boss, a large beefy man who despite his size seemed to be capable of popping out of nowhere at the least opportune moments. Spying the man off in the distance- but not all that distant, really- he sighed and replaced the makeshift drumsticks and turned to the keyboard at his elbows. 55 minutes…
When at last he was free from the false lighting and printer paper smell of the office, Brendon made his way home along the same route that he always took, keeping to the busy streets as much as possible. As pointless as it seemed, he always found himself glancing towards that street, the alley in which he first saw the man. He knew he wouldn’t be there. That was one night, one… customer. The thought disgusted and infuriated him and he turned away sharply, continuing on towards his home.
Brendon mounted the steps to his apartment tiredly, dragging his feet and thinking longingly of the red bull that was stashed away in his fridge. Almost there… almost there! He turned the corner, about to unlock the door and go inside before he realized quite simply that he couldn’t. And the reason that he couldn’t was that something was there, in front of the door. Something too large to be a newspaper or a stray animal. Something that stared at him defiantly before it snorted softly and looked down, the picture of nonchalance and even boredom. Something with glittery brown eyes.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Well since you insist on standing there gaping like an idiot, I’ll make it simple for you.” Brendon continued to gape at the man who had haunted his thoughts, as accused. “I have given it some thought and reasoned that since you are to blame for my lack of food and shelter, it stands to reason that you should provide me with it. But,” his voice grew sharp, “don’t think this means I’m free. You want a fuck, you pay just like everyone else.”
Food and shelter? Pay to… what’s going on here!?
“But…how did you find my house?” Brendon asked weakly, a million other questions swarming his brain like a hive of bees but he simply couldn’t get them out.
“Well, it’s ingenious, really. There’s this dandy little invention called a phonebook,” the man smirked, clearly enjoying Brendon’s shock. “Now if you don’t mind, stop babbling and open the door. I could use a hot shower.”
“Hey!” Brendon snapped, getting his focus back, “Just because I was trying to help you before doesn’t mean you can come down here ordering me around.” Were his feelings hurt? Just a little. Shut up brain.
“Well yes, actually, I can.”
The nerve of this guy!
“And why is that?”
Another smirk ghosted across those lips. “Because you’ll listen to me.”
How could he have known the very thought that had crossed Brendon’s mind? For as much as it irked him to admit such a thing to himself, he knew it was true. He wouldn’t leave the other outside on the steps no matter what he said to him. He just simply didn’t want to.
Brendon sighed and stepped closer to the man and the door. “All right,” he sighed, “move.”
With easy grace the feline-like man stood and shifted out of the way of the door. Brendon slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly, opening the door a crack before glancing over his shoulder.
“You got a name?”
“It’s Ryan. Call me Ryan.”
Who was he, and where did he come from? More importantly… how had his life come to this? Try as he might, Brendon couldn’t imagine the circumstances that would lead such a person to a bitter life of prostitution and pretend love in bathroom stalls and dirty alleys. I wonder what kind of person he was before he learned how to hate everything.
Brendon sat in an office chair in his cubicle- his office, as he insisted it be called- and stared dully at a stack of documents and spreadsheets he was supposed to be entering into the computer. His mind continued to wander, eyes staring vacantly from the clock to the window and back again. There was only an hour to go, and oh no it was starting to rain, and now there was only 59 minutes. He tapped his pencil against the deck, and then did it again in quick succession. Brendon smiled to himself and picked up a stray pen from behind the keyboard, drumming out a rhythm on his desk and trying to think of chords to go with it while keeping an eye out for his boss, a large beefy man who despite his size seemed to be capable of popping out of nowhere at the least opportune moments. Spying the man off in the distance- but not all that distant, really- he sighed and replaced the makeshift drumsticks and turned to the keyboard at his elbows. 55 minutes…
When at last he was free from the false lighting and printer paper smell of the office, Brendon made his way home along the same route that he always took, keeping to the busy streets as much as possible. As pointless as it seemed, he always found himself glancing towards that street, the alley in which he first saw the man. He knew he wouldn’t be there. That was one night, one… customer. The thought disgusted and infuriated him and he turned away sharply, continuing on towards his home.
Brendon mounted the steps to his apartment tiredly, dragging his feet and thinking longingly of the red bull that was stashed away in his fridge. Almost there… almost there! He turned the corner, about to unlock the door and go inside before he realized quite simply that he couldn’t. And the reason that he couldn’t was that something was there, in front of the door. Something too large to be a newspaper or a stray animal. Something that stared at him defiantly before it snorted softly and looked down, the picture of nonchalance and even boredom. Something with glittery brown eyes.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Well since you insist on standing there gaping like an idiot, I’ll make it simple for you.” Brendon continued to gape at the man who had haunted his thoughts, as accused. “I have given it some thought and reasoned that since you are to blame for my lack of food and shelter, it stands to reason that you should provide me with it. But,” his voice grew sharp, “don’t think this means I’m free. You want a fuck, you pay just like everyone else.”
Food and shelter? Pay to… what’s going on here!?
“But…how did you find my house?” Brendon asked weakly, a million other questions swarming his brain like a hive of bees but he simply couldn’t get them out.
“Well, it’s ingenious, really. There’s this dandy little invention called a phonebook,” the man smirked, clearly enjoying Brendon’s shock. “Now if you don’t mind, stop babbling and open the door. I could use a hot shower.”
“Hey!” Brendon snapped, getting his focus back, “Just because I was trying to help you before doesn’t mean you can come down here ordering me around.” Were his feelings hurt? Just a little. Shut up brain.
“Well yes, actually, I can.”
The nerve of this guy!
“And why is that?”
Another smirk ghosted across those lips. “Because you’ll listen to me.”
How could he have known the very thought that had crossed Brendon’s mind? For as much as it irked him to admit such a thing to himself, he knew it was true. He wouldn’t leave the other outside on the steps no matter what he said to him. He just simply didn’t want to.
Brendon sighed and stepped closer to the man and the door. “All right,” he sighed, “move.”
With easy grace the feline-like man stood and shifted out of the way of the door. Brendon slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly, opening the door a crack before glancing over his shoulder.
“You got a name?”
“It’s Ryan. Call me Ryan.”
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