Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Salvation
Salvation the Third
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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Call me Ryan, he had said. And really, that was the only thing Brendon could call him, as he refused to give out his last name. Brendon’s new housemate seemed almost paranoid that he would find some use for the information-- learning about the person he used to be, for instance. The past was one of the few things Ryan refused to face. He hated it for its permanence, hated that he couldn’t help but compare the then and now.
Brendon, for his part, was just as curious about the man now living in his apartment as ever, but he grew increasingly frustrated day by day. Ryan had barely been staying with him for three days, and he had hardly even seen him. Brendon’s work was during the day, but Ryan… Ryan worked the night time.
This morning was the same as any other. The alarm clock roused Brendon at 6:30 and he trudged into the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Just as he was sitting down with the steaming liquid, the door clicked open and Ryan walked in, hiding the weariness in his step remarkably well as he headed past Brendon into the bathroom.
“Hey,” Brendon said pointedly as the other walked by him. He was met with nothing but silence and the creak of the bathroom door as it swung shut. He sighed and carried his dishes to the sink, frustration rising until he was almost ready to pound in the door and demand a response. But no. Brendon returned to his seat at the tiny kitchen table and waited, tapping his fingers on the table nervously as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.
Ryan emerged fifteen minutes later from the steamy bathroom with dripping wet hair. He stood in the living room and shook his head, spraying water everywhere, before glancing casually at Brendon and stalking off toward the couch where he had been sleeping. Brendon followed and stood over him, causing Ryan to glare up at him challengingly.
“What’s your problem,” he finally groaned, rolling over on the couch and turning his back to Brendon.
Brendon had put up with enough, and responded the only way he knew how. By picking up a pillow and beating Ryan over the head with it. Once, twice, and--
“--the fuck are you doing!” Ryan howled, jumping up and crouching in a fighting stance, eyes trained unwaveringly on Brendon as he attempted to calculate his next move.
“The fuck am I doing!? What about you! You’re out until 6:30 every morning doing I don’t fucking want to know what, and then you ignore me,” Brendon glared, pouting slightly and throwing the pillow back onto the couch.
“Poor baby,” Ryan smiled widely, something that made Brendon very nervous, “am I not paying enough attention to you?” He crossed the distance between them slowly, reaching out a hand to cup Brendon’s cheek before sliding it down his neck and his chest, fingers stroking softly, and…
“Stop it!” Brendon’s face was red and his breathing was just a little too fast, and he knew it. “You’re so god damn--”
“So god damn what,” Ryan smirked up at him, challenging Brendon to say whatever he was struggling with. Amused by him even.
“Nothing. Just go to sleep. I have to go to work.” Brendon pulled away with equal parts anger and regret and grabbed his bag, heading out the door quickly. Getting out of there as fast as he could.
When he returned home from work, Ryan was gone. It wasn’t until that evening that he found a scribbled note on the coffee table with a single sentence scrawled on it.
“So god damn good, and you can’t stand it.”
Brendon, for his part, was just as curious about the man now living in his apartment as ever, but he grew increasingly frustrated day by day. Ryan had barely been staying with him for three days, and he had hardly even seen him. Brendon’s work was during the day, but Ryan… Ryan worked the night time.
This morning was the same as any other. The alarm clock roused Brendon at 6:30 and he trudged into the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Just as he was sitting down with the steaming liquid, the door clicked open and Ryan walked in, hiding the weariness in his step remarkably well as he headed past Brendon into the bathroom.
“Hey,” Brendon said pointedly as the other walked by him. He was met with nothing but silence and the creak of the bathroom door as it swung shut. He sighed and carried his dishes to the sink, frustration rising until he was almost ready to pound in the door and demand a response. But no. Brendon returned to his seat at the tiny kitchen table and waited, tapping his fingers on the table nervously as he tried to think of something, anything, to say.
Ryan emerged fifteen minutes later from the steamy bathroom with dripping wet hair. He stood in the living room and shook his head, spraying water everywhere, before glancing casually at Brendon and stalking off toward the couch where he had been sleeping. Brendon followed and stood over him, causing Ryan to glare up at him challengingly.
“What’s your problem,” he finally groaned, rolling over on the couch and turning his back to Brendon.
Brendon had put up with enough, and responded the only way he knew how. By picking up a pillow and beating Ryan over the head with it. Once, twice, and--
“--the fuck are you doing!” Ryan howled, jumping up and crouching in a fighting stance, eyes trained unwaveringly on Brendon as he attempted to calculate his next move.
“The fuck am I doing!? What about you! You’re out until 6:30 every morning doing I don’t fucking want to know what, and then you ignore me,” Brendon glared, pouting slightly and throwing the pillow back onto the couch.
“Poor baby,” Ryan smiled widely, something that made Brendon very nervous, “am I not paying enough attention to you?” He crossed the distance between them slowly, reaching out a hand to cup Brendon’s cheek before sliding it down his neck and his chest, fingers stroking softly, and…
“Stop it!” Brendon’s face was red and his breathing was just a little too fast, and he knew it. “You’re so god damn--”
“So god damn what,” Ryan smirked up at him, challenging Brendon to say whatever he was struggling with. Amused by him even.
“Nothing. Just go to sleep. I have to go to work.” Brendon pulled away with equal parts anger and regret and grabbed his bag, heading out the door quickly. Getting out of there as fast as he could.
When he returned home from work, Ryan was gone. It wasn’t until that evening that he found a scribbled note on the coffee table with a single sentence scrawled on it.
“So god damn good, and you can’t stand it.”
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