Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Salvation

Salvation the Fourth

by ManiCforPaniCgirl 0 reviews

Brendon Urie 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 ...

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Humor,Romance - Published: 2009-05-04 - Updated: 2009-05-04 - 1874 words

“You know,” Brendon mused aloud as he stirred a large pot of noodle soup on the kitchen stove, “you really aren’t as great as you think or you wouldn’t have gotten sick.” He smiled winningly across the room at Ryan, wrapped in a blanket and glaring daggers. If looks could kill. Brendon continued his rant. “Actually, I can’t say that I’m surprised. This is what comes of staying out until all hours of the night.” He waggled the wooden spoon in Ryan’s direction without looking up from the slowly defrosting soup.

“You can’t keep me here,” Ryan deadpanned, “You may have sick leave but in my business there’s no such thing.”

“Yes, I can keep you here actually,” Brendon imitated the other almost perfectly, “and do you want to know why?” Silence. He smirked. “Because you can’t stop me, mister 101 degrees F.”

Brendon heard a swooshing behind him and turned to find that Ryan had thrown the blankets back and was dragging himself towards the door at an alarming rate. Of course.

“Ryan, get back on the couch and quit being an idiot. You. Are. Sick."

“Sick is for those who can afford it.”

Brendon struggled with his inner self that wanted to throw a tantrum. He would not lose it, he would remain… calm. “How much do you make in a night on average?”

Ryan paused long enough to quirk an eyebrow and gave Brendon an unreadable look. “What, you’re into doing sick people now?”

Augh! “No! Just tell me, would you?”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Well, don’t have a panic attack about it,” He bit his lip. “Couple, few hundred bucks on a good night. Why do you ask.”

Brendon could not believe he was doing this. All because this leech… beautiful leech maybe, but a leech nonetheless, was so stubborn. “You get back on the couch, I’ll pay you $250. Okay?” He winced as he mouthed the sum.

Said leech paused in his laborious journey to the door and stared up at him, for once nothing but surprise etched into his features. He glanced uncertainly at the couch, unsure if giving in would be the same as backing down. Because Ryan did not back down, especially to teenies in aprons. “What’s in it for you,” he said slowly, eyes not moving from the couch with ruffled blankets at one end.

I wouldn’t be awake all night worrying about you. “I wouldn’t feel like it was my problem if anything happened to you.”

“Oh you’re one of those, out to save the world are we? Wake up Brendon, I don’t need your charity.”

Brendon felt a thrill down his spine as he realized it was the first time Ryan had called him by name. “It’s not charity, just get on the couch.” He left the soup on the stove and went into the small bedroom, digging around in his secret stash until he found the money. Then it was back into the main apartment to find Ryan plopping down unceremoniously on the couch and pulling the blankets back over himself, looking almost relieved. Brendon crossed the room and dropped the cash on Ryan’s blanket-covered chest, walking back to the soup without another word and stirring it absently. He heard a short cough from the vicinity of the couch and turned around to find Ryan sitting up with a slightly confused expression on his face.

“You really don’t want anything?” he asked hoarsely.

Brendon smiled slightly and shook his head, and the brunette head disappeared under blankets.

“Fine,” said the muffled voice, “but you can’t go changing your mind later.” He didn’t feel the need to tell the other boy that he wasn’t planning to. This was enough.

Just then the phone rang, startling Brendon and causing him to splash soup on his arm. “Fuck!” he cursed quietly to himself, dancing from foot to foot and turning the burner off. The phone was on the fourth ring, and he picked it up just in time. “Hello?”

“Brennie!” Cackled a familiar voice. “Whatcha whisperin’ for?” The voice dissolved into chuckling and then full out laughter, as though the man speaking couldn’t believe how funny he was.

Brendon groaned. “Jon, go home, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunksh! I’m havin’ a great time!” Jon slurred, “but where’re you? Haven’t seen ya in agesh… yeah, it’s been agesh!” More laughter. “You get yourself a girlfriend or something’?”

He shook his head, even though the other couldn’t see. “No, I didn’t get a girlfriend. I’ve just been busy with… things.”

“What sort o’ thingsh?”

“Just things. Nothing important,” he whispered quickly, glancing nervously at the blanketed blob on the couch.

“Try meh! And ohhh it’s getting’ hard to hear ya! Kinda LOUD in here!” He whooped and cackled some more. “Jus’ a secon’ Brennie, ah’m gonna go in another room!” Brendon winced and held the phone another inch from his ear from Jon’s yelling.

“Ok, ah’m back! What were we talkin’ about?”

“The weather,” Brendon offered, hoping Jon had forgotten a subject he really didn’t feel like discussing with anyone, particularly his drunken friend.

“No we weren’! We were talkin’ about--,” there was a long pause. If it was possible to hear someone thinking, this is what it would be like. “Things!” Jon crowed triumphantly, proud of being able to remember the topic. “Now Brennie,” he scolded, “tell uncle Jon what sort of things.”

Uncle-- what the hell? Oh well, it’s not like he would remember this conversation in the morning. Comforted with the thought, Brendon decided that fuck all, he would tell Jon. Part of it anyway.

“I have someone living with me, that’s all.”

“Ahh so you DO have a girlfriend you dirty little liar!” Brendon could hear the grin in his voice.

“No, Jon, it’s not a girl. It’s a… friend. He needed a place to stay and I’m helping him get settled in.”

“Hey! I wanted ta live with ya and you said something’ bout wantin’ to strike out on your own and that bullshit! How come this guy gets ta stay?” Brendon was about to reply when-- “Whoops, Brennie, I just knocked over some glasses when I was gesturin’ about striking out! Jus’ a second.” He heard Jon tinkering around in the background over the talking and the music. He must be at a club or a bar. Brendon could think of a handful of places like that where he and Jon used to go before… before Ryan. Did living with him really take up that much of his time? No… not time. Just concentration.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Jon began to talk again. “Hey Brennie, th’ bartender lady came n’ helped an’ she said she thinks ah’ve had enough to drink! That’s crazy talk, ah’ve never had too much to drink…” he trailed off as if this thought required more attention. “Anyway! Who’s this guy yer livin’ with! Ah want to meet him!” Brendon was about to tell Jon that no, he didn’t know him, and no, he did not think that meeting Ryan would be a good idea, when Jon got an even worse idea. “BRENNIE! Ah’m a’ comin’ over right now!”

“Jon!” Brendon yelled as loud as he dared with Ryan asleep on the couch, “you’re drunk, and it’s late. How are you getting home?”

“Oh s’okay! Spence came with me an’ he’s cone stold sober, swear to god!”

“As long as one of you is,” he couldn’t help but grin. “Hey Jon, you can meet him another time okay? Get some sleep tonight.”

After a minute, Jon responded, sounding vaguely put out. “Oh, allright Brennie, f’you say so. But ah’m not gonna forget, you know!”

“Course you won’t.” Yeah you will. “Anyway, I gotta go Jon. Talk to you later.”

“Bye bye Brennie-bren!” Click.

Brendon hung up slowly, suddenly very aware of the silence in the room. He grabbed a bowl and slopped some soup into it, leaving the spoon in and carrying it carefully over to the couch. As much as he hated to wake Ryan, he hadn’t had anything to eat since the afternoon before, as far as Brendon knew.

“Ryan,” he hissed in a whisper, “wake up.” Nothing.

“Ry-an,” he pushed gently in the general vicinity of the sick boy’s shoulder, one push for every syllable, before pulling the covers off the other’s head.

“What is it.” Glittering brown eyes fluttered open before focusing on him.

“Soup’s ready.” Brendon waited for Ryan to sit up before placing the bowl in his lap and leaning back on his heels and looking at the clock. Almost midnight. “I’m going to bed.” he announced. “Just leave the bowl on the floor when you’re done and I’ll get it in the morning.” He suddenly thought to get Ryan some painkillers for the fever and left the couch, coming back minutes later with advil and a glass of water, which he left for Ryan with a short “G’night.”

As he walked through the door into the bedroom he could have sworn he heard a faint, “.. Night.”


The following day was much the same. After deciding that taking the day off to take care of Ryan would cause the other boy to read too much into it, Brendon left for work, leaving anything Ryan might need close at hand. And when he returned, they had a similar argument, and another $250 was deposited wordlessly onto the couch next to Ryan. How many days he could afford to do this, Brendon didn’t know. Besides that, why he was doing it was another thing he didn’t want to dwell on very long. He had seen plenty of pretty faces, and he was positive he would see many more. No, that wasn’t the reason he was doing all of this. But what was it…?

Another day. Another $250, and this time when Brendon placed it on the pillow near him, Ryan seemed… angry. “I don’t care what you say, no one, and I mean no one, pays $250 dollars to mope around the house making soup for a… for a whore!” Ryan snapped furiously, grabbing the cash and throwing it weakly on the ground beside him.

“Don’t call yourself that!” Brendon snapped back.

“Why not! It’s what I am! You’re the only one of the two of us that can’t accept that!”

Brendon didn’t even bother to respond. It was true, wasn't it? And it was just as true that he couldn’t keep this up every night. He was about to respond at last when Ryan spoke again and stopped him dead in his tracks.

“I won’t stay sick forever, you know. But you want to pay? Pay. I can’t help it if you’ve gone and fallen in love with me.”

If I’ve gone and… what?
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