Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Backs Against Walls
Brendon sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes to exaggerate how good it felt.
“Free at last,” he mused, letting the air out slowly before taking in another over-sized gulp. Ryan laughed, tugging on his hand.
“You act like you've been locked up in there, Bren. It's not like the didn't let you out.”
Brendon's eyes slid open as Ryan began to pull him through the hospital parking lot. A hearty laugh fell from his throat and he lifted his arms up over his head, taking one of Ryan's along with it.
“Yeah, between ten a noon, three and five everyday. This time I don't have to go back.” He dropped Ryan's hand and ran a few steps ahead, spinning around with his arms still out, like a child. Ryan couldn't control his laughter at how absolutely youthful and perfect his boyfriend looked.
“It's a great feeling,” Brendon concluded, returning to Ryan's side, his breathing fast and excited.
“I know, I know,” Ryan said, smiling. “The very best part is that I don't have to wait 'till visiting hours to do this.” He stopped, for they were at his car now, and pinned Brendon to the door by his arms. He closed the gap between their faces, feeling Brendon smile on his own upturned mouth. He ghosted his tongue one over Brendon's bottom lip, quickly, innocently, before pulling away. “And I get to take you home,” he offered lightly.
Brendon's face lit up even more. “At last,” he repeated, “free at last.”
After Brendon's first lunch as a 'free man', they were driving to his old house to collect the rest of his things. The rest, because Ryan had, of course, already been there to remove anything that he felt was unsuitable for his boyfriend to see. Her clothes, mostly, and anything else with that wretched girl's mark on it. Pictures, papers, shampoo- everything that could link Brendon's fragile mind back to her. Basically he left the furniture and Brendon's clothes.
“Here,” Ryan said, pulling two clear plastic moving bins form the trunk of his car. “For you clothes and stuff. Just take what you want, and we'll look into buying some new things when you get settled into my place, okay?”
“Our place,” Brendon corrected, placing a light kiss on Ryan's lips before taking one of the bins into the house. Ryan stayed behind for a moment, rejoicing over Brendon's correction. A week after Brendon woke up in the hospital, dazed and confused and alone aside form Ryan, they got together. From there, Ryan suggested that Brendon live with him when he got out. That way, he could protect him better. Brendon agreed, and it was settled. Ryan had won. Smiling, he followed his boyfriend into the house.
“Bren?” he called once inside.
“Bedroom,” he heard, and headed that way. Brendon was in his dusty closet, picking through clothes and occasionally throwing something into the plastic box. Ryan watched in amusement as he lifted a pair of too-tight looking jeans from a hanger and held them at arms length, thoughtfully. Then he held them to his waist and looked at Ryan as if it were a matter of utmost fatality.
“Keep or donate?” he asked seriously, turning to inspect to look in the closet mirror. He was adorable, Ryan thought as he chuckled.
“Keep, no doubt. Listen, I'm gonna go raid your kitchen if it's okay with you. I'm always needing more dishes. I have a terrible tendency of breaking things when I wash them.”
It was Brendon's turn to laugh. “Alright, honey. And how about I wash the dishes from now on, yeah? Or you could finally invest in a dish washer. Catch up to the times, you know.”
“Never!” Ryan faked a gasp and then left the room laughing, leaving a light-hearted Brendon to continue searching through his closet alone.
When he finished with the clothes, he knelt down on the floor and picked around the scattered contents. He found a pair of black and red converse that he tried on and left on appreciatively, throwing the shoes he had been wearing into his box. He found dress shoes, but decided he could use a new pair rather than keeping his creased and scuffed pair. Brendon then prised open a dusty box that revealed a sheet set and two pillow cases. Thinking that they could probably use these, he pulled them out of their cardboard box and set them aside. Then he noticed something at the bottom of the box.
At first, it looked like a lot of scratch-paper, meant to be discarded. There appeared to be random lines and markings on the pages, lots of scratched out mistakes and side notes in the margins. But when he picked up the topmost sheet, he realized that this was not the case. The box was full of music, all neatly hand written on staff paper. Some was ripped or yellowed with age and neglect. Carefully Brendon ran a finger of the top line of the brittle sheet he was holding, feeling the indentations the author's pen made when drawing in the notes. He always wanted to learn how to play piano, but never found a teacher. Vaguely he wished that he could read what was written on the page.
The song didn't seem to have a title, but it was signed at the top by a Savannah Grey. The name was unfamiliar to him, but his mind fabricated an image of a light-haired young woman seated at a great, shining piano. The picture he drew was pleasant and caused a soft smile to raise his cheeks, even though he knew this probably wasn't what the composer looked like. He shrugged the thought off, content with the image in his mind, and picked up the next sheet. Untitled again, signed with the same name. All of them were.
“You okay?”
Brendon looked up to see Ryan in the doorway, a small cardboard box of glassware in his thin arms. The sleeves of his button up shirt were pushed to his pointy elbows, showing the tendons in his arms pulled tight from holding the box.
“Yeah,” Brendon said, standing up and causing his knees to pop. “Yeah, just... do you know anyone named Savannah Grey?” He held the music out, showing Ryan, who took the sheets in one hand and balanced the box on his hip.
“There's a ton of these in the closet. Do you know who she is?”
Ryan's hands shook slightly, his heart rate picking up. How had he not found these? At least Brendon didn't seem to recognize the name. Ryan racked his brain quickly for an excuse, thankful that Brendon didn't notice the thin sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead. Another tiny, innocent white lie.
“Y-yeah. I remember her, sort of.” Brendon looked at him expectantly. “You had a... a roommate here for a while, Bren, don't you remember? Savannah was his sister. She played piano really well. I guess he forgot these when he moved out.”
Brendon's eyebrows furrowed. How did he not remember a roommate? “Oh,” he said. “What was his name again?” He asked, trying not to sound like he forgot completely.
“Will,” Ryan invented wildly. “Will Grey. Anyways, these are trash. You should throw them out, Bren.”
“Okay,” Brendon nodded, still trying to remember a Will Grey living with him. He took the papers back from Ryan and threw them in their original box with the others, destined for the trash.
“I'm just... going to take these to the car. You almost done?”
“Yeah. I'll be out in a minute, just let me put all this stuff away.”
“Alright, babe. Nice shoes, by the way,” Ryan smirked. Brendon smiled, turning back to his task. He pilled the bedding he had found on top of the clothes he intended to take, then reached for the box of music. He stood with it, heading to the door to throw it away.
Without thinking, he stole a glance down into the ambiguous box, and something caught his eye as the papers were shifted around inside. An inked heart adorned the corner of one sheet. He lifted it from the box, stopping to lean on the bedroom door frame. His eyes scanned the music curiously, and though he could read it, he knew how soft and sweet this piece was just by seeing the careful way the notes were written in, the lines perhaps a bit straighter than the others, the notes a bit darker and rounder. Sighing, Brendon leaned around the door and looked through the living room window, where Ryan was lifting his boxes into the car.
And, for reasons unknown to himself, Brendon carried the dusty box back into the room. He pulled the sheets out of the plastic bin and piled the papers in with his clothes before replacing the bedding to cover them.
They should have been celebrating, Ryan knew. The steam from his shower was receding by then, only visible in the very center of the bathroom mirror. They should have been celebrating Brendon's first night in his new house, his first night of freedom, his first real night with Ryan. Instead, Ryan's cheek was pressed up against the edge of the mirror, his breath making fog on the surface as he exhaled. Brendon was god-knows-where, alone, and Ryan was hiding in the bathroom. They should have been celebrating, of course, but how could Ryan have been so careless? How, he told himself repeatedly, could you not think of something as obvious as that?
Nearly two years ago, he recalled for the hundredth time that night, Brendon, his Brendon, found a piano teacher. It was always something he wanted to do, to learn how to play, and God, he was a natural at it. Especially with her help, he used to say. It was all thanks to her that he had this Heaven-sent talent. All thanks to Savannah Grey. And then, when they finally got together she confessed that she had written about him, for him, for Brendon. She had piles and piles of self-composed music inspired by Brendon. He kept them, he cherished them like her cherished her. Ryan knew about it. How could he have been so stupid?
He would have to be more careful, he knew. Ryan lifted his face from the glass. It was numb and red by then, and all the steam had gone from the bathroom. He would have to watch over Brendon with even more caution and care if he wanted to keep him safe. Safe from remembering. The doctors had told Ryan not to worry, that he would get the 'real' Brendon back soon, that even the most obscure things that linked Brendon to his past could resurface the memories.
But Ryan was not having that at all.
talk about it? the next one should be longer, i promise.
xoxo
“Free at last,” he mused, letting the air out slowly before taking in another over-sized gulp. Ryan laughed, tugging on his hand.
“You act like you've been locked up in there, Bren. It's not like the didn't let you out.”
Brendon's eyes slid open as Ryan began to pull him through the hospital parking lot. A hearty laugh fell from his throat and he lifted his arms up over his head, taking one of Ryan's along with it.
“Yeah, between ten a noon, three and five everyday. This time I don't have to go back.” He dropped Ryan's hand and ran a few steps ahead, spinning around with his arms still out, like a child. Ryan couldn't control his laughter at how absolutely youthful and perfect his boyfriend looked.
“It's a great feeling,” Brendon concluded, returning to Ryan's side, his breathing fast and excited.
“I know, I know,” Ryan said, smiling. “The very best part is that I don't have to wait 'till visiting hours to do this.” He stopped, for they were at his car now, and pinned Brendon to the door by his arms. He closed the gap between their faces, feeling Brendon smile on his own upturned mouth. He ghosted his tongue one over Brendon's bottom lip, quickly, innocently, before pulling away. “And I get to take you home,” he offered lightly.
Brendon's face lit up even more. “At last,” he repeated, “free at last.”
After Brendon's first lunch as a 'free man', they were driving to his old house to collect the rest of his things. The rest, because Ryan had, of course, already been there to remove anything that he felt was unsuitable for his boyfriend to see. Her clothes, mostly, and anything else with that wretched girl's mark on it. Pictures, papers, shampoo- everything that could link Brendon's fragile mind back to her. Basically he left the furniture and Brendon's clothes.
“Here,” Ryan said, pulling two clear plastic moving bins form the trunk of his car. “For you clothes and stuff. Just take what you want, and we'll look into buying some new things when you get settled into my place, okay?”
“Our place,” Brendon corrected, placing a light kiss on Ryan's lips before taking one of the bins into the house. Ryan stayed behind for a moment, rejoicing over Brendon's correction. A week after Brendon woke up in the hospital, dazed and confused and alone aside form Ryan, they got together. From there, Ryan suggested that Brendon live with him when he got out. That way, he could protect him better. Brendon agreed, and it was settled. Ryan had won. Smiling, he followed his boyfriend into the house.
“Bren?” he called once inside.
“Bedroom,” he heard, and headed that way. Brendon was in his dusty closet, picking through clothes and occasionally throwing something into the plastic box. Ryan watched in amusement as he lifted a pair of too-tight looking jeans from a hanger and held them at arms length, thoughtfully. Then he held them to his waist and looked at Ryan as if it were a matter of utmost fatality.
“Keep or donate?” he asked seriously, turning to inspect to look in the closet mirror. He was adorable, Ryan thought as he chuckled.
“Keep, no doubt. Listen, I'm gonna go raid your kitchen if it's okay with you. I'm always needing more dishes. I have a terrible tendency of breaking things when I wash them.”
It was Brendon's turn to laugh. “Alright, honey. And how about I wash the dishes from now on, yeah? Or you could finally invest in a dish washer. Catch up to the times, you know.”
“Never!” Ryan faked a gasp and then left the room laughing, leaving a light-hearted Brendon to continue searching through his closet alone.
When he finished with the clothes, he knelt down on the floor and picked around the scattered contents. He found a pair of black and red converse that he tried on and left on appreciatively, throwing the shoes he had been wearing into his box. He found dress shoes, but decided he could use a new pair rather than keeping his creased and scuffed pair. Brendon then prised open a dusty box that revealed a sheet set and two pillow cases. Thinking that they could probably use these, he pulled them out of their cardboard box and set them aside. Then he noticed something at the bottom of the box.
At first, it looked like a lot of scratch-paper, meant to be discarded. There appeared to be random lines and markings on the pages, lots of scratched out mistakes and side notes in the margins. But when he picked up the topmost sheet, he realized that this was not the case. The box was full of music, all neatly hand written on staff paper. Some was ripped or yellowed with age and neglect. Carefully Brendon ran a finger of the top line of the brittle sheet he was holding, feeling the indentations the author's pen made when drawing in the notes. He always wanted to learn how to play piano, but never found a teacher. Vaguely he wished that he could read what was written on the page.
The song didn't seem to have a title, but it was signed at the top by a Savannah Grey. The name was unfamiliar to him, but his mind fabricated an image of a light-haired young woman seated at a great, shining piano. The picture he drew was pleasant and caused a soft smile to raise his cheeks, even though he knew this probably wasn't what the composer looked like. He shrugged the thought off, content with the image in his mind, and picked up the next sheet. Untitled again, signed with the same name. All of them were.
“You okay?”
Brendon looked up to see Ryan in the doorway, a small cardboard box of glassware in his thin arms. The sleeves of his button up shirt were pushed to his pointy elbows, showing the tendons in his arms pulled tight from holding the box.
“Yeah,” Brendon said, standing up and causing his knees to pop. “Yeah, just... do you know anyone named Savannah Grey?” He held the music out, showing Ryan, who took the sheets in one hand and balanced the box on his hip.
“There's a ton of these in the closet. Do you know who she is?”
Ryan's hands shook slightly, his heart rate picking up. How had he not found these? At least Brendon didn't seem to recognize the name. Ryan racked his brain quickly for an excuse, thankful that Brendon didn't notice the thin sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead. Another tiny, innocent white lie.
“Y-yeah. I remember her, sort of.” Brendon looked at him expectantly. “You had a... a roommate here for a while, Bren, don't you remember? Savannah was his sister. She played piano really well. I guess he forgot these when he moved out.”
Brendon's eyebrows furrowed. How did he not remember a roommate? “Oh,” he said. “What was his name again?” He asked, trying not to sound like he forgot completely.
“Will,” Ryan invented wildly. “Will Grey. Anyways, these are trash. You should throw them out, Bren.”
“Okay,” Brendon nodded, still trying to remember a Will Grey living with him. He took the papers back from Ryan and threw them in their original box with the others, destined for the trash.
“I'm just... going to take these to the car. You almost done?”
“Yeah. I'll be out in a minute, just let me put all this stuff away.”
“Alright, babe. Nice shoes, by the way,” Ryan smirked. Brendon smiled, turning back to his task. He pilled the bedding he had found on top of the clothes he intended to take, then reached for the box of music. He stood with it, heading to the door to throw it away.
Without thinking, he stole a glance down into the ambiguous box, and something caught his eye as the papers were shifted around inside. An inked heart adorned the corner of one sheet. He lifted it from the box, stopping to lean on the bedroom door frame. His eyes scanned the music curiously, and though he could read it, he knew how soft and sweet this piece was just by seeing the careful way the notes were written in, the lines perhaps a bit straighter than the others, the notes a bit darker and rounder. Sighing, Brendon leaned around the door and looked through the living room window, where Ryan was lifting his boxes into the car.
And, for reasons unknown to himself, Brendon carried the dusty box back into the room. He pulled the sheets out of the plastic bin and piled the papers in with his clothes before replacing the bedding to cover them.
They should have been celebrating, Ryan knew. The steam from his shower was receding by then, only visible in the very center of the bathroom mirror. They should have been celebrating Brendon's first night in his new house, his first night of freedom, his first real night with Ryan. Instead, Ryan's cheek was pressed up against the edge of the mirror, his breath making fog on the surface as he exhaled. Brendon was god-knows-where, alone, and Ryan was hiding in the bathroom. They should have been celebrating, of course, but how could Ryan have been so careless? How, he told himself repeatedly, could you not think of something as obvious as that?
Nearly two years ago, he recalled for the hundredth time that night, Brendon, his Brendon, found a piano teacher. It was always something he wanted to do, to learn how to play, and God, he was a natural at it. Especially with her help, he used to say. It was all thanks to her that he had this Heaven-sent talent. All thanks to Savannah Grey. And then, when they finally got together she confessed that she had written about him, for him, for Brendon. She had piles and piles of self-composed music inspired by Brendon. He kept them, he cherished them like her cherished her. Ryan knew about it. How could he have been so stupid?
He would have to be more careful, he knew. Ryan lifted his face from the glass. It was numb and red by then, and all the steam had gone from the bathroom. He would have to watch over Brendon with even more caution and care if he wanted to keep him safe. Safe from remembering. The doctors had told Ryan not to worry, that he would get the 'real' Brendon back soon, that even the most obscure things that linked Brendon to his past could resurface the memories.
But Ryan was not having that at all.
talk about it? the next one should be longer, i promise.
xoxo
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