Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco
Midsummer Insanity
1 reviewRyden oneshot. Ryan breaks up with Keltie. Brendon doesn't want to be the rebound girl. My first :] rate and review?
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A/N: Pre-split Panic! Ryden oneshot. About as real as Ashlee Simpson’s singing. And I don't have anything against Keltie.
It was late at night when Brendon heard the doorbell ring. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he’d been asleep anyways.
Three years and he still wasn’t used to sleeping alone.
Sighing, he crawled out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the frigid floor. He rubbed his eyes as he descended the stairs, walking towards the door.
What met him was a vision in a floral-print scarf. Disheveled dark hair, honey-coloured eyes ringed with dark circles, and a melancholy expression, standing on his doorstep.
“Ryan?” he murmured, suddenly suspicious of what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes again. The guitarist was still in front of him.
Suddenly, he wished he’d put a shirt on before answering.
“Hey.” His bandmate smiled, though it was more of a grimace. “Didn’t think you’d be awake.”
“Didn’t think anyone would come calling at, I don’t know, one in the morning,” retorted Brendon, trying not to show his surprise. “Why are you here, anyways?”
Ryan Ross sighed. “Keltie… kicked me out.” Brendon felt his eyebrows jump so high that they hit the moon. “We broke up,” he clarified, stepping through the doorway. “And, well, I was thinking…”
Brendon had been so transfixed by those eyes, wide and brown with a golden tint, that he hadn’t noticed—Ryan was standing obscenely close to him. Brendon could probably stick his tongue out, right now, and lick the little spots of stubble dotting Ryan’s jaw.
Oh.
“Oh, my god, Ross,” spits the frontman, his voice laced with venom and disbelief. “You’re kidding me. You fucking leave me for fucking Keltie fucking Colleen, and now you fucking show up at my doorstep when she fucking kicks you out? And now you want me back, as, what? Your fucking late night booty call?”
Ryan bites his lip nervously. “No, that’s not it, Brendon. You don’t—“
By now, Brendon was hysterical. “No, Ryan! I do understand! I understand that you threw away our entire relationship so that you could run away with your little dancer and pretend to be straight! And now that that’s over, you come back to me with your puppy dog eyes, and you have the nerve to tell me I don’t understand?”
Ryan stepped forward, eyes troubled. “Brendon,” he stated, urgently. “I love you. You know that.”
Brendon just laughed bitterly. “No, Ryan. That’s not love.” His eyes were wet, full of anger and sadness. “When you love someone, you don’t refuse to tell anyone that you’ve dated for two years. You aren’t ashamed of them. You don’t leave them. And you know what else you don’t do? You don’t pretend that everything’s ok when you abandon them. For the past three years I’ve had to pretend everything was ok. You know what?” He pointed to the road, shaking his head. “You can leave.”
Ryan met Brendon’s eyes, the amber orbs boring into Brendon’s own dark chocolate ones. “Bren, I’m sorry.”
Brendon opened his mouth to object, but Ryan cut him off. “No, seriously. I’m sorry, Brendon. I’m sorry for every time I’ve made you feel like that. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for everything. But, Brendon? I love you. I love everything about you, okay? And I always have.” He took a deep breath. “I love how you sweat excessively after you perform. I love your glasses. I love how you look when you wear those vests. I love the way you always buy girl pants. I love how, whenever we record songs, you make us watch those stupid Disney movies. I love you.” He sniffed, blinking back tears. “Sorry for everything, Bren.”
And he turned on heel and walked out of Brendon’s life.
---
Ryan cut over the lawn, trying not to burst into tears and curl up on the brick footpath and just die. How could he have thought Brendon would take him back? He was an idiot. He hoped a car would hit him on the way home.
His suicidal fantasies were cut short by someone football-tackling him and pinning him onto the grass.
“What the hell?” he yelped, as sloppy kisses found their way up and down his neck.
“Ryan,” cried Brendon, “Never leave me ever again. Ever, ever, ever.”
“Okay, Brendon—oof, if you’re going to assault me, can we at least go inside?”
“Oh, Ross,” snorted the younger man. “So faint of heart. Besides,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. “Haven’t you ever had sex on a lawn?”
It was late at night when Brendon heard the doorbell ring. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he’d been asleep anyways.
Three years and he still wasn’t used to sleeping alone.
Sighing, he crawled out of bed, wincing as his bare feet hit the frigid floor. He rubbed his eyes as he descended the stairs, walking towards the door.
What met him was a vision in a floral-print scarf. Disheveled dark hair, honey-coloured eyes ringed with dark circles, and a melancholy expression, standing on his doorstep.
“Ryan?” he murmured, suddenly suspicious of what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes again. The guitarist was still in front of him.
Suddenly, he wished he’d put a shirt on before answering.
“Hey.” His bandmate smiled, though it was more of a grimace. “Didn’t think you’d be awake.”
“Didn’t think anyone would come calling at, I don’t know, one in the morning,” retorted Brendon, trying not to show his surprise. “Why are you here, anyways?”
Ryan Ross sighed. “Keltie… kicked me out.” Brendon felt his eyebrows jump so high that they hit the moon. “We broke up,” he clarified, stepping through the doorway. “And, well, I was thinking…”
Brendon had been so transfixed by those eyes, wide and brown with a golden tint, that he hadn’t noticed—Ryan was standing obscenely close to him. Brendon could probably stick his tongue out, right now, and lick the little spots of stubble dotting Ryan’s jaw.
Oh.
“Oh, my god, Ross,” spits the frontman, his voice laced with venom and disbelief. “You’re kidding me. You fucking leave me for fucking Keltie fucking Colleen, and now you fucking show up at my doorstep when she fucking kicks you out? And now you want me back, as, what? Your fucking late night booty call?”
Ryan bites his lip nervously. “No, that’s not it, Brendon. You don’t—“
By now, Brendon was hysterical. “No, Ryan! I do understand! I understand that you threw away our entire relationship so that you could run away with your little dancer and pretend to be straight! And now that that’s over, you come back to me with your puppy dog eyes, and you have the nerve to tell me I don’t understand?”
Ryan stepped forward, eyes troubled. “Brendon,” he stated, urgently. “I love you. You know that.”
Brendon just laughed bitterly. “No, Ryan. That’s not love.” His eyes were wet, full of anger and sadness. “When you love someone, you don’t refuse to tell anyone that you’ve dated for two years. You aren’t ashamed of them. You don’t leave them. And you know what else you don’t do? You don’t pretend that everything’s ok when you abandon them. For the past three years I’ve had to pretend everything was ok. You know what?” He pointed to the road, shaking his head. “You can leave.”
Ryan met Brendon’s eyes, the amber orbs boring into Brendon’s own dark chocolate ones. “Bren, I’m sorry.”
Brendon opened his mouth to object, but Ryan cut him off. “No, seriously. I’m sorry, Brendon. I’m sorry for every time I’ve made you feel like that. I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry for everything. But, Brendon? I love you. I love everything about you, okay? And I always have.” He took a deep breath. “I love how you sweat excessively after you perform. I love your glasses. I love how you look when you wear those vests. I love the way you always buy girl pants. I love how, whenever we record songs, you make us watch those stupid Disney movies. I love you.” He sniffed, blinking back tears. “Sorry for everything, Bren.”
And he turned on heel and walked out of Brendon’s life.
---
Ryan cut over the lawn, trying not to burst into tears and curl up on the brick footpath and just die. How could he have thought Brendon would take him back? He was an idiot. He hoped a car would hit him on the way home.
His suicidal fantasies were cut short by someone football-tackling him and pinning him onto the grass.
“What the hell?” he yelped, as sloppy kisses found their way up and down his neck.
“Ryan,” cried Brendon, “Never leave me ever again. Ever, ever, ever.”
“Okay, Brendon—oof, if you’re going to assault me, can we at least go inside?”
“Oh, Ross,” snorted the younger man. “So faint of heart. Besides,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. “Haven’t you ever had sex on a lawn?”
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