Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco
Ears
Ryan’s expert fingers stop strumming, the strings of his guitar seeming to sing their disappointment at their little dance being ended. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that it had to end, that his song had to finish and leave me with nothing but a silence that has never before felt so inadequate.
He looks up at me, eyes wide and nervous, waiting for something to happen to break the silence. I don’t know what I can say, what I can do to convey to him just how proud I am of my boyfriend, so I do the one thing that I know Ryan will never not enjoy; I just hug him, ignoring the fact that his guitar is in between us.
“You like it then?” He asks, the smirk on his face doing nothing to disguise the worry in his voice. “I wrote it for you, y’know, Spence.”
Everything that I’ve ever done for him or someone else has ever done for me just kind of feels obsolete at hearing that. Sure, some of the notes were a little off in places and his singing was shaky with nerves to begin with, but he wrote me my own fucking song. As in; Ryan Ross, my boyfriend of three weeks and best friend since the start of forever, has written a song for me, Spencer Smith.
Holy shit.
Okay, so I knew he’d been writing because I could hear him figuring out chord patterns in the living room when I woke up this morning. He’d slept over because his dad had drunk too much again and I refused to let him stay in his house if there was even a slight risk to my seventeen-year-old boyfriend’s safety.
“Um, Spence? Say something. Please.”
My eyes snap from where they had subconsciously rested on where Ry’s fingers are slumped over the fifth fret of his guitar, up to his face. His perfect, sweet face that is currently full of anticipation and riddled with various anxieties. It saddens me, that he feels anxious about sharing his music, his soul, with me.
Then again, though, I suppose I should be used to this kind of thing from Ryan by now. I can still remember when Ryan was six and I was five, we were both over at his house talking about his first day in kindergarten, which had taken place a few hours earlier. He’d done this drawing, it was meant to be him and his dad wearing ginormous smiles stood outside a little cookie-cutter house, but it looked more like a rainbow had pissed on a piece of paper without the courtesy of calling it rain. I, of course, loved it and made it clear to him that I did. His dad, however, just threw it idly into the bin like some kind of unwanted bill. I can still recall, with brutal clarity, the way Ry’s eyes had looked when his dad did that; you could practically see his heart breaking, his self-esteem evaporating it intangible steam.
Which is why I shouldn’t let it upset me that he’s nervous, it is only to be expected from someone with his sort of upbringing. But that in itself makes my insides ache.
“It’s beautiful, Ry.” He visibly relaxes at my praise and I lean forward to peck his nose, causing him to let out a breathy laugh. “Just like you.”
I lean forward and help him remove his guitar, watch in admiration as he places it onto the carpet of my living room as though it’s a precious new born baby, before shuffling up the couch so that we’re touching. Barely seconds later he’s in my lap, my arms wound around his waist and his head nestled contently into my chest.
Ry’s very touchy-feely like that, always aching for loving contact whenever and wherever he can get it. Kind of like when someone out in the desert hasn’t drunk for a while, then comes across an oasis and drinks as much as they possibly can to make up for the dehydration. It’s like that with Ry, apart from affection is the water and I’m his oasis. I guess that would make his dad and the kids at school the desert.
At the thought of his own personal ‘desert’, I can’t help but tug him in closer. I think he understands that I need to feel him, to know that he’s here, that he’s safe, because he responds by wrapping an arm lazily around my neck.
“I worked really hard on your song, Spence.” He mutters, clearly aching for my admiration in his own little way.
“I know you did, Baby.” I whisper back, pressing a flock of kisses to his cheek before finally allowing my lips to rest atop his. “Song-writing; another thing to add to your list of amazing super-powers.”
He fidgets a bit, making me give him room so that he can slide back onto the couch and look at me on an equal level. He looks nervous again, awkward but in a totally and heart-stoppingly adorable way. In a way that I’ve only ever seen George Ryan Ross III pull off.
“I’ve been practicing.” He looks away, meaning that my hand automatically cups his chin and tilts it so that we’re eye-to-eye once more. “The song-writing, I mean. I write them a lot, actually. Mostly just lyrics, but I’ve started putting the best ones to music.” Ryan swallows and fixes me with the most earnest gaze I’ve ever seen coming from a teenage boy. “You’re the first person I’ve ever played one to.”
There are so many things I want to do right now; kiss him to show him how utterly perfect he is; yell at him for keeping his song-writing secret; cry because he hasn’t trusted me enough until now to share it with me; beg him into playing me more.
The thing I settle on doing is ruffling his over-styled hair and giving him a warm smile, the one he always says reminds him of melted chocolate.
“My ears are always open. To anything you wanna say or play. Anything.”
My words are sincere and as solid as gold, the expression on his face lets me know that he believes me, even if it is a little bit of a struggle for his mind to get around it. He smiles at me shyly, before crawling his way back onto my lap and burrowing back into my chest like a baby kangaroo into it’s pouch.
“That’s why it had to be you first. Your ears, they’re different to everyone else’s. Yours always understand.” He pauses to nuzzle lightly at my neck in a way that makes my heart thud extra-loud. “Your ears always hear things the way I want them to sound.”
“Or maybe you just make noises that I want to hear.”
A/N: Part five in my ‘Alphabet Challenge’. I couldn’t really think of a word for ‘e’, so I texted my friend and demand that she give me a random ‘e’ word. She gave me ears, and so this was spawned unto us.
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Ryan’s expert fingers stop strumming, the strings of his guitar seeming to sing their disappointment at their little dance being ended. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed that it had to end, that his song had to finish and leave me with nothing but a silence that has never before felt so inadequate.
He looks up at me, eyes wide and nervous, waiting for something to happen to break the silence. I don’t know what I can say, what I can do to convey to him just how proud I am of my boyfriend, so I do the one thing that I know Ryan will never not enjoy; I just hug him, ignoring the fact that his guitar is in between us.
“You like it then?” He asks, the smirk on his face doing nothing to disguise the worry in his voice. “I wrote it for you, y’know, Spence.”
Everything that I’ve ever done for him or someone else has ever done for me just kind of feels obsolete at hearing that. Sure, some of the notes were a little off in places and his singing was shaky with nerves to begin with, but he wrote me my own fucking song. As in; Ryan Ross, my boyfriend of three weeks and best friend since the start of forever, has written a song for me, Spencer Smith.
Holy shit.
Okay, so I knew he’d been writing because I could hear him figuring out chord patterns in the living room when I woke up this morning. He’d slept over because his dad had drunk too much again and I refused to let him stay in his house if there was even a slight risk to my seventeen-year-old boyfriend’s safety.
“Um, Spence? Say something. Please.”
My eyes snap from where they had subconsciously rested on where Ry’s fingers are slumped over the fifth fret of his guitar, up to his face. His perfect, sweet face that is currently full of anticipation and riddled with various anxieties. It saddens me, that he feels anxious about sharing his music, his soul, with me.
Then again, though, I suppose I should be used to this kind of thing from Ryan by now. I can still remember when Ryan was six and I was five, we were both over at his house talking about his first day in kindergarten, which had taken place a few hours earlier. He’d done this drawing, it was meant to be him and his dad wearing ginormous smiles stood outside a little cookie-cutter house, but it looked more like a rainbow had pissed on a piece of paper without the courtesy of calling it rain. I, of course, loved it and made it clear to him that I did. His dad, however, just threw it idly into the bin like some kind of unwanted bill. I can still recall, with brutal clarity, the way Ry’s eyes had looked when his dad did that; you could practically see his heart breaking, his self-esteem evaporating it intangible steam.
Which is why I shouldn’t let it upset me that he’s nervous, it is only to be expected from someone with his sort of upbringing. But that in itself makes my insides ache.
“It’s beautiful, Ry.” He visibly relaxes at my praise and I lean forward to peck his nose, causing him to let out a breathy laugh. “Just like you.”
I lean forward and help him remove his guitar, watch in admiration as he places it onto the carpet of my living room as though it’s a precious new born baby, before shuffling up the couch so that we’re touching. Barely seconds later he’s in my lap, my arms wound around his waist and his head nestled contently into my chest.
Ry’s very touchy-feely like that, always aching for loving contact whenever and wherever he can get it. Kind of like when someone out in the desert hasn’t drunk for a while, then comes across an oasis and drinks as much as they possibly can to make up for the dehydration. It’s like that with Ry, apart from affection is the water and I’m his oasis. I guess that would make his dad and the kids at school the desert.
At the thought of his own personal ‘desert’, I can’t help but tug him in closer. I think he understands that I need to feel him, to know that he’s here, that he’s safe, because he responds by wrapping an arm lazily around my neck.
“I worked really hard on your song, Spence.” He mutters, clearly aching for my admiration in his own little way.
“I know you did, Baby.” I whisper back, pressing a flock of kisses to his cheek before finally allowing my lips to rest atop his. “Song-writing; another thing to add to your list of amazing super-powers.”
He fidgets a bit, making me give him room so that he can slide back onto the couch and look at me on an equal level. He looks nervous again, awkward but in a totally and heart-stoppingly adorable way. In a way that I’ve only ever seen George Ryan Ross III pull off.
“I’ve been practicing.” He looks away, meaning that my hand automatically cups his chin and tilts it so that we’re eye-to-eye once more. “The song-writing, I mean. I write them a lot, actually. Mostly just lyrics, but I’ve started putting the best ones to music.” Ryan swallows and fixes me with the most earnest gaze I’ve ever seen coming from a teenage boy. “You’re the first person I’ve ever played one to.”
There are so many things I want to do right now; kiss him to show him how utterly perfect he is; yell at him for keeping his song-writing secret; cry because he hasn’t trusted me enough until now to share it with me; beg him into playing me more.
The thing I settle on doing is ruffling his over-styled hair and giving him a warm smile, the one he always says reminds him of melted chocolate.
“My ears are always open. To anything you wanna say or play. Anything.”
My words are sincere and as solid as gold, the expression on his face lets me know that he believes me, even if it is a little bit of a struggle for his mind to get around it. He smiles at me shyly, before crawling his way back onto my lap and burrowing back into my chest like a baby kangaroo into it’s pouch.
“That’s why it had to be you first. Your ears, they’re different to everyone else’s. Yours always understand.” He pauses to nuzzle lightly at my neck in a way that makes my heart thud extra-loud. “Your ears always hear things the way I want them to sound.”
“Or maybe you just make noises that I want to hear.”
A/N: Part five in my ‘Alphabet Challenge’. I couldn’t really think of a word for ‘e’, so I texted my friend and demand that she give me a random ‘e’ word. She gave me ears, and so this was spawned unto us.
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Sign up to rate and review this story