Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Stolen


by IndiaGirl 0 reviews

Ryan comes to terms with some feelings.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama - Published: 2013-02-20 - Updated: 2013-02-20 - 1936 words

We had had our house for a few weeks now. Brendon was getting a little better at sharing the bed, but sometimes I would wake up with one of his legs pinning me down against the bed, or an arm literally on my face. But he was getting better.
And, every morning during breakfast, we would receive torment because of all the laughter and noise that appeared when I would retire to the bedroom. As far as Jon and Spence were concerned - well, they had two single beds, and as they lay there and heard laughter and giggling coming from the other room, they had their rights to tease. But it was getting a little bit much, especially as the days went by.
Because sometimes when they spoke about it I felt my ears getting a little bit hot under my hair and I had to bite down on my lip and dip my gaze to assure I didn't look suspicious. I wish it could stop - I just don't understand why it keeps happening.
After weeks of not leaving the house I insisted that I had to, so early in the morning, I threw Brendon's arms off of my face, crawled out of the sheets and got dressed, standing in the living room whilst I tied my shoes. I had to get out.
I walked up towards the door, about to leave, when a voice called for me.
"Hey! Ry! Wait! Don't leave me behind!"
Brendon came skidding out of our bedroom, one shoe missing, his hair askew, a few buttons placed in the wrong holes. I just stopped and stared at him, raising an eyebrow.
"You want to come?" I crossed my arms. "You're not exactly fit for it. You're missing a shoe. You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards."
Brendon smirked and narrowed his gaze at me.
"And you look like you got your clothes from the shire," Brendon tugged lightly on my flowered neckercheif. "But I'm not complaining."
I turned away from him, rolling my eyes.
"Whatever, just hurry up."
Brendon made a cooing noise. "Aw, Ryan, I didn't mean it." He whined, childlishly. He reached out to grab my shoulder and circulated his fingers. "Forgive me? Rya-an.."
I sighed and pushed his hand off my shoulder. "Yes, I forgive you. Now hurry up!"

Brendon offered to push the trolley in the supermarket in a way to make it up for me for his rude comments.
We wandered through aisles and aisles, not really paying attention to where we were going. I was enjoying myself, somehow, even if we were just shopping.
"Ryan, did you actually come here to shop?" Brendon asked, as I walked beside him.
"Uh," I shrugged a shoulder. "I just kinda needed to get away a little. We've been cooped up for too long."
Brendon smirked, tapping his fingers on the handle of the shopping trolley.
"Do you not like spending your time inside with me?"
I chuckled. "Well, if I didn't, there'd be a homocide case by now, hm?"
Brendon laughed far too hard at that. We had to pause by the cucumbers to let him laugh - he was doubled over, hands gripping onto the side of the trolley and the plastic shelves holding the vegetables, almost crying with laughter. I stood awkwardly, unsure of what I'd said was really that hilarious as people wandered by and stared at us.
I didn't mind. Not one bit.
When Brendon finally recovered he spent the rest of the journey around the supermarket sniggering to himself, his face red and his cheeks a little damp. I shook my head softly, putting my hand on the side of the trolley to keep it in check.
He looked so damn cute when he was laughing, and it was unfair, to say the least. His eyes all squeezed tight together, his mouth wide and contorted into a massive grin, looking completely adora-
"Excuse me?" I snapped out of my gaze and was confronted by an older man. He was tall and had a whisp of grey hair on his head, with crinkled eyes and pale eyes.
I stared up at him, lips parting and closing as they did.
"Uh-" I put a hand on my chest to ask if he was talking to me. I hadn't turned to even look at Brendon put I could feel him close behind me. Closer than I might have liked.
"Yes, you, I'm talking to you." The older man frowned down at me.
"Can I help you?" I asked, softly. The man ahead of me continued to glare.
"Yes," He said, indignantly. "Could you please not flaunt your relationship? There are kids around here."
I was literally speechless. I stared at him, open mouthed. Relationship? Flaunt? What was I - we - flaunting?
"Yeah, I just don't want to have to go home and explain to my kids why two men would be in a relationship. It'll mess them up."
I continued to stare, until a soft hand pulled me back a little. When I looked up again I was behind Brendon.
"Listen here you oblivious idiot," Brendon hissed, standing close to the man, even if the man was much taller than him. "Get some things straight; one, I will not let you speak to him like that, /ever/, and next time anyone does, I will be putting their hand in a blender, okay? Two, that conversation with your kids would be easy. All you have to say is that they love each other and the children will accept it and move on. Do you know what that shows? It shows how childish you are. Childish that you feel like you have to butt into other people's lives even if it affects you in no way. So shove off and get off your high horse, and start picking one someone your own size." Brendon's hand grasped my arm and walked me away, dragging the trolley behind us.
His hand squeezed my shoulder. "You okay?" I smiled weakly and nodded.
"Of course I'm okay." I replied, looking down at him slightly. "Why did you do that?" I whispered.
Brendon smiled sheepishly. "Well, I had to defend you." He said, beaming weakly. "You're my best friend!" He hugged me with a big grin on his face. "Couldn't let that guy think bad of you, could I? There's always dicks who are out to get you."
I nodded and pulled away from him, embarrassedly. "Probably shouldn't hug, or people will accuse you of being gay, huh." I mumbled. Brendon laughed.
"Maybe they wouldn't be so far from the truth, hm?" Brendon hummed, wandering further along with the trolley.
As soon as the words fell from his mouth I was desperate to pursue him, to understand what he had just shared with me - but I didn't. I was frightened.
I could only imagine the things he could say. 'I'm not gay like you!' He'd shout, pushing me away. 'I don't like guys and I don't like you!'
I couldn't take it. I wrenched my brain away from those thoughts and fixed a hand onto the shopping trolley -and after that, things just.. Melted away to normality again. Even if Brendon may or may not had shared his newfound sexuality with me.
Maybe he'd bring it up later.

"So, best cook?" Spencer clapped his hands together and rubbed them. This apartment was freezing, and we couldn't afford heating. Sometimes I wished that cuddling with your friends wasn't a big deal, because then sleeping would be filled with much less shivers.
Jon laughed and shook his head. "Not me. I'll burn everything." The four of them shared a laugh as Spencer said something along the same lines.
"Ryan can cook," Brendon beamed. "He should cook for us."
I whined in protest.
"Come on! I'll help!" Brendon persisted, rubbing his shoulders. It sounded like he was eager to be alone with me but as far as I was concerned, he just wanted a reason to be in the kitchen. It was warm in the kitchen, especially if you sat pressed up against the oven on the floor.
I let out a long, defeated sigh and stood up. "Fine.." I wandered past Brendon, who hopped up as I passed, skidding beside me towards the kitchen. As I predicted, he was glued to beside the oven as soon as I started to preheat it.
We both moved around the kitchen, dancing and singing together as I ordered him to get me things from the cupboards. I heard snickering and laughter from Jon and Spencer, but I just didn't care much anymore. I was having fun.
I moved to prepare the ingredients, collecting a sharp knife and a chopping board. Brendon watched with fascination, as if I were doing quantum physics or brain surgery. As I moved my fingers he continued to watch, and for a few moments, my eyes were fixed on his, gazing as his eyes flickered about, scanning my fingers as they moved.
Oh fuck.
I felt a short split of pain and looked down at my hands, where a tiny bit of blood was settling onto the chopping board. I frowned.
"I've ruined the vegetables." I slammed a fist down on the side moodily. Brendon's eyes glittered and he almost let out a giggle from between his lips.
"Ryan, don't worry about the vegetables," Brendon reassured me, moving a little closer and away from the oven, breaking the knife away from between my fingers and laying it carefully on the side. "Your finger is /spurting/." He hummed, an entertained grin dancing on his lips. I couldn't help but laugh a little when his eyes met mine - he had that stupid grin on his face.
"Uh, yeah." I mumbled.
"So, ignore the vegetables, and just- like - er - wait here." Brendon paused, turning around quickly, looking through a draw which was filled with pins and pens, a few screws, and other random items. He finally produced a plaster and a little bottle of clear liquid. He turned and looked at me menacingly.
"You're not going to kill me with that are you?"
Brendon laughed loudly. "No chance." He said, ambling over to me, cradling my bloody fingered hand in his own. "Hey, it's not so bad." He noted, inspecting the cut closely. "If you cry when I put the anti-septic on your finger, know that I will tell everyone right?"
I nodded with a smile, which soon turned to a hiss as the liquid fell onto my finger and stung. Brendon just seemed to laugh and laugh as I squirmed - but it was a never a scornful laugh, or a horrible laugh - it comforted me.
He stopped laughing and cradled his hand between his own, wrapping the plaster carefully around my finger, neatly. He squeezed it and pushed a kiss to the tip of my finger.
I stared. I stared and I stared at him, and he was just gazing back at me, a light pink blush high on his cheeks, before swivelling around and attending to the slightly blood covered vegetables - whilst I just continued to stare.
His lips were just on my finger.
No, seriously.
But he didn't seem to care. He just turned away as if nothing had happened, and even as we ate, and as my finger brushed up against my own lips, I couldn't help but think about how his lips had touched it too.
I didn't - I didn't like him, did I?
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