Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > highschool au // RYDEN
×-bden-*×-
I’d always hated Saturday detention, but it was inevitable. Having to sit in a classroom doing practically nothing bored me to death. My teachers always said I was ‘a disruption to class’ and that I ‘never turned my work in on time’, hence the reason I always was here. I wouldn’t consider myself desperate, but I had been praying for someone to finally do something interesting today. And I guess my prayers worked, because now I’m following Pete to God knows where to ‘skip’ detention.
I looked behind and saw Ryan and Frank, who fell behind our group of roughly eleven boys, standing on opposite sides of the hallway. Frank looked down at his moving feet, while Ryan watched the lights pass by as he walked. I never understood why they never talked. Ever since I'd attended this school (which was only last year), I’ve noticed that they’ve avoided each other, panicking at the thought of having to sit next to one another. I always wondered why that was; maybe they knew each other in middle school?
I was dying to find out, but Frank intimidated me and Ryan seemed scared of me. It didn’t make sense; Ryan didn’t make sense. He always sat away from everyone, ignored most people, jumped at the slightest unexpected touch, and never talked. I think he might be mute. But, it didn’t make him any less interesting.
He’d always captured my attention when everyone ignored him, he always stood out to me in a crowd. He was always writing in his notebook, which looked like the cover would fall apart. He would tap his fingers against the table often, probably in beat to a song. I’d often wonder if it was his favourite. He kept his head low, covering his face with the hood of his black hoodie with a white outline of a gun on the chest- the one he wore almost everyday. He styled his hair to flop to one side of his face, covering one of his eyes. And he always had this.. look on his face. To me, he looked like a sad, lost puppy.
I know that sounds weird, but I’m not stalking him or anything. My gaze just seems to linger on him more often than not. And I might follow him in the hallways sometimes. Plus, It doesn’t help that we’re both in Saturday detention most of the time. Maybe I’ll talk to him today. I hope I do. He doesn’t seem like he has many friends.
I’ve seen him talking to Spencer Smith and Jon Walker a lot, hanging around them near Spencer’s locker in the mornings, and during lunch sometimes. I’ve never seen him around anyone else though.
Anyway, Pete’s leading us down a hallway I’ve never seen. Luckily, it seems empty.
“The teachers never check here. I’ve been here long enough to know,” Pete reassures them, stopping in front of the locked door leading to a room I didn’t recognize. He digs through his pockets for a few minutes, pulling stuff out and then shoving it back in.
“Does anyone have a lockpick?” He turns to everyone behind him, looking at us expectedly. “Orrr anything else that could work?”
It’s silent for a few moments, no one moving or speaking, until Ryan hesitantly walks forwards and hands him a small, pocket-sized lockpick set (God, this kid was weird) from his pocket. They make eye contact for a moment, before Ryan looks back to the floor.
“Thanks Ross,” Pete smirks, eyeing the younger boy, turning towards the door again. I watched as Ryan made his way to the back of the crowd again, all eyes on him as his face flushed a soft red,
As everyone else watched Pete unlock the door, I cautiously walked over to Ryan, who was rubbing a wrist nervously and staring at the linoleum tiles under his feet.
I’d always hated Saturday detention, but it was inevitable. Having to sit in a classroom doing practically nothing bored me to death. My teachers always said I was ‘a disruption to class’ and that I ‘never turned my work in on time’, hence the reason I always was here. I wouldn’t consider myself desperate, but I had been praying for someone to finally do something interesting today. And I guess my prayers worked, because now I’m following Pete to God knows where to ‘skip’ detention.
I looked behind and saw Ryan and Frank, who fell behind our group of roughly eleven boys, standing on opposite sides of the hallway. Frank looked down at his moving feet, while Ryan watched the lights pass by as he walked. I never understood why they never talked. Ever since I'd attended this school (which was only last year), I’ve noticed that they’ve avoided each other, panicking at the thought of having to sit next to one another. I always wondered why that was; maybe they knew each other in middle school?
I was dying to find out, but Frank intimidated me and Ryan seemed scared of me. It didn’t make sense; Ryan didn’t make sense. He always sat away from everyone, ignored most people, jumped at the slightest unexpected touch, and never talked. I think he might be mute. But, it didn’t make him any less interesting.
He’d always captured my attention when everyone ignored him, he always stood out to me in a crowd. He was always writing in his notebook, which looked like the cover would fall apart. He would tap his fingers against the table often, probably in beat to a song. I’d often wonder if it was his favourite. He kept his head low, covering his face with the hood of his black hoodie with a white outline of a gun on the chest- the one he wore almost everyday. He styled his hair to flop to one side of his face, covering one of his eyes. And he always had this.. look on his face. To me, he looked like a sad, lost puppy.
I know that sounds weird, but I’m not stalking him or anything. My gaze just seems to linger on him more often than not. And I might follow him in the hallways sometimes. Plus, It doesn’t help that we’re both in Saturday detention most of the time. Maybe I’ll talk to him today. I hope I do. He doesn’t seem like he has many friends.
I’ve seen him talking to Spencer Smith and Jon Walker a lot, hanging around them near Spencer’s locker in the mornings, and during lunch sometimes. I’ve never seen him around anyone else though.
Anyway, Pete’s leading us down a hallway I’ve never seen. Luckily, it seems empty.
“The teachers never check here. I’ve been here long enough to know,” Pete reassures them, stopping in front of the locked door leading to a room I didn’t recognize. He digs through his pockets for a few minutes, pulling stuff out and then shoving it back in.
“Does anyone have a lockpick?” He turns to everyone behind him, looking at us expectedly. “Orrr anything else that could work?”
It’s silent for a few moments, no one moving or speaking, until Ryan hesitantly walks forwards and hands him a small, pocket-sized lockpick set (God, this kid was weird) from his pocket. They make eye contact for a moment, before Ryan looks back to the floor.
“Thanks Ross,” Pete smirks, eyeing the younger boy, turning towards the door again. I watched as Ryan made his way to the back of the crowd again, all eyes on him as his face flushed a soft red,
As everyone else watched Pete unlock the door, I cautiously walked over to Ryan, who was rubbing a wrist nervously and staring at the linoleum tiles under his feet.
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