Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Not One of Those Dreams
Not One of Those Dreams
0 reviews|Rydon| Ryan Ross is sick of all those damn interviews. He's sick of hearing Brendon explain away whatever is between them. But that's stupid... there can't be anything between them, because that w...
0Unrated
This is my first Rydon fic, so review if you like it so I know to write more chappies! ^_^
Warnings: nothing, yet...
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with P!@TD
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There was a well worn black couch in the center of a small circular room where a dark-haired boy was seated, shifting nervously where he sat and hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself. He was hoping that he wouldn't say anything stupid that would wind up on the cover of tomorrow's tabloids. One mistake, that's all it would take.
It isn't like they need any more rumors, anyway.
The middle aged woman seated across from him in a sensible brown chair was one of the most intimidating people he had ever encountered. She didn't seem to be afraid to ask him anything.
Some people don't have any shame.
It isn't their business in the first place.
He sighed, looking down to inspect his fingertips, back stiff with nerves.
"Our viewers have just one more question to ask, Brendon," came a glittering voice out of the semi-darkness of the studio, accompanied by a flash of pearly white teeth.
Here it comes. They haven't asked yet, and they always do...
"Tell us, just what exactly is your relationship with Panic's guitarist, Ryan Ross?" She leaned forward, dark eyes glittering with a longing for fresh gossip. Her body language suggested she could keep a secret, but her job description said otherwise. The woman laughed quietly. "We had quite a few female viewers phone in about that."
I'm not gay. I'm not.
"Well, uh..." he tried to get the words out but felt like he was going to choke. Shit. Say something quick. She's going to get the wrong idea, and if she gets the wrong idea, the whole damn world is going to end up with the wrong idea by tomorrow morning. Just breathe. Breathe and start again. He inspected his hands with growing intensity, pulling at a hangnail.
"There's nothing going on between Ryan and me. We're just friends, you know? All that stuff we do up on stage... that's just for show. It keeps the crowd entertained, you know? That's really what Panic's about... keeping people entertained. It's like I've said before... we're not just a musical. We're a fucking Broadway play." He smiled shakily, willing her not to press the subject.
The woman nodded slowly with a slight frown, disappointed that there was nothing more to the story. It would have been a great money maker.
"Well, that's all for today. Thank you for joining us today, Brendon," she smiled at him and turned to the camera. "I'm Cindy Blake and you just heard an exclusive interview with Brendon Urie of the up-and-coming hit band, Panic! At the disco. Be sure to tune in next time, when we'll be joined by Cute is What We Aim For!"
The skinny brunet boy sighed as the TV switched to a commercial break. He didn't know why he even bothered watching those damn interviews.
There's nothing going on between Ryan and me.
That's what he always said.
It's just for show. It keeps the crowd entertained, you know?
That's all I am to you. Damn entertainment. Glad I could help. Asshole.
We're just friends.
Just friends.
Ryan Ross stared at the wall of the bus and tried to ignore the burning behind his eyes. A single tear slipped out and slid softly down his cheek, and he cursed to himself and brushed it away angrily, shutting off the TV and going back to his bunk, slamming the door behind him.
*
Warnings: nothing, yet...
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with P!@TD
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a well worn black couch in the center of a small circular room where a dark-haired boy was seated, shifting nervously where he sat and hoping he wasn't making a fool of himself. He was hoping that he wouldn't say anything stupid that would wind up on the cover of tomorrow's tabloids. One mistake, that's all it would take.
It isn't like they need any more rumors, anyway.
The middle aged woman seated across from him in a sensible brown chair was one of the most intimidating people he had ever encountered. She didn't seem to be afraid to ask him anything.
Some people don't have any shame.
It isn't their business in the first place.
He sighed, looking down to inspect his fingertips, back stiff with nerves.
"Our viewers have just one more question to ask, Brendon," came a glittering voice out of the semi-darkness of the studio, accompanied by a flash of pearly white teeth.
Here it comes. They haven't asked yet, and they always do...
"Tell us, just what exactly is your relationship with Panic's guitarist, Ryan Ross?" She leaned forward, dark eyes glittering with a longing for fresh gossip. Her body language suggested she could keep a secret, but her job description said otherwise. The woman laughed quietly. "We had quite a few female viewers phone in about that."
I'm not gay. I'm not.
"Well, uh..." he tried to get the words out but felt like he was going to choke. Shit. Say something quick. She's going to get the wrong idea, and if she gets the wrong idea, the whole damn world is going to end up with the wrong idea by tomorrow morning. Just breathe. Breathe and start again. He inspected his hands with growing intensity, pulling at a hangnail.
"There's nothing going on between Ryan and me. We're just friends, you know? All that stuff we do up on stage... that's just for show. It keeps the crowd entertained, you know? That's really what Panic's about... keeping people entertained. It's like I've said before... we're not just a musical. We're a fucking Broadway play." He smiled shakily, willing her not to press the subject.
The woman nodded slowly with a slight frown, disappointed that there was nothing more to the story. It would have been a great money maker.
"Well, that's all for today. Thank you for joining us today, Brendon," she smiled at him and turned to the camera. "I'm Cindy Blake and you just heard an exclusive interview with Brendon Urie of the up-and-coming hit band, Panic! At the disco. Be sure to tune in next time, when we'll be joined by Cute is What We Aim For!"
The skinny brunet boy sighed as the TV switched to a commercial break. He didn't know why he even bothered watching those damn interviews.
There's nothing going on between Ryan and me.
That's what he always said.
It's just for show. It keeps the crowd entertained, you know?
That's all I am to you. Damn entertainment. Glad I could help. Asshole.
We're just friends.
Just friends.
Ryan Ross stared at the wall of the bus and tried to ignore the burning behind his eyes. A single tear slipped out and slid softly down his cheek, and he cursed to himself and brushed it away angrily, shutting off the TV and going back to his bunk, slamming the door behind him.
*
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