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He's walking through the hallways with his hands shoved in his pockets, this look etched on his face. It's not exactly angry, but it's not happy either. More so, he looks annoyed that there wasn't some freak accident that everybody else died in.
His head is down as he drags through the crowded hallway to his locker. It's 8 A.M. and Ryan Ross is already pissed off.
His hair is dyed raven black, it's got this blue hue to it that just looks unnatural when you actually look at him. He's too soft looking for how he actually is, Brendon thinks.
Brendon's been distracted by George Ryan Ross for the past few weeks. They only share two classes, and those classes are Creative Writing and Band. Really, that's it. And there's something about him, Brendon just can't shake it off.
Ryan sticks out like a sore thumb. He wears all black and hunches, like Brendon's grandpa with his bad hip, except like. Ten times cooler. He owns the tightest jeans Brendon has ever seen on another guy, studded belts and spikes on his wrists. He occasionally wears a fucking leather jacket. It's no wonder why he gets bullied.
It's also no wonder why Brendon gets bullied as well. He's thinking this, staring at Ryan Ross walking askew among a sea of their peers, when someone nudges him on the shoulder.
"Hey," and it's Brent. Brendon turns his attention away from Ryan, blinking.
"Dude, hey," Brendon responds. Brent offers a hand shake, and Brendon is happy to oblige.
Really, it's no fucking wonder why they get bullied.
Brent is fun. He's not like, amazing or anything, but he's good company, especially when you sit with two people at lunch. And he's one of them.
"I'm bailing after lunch ends. You wanna come with?" Brent asks.
Brendon shakes his head, "nah. I've been slacking in my afternoon classes, man."
Brent just shrugs. "Alright."
He pats Brendon on the shoulder, "I'll see you at lunch," and then he walks away.
Brendon watches him depart, then turns back to where Ryan Ross was. And he's not there anymore, so his morning ogling has been ruined.
-
Brendon's picking at his nachos, and he just can't focus. Because Ryan Ross is at the absolute back of the lunch line, and Brendon can stare all he wants.
Spencer gives him a weird look. "Why are you doing that," he asks. "Like, the thing with your neck. You're all leaned over but like, your head is straight."
Brendon straightens his back as a compromise. "Have you talked to George Ross?" he asks, off topic, because he has to start from there --- not immediately jump into his whole man crush on the token goth kid.
"Dude, Ryan?" Spencer asks, and he sounds confused. Then he laughs. Brendon turns to stare at him, and Spencer is grinning ear to ear.
Brendon glances around, and Spencer continues, "me and Ryan have been friends for years. Seriously. Of course I know George fucking Ross."
And now Brendon wants to die, actually. He blinks, huffing, "really? Like. Really?"
Spencer is still laughing as he speaks, "yes, really! We're tight! That's my boy!"
Brendon can feel his face heating up. "How come that never came up, Spence, I've known you for two years!"
He can hear the grin in Spencer's tone, even when he ducks his head down, "you never asked? Why would I just talk about Ryan randomly, you don't even know him."
"The emo one?" Brent chimes in, talking and chewing, which is gross by the way.
"He doesn't like to call himself emo, but he is. He listens to Counting Crows," Spencer coos, and Brendon groans into his hands.
"Of course he listens to Counting Crows!" Brendon cries, looking back up, "why didn't you ever tell me you were friends!"
Spencer shrugs, "dude, again, you never asked."
Brendon drags his hand across his face, before clasping both of them together, letting out a deep breath. "Okay. Okay, you and Ryan Ross are friends. Great," he says, dragging his words out.
"You seem so bothered by it. What's up with that, dude? Spill," Spencer presses, propping his chin up with his hands.
"I'm not bothered," Brendon says, staring at Ryan Ross across the lunchroom again, who's both on his phone (seriously, he has a Sidekick. Of course he has a Sidekick,) and has moved up a little in the line.
"It's just, I wanna be friends with him, dude. He's like all scary and cool and stuff," Brendon explains weakly.
Spencer just looks malicious. "He's the opposite, I promise. He's rainbows and kittens and sprinkles as a person, seriously, I swear on my fucking life, Brendon," Spencer states, grabbing one of the last nachos off his tray, scooping up the remnants of meat and cheese next to it.
Brendon sighs. "If he's a human cupcake than why is he such a dick?"
"He gets bullied, and instead of accepting it like a normal person," Spencer points at himself with his thumb, before chomping down on his nacho, "he decides to take it out on everybody else," he ends, talking while chewing --- and seriously, why does everybody do that?
Brendon frowns. "How do I be friends with him? Is it even possible? Because I haven't seen anybody hang out with him, not even you, Spence," he laments, crossing his arms on the table.
"I don't know. We're neighbors," Spencer explains, then swallows.
"You're neighbors?" Brendon groans, dropping his head between his arms. "You're the worst!"
Spencer leans over to pat Brendon on the back. "It's okay. I'll put in a good word, baby."
-
In middle school, Brendon used to play the drums in his band. Really, like, an actual drumset.
Now, he plays the snare drum. And he's looking at Ryan Ross, with his dumb little stupid fucking flute, like he owes him money.
And his dumb fucking tight jeans and his fitted shirts and jackets. And eyeliner, and black dyed fucking hair. Ugh.
Again, Brendon isn't focused at all.
He barely processes Ryan staring back after twenty minutes of Brendon giving him daggers. Ryan has a weird look on his face, but not his usual weird mean look. Like, he looks scared.
Okay, now Brendon feels like a stalker. So he puts his head down, staring at his snare drum like it's the one who actually owes him money.
Fuck Spencer.
-
Brendon is walking home with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the concrete sidewalk with the same look Ryan Ross has in the hallways.
He hears another pair of shoes behind him, maybe even two pairs, but he's just. Mad. Because seriously, his weird man crush was this close all this time. He's spent 2 months obsessing over a guy whose house he's walked past countless of times.
"Hey!" he hears, and it's Spencer. Oh jeez.
Brendon huffs, pretending not to hear until Spencer eventually catches up. "Hey, Brendon," he says, a little out of breath.
Brendon turns his head back, "oh, hey," he says dryly.
"I get you have a stick up your ass, and me and George Ross have shared custody over said stick. But," Spencer starts, raising a hand in a sign of peace, "I'm sincerely, sincerely sorry for not introducing you."
"Thank you," Brendon responds, straightening his back, taking in a breath, then out, continuing to walk.
Brendon swears he's not crazy, but he can hear a set of shoes that's going slower than both him and Spencer.
"Hey," Spencer calls back, and Brendon can sense him waving someone over. Oh, oh jeez.
"That is why I'm introducing you now, you fag," Spencer says sweetly in Brendon's ear, and Brendon really, really wants to just die.
He cranes his head back, almost tripping on his feet, and George Ryan Ross is walking behind him and Spencer.
Oh jeez indeed.
Brendon blinks, staring at Ryan, then at Spencer, "dude! What are you doing, man," he whisper-yells hurriedly in Spencer's face, because dude, he didn't personally ask for this type of introduction.
He can see Spencer waving Ryan over now. And Ryan really skips when he walks. He walks up next to Spencer, matching his pace, and now Brendon has to look away.
"Ryan, this is Brendon, king of Fagville. Brendon, this is Ryan, king of Gaytown," Spencer says, slowing down, then shoving Ryan towards Brendon.
Ryan seems to stumble a little, "woah," he mumbles, before catching his footing. He clears his throat. "Hello," and his voice is so raspy and Brendon so, so wants to die right now.
"Hey," Brendon replies, shoulders up to his jaw, staring at his feet. "Um."
"I'm Ryan. Spence's already told you, but," Ryan said quietly, and oh gosh this man crush has gotten way too serious.
Brendon takes in a breath, "I'm Brendon. Urie. Brendon Urie," he introduces, getting the guts to turn and look at Ryan Ross, who's walking right next to him.
Ryan looks so weird up close. Not like, weird. But he doesn't look all mean. Brendon was right, he looks way softer than he acts, and apparently to Spencer, he acts softer than he looks.
Ryan's head is down, similar to how Brendon might've looked, and his shoulders are hunched similarly. Brendon can't help but crack a smile.
"We both play in the band," Brendon says, blinking. Ryan glances at him from the corner of his eye, "yeah," he replies, "you're good at it. I'm just in it for the extra credit."
Brendon grins. "Why thank you, Ross," he says, his voice debonair, like he was talking to Brent or something. He kinda wants to give Ryan a handshake now.
Ryan laughs a little, more so a snort, more so a weird breath. "Aren't you gonna compliment my skills? I'm not all that good, but."
"You're very good at the flute, Ryan," Brendon assures, straightening his posture, hoping Ryan does the same.
He glances behind his shoulder, and Spencer gives him a grin and a thumbs up. You bitch, he thinks, but this time, it's not really out of anger or anything.
"Thanks," Ryan says, following suite, straightening his back. Brendon looks back at Ryan, whose head is turned ever so slightly in his direction, and that's a win.
"I'm also in your Creative Writing class," Brendon says.
"I know, I noticed you there," Ryan replies. Brendon lets out a nervous laugh.
"Oh. Didn't know that," Brendon mumbled, hands coming up to fiddle with the straps of his backpack.
Ryan seems shy. "I've noticed you around. I think you're okay. Spencer says you're gay, but he also says I'm gay, and I'm not. So I don't believe him," he whispers, and Brendon lets out a soft laugh.
"I'm not gay, I don't think you are either," Brendon replies, and Ryan smiles.
"I try not to go off what Spence says," Ryan murmurs, and seriously, his voice is so raspy. Brendon wants to die in like, a good way now.
"Me either, man."
-
Ryan's hair is naturally light brown, Brendon has discovered --- he knew Ryan dyed his hair, it just looked so fake, but it's weird seeing him with his natural color. It actually suits him.
Ryan used to dye his hair a lot when they were teens apparently. Monthly, he said. He would take freezing showers just to make the dye last. Obviously, that changed when he moved into Brendon's apartment.
It wasn't like Brendon's purpose was to date Ryan. Not completely, anyway. He just wanted to be friends, like, really horribly badly, with a super cool intimidating guy. Maybe the reason they started dating was because instead of said super cool intimidating guy, Brendon got the most boring, shy guy he knows. And he's completely fine with that, actually.
Ryan leans back to ash his cigarette in the glass tray on the coffee table, laid across Brendon's chest, straddling his stomach. Some throw blanket Brendon's aunt gifted him is over them, the two huddled on their couch. He leans back in to spread kisses across Brendon's cheeks and jaw.
Brendon's hand strokes Ryan's back, softly giggling, "stop it, you know that tickles. You're gonna burn me with your fucking cigarette," he warns, lightly pushing at Ryan's chest.
Ryan pulls away in response, "no I won't," he says, matter-of-factly, a snarky grin on his face, his cigarette hanging loosely between his index and middle fingers.
Brendon sighs and pulls Ryan back by his collar, smushing his lips lazily to Ryan's, "shut up," he mumbles, and Ryan laughs into it, cupping Brendon's cheek with his non occupied hand.
Yeah, the horrible high school experience paid off.