Success Story (2/ )
Title: Success Story
Author: adriclove
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, eventually
Rating: I am the worst judge of this... PG for now, I'd say.
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Prepare yourselves for the shock of a lifetime: I don't own the characters.
Summary: Ryan Ross, an aspiring author, begins writing what he disparagingly views as a cliché romance novel. While writing this novel, he encounters Brendon Urie, who bears uncanny resemblance to his main character.
AN: It's Spring Break and I'm bored. When I'm bored, I write, and stories like this force themselves into existence. Part One
Ryan surveyed himself in the mirror with poorly concealed irritation; the pale blue shirt draped over his skinny figure and the jeans were held loosely in place by a belt that he had managed, with difficulty, to retrieve from beneath his bed. The clothing tented over him and made him appear disembodied. Before he had the chance to rip them off, however, Spencer barged in, beaming.
“Excellent, perfect fit. Now, let’s go! Jon’s waiting.”
Ryan looked up abruptly, brow creasing. “Excuse me?” he said, dread beginning to course through his veins, “Did you just say that Jon will be coming with us?”
Spencer’s smile widened. “No, Ryan, I said ‘Jon’s waiting’. But yes, he’s coming with us. Is there a problem? There shouldn’t be… He was even kind enough to donate some shoes to your cause!”
Ryan eyed him with trepidation, and sure enough, Spencer whipped out a pair of flip-flops. “There,” Spencer said, thrusting the shoes toward him, “These will complete the ensemble nicely.”
Ryan didn’t think he’d ever seen such a ridiculous outfit in his entire life; upon hearing him voice this opinion, Spencer guffawed jovially. “Nonsense, Ryan,” he said, with a sly smile, “Last time we went out, you wore a tawny sweater vest over top a lime-green turtle-neck and salmon suit pants.”
Spencer seemed impervious to Ryan’s scorching glare; seeing it, he merely ruffled Ryan’s hair affectionately and man-handled him out of the apartment. “I’ll lock up!” he said, unaware that this comment served only to aggravate Ryan all the more.
Having locked the door, Spencer proceeded to sprint down the six flights to the main floor, towing the reluctant Ryan along behind him. He galloped over the threshold of the apartment building, Ryan’s bare heels scuffing on the ground as he was dragged along. Stopping outside a car, Spencer flung open the door to the backseat, lobbed Ryan in and shut the door with a snap. He then ripped open the passenger seat door and pulled himself in, closing the door behind him.
This was more adventure than Ryan had encountered in weeks, and he had trouble adjusting himself to it. He curled in on himself in the backseat, cradling his head in his hands.
“Are you okay?” Jon asked, concerned. Spencer, however, did not let Ryan’s antics deter him from his supermarket mission. “Ryan, put on your seatbelt now. He’s fine, Jon.”
Jon continued to look at Ryan in alarm, as Ryan dejectedly drew the seatbelt around his thin frame. Seatbelt finally fastened, Jon drew away from Ryan’s apartment building, peering back at Ryan anxiously every so often. Meanwhile, Spencer was talking a mile a minute about Ryan’s slob-like living environment.
Ryan’s frustration grew by the minute; who was Spencer to divulge the clandestine secret of his squalor and who was Jon to act all worried? In Ryan’s marked opinion, Jon’s most irritating quality was that he was too nice to hate.
In due time, Jon pulled up alongside the supermarket, and Ryan breathed a sigh of hope, trusting that an opportunity to escape would soon present itself. Unfortunately, no sooner had he exited the car than he found his arm clasped in Spencer’s warm fingers. On Spencer’s other side, Jon’s arm was gripped in a similar fashion. Spencer marched the two of them enthusiastically towards the store.
Against the wall stood a man surrounded by a flock of young women. He was playing an easy tune on his acoustic guitar and was humming along, faintly. Catching sight of Ryan’s party, he jumped forward mid-tune and gallantly held the door for them. Spencer skipped forward, leaving Ryan to stare at the man incredulously and Jon to smile at him in gratitude.
“Thanks, man!” Jon said.
“Anytime, my friend!” said the man.
Ryan gaped at them. “Excuse me,” he said to the stranger, “but did you just stop mid-song to hold the door open for us?”
The man of unknown identity grinned. “Yes,” he said, “but it was no trouble, really… Your friend looked like he had his hands full with the two of you and I thought opening the door would be an unnecessary hindrance. However, both of your friends seem to have scampered off now.”
Ryan glanced about him; it was true. It was just like Spencer, he thought, to insist on their encountering the outside world together, only to abandon him. He conveniently forgot that abandonment and consequently, escape, was what he had prayed for.
“So they have. I’d expect it of Spencer, but Jon’s been trying to get on my good side. I’m surprised he took off.”
“Good side?” exclaimed the man who had left his eager crowd entirely, in favour of chatting with Ryan. “Why, I’ve yet to see a bad side.”
Ryan’s permanent scowl deepened; he despised being mocked. He prepared himself to take off in a huff, back to his apartment to hide from the world, when the guitarist clamped his hand down upon Ryan’s shoulder.
“I’m Brendon,” the man said, ignoring the way Ryan writhed under his touch.
“That’s nice,” said Ryan. “I must be leaving.”
With that, he wrenched his arm from the smiling Brendon’s grasp and bolted for his home.
Author: adriclove
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan, eventually
Rating: I am the worst judge of this... PG for now, I'd say.
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Prepare yourselves for the shock of a lifetime: I don't own the characters.
Summary: Ryan Ross, an aspiring author, begins writing what he disparagingly views as a cliché romance novel. While writing this novel, he encounters Brendon Urie, who bears uncanny resemblance to his main character.
AN: It's Spring Break and I'm bored. When I'm bored, I write, and stories like this force themselves into existence. Part One
Ryan surveyed himself in the mirror with poorly concealed irritation; the pale blue shirt draped over his skinny figure and the jeans were held loosely in place by a belt that he had managed, with difficulty, to retrieve from beneath his bed. The clothing tented over him and made him appear disembodied. Before he had the chance to rip them off, however, Spencer barged in, beaming.
“Excellent, perfect fit. Now, let’s go! Jon’s waiting.”
Ryan looked up abruptly, brow creasing. “Excuse me?” he said, dread beginning to course through his veins, “Did you just say that Jon will be coming with us?”
Spencer’s smile widened. “No, Ryan, I said ‘Jon’s waiting’. But yes, he’s coming with us. Is there a problem? There shouldn’t be… He was even kind enough to donate some shoes to your cause!”
Ryan eyed him with trepidation, and sure enough, Spencer whipped out a pair of flip-flops. “There,” Spencer said, thrusting the shoes toward him, “These will complete the ensemble nicely.”
Ryan didn’t think he’d ever seen such a ridiculous outfit in his entire life; upon hearing him voice this opinion, Spencer guffawed jovially. “Nonsense, Ryan,” he said, with a sly smile, “Last time we went out, you wore a tawny sweater vest over top a lime-green turtle-neck and salmon suit pants.”
Spencer seemed impervious to Ryan’s scorching glare; seeing it, he merely ruffled Ryan’s hair affectionately and man-handled him out of the apartment. “I’ll lock up!” he said, unaware that this comment served only to aggravate Ryan all the more.
Having locked the door, Spencer proceeded to sprint down the six flights to the main floor, towing the reluctant Ryan along behind him. He galloped over the threshold of the apartment building, Ryan’s bare heels scuffing on the ground as he was dragged along. Stopping outside a car, Spencer flung open the door to the backseat, lobbed Ryan in and shut the door with a snap. He then ripped open the passenger seat door and pulled himself in, closing the door behind him.
This was more adventure than Ryan had encountered in weeks, and he had trouble adjusting himself to it. He curled in on himself in the backseat, cradling his head in his hands.
“Are you okay?” Jon asked, concerned. Spencer, however, did not let Ryan’s antics deter him from his supermarket mission. “Ryan, put on your seatbelt now. He’s fine, Jon.”
Jon continued to look at Ryan in alarm, as Ryan dejectedly drew the seatbelt around his thin frame. Seatbelt finally fastened, Jon drew away from Ryan’s apartment building, peering back at Ryan anxiously every so often. Meanwhile, Spencer was talking a mile a minute about Ryan’s slob-like living environment.
Ryan’s frustration grew by the minute; who was Spencer to divulge the clandestine secret of his squalor and who was Jon to act all worried? In Ryan’s marked opinion, Jon’s most irritating quality was that he was too nice to hate.
In due time, Jon pulled up alongside the supermarket, and Ryan breathed a sigh of hope, trusting that an opportunity to escape would soon present itself. Unfortunately, no sooner had he exited the car than he found his arm clasped in Spencer’s warm fingers. On Spencer’s other side, Jon’s arm was gripped in a similar fashion. Spencer marched the two of them enthusiastically towards the store.
Against the wall stood a man surrounded by a flock of young women. He was playing an easy tune on his acoustic guitar and was humming along, faintly. Catching sight of Ryan’s party, he jumped forward mid-tune and gallantly held the door for them. Spencer skipped forward, leaving Ryan to stare at the man incredulously and Jon to smile at him in gratitude.
“Thanks, man!” Jon said.
“Anytime, my friend!” said the man.
Ryan gaped at them. “Excuse me,” he said to the stranger, “but did you just stop mid-song to hold the door open for us?”
The man of unknown identity grinned. “Yes,” he said, “but it was no trouble, really… Your friend looked like he had his hands full with the two of you and I thought opening the door would be an unnecessary hindrance. However, both of your friends seem to have scampered off now.”
Ryan glanced about him; it was true. It was just like Spencer, he thought, to insist on their encountering the outside world together, only to abandon him. He conveniently forgot that abandonment and consequently, escape, was what he had prayed for.
“So they have. I’d expect it of Spencer, but Jon’s been trying to get on my good side. I’m surprised he took off.”
“Good side?” exclaimed the man who had left his eager crowd entirely, in favour of chatting with Ryan. “Why, I’ve yet to see a bad side.”
Ryan’s permanent scowl deepened; he despised being mocked. He prepared himself to take off in a huff, back to his apartment to hide from the world, when the guitarist clamped his hand down upon Ryan’s shoulder.
“I’m Brendon,” the man said, ignoring the way Ryan writhed under his touch.
“That’s nice,” said Ryan. “I must be leaving.”
With that, he wrenched his arm from the smiling Brendon’s grasp and bolted for his home.