(no subject)
What A Beautiful Buzz
Spencer/Ryan
PG-13
not exactly beta'd all that well, sorry.
Seventeen, drugs, and bit of life.
Ryan doesn’t know exactly the first time he felt like a real teenager, as in a rebellious kid who knows that they shouldn’t be doing something, yet they do it (willingly) anyways. The first time he realized he lied without hesitation wasn’t much of a shock, but it was a bit surprising. The words came quick, fluid and nonchalant. It was like a coming of age to him at the time; once you lie flawlessly, you are qualified as a standard teenager.
When Ryan was seventeen, he did a lot of things that could have fucked him over for life, but never really caught up to him. He guesses, now that he’s older, a lot of people did the same, like parents and grandparents. Ryan knows that his father used to sneak out to vandalize the local park and his high school when he was sixteen, and it’s when Ryan’s saying he’s staying at Brendon’s he realizes, yeah, okay, his father has a lot more in common with him than he had thought. And yeah, fine, his father knows he isn’t really staying at Brendon’s. But Ryan’s father let him go anyways, and Ryan didn’t even bother to turn right at the end of his driveway, the way to Brendon’s. He just went left and thought about what he could say to cover up.
There was this place a couple minutes away from Ryan’s, behind this kid’s house, that was perfect for hanging out without anyone nosing around. His parents were never home, there was plenty of parking, and, the best part, they never got caught. The same kids were always there, kids Ryan came to love and trust by the time he graduated from high school. There was always a fire that they sat around, content, as a group. They didn’t do much but be young and exist. And that’s a weird way to put it, Ryan knows, but it’s the only way Ryan can think of it now, existing. They didn’t do much but live and laugh, along with a few other things.
There was this one Saturday, perfectly clear and cool, where Spencer was hunched over his lap, moving his fingers and completely concentrated. Ryan stared, in awe, and had this smirk on his lips, like he knew. He said, “Dude, what the fuck?” A small laugh came out, because he felt relieved above everything else, like he now knew he wouldn’t die without trying, and it was about fucking time.
“Yeah, I know,” Spencer mumbled, almost proudly, as he looked up and held a blunt in his fingers. “I’m just that good,” he said when Ryan’s face lit up a bit, eager and still completely willing. “Don’t ask me where I got it.” Spencer’s eyes caught Ryan’s. “Because,” he said lighter, but almost uncomfortable, “I think you know. So just. Don’t.”
Ryan did know. Spencer’s work was filled with kids that smoked more than Ryan could imagine at seventeen (and Ryan now realizes how naïve he really was, at seventeen). He reached out, but Spencer shook his head and stood up, brushing the dirt off of his jeans. “I don’t want to share, you know? I paid for this, but you get off for free just for being Ryan Ross.” Spencer grinned some, already walking into the woods. Ryan followed, anything but reluctant, and didn’t look back.
Now, they’re on the road. Ryan is a hell of a lot older and way less naïve, and it shows in the way he’s no longer amazed by Spencer hunched over. He waits patiently in the back of the bus and watches Jon move around up front, sniffing his clothes, looking for some that doesn’t reek of pot. Ryan smirks, the same way he did when he was seventeen, because he knows Jon will never be able to find a clean pair of anything to impress his parents with. Ryan realizes that, okay, they aren’t all that much smarter when it comes to these things compared to when they were seventeen.
Spencer flinches slightly when Ryan leans in to look. “Don’t say anything. It’s not ready,” he says in the same tone he used that Saturday night. Ryan laughs. No, they haven’t changed too much in some senses. “I’m only sharing this with you because you’re Ryan Ross, alright? So ward off Brendon. He can pay for his own shit.” He digs in his pockets for a lighter.
Ryan smiles, reaches out for the blunt. “Only because I’m Ryan Ross,” he mumbles, feeling like he’s seventeen again.
Spencer/Ryan
PG-13
not exactly beta'd all that well, sorry.
Seventeen, drugs, and bit of life.
Ryan doesn’t know exactly the first time he felt like a real teenager, as in a rebellious kid who knows that they shouldn’t be doing something, yet they do it (willingly) anyways. The first time he realized he lied without hesitation wasn’t much of a shock, but it was a bit surprising. The words came quick, fluid and nonchalant. It was like a coming of age to him at the time; once you lie flawlessly, you are qualified as a standard teenager.
When Ryan was seventeen, he did a lot of things that could have fucked him over for life, but never really caught up to him. He guesses, now that he’s older, a lot of people did the same, like parents and grandparents. Ryan knows that his father used to sneak out to vandalize the local park and his high school when he was sixteen, and it’s when Ryan’s saying he’s staying at Brendon’s he realizes, yeah, okay, his father has a lot more in common with him than he had thought. And yeah, fine, his father knows he isn’t really staying at Brendon’s. But Ryan’s father let him go anyways, and Ryan didn’t even bother to turn right at the end of his driveway, the way to Brendon’s. He just went left and thought about what he could say to cover up.
There was this place a couple minutes away from Ryan’s, behind this kid’s house, that was perfect for hanging out without anyone nosing around. His parents were never home, there was plenty of parking, and, the best part, they never got caught. The same kids were always there, kids Ryan came to love and trust by the time he graduated from high school. There was always a fire that they sat around, content, as a group. They didn’t do much but be young and exist. And that’s a weird way to put it, Ryan knows, but it’s the only way Ryan can think of it now, existing. They didn’t do much but live and laugh, along with a few other things.
There was this one Saturday, perfectly clear and cool, where Spencer was hunched over his lap, moving his fingers and completely concentrated. Ryan stared, in awe, and had this smirk on his lips, like he knew. He said, “Dude, what the fuck?” A small laugh came out, because he felt relieved above everything else, like he now knew he wouldn’t die without trying, and it was about fucking time.
“Yeah, I know,” Spencer mumbled, almost proudly, as he looked up and held a blunt in his fingers. “I’m just that good,” he said when Ryan’s face lit up a bit, eager and still completely willing. “Don’t ask me where I got it.” Spencer’s eyes caught Ryan’s. “Because,” he said lighter, but almost uncomfortable, “I think you know. So just. Don’t.”
Ryan did know. Spencer’s work was filled with kids that smoked more than Ryan could imagine at seventeen (and Ryan now realizes how naïve he really was, at seventeen). He reached out, but Spencer shook his head and stood up, brushing the dirt off of his jeans. “I don’t want to share, you know? I paid for this, but you get off for free just for being Ryan Ross.” Spencer grinned some, already walking into the woods. Ryan followed, anything but reluctant, and didn’t look back.
Now, they’re on the road. Ryan is a hell of a lot older and way less naïve, and it shows in the way he’s no longer amazed by Spencer hunched over. He waits patiently in the back of the bus and watches Jon move around up front, sniffing his clothes, looking for some that doesn’t reek of pot. Ryan smirks, the same way he did when he was seventeen, because he knows Jon will never be able to find a clean pair of anything to impress his parents with. Ryan realizes that, okay, they aren’t all that much smarter when it comes to these things compared to when they were seventeen.
Spencer flinches slightly when Ryan leans in to look. “Don’t say anything. It’s not ready,” he says in the same tone he used that Saturday night. Ryan laughs. No, they haven’t changed too much in some senses. “I’m only sharing this with you because you’re Ryan Ross, alright? So ward off Brendon. He can pay for his own shit.” He digs in his pockets for a lighter.
Ryan smiles, reaches out for the blunt. “Only because I’m Ryan Ross,” he mumbles, feeling like he’s seventeen again.