(no subject)
Title: I'll Be Watching Wherever You Go
Author: decratdemrgncy
Pairing: There's some Ryden in there
Rating: R for a bit of swearing
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this except for the girl. The title belongs to The Academy Is...
Author's Notes: So I went to the Honda Civic Tour last night (AMAZING!!!) and I may have gotten the idea for this from it. This is a stalker story, but I'm not a stalker...
Summary: Brendon is being followed (not by Ryan, sadly)
It had been a long show. Very demanding. And Brendon just wants to get back on the bus, disappear under his giant fleece comforter, and not emerge until sometime in tomorrow’s late afternoon. He now stands alone, near the door, because everyone else is already on the bus. They had all snuck around the crowd that had broken up about fifteen minutes ago. Brendon checks his Sidekick. 12:24. It is safe to emerge.
The blinding beam of the street light pours over him as he steps onto the sidewalk, his shoes gliding over the cracks in the cement and the discarded cigarette butts. The cold, silver handle of the bus sends a chill up his arm as he grabs it and wrenches it open.
“Brendon.”
A small voice behind him paralyzes his legs and he turns his head to the side, his eyes meeting with the dark blue ones behind him.
“Oh,” he says, now turning all the way around and disappointingly closing the door, “Hi.”
“Brendon, can I have a picture?” the girl asks quietly, her arms unfolding around her body, which was wrapped in a dark gray jacket.
And Brendon, being the relatively polite soul that he is, nods and saunters up next to her.
Flash
“Thank you,” the girl mutters, the smile still brushing across her pale face, “I love you.”
And Brendon, being the relatively nonchalant soul that he is, grins and says, “I love you too.”
.....
She’s at the next venue. When Brendon sees her, he gives her a smile. And when she walks up to him again, she says it.
“Brendon, can I have a picture?”
“Sure.”
And he’s blinded by the flash of her camera again and she says, “Thank you. I love you.”
Brendon does sort of a half smile and replies with a: “Thanks for coming again.”
.....
And he’s a little creeped out when he sees her again in the next state which is miles away from the one that he first met her in. He decides to take some precautionary actions and takes the back way, goes in through a hidden door, and comes out through a different one. He reaches the bus victoriously, reaches for the handle, and-
“Brendon.”
He’s decided that he doesn’t like her voice. It’s quiet and daunting and it makes him feel extremely uneasy. When he turns around, he smiles weekly and tries not to sigh, “Hey.”
“Brendon, can I have a picture?”
“Um, haven’t you had enough pictures?” he says, his voice strangely hitting a new register, “I mean, you’ve been at every venue.”
“I love you.”
Brendon backs up and lets his hand fall on the handle behind him, “Uh, thanks. I appreciate that.”
“You’re in New York tomorrow, right?” she asks, her voice falling flat as the wind cuts it out.
And Brendon thinks it’s time to lie, “...no, I don’t think so.”
“You are. I’ll see you there.”
And after another explosion of light, a picture that he will probably look incredibly strange in, she’s gone.
Brendon swears she disappeared with the flash.
.....
“Ryan,” Brendon says that night, stretching his legs out on the couch and laying his head in the guitarist’s lap, “I think I have a stalker.”
Ryan glances down at him, one eyebrow raised, “A stalker? Bren, last time I checked, every girl is following everything you do.”
“No, I’m serious,” he nearly whines, “There’s this creepy girl that’s at every show!”
“Every show?” Ryan repeats, his eyes widening, “Wow, she’s committed.”
“She’s scary.”
“Are you seriously freaking out over a little girl?”
“She’s not little! She’s like...16! She has the ability to have a gun!”
“One, no she doesn’t, and two, she isn’t out to kill you. You’re overacting.”
“Ryannn,” Brendon whines again, his eyes closing tightly and his body rolling a little like he’s having a fit.
His act of childishness makes Ryan smile and he runs his fingers through Brendon’s hair in attempt to calm him, “What do you want me to do about it?”
“...I don’t know,” he pouts, turning away so he’s facing the flashing images of the TV.
Ryan mumbles something but it gets lost in the dramatic dialogue of whatever is on.
Fifteen minutes and two staged girl fights later, they’re both asleep, Ryan’s hand resting lightly on Brendon’s chest.
.....
It’s another long show in New York. It always is. The crowds are immense and the feeling of the bass is incredible and Brendon tries to tell himself that the flashing lights around the stage don’t remind him of cameras.
He doesn’t want to look out into the crowd because he knows he might see her so he floats between Ryan and Jon and sings to the back wall.
“How are you guys tonight?” Ryan’s voice echoes, his guitar swinging softly against his body as he leans into the microphone.
The usual compilation of screams break out and he nods.
“I need you guys to give a thumbs up if you’re having a good time. Hey, can we get the house lights on?” he says, looking up into the control room and lifting his thumb.
When the house lights turn on and the room is flooded with light, time slows to a halt. Because Brendon makes the mistake of looking down into the crowd.
There she was, as large as life in the first row, directly in front of him.
His eyes meet her stare for a brief moment and everything is silent.
“Thanks guys,” Ryan moans in the background, his voice dragging on to the random notes lingering in the air. It’s unreal.
And then everything hits full speed because the house lights are once again shut off and Brendon can’t see her.
But it doesn’t matter because he knows she’s there.
.....
“Hurry up, Ryan!” Brendon calls nervously into the dressing room, his foot tapping anxiously against the tar-stained floor of the hallway.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Ryan mumbles back, rubbing a towel through his hair and throwing it onto the floor, “Ready?” he says, flicking the light switch behind him and closing the door.
Brendon nods and grabs his hand because this situation bothers him. The fact that he has to drag Ryan out with him just to get on the bus is not at all valiant and it makes him feel incredibly pathetic.
“Where is she usually?” Ryan asks, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls as they make their way towards the door.
“I don’t know, she just pops out of fucking nowhere,” Brendon mumbles in response, realizing that this gem of information doesn’t help in the slightest bit.
But Ryan knows that Brendon is nervous so he doesn’t make a witty remark, instead he swings their arms a little and taps the pads of his fingers along Brendon’s knuckles, something he usually does in situations much less stressful.
When they reach the door, Brendon shrinks back a little and mumbles, “This is ridiculous.”
“Breathe, baby,” Ryan coos, knowing that that name has the ability to soothe Brendon.
And before Brendon can do anything, Ryan pushes open the door, throwing them out into the night.
The gust of wind that pushes them forward swallows up their footsteps and allows them to sneak across the abandoned sidewalk unseen.
“Brendon.”
Ryan winces as Brendon’s grip cuts into his hand, the small voice behind them sending a slight shiver down his spine.
“Go, Brendon,” he says gently, swinging him around in front of him as he opens the bus door.
Brendon doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t look anywhere except the stairs as he feels Ryan’s hand on the small of his back push him up and into the bus.
And before the girl can say it, “Brendon, can I have a picture?” they’re inside, in the bunk room, Brendon pressing against Ryan as he pulls the door shut.
.....