If I can just keep me at a distance (away from you)
Title: If I can just keep me at a distance (away from you)
Author: detourtoyou
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: All Ryan needs to do is look at Brendon one normal moment and know that he needs space or else he's going to ruin it for the both of them.
Disclaimer: Fake, fake, fake. A pretty lie I created in my head.
Beta: madewithstars
A/N: Written for a prompt on anon_lovefest . Sorry it's a bit disjointed and a lot fail, but hopefully you guys will find it enjoyable anyways :)
Maybe it wasn’t from the moment when Ryan first met Brendon - because that’s just too clichéd for Ryan - but just one moment in the many they’ve shared, one normal, usual moment that wasn’t anything special, Ryan just looked at Brendon and knew.
It wasn’t a grand revelation, and there weren’t bright flashing lights or confetti popping everywhere. Ryan just sat and looked at Brendon, sleeping on the couch after playing a set with everyone and then taking a break to eat leftover pizza, and sort of knew what was happening.
*
“Move your bodies just a little closer.”
There is a sharp flash of light, and circles of colors ringing in Ryan’s eyes as he stares back at the photographer. The couch is a little uncomfortable and cramped with all four of them piled onto it, but he tries to be a professional about the shoot and keeps his mouth shut, trying to keep his body relaxed and pliable for the photographer.
“Ryan, could you tilt your head more towards Brendon?” asks the photographer, motioning with his hand for Ryan to get tilting.
Ryan cranes his neck just a little more and holds the position. The photographer frowns again, still unsatisfied, and lets out a long hum to blow out his displeasure.
“Brendon, can you turn more towards Ryan? Like you’re whispering in his ear. And Jon, move your arms so that it drapes over Brendon’s right shoulder.”
Both of them readjust themselves accordingly, and Ryan feels Brendon’s chin touching his shoulder, the warm breeze of his breath fanning itself just against Ryan’s cheek, curling. Ryan wants to scoot back, lean more towards Spencer, but he forces himself to still. He can see Brendon out of the corner of his eyes, brown eyes dark and hot as they burn into his skin. Ryan bites his cheek just as the photographer takes a few more photos.
“Okay, I think we’re done.”
Ryan is the first one off the couch, feigning the need to stretch when really, all he wants is space, space from Brendon.
*
During the show, Brendon is singing, voice waving and pounding from the surround speakers. He walks with deliberate steps, picking up the loose cord of the microphone, and approaches Ryan on his side of the stage. There is a feral look of predator coloring his eyes, and Ryan fumbles on the chord, recovering quickly and pretending like his cheeks are flushed a warm pink because of embarrassment and not because of how intense Brendon’s gaze feels on his skin.
He stops just half a step away from Ryan, fingers dropping the black cord and lifting up to touch Ryan’s cheek.
It happens before Ryan even lets his brain finish the thought, nerves jumping and feet twitching backwards in two quick, clean steps.
Surprise overlaps the paint of makeup on Brendon’s face and he sucks in a quiet breath of lyrics, missing the beat for only a splitting second before he is singing on track again. Judging from how Brendon looks, Ryan guesses he looks just about the same. But he turns to the front, walks a few more steps to make it normal, and looks down at his guitar, guilty as the look of shock and hurt on Brendon’s face when he pulled away digs into his eyes.
*
Brendon throws himself onto the couch and, consequently, Ryan. He squishes the notebook between his stomach and Ryan’s legs, head turning without remorse as Brendon looks up at him with big eyes. He chews his lip in thought, and Ryan waits, holding back his complaint about the pages wrinkling and his hand hurting from where it is trapped against the plane of smooth skin and fabric.
“Are you mad at me, Ryan?” he asks, looking guilty and asking for forgiveness for something he probably hasn’t even done.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” Ryan responds, shifting. “Now get off me, Brendon. I need to go to the bathroom.”
The hand impatiently patting his hip moves Brendon, pulling up to sit on his knees as Ryan immediately launches himself to his feet. He feels bad and knows that Brendon will probably only take this in the wrong way that Ryan is upset with him, but Ryan scampers away anyway.
He really isn’t mad at Brendon - and he wants Brendon to know that, but maybe it’s better that he doesn’t; Ryan just doesn’t think he can be around Brendon anymore.
*
After the show, Brendon slings his arm around Ryan’s and pulls him away before one of the techies can even hand them a towel or properly grab a hold of their guitar.
“Brendon, wait-”
But Brendon doesn’t stop, just loosens his arm wrapped around Ryan’s longer limb, and lets his hand slide down to grab on tight to Ryan’s fingers, missing his hand. Ryan presses his lips and sews them together, letting himself be pulled along even though he is half a step off.
“Ryan,” he calls out, soft. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan Ross.” A slow chuckle tips from his lips, dark and dreamy in a way Ryan thinks sounds all wrong for Brendon. Brendon is obnoxious and showy, going straight to the obvious point instead of dancing around until everyone’s legs are tangled except for his. Ryan cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong and even thinks that it might be him and not Brendon no matter what it looks like.
“Brendon, what’s wrong?” he asks with a breath caught between his teeth, worry hammering in his chest like a second heartbeat. For a second, he thinks Brendon might have noticed, might quit the band because of him, and Ryan chokes on his own heart.
Brendon looks at him with drooping eyes, lazy and unfocused almost. He tugs on Ryan’s fingers gently, breathing out a sigh.
“You know how much I love being a part of this band, a part of Panic, right?”
The fear pulses under his skin, tight and white hot. Ryan is almost afraid to nod, just lets his mouth hang open with babbles, “What? Yeah. Yeah, I know. Of course I know. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Ryan Ross. Nothing’s going on. I just wanted to say thanks for letting me a part of your band. I really love Panic and being with you guys, and I’m really grateful to you and Spencer for letting me be a part of it.” Brendon smiles, the curves of his lips not quite full, and eyes hooded with shadows that make Ryan fearful of the same ones that had hidden underneath his bed and in the cracks of his closet doors when he was only five.
“Are you leaving or something?” The words are out before he realizes he needs to take a breath to make up for speaking them.
Laughter flickers between them, soft, and Brendon’s mouth is open. “Do you hate me, Ryan?” And Ryan doesn’t want to answer, is afraid of what will happen once he does. The very obvious no, I don’t hate you is stuck in his throat, anyways, and he just stands in the empty night, blinking with bemused eyes. He is too taken back by surprise to answer even though the words beg to be breathed new life.
But then Spencer finds them, mouth twisted into a worried scowl and wrinkled brow dissolving with relief when he sees them. He rushes over, legs pumping in a jog.
“God, we were looking everywhere for you two! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” he scolds, quickly calling Jon or Zack or someone on his cell phone while turning around after throwing one last bitchy glare at them. “Jon? Yeah, I found them. Yeah.”
Ryan stares at Brendon who is pulled back to reality, moony eyes shrinking back to normal round circles and any wrongness Ryan had felt earlier dispersing. But Ryan can still see the hunched shadows, and it haunts him as he holds onto the feeling in his stomach.
*
Ryan’s fear that Brendon was making a formal goodbye goes unfounded. Brendon doesn’t leave the band. And as if to solidify Ryan’s baseless fears as just that, he sings louder and harder at the next show, all exuberant screams and effervescent energy as he practically dances across the stage.
It makes Ryan feel stupid because it makes sense. Brendon thinks he is upset with him, and Ryan does nothing to make him think otherwise. It makes sense that Brendon felt the need to remind Ryan why they are together and that he still loves Ryan. Truthfully, Ryan wishes he could be as up front and caring as Brendon; what does it matter whether what he feels is normal or not? Avoiding Brendon doesn’t seem to be making the problem any easier in any case.
Brendon finds Ryan in the dressing room, alone after everyone else had already hit the showers. He takes careful steps towards him, eyeing Ryan through the mirror like he is worried Ryan will suddenly lash at him with bony fists and a sharp tongue. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, letting his gaze drop to the floor.
“Ryan,” he breathes, timid in his words, “You know that I love you, right?”
All the obnoxious loudness is drained from his voice, leaving nothing but a soft pitched whisper, voice catching in the spaces between his breaths. And he sounds completely childish, fragile in a way Ryan didn’t think possible from Brendon, and heartbreakingly curious.
It is supposed to be easy. There shouldn’t be a pause to even think, but Ryan takes the pause. He thinks.
He thinks long enough to whittle away at Brendon’s sturdy confidence in long curly shaves, and Brendon’s face falls with each thought Ryan entertains even though he doesn’t need to think. He can’t stop pushing Brendon away, and even though Ryan knows what he is doing, he doesn’t open his mouth, just breathes through his nose.
Brendon bites his bottom lip and stretches it into a forced, half-hearted smile, facial muscles contracting. He loosens the hope in his eyes, wide and pleading.
“Okay, Ryan. Okay. I just wanted you to know.”
And it’s supposed to be easy. A blurted thought that fits perfectly for once. But Ryan just stands there, quiet, and thinks about how it doesn’t matter what he knows or what he had come to realize that one normal, uneventful moment in his life; none of it matters - not even how easy it is supposed to be like in the clichés he scoffs at while secretly hoping for all the same chance - because he won’t do anything about it.
Ryan reaches out, fingers barely skimming Brendon’s arm when he takes a step back, catching them both off guard.
“It’s okay, Ryan,” he says, voice held together with a dreadful calm that makes Ryan’s stomach knot together. His voice bellies the cracking lines of surprise on his face, but Ryan sees the hooded shadows in his big eyes, defeated.
Brendon hesitates, and Ryan can see it thick on his face, teeth clamping on his lower lip as his eyebrows crook with heavy thought. But then Brendon is moving, taking more steps back, away from Ryan like that day on stage, only with the roles reversed, and Ryan knows that the same hurt and confusion is molding his own face.
“It’s okay, Ryan,” Brendon repeats, unsure for who he is reiterating it for. “I just wanted you to know,” he says with shaking vocal chords and equally trembling eyes. He gives one last tight lipped smile before turning around completely and leaving Ryan just as alone as he has been before Brendon came in.
It isn’t easy even though he knows it always has been, and Ryan’s throat constricts with an unspoken and stuck, yes. Yes, I know, and you know that I love you, right?
Author: detourtoyou
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd
Summary: All Ryan needs to do is look at Brendon one normal moment and know that he needs space or else he's going to ruin it for the both of them.
Disclaimer: Fake, fake, fake. A pretty lie I created in my head.
Beta: madewithstars
A/N: Written for a prompt on anon_lovefest . Sorry it's a bit disjointed and a lot fail, but hopefully you guys will find it enjoyable anyways :)
Maybe it wasn’t from the moment when Ryan first met Brendon - because that’s just too clichéd for Ryan - but just one moment in the many they’ve shared, one normal, usual moment that wasn’t anything special, Ryan just looked at Brendon and knew.
It wasn’t a grand revelation, and there weren’t bright flashing lights or confetti popping everywhere. Ryan just sat and looked at Brendon, sleeping on the couch after playing a set with everyone and then taking a break to eat leftover pizza, and sort of knew what was happening.
*
“Move your bodies just a little closer.”
There is a sharp flash of light, and circles of colors ringing in Ryan’s eyes as he stares back at the photographer. The couch is a little uncomfortable and cramped with all four of them piled onto it, but he tries to be a professional about the shoot and keeps his mouth shut, trying to keep his body relaxed and pliable for the photographer.
“Ryan, could you tilt your head more towards Brendon?” asks the photographer, motioning with his hand for Ryan to get tilting.
Ryan cranes his neck just a little more and holds the position. The photographer frowns again, still unsatisfied, and lets out a long hum to blow out his displeasure.
“Brendon, can you turn more towards Ryan? Like you’re whispering in his ear. And Jon, move your arms so that it drapes over Brendon’s right shoulder.”
Both of them readjust themselves accordingly, and Ryan feels Brendon’s chin touching his shoulder, the warm breeze of his breath fanning itself just against Ryan’s cheek, curling. Ryan wants to scoot back, lean more towards Spencer, but he forces himself to still. He can see Brendon out of the corner of his eyes, brown eyes dark and hot as they burn into his skin. Ryan bites his cheek just as the photographer takes a few more photos.
“Okay, I think we’re done.”
Ryan is the first one off the couch, feigning the need to stretch when really, all he wants is space, space from Brendon.
*
During the show, Brendon is singing, voice waving and pounding from the surround speakers. He walks with deliberate steps, picking up the loose cord of the microphone, and approaches Ryan on his side of the stage. There is a feral look of predator coloring his eyes, and Ryan fumbles on the chord, recovering quickly and pretending like his cheeks are flushed a warm pink because of embarrassment and not because of how intense Brendon’s gaze feels on his skin.
He stops just half a step away from Ryan, fingers dropping the black cord and lifting up to touch Ryan’s cheek.
It happens before Ryan even lets his brain finish the thought, nerves jumping and feet twitching backwards in two quick, clean steps.
Surprise overlaps the paint of makeup on Brendon’s face and he sucks in a quiet breath of lyrics, missing the beat for only a splitting second before he is singing on track again. Judging from how Brendon looks, Ryan guesses he looks just about the same. But he turns to the front, walks a few more steps to make it normal, and looks down at his guitar, guilty as the look of shock and hurt on Brendon’s face when he pulled away digs into his eyes.
*
Brendon throws himself onto the couch and, consequently, Ryan. He squishes the notebook between his stomach and Ryan’s legs, head turning without remorse as Brendon looks up at him with big eyes. He chews his lip in thought, and Ryan waits, holding back his complaint about the pages wrinkling and his hand hurting from where it is trapped against the plane of smooth skin and fabric.
“Are you mad at me, Ryan?” he asks, looking guilty and asking for forgiveness for something he probably hasn’t even done.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” Ryan responds, shifting. “Now get off me, Brendon. I need to go to the bathroom.”
The hand impatiently patting his hip moves Brendon, pulling up to sit on his knees as Ryan immediately launches himself to his feet. He feels bad and knows that Brendon will probably only take this in the wrong way that Ryan is upset with him, but Ryan scampers away anyway.
He really isn’t mad at Brendon - and he wants Brendon to know that, but maybe it’s better that he doesn’t; Ryan just doesn’t think he can be around Brendon anymore.
*
After the show, Brendon slings his arm around Ryan’s and pulls him away before one of the techies can even hand them a towel or properly grab a hold of their guitar.
“Brendon, wait-”
But Brendon doesn’t stop, just loosens his arm wrapped around Ryan’s longer limb, and lets his hand slide down to grab on tight to Ryan’s fingers, missing his hand. Ryan presses his lips and sews them together, letting himself be pulled along even though he is half a step off.
“Ryan,” he calls out, soft. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan Ross.” A slow chuckle tips from his lips, dark and dreamy in a way Ryan thinks sounds all wrong for Brendon. Brendon is obnoxious and showy, going straight to the obvious point instead of dancing around until everyone’s legs are tangled except for his. Ryan cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong and even thinks that it might be him and not Brendon no matter what it looks like.
“Brendon, what’s wrong?” he asks with a breath caught between his teeth, worry hammering in his chest like a second heartbeat. For a second, he thinks Brendon might have noticed, might quit the band because of him, and Ryan chokes on his own heart.
Brendon looks at him with drooping eyes, lazy and unfocused almost. He tugs on Ryan’s fingers gently, breathing out a sigh.
“You know how much I love being a part of this band, a part of Panic, right?”
The fear pulses under his skin, tight and white hot. Ryan is almost afraid to nod, just lets his mouth hang open with babbles, “What? Yeah. Yeah, I know. Of course I know. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Ryan Ross. Nothing’s going on. I just wanted to say thanks for letting me a part of your band. I really love Panic and being with you guys, and I’m really grateful to you and Spencer for letting me be a part of it.” Brendon smiles, the curves of his lips not quite full, and eyes hooded with shadows that make Ryan fearful of the same ones that had hidden underneath his bed and in the cracks of his closet doors when he was only five.
“Are you leaving or something?” The words are out before he realizes he needs to take a breath to make up for speaking them.
Laughter flickers between them, soft, and Brendon’s mouth is open. “Do you hate me, Ryan?” And Ryan doesn’t want to answer, is afraid of what will happen once he does. The very obvious no, I don’t hate you is stuck in his throat, anyways, and he just stands in the empty night, blinking with bemused eyes. He is too taken back by surprise to answer even though the words beg to be breathed new life.
But then Spencer finds them, mouth twisted into a worried scowl and wrinkled brow dissolving with relief when he sees them. He rushes over, legs pumping in a jog.
“God, we were looking everywhere for you two! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” he scolds, quickly calling Jon or Zack or someone on his cell phone while turning around after throwing one last bitchy glare at them. “Jon? Yeah, I found them. Yeah.”
Ryan stares at Brendon who is pulled back to reality, moony eyes shrinking back to normal round circles and any wrongness Ryan had felt earlier dispersing. But Ryan can still see the hunched shadows, and it haunts him as he holds onto the feeling in his stomach.
*
Ryan’s fear that Brendon was making a formal goodbye goes unfounded. Brendon doesn’t leave the band. And as if to solidify Ryan’s baseless fears as just that, he sings louder and harder at the next show, all exuberant screams and effervescent energy as he practically dances across the stage.
It makes Ryan feel stupid because it makes sense. Brendon thinks he is upset with him, and Ryan does nothing to make him think otherwise. It makes sense that Brendon felt the need to remind Ryan why they are together and that he still loves Ryan. Truthfully, Ryan wishes he could be as up front and caring as Brendon; what does it matter whether what he feels is normal or not? Avoiding Brendon doesn’t seem to be making the problem any easier in any case.
Brendon finds Ryan in the dressing room, alone after everyone else had already hit the showers. He takes careful steps towards him, eyeing Ryan through the mirror like he is worried Ryan will suddenly lash at him with bony fists and a sharp tongue. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, letting his gaze drop to the floor.
“Ryan,” he breathes, timid in his words, “You know that I love you, right?”
All the obnoxious loudness is drained from his voice, leaving nothing but a soft pitched whisper, voice catching in the spaces between his breaths. And he sounds completely childish, fragile in a way Ryan didn’t think possible from Brendon, and heartbreakingly curious.
It is supposed to be easy. There shouldn’t be a pause to even think, but Ryan takes the pause. He thinks.
He thinks long enough to whittle away at Brendon’s sturdy confidence in long curly shaves, and Brendon’s face falls with each thought Ryan entertains even though he doesn’t need to think. He can’t stop pushing Brendon away, and even though Ryan knows what he is doing, he doesn’t open his mouth, just breathes through his nose.
Brendon bites his bottom lip and stretches it into a forced, half-hearted smile, facial muscles contracting. He loosens the hope in his eyes, wide and pleading.
“Okay, Ryan. Okay. I just wanted you to know.”
And it’s supposed to be easy. A blurted thought that fits perfectly for once. But Ryan just stands there, quiet, and thinks about how it doesn’t matter what he knows or what he had come to realize that one normal, uneventful moment in his life; none of it matters - not even how easy it is supposed to be like in the clichés he scoffs at while secretly hoping for all the same chance - because he won’t do anything about it.
Ryan reaches out, fingers barely skimming Brendon’s arm when he takes a step back, catching them both off guard.
“It’s okay, Ryan,” he says, voice held together with a dreadful calm that makes Ryan’s stomach knot together. His voice bellies the cracking lines of surprise on his face, but Ryan sees the hooded shadows in his big eyes, defeated.
Brendon hesitates, and Ryan can see it thick on his face, teeth clamping on his lower lip as his eyebrows crook with heavy thought. But then Brendon is moving, taking more steps back, away from Ryan like that day on stage, only with the roles reversed, and Ryan knows that the same hurt and confusion is molding his own face.
“It’s okay, Ryan,” Brendon repeats, unsure for who he is reiterating it for. “I just wanted you to know,” he says with shaking vocal chords and equally trembling eyes. He gives one last tight lipped smile before turning around completely and leaving Ryan just as alone as he has been before Brendon came in.
It isn’t easy even though he knows it always has been, and Ryan’s throat constricts with an unspoken and stuck, yes. Yes, I know, and you know that I love you, right?