synonym adrenaline
I'm writing some other things, and this distracted me in the middle of those. You know how it goes.
We Were Elemental
by Charli J. Brendon/Ryan overtones. Early Panic days. 1464 words.
Title from Cartel. And, er, let's pretend that Brendon sometimes skips school to work all day.
A small representation of things said in this article.
It's another long day after a million long days. Brendon comes in and falls out on the floor right inside his door. Ryan steps over him, pulling the keys out of the lock and hangs them up on the the rack nailed to the wall near the entryway. They had spent a whole half an hour setting and re-setting that thing with measuring tape and bad eyes for lining things up. Brendon wanted it straight. If he couldn't afford a couch, he could at least make his key rack level, because, honestly, he wasn't a heathen.
"Long shift?" Ryan asks, heading to the kitchen.
Brendon rolls onto his back, doorway still wide open. His feet haven't even crossed the threshold, hanging in the hallway. He says, "Longest fucking shift."
"So you probably don't want to make a grocery run," Ryan says.
Brendon can hear him opening and closing the fridge and freezer. He moves on to cabinets, the creak and snap of the doors carrying out into the tiny living room. Ryan won't find anything other than like four packs of Top Ramen, a loaf of bread, milk, and the half-full bottle Pepsi he has to drink straight from because he doesn't have cups yet. Brendon went through the same search before he left for work this morning.
He lifts an arm and then drops it against the floor again. "I don't even want to get up, Ryan. Right now, the Happiest Place on Earth? Is this carpet. I love this carpet so much. It's a nice beige color. Soft."
"Shut up," Ryan says, coming over again. He squats down, tucks his arms under Bendon's shoulders and pulls him back until the door closes. "You're so overdramatic."
"I'm tired," Brendon says, walking backwards when he's able to bend his legs and get his feet on the ground. "It's not easy being blue collar."
"You work at the Smoothie Hut." Ryan snorts, the sound branching off into a few amused, soundless puffs of breath. Urging Brendon upward, Ryan says, "Dude, come on."
Brendon anchors himself against Ryan as he stands. "Hey, Smoothie Hut is tough labor. There were two different spills today. I had to clean up both."
Ryan slides his hands from under Brendon's arms and over his shoulders. He smoothes the backs of his hands across the shoulder blades, then flips them to knuckle the muscles there once, twice, before suggesting, "We should order pizza."
Brendon drops his head forward. He groans a little in dismay when Ryan stops, dropping his hands. "That could work. I would love to do that for you, Ryan, except it's Wednesday."
"What? What's wrong with Wednesday?"
"The problem with Wednesday," Brendon explains. He turns around to look Ryan in the eye. "The problem with Wednesday is I don't get paid for two whole extra days."
Ryan laughs. "I'll pay for it, man, don't worry about it."
"In that case, get extra cheese."
"Suddenly, you want to go crazy."
"Suddenly you're covering the bill." Brendon reaches for Ryan's front pocket, grabbing his cellphone and slipping it out.
Ryan snatches the number from the refrigerator, comes back, and reads it aloud for him. As it rings, Brendon asks, "You're staying the night?"
Ryan nods. "Yeah, and, hey. I can, like, drive you to work tomorrow and just pick you up after. Go to rehearsal from there."
"Cool," Brendon says, and then averts his attention when someone answers and asks for his order. He holds up a hand, barely resting his fingers on Ryan's arm as if pausing the scene.
Ryan takes the opportunity to grab the duffle bag he dropped when they came in and moves it the bedroom. Brendon watches him go and come back, finishing up the call when Ryan appears again and turns on the television in the corner. The 17-inch had been fine in his bedroom at his parents' place, but in the apartment the white walls sort of swallow it. Ryan messes with antennae until the basic channels come in clearer, simultaneously flipping through the late night talks shows and deciding on Conan.
"Twenty minutes? Okay," Brendon says. "Okay, thanks."
He ends the call and walks towards the television falling onto his knees and shuffles forward the last foot or so. Ryan lies on one of the beanbags, lounging with one arm behind his head and the remote in the other. Brendon crawls up, propping himself on the edge. He sort of digs his chin into Ryan's shoulder, head bobbing awkwardly as he talks, pushing against the solid resistance.
Brendon mumbles, "Pizza pizza in my belly."
"Do you have my phone?" Ryan puts down the remote to hold his other hand open over them.
Brendon passes it to him at the same time he re-situates himself. Ryan scoots right to help accommodate him, and it's not the most uncomfortable position Brendon has ever endured, but it does take some balance not to roll right off the bean bag at first. His head ends up somewhere near Ryan's armpit of all places, and when Brendon pretends to get a whiff and choke, Ryan uncurls the arm behind his head and flicks at the top of Brendon's head. He does it a few times, Brendon snickering evilly into Ryan's ribs, and eventually it subsides, Ryan's fingers just scratching at Brendon's hair idly.
Looking at the television for a few moments, Brendon says, "I don't recognize anybody on the couch tonight."
"I know," Ryan says. He kicks a foot up quickly and thumps it onto the carpet again instead of pointing. "I think that one -- she's from some TV show, I think."
"Never seen her." Brendon lifts his head so that Ryan can straighten his arm against his side between them. Settling again, Brendon angles towards him, leaning onto the arm and talking into Ryan's shoulder. He yawns. "I'm so, so sleepy. Sooo sleepy."
"Go ahead," Ryan says. He bumps Brendon's thigh with his left knee, turning his face down to look at him as much as possible in their position. "I'll shake you awake when the food gets here."
"No, you won't. You'll say my name once, pretend you tried, and then eat every piece," Brendon says, except his eyes are already drifting shut. Just resting, he thinks. Not sleeping.
He pops them open again when Ryan says, "I don't do that,"chuckling as the words form, because he knows he does.
Brendon mutters, "Forget it, dude, I'm not sleeping."
"You're almost passed out right now!" Ryan says, jerking his shoulder to jostle Brendon.
"Mm, stop it," Brendon groans. He pushes his face into Ryan's shoulder more and then halfheartedly shimmies up the beanbag to get to closer to Ryan's face. He's gonna give a wet willy or something, this is totally his plan, until he gets to Ryan's neck and just decides, fuck it, the ear's too far. "Shit, I'm exhausted."
"Suck it up, Urie," Ryan says, speaking more quietly now that Brendon has wiggled closer.
Brendon says, "You're supposed to be on my side, Ryan. I hate my job, why do I have to keep going back?"
"Because they pay you?"
"They don't pay me enough." Brendon can't name Ryan's smell, but it's good, adds to how relaxed his body feels right now. Relaxed or worn out. Whatever. "You know, I had this dream that we got a record deal. You were there, and Spencer was there, and Brent was there."
Ryan tugs on Brendon's shirt with the hand smashed somewhere between them. "That really happened, Dorothy Gale."
"Then why do I still have a shitty job? I'm gonna quit my job and become a fucking rockstar."
Ryan says, "You can't quit yet."
"Then I'm gonna call in sick. I'll call in, and we're gonna sleep late in my big bed."
"Okay."
"Oh, that you have no problem with. What kind of influence are you?"
Ryan shrugs. "I like sleep."
"'I like sleep,'" Brendon mimics, voice sleep-small and too high to ever be Ryan. Brendon throws an arm over Ryan's torso and hugs him loosely. "Ryan Ross, you're full of shit."
"Go ahead and pass out, man," Ryan says. "I'll save you some fucking pizza, okay?"
"Liar," Brendon says. "Liar, liar, I can smell your pants sizzling right now."
Ryan laughs. "What? Brendon, wow. You're way past tired."
"I am." Brendon brushes his nose against Ryan's skin and says, "Okay. Alright, I'll rest my eyes. I'm not asleep though."
"Not sleep, got it," Ryan says and Brendon feels him tilt his face down, mouth ghosting over his forehead. His skin flashes warm every time Ryan exhales.
He halfway listens to the background noise, letting the murmur of voices and laugh track lull him. He doesn't know how much later it is when Ryan mutters, amused, "Brendon, you asleep?"
"No," Brendon breathes, shifting. He repeats, "No, no," and tightens his arm without opening his eyes, feeling the rise and fall of Ryan's breaths.
"Good," Ryan says, and Brendon knows he should sit up and prove it. And he will. He really will, just him give a minute. That's all he wants.
We Were Elemental
by Charli J. Brendon/Ryan overtones. Early Panic days. 1464 words.
Title from Cartel. And, er, let's pretend that Brendon sometimes skips school to work all day.
A small representation of things said in this article.
It's another long day after a million long days. Brendon comes in and falls out on the floor right inside his door. Ryan steps over him, pulling the keys out of the lock and hangs them up on the the rack nailed to the wall near the entryway. They had spent a whole half an hour setting and re-setting that thing with measuring tape and bad eyes for lining things up. Brendon wanted it straight. If he couldn't afford a couch, he could at least make his key rack level, because, honestly, he wasn't a heathen.
"Long shift?" Ryan asks, heading to the kitchen.
Brendon rolls onto his back, doorway still wide open. His feet haven't even crossed the threshold, hanging in the hallway. He says, "Longest fucking shift."
"So you probably don't want to make a grocery run," Ryan says.
Brendon can hear him opening and closing the fridge and freezer. He moves on to cabinets, the creak and snap of the doors carrying out into the tiny living room. Ryan won't find anything other than like four packs of Top Ramen, a loaf of bread, milk, and the half-full bottle Pepsi he has to drink straight from because he doesn't have cups yet. Brendon went through the same search before he left for work this morning.
He lifts an arm and then drops it against the floor again. "I don't even want to get up, Ryan. Right now, the Happiest Place on Earth? Is this carpet. I love this carpet so much. It's a nice beige color. Soft."
"Shut up," Ryan says, coming over again. He squats down, tucks his arms under Bendon's shoulders and pulls him back until the door closes. "You're so overdramatic."
"I'm tired," Brendon says, walking backwards when he's able to bend his legs and get his feet on the ground. "It's not easy being blue collar."
"You work at the Smoothie Hut." Ryan snorts, the sound branching off into a few amused, soundless puffs of breath. Urging Brendon upward, Ryan says, "Dude, come on."
Brendon anchors himself against Ryan as he stands. "Hey, Smoothie Hut is tough labor. There were two different spills today. I had to clean up both."
Ryan slides his hands from under Brendon's arms and over his shoulders. He smoothes the backs of his hands across the shoulder blades, then flips them to knuckle the muscles there once, twice, before suggesting, "We should order pizza."
Brendon drops his head forward. He groans a little in dismay when Ryan stops, dropping his hands. "That could work. I would love to do that for you, Ryan, except it's Wednesday."
"What? What's wrong with Wednesday?"
"The problem with Wednesday," Brendon explains. He turns around to look Ryan in the eye. "The problem with Wednesday is I don't get paid for two whole extra days."
Ryan laughs. "I'll pay for it, man, don't worry about it."
"In that case, get extra cheese."
"Suddenly, you want to go crazy."
"Suddenly you're covering the bill." Brendon reaches for Ryan's front pocket, grabbing his cellphone and slipping it out.
Ryan snatches the number from the refrigerator, comes back, and reads it aloud for him. As it rings, Brendon asks, "You're staying the night?"
Ryan nods. "Yeah, and, hey. I can, like, drive you to work tomorrow and just pick you up after. Go to rehearsal from there."
"Cool," Brendon says, and then averts his attention when someone answers and asks for his order. He holds up a hand, barely resting his fingers on Ryan's arm as if pausing the scene.
Ryan takes the opportunity to grab the duffle bag he dropped when they came in and moves it the bedroom. Brendon watches him go and come back, finishing up the call when Ryan appears again and turns on the television in the corner. The 17-inch had been fine in his bedroom at his parents' place, but in the apartment the white walls sort of swallow it. Ryan messes with antennae until the basic channels come in clearer, simultaneously flipping through the late night talks shows and deciding on Conan.
"Twenty minutes? Okay," Brendon says. "Okay, thanks."
He ends the call and walks towards the television falling onto his knees and shuffles forward the last foot or so. Ryan lies on one of the beanbags, lounging with one arm behind his head and the remote in the other. Brendon crawls up, propping himself on the edge. He sort of digs his chin into Ryan's shoulder, head bobbing awkwardly as he talks, pushing against the solid resistance.
Brendon mumbles, "Pizza pizza in my belly."
"Do you have my phone?" Ryan puts down the remote to hold his other hand open over them.
Brendon passes it to him at the same time he re-situates himself. Ryan scoots right to help accommodate him, and it's not the most uncomfortable position Brendon has ever endured, but it does take some balance not to roll right off the bean bag at first. His head ends up somewhere near Ryan's armpit of all places, and when Brendon pretends to get a whiff and choke, Ryan uncurls the arm behind his head and flicks at the top of Brendon's head. He does it a few times, Brendon snickering evilly into Ryan's ribs, and eventually it subsides, Ryan's fingers just scratching at Brendon's hair idly.
Looking at the television for a few moments, Brendon says, "I don't recognize anybody on the couch tonight."
"I know," Ryan says. He kicks a foot up quickly and thumps it onto the carpet again instead of pointing. "I think that one -- she's from some TV show, I think."
"Never seen her." Brendon lifts his head so that Ryan can straighten his arm against his side between them. Settling again, Brendon angles towards him, leaning onto the arm and talking into Ryan's shoulder. He yawns. "I'm so, so sleepy. Sooo sleepy."
"Go ahead," Ryan says. He bumps Brendon's thigh with his left knee, turning his face down to look at him as much as possible in their position. "I'll shake you awake when the food gets here."
"No, you won't. You'll say my name once, pretend you tried, and then eat every piece," Brendon says, except his eyes are already drifting shut. Just resting, he thinks. Not sleeping.
He pops them open again when Ryan says, "I don't do that,"chuckling as the words form, because he knows he does.
Brendon mutters, "Forget it, dude, I'm not sleeping."
"You're almost passed out right now!" Ryan says, jerking his shoulder to jostle Brendon.
"Mm, stop it," Brendon groans. He pushes his face into Ryan's shoulder more and then halfheartedly shimmies up the beanbag to get to closer to Ryan's face. He's gonna give a wet willy or something, this is totally his plan, until he gets to Ryan's neck and just decides, fuck it, the ear's too far. "Shit, I'm exhausted."
"Suck it up, Urie," Ryan says, speaking more quietly now that Brendon has wiggled closer.
Brendon says, "You're supposed to be on my side, Ryan. I hate my job, why do I have to keep going back?"
"Because they pay you?"
"They don't pay me enough." Brendon can't name Ryan's smell, but it's good, adds to how relaxed his body feels right now. Relaxed or worn out. Whatever. "You know, I had this dream that we got a record deal. You were there, and Spencer was there, and Brent was there."
Ryan tugs on Brendon's shirt with the hand smashed somewhere between them. "That really happened, Dorothy Gale."
"Then why do I still have a shitty job? I'm gonna quit my job and become a fucking rockstar."
Ryan says, "You can't quit yet."
"Then I'm gonna call in sick. I'll call in, and we're gonna sleep late in my big bed."
"Okay."
"Oh, that you have no problem with. What kind of influence are you?"
Ryan shrugs. "I like sleep."
"'I like sleep,'" Brendon mimics, voice sleep-small and too high to ever be Ryan. Brendon throws an arm over Ryan's torso and hugs him loosely. "Ryan Ross, you're full of shit."
"Go ahead and pass out, man," Ryan says. "I'll save you some fucking pizza, okay?"
"Liar," Brendon says. "Liar, liar, I can smell your pants sizzling right now."
Ryan laughs. "What? Brendon, wow. You're way past tired."
"I am." Brendon brushes his nose against Ryan's skin and says, "Okay. Alright, I'll rest my eyes. I'm not asleep though."
"Not sleep, got it," Ryan says and Brendon feels him tilt his face down, mouth ghosting over his forehead. His skin flashes warm every time Ryan exhales.
He halfway listens to the background noise, letting the murmur of voices and laugh track lull him. He doesn't know how much later it is when Ryan mutters, amused, "Brendon, you asleep?"
"No," Brendon breathes, shifting. He repeats, "No, no," and tightens his arm without opening his eyes, feeling the rise and fall of Ryan's breaths.
"Good," Ryan says, and Brendon knows he should sit up and prove it. And he will. He really will, just him give a minute. That's all he wants.