Today is Ryan Ross's birthday! So I wrote him angst. D:
So, over at failross, we were told to write schmoopy, G-rated, Ryan/Spencer birthday cuddles in comment!fic form. Or something like that. This has the (mostly) G-ratedness, and the birthday, and the Ryan/Spencer, kind of. But. Uh. It's angsty. Because that's how I roll. It was not meant to be! D::: Happy birthday, boys? *shrugs*
(Also, don't own, don't sue, lyrics/title/cut text from the Blink-182 song, I'm Lost Without You, blah blah blah)
Ryan doesn't have a real birthday party until he turns seven. He gets presents, most years, sure, but it's stuff like two new pairs of pants, a package of underwear, and maybe a matchbox car to go with. It's okay. He likes pants, and he likes cars, and mostly he gets underwear with superman or TMNT on it, so he doesn't really mind the lack of cake and candles.
But then, one day, when Ryan is puttering around with a plastic wrench, Spencer bangs through the door and says, "My birthday is in a month!" all excited-like.
Ryan doesn't actually see the big deal, but he says, "Mine is, like, in a few weeks," and wrinkles his forehead at his little tykes work bench.
Spencer, though, lets his mouth fall open in happy surprise. "What day is it? You didn't tell me!" he says, accusingly, and Ryan shrugs slightly.
"The 30th."
"Am I invited to your party?" Spencer asks, and he sounds concerned. When Ryan looks at him, his mouth is twisted downwards in what might be hurt.
Ryan says, "I don't have parties. I just get clothes and a new toy and stuff."
It's clear that, in Spencer's world, this is an grave crime against humanity. His eyes are pinched together, devastated and angry at the same time.
He doesn't say anything more about it, right then, just picks up a hammer and asks, "What are we making?"
Ryan says, "The pirate ship, still," and doesn't think about his birthday until a few days later.
_
See, a few days later is when Spencer tugs on the his mother's shirt and says, "Can Ryan and me have a birthday party together?
Ryan, who had been standing precariously on a spinning chair, promptly hits the floor. He revives immediately, blushing as he brushes off his year-old pants. "What?"
The look on Spencer's face is proud and happy, and Ryan repeats himself. "What?"
Smiling down at them, Ginger says, "Your birthday is right before Spencer's, right?"
Ryan nods.
"I don't see why not, Spencer, but I'll have to check with Ryan's parents, and with your dad."
Spencer turns to Ryan and puffs out his chest smugly. Ryan pinches the corners of his mouth up, and tries not to be too excited.
__
It's not a big affair, or anything. There is cake, and there are candles and balloons and party hats (the point kind. Blue, because it's Spencer's favourite colour, and red, because Ryan likes the way the two look together), but it's just Ryan, Spencer, and Spencer's family at the party. His grandparents have come, or at least the ones who live in Vegas, and Ryan is a little bit confused. He didn't actually know that old people could be cool; there has, as of yet, been no cheek-pinching or alcohol of any sort, which are the sort of things that Ryan has come to expect from his own extended family.
He feels a little bit awkward, but mostly not, because he's kind of like family there, anyways. Mostly, it's just a good feeling, being paid attention, being fussed over in a non-annoying way.
The cake is the same colours as the balloons, and there are 13 candles, to make their ages put together. Ginger presses the iced monstrosity to sit between Ryan and Spencer, and Spencer says, "You can blow them all out, if you want."
Something kind of warm hits Ryan in the chest, and he smiles as wide as he ever does, shakes his head, says, "Nn-nn. We do it together, kay? On three."
Spencer counts it out, grinning, the same way that Bert and Ernie did the one time that they played drums on Sesame Street [A/N: video here, because I'm cool like that], and they blow hard on the candles simultaneously.
After, Ryan leans over to whisper in Spencer's ear. "What did you wish for?"
Spencer firmly refuses to disclose that information, but he does reach for Ryan's hand under the table, holding their sticky fingers together for the rest of dessert. It is only later, when they are lying, curled together in sleeping bags on Spencer's floor, that Ryan realizes Spencer must have been using his left hand to eat his cake and ice cream. Spencer feels Ryan pressing closer to him and thinks that maybe, maybe, he will get his wish.
__
It kind of becomes a tradition. Okay, well. More than kind of.
Every single year after that, he spends the last day of August (because there was no direct middle, no time exactly between their birthdays) with Spencer. They've spent almost every year pigging out on cake and ice cream and pizza, excluding the few consecutive times Spencer had refused more than a bite or two, and not once have they not played some sort of video game. As they got older, the video-gaming would be rescheduled for earlier in the day, and the later hours spent on parties and friends and music and sometimes drinking, but that tradition was always there, had never changed. And they always, always shared a cake.
__
It's not really the same, sitting on the floor in front of a big TV, Mario Kart flashing across the screen. There's no warm body next to him, no sniggering or threats or jibes. He's playing against the computer, being beaten badly. Which, okay, isn't so different in and of itself (Spencer's reflexes? So much better than Ryan's, seriously), but the lack of crowing is unnerving, and Ryan lets his controller drop half heartedly, heaving a sigh.
On the television, his character keeps going straight, despite the curve in the track, and flies off into the sea or harbour or ocean, a scream trailing behind him. Ryan shuts his eyes and breathes through his nose. It's more difficult than it ought to be. Sliding down until he's lying, horizontal, is also a bit of a challenge. He feels slow and small and sluggish. A little bit like he's water-logged, like he's drowning, and yeah, wow. Metaphors.
When his new, barely used iPhone buzzes in his left pants pocket, it takes him a moment to work up the energy to pull it out. Eventually, he does, expecting Jon (or Alex or Kate or Z). What he gets is a text from Spencer, blinking bluely in the relative dimness of the room.
It takes him another minute to get up the nerve to open the message. His hands are shaking. Spencer has typed, "when i turned six i wished we'd be best friends forever."
He just barely sends, "i miss you, Spencer Smith," before he inhales roughly, blinks fast, and drags the heels of his hands over his eyes. They come back wet. He hadn't realized that he had been coping so badly, that he was still that codependent. He feels five years old, like he felt before he had ever met Spencer, only worse, because he's had Spencer now, had him, and lost him, pushed him away, messed everything up. He doesn't cry, doesn't count the seconds before his phone alerts him of a new text, and resolutely doesn't think, "are you afraid of being alone, cause I am, I'm lost without you."
(i'm lost without you)
(comments seriously make me happppy. For the, oh, five people who might maybe read this. Haha. Am a commentwhore like bb!Ryan was a camerawhore. But maybe worse.)
Under my umbrella! YAY.
(Also, don't own, don't sue, lyrics/title/cut text from the Blink-182 song, I'm Lost Without You, blah blah blah)
Ryan doesn't have a real birthday party until he turns seven. He gets presents, most years, sure, but it's stuff like two new pairs of pants, a package of underwear, and maybe a matchbox car to go with. It's okay. He likes pants, and he likes cars, and mostly he gets underwear with superman or TMNT on it, so he doesn't really mind the lack of cake and candles.
But then, one day, when Ryan is puttering around with a plastic wrench, Spencer bangs through the door and says, "My birthday is in a month!" all excited-like.
Ryan doesn't actually see the big deal, but he says, "Mine is, like, in a few weeks," and wrinkles his forehead at his little tykes work bench.
Spencer, though, lets his mouth fall open in happy surprise. "What day is it? You didn't tell me!" he says, accusingly, and Ryan shrugs slightly.
"The 30th."
"Am I invited to your party?" Spencer asks, and he sounds concerned. When Ryan looks at him, his mouth is twisted downwards in what might be hurt.
Ryan says, "I don't have parties. I just get clothes and a new toy and stuff."
It's clear that, in Spencer's world, this is an grave crime against humanity. His eyes are pinched together, devastated and angry at the same time.
He doesn't say anything more about it, right then, just picks up a hammer and asks, "What are we making?"
Ryan says, "The pirate ship, still," and doesn't think about his birthday until a few days later.
_
See, a few days later is when Spencer tugs on the his mother's shirt and says, "Can Ryan and me have a birthday party together?
Ryan, who had been standing precariously on a spinning chair, promptly hits the floor. He revives immediately, blushing as he brushes off his year-old pants. "What?"
The look on Spencer's face is proud and happy, and Ryan repeats himself. "What?"
Smiling down at them, Ginger says, "Your birthday is right before Spencer's, right?"
Ryan nods.
"I don't see why not, Spencer, but I'll have to check with Ryan's parents, and with your dad."
Spencer turns to Ryan and puffs out his chest smugly. Ryan pinches the corners of his mouth up, and tries not to be too excited.
__
It's not a big affair, or anything. There is cake, and there are candles and balloons and party hats (the point kind. Blue, because it's Spencer's favourite colour, and red, because Ryan likes the way the two look together), but it's just Ryan, Spencer, and Spencer's family at the party. His grandparents have come, or at least the ones who live in Vegas, and Ryan is a little bit confused. He didn't actually know that old people could be cool; there has, as of yet, been no cheek-pinching or alcohol of any sort, which are the sort of things that Ryan has come to expect from his own extended family.
He feels a little bit awkward, but mostly not, because he's kind of like family there, anyways. Mostly, it's just a good feeling, being paid attention, being fussed over in a non-annoying way.
The cake is the same colours as the balloons, and there are 13 candles, to make their ages put together. Ginger presses the iced monstrosity to sit between Ryan and Spencer, and Spencer says, "You can blow them all out, if you want."
Something kind of warm hits Ryan in the chest, and he smiles as wide as he ever does, shakes his head, says, "Nn-nn. We do it together, kay? On three."
Spencer counts it out, grinning, the same way that Bert and Ernie did the one time that they played drums on Sesame Street [A/N: video here, because I'm cool like that], and they blow hard on the candles simultaneously.
After, Ryan leans over to whisper in Spencer's ear. "What did you wish for?"
Spencer firmly refuses to disclose that information, but he does reach for Ryan's hand under the table, holding their sticky fingers together for the rest of dessert. It is only later, when they are lying, curled together in sleeping bags on Spencer's floor, that Ryan realizes Spencer must have been using his left hand to eat his cake and ice cream. Spencer feels Ryan pressing closer to him and thinks that maybe, maybe, he will get his wish.
__
It kind of becomes a tradition. Okay, well. More than kind of.
Every single year after that, he spends the last day of August (because there was no direct middle, no time exactly between their birthdays) with Spencer. They've spent almost every year pigging out on cake and ice cream and pizza, excluding the few consecutive times Spencer had refused more than a bite or two, and not once have they not played some sort of video game. As they got older, the video-gaming would be rescheduled for earlier in the day, and the later hours spent on parties and friends and music and sometimes drinking, but that tradition was always there, had never changed. And they always, always shared a cake.
__
It's not really the same, sitting on the floor in front of a big TV, Mario Kart flashing across the screen. There's no warm body next to him, no sniggering or threats or jibes. He's playing against the computer, being beaten badly. Which, okay, isn't so different in and of itself (Spencer's reflexes? So much better than Ryan's, seriously), but the lack of crowing is unnerving, and Ryan lets his controller drop half heartedly, heaving a sigh.
On the television, his character keeps going straight, despite the curve in the track, and flies off into the sea or harbour or ocean, a scream trailing behind him. Ryan shuts his eyes and breathes through his nose. It's more difficult than it ought to be. Sliding down until he's lying, horizontal, is also a bit of a challenge. He feels slow and small and sluggish. A little bit like he's water-logged, like he's drowning, and yeah, wow. Metaphors.
When his new, barely used iPhone buzzes in his left pants pocket, it takes him a moment to work up the energy to pull it out. Eventually, he does, expecting Jon (or Alex or Kate or Z). What he gets is a text from Spencer, blinking bluely in the relative dimness of the room.
It takes him another minute to get up the nerve to open the message. His hands are shaking. Spencer has typed, "when i turned six i wished we'd be best friends forever."
He just barely sends, "i miss you, Spencer Smith," before he inhales roughly, blinks fast, and drags the heels of his hands over his eyes. They come back wet. He hadn't realized that he had been coping so badly, that he was still that codependent. He feels five years old, like he felt before he had ever met Spencer, only worse, because he's had Spencer now, had him, and lost him, pushed him away, messed everything up. He doesn't cry, doesn't count the seconds before his phone alerts him of a new text, and resolutely doesn't think, "are you afraid of being alone, cause I am, I'm lost without you."
(i'm lost without you)
(comments seriously make me happppy. For the, oh, five people who might maybe read this. Haha. Am a commentwhore like bb!Ryan was a camerawhore. But maybe worse.)
Under my umbrella! YAY.