Drabble:The Five Times Brendon Made Ryan Cry and the one time he didn’t
The Five Times Brendon Made Ryan Cry and the one time he didn’t
written for slashxmistress
---
One
Ryan is having a shit day. His girlfriend isn’t texting him back again, his stupid, fucking English teacher doesn’t understand his writing style, and when he walks into Spencer’s basement, Ryan can tell that everything’s about to get a lot worse.
Spencer has the look. The one he wore when he told Ryan that his parents just couldn’t afford to send him to Catholic school, too.
Spencer is standing next to his drum kit, the one that Brendon is eying from his place over by the couch.
Ryan’s heard Brendon play drums before: he’s good.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asks, throwing his bag down on the floor. He hopes he fucks up his literature book with the hard linoleum, but then he realizes he’ll just have to pay for it.
Ryan throws himself on the couch, waiting for someone to talk. There’s obviously something going on - something more than Brent missing, which is pretty much expected now.
As Ryan settles onto the couch, Brendon scurries away, moving to stand next to Spencer, as if he’s worried that Ryan’ll lash out at him, which is ridiculous, because Ryan knows that nothing’s solved with the smack of someone’s fist.
“Before you got here,” Spencer beings, “Brendon and I were playing around with some sounds.” Spencer keeps talking, but his words blend together, because Ryan knew this was coming. He isn’t deaf - he hears the way that Brendon’s notes ring out. He just doesn’t want to deal with it today.
But he’s not a pussy. He’s seventeen years old, and he’s dealt with far worse than his new band member usurping him, so when Spencer finally just comes out and says it, Ryan nods and croakingly says he agrees. It’s probably better that way, since the way the Ryan’s throat constricts as they play wouldn’t have been good for singing.
---
Two
It’s typical that Ryan’s life never works out the way that he plans it to, but one night, after his father becomes too much to handle, Ryan has no choice but to leave the house.
He tries calling Spencer but then remembers he is out of town. Fucking typical he thinks to himself as he boards the bus to downtown. There are other options, of course. He could see what Brent is doing, or his girlfriend, or just lock his bedroom door with a deadbolt he could pick up from Home Depot, but Ryan gets off at Brendon’s stop and doesn’t hesitate to knock on his shitty apartment door.
It only takes Brendon a moment to answer the door. He’s wearing faded sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt. It looks soft.
Brendon gives him a small, confused smile but lets him in. Ryan doesn’t bother to give him a smile back. The pull of muscles would just ache against the forming bruise.
He doesn’t need to smile, though. He’s fine. He’s dealing.
And then Brendon asks what’s wrong - his damn eyes so fucking huge - and Ryan can’t stop from the way his voice shakes as he looks away and says, “Nothing.”
---
Three
Ryan’s always dreamt of his name up in lights. For years, he’s fantasized about being known - being famous. And it happens quickly. People stop them on the street and ask for pictures. They squeal and smile and say they love Panic!
Their hugs are always too tight and their words are always too much, but Ryan loves it. He loves feeling important, even if he’d never admit it. He loves that people know his name and his words.
What he doesn’t love, however, is that they know his life.
He doesn’t like the sideways looks of the crew or the writings online or the pointed questions in interviews. He doesn’t like the way that Brendon thrives on it: grabbing his hand in public, serenading him every night, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously.
Ryan doesn’t want to make what he and Brendon have any more than it is. And he doesn’t want to make it any less than it is, either.
“Can’t we just keep this to ourselves?” he asks Brendon one night, his voice coming out far angrier than he had planned. “You’re making a fucking mockery out of the band.”
Brendon’s eyes flash for just a moment. The easy curve of his smile is gone now, snuffed out by Ryan’s words, but he doesn’t fucking care about that right now. What he cares about is what people say about them - about him. What he cares about is that they’re mostly right.
“What are you saying, Ryan?” Brendon asks. His hands don’t reach for Ryan’s. He doesn’t bother to move in close.
“There are all these rumors,” Ryan says. “Maybe you should back off a little. It looks bad.”
Brendon doesn’t respond to that. He just gets up and leaves, but later that night, Ryan gets a text message from Brendon. It’s a photo of him with his arms twisted around that scene girl with the pink hair. In the picture, Brendon’s hand is creeping close to the girl’s breast, and the look in his eyes is challenging. Maybe I’ll get a beard - would that make you happy? the message reads, and no, Ryan thinks. It doesn’t make him happy.
---
Four
Ryan’s not nervous. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s been coming for a long time, and everyone has seen it. Still, though, when he knocks on the door to Brendon and Spencer’s place, Jon says, “Relax,” and places a steadying hand on his upper arm.
Spencer opens the door barefoot. He smiles and lets them in - yells at Brendon to bring out some beer.
“What’s going on?” Brendon asks when he comes in, handing off the cool bottles.
Ryan lets Jon do the talking. He doesn’t look up once from his lap and Jon tells them that they want to do their own thing, but even though he can’t see Spencer and Brendon, he knows it’s bad before he hears Spencer’s sharp cut.
“What the fuck,” he spits. “You’re giving up now?” Ryan hears the noise of Spencer getting up, probably to storm away, but Jon is trying to placate him with his soft tones.
“It’s for the best,” Jon says.
Ryan is silent, and it takes him a moment to realize that Brendon isn’t saying anything, either. When he looks up, Brendon’s lips are pressed into a thin line and his brown eyes are staring right at Ryan. Ryan feels frozen. He knows that Brendon’s keeping something inside - something that’ll hurt when it comes out - but even though he knows, it doesn’t mean he’s prepared.
“Don’t worry, Spencer,” Brendon says, and his voice has a tone that Ryan has never heard before, and all Ryan can think is that he caused it. “We don’t need them.”
---
Five
When the phone call comes, Ryan answers it instead of letting it go to voicemail. “Hey,” Spencer says. There’s sympathy in his voice, but right now Ryan doesn’t care. “I heard about your band. I’m sorry, Ry.”
It wasn’t that much of a surprise, Ryan thinks. It was formed on a whim and destroyed on less than that. It just sucks that he gave up something he loved for something that took more from him than it gave back.
“Are you and Jon still talking?” Spencer asks, but off of Ryan’s silence, he changes the subject. “You busy this weekend? I was thinking maybe we could see a movie or something. You know, catch up.”
Ryan coughs, clearing his throat a little, and he says, “Sure. That sounds good. I can meet you and Brendon at the theater, if you want.”
There’s a pause then. A beat. And then Spencer says, awkwardly. “Um, it’ll just be me. Brendon’s really busy lately.”
Ryan nods even though Spencer can’t see him through the phone and thinks that he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Just because Brendon has always been the nicest out of them doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hold grudges. It doesn’t mean that Brendon’s forgiven him.
---
One
When Ryan opens the door, he doesn’t expect to see Brendon standing there, but he is.
“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Brendon asks, and Ryan has a million answers for him and he misses every one of them. “You busy?” Brendon continues, and Ryan looks over his shoulder at his empty house. There’s no one there to get in the way. No one watching or judging. There’s only him and Brendon, and God knows that they’ve both changed. Grown up.
“What do you have in mind?” Ryan asks, and Brendon grins.
written for slashxmistress
---
One
Ryan is having a shit day. His girlfriend isn’t texting him back again, his stupid, fucking English teacher doesn’t understand his writing style, and when he walks into Spencer’s basement, Ryan can tell that everything’s about to get a lot worse.
Spencer has the look. The one he wore when he told Ryan that his parents just couldn’t afford to send him to Catholic school, too.
Spencer is standing next to his drum kit, the one that Brendon is eying from his place over by the couch.
Ryan’s heard Brendon play drums before: he’s good.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asks, throwing his bag down on the floor. He hopes he fucks up his literature book with the hard linoleum, but then he realizes he’ll just have to pay for it.
Ryan throws himself on the couch, waiting for someone to talk. There’s obviously something going on - something more than Brent missing, which is pretty much expected now.
As Ryan settles onto the couch, Brendon scurries away, moving to stand next to Spencer, as if he’s worried that Ryan’ll lash out at him, which is ridiculous, because Ryan knows that nothing’s solved with the smack of someone’s fist.
“Before you got here,” Spencer beings, “Brendon and I were playing around with some sounds.” Spencer keeps talking, but his words blend together, because Ryan knew this was coming. He isn’t deaf - he hears the way that Brendon’s notes ring out. He just doesn’t want to deal with it today.
But he’s not a pussy. He’s seventeen years old, and he’s dealt with far worse than his new band member usurping him, so when Spencer finally just comes out and says it, Ryan nods and croakingly says he agrees. It’s probably better that way, since the way the Ryan’s throat constricts as they play wouldn’t have been good for singing.
---
Two
It’s typical that Ryan’s life never works out the way that he plans it to, but one night, after his father becomes too much to handle, Ryan has no choice but to leave the house.
He tries calling Spencer but then remembers he is out of town. Fucking typical he thinks to himself as he boards the bus to downtown. There are other options, of course. He could see what Brent is doing, or his girlfriend, or just lock his bedroom door with a deadbolt he could pick up from Home Depot, but Ryan gets off at Brendon’s stop and doesn’t hesitate to knock on his shitty apartment door.
It only takes Brendon a moment to answer the door. He’s wearing faded sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt. It looks soft.
Brendon gives him a small, confused smile but lets him in. Ryan doesn’t bother to give him a smile back. The pull of muscles would just ache against the forming bruise.
He doesn’t need to smile, though. He’s fine. He’s dealing.
And then Brendon asks what’s wrong - his damn eyes so fucking huge - and Ryan can’t stop from the way his voice shakes as he looks away and says, “Nothing.”
---
Three
Ryan’s always dreamt of his name up in lights. For years, he’s fantasized about being known - being famous. And it happens quickly. People stop them on the street and ask for pictures. They squeal and smile and say they love Panic!
Their hugs are always too tight and their words are always too much, but Ryan loves it. He loves feeling important, even if he’d never admit it. He loves that people know his name and his words.
What he doesn’t love, however, is that they know his life.
He doesn’t like the sideways looks of the crew or the writings online or the pointed questions in interviews. He doesn’t like the way that Brendon thrives on it: grabbing his hand in public, serenading him every night, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously.
Ryan doesn’t want to make what he and Brendon have any more than it is. And he doesn’t want to make it any less than it is, either.
“Can’t we just keep this to ourselves?” he asks Brendon one night, his voice coming out far angrier than he had planned. “You’re making a fucking mockery out of the band.”
Brendon’s eyes flash for just a moment. The easy curve of his smile is gone now, snuffed out by Ryan’s words, but he doesn’t fucking care about that right now. What he cares about is what people say about them - about him. What he cares about is that they’re mostly right.
“What are you saying, Ryan?” Brendon asks. His hands don’t reach for Ryan’s. He doesn’t bother to move in close.
“There are all these rumors,” Ryan says. “Maybe you should back off a little. It looks bad.”
Brendon doesn’t respond to that. He just gets up and leaves, but later that night, Ryan gets a text message from Brendon. It’s a photo of him with his arms twisted around that scene girl with the pink hair. In the picture, Brendon’s hand is creeping close to the girl’s breast, and the look in his eyes is challenging. Maybe I’ll get a beard - would that make you happy? the message reads, and no, Ryan thinks. It doesn’t make him happy.
---
Four
Ryan’s not nervous. There’s nothing to be nervous about. It’s been coming for a long time, and everyone has seen it. Still, though, when he knocks on the door to Brendon and Spencer’s place, Jon says, “Relax,” and places a steadying hand on his upper arm.
Spencer opens the door barefoot. He smiles and lets them in - yells at Brendon to bring out some beer.
“What’s going on?” Brendon asks when he comes in, handing off the cool bottles.
Ryan lets Jon do the talking. He doesn’t look up once from his lap and Jon tells them that they want to do their own thing, but even though he can’t see Spencer and Brendon, he knows it’s bad before he hears Spencer’s sharp cut.
“What the fuck,” he spits. “You’re giving up now?” Ryan hears the noise of Spencer getting up, probably to storm away, but Jon is trying to placate him with his soft tones.
“It’s for the best,” Jon says.
Ryan is silent, and it takes him a moment to realize that Brendon isn’t saying anything, either. When he looks up, Brendon’s lips are pressed into a thin line and his brown eyes are staring right at Ryan. Ryan feels frozen. He knows that Brendon’s keeping something inside - something that’ll hurt when it comes out - but even though he knows, it doesn’t mean he’s prepared.
“Don’t worry, Spencer,” Brendon says, and his voice has a tone that Ryan has never heard before, and all Ryan can think is that he caused it. “We don’t need them.”
---
Five
When the phone call comes, Ryan answers it instead of letting it go to voicemail. “Hey,” Spencer says. There’s sympathy in his voice, but right now Ryan doesn’t care. “I heard about your band. I’m sorry, Ry.”
It wasn’t that much of a surprise, Ryan thinks. It was formed on a whim and destroyed on less than that. It just sucks that he gave up something he loved for something that took more from him than it gave back.
“Are you and Jon still talking?” Spencer asks, but off of Ryan’s silence, he changes the subject. “You busy this weekend? I was thinking maybe we could see a movie or something. You know, catch up.”
Ryan coughs, clearing his throat a little, and he says, “Sure. That sounds good. I can meet you and Brendon at the theater, if you want.”
There’s a pause then. A beat. And then Spencer says, awkwardly. “Um, it’ll just be me. Brendon’s really busy lately.”
Ryan nods even though Spencer can’t see him through the phone and thinks that he shouldn’t have expected anything different. Just because Brendon has always been the nicest out of them doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hold grudges. It doesn’t mean that Brendon’s forgiven him.
---
One
When Ryan opens the door, he doesn’t expect to see Brendon standing there, but he is.
“You know what we haven’t done in a while?” Brendon asks, and Ryan has a million answers for him and he misses every one of them. “You busy?” Brendon continues, and Ryan looks over his shoulder at his empty house. There’s no one there to get in the way. No one watching or judging. There’s only him and Brendon, and God knows that they’ve both changed. Grown up.
“What do you have in mind?” Ryan asks, and Brendon grins.