Polaroids [2]
Title: Polaroids
Rating: 14/15+
Pairing: Ryden, Ryan/Brendon
POV: 1st, Ryan
Warnings: swearing, character death.
Disclaimer: obviously never happened, don't own the people, set in an alternate universe, don't sue me.
Summary: When Ryan gets short of money, he only has one person to turn to: his agent, Spencer Smith. Smith gets the jobs for Ross, takes his ten percent and that's that. He'd never do it if he wasn't desperate. It was against his morals, but when it comes to it, desperation has ways of winning.
Author's notes: Well that was a good reaction to the last chapter! here is the next one, today as promised :P
1
I straighten my tie in the mirror and start to make my way to my job interview. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I drive to the office building that would hopefully be my future workplace.
The job was journalism, working for a local newspaper, something I’d wanted to do as a child. This new life was just getting better and better. My new house was a nice size, three bedrooms, a big kitchen. Life, take two, was good.
I park up outside the sizeable office building and make my way inside, the butterflies twitching and twirling inside my stomach. I walk inside and am greeted by a woman with a sickeningly fake smile. “Name?” She says in an irritatingly high voice.
“Evans. Here for my interview.” I rest an arm on the desk.
“Ah yes, Jonas Evans. Mr. Wentz is upstairs in his office, head straight up, first door on the left.” She smiles and starts to type on her computer. I still haven’t gotten used to my new name, but some things just had to change.
I start walking up the stairs and bump into a tall man on the way. “Sorry!” he says, his voice somehow familiar.
“That’s ok.” I ignore the thought and resume walking towards the office. The door is slightly ajar and I clear my throat.
“Come in.” A voice calls from inside and I poke my head around the door.
“Mr. Wentz?” I ask.
A man at a desk simply nods and beckons for me to take a seat. “Nice to meet you...?”
“Evans. Jonas Evans. And it’s nice to meet you too.” I smile, outstretching a hand.
He takes my hand and shakes it firmly. “So, tell me about yourself?”
“Well,” I start. “I moved here recently, and it’s been my life’s dream to be a journalist. I work hard and fast, I’m dedicated and punctual. Uh...I don’t know what else to say...”
The man opposite me smiles. “So tell me, what was your previous occupation?”
Fuck.
“It was...uh...” I try to stall, racking my brains for something believable. “...I was working in a fast food place whilst I was working on my writing skill. That job was really just to keep me afloat until I had enough money to move here and make a career out of writing.” The lie slips off my tongue as easily as anything and he nods.
“Well, we have nobody competing for this job, and you seem like a worthy employee. When would you like to start?” He grins, resting his chin on his fist.
“As soon as possible!” I perk up.
“Well, you could start right now.” He drums his fingers on the desk.
“Really? That would be great! Thank you very much, Mr. Wentz!” I stand up, grinning like a fool.
“The name’s Pete,” He stands up also. “I’ll show you to your office block right now.”
I follow the man through a doorway, meandering around busy workers and cubicles. “Here you go,” He gestures to a bare looking cubicle. There is a computer on a plain grey desk, a blue desk chair and a small trash can under the desk. “Your editor will be over shortly, he’ll brief you on the articles you’ll be covering. You should start getting acquainted with the people around you. Won’t hurt to make friends in a place like this.”
He walks away and I look around. There is a man with dark hair and glasses on one side of me, and a man with lighter, floppy hair the other side. “H-hey.” I say nervously to the man with glasses.
The man turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, hi? Who are you?”
“I’m Ry-my name’s Jonas Evans. I started working here this morning.”
“Nice to meet you, Jonas. I’m Brendon Urie, and that guy over there is Jon Walker.” He points across to the man with the floppy brown hair. Welcome to the office.”
Jon looks up. “Hm?”
“Jon, this is Jonas Evans. New guy.” Brendon grins.
“Nice to meet you Jonas. Yeah, I’m Jon, as I guess you already know.”
I nod and smile, turning back to my computer, pressing the power switch. “So,” I begin. “Who’s our editor?”
“That would be me,” A voice comes from behind me. “Weekes. Dallon Weekes. And you are?”
I turn around and look at the man. Tall, dark, slender. I stand up and take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Jonas Evans. Just started.”
“I see. I’ll get up your brief.” He takes a step forward to my computer and opens a file entitled ‘The Crawford Case’.
It’s him. The man from Ian’s house. That’s why I recognized his voice when he said sorry in the corridor.
Fuck.
“Yeah, ok.” I keep my eyes on the screen and avoid contact with the man next to me.
“The boys will give you a hand getting started if you need it. All the information you need to start off is right there, you just need to put it all together. I’ll give you any information the Police come up with when the pass it on to us, then you can put it in the next article.”
Dallon walks away and Jon says “Well, that was awkward.”
“Hey Jonas,” Brendon says quietly. “How much do you know about the Crawford case?”
I look down at the keyboard. “Not much, why?”
Jon and Brendon exchange nervous glances and I sit in the middle awkwardly, waiting for an explanation.
“Well,” Brendon starts. “That guy Crawford, he got killed in his house and every bit of money that he had in the house was stolen.”
“Really?” I put on my best poker face.
“What’s worse,” Jon chimes in. “Is that...Dallon was the one who found him.”
He’s definitely the guy.
“Oh god, that’s terrible.” I say in a sad, sympathetic tone.
Brendon shakes his head. “They were best friends.”
“Terrible loss, he was a nice guy.” Jon says quietly.
“You both knew him?” I cock my head to the side, looking at Brendon.
“Yeah, but we weren’t close-close friends. More like acquaintances. Still a real shame though.” Brendon looks back at his computer screen and sighs.
I do the same and start to read the fact file.
...Ian Miles Crawford...murdered in his home...robbed of all of his wealth...no relatives or partners...police are tracking down suspect...good leads...
Shit, how am I going to write an article about a man I murdered and robbed? I decide that I’m going to have to be careful what I say and to only include what’s written on these files, nothing more.
I begin typing and attempt to write an article about myself that isn’t about myself, because that totally makes sense.
A few days later in the newspaper, there is my article, in black and white. I feel proud of my work, my childhood dream finally coming true, but I’m also scared shitless. In the article I had to write that the police are on the murderer’s tail.
What if they are? What if they’re onto me and this is a set up? Could this be a trap to try and catch me out?
No Ryan, you’re being paranoid.
I mean, Jonas. Ryan Ross doesn’t exist anymore.
I feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket, and I pull it out, my face lighting up when I see who is calling. Spencer Smith.
“Hey man! Long time no see!” I answer the call excitedly.
“Ryan. We need to talk.” the familiar voice on the other end of the line has a serious tone that gives me goosebumps.
“Um...about what? Just catching up, or...?”
There is a pause before Spencer answers. “You know what it’s about. I saw the article in the newspaper about Crawford. What the fuck, dude?”
“Spencer, I-“
“Look, Ryan. I don’t want any excuses; tell me exactly what happened that night. Is that why you left town?”
I don’t answer at first, and I can hear Spencer’s exasperated breaths on the other end of the line. He’s obviously been panicking about this. “Yes.” I answer eventually.
“I need to know the facts. Please.”
“Well, I thought he was still at work. He worked late on Thursdays so when he was home, I freaked out and when he screamed, I hit him. He fell and hit his head on the dresser and I guess it hit him in just the wrong place. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him; I don’t have it in me to kill someone on purpose!”
“Ryan, you could get fifteen, twenty years for manslaughter. Do you understand?”
“Why the fuck do you think I ran away, Spence? For a fucking change of scenery?”
“Calm the fuck down, Ryan.”
“You’re telling me to calm down? Shit, I killed someone.”
“Yeah,” Spencer sighs on the other end. “Yes you did.”
“Spencer, I have to go. I don’t want to think about this, I’ve moved on now. I moved towns, changed my name, my job. Ryan Ross is dead.”
“Ry-“
“No. I miss you, and I hope you’re ok, but I need to go. I’m a different person now, and I have a new life. Good bye, Spencer James Smith.”
I hang up as Spencer tries to say something else. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. But it’s true, I do miss Spencer. He was a good friend.
The next day at work Brendon throws a little poorly made paper plane at me. It hits me in the temple and I look across from my computer at him, scowling.
“Jonas! Wanna come out for dinner with us tonight?” Brendon says excitedly.
“Uh...where?” I look back at the screen and resume typing.
“Chinese restaurant. The one round the corner from here.” He chirps.
“Time?”
“We’ll head there straight from here when we all finish if you want.” Jon joins in, reclining in his office chair and crossing his hands behind his head.
I stop typing. “Yeah, sure. Who’s coming?”
Brendon sighs, counting on his fingers. “Me, Jon, you, Pete, Dallon-“
“Dallon?” I cut Jon off.
“What...is there a problem?” He cocks his head
“No.”
“Well then, we shall go after work.” Brendon drums his fingers on the desk and smiles gently at me.
I glance up at the clock and see the long minute hand inching towards twelve and save my work again before logging off and grabbing my briefcase, following Brendon and Jon out of the building.
We get outside and start to walk to the restaurant. “Pete and Dallon are working a bit later, but they’re going to meet us there.” Jon mentions as we dawdle, taking our time getting to our destination.
I look up at the grey sky, streaks of orange smeared through it from the setting sun, and darker blue and black streaks from the build up of storm clouds.
“Looks like it’s going to piss down.” Brendon says nonchalantly.
Suddenly a water droplet hits me in the eye. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“What?” Brendon fusses.
“It’s raining.” I moan and rub my eye. We keep walking and gradually the droplets become more frequent. By the time we reach the restaurant, we are saturated.
“Table for five.” Jon smiles at the man standing at the door. We are dripping, leaving a dark, wet trail to our table.
“Here you go gents; I’ll be back with menus in a minute.” The waiter smiles and leaves us to sit down.
Almost immediately afterwards, Pete and Dallon arrive, substantially drier than us.
“Jonas! You’re here too!” Pete grins, sitting down opposite me. Dallon slumps down next to him and we all sit in an awkward silence for a little while, until Dallon speaks up.
“Jonas.”
“Yeah?”
“When you started working with us, I was sure I recognised you from somewhere.”
I stare at him. “That’s strange.” I looked down at the table, the cutlery glistening in the low light of the restaurant.
“Where did you recognize him from?” Pete chimes in, resting his cheek on his fist.
Dallon shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess you just have one of those familiar faces, eh?” I keep my eyes fixed on the cutlery but watch him in my peripheral vision.
He turns to me as he speaks. “Yeah, that’s it.”
The whole meal is spent in silence apart from Brendon speaking up during the main. “Who’s up for drinks after this?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Jon grins.
We finish up, split the bill and head for the nearest bar. Pete already has a few drinks in him and the tension seems to be oozing out of us, everybody feeling equally relaxed upon arrival.
“First round’s on me.” Dallon offers.
I sit on a stool next to Pete at the bar. “How’s the work going?”
“Oh, it’s great. I love it!” I smile back.
“Here you go, guys. Drink up.” Dallon slides two amber pint glasses in front of us, froth sloshing out over the top and slowly trickling down the sides. I grab the glass and take a big gulp, closing my eyes and savouring the bitter liquid.
I see Brendon in the corner of my eye as I open it, perching next to me on another barstool. I put the glass down and look at him. “I’ll buy us some more drinks,” He says quietly. “Go and get a booth, I’ll be right over.”
I stand up and make my way over to one of the dimly lit booths, the red light above it casting a soft, warm glow over the leather seats and stained table. I slide into one of the sides of the booth and look over to the bar. Brendon is holding the two glasses and walks over to where I’m sat. He scoots into the booth and places the glasses down.
He’s grinning and I can smell the alcohol on him. He’s already drunk a lot more than me, and starts to sip from the new drink. I follow suit, watching him in the corner of my eye, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He places the glass back onto the table and looks at me. I wipe my mouth and replace the glass, turning to look back at him.
“You have beautiful eyes.” He slurs, examining me.
My hand is perched on the table and he rests his hand on top of mine. I look at him carefully, trying to read him. I can’t help smiling and looking down, and he places his other hand on my cheek. Before I even realise what’s happening, our lips are crashing together, noses bashing in a hot, frenzied kiss. I can taste the beer on his tongue and he eventually pulls back, looking down as though he is ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “I should have asked you first. I don’t even know if you’re-“
“Gay?” I cut him off. “Yeah, I am.”
Brendon looks back up at me. “Really? I’d never have guessed.”
I smile at him and move in for another intoxicated kiss. I close my eyes, enjoying every second. I put my hands on his cheeks and pull him into me. The kiss seems to last a lifetime but probably lasts around ten seconds, if that. I open my eyes as I pull away, looking up and seeing Pete looking over. My face flushes red as he sits shaking his head and laughing.
What am I getting myself into?
Rating: 14/15+
Pairing: Ryden, Ryan/Brendon
POV: 1st, Ryan
Warnings: swearing, character death.
Disclaimer: obviously never happened, don't own the people, set in an alternate universe, don't sue me.
Summary: When Ryan gets short of money, he only has one person to turn to: his agent, Spencer Smith. Smith gets the jobs for Ross, takes his ten percent and that's that. He'd never do it if he wasn't desperate. It was against his morals, but when it comes to it, desperation has ways of winning.
Author's notes: Well that was a good reaction to the last chapter! here is the next one, today as promised :P
1
I straighten my tie in the mirror and start to make my way to my job interview. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I drive to the office building that would hopefully be my future workplace.
The job was journalism, working for a local newspaper, something I’d wanted to do as a child. This new life was just getting better and better. My new house was a nice size, three bedrooms, a big kitchen. Life, take two, was good.
I park up outside the sizeable office building and make my way inside, the butterflies twitching and twirling inside my stomach. I walk inside and am greeted by a woman with a sickeningly fake smile. “Name?” She says in an irritatingly high voice.
“Evans. Here for my interview.” I rest an arm on the desk.
“Ah yes, Jonas Evans. Mr. Wentz is upstairs in his office, head straight up, first door on the left.” She smiles and starts to type on her computer. I still haven’t gotten used to my new name, but some things just had to change.
I start walking up the stairs and bump into a tall man on the way. “Sorry!” he says, his voice somehow familiar.
“That’s ok.” I ignore the thought and resume walking towards the office. The door is slightly ajar and I clear my throat.
“Come in.” A voice calls from inside and I poke my head around the door.
“Mr. Wentz?” I ask.
A man at a desk simply nods and beckons for me to take a seat. “Nice to meet you...?”
“Evans. Jonas Evans. And it’s nice to meet you too.” I smile, outstretching a hand.
He takes my hand and shakes it firmly. “So, tell me about yourself?”
“Well,” I start. “I moved here recently, and it’s been my life’s dream to be a journalist. I work hard and fast, I’m dedicated and punctual. Uh...I don’t know what else to say...”
The man opposite me smiles. “So tell me, what was your previous occupation?”
Fuck.
“It was...uh...” I try to stall, racking my brains for something believable. “...I was working in a fast food place whilst I was working on my writing skill. That job was really just to keep me afloat until I had enough money to move here and make a career out of writing.” The lie slips off my tongue as easily as anything and he nods.
“Well, we have nobody competing for this job, and you seem like a worthy employee. When would you like to start?” He grins, resting his chin on his fist.
“As soon as possible!” I perk up.
“Well, you could start right now.” He drums his fingers on the desk.
“Really? That would be great! Thank you very much, Mr. Wentz!” I stand up, grinning like a fool.
“The name’s Pete,” He stands up also. “I’ll show you to your office block right now.”
I follow the man through a doorway, meandering around busy workers and cubicles. “Here you go,” He gestures to a bare looking cubicle. There is a computer on a plain grey desk, a blue desk chair and a small trash can under the desk. “Your editor will be over shortly, he’ll brief you on the articles you’ll be covering. You should start getting acquainted with the people around you. Won’t hurt to make friends in a place like this.”
He walks away and I look around. There is a man with dark hair and glasses on one side of me, and a man with lighter, floppy hair the other side. “H-hey.” I say nervously to the man with glasses.
The man turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, hi? Who are you?”
“I’m Ry-my name’s Jonas Evans. I started working here this morning.”
“Nice to meet you, Jonas. I’m Brendon Urie, and that guy over there is Jon Walker.” He points across to the man with the floppy brown hair. Welcome to the office.”
Jon looks up. “Hm?”
“Jon, this is Jonas Evans. New guy.” Brendon grins.
“Nice to meet you Jonas. Yeah, I’m Jon, as I guess you already know.”
I nod and smile, turning back to my computer, pressing the power switch. “So,” I begin. “Who’s our editor?”
“That would be me,” A voice comes from behind me. “Weekes. Dallon Weekes. And you are?”
I turn around and look at the man. Tall, dark, slender. I stand up and take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Jonas Evans. Just started.”
“I see. I’ll get up your brief.” He takes a step forward to my computer and opens a file entitled ‘The Crawford Case’.
It’s him. The man from Ian’s house. That’s why I recognized his voice when he said sorry in the corridor.
Fuck.
“Yeah, ok.” I keep my eyes on the screen and avoid contact with the man next to me.
“The boys will give you a hand getting started if you need it. All the information you need to start off is right there, you just need to put it all together. I’ll give you any information the Police come up with when the pass it on to us, then you can put it in the next article.”
Dallon walks away and Jon says “Well, that was awkward.”
“Hey Jonas,” Brendon says quietly. “How much do you know about the Crawford case?”
I look down at the keyboard. “Not much, why?”
Jon and Brendon exchange nervous glances and I sit in the middle awkwardly, waiting for an explanation.
“Well,” Brendon starts. “That guy Crawford, he got killed in his house and every bit of money that he had in the house was stolen.”
“Really?” I put on my best poker face.
“What’s worse,” Jon chimes in. “Is that...Dallon was the one who found him.”
He’s definitely the guy.
“Oh god, that’s terrible.” I say in a sad, sympathetic tone.
Brendon shakes his head. “They were best friends.”
“Terrible loss, he was a nice guy.” Jon says quietly.
“You both knew him?” I cock my head to the side, looking at Brendon.
“Yeah, but we weren’t close-close friends. More like acquaintances. Still a real shame though.” Brendon looks back at his computer screen and sighs.
I do the same and start to read the fact file.
...Ian Miles Crawford...murdered in his home...robbed of all of his wealth...no relatives or partners...police are tracking down suspect...good leads...
Shit, how am I going to write an article about a man I murdered and robbed? I decide that I’m going to have to be careful what I say and to only include what’s written on these files, nothing more.
I begin typing and attempt to write an article about myself that isn’t about myself, because that totally makes sense.
A few days later in the newspaper, there is my article, in black and white. I feel proud of my work, my childhood dream finally coming true, but I’m also scared shitless. In the article I had to write that the police are on the murderer’s tail.
What if they are? What if they’re onto me and this is a set up? Could this be a trap to try and catch me out?
No Ryan, you’re being paranoid.
I mean, Jonas. Ryan Ross doesn’t exist anymore.
I feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket, and I pull it out, my face lighting up when I see who is calling. Spencer Smith.
“Hey man! Long time no see!” I answer the call excitedly.
“Ryan. We need to talk.” the familiar voice on the other end of the line has a serious tone that gives me goosebumps.
“Um...about what? Just catching up, or...?”
There is a pause before Spencer answers. “You know what it’s about. I saw the article in the newspaper about Crawford. What the fuck, dude?”
“Spencer, I-“
“Look, Ryan. I don’t want any excuses; tell me exactly what happened that night. Is that why you left town?”
I don’t answer at first, and I can hear Spencer’s exasperated breaths on the other end of the line. He’s obviously been panicking about this. “Yes.” I answer eventually.
“I need to know the facts. Please.”
“Well, I thought he was still at work. He worked late on Thursdays so when he was home, I freaked out and when he screamed, I hit him. He fell and hit his head on the dresser and I guess it hit him in just the wrong place. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him; I don’t have it in me to kill someone on purpose!”
“Ryan, you could get fifteen, twenty years for manslaughter. Do you understand?”
“Why the fuck do you think I ran away, Spence? For a fucking change of scenery?”
“Calm the fuck down, Ryan.”
“You’re telling me to calm down? Shit, I killed someone.”
“Yeah,” Spencer sighs on the other end. “Yes you did.”
“Spencer, I have to go. I don’t want to think about this, I’ve moved on now. I moved towns, changed my name, my job. Ryan Ross is dead.”
“Ry-“
“No. I miss you, and I hope you’re ok, but I need to go. I’m a different person now, and I have a new life. Good bye, Spencer James Smith.”
I hang up as Spencer tries to say something else. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. But it’s true, I do miss Spencer. He was a good friend.
The next day at work Brendon throws a little poorly made paper plane at me. It hits me in the temple and I look across from my computer at him, scowling.
“Jonas! Wanna come out for dinner with us tonight?” Brendon says excitedly.
“Uh...where?” I look back at the screen and resume typing.
“Chinese restaurant. The one round the corner from here.” He chirps.
“Time?”
“We’ll head there straight from here when we all finish if you want.” Jon joins in, reclining in his office chair and crossing his hands behind his head.
I stop typing. “Yeah, sure. Who’s coming?”
Brendon sighs, counting on his fingers. “Me, Jon, you, Pete, Dallon-“
“Dallon?” I cut Jon off.
“What...is there a problem?” He cocks his head
“No.”
“Well then, we shall go after work.” Brendon drums his fingers on the desk and smiles gently at me.
I glance up at the clock and see the long minute hand inching towards twelve and save my work again before logging off and grabbing my briefcase, following Brendon and Jon out of the building.
We get outside and start to walk to the restaurant. “Pete and Dallon are working a bit later, but they’re going to meet us there.” Jon mentions as we dawdle, taking our time getting to our destination.
I look up at the grey sky, streaks of orange smeared through it from the setting sun, and darker blue and black streaks from the build up of storm clouds.
“Looks like it’s going to piss down.” Brendon says nonchalantly.
Suddenly a water droplet hits me in the eye. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“What?” Brendon fusses.
“It’s raining.” I moan and rub my eye. We keep walking and gradually the droplets become more frequent. By the time we reach the restaurant, we are saturated.
“Table for five.” Jon smiles at the man standing at the door. We are dripping, leaving a dark, wet trail to our table.
“Here you go gents; I’ll be back with menus in a minute.” The waiter smiles and leaves us to sit down.
Almost immediately afterwards, Pete and Dallon arrive, substantially drier than us.
“Jonas! You’re here too!” Pete grins, sitting down opposite me. Dallon slumps down next to him and we all sit in an awkward silence for a little while, until Dallon speaks up.
“Jonas.”
“Yeah?”
“When you started working with us, I was sure I recognised you from somewhere.”
I stare at him. “That’s strange.” I looked down at the table, the cutlery glistening in the low light of the restaurant.
“Where did you recognize him from?” Pete chimes in, resting his cheek on his fist.
Dallon shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess you just have one of those familiar faces, eh?” I keep my eyes fixed on the cutlery but watch him in my peripheral vision.
He turns to me as he speaks. “Yeah, that’s it.”
The whole meal is spent in silence apart from Brendon speaking up during the main. “Who’s up for drinks after this?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Jon grins.
We finish up, split the bill and head for the nearest bar. Pete already has a few drinks in him and the tension seems to be oozing out of us, everybody feeling equally relaxed upon arrival.
“First round’s on me.” Dallon offers.
I sit on a stool next to Pete at the bar. “How’s the work going?”
“Oh, it’s great. I love it!” I smile back.
“Here you go, guys. Drink up.” Dallon slides two amber pint glasses in front of us, froth sloshing out over the top and slowly trickling down the sides. I grab the glass and take a big gulp, closing my eyes and savouring the bitter liquid.
I see Brendon in the corner of my eye as I open it, perching next to me on another barstool. I put the glass down and look at him. “I’ll buy us some more drinks,” He says quietly. “Go and get a booth, I’ll be right over.”
I stand up and make my way over to one of the dimly lit booths, the red light above it casting a soft, warm glow over the leather seats and stained table. I slide into one of the sides of the booth and look over to the bar. Brendon is holding the two glasses and walks over to where I’m sat. He scoots into the booth and places the glasses down.
He’s grinning and I can smell the alcohol on him. He’s already drunk a lot more than me, and starts to sip from the new drink. I follow suit, watching him in the corner of my eye, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He places the glass back onto the table and looks at me. I wipe my mouth and replace the glass, turning to look back at him.
“You have beautiful eyes.” He slurs, examining me.
My hand is perched on the table and he rests his hand on top of mine. I look at him carefully, trying to read him. I can’t help smiling and looking down, and he places his other hand on my cheek. Before I even realise what’s happening, our lips are crashing together, noses bashing in a hot, frenzied kiss. I can taste the beer on his tongue and he eventually pulls back, looking down as though he is ashamed.
“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “I should have asked you first. I don’t even know if you’re-“
“Gay?” I cut him off. “Yeah, I am.”
Brendon looks back up at me. “Really? I’d never have guessed.”
I smile at him and move in for another intoxicated kiss. I close my eyes, enjoying every second. I put my hands on his cheeks and pull him into me. The kiss seems to last a lifetime but probably lasts around ten seconds, if that. I open my eyes as I pull away, looking up and seeing Pete looking over. My face flushes red as he sits shaking his head and laughing.
What am I getting myself into?