[Ryan/Brendon] In The Event That I Lose Myself In You.
Title: In The Event That I Lose Myself In You. [~1800 words]
Author: me (shattered_ink)
Rated: PG-13 for swearing.
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon.
Summary: The high-school fic in which Brendon and Ryan are obv. ~soul mates.
Disclaimer: Don't own them ; this didn't happen . The title is mine, so if you recognize it from somewhere, it's totally an accident. Ryan's emo poem includes the line from Panic at the Disco's "Northern Downpour."
A/N: Thanks so much to lord_323monkey for the super-fast beta. I'm posting this from computer class, haha, I feel so hardcore. Hope you like it, for what it's worth. :3
Brendon Urie was something of an addict.
He didn't like to talk about it, because talking about it meant risking his nonexistent reputation, raising his chances of seeing someone quirk their eyebrows, hearing them mutter their cynical remarks. Talking about it meant giving himself away, and Brendon Urie was about as possessive of himself as he was of a boy named Ryan Ross.
"Me and Ryan," he often said, always placing himself first, establishing himself as important, "Me and Ryan are soul mates."
And he said it with so much certainty that everyone felt this obligation to believe him.
Everyone, that is, except for Ryan Ross.
*
"Why the fuck are you telling people that we're dating?"
See, Ryan had this way of talking that was not so much his tone as it was his monotone. He delivered the words as they were, no flailing hands, no widened eyes. "If you wanted me to lie for you, all you had to do was ask."
"Wait, no, I didn't - I don't - I never said we were dating." Brendon's speeches, on the other hand, were all about embellishments. He chewed his lip and fumbled with his hands and he couldn't simply speak. He had to act everything out. "See, the thing is: I think we'd be good together, you know? That's all I said, is that we'd be good for each other, like kindred spirits, like soul mates. I never said we were dating, though, I swear -"
"That's your weakness, Urie," said Ryan. "Your big, fat, pretty mouth."
Brendon brought his hand to his lips, feeling a smile beneath his fingertips. He blushed. "You think my mouth is pretty?"
Ryan frowned, severely confused, unable to form words harsh and big enough to shout at this kid. He gave a violent shrug of his shoulders, muttering, "Whatever. Just. Stop spreading rumors. Stop talking, period."
Brendon watched him walk away and get swallowed by the hallway rush. The bell rang soon after, and Brendon was late to math, but Mr. Murphy's lecture on how our tardiness disrupts others floated over his head, his thoughts still fixed on Ryan, on soul mates, on big-fat-pretty mouths.
*
he thinks we're soul mates pete. soul. fucking. mates.
idk ry. i think thats kinda cute.
Leave it to Pete Wentz - amateur poet, Ryan's best friend, and fuck-up extraordinaire - to find the concept of soul mates (and forevers and infinities and beyonds) to be appealing, let alone cute. Ryan was all set to text a heated, disapproving reply when his Sidekick was swiped from his hands. He looked up, found himself glaring at a familiar, grinning face.
"Brendon." Ryan shot a pointed look up the vacant street, mentally cursing the damn bus driver who couldn't make it to his stop on time, ever. "Brendon," he said again, calmly. "Return my cellular device to me now and there's a pretty good chance of you making it home alive."
Brendon only laughed, waving the phone in front of him, tauntingly. "I didn't come for the Sidekick, Ross. I came for the Sidekick's owner."
"Well actually, since it's on Pete's plan, that makes him the legal owner, if you want to get technical -"
"Oh yeah. I heard you two were pretty tight."
"Best friends," said Ryan, snatching back his phone. He made a mental note to send that disapproving text later, with ten times the disapproval. "Anyway. You wanted to talk."
"Yeah." Brendon nodded, leaning against the slanted bus stop sign. "Yeah. So. How are you?"
Ryan blinked, unimpressed. "That's what you wanted to talk about. My current state of being."
"Among other things." He shrugged. "I came to say I'm sorry. About the rumors. For misleading people like that."
"You're apologizing."
"Yeah. I also want to make sure that this doesn't happen again."
"Hmm," Ryan grunted. "What do you mean."
And Brendon flashed him a smile as brilliant as the plan still working itself out in his head. "To ensure that I wouldn't be lying if I implied or said that we were dating - maybe - maybe we should actually date."
Ryan blinked. Squinted. Shook his head like he wasn't hearing the words, like Brendon was speaking some foreign language. "Let me get this straight," he said, voice tinged with something like amusement. "You would rather be with me than be a liar."
Fuck yes. "Um. Yeah?"
"You," Ryan said, "are ridiculous." And he laughed. The ever-indifferent Ryan Ross laughed a laugh that reached his eyes, made them shine like polished stones. "You're crazy," he said. "You're a madman, Urie. But yes. Okay. I'll go out with you."
*
Shortly thereafter, Ryan Ross fell in love.
He didn't like to talk about it, because talking about it meant owning up to it, accepting it as truth, confirming it as fact, and Ryan wasn't ready for that yet.
Pete met up with him at the bus stop after school, decided it was time for a man-to-man discussion.
"Oh my God, you so love him! You totally want to have his babies!"
Ryan winced. "That's sick and physically impossible."
"The love thing or the babies thing?"
"Both."
"Come on." Pete tried to sling an arm around his friend, but Ryan was too tall, too skinny, and Pete ended up gripping his wrists instead. "Ryan. He's a cool kid. He's stupid for you and you're stupid for him, but that doesn't mean you guys have to be flat-out stupid."
Ryan shrugged. Said he had to get home. Took off sprinting down the street. Because he knew Pete was right, he could feel it, and it really scared him shitless and when he and Pete were on the same page.
*
"Ryan Ryan Ryan; Ross Ross Ross."
Brendon barged into his room, leaping onto the bed before Ryan could fully comprehend what was happening. It was like this with them, Brendon one step ahead, Ryan content to slowly fill the gap.
"Ryan Ross, I'm afraid to inform you that I must deliver you a piece of news that saddens my heart."
Brendon was dangling upside down, wide eyes staring at Ryan, who sat cross-legged on the floor, a book in his lap. Ryan stared back, worried all of Brendon's blood would rush to his head, but he knew that if he brought it up Brendon would tell him not to change the damn subject, so Ryan only said, "What's up."
Brendon sighed. Closed his eyes. "I have to break up with you."
Ryan Ross had never been dumped. Then again, he'd never really placed himself in the position to be, his romantic life consisting of trashy flings and throwaway one-night stands. So forgive him for being a little confused, for not quite getting what was being said. "What do you mean," he deadpanned, the monotone more forced than ever. "What do you mean, you have to break up with me. What did I even do."
"It's not you." Brendon did a half-hearted cartwheel, came down hard on the landing, but he didn't seem to care. "Well. Maybe it is."
"Brendon -"
"The thing is: I thought you'd be good for me, and vice versa. But we're not. Good for each other, I mean." He sat up, weak. "You make me crazy, Ryan Ross. And a crazy me isn't a good me to be around. So. I have to break up with you."
Ryan had gone into shock somewhere between the first I have to break up with you and the last. He'd been staring at the same line of words in his book and, realizing this, closed it and placed his head in his hands.
Somewhere among his indifference and hate, Ryan felt Brendon's mouth against his. Their lips came together softly, roughtly, gently, viciously. "I love you, Ryan Ross," he heard, and all he could think was I love you too, and all he could say was, "I hate you. Get off me. Get out."
*
As soon as he heard the door click shut, Ryan reached for his phone. Sent a message to Pete.
he fucking dumped me. i shouldn't care this much but i do. help.
Pete's reply was immediate.
thats bullshit. u need 2 get him back.
*
Ryan was notoriously bad at fixing things.
From skateboards missing wheels to CDs scratched beyond recognition, he'd made it a rule not to tamper with things once they'd already been broken.
Of course, Brendon Urie had to go and be the exception.
Ryan spent the next six days as a middle-school girl, writing notes to a crush, slipping them into strange places throughout the day.
A scrap would flutter from Brendon's binder: why.
A note would get stuck between his essay pages: please.
A letter would be crammed into his backpack: brendon.
There were six days of this. Six days of self-torture.
And on the seventh day, he rested. Even though he couldn't sleep.
*
i miss your CD-worthy voice when it's not here for me to hear, i miss your sweaty fingers chasing tangles from my reckless hair, i miss your eyes when i close mine to sleep, i missed your skin when you were east, i fucking love you, piece by piece, i love you piece by fucking piece.
He stared at the words until they ran together in his eyes, no commas, no spaces, only words upon words. His finger hovered over Send for a while, until he shook his head, pressed Back, and scrolled through his list of contacts. He clicked Pete instead of Bden, added poem for brendon: what do u think? as the subject, and clicked Send - let his feelings go.
A few seconds later, his phone pinged; a reply lit up the screen.
if u had written stuff like this 4 me u would hve goten laid yrs ago bb. - pete.
*
"So I hear from a reliable source that you're in love with me."
Ryan blinked, closed his book and glanced up, not sure whether to be pissed or thrilled to find Brendon standing in his doorway, a set of Ryan's house keys dangling from his finger.
"I assume your source is Pete." Ryan chalked up another mental bulletin: slaughter his best friend.
"Yeah." Brendon shrugged. "It's weird, how you two get along. He talks an awful lot."
"Hmm." How ironic. "So why are you here."
And the question - or accusation, or whatever it was, coming from Ryan - it caught Brendon off guard. Because he thought it was obvious, thought it had been painfully clear from the beginning why he did everything he did.
"Because Ryan," he said. "We're soul mates." And I need you. And I love you. And I couldn't stay away from you.
And if these reasons made Brendon Urie something of an addict, then they made Ryan Ross one too.
*