update: panic! at the disco story.

[jae_w]

[you'll be platinum]
Brendon/Ryan, 11,000 words, NC-17.
Brendon's sex tape gets mixed reviews.
Written for addictedkitten in the Live Free or Die fic exchange. Many thanks to callsigns and wearemany for beta.



In retrospect, it made sense that Pete was the first one to find it.

Ryan had received enough emails from Pete containing only the word ahahahaha and a link to be wary. But he clicked the link, because with Pete, it was usually worth it. Also, Pete would just keep bothering him until he looked at it anyway.

It was porn, of course. Ninety percent of the time with Pete it was porn. Five percent of the time it was music, and the other five percent it was unflattering commentary on something Ryan had worn. The surprising thing was that it was kind of tame porn, by Pete's standards, at least. No handcuffs, no sex toys that Ryan would wind up wishing he could forget even existed, no one dressed up like a cartoon character or an animal. It was homemade porn, a bland hotel room somewhere and someone on their knees, dark hair spilling over their face. It took a minute before he decided that it was a girl. She was giving a pretty enthusiastic blowjob to the guy standing in front of her. He was a normal looking guy, as far as Ryan could tell from his legs and stomach, maybe a little skinny. His long fingers drifted over the girl's hair, and there was someone else in the room, clearly, because just then the camera focused on the guy's cock as it pushed between the girl's wet lips. It was a nice cock, Ryan thought, more than nice, really, thick at the base and okay, if Ryan had stumbled on this by himself he totally would have watched it. He might have bookmarked it, even, but by Pete's standards it was pretty lame. Ryan was about to text Pete to tell him so when the camera panned up. He squeaked and slammed his laptop shut.

He sat there with both hands on top of the laptop, like the video might somehow break free and escape into the world. He took a couple of deep breaths. It was probably just a coincidence, he told himself. Besides, it wasn't like he'd gotten a really good look. Ryan opened his laptop back up gingerly.

The resemblance was uncanny, Ryan had to admit that. But that was the joke, probably, that was why Pete thought it was so funny. People looked like other people all the time, people even made a living sometimes by looking like other people, celebrities especially, although Ryan wouldn't have thought his band was famous enough for that yet, but maybe he wasn't giving them enough credit, he thought. Then he stopped thinking about it when the guy in the video barked out a short sharp laugh, high and delighted, a laugh that Ryan had heard a thousand times, a million times, a laugh he would have known anywhere, and then the laugh cut off as the guy's mouth dropped open in a look of fierce concentration that Ryan knew just as well, better, and then Brendon came all over the girl's face, live and in color on Ryan's computer screen.

Onscreen Brendon dropped to his knees, laughing a little, and wiped off the girl's face with his fingers, tipping his forehead against hers and breathing something into her ear that made her laugh too. Then he kissed her, wet and sloppy, and Ryan could see his tongue licking at the corner of her mouth, pushing inside, just the way his cock had, and then from down the hall Ryan heard Jon yell, "Oh, wow," and Spencer say, "Jesus fucking Christ," and he slammed his laptop shut again.

He walked into the lounge and Jon looked up and waved him over. "Dude, you've totally got to see this," he said.

"I've seen it," Ryan said. He sat down heavily next to Spencer. "What do you think we should do about this?"

"I don't know about you," Spencer said, "but I'm forwarding it to everybody I know."

"Be serious," Ryan said. "Don't you think --"

"I am serious," Spencer said. "I'm forwarding it to people I don't know, too. I'm sending it to everybody who's ever sent me an email, including spammers."

"Hey, those guys work hard trying to help you lose weight instantly and satisfy your woman," Jon said, "they totally deserve to see Brendon's --"

"I mean it," Ryan said. "I think we should --"

"Hey," Brendon said, leaning in the doorway. "I don't suppose the entire Internet's blown itself up or anything in the past five minutes, has it?"

Jon leapt to his feet and started clapping, and after a minute Spencer joined in, grinning. Brendon ran his hands through his hair and laughed and bowed. "Now, now," he said. "No need to thank me. I do what I do for the good of humankind."

"That's going a little far," Spencer said.

"Thank you," Ryan said. "I thought nobody was going to --"

"For the amusement of humankind, maybe. For the hysterical laughter of humankind --"

Brendon waved a hand. "You're just jealous."

"Yes," Spencer said. "Yes, that's it exactly."

"Look," Ryan said, "I think we need to talk about this."

"Isn't that what we're doing?" Brendon said.

"No, I mean, I mean talk about it for real."

"Um, okay," Brendon said. "What did you want to talk about? Do you want me to give you some pointers, some helpful hints --"

"How the fuck did this happen?" Ryan snapped.

"Actually," Jon said, "that's a story I would be interested in hearing myself."

Brendon sat down on the arm of the couch next to Jon. "It's pretty much the oldest story in the world. Boy meets girl, girl has friend with camera, girl offers to blow boy, boy says oh my God yes, and the rest is history."

"Why -- why would you say yes?" Ryan said. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Brendon looked down suddenly, like he couldn't meet Ryan's eyes. Finally, Ryan thought, finally he was starting to take this seriously. "I have a confession to make," Brendon said, his voice low. "I just -- I really hope that you guys can still respect me once you hear."

"Of course," Ryan said soothingly. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. Brendon looked over at him bravely.

"See, the thing is, I really like it when people suck my dick," he said. Jon choked and Spencer rolled his eyes. Ryan threw himself back on the couch. "What? I don't know what you think is so complicated here. She said she'd blow me, she asked if her friend could film it, and I don't know, maybe when somebody's about to put their mouth on your dick you're still capable of, like, thinking and reasoning and doing multivariable calculus and whatever, but in that situation I basically say yes to everything."

"Are we assuming Ryan can do calculus even when somebody doesn’t have their mouth on his dick?" Spencer said. "Because that's quite an assumption."

"Man, that would be one crazy superpower to have," Jon said thoughtfully. "If whenever somebody blew you you got super smart? It'd be like the worst superpower in terms of trying to explain, though, because you know nobody would believe you. You think it's hard telling somebody you're Batman? Imagine trying to tell somebody, no, hey, I totally need you to blow me for altruistic reasons, I'm just about to cure cancer."

"You guys aren't taking this seriously," Ryan said.

"I don't even understand what you mean," Brendon said.

Just then Ryan's sidekick buzzed. "It's Pete," Ryan said. He didn't answer it.

"Gee," Brendon said. "I wonder what he could be calling about."

Eventually Ryan's sidekick stopped buzzing. Then Brendon's started.

"Don't answer it," Ryan said, and Brendon said,

"Hey, Pete." He listened for a second, then laughed. "Fuck you. I'm not even going to ask where you found it, because I know you spend all your free time googling my name and totally awesome sex --"

"Come on," Ryan said. "We're having a band meeting here."

"We're having a band meeting?" Jon said.

"Wait, what?" Brendon said. "Sure, hold on." He put the phone on speaker. "Pete has an important message for all of us."

"That's great," Ryan said, "but we're going to have to call you back. We're having a band meeting --"

"We're having a band meeting?" Brendon said. Ryan sighed.

"Today on Fall Out Boy Theater," Pete announced in an atrocious British accent, "we present The Sex Tape: A Play in One Act. Scene 1: The Discovery."

In his normal voice Pete said, "Oh my God! Patrick, come here and look at this!"

"I don't want to see your porn, Pete," Patrick said in a longsuffering monotone. "Oh, wait, oh, wow, is that -- is that Brendon?"

"Oh my God, that's Brendon," Joe yelled. "Who's that with him -- oh my God, is that Ryan?"

Brendon, Spencer and Jon started laughing. "I would never cut my hair like that," Ryan snapped.

"Um, okay," Pete said after a second. "I was actually going to say, it's not Ryan, you can see that girl's tits in the next shot, but you're right, your point's better."

Ryan reached over and cut off the call.

It took a while for the guys to stop laughing, but finally Spencer wiped a hand across his mouth and said, "Okay. Okay, clearly you've got something to say, so let's have it."

"Finally," Ryan said, and then he stopped. With everyone looking at him, he suddenly couldn't think of what it was he wanted to say.

He was saved by Brendon, of all people. "Actually, let's not have it," he said. "I don't want to dwell on all this negativity about my sex tape. I think we should all focus on what I did right in my sex tape."

"What you did right," Ryan said. "In your sex tape."

"Yes," Brendon said. "I think if you think about it, you'll realize I really did a lot of things right."

"He's right," Jon said slowly. "I mean, for one, you're actually with a girl." Brendon looked at him. "I mean, no offense, you know we totally support you and all of your choices --"

"Most of your choices," Spencer said.

"Most of your choices, but you have to admit, for sheer explainability, it's easier that you got caught with a girl."

"There," Brendon said. "See, there's the first thing I did right."

"Like you wouldn't have done it if it was a guy," Ryan said.

"I didn't say I did it right on purpose. But you can't argue with results. Also, also I think we should all appreciate the fact that in terms of deviant sexual acts, this is really pretty tame."

"You came on a girl's face," Spencer said.

"Yes. Yes I did, but we have to remember that it could have been much, much worse. I could have been --"

"I don't want to know," Spencer said, and Jon and Ryan sat back in their seats.

"Spoilsport," Jon mumbled. Then he said, "You know what else? You totally didn't say anything really embarrassing, like, I don't know, 'take it, bitch,' or --"

"Or 'Oh, Pete,'" Brendon said, and everyone but Ryan laughed.

"Like I told you a million times, that was a joke," Ryan said sourly.

"Yeah, I don't remember that girl finding it funny," Spencer said.

"Also," Brendon said, "also, I totally didn't make any embarrassing faces or anything either."

"I don't know about that," Jon said. "Come here and look at this --"

"Look, why don't you film yourself the next time you --"

"Please don't," Spencer said.

"Okay, point taken," Jon said. "Relatively speaking, no embarrassing faces."

"So I think we can all agree," Brendon said, "that really, this is the best of all possible sex tapes. I mean, really, you all should be thanking me --"

"Let's not get carried away," Spencer said.

Ryan stood up. "You're all missing the fucking point."

"Um," Jon said.

"Oh, please," Brendon said, "why don't you tell us the fucking point?"

Spencer just looked at him. For a minute Ryan didn't say anything, then he said, "I mean, don't you just think -- don't you think it's kind of tacky?"

Brendon laughed, a short sharp laugh that reminded Ryan uncomfortably of the way he'd laughed in the video.

"Um," Jon said again. Then he said, "Well, I mean, I guess I can't really argue with that. I mean, it's not classy --"

"Next time I'll wear a top hat," Brendon said, and he and Jon laughed again. Spencer just kept looking at Ryan.

"It's just -- it's so fucking cheap, you know?" Ryan said. Brendon stopped laughing as he flushed a little, two patches of red spreading across his cheekbones. "I mean, it's just fucking humiliating to think that now people are going to think we're the type of people who'd do something like this --"

"Oh, you're right, I'm so sorry," Brendon said, his voice sharp and cold. "I'm so sorry I did something so fucking cheap, you know? Maybe next time I can do something really cool, like, I don't know, take pictures of my ass and post them on the Internet for creepy guys to --"

"Brendon," Spencer said softly.

"That was different," Ryan said furiously.

"Oh, I know," Brendon said. "I mean, I didn't put this up for people to look at myself --"

"I was a kid," Ryan said. "This is different --"

"Enough," Spencer said again in the same low voice. He glanced over at Jon and Jon said,

"Yeah, I mean, come on. This is not such a terrible thing, you know?"

"That's what I've been trying to say," Brendon said, falling against Jon's shoulder and grinning carelessly. "I mean, come on, we're fucking rockstars -- people would be disappointed if we didn't do shit like this, you know? Everybody who's anybody has a sex tape -- everybody expects it of us."

"Yeah?" Ryan said. He looked over at Brendon. "Do you think your mom expects this of you?"

For a moment it was deadly silent, so quiet that Ryan could hear Jon catch a hissing breath. Brendon's face went a flat dull white, his mouth a little open as he stared at Ryan, then he flushed, his face a deep dark red that looked almost painful. He pushed himself off from Jon and stalked out. Ryan heard the bus doors open and close.

"Nice," Jon said. He stood up and followed Brendon out. Ryan heard the doors open and close again.

Spencer kept looking at Ryan without saying anything. "What?" Ryan said finally. "You know she's going to find out about this, somebody will say something or she'll see it on TV or in a gossip column or something, it's just a fact." Spencer didn't say anything. "It's not like I was going to tell her myself or anything --"

It seemed like Spencer was willing to keep looking at him for a long time. Ryan looked back at him for a minute, then looked down at the floor. "Just leave me alone, all right?" he said finally. When he looked up Spencer nodded at him, shortly, and kept watching as Ryan slunk off to his bunk.

After a while Ryan heard Spencer walk past. He thought Spencer might stop next to his bunk for a second, to see if Ryan wanted to talk, but Spencer didn't pause, just walked right out, the bus door hissing shut behind him. When Ryan was sure he was alone and likely to stay that way, he got up and padded out to the front, where he'd left his laptop. He took it back into his bunk and closed the curtain carefully against the empty bus.

Maybe he'd been wrong about the video, Ryan thought. Nobody else seemed to think it was such a big deal, so maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe once he watched it again, he'd think it was just as stupid and funny as everybody else had. He curled up on his side, the laptop next to his head on the pillow, and hit play.

The first time he'd watched Ryan hadn't really paid attention to the beginning. He'd been too busy trying to figure out why Pete had sent it to him. But now, as he watched, he thought that he really should have recognized Brendon right away. Even when he couldn't see Brendon's face, he could still see the way Brendon stood, one hip cocked a little, not the easy way he leaned against a wall or against Ryan when they were just hanging around, but precisely, the way he stood on stage, when he knew people were watching him, when he wanted them to. It must have been right after a show, they must have gone straight back to the hotel room right after. Ryan could tell not just because Brendon's pants, open at the front and pushed down low on his hips, were his stage pants, but also from the set of Brendon's shoulders, the way his chest pushed forward. He was still draped in the presence he wore on stage, the authority that let him carry the weight of thousands of eyes, thousands of people waiting for whatever he was going to do next, measuring it against what they'd been secretly hoping for. Ryan knew what that felt like; they all did, at least a little, they had to, they put it on like the costumes and the makeup so they wouldn't be naked out there, out in front of anyone. It was different for Ryan, he'd always known that, because he put it on like armor, like something that would protect him if he needed it to. Brendon put it on like something different, something Ryan had never quite figured out. He couldn't shed it as quickly as Ryan did, either. For minutes after the show, hours sometimes, he still wore it, carrying it easily, like he didn't even notice it was still covering him. Once or twice Ryan had looked over when they were changing and caught Brendon's eye when he wasn't expecting to, and for a second he felt like he knew what all the girls at the show felt like when they were watching, what it felt like to have wanted something and to have gotten more than you even knew you'd wanted in the first place.

Even if Brendon had wanted to lie about knowing he was being taped he couldn’t have, Ryan thought. It was clear he knew the camera was there, clear in the way Brendon stood, in the way his fingers dipped gently over the girl's jaw, shifting for the best angle not just for him but for the camera. It made Ryan feel better about the video, actually, because it wasn't real. Maybe he hadn't been mad at Brendon, really, but mad for Brendon, because he'd thought Brendon had been caught in a private moment, a secret one, one that wasn't meant for other people to see. It was different if it wasn't real, Ryan thought as his hand curled around his own cock. It was different if was just porn, and that was what this was, nobody looked like that when they were having sex for real, so aware of how they looked. This was meant for people to see, for Ryan to see, it was okay. It was meant for people to do what they did when they watched porn. Ryan's cock pushed into his hand in the same rhythm as Brendon's into the girl's mouth, and it was okay, because that was what he was supposed to do, that was what the video was for, it wasn't real.

Then on the screen Brendon looked right into the camera, right at Ryan, and he laughed. He laughed, a short sharp laugh, raw and a little ugly, and it wasn't the way he ever laughed on stage, or in interviews. It wasn't even the way he laughed when Jon told a joke. It was the way he laughed when he was alone, or thought he was, when he'd gotten lost in a book or a movie and forgotten anything except what he was doing, what he was feeling. He laughed that way sometimes and when Ryan looked at him he'd blush, like he'd been caught at something, and he'd stutter for a minute before he told Ryan the joke, and it was never something he could explain, even to Ryan. It was a real laugh, Brendon's real laugh, and Ryan hit pause and then closed his eyes because he couldn't bear to see it, not there, not where anybody could see it, where Ryan could see it, like it wasn't even real or like it was, like it was and Brendon didn't care if anyone saw. Ryan closed his eyes and then he opened them, Brendon's real laugh frozen on screen right in front of him, and then he came hot and sticky over his hand.

Ryan didn't want to watch the rest of the video. He didn't want to, but he did. He remembered the end from the first time he'd watched, the way Brendon dropped to his knees like he couldn't bear to stand for one second longer, the way he dipped his head against the girl's. He remembered the way Brendon leaned in to breathe something in her ear, but the first time he'd watched Ryan hadn't leaned in himself, like maybe he could hear if he just got close enough, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to, even though he knew Brendon didn't want him to. He remembered that the girl had laughed, but he hadn't noticed how real it sounded, like she'd forgotten she was being filmed, like she'd forgotten anything except Brendon bending down to her. He remembered the way that they'd kissed, and maybe that was what had struck him the first time, what made him mad and mean, the way they kissed and it wasn't the way anyone would kiss if they thought anyone was watching, sloppy and greedy, little wet sounds as their lips slicked together. It was the way you kissed when you couldn't help it, when you couldn't think about how it looked or sounded or anything except the way you wanted to. It wasn't meant for anyone else to watch. Ryan couldn't stop watching.

Then the bus doors opened and Ryan slammed his laptop shut and shoved it under the covers. He wiped his hand on the blanket and then rolled onto his front, burying his face in his pillow in case anyone opened his curtain to check on him.

Nobody did.

Brendon ignored Ryan for the next few days, which was just fine with Ryan. They were pretty busy anyway, shows and interviews and a lot of time traveling on the bus, which left Ryan very little time to think about Brendon, or the video, or to watch it, the sound turned down, curled around his laptop, facing the wall so he could block any light with his body.

After three days Brendon bumped up hard against Ryan, crowding him against the wall. "Look, I'm not going to waste time being mad at you anymore, because you're just being stupid," he said. "No, shut up, I'm not going to listen, it's not like you have a side anyway. You're just wrong, but I'm not going to be mad at you anymore about it. I just thought you should know." He left Ryan standing there, back to the wall, watching as Brendon walked away.

That night when Ryan got up to go to the bathroom he heard Brendon say, "So, I talked to my mom." He stopped where he was, one hand braced against the bunks, as Jon said,

"Yeah? How -- how did that go?"

"Not bad," Brendon said. He laughed a little, a laugh that sounded like it would shatter if you touched it. "It's just amazing what they can do with Photoshop these days."

Jon laughed a little himself, softly, like he didn't want to break anything. "You told her it wasn't really you?"

"Well, I didn't tell her that exactly. We just kind of -- arrived at that conclusion, together." Brendon laughed again, and this time it sounded closer to breaking. "Who knows if she really believes it, I mean, I can't believe she does, but it's better than -- I don't know."

"Oh, dude, I bet she believes it," Jon said.

"You don't have to say it just to be nice."

"No, no, seriously. Moms believe anything when it comes to this. Listen, back in the day, my mom walked in on me one time -- me and Tom cut school one day, and she was supposed to be out all day but she came back, and she wasn't expecting us to be there, and we sure as hell weren't expecting her, and I mean, there was no fucking question what we were doing, I didn't even have my pants on and Tommy's mouth -- anyway, she turned right around and left, and we got dressed and went downstairs, and she was like, you boys need to be careful about roughhousing in the house, and then she yelled at us for cutting, like any other fucking time, and just, you know. You can never underestimate the desire of a blood relative to believe she doesn't know what you look like with your dick in somebody's mouth."

"Words of wisdom from Jon Walker," Brendon said.

"Seriously, I should write a book." Jon laughed a little again, and then said, "It's good, though, that you're not, like …"

"I know," Brendon said. "I talked to Pete, actually. He was kind of helpful for once."

"Yeah, well, I guess. I mean, you need help in the putting-your-dick-on-the-Internet area, he's pretty much an expert."

"No," Brendon said. "I mean, yeah, obviously, he's like world-renowned in the field, but I didn't -- I just talked to him some about my mom. I mean, we're both kind of experts in that field, you know. The field of breaking your mom's heart without even trying."

"Dude," Jon said, "I'm sure she doesn't --"

"Look, you don't know, okay?" Brendon said. He didn't sound mad, the way he used to when he talked about his parents and their disappointments. He just sounded a little tired, maybe, a little tired and a little sad. Ryan knew how that felt, although it was different for him. He knew more than Jon, anyway. "You and Spencer don't, and I'm glad, all right, I hope you never fucking do, and Ryan …"

Brendon trailed off, and Jon said carefully, like he wasn't sure it was allowed to be a question, "Yeah?"

"It's just, I don't know. It's different for him. It's different when they don't fucking deserve to have their hearts broken." Ryan caught his breath, and Brendon sighed. "It's -- I don't know, it's harder."

"Yeah," Jon said, his voice even and still so careful. "Yeah, I guess it's harder, when they're, like, innocent bystanders. But you still --"

"No," Brendon said. "No, I meant -- for him, for him I think it's harder."

Ryan turned around and went back to his bunk before he could hear anything else. As he lay down Spencer pulled open his curtain and looked at Ryan hard. Before he could say anything Ryan pulled his own curtain shut and rolled over to face the wall and closed his eyes. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

The next morning he and Spencer were both up early. Spencer was doing something on his computer in the back lounge, and Ryan sat down next to him with a book that he didn't open. Instead he inched closer and closer to Spencer, until their shoulders were nearly touching. He shifted, and his shoulder bumped against Spencer. He shifted again, and bumped into Spencer again. Then he shifted again, and Spencer said without looking up from his laptop,

"Just out of curiosity, do you even know what your problem is?"

"It's not my problem," Ryan said stubbornly. Then he said, "But you have to admit, it's kind of a weird thing to do, and, like, creepy and also kind of embarrassing." Spencer looked at him. "And besides, I mean, don't you think it kind of like cheapens what we do? I mean, who's going to pay attention to the music with something like this to talk about? Seriously, I just -- the music just means more than this, you know, and now all anybody's going to want to ask about is --"

"Yeah," Spencer said, "I'm really broken up about the fact that somebody might ask us something other than where the name came from, and whether we're gay, and where Brent is, for the next nine thousand interviews. Seriously, I never thought I'd say this but at this point I welcome questions about Brendon's dick." Ryan bumped against him again and Spencer said, "Look, the people who care about the music are going to care about it no matter what, and the people who don't -- well, they're gonna care about whatever they care about but we might as well give them a good show while we're at it, right?"

"I guess," Ryan said. It sounded like something he should believe, even though he didn't really want to admit it.

"You were the one who told me that."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of smart sometimes," Ryan told him.

"All current evidence to the contrary," Spencer said, and Ryan bumped him hard enough to knock his computer half off his lap. "Seriously, for somebody who spends conservatively eighty-five percent of his time thinking about himself and his feelings, you're kind of bad at introspection."

"Shut up," Ryan said. "My introspection keeps you in expensive shoes."

"And a damn good thing, I’m telling you, because you're a fuck of a lot of hard work." Spencer handed Ryan his Red Bull to take away the sting of the words, and Ryan took it gratefully.

"I haven't seen much of this so-called hard work on your part," Ryan said.

"So how many times have you jerked off to the video?" Spencer said easily, and Ryan spit Red Bull all over himself. Spencer lifted his laptop to safety and then handed Ryan a handful of tissues. Ryan wiped himself off and then gave the tissues back to Spencer.

"It's not -- it's not like that," Ryan said after a minute. He didn't look at Spencer.

"Oh, yeah?" Spencer said. "How is it then?"

Ryan didn't say anything. Finally Spencer said, his voice softening, "Ryan --" and Ryan said,

"It's not like that, okay," and walked back to his bunk.

It wasn't like that, that was the thing. It wasn't sexual, not really, although Ryan was prepared to admit that was a hard argument to make when he was curled up in his bunk, breathless, the sound turned all the way down on his computer and the pillowcase stale and rough in his mouth to catch any noise he might make, because Ryan didn't have a mute button. It wasn't only sexual, at any rate.

Ever since he could remember, the thing Ryan thought was the most unfair in the world, the most unfair and the most fascinating, was the fact that everybody in the world had a life, a secret life that Ryan wouldn't get to know about, that he'd only see bits and pieces of, maybe, if he was lucky. When he was little he used to stay out late sometimes when his dad wouldn't notice, until after it got dark and the streetlights and all the lights in the houses went on. He used to drift down the empty streets on his skateboard, looking at all the well-lit windows, golden boxes framing families inside, moms cooking or kids watching TV or doing homework at a table, people talking or sometimes fighting but never noticing Ryan outside. When he was older for school he had to read a book that talked about how all happy families were the same and Ryan remembered all those windows, all those families, all those lives, and he threw the book across the room and got a zero on the test. He didn't know, really, why he was so interested in looking at all those windows. Most of them were people he knew, neighbors, parents of his friends, and he probably could have walked into at least some of the houses and been invited for dinner or to watch TV or to finish his own homework at their table. He never did, though. He never wanted to. What he wanted was to know what they were like when they didn't know he was there, when they didn't know anybody was there. What he wanted was to walk right through the windows, silent even as the glass sliced into him, hovering like a ghost with shards of glass in his hair as he listened to what they talked about when they thought nobody was listening.

When he was that little he knew what he wanted but he didn't know why. It wasn't till later, until he was around eleven or twelve, when he started to understand more. There was a little convenience store on the corner a couple of blocks away, one of the few places he and Spencer could walk to when they were bored. The woman who worked there wasn't anybody Ryan usually noticed. Looking back Ryan realized she wasn't that old, probably in her mid-thirties, but back then she had seemed impossibly, incomprehensibly ancient, like his dad and Spencer's parents, a different species from him and Spencer, a grown-up. They walked into the store like always and usually there was a bell but maybe it was broken that day, or maybe she just didn't hear it. Before she saw that they were there she laughed, a rough open-mouthed laugh, and wiped the back of her hand over her lips. "Oh, you work your mouth," she called to a man standing by the freezer, and her voice was teasing, which was nothing surprising, she was always teasing Ryan which he hated, but it wasn't the same kind of teasing. There was something sharp and thick in her voice, something that set off a buzzing in the pit of Ryan's stomach, something he couldn't name. She saw him and Spencer then and turned to them, saying, "Hey, kiddos, what are you looking for today?" While Spencer talked to her Ryan watched the man she had been talking to, watched him watch her like he couldn't look away, like her words had landed in him like a hook and now he was just waiting until she finally pulled him in. As he and Spencer left the man took a step toward the woman, and Ryan turned around and walked backward slowly so he could watch, until Spencer punched his shoulder to make him walk faster.

Back at Spencer's house Ryan said, "Do you ever think about how, like, everybody has their own life and stuff that you'll never know, like everybody, like grown-ups and stuff?"

"Yeah," Spencer said. "Like how it's weird that like, your parents were kids once and did stuff before you were even born? My mom's always trying to tell me about things she did when she was a kid and I'm like, please stop, it's so embarrassing and I don't even believe you."

"Yeah," Ryan said, although that wasn't what he'd meant. He felt like he'd always known that his parents had lives that were separate from him, that revolved around something else entirely. That wasn't what he meant, although he couldn't find the words to explain it to Spencer. He'd gone looking for the words that night, sitting down with his notebook and trying to write a song about the woman in the store, and the way she talked to the man before she knew anyone else was there. But he never got it right, and he threw the notebook under his bed with some other stuff and forgot about it. The last time Ryan had been home he'd found it. He found it and he read the song and then he ripped it up carefully and threw it out, pushing it down to the bottom of the trash, underneath some coffee grounds and some old pizza. It wasn't that the song was so badly written, although it was, but that reading it Ryan could feel his old yearning, so raw and naked, to know what it was like to be someone else, to know someone else.

The yearning had never really gone away, though as Ryan had gotten older he'd learned how to ease it with novels and movies and music, other people's music and then his own, thousands of other lives consumed greedily, recklessly, and never ever quite enough. He learned to live with it, the fact that there were so many things he'd only get a taste of, and only sometimes, when they'd been on the road for months and he was tired and homesick and they had dinner in some diner where a waitress who was maybe five years older than he was called him hon and stood whispering to one of the busboys in the corner, her fingers rubbing over a faded bruise on his collarbone, only sometimes did Ryan feel like he was going to die from it, all the lives he'd never get to live.

As he got older, what killed him wasn't all the strangers with lives they kept so foreign from him, but the people he thought he knew so well and the pieces of them he'd never get to know. It was hard to keep anything secret when you were on tour with someone, when you made a record with someone, when you spent all of your waking hours and all of your sleeping hours within a six-foot radius of someone. It was hard, and when they'd first started Ryan would have said he was the only one who kept anything secret, who knew how to, would have said that he knew Spencer and Brendon and Brent inside and out, knew everything.

He knew different now.

A couple of weeks after Jon started playing with them Ryan walked back into the room they were sharing, looking for his jacket. Jon was on the phone with Cassie, facing away from him, all of him hunched over like he thought if he could just get close enough her voice would soak into him, would soak into him and stay. "Baby, don't say that," he said, and his voice was nothing Ryan recognized, nothing mellow and slow about it. The words were barbed, sharp, like they tore his throat to say them, and reckless, like he didn't care if they cut him as long as they cut her too, as long as they sank inside her and stayed. Ryan left without getting his jacket, closing the door silently behind him, and when he came back that night Jon lay back on his bed and talked to him easily, happily, about stupid show he'd been watching. Ryan looked at him, lit up by the blue TV light, and wondered how Jon could look like that when those words were buried somewhere deep inside him, thorned and full of hunger.

Back when they were opening for Fall Out Boy, Spencer's mom had come out to see a couple of shows. Ryan had spent most of his time with them; after all, he'd known her since he was a little kid, almost as long as Spencer had known her. But he wasn't an asshole, he'd left them some time to themselves too, and he was just coming to get Spencer for a soundcheck when he heard his own name. "I know," Spencer said. "It's just -- Ryan," and Ryan had never heard Spencer say his name that way. Even when Spencer was furious with him there was always a certain care in the way he said Ryan's name, in the way he spoke to him, a care so constant that Ryan had figured it was just part of the way Spencer was made. But now Spencer's voice was so careless with exhaustion that if he hadn't known better, Ryan would have thought he was drunk. "It's just -- it's hard for all of us right now."

"It'll get easier," Spencer's mother had told him, and Ryan leaned against the wall and wondered what it would be like to have someone tell you that, someone who could tell you that so that you'd believe it. "But you have to take care of yourself, too. You can't just worry about --"

"I know," Spencer said. "I know, but if I don't, who will?"

"I know," Spencer's mother said, and she sounded a little sad and a lot proud. "I know, there's no point telling you not to, but -- anyway, just remember it'll get easier. For all of you, it'll get easier."

"I know," Spencer said, and he sounded like he believed it.

It made sense, when Ryan thought about it, that there were parts of himself Spencer kept from him. He understood it. When you knew someone so deep and so long, there were things you felt like you had to keep secret, just to remind yourself that you weren't actually the other person, that you were yourself. And he hadn't known Jon very long, no matter how much he liked him and how much time they'd spent together, and from the beginning there were things Brent had always kept separate. But Brendon was the one person Ryan would have bet he knew all the way through, even the stuff he really, really wished he didn't know. But maybe there was no way to know anyone else all the way through, Ryan thought, because he had a video of Brendon and Ryan had never seen him that way, Ryan had never even seen him that way and Brendon didn't care if some girl saw him like that, that girl and the whole world and Ryan had never even seen.

One night everybody went out after the show and Ryan stayed in. He said he was going to take advantage of the hotel time to write but he never even took out his notebook. He wanted to watch the video again, just one more time, just to see one more time all the ways Brendon was that Ryan had never even known.

He was watching it the third time through when the door suddenly opened. "Hey, have you seen --" Brendon said, and then he didn't say anything else.

Ryan sat up and reached for his pants, almost knocking his laptop off the bed.

"Is that -- that better not be what I think it is, you asshole," Brendon said coldly. Ryan didn't say anything. There really wasn't much he could think of to say, seeing how he was naked and hard and lying next to a laptop with Brendon's sex tape on the screen.

Brendon didn't say anything for a while, just stood there staring at Ryan. Ryan felt like he should say something, or move, or at least put some clothes on, but he couldn't do anything but lie there and let Brendon watch him.

Finally Brendon leaned back against the wall, one hip cocked. "Well, go ahead," he said finally, his voice cool and sharp.

"What?" Ryan choked.

"Clearly I interrupted something," Brendon said. "Go ahead and finish."

"I'm -- I'm not, if you're going to --"

"How many times have you watched me come in that video?" Brendon said, and Ryan looked away. "Go ahead, Ryan," he said. He folded his arms and kept looking.

"Okay," Ryan said eventually, uncertainly. He closed his eyes and took his cock in his hand. He was still hard, harder than he'd been before Brendon walked in, and his hand slid once, twice, and Brendon said,

"Open your eyes."

"What?" Ryan said, but his eyes flew open. Brendon was watching him.

"Keep them open," Brendon said.

He couldn't, he couldn't do this, Ryan thought, not with Brendon watching him, not if he had to know Brendon was watching him, not if he had to see it. He couldn't, he couldn't, and then Brendon breathed, "Ryan," and Ryan's hand jerked on his cock and he felt that familiar dark rush flooding through his veins, through him, all of him moving towards it and then Brendon said, "Yeah, I thought so," and he laughed a little, to himself, and Ryan came, hot and helpless while Brendon watched.

Ryan wiped his hand against the sheet and then lay there while Brendon watched him. He didn't know what else to do. Then Brendon said, "Come here," and Ryan got up and went to him. He stood in front of him, Brendon leaning away from the wall a little, toward him, like he was about to kiss him, and then Ryan knew what he was supposed to do. He dropped to his knees and reached for Brendon's zipper. Brendon's fingers drifted through his hair, gently.

Then Brendon said, "No."

Ryan looked up at him. Brendon grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet, then led him into the bathroom. He shut the door and turned Ryan so he could see the big mirror hanging on it. Then he stood in front of the mirror, a little in front of it, not leaning against it, and put his hand on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan dropped to his knees again. He could see himself, just a little, in the mirror beyond Brendon, could see himself on his knees and leaning in, and then Brendon's fingers twisted hard in his hair and Ryan couldn't see himself anymore.

When Ryan's fingers weren't fast enough Brendon knocked them away, a little roughly, and opened his pants. Ryan licked his lips and Brendon shoved into his mouth and Ryan took it, sliding his hands around Brendon's hips, his fingers digging in as Brendon pulled hard at his hair. Brendon fucked into him, his cock thick and heavy in Ryan's mouth, his hands holding Ryan's head where he wanted it, and then one hand slid up to Ryan's forehead and pushed him back. Ryan was still gasping for breath, his mouth open, when Brendon came, one hand on his cock and his eyes on Ryan.

Brendon dropped to his knees, hitting the tile with a dull thud like he couldn't stand for one second longer. He reached out and wiped both thumbs across Ryan's cheekbones gently, then let one hand trace down over Ryan's lips. His thumb pushed at the corner of Ryan's mouth and Ryan opened for it, feeling it drag over his teeth and his tongue. Brendon pressed against him, one arm sliding around Ryan's waist as he breathed into Ryan's ear. "Hey," he said, "hey, Ryan, come on, it's okay," words that Ryan had heard a million times before, words that didn't mean anything, as Ryan leaned against Brendon's shoulder and watched himself in the mirror, his face still stained and his eyes wide and foreign with some intimate knowledge, some secret Ryan had never known before.

Ryan thought he might just stay there forever, his chin against Brendon's shoulder, looking at himself in the mirror, looking for all the things he hadn't known about himself. But then Brendon slid his hand from around Ryan's waist down his arm to Ryan's wrist. He stood up, pulling Ryan's arm with him, and Ryan looked up at him from his knees. "Come on," he said finally, and Ryan stood up and followed him back to the bedroom. Brendon let go of his wrist, and Ryan lay down on the bed. Brendon stood over him.

"It'll be okay," he said, and then he chewed on his lip for a minute and got into bed with Ryan, lying behind him without touching him. Ryan closed his eyes. He could feel Brendon's breath warm against the back of his neck. After a while Ryan started breathing slowly, evenly, his eyes shut but not tight, and finally he felt Brendon ease himself up off the bed. He heard the door open and then close, and then Ryan opened his eyes and lay watching nothing in the dark.

After that Ryan tried halfheartedly to avoid Brendon, but there was no hiding on a tour bus and besides, Ryan wasn't trying very hard. Brendon kept seeking him out. He found him in his room and in his bunk, of course, but Brendon seemed to love to corner him in places that weren't quite public but definitely weren't secret, except for what they were doing in them. He caught Ryan in the back lounge while Jon and one of the tech guys were talking in the front of the bus, trapping Ryan against the wall, his fingers tight around Ryan's wrists while he bit at Ryan's jaw. "What," he breathed when Ryan pressed against him, struggling against his grip, "are you afraid someone's going to hear you, are you afraid they'll come back to see what's going on, are you afraid," and when Ryan moaned he kissed him, hard and careless, and then left Ryan gasping against the wall while he darted out to the front of the bus. Ryan listened to Brendon issuing a Guitar Hero challenge to all takers while he ran his fingers roughly over the dark shadows on his wrists. Then he pulled his sleeves down over the marks and slid into his bunk before the guys went back into the lounge. As they passed, Ryan heard someone pause right outside his curtain. He knew it was Brendon when he heard him laugh, short and private, like he'd gotten something he wanted, something he'd never be able to explain.

When soundcheck was over one day, Brendon dragged him into the dressing room. "We totally don't need to get ready yet," Ryan said.

"I know," Brendon said, and shoved Ryan up against the mirror, his hands on Ryan's ass, lifting up a little so Ryan could sit on the counter and wrap his legs around Brendon's waist. Brendon licked at Ryan's throat in a hot jagged rhythm and Ryan threw his head back and arched into him.

"At least -- at least close the door," Ryan said breathlessly as Brendon pushed his shirt up, his hand sliding big and warm over Ryan's stomach, two fingers sliding over his nipple.

"Nope," Brendon said, his fingers pinching until Ryan swore and twisted against him.

"Then -- then I will," Ryan said, and Brendon's hands dropped to Ryan's hips, fingers digging in brutally until Ryan moaned and pulled his legs higher and tighter around Brendon.

"You shut that door, it'll be with me on the other side of it," Brendon said, and then he kissed Ryan messily, hard and deep, his hands pulling Ryan closer, and people wouldn't even have to walk in to know what they were doing, Ryan thought, if they just walked by they'd hear the sounds, the short desperate gasps Ryan couldn't quite hide against Brendon's mouth, the deep hot growl that buzzed against Ryan's tongue when he kissed Brendon's throat. He thought maybe he should get up, maybe he should shut the door and lock it, Brendon probably wouldn't go anywhere but then Brendon slid his fingers down into Ryan's pants, down over his ass, pulling Ryan closer and then slipping inside. Ryan moaned into Brendon's neck, trying to bury the sound in Brendon's skin but it flew free, right out into the room where anyone could hear but Ryan couldn't stop. He'd been waiting so long for this, he hadn't even known it, hadn't let himself know it but he'd been waiting and now he had it and he couldn't stop.

"Anyone could see," Brendon whispered as he yanked Ryan off the counter, as he shoved his pants down and bent him back over. "Anyone could come in, anyone could see, anyone," and his fingers tangled in Ryan's hair, holding his head up so Ryan was looking in the mirror, so Ryan couldn't look away as Brendon pushed into him. "Anyone," Brendon breathed, and Ryan echoed it, shoving back against Brendon, frantic for it, because anyone could walk in, anyone could see, they could get caught, anyone, and Brendon held him down, held him back and fucked him slowly, so slowly, while Ryan watched himself writhe under Brendon's hands, right there in the dressing room where anyone could see. Suddenly there was a shadow in the mirror and Ryan thought he saw the door move, just a little, like maybe someone was standing behind it, like maybe someone started to come in and then they heard, then they saw and now they were standing there watching, listening, and Ryan bucked back against Brendon and came as Brendon twisted his head back so he could kiss him, right there, right where anyone could see.

Afterward Brendon leaned against the wall buttoning up his pants while Ryan sat on the floor and tried to catch his breath and convince himself that the door hadn't moved at all. "Clean yourself up," Brendon said, throwing a towel Ryan's way. "You're a mess."

"Fine," Ryan said, and hoisted himself up to head for the bathroom.

"No," Brendon said. "Do it here."

"There's no -- " Ryan said, and Brendon looked at him. "Oh, all right, fine." He wiped himself off the best he could and then tried to track down his clothes from where they'd tossed them. He stood in front of the mirror and tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of his shirt with his hands.

"I think the hair's the more pressing problem," Brendon said, and Ryan looked at himself in the mirror and swore. It was standing up at odd angles where Brendon had grabbed it, and Ryan thought he might as well have been wearing a sign that said, "Brendon Urie just fucked me in the dressing room where anyone could see." He looked around for some gel or something, and then Brendon said,

"Here, let me." He picked up a bottle of hair gel from where they'd knocked it on the floor, then came up behind Ryan and ran his fingers through his hair. In the mirror he studied Ryan carefully with a fierce concentration Ryan hadn't seen before. He brushed Ryan's bangs down in front of his face and then pushed them to the side a little. Then he let his hands fall to Ryan's hips and just stood behind him, watching Ryan in the mirror.

"Brendon," Ryan said suddenly, starting to turn toward him. Brendon rubbed his hands soothingly against Ryan's skin and pulled him back a little, so he was leaning against Brendon's chest.

"It's okay," Brendon said quietly, and Ryan watched them in the mirror and believed it.

Ryan wasn't surprised two nights later when Brendon let himself into Ryan's room. "Jon'll be back in a couple of hours," he said, and Brendon grinned and shook his head.

"We swapped rooms," Brendon said. "That damn Spencer's keeping me up with his snoring," and Ryan laughed.

"Don't let Spencer hear you say that." Then he said, "Did you bring me a present?" because Brendon's hands were hidden behind his back.

"Yeah," Brendon said, his voice low and thick. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," and then he took his hands out from behind his back and put a camera on the desk across from the bed.

"No," Ryan said as he sat up. "No, seriously, Brendon."

"Okay," Brendon said, and Ryan caught his breath. He didn't think it would be that easy. "If you don't want to, that's okay. We can just sleep."

"Come on," Ryan said. "I want to -- just, not the camera, it's stupid, okay? I don't want --"

"Okay," Brendon said, and sat down on Jon's bed.

"Brendon --"

"What are you so afraid of?" Brendon said.

"I’m afraid my dick's going to end up all over the Internet, like all of my idiot friends," Ryan said.

"Oh, is that what you're afraid of?" Brendon said, something in his voice that made Ryan's face hot as he looked away. Brendon laughed again, that secret laugh, low and private, at some joke Ryan would never understand. "Is that what you're afraid someone will see?"

Ryan bit his lip and didn't say anything and Brendon laughed again. Then he got up and turned the camera on.

"Brendon," Ryan said, and Brendon leaned over the bed and kissed him until Ryan was reaching up to him, one arm around his neck.

"You don't want it on, get up and turn it off yourself," he said, and slid his tongue into Ryan's mouth, pressing him back against the bed.

Ryan tried to just stop thinking about the camera, tried to just block it out. After all, it wasn't like Brendon was going to do anything with the video afterwards, it wasn't like he couldn't trust Brendon. But Ryan couldn't forget it was there. All he could think of, as Brendon slipped his shirt up over his chest, his lips hot and restless against Ryan's skin, was how this looked on the camera, Brendon's hair dark against his pale skin, Brendon's lips wet and red while Ryan arched up toward him, again and again.

Brendon rolled them over and then sat up on his knees. "Not this way," he said, and then he pushed Ryan down on his back. With his hands under Ryan's ass he shoved him down on the bed a little, until Ryan's head was almost off the foot of the bed. "Yeah," he said, "this way," and lifted Ryan's leg up and bit at the back of his knee and the inside of his thigh, until Ryan moaned and threw his head back, his hair hanging down, looking straight into the camera.

He couldn't forget it, he couldn't stop thinking about it as Brendon pushed two slick fingers into him, as his mouth fell open and the camera caught him. He twisted under Brendon and Brendon leaned down over him, his fingers still moving inside him. "Don't -- stop thinking," Brendon said, and Ryan pushed against him and Brendon said, "No -- no, don't stop thinking, I don't want you to stop. I want you to think about it," he said, and then he pulled his fingers out and Ryan said, "please," not loud like he might have if nobody else was watching, if the camera hadn't been there. "I want you to think about it," Brendon said again, and then he lifted Ryan's leg higher, his hand sliding hard down the back of Ryan's thigh as he pushed inside. "I want you to think, think about how anyone, anyone could see you like this, how I'll see you like this, again and again, we can watch it again and again, I'll see you like this, you'll see you like this, again and again," and Ryan tossed his head back, trying to get his hair in his eyes, in his face, trying to hide. Brendon laughed a little and then pushed in harder, again and again, leaning down over Ryan and Ryan couldn't hide, not from Brendon.

"Tell me," Brendon breathed, his fingers tight on Ryan's thigh and his hip, holding him in place as he slammed into him and Ryan moaned, again and again, "tell me what it feels like, tell me what it's like. Tell me," he said, spreading Ryan's legs wider, fucking him harder, deeper, and Ryan gasped,

"Like you're splitting me open," because that was how it felt, Brendon inside him hot and hard, splitting him open, everything, all the well-lit windows inside him and all the ones he kept dark and shuttered, the places he never let anyone in, even himself. They were all splitting open, shattering apart, spilling over with glass and blood and he'd never get them closed again, he'd never be able to hide, not anything, not from Brendon. "Please," he moaned, loud and long just like nobody else was there, like the camera wasn't there, because he wanted it, he wanted Brendon to do it, and he didn't care, he didn't care who saw that he was like this, he didn't care who knew.

Brendon's hand closed around his cock and Ryan came, his eyes and mouth open wide, staring straight into the camera and he didn't care, he didn't care who knew he was like this.

When Brendon came he pulled Ryan's head up hard and kissed him. Then he laughed against Ryan's mouth, short and sharp, like he'd gotten something he'd wanted, like he could never lose it again.

They lay next to each other for a few minutes, Brendon's hair damp against Ryan's shoulder, and then Brendon got up and walked over to the camera. He picked it up and looked back at Ryan. "You want to see?" he said.

Ryan bit his lip and looked down.

"I want to see," Brendon said.

He brought the camera back and sat up at the foot of the bed. "Come here," he said, and Ryan came, sitting up next to Brendon, not quite touching him. Brendon held the camera and they watched the playback together. The picture was small but Ryan could still see, he could still see everything. He must have seen himself on TV a million times by now, but he'd never seen himself like this, bucking up against Brendon, pushing himself into him, begging Brendon to break him apart. He didn't recognize himself, and then he flushed hot under Brendon's eyes as he realized he did. He didn't want to but he knew this about himself, he'd always known this dark secret part. The twist of his stomach was familiar as he watched himself twist under Brendon, the dark thick rush of blood in his veins as he watched himself lift up to Brendon's mouth, to Brendon's cock, as he split himself open for Brendon to see, like he didn't care if Brendon saw him, like he wanted him to.

Ryan couldn't watch but he couldn't stop, one hand over his mouth and one hand over the camera. The hand over his mouth was shaking, and it wasn't enough to stop the raw ugly sounds he was making, spilling out over his lips like he couldn't help it, like he'd never be able to. The hand over the camera was shaking, too, his fingers spread over the screen not enough to stop him from seeing himself, from seeing himself moving toward Brendon like he couldn't stop, like he'd never want to. He couldn't stop shaking and he couldn't stop watching.

"Ryan," Brendon said, and then he said it louder. "Ryan, it's all right, don't -- look, I'll erase it right now, nobody will ever see, you won't --" He reached for the camera and Ryan held it away from him, still watching.

"I'm sorry," Brendon said, his voice tight and high. Ryan looked at him. Brendon's face was pale, with two dark patches of red across his cheekbones, like someone had slapped him, like it still hurt. Ryan put the camera down on the sheets. "I'm sorry, I didn't think -- I just wanted to give you something. I thought you wanted -- I thought there was something you wanted that you couldn't say, that you didn't know how, and I just -- I just wanted you to have what you wanted, I wanted to give you …" Brendon laughed a short brittle laugh, and Ryan knew what it meant. Brendon laughed like the joke was on himself, like it always would be. "I just wanted to give you something you wanted."

"You did," Ryan said softly, before he could stop himself. Brendon looked at him, desperately, like this was part of Ryan he'd never seen before, something he'd never even dreamed of. "It's just -- sometimes there's things about yourself you can't -- you don't want --"

Brendon caught his breath. "I'm sorry," he said again, looking down.

"I'm not," Ryan said, and he could have stopped himself but he didn't. He didn't want to. Brendon looked over at him and Ryan said, "At first, at first you maybe don't want to know but it's you, it's you and you can't not -- it's me," Ryan said. "It's me and in the end I want, I want to know. It's me and I always want to know."

"It's us," Brendon said, quick and low, like he couldn't stop himself, or like he could have stopped himself but he didn't want to. Ryan turned his head and Brendon kissed him.

Then Ryan picked up the camera again. "I want to watch it," he said. "I want to watch us."

He leaned back against Brendon and Brendon pushed play.