Fic Post: Unreliable Narrators (1/2)
So I write RPS now. Really self-indulgent RPS. Huh.
Title: Unreliable Narrators
Fandom: Panic(!) at the Disco
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, (Ryan/Keltie)
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Word count: About 13,500
Disclaimer: Real Person Fiction. Keyword being "fiction." If you recognize your own name or the name of one of your friends then you're probably here on purpose and know what to expect by now.
A/N: I write fic slowly and I've been writing this since November. There have been many recent Panic(!) antics and developments, all of which have been ignored here. RPF canon continues to be so very weird for me.
SO MUCH thanks to neverneverfic for the beta and for calling me on all my tricks and basically not letting me get away with anything. If this makes any sense at all, it's largely because of her. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Unreliable Narrators
Ryan Ross’s first rule for narrating your own life is that you don’t always have to be the focus. You have to be the protagonist obviously, but not the focus. Sometimes narrative distance is necessary for self-preservation. The first rule is always self-preservation.
Ryan Ross’s second rule for narrating your own life is that you always, always have to be aware of the roles that other people are playing. That’s the only way that stories offer any protection at all.
It’s served him well in the past, his particular talent for displacement and projection, but now he's happier than he's ever been in his life, and if he still feels, sometimes, like life's easier through a filter, when things are diluted by someone else's story (or when someone else is telling his), well, he's habituated.
Brendon, Ryan, Spencer and Keltie are sitting in a diner in Las Vegas; it’s the same one they used to go to when Ryan didn't want to go home and Brendon couldn't. There’s some discomfort and nostalgia here, in the cracking plastic of the seats and the way the florescent lights are too bright and abrasive, but really it's not that different from any diner in any of a hundred nameless towns and Keltie’s presence skews the experience anyway, keeps the memories background, keeps the moment from sliding into deja vu.
Brendon's had five cups of coffee and he's thrumming with restless energy. He keeps forgetting himself and bouncing his leg where he's got it crossed over his other knee under the table. He already knocked Keltie's water over once, and every time he accidentally hits Spencer, Spencer elbows him. Spence doesn't mean it; it's never malicious or even really annoyed, though Ryan’s mildly annoyed just watching. Spencer just knows that you have to keep Brendon under control, and the only way to do that is to be consistent.
(Everybody knows that, but Ryan has problems with consistency. It’s too much like predictability, which is too much like trapped).
Ryan has had five cups of coffee and he's nauseous with the caffeine buzz that he always gets on an empty stomach - the kind of caffeine buzz that made him stop drinking Red Bull before shows because sometimes he can't tell the difference between buzz and nerves. It makes his heart beat too fast in his throat, and he's sure Keltie can feel it where her hand rests on his wrist against his pulse point.
Keltie has probably had five cups of coffee at least. Ryan wasn't counting (doesn't need to with Keltie, she can cut herself off) and you can't tell. She sits there demurely, but smiles at him a little wickedly every time he catches her eye, smiles meant for him to see, that Brendon and Spencer miss because Brendon vibrated into Spencer again and Spence punched him in the shoulder and now they're tussling over the paper airplane Brendon made out of the placemat. Keltie's watching them affectionately. Ryan slips his hand into hers, holding it tight and watching Brendon's quick, expressive grin with a knot tight under his breast bone, his heart beating so hard it leaves him weak.
----
Brendon says: "Seriously, Ross. We have to record something." He hovers over Ryan's shoulder trying to see the notebook Ryan is shielding with his arm. Ryan leans back against the arm of the couch, shutting his notebook and trying to edge away from Brendon without a) noticeably edging away from Brendon or b) ending up underneath Brendon when Brendon climbs over the back of the couch and into Ryan's personal space. He falls off the couch in the end, landing awkwardly on his left arm and accidentally stabbing Brendon with his pen. Brendon huffs indignantly, then laughs at Ryan's flailing, his hand coming down to rest on Ryan's neck, playing absently with the hair at the base of Ryan's skull. Ryan shivers.
"You okay?" Brendon asks, amused, but he quiets at the look Ryan tosses over his shoulder, and moves his hand back hesitantly when Ryan goes stiff. When Ryan finally meets Brendon's eyes, Brendon looks hurt and confused. Ryan flushes hot, uncomfortable and guilty. He's good at avoidance, but he's never been good at discretion except, perhaps, comparatively. Brendon is focused on him now with real scrutiny, with all his manic energy tightened into one look.
Ryan mumbles, "Personal space, Jesus, Brendon," and leaves the room without looking at him.
----
Ryan says, "We're fine, Spence." And Spencer says nothing. Ryan says, "no, really, everything's fine. Stop looking at me like that."
Spencer says, "that's why we scrapped a whole album."
No. They scrapped a whole album because none of them wanted to play the damn thing live. But, okay, Spencer is a little agitated about it. He'd been all for it at the time, but the slow progress on the new version bothers him. And yeah, it bothers Ryan too, but really, what were they supposed to do? Gauging the whole thing from Pete and Patrick's reactions that release would have been disastrous. Not that they said that. They just exchanged a lot of looks and used words like "interesting" and "different, " which sort of just confirmed every decision Ryan and the others had made before they played Pete and Patrick anything.
(Pete said: "Do you think maybe you're trying too hard?"
And Ryan said, "no."
And Pete said, "Hey, I get that you're happier now and I’m glad, really. But. Maybe you shouldn’t worry so much about proving it?"
Ryan interrupted, "What are you talking about?"
“Just that you shouldn’t force things.”
“Does anyone ever know what you’re talking about?” And that wasn't totally fair, and Ryan knew it, but sometimes Pete can be a dick and Ryan didn’t want to deal with it.
“You know, sometimes getting along with you was easier when there was hero worship.” Pete’s voice was edged with annoyance and a little hurt; he never likes it when Ryan pretends he doesn’t make sense. They’ve always made too much sense to each other.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said. He wasn’t, really, but he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t really think they were fighting, but the conversation made him tense and, whatever it was they were doing, he didn’t want to do it.
Pete said, too gently, "never mind," and then texted Ryan later with sometimes i want everything all at once if u want 2 talk i kno about imbalances. Ryan turned off his sidekick.)
A single by Christmas is not going to happen, and yeah, it’s tense for a while. Ryan’s stressed and uninspired and he does a lot of crossing shit out in his notebook. Brendon does a lot of disappearing with his guitar (sometimes while mumbling something about I'm working on music, let me know when you're ready, oh my god, Ross, which is annoying, actually, because that's not how they do things). Spencer was doing a lot sitting around and watching knowingly, because Spencer always thinks he knows things. Of course, now Jon is back from Chicago because they’re recording again (sort of), so Spencer and Jon do a lot of whispering. Apparently Jon also thinks he knows things. He only knows things because Spencer (and Brendon, maybe, sometimes) tells him, though, and Ryan’s pretty sure that’s cheating.
----
They're in Spencer's new house sitting on Spencer's new couch. They have beer and they’re getting high. A year ago, this would have been completely unanticipated.
Ryan wears vices like make-up, performs personas and overcomplicates himself. Sometimes he feels too changeable, but he's afraid of being figured out.
Jon's fucking giggling and trying to shove Spencer off of him, but Spencer won’t be moved. He’s leaning against Jon’s shoulder, gesturing widely with a bottle of Corona. "Never, never have I ever," he says, pauses, pretends to think, and Ryan, slumped on the couch behind them with Brendon's head in his lap, cuffs him on the back of the head.
"What, are you twelve?"
Spencer laughs and hums a little in the back of his throat. "Never, never have I ever had sex with another guy," he says, and smirks back over his shoulder at Ryan like he doesn't know what's going to happen when the other three roll their eyes and drink.
Brendon sits up and knocks his knee into Spencer's shoulder, making Spencer almost drop his beer.
"That's cheating, Spence," Brendon chastizes, all pretend indignation, but he's grinning wide and bright. He makes a grab for Spencer's beer and Spencer slaps his hand away, scrambling over to Jon's other side and using him as a shield.
Spencer holds the bottle out of Brendon’s reach and says, "Get your own, Urie."
Brendon shakes his head dismissively, “Nah. That’s way too much effort, ” and slumps back on the couch against Ryan’s shoulder.
The thing about living so much in each other's space that they can barely extricate themselves even when they want to is that there are very few surprises. It leaves Ryan simultaneously comforted and unsettled. They know each other’s stories too well. Familiarity and proximity make them too willing to cross each other’s lines looking for questions they don’t know the answers to. Living in each other’s heads like they do takes a lot of trust, and it’s not about trusting the others not to hurt you; it’s about trusting them not to mean to.
Jon snorts a laugh and says, “Never, never have I ever slept with Pete Wentz.”
Ryan kicks him and says, “asshole,” but he’s laughing. Pete’s not a sensitive subject; they were always too obvious for that. He’s an oddly safe subject, actually, even if Ryan is still waiting for the more incriminating photographic evidence to surface, and is sort of amazed that it hasn't.
Ryan says, “Never, never have I ever slept with the Dresden Dolls' entire road crew,” and Brendon looks at him sharply, surprised. He's still smiling, but in a way that mostly just makes him look confused.
“You are so exaggerating, Ross. I did not.”
“Oh, really?”
“I slept with, like, four people that entire tour.” Brendon’s looking at him a little oddly and Ryan shrugs. He might have been exaggerating slightly, but if it really was only four, then Brendon was even less discrete than Ryan gave him credit for. He’s pretty sure he walked in on (or heard evidence of) that many at least.
Brendon likes being a rockstar. Like, really a lot. Mostly that’s about the music, because it’s Brendon and the music always comes first, but it’s also about the perks and lots of experimentation and Ryan never really got it because sleeping with random strangers of any description means talking to random strangers when you don't have to, which, no. But it's Brendon, so. He's never minded talking to anyone.
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, “yeah, okay. Whatever. I retract the question.”
Brendon shakes his head, "Nope. If no one did it, the person who asks the question has to drink.” He watches Ryan stubbornly until Ryan takes a sip of his own beer in concession.
Mollified, Brendon sinks back down on the couch until he’s got his head on Ryan’s leg again. "God, you're bony," he says and shifts around trying to get comfortable, ignoring Ryan's sigh. He finally settles, humming low in his throat, something Ryan doesn't recognize, tapping out the rhythm with his fingers where his hand is resting just above Ryan's knee.
"Never, never have I ever cheated on a girlfriend," Brendon says, and he's looking up at Ryan.
It's technically a true statement for Brendon, if only because he never really had one long enough. It was an obnoxious thing to say though, because Brendon doesn't always think, and it ends Spencer's impromptu game right there, when Jon glares and drinks. (It was once and Tom and an accident and Cassie understood. And yeah, on the tour bus was probably a bad plan, but they were really fucking drunk. Ryan knows Jon is tired of it coming up. He knows that because Jon has said so. Frequently).
“Aww, Jon, I wasn’t talking about that,” Brendon says and he reaches out and squeezes Jon’s shoulder. Jon brushes him off, but he’s kind of laughing again. He nods and rolls his eyes, but he's smiling at Brendon with exasperated affection like Brendon is the easiest person in the world to forgive, which has always sort of seemed to be true for everyone but Ryan.
Ryan's stomach twists, and he feels floaty, but not really in the good way anymore. He's not fucked up, really, but he does feel kind of off and he still hasn't gotten the hang of drinking and smoking at the same time.
“If I’m bony, you’re heavy. Get off,” he pushes at Brendon’s shoulders a little, sliding over to the other side of the couch and Brendon mumbles something unintelligible and a little annoyed, but he obediently shifts so that his head is pillowed on the arm of the couch. His eyes are closed and he's probably falling asleep; he must be because the constant fidgeting has finally stopped. Ryan feels boneless and bizarrely nervous suddenly, sure he's going to say something idiotic if he says anything at all. Being stoned is nice when it takes the edge off, not so much when it makes him forget where the edge is.
Spencer gets up for more beer and Jon trails him into the kitchen, leaving Brendon and Ryan sprawled out on the couch. Ryan leans his head back against the cushion and listens to Brendon's breathing, watching the ceiling fan spin until he feels hypnotized before dozes off himself.
----
When they actually end up recording, Ryan feels exponentially better. (It’s not that he felt bad before; it’s just that the pressure comes off and then he can breathe). He likes the new songs, and they did come easily enough when he stopped trying so hard and just wrote. Pete wasn’t wrong about having something to prove on the original second album, but they’d all had something to prove. This is not that, but it's not Fever either; he didn't have to rip himself open to get at this one, and once he figured that out, it worked. The new record is more upbeat, but it also feels more like them than Fever does, though he wouldn’t say it that way in an interview. Pieces of it are deeply personal; it has to be or it wouldn't be honest, but he doesn't feel like he bled for it, and there's a difference. It wasn't such a violent catharsis. He doesn't want to ever need that again.
Fever was half pain that still feels too sharp and raw and half impulsive posturing written practically overnight on a deadline. It was too much of him, not enough of them and he didn't want that this time. It was pre-Jon, and so it was never completely theirs anyway, not them as they are now. They’re older and so is the music and it’s all of them and they took their time and it shows. Ryan’s not going to say any of that in an interview either because until it’s done and out he’s not going to do anything that might jinx them. But, yeah, he feels good about it, loose and easy and relieved. The others must too. Spencer gets happier as recording goes on; Jon just gets sillier and he and Brendon bounce of off each other until they’re calling breaks every half hour because someone is laughing too hard to play.
The last day of recording Brendon comes up behind Ryan and throws his arm over Ryan’s shoulder, hanging off of him and pressing his forehead against Ryan’s temple, “We did it again, Ross.”
“Did you doubt us?” Ryan asks, and Brendon laughs.
“No. You did though; I could tell. This is going to be great. It’s going to be bigger than Fever!”
“Oh yeah?” Brendon’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Ryan’s grinning too, sliding one arm around Brendon’s waist and leaning in.
“I can feel it. They’re going to love it. Come on, Ryan. We’re so fucking cool.” Brendon presses a kiss to Ryan’s cheek, sloppy and overplayed, then runs across the room to drape himself over Jon in celebration. Ryan watches, feeling a little exposed after Brendon pulls away.
----
When Keltie breaks up with him he doesn't really see it coming, but he should have.
He’s in New York in her apartment and he hasn’t seen her in almost two months. She’s looking at the floor, out the window, everywhere but at him. It’s the end of winter but it's still freezing. She’s been trying to make do with a space heater and it's not working well, so they’re both shivering and they’re standing too far apart. It’s winter and it’s not even snowing; it's too cold to snow, and the light through the window is drab and gray, but Keltie still looks perfect in it, like there’s sunlight on her when there isn’t any anywhere else in the room. Ryan wonders how to put that in a song without it coming out cliched.
She always looks perfect and now is no exception. He knows all the ways she isn’t perfect in any objective way. She snores sometimes; she hogs the bathroom. She’s messier than he is and when she’s visiting it only takes a day before he can’t see the floor of whatever room she’s sleeping in. He can’t see the floor of her living room now. If she isn’t working sometimes she doesn’t shower for days.
He knows her imperfections, but not as well as he’d like to, not as well as he should, and that hurts in a dull-ache kind of way, that he doesn’t - quite - know her habits by heart. He's pretty sure he used to. There was a time that he would know what she was going to do before she did it. He should always know her that well; he should have known about this.
She’s pushing her hair back from her face distractedly. It falls in a frame around her face; her eyebrows are flawless arches. Her smile is tight and not real. (When she really smiles, it’s wide and toothy. She snorts when she laughs unless she’s self-consciously trying not to. He knows the little ways her guard slips, but he hasn’t seen them in a while.)
“Ryan,” she says and tucks her hair behind her ear. She’s pretending to straighten the magazines on the coffee table and he wants to reach out and take her hands and make her look at him. “This isn’t working anymore.”
“Keltie,” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“No. Ryan, please. Don’t get mad at me. Listen. I haven’t seen you in months. I haven’t talked to you in weeks. When it’s easier not to talk than it is to try to talk, don’t you think something’s wrong?”
“We’ve been busy. Once the album drops it’ll be better. I thought we were fine.”
“Once the album drops, you’ll be touring and I’ll still be traveling and that’s not even the point. I still love you, okay? But I don’t want ‘fine.’”
It's true; "fine" shouldn't be a word he ever uses to describe them, and he flinches a little at how weak it sounds. She does look at him then, walls down, wide-eyed and honest, and he loves her a lot. He's not sure how to tell her what she's been to him; he never has been able to say it really; that's what the songs are for. It's not that Keltie saved him; it's nothing so trite as that. It's that he saved himself in large part because of her; that she was the first person to love him after everything happened, and that sometimes he felt more real, more himself with her because she hadn't seen what shaped him. Other people defined him so specifically and it felt, sometimes, like she was the only one who could just let him be. Even Spencer couldn't do that. Spencer had seen too much.
What she offered him all along was the same thing she's offering him now, honesty laid bare. She's not wrong, but he misses her already.
He does reach out his hand to her then, and she takes it, tentatively, he says, "I do love you," pauses, and then "thank you," and she smiles at him, wide and open, but confused.
“For what?” He pulls her toward him, and she lets herself be pulled until they're close enough together that he can slip his arms around her.
"For everything," he murmurs into her hair. She nods and hugs him back.
----
Spencer hangs back, watching him with a very Spencer expression that just says I know you're not fine, but I'm waiting for you to talk to me. Ryan can pretty much hear that in his head every time they're in the same room, but Spencer doesn't actually ask.
Jon gives him a lot of stoic and manly pats on the back (because Jon is the only member of the band who can even fake stoic and manly), and some concerned looks, but he doesn't really ask, which Ryan is kind of grateful for.
Brendon asks. Brendon stands too close and touches too much, and it's Brendon, so it's not all that weird and is probably just meant to be reassuring, but it's not reassuring really, so much as suffocating.
"Are you okay?" It's every day, repeatedly and hesitantly, like he's afraid Ryan really, really isn't. Ryan kind of wants to shake him or punch him, maybe, but instead just says, "yeah. I'm fine," and is kind of surprised that he means it most of the time; when he doesn't mean it, he snaps, "I'm fine, Jesus, Brendon." Brendon recoils slightly, but it never seems to bother him for long; it doesn't seem to stop him from asking again.
The rumors about the breakup start on the internet, and then the fans know and that's . . . always interesting. Ryan doesn't want to answer questions, but he doesn't want Keltie to have to, so he types up a response and posts it to Buzznet and that is the only thing he is going to say publicly about this because it's no one's business but his. It freaks him out a little; he doesn't like personal statements outside of the music.
Brendon's never been able to sneak up on anyone, but Ryan's staring so intently at the computer that he doesn't even hear Brendon behind him until he feels Brendon's hand on his shoulder and Brendon sits down on the couch beside him, leaning in.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Brendon," Ryan starts, in exasperation, but Brendon interrupts him
"Don't snap at me, Ross. I don't mean with Keltie. I mean with this." He gestures toward the computer with his chin. His warmth is solid against Ryan's side, more welcome than Ryan has allowed himself to admit before now.
“I hate it.”
“I know you do.”
"I'm okay, though," he says again.
"I am sorry," Brendon's voice sounds weird, kind of choked and indecisive, hesitant, "you know we all saw the difference when you were with her."
Ryan knocks his shoulder into Brendon's. "Yeah, well. It does suck, but . . . look . . . that doesn't mean . . . I'm not going to, I don't know, revert or something, if that's what you're worried about . . ." He trails off, not sure how to say she did help me, but whatever changes you think you saw weren't temporary. I'm not back at square one just because she's gone. It's not that he was at square one before Keltie, even, but Ryan forgets about the way Brendon worries sometimes. It's not like the way Spencer worries, Spencer who was there through everything and knows from years of experience things that Brendon had to learn by trial and error, feel and instinct.
Brendon had to learn to sing the songs on Fever, had to voice everything Ryan couldn't himself. And there just weren't enough lines between them when that was going on, when all the boundaries were blurring and the whole process hurt. Brendon was spending most of his time frustrated and Ryan was spending all of his time feeling completely exposed. He always, always felt like he'd said too much, like there was too much vulnerability behind the anger and Brendon couldn't (wouldn't) stop poking and digging and trying to get it right. They aren't - quite - that entrenched in each other anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that Brendon had to get Ryan right, which means he sometimes understands, in some very fundamental, intuitive ways, things that Ryan wishes no one understood.
Which means sometimes he worries a lot.
Brendon says, "Oh," and his voice still sounds kind of weird, but he leans in as Ryan does, leans his head against Ryan's shoulder and says, "if you need to talk . . ." and Ryan stiffens because okay, he really, really doesn't want to talk to Brendon about Keltie.
He just says, "thanks, but I'm fine." and then more gently, "really, Brendon. But thanks."
And Brendon stills and sits up, looking at Ryan like he's deciding something. Finally he just says, "okay." Ryan shifts a little, unsure what to do when Brendon’s not readable, but when Brendon hugs him, tight and sudden, he relaxes into it and hugs back.
----
Brendon has strange energy. It’s a constant intensity, but it’s not a lack of focus. He has an attention span. Sometimes when they’re in the studio he gets so wrapped up that he forgets to eat. He can play guitar hero for eight hours straight. (He doesn’t, anymore, and Ryan thinks he probably has Spencer to thank for that, but he can. Ryan’s seen it happen). So Brendon is intense; he has to be active all the time, has to have his tireless energy channeled into something, but he isn’t, actually, all that easy to distract.
Which is why Ryan’s life gets more difficult when Brendon decides that the new tour needs to be even more gay than Nothing Rhymes with Circus.
Ryan says, “shouldn’t we wait until the album is released before we worry about the tour?”
Brendon says, “hey, I was just asking.”
Jon says, “it’s Decaydance stage-gay chicken, Ryan. Brendon wants to win.”
Spencer says, “Is this a real game? And if so, can we take a vote? Because I’m not sure I want to play stage-gay chicken against Cobra Starship. Gabe’s kinda competitive.”
Ryan says (to Spencer), “don’t help” and (to Jon) “never say that in front of Pete” and (to Brendon) “can we talk about this later?”
Brendon smiles, seemingly unconcerned, and says, “sure. Whatever you want, Ross. I’m just saying, the fans love that shit. You know they do.”
Ryan rolls his eyes and mumbles, “you loved that shit,” under his breath. He’s kidding, and he’s expecting Brendon to joke back. He’s expecting something lascivious and suggestive, maybe groping, but Brendon stiffens and doesn’t respond. His smile tightens and flickers before it’s back to full force.
“I want the fans to love the music,” Ryan says faintly, overcorrecting for whatever made Brendon flinch. It’s true but it’s not the point; he wants them to love the music first, but he wants them to love the stage show too. Hell, he loves the stage shows, if he’s honest. He’s not as comfortable with the spotlight as Brendon is, but he likes the costumes and the theatrics, the performances and perspectives he can control. He likes the honesty of the songs mixed up in the stories the stage tells.
And in the stories it only implies. Ryan wrote the intro to “Lying.” It’s not like he wasn’t paying attention.
Brendon started it, or it didn’t start at all, really, so much as bleed over from how they were off stage, from their easy affection and Brendon’s boundary issues, both of them singing into the same microphone, Brendon so close Ryan felt like he could breathe him in.
Brendon pushed because that’s what Brendon does; he crowded up into Ryan’s space, pressed up against Ryan’s back, sang Ryan’s words inches from Ryan’s ear, leaving Ryan unbalanced and buzzing with awareness.
Ryan escalated it, but he diffused it at the same time, made it explicit and put it in writing so that it couldn’t simmer below the surface anymore. He needed it scripted; he needed to know what to expect as much when. He needed control over the narrative, even the implied one. It made sense anyway. The timing was so exact on The Nothing Rhymes with Circus Tour; it made more sense to stick to the script.
“What’s this?” Brendon asked in the middle of the night, standing by the arm of the couch in the lounge and Ryan had pushed himself up against the cushions, from where he’d been chewing on his pen and staring into space. Brendon held up the pages Ryan had left in his bunk. He looked amused. Ryan moved hurriedly to give Brendon room to sit down.
“It’s what “Lying” is about. I thought it needed something.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Brendon flung himself down on the couch next to Ryan, slumping across it, taking up more room that he should have been able to and studied the paper. “You wrote stage directions?”
Ryan shrugged and said, “obviously it needs stage directions, Brendon.”
Brendon snorted and cleared his throat dramatically, holding the paper up in front of his face, “Your lover is running toward you, the wind is whipping through her lovely, lavish locks. Lavish, Ryan? Seriously?”
Ryan scowled. Brendon smirked, eyes bright with audacity. He moved, pinning Ryan by the shoulders back against the couch and leaning close to whisper in his ear, “you embrace for that perfect, passionate kiss . . .” His voice wasn’t quite his stage voice; his eyes were somewhere between playful and sharp. Ryan laughed a little and pushed at him and Brendon went fairly easily, sinking back against the other side of the couch and studying Ryan, before saying, slowly, as though trying it out, “but this is not that dream.”
Ryan swallowed and said, “it isn’t,” and looked away.
Brendon spent the tour pressing up too close, breathing low against Ryan’s neck, murmuring “perfect, passionate kiss,” like a dare. Because if Ryan edged forward even a little, if he hesitated before pulling away, Brendon would lean in, press his lips, dry and quick, to Ryan’s cheek or the corner of his mouth. It was all in fun. They were all having fun and the fans loved it, and on the last night, when Brendon paused too long in Ryan’s space, studied him too intently and cupped the back of his neck, fingers burning into Ryan’s skin, Ryan thought, what the hell. He edged closer and nodded, watching Brendon’s mouth. Brendon’s fingers tightened as he leaned in. Ryan’s breath caught, and a second later Brendon kissed his cheek, hard and extravagant, and they both backed away fast. Ryan was laughing, but breathing too hard, the old hum of unpredictability underneath his skin.
----
Brendon does not let things go.
“Look. I just think, I don’t know. Shouldn’t we up the stakes a little bit?’
“It’s a completely different record with a completely different feel. It’s a completely different show. Is it really that important? And what do you mean, ‘up the stakes’?”
“I didn’t say it was important. It was a passing suggestion. Come on, Ryan. I’m not the one acting weird about this.”
And, wow, that’s not true. “Yeah, you are, actually.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m the one harping on it; your behavior is totally normal. Hey, you were the one who was all ‘let’s script the homoerotic tension’ last time.”
Ryan ignores Brendon’s choice of words, “And now I’m saying this show might not need to be as theatrical.”
“Really?” Brendon is skeptical.
“Maybe. It’ll be a different kind of theatrical.”
Brendon sighs, “If you’re really that against it, never mind. I’m done, okay?” Brendon sounds beyond exasperated, way more frustrated than the situation warrants, and he’s staring at the wall past Ryan’s shoulder like he really is pissed off. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s drumming his fingers against his upper arm, irregular and agitated. Ryan reaches out and puts his hand on Brendon’s knee.
“Hey. I didn’t say no. I just said we should wait to talk about it after the record drops. We don’t even know what’s going to happen.’
Brendon moves away from him and stands up, so that he’s looking down at Ryan, arms still crossed.
“You didn’t say no; you just didn’t say anything,” he shakes his head and mumbles under his breath, “You’d think I’d be used to that by now.”
Ryan swallows hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brendon shrugs, and he’s looking past Ryan again, “Nothing, Ryan. I don’t know. You figure it out.” He walks out of the room leaving Ryan staring after him.
continue
Title: Unreliable Narrators
Fandom: Panic(!) at the Disco
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, (Ryan/Keltie)
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Word count: About 13,500
Disclaimer: Real Person Fiction. Keyword being "fiction." If you recognize your own name or the name of one of your friends then you're probably here on purpose and know what to expect by now.
A/N: I write fic slowly and I've been writing this since November. There have been many recent Panic(!) antics and developments, all of which have been ignored here. RPF canon continues to be so very weird for me.
SO MUCH thanks to neverneverfic for the beta and for calling me on all my tricks and basically not letting me get away with anything. If this makes any sense at all, it's largely because of her. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Unreliable Narrators
Ryan Ross’s first rule for narrating your own life is that you don’t always have to be the focus. You have to be the protagonist obviously, but not the focus. Sometimes narrative distance is necessary for self-preservation. The first rule is always self-preservation.
Ryan Ross’s second rule for narrating your own life is that you always, always have to be aware of the roles that other people are playing. That’s the only way that stories offer any protection at all.
It’s served him well in the past, his particular talent for displacement and projection, but now he's happier than he's ever been in his life, and if he still feels, sometimes, like life's easier through a filter, when things are diluted by someone else's story (or when someone else is telling his), well, he's habituated.
Brendon, Ryan, Spencer and Keltie are sitting in a diner in Las Vegas; it’s the same one they used to go to when Ryan didn't want to go home and Brendon couldn't. There’s some discomfort and nostalgia here, in the cracking plastic of the seats and the way the florescent lights are too bright and abrasive, but really it's not that different from any diner in any of a hundred nameless towns and Keltie’s presence skews the experience anyway, keeps the memories background, keeps the moment from sliding into deja vu.
Brendon's had five cups of coffee and he's thrumming with restless energy. He keeps forgetting himself and bouncing his leg where he's got it crossed over his other knee under the table. He already knocked Keltie's water over once, and every time he accidentally hits Spencer, Spencer elbows him. Spence doesn't mean it; it's never malicious or even really annoyed, though Ryan’s mildly annoyed just watching. Spencer just knows that you have to keep Brendon under control, and the only way to do that is to be consistent.
(Everybody knows that, but Ryan has problems with consistency. It’s too much like predictability, which is too much like trapped).
Ryan has had five cups of coffee and he's nauseous with the caffeine buzz that he always gets on an empty stomach - the kind of caffeine buzz that made him stop drinking Red Bull before shows because sometimes he can't tell the difference between buzz and nerves. It makes his heart beat too fast in his throat, and he's sure Keltie can feel it where her hand rests on his wrist against his pulse point.
Keltie has probably had five cups of coffee at least. Ryan wasn't counting (doesn't need to with Keltie, she can cut herself off) and you can't tell. She sits there demurely, but smiles at him a little wickedly every time he catches her eye, smiles meant for him to see, that Brendon and Spencer miss because Brendon vibrated into Spencer again and Spence punched him in the shoulder and now they're tussling over the paper airplane Brendon made out of the placemat. Keltie's watching them affectionately. Ryan slips his hand into hers, holding it tight and watching Brendon's quick, expressive grin with a knot tight under his breast bone, his heart beating so hard it leaves him weak.
----
Brendon says: "Seriously, Ross. We have to record something." He hovers over Ryan's shoulder trying to see the notebook Ryan is shielding with his arm. Ryan leans back against the arm of the couch, shutting his notebook and trying to edge away from Brendon without a) noticeably edging away from Brendon or b) ending up underneath Brendon when Brendon climbs over the back of the couch and into Ryan's personal space. He falls off the couch in the end, landing awkwardly on his left arm and accidentally stabbing Brendon with his pen. Brendon huffs indignantly, then laughs at Ryan's flailing, his hand coming down to rest on Ryan's neck, playing absently with the hair at the base of Ryan's skull. Ryan shivers.
"You okay?" Brendon asks, amused, but he quiets at the look Ryan tosses over his shoulder, and moves his hand back hesitantly when Ryan goes stiff. When Ryan finally meets Brendon's eyes, Brendon looks hurt and confused. Ryan flushes hot, uncomfortable and guilty. He's good at avoidance, but he's never been good at discretion except, perhaps, comparatively. Brendon is focused on him now with real scrutiny, with all his manic energy tightened into one look.
Ryan mumbles, "Personal space, Jesus, Brendon," and leaves the room without looking at him.
----
Ryan says, "We're fine, Spence." And Spencer says nothing. Ryan says, "no, really, everything's fine. Stop looking at me like that."
Spencer says, "that's why we scrapped a whole album."
No. They scrapped a whole album because none of them wanted to play the damn thing live. But, okay, Spencer is a little agitated about it. He'd been all for it at the time, but the slow progress on the new version bothers him. And yeah, it bothers Ryan too, but really, what were they supposed to do? Gauging the whole thing from Pete and Patrick's reactions that release would have been disastrous. Not that they said that. They just exchanged a lot of looks and used words like "interesting" and "different, " which sort of just confirmed every decision Ryan and the others had made before they played Pete and Patrick anything.
(Pete said: "Do you think maybe you're trying too hard?"
And Ryan said, "no."
And Pete said, "Hey, I get that you're happier now and I’m glad, really. But. Maybe you shouldn’t worry so much about proving it?"
Ryan interrupted, "What are you talking about?"
“Just that you shouldn’t force things.”
“Does anyone ever know what you’re talking about?” And that wasn't totally fair, and Ryan knew it, but sometimes Pete can be a dick and Ryan didn’t want to deal with it.
“You know, sometimes getting along with you was easier when there was hero worship.” Pete’s voice was edged with annoyance and a little hurt; he never likes it when Ryan pretends he doesn’t make sense. They’ve always made too much sense to each other.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said. He wasn’t, really, but he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t really think they were fighting, but the conversation made him tense and, whatever it was they were doing, he didn’t want to do it.
Pete said, too gently, "never mind," and then texted Ryan later with sometimes i want everything all at once if u want 2 talk i kno about imbalances. Ryan turned off his sidekick.)
A single by Christmas is not going to happen, and yeah, it’s tense for a while. Ryan’s stressed and uninspired and he does a lot of crossing shit out in his notebook. Brendon does a lot of disappearing with his guitar (sometimes while mumbling something about I'm working on music, let me know when you're ready, oh my god, Ross, which is annoying, actually, because that's not how they do things). Spencer was doing a lot sitting around and watching knowingly, because Spencer always thinks he knows things. Of course, now Jon is back from Chicago because they’re recording again (sort of), so Spencer and Jon do a lot of whispering. Apparently Jon also thinks he knows things. He only knows things because Spencer (and Brendon, maybe, sometimes) tells him, though, and Ryan’s pretty sure that’s cheating.
----
They're in Spencer's new house sitting on Spencer's new couch. They have beer and they’re getting high. A year ago, this would have been completely unanticipated.
Ryan wears vices like make-up, performs personas and overcomplicates himself. Sometimes he feels too changeable, but he's afraid of being figured out.
Jon's fucking giggling and trying to shove Spencer off of him, but Spencer won’t be moved. He’s leaning against Jon’s shoulder, gesturing widely with a bottle of Corona. "Never, never have I ever," he says, pauses, pretends to think, and Ryan, slumped on the couch behind them with Brendon's head in his lap, cuffs him on the back of the head.
"What, are you twelve?"
Spencer laughs and hums a little in the back of his throat. "Never, never have I ever had sex with another guy," he says, and smirks back over his shoulder at Ryan like he doesn't know what's going to happen when the other three roll their eyes and drink.
Brendon sits up and knocks his knee into Spencer's shoulder, making Spencer almost drop his beer.
"That's cheating, Spence," Brendon chastizes, all pretend indignation, but he's grinning wide and bright. He makes a grab for Spencer's beer and Spencer slaps his hand away, scrambling over to Jon's other side and using him as a shield.
Spencer holds the bottle out of Brendon’s reach and says, "Get your own, Urie."
Brendon shakes his head dismissively, “Nah. That’s way too much effort, ” and slumps back on the couch against Ryan’s shoulder.
The thing about living so much in each other's space that they can barely extricate themselves even when they want to is that there are very few surprises. It leaves Ryan simultaneously comforted and unsettled. They know each other’s stories too well. Familiarity and proximity make them too willing to cross each other’s lines looking for questions they don’t know the answers to. Living in each other’s heads like they do takes a lot of trust, and it’s not about trusting the others not to hurt you; it’s about trusting them not to mean to.
Jon snorts a laugh and says, “Never, never have I ever slept with Pete Wentz.”
Ryan kicks him and says, “asshole,” but he’s laughing. Pete’s not a sensitive subject; they were always too obvious for that. He’s an oddly safe subject, actually, even if Ryan is still waiting for the more incriminating photographic evidence to surface, and is sort of amazed that it hasn't.
Ryan says, “Never, never have I ever slept with the Dresden Dolls' entire road crew,” and Brendon looks at him sharply, surprised. He's still smiling, but in a way that mostly just makes him look confused.
“You are so exaggerating, Ross. I did not.”
“Oh, really?”
“I slept with, like, four people that entire tour.” Brendon’s looking at him a little oddly and Ryan shrugs. He might have been exaggerating slightly, but if it really was only four, then Brendon was even less discrete than Ryan gave him credit for. He’s pretty sure he walked in on (or heard evidence of) that many at least.
Brendon likes being a rockstar. Like, really a lot. Mostly that’s about the music, because it’s Brendon and the music always comes first, but it’s also about the perks and lots of experimentation and Ryan never really got it because sleeping with random strangers of any description means talking to random strangers when you don't have to, which, no. But it's Brendon, so. He's never minded talking to anyone.
Ryan rolls his eyes and says, “yeah, okay. Whatever. I retract the question.”
Brendon shakes his head, "Nope. If no one did it, the person who asks the question has to drink.” He watches Ryan stubbornly until Ryan takes a sip of his own beer in concession.
Mollified, Brendon sinks back down on the couch until he’s got his head on Ryan’s leg again. "God, you're bony," he says and shifts around trying to get comfortable, ignoring Ryan's sigh. He finally settles, humming low in his throat, something Ryan doesn't recognize, tapping out the rhythm with his fingers where his hand is resting just above Ryan's knee.
"Never, never have I ever cheated on a girlfriend," Brendon says, and he's looking up at Ryan.
It's technically a true statement for Brendon, if only because he never really had one long enough. It was an obnoxious thing to say though, because Brendon doesn't always think, and it ends Spencer's impromptu game right there, when Jon glares and drinks. (It was once and Tom and an accident and Cassie understood. And yeah, on the tour bus was probably a bad plan, but they were really fucking drunk. Ryan knows Jon is tired of it coming up. He knows that because Jon has said so. Frequently).
“Aww, Jon, I wasn’t talking about that,” Brendon says and he reaches out and squeezes Jon’s shoulder. Jon brushes him off, but he’s kind of laughing again. He nods and rolls his eyes, but he's smiling at Brendon with exasperated affection like Brendon is the easiest person in the world to forgive, which has always sort of seemed to be true for everyone but Ryan.
Ryan's stomach twists, and he feels floaty, but not really in the good way anymore. He's not fucked up, really, but he does feel kind of off and he still hasn't gotten the hang of drinking and smoking at the same time.
“If I’m bony, you’re heavy. Get off,” he pushes at Brendon’s shoulders a little, sliding over to the other side of the couch and Brendon mumbles something unintelligible and a little annoyed, but he obediently shifts so that his head is pillowed on the arm of the couch. His eyes are closed and he's probably falling asleep; he must be because the constant fidgeting has finally stopped. Ryan feels boneless and bizarrely nervous suddenly, sure he's going to say something idiotic if he says anything at all. Being stoned is nice when it takes the edge off, not so much when it makes him forget where the edge is.
Spencer gets up for more beer and Jon trails him into the kitchen, leaving Brendon and Ryan sprawled out on the couch. Ryan leans his head back against the cushion and listens to Brendon's breathing, watching the ceiling fan spin until he feels hypnotized before dozes off himself.
----
When they actually end up recording, Ryan feels exponentially better. (It’s not that he felt bad before; it’s just that the pressure comes off and then he can breathe). He likes the new songs, and they did come easily enough when he stopped trying so hard and just wrote. Pete wasn’t wrong about having something to prove on the original second album, but they’d all had something to prove. This is not that, but it's not Fever either; he didn't have to rip himself open to get at this one, and once he figured that out, it worked. The new record is more upbeat, but it also feels more like them than Fever does, though he wouldn’t say it that way in an interview. Pieces of it are deeply personal; it has to be or it wouldn't be honest, but he doesn't feel like he bled for it, and there's a difference. It wasn't such a violent catharsis. He doesn't want to ever need that again.
Fever was half pain that still feels too sharp and raw and half impulsive posturing written practically overnight on a deadline. It was too much of him, not enough of them and he didn't want that this time. It was pre-Jon, and so it was never completely theirs anyway, not them as they are now. They’re older and so is the music and it’s all of them and they took their time and it shows. Ryan’s not going to say any of that in an interview either because until it’s done and out he’s not going to do anything that might jinx them. But, yeah, he feels good about it, loose and easy and relieved. The others must too. Spencer gets happier as recording goes on; Jon just gets sillier and he and Brendon bounce of off each other until they’re calling breaks every half hour because someone is laughing too hard to play.
The last day of recording Brendon comes up behind Ryan and throws his arm over Ryan’s shoulder, hanging off of him and pressing his forehead against Ryan’s temple, “We did it again, Ross.”
“Did you doubt us?” Ryan asks, and Brendon laughs.
“No. You did though; I could tell. This is going to be great. It’s going to be bigger than Fever!”
“Oh yeah?” Brendon’s enthusiasm is infectious, and Ryan’s grinning too, sliding one arm around Brendon’s waist and leaning in.
“I can feel it. They’re going to love it. Come on, Ryan. We’re so fucking cool.” Brendon presses a kiss to Ryan’s cheek, sloppy and overplayed, then runs across the room to drape himself over Jon in celebration. Ryan watches, feeling a little exposed after Brendon pulls away.
----
When Keltie breaks up with him he doesn't really see it coming, but he should have.
He’s in New York in her apartment and he hasn’t seen her in almost two months. She’s looking at the floor, out the window, everywhere but at him. It’s the end of winter but it's still freezing. She’s been trying to make do with a space heater and it's not working well, so they’re both shivering and they’re standing too far apart. It’s winter and it’s not even snowing; it's too cold to snow, and the light through the window is drab and gray, but Keltie still looks perfect in it, like there’s sunlight on her when there isn’t any anywhere else in the room. Ryan wonders how to put that in a song without it coming out cliched.
She always looks perfect and now is no exception. He knows all the ways she isn’t perfect in any objective way. She snores sometimes; she hogs the bathroom. She’s messier than he is and when she’s visiting it only takes a day before he can’t see the floor of whatever room she’s sleeping in. He can’t see the floor of her living room now. If she isn’t working sometimes she doesn’t shower for days.
He knows her imperfections, but not as well as he’d like to, not as well as he should, and that hurts in a dull-ache kind of way, that he doesn’t - quite - know her habits by heart. He's pretty sure he used to. There was a time that he would know what she was going to do before she did it. He should always know her that well; he should have known about this.
She’s pushing her hair back from her face distractedly. It falls in a frame around her face; her eyebrows are flawless arches. Her smile is tight and not real. (When she really smiles, it’s wide and toothy. She snorts when she laughs unless she’s self-consciously trying not to. He knows the little ways her guard slips, but he hasn’t seen them in a while.)
“Ryan,” she says and tucks her hair behind her ear. She’s pretending to straighten the magazines on the coffee table and he wants to reach out and take her hands and make her look at him. “This isn’t working anymore.”
“Keltie,” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“No. Ryan, please. Don’t get mad at me. Listen. I haven’t seen you in months. I haven’t talked to you in weeks. When it’s easier not to talk than it is to try to talk, don’t you think something’s wrong?”
“We’ve been busy. Once the album drops it’ll be better. I thought we were fine.”
“Once the album drops, you’ll be touring and I’ll still be traveling and that’s not even the point. I still love you, okay? But I don’t want ‘fine.’”
It's true; "fine" shouldn't be a word he ever uses to describe them, and he flinches a little at how weak it sounds. She does look at him then, walls down, wide-eyed and honest, and he loves her a lot. He's not sure how to tell her what she's been to him; he never has been able to say it really; that's what the songs are for. It's not that Keltie saved him; it's nothing so trite as that. It's that he saved himself in large part because of her; that she was the first person to love him after everything happened, and that sometimes he felt more real, more himself with her because she hadn't seen what shaped him. Other people defined him so specifically and it felt, sometimes, like she was the only one who could just let him be. Even Spencer couldn't do that. Spencer had seen too much.
What she offered him all along was the same thing she's offering him now, honesty laid bare. She's not wrong, but he misses her already.
He does reach out his hand to her then, and she takes it, tentatively, he says, "I do love you," pauses, and then "thank you," and she smiles at him, wide and open, but confused.
“For what?” He pulls her toward him, and she lets herself be pulled until they're close enough together that he can slip his arms around her.
"For everything," he murmurs into her hair. She nods and hugs him back.
----
Spencer hangs back, watching him with a very Spencer expression that just says I know you're not fine, but I'm waiting for you to talk to me. Ryan can pretty much hear that in his head every time they're in the same room, but Spencer doesn't actually ask.
Jon gives him a lot of stoic and manly pats on the back (because Jon is the only member of the band who can even fake stoic and manly), and some concerned looks, but he doesn't really ask, which Ryan is kind of grateful for.
Brendon asks. Brendon stands too close and touches too much, and it's Brendon, so it's not all that weird and is probably just meant to be reassuring, but it's not reassuring really, so much as suffocating.
"Are you okay?" It's every day, repeatedly and hesitantly, like he's afraid Ryan really, really isn't. Ryan kind of wants to shake him or punch him, maybe, but instead just says, "yeah. I'm fine," and is kind of surprised that he means it most of the time; when he doesn't mean it, he snaps, "I'm fine, Jesus, Brendon." Brendon recoils slightly, but it never seems to bother him for long; it doesn't seem to stop him from asking again.
The rumors about the breakup start on the internet, and then the fans know and that's . . . always interesting. Ryan doesn't want to answer questions, but he doesn't want Keltie to have to, so he types up a response and posts it to Buzznet and that is the only thing he is going to say publicly about this because it's no one's business but his. It freaks him out a little; he doesn't like personal statements outside of the music.
Brendon's never been able to sneak up on anyone, but Ryan's staring so intently at the computer that he doesn't even hear Brendon behind him until he feels Brendon's hand on his shoulder and Brendon sits down on the couch beside him, leaning in.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How are you?"
"Brendon," Ryan starts, in exasperation, but Brendon interrupts him
"Don't snap at me, Ross. I don't mean with Keltie. I mean with this." He gestures toward the computer with his chin. His warmth is solid against Ryan's side, more welcome than Ryan has allowed himself to admit before now.
“I hate it.”
“I know you do.”
"I'm okay, though," he says again.
"I am sorry," Brendon's voice sounds weird, kind of choked and indecisive, hesitant, "you know we all saw the difference when you were with her."
Ryan knocks his shoulder into Brendon's. "Yeah, well. It does suck, but . . . look . . . that doesn't mean . . . I'm not going to, I don't know, revert or something, if that's what you're worried about . . ." He trails off, not sure how to say she did help me, but whatever changes you think you saw weren't temporary. I'm not back at square one just because she's gone. It's not that he was at square one before Keltie, even, but Ryan forgets about the way Brendon worries sometimes. It's not like the way Spencer worries, Spencer who was there through everything and knows from years of experience things that Brendon had to learn by trial and error, feel and instinct.
Brendon had to learn to sing the songs on Fever, had to voice everything Ryan couldn't himself. And there just weren't enough lines between them when that was going on, when all the boundaries were blurring and the whole process hurt. Brendon was spending most of his time frustrated and Ryan was spending all of his time feeling completely exposed. He always, always felt like he'd said too much, like there was too much vulnerability behind the anger and Brendon couldn't (wouldn't) stop poking and digging and trying to get it right. They aren't - quite - that entrenched in each other anymore, but that doesn't change the fact that Brendon had to get Ryan right, which means he sometimes understands, in some very fundamental, intuitive ways, things that Ryan wishes no one understood.
Which means sometimes he worries a lot.
Brendon says, "Oh," and his voice still sounds kind of weird, but he leans in as Ryan does, leans his head against Ryan's shoulder and says, "if you need to talk . . ." and Ryan stiffens because okay, he really, really doesn't want to talk to Brendon about Keltie.
He just says, "thanks, but I'm fine." and then more gently, "really, Brendon. But thanks."
And Brendon stills and sits up, looking at Ryan like he's deciding something. Finally he just says, "okay." Ryan shifts a little, unsure what to do when Brendon’s not readable, but when Brendon hugs him, tight and sudden, he relaxes into it and hugs back.
----
Brendon has strange energy. It’s a constant intensity, but it’s not a lack of focus. He has an attention span. Sometimes when they’re in the studio he gets so wrapped up that he forgets to eat. He can play guitar hero for eight hours straight. (He doesn’t, anymore, and Ryan thinks he probably has Spencer to thank for that, but he can. Ryan’s seen it happen). So Brendon is intense; he has to be active all the time, has to have his tireless energy channeled into something, but he isn’t, actually, all that easy to distract.
Which is why Ryan’s life gets more difficult when Brendon decides that the new tour needs to be even more gay than Nothing Rhymes with Circus.
Ryan says, “shouldn’t we wait until the album is released before we worry about the tour?”
Brendon says, “hey, I was just asking.”
Jon says, “it’s Decaydance stage-gay chicken, Ryan. Brendon wants to win.”
Spencer says, “Is this a real game? And if so, can we take a vote? Because I’m not sure I want to play stage-gay chicken against Cobra Starship. Gabe’s kinda competitive.”
Ryan says (to Spencer), “don’t help” and (to Jon) “never say that in front of Pete” and (to Brendon) “can we talk about this later?”
Brendon smiles, seemingly unconcerned, and says, “sure. Whatever you want, Ross. I’m just saying, the fans love that shit. You know they do.”
Ryan rolls his eyes and mumbles, “you loved that shit,” under his breath. He’s kidding, and he’s expecting Brendon to joke back. He’s expecting something lascivious and suggestive, maybe groping, but Brendon stiffens and doesn’t respond. His smile tightens and flickers before it’s back to full force.
“I want the fans to love the music,” Ryan says faintly, overcorrecting for whatever made Brendon flinch. It’s true but it’s not the point; he wants them to love the music first, but he wants them to love the stage show too. Hell, he loves the stage shows, if he’s honest. He’s not as comfortable with the spotlight as Brendon is, but he likes the costumes and the theatrics, the performances and perspectives he can control. He likes the honesty of the songs mixed up in the stories the stage tells.
And in the stories it only implies. Ryan wrote the intro to “Lying.” It’s not like he wasn’t paying attention.
Brendon started it, or it didn’t start at all, really, so much as bleed over from how they were off stage, from their easy affection and Brendon’s boundary issues, both of them singing into the same microphone, Brendon so close Ryan felt like he could breathe him in.
Brendon pushed because that’s what Brendon does; he crowded up into Ryan’s space, pressed up against Ryan’s back, sang Ryan’s words inches from Ryan’s ear, leaving Ryan unbalanced and buzzing with awareness.
Ryan escalated it, but he diffused it at the same time, made it explicit and put it in writing so that it couldn’t simmer below the surface anymore. He needed it scripted; he needed to know what to expect as much when. He needed control over the narrative, even the implied one. It made sense anyway. The timing was so exact on The Nothing Rhymes with Circus Tour; it made more sense to stick to the script.
“What’s this?” Brendon asked in the middle of the night, standing by the arm of the couch in the lounge and Ryan had pushed himself up against the cushions, from where he’d been chewing on his pen and staring into space. Brendon held up the pages Ryan had left in his bunk. He looked amused. Ryan moved hurriedly to give Brendon room to sit down.
“It’s what “Lying” is about. I thought it needed something.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Brendon flung himself down on the couch next to Ryan, slumping across it, taking up more room that he should have been able to and studied the paper. “You wrote stage directions?”
Ryan shrugged and said, “obviously it needs stage directions, Brendon.”
Brendon snorted and cleared his throat dramatically, holding the paper up in front of his face, “Your lover is running toward you, the wind is whipping through her lovely, lavish locks. Lavish, Ryan? Seriously?”
Ryan scowled. Brendon smirked, eyes bright with audacity. He moved, pinning Ryan by the shoulders back against the couch and leaning close to whisper in his ear, “you embrace for that perfect, passionate kiss . . .” His voice wasn’t quite his stage voice; his eyes were somewhere between playful and sharp. Ryan laughed a little and pushed at him and Brendon went fairly easily, sinking back against the other side of the couch and studying Ryan, before saying, slowly, as though trying it out, “but this is not that dream.”
Ryan swallowed and said, “it isn’t,” and looked away.
Brendon spent the tour pressing up too close, breathing low against Ryan’s neck, murmuring “perfect, passionate kiss,” like a dare. Because if Ryan edged forward even a little, if he hesitated before pulling away, Brendon would lean in, press his lips, dry and quick, to Ryan’s cheek or the corner of his mouth. It was all in fun. They were all having fun and the fans loved it, and on the last night, when Brendon paused too long in Ryan’s space, studied him too intently and cupped the back of his neck, fingers burning into Ryan’s skin, Ryan thought, what the hell. He edged closer and nodded, watching Brendon’s mouth. Brendon’s fingers tightened as he leaned in. Ryan’s breath caught, and a second later Brendon kissed his cheek, hard and extravagant, and they both backed away fast. Ryan was laughing, but breathing too hard, the old hum of unpredictability underneath his skin.
----
Brendon does not let things go.
“Look. I just think, I don’t know. Shouldn’t we up the stakes a little bit?’
“It’s a completely different record with a completely different feel. It’s a completely different show. Is it really that important? And what do you mean, ‘up the stakes’?”
“I didn’t say it was important. It was a passing suggestion. Come on, Ryan. I’m not the one acting weird about this.”
And, wow, that’s not true. “Yeah, you are, actually.”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m the one harping on it; your behavior is totally normal. Hey, you were the one who was all ‘let’s script the homoerotic tension’ last time.”
Ryan ignores Brendon’s choice of words, “And now I’m saying this show might not need to be as theatrical.”
“Really?” Brendon is skeptical.
“Maybe. It’ll be a different kind of theatrical.”
Brendon sighs, “If you’re really that against it, never mind. I’m done, okay?” Brendon sounds beyond exasperated, way more frustrated than the situation warrants, and he’s staring at the wall past Ryan’s shoulder like he really is pissed off. His arms are crossed over his chest and he’s drumming his fingers against his upper arm, irregular and agitated. Ryan reaches out and puts his hand on Brendon’s knee.
“Hey. I didn’t say no. I just said we should wait to talk about it after the record drops. We don’t even know what’s going to happen.’
Brendon moves away from him and stands up, so that he’s looking down at Ryan, arms still crossed.
“You didn’t say no; you just didn’t say anything,” he shakes his head and mumbles under his breath, “You’d think I’d be used to that by now.”
Ryan swallows hard against the sudden tightness in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brendon shrugs, and he’s looking past Ryan again, “Nothing, Ryan. I don’t know. You figure it out.” He walks out of the room leaving Ryan staring after him.
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