Freaks [8/20]
Title: Freaks [8/20]
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Chapter 8
I wake up, and it’s finally dark out. I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes because after a two-hour nap, I’m more than a bit fuzzy. I disconnect myself from the long since finished drip and sit up. My dinner is on the little rolling table by my bed, and at the sight of the food, no matter how unappetizing it seems, my stomach makes a grumbling noise. I pull the table closer to me and immediately dig in to my now cold food. I don’t really care, though. While I feed my hunger, I’m beginning to remember what had just occurred only a few hours earlier.
What the fuck do I do now? I mean, really. I can’t just tell Brendon about my face now. He’ll probably be repulsed, or even if he doesn’t care, he’ll hate me for taking advantage of his condition. Either way, I don’t want him to stop talking to me. Me, someone who hates interacting with people. Who shuts out the world because the world doesn’t want me around anyway. Yeah, I guess when someone wants me around the way Brendon seems to when I walk into his room and he grins because I’m there, it’s not easy to throw that away.
And he’s wonderful. Brendon makes me feel things I never thought were possible. Whenever I’m with him, time both speeds up and stands still, and nothing seems to exist outside of us. That world that hates me, sees right through me, is gone between the time my hand slips in his and the time I pull it back. I always hobble away, amazed that I’d spent hours with this guy, and no matter how long it’s been, I just want to stay longer.
If I’m being perfectly honest, there are times where I just want to kiss him. I want to lean in and feel Brendon’s lips against mine just to see what it would feel like. Okay, maybe not just that. Because whenever his smile disappears, I want to kiss him to let him know that he’s not alone in this shitty situation. I want him to know that there is somebody who cares about him, someone who gives a shit that he’s looking at the possibility of going through life blind.
I find myself wishing more and more that I was okay. After a while, it was just a lot easier on me to accept it. Sure, once in a while, I’d imagine life as it should’ve been, but for the most part, I’d stopped with the outright complaining. Now, it’s back.
After I finish eating, I pick up my book and continue where I left off. Soon, I’m distracted by a noise that sounds like something is being dragged along the wall of the hallway near my room. It’s getting louder until finally I hear a tap at my door, muffled voices, and a knock.
“Uh, come in,” I say unsurely.
There are more noises at the door before the doorknob rattles, and the door opens slowly. There’s a sound of shuffling feet and then an uncertain, “Ryan?”
“Brendon?” I do my best to get up as quickly as I can to meet him at the door with my crutches as his head turns to the direction my voice is coming from. “What are you doing here?”
I make my way to him and quickly grab onto his arm, and Brendon seems to have visibly relaxed at my touch. “I just learned how to get around on my own. Well, sort of. I had help from Nurse Shelly.” He points his thumb out the door, and I peer out into the hallway where the smiling nurse waves at me before turning around and heading off. “She just told me where your room was and made sure I didn’t bump into anyone. I said I’d visit.”
I chuckle, remembering. “Yeah. Come on, let’s sit.”
“Hold on,” he says as he feels for my hand, and it travels up my arm to my shoulder where he takes a firm grip. “Hopefully, you can still use your crutches this way.”
“I’ll manage,” I say and do my best to guide him to the table that Spencer and I had our lunches at earlier. Thankfully, it’s not too far. Brendon finds the chair easily enough, and he won’t let me pull it out for him. He fumbles a bit, but he gets it on his own.
We get settled, and my hand finds its way into his outstretched hand. His thumb runs along my knuckles softly, and I swallow down the butterflies threatening to come up. Eventually, I relax enough to notice that Brendon is humming something quietly as we sit together, an easy smile on his face.
Dare I say it? “You seem happy,” I say quietly, almost tentatively because maybe right now he doesn’t want to be happy
Brendon laughs, and I quietly let out a breath. “As crazy as it is, yeah, I kind of am.” I squeeze his hand a little, and he squeezes back. “For the first time since the accident, I don’t feel so fucking helpless. I mean, even though I had help, I walked here all by myself.”
I smile. “It’s a big deal, Brendon. That’s so great. Really.”
Brendon bows his head, smile lingering. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Silence fills the air around us, and I take the opportunity to examine Brendon’s features. It still kills me a little how beautiful he is. I wonder if he knows just how…
“Ryan?” I shake my head and focus on him again.
“Yeah?”
“You’re staring at me, aren’t you?” The smile has disappeared from his face.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble.
Brendon sighs, and I feel all kinds of terrible. I hate when people stare at me; I shouldn’t be doing that to him. “I just wish I could see you, Ryan.”
I tense up, and I’m sure Brendon can sense it. “I’ll answer more questions if you want.” I get uncomfortable when he wants to talk about my looks, but right now, he just looks so sad, defeated. He was happy just a few minutes ago.
Brendon shakes his head. “It didn’t really help.” He thumbs my knuckles again and then stops suddenly. I watch him bite his lip and take a breath. “I have an idea though.”
“What is it?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Can I touch you?” he asks quietly, and I feel my heart speed up as it beats against my chest. I can just imagine Brendon’s hand run along the horrible scar and sunken flesh, imagine him cringe and recoil away in horror.
I swallow to calm myself down a little, but it doesn’t help. “Brendon, I-I-”
“It doesn’t have to be weird!” Brendon says hurriedly. “It doesn’t. It’ll be up to you, I swear. I’ll take what I can get.”
I take a breath because I so want to give him what he wants. I do. He’s so fucking lost, and I can tell he’s desperate. If I were being completely honest, I’d love it if he touched me. I don’t get much contact from anyone, and just thinking about leaning into his touch is making my heart beat fast again. This time, it’s completely different.
“I…” I swallow, “Okay.”
And with that word, I’m just about praying that this works. I switch our hands so my right is in his left to keep it from straying and my left grasps the back of his right. I take another breath, then lift it to my face. The good side, of course. My hand is bigger so it easily curls over Brendon’s fingers, allowing the tips to graze my forehead, down over my eye, over my cheekbone, against the side of my nose. When his thumb gets a little too close to my scar, I shift his hand closer to my hairline, letting him feel my full cheek and push against the side of my mouth. Finally, he reaches my jaw and chin, and I hear an unmistakable, breathy “Wow” escape his mouth. I swallow the butterflies down at that, and somehow, my grip on his hand has loosened.
Suddenly, he pulls his hand from mine, and for a second, I’m terrified because I’ve lost control. But his hand has found my hair, and his fingertips are just barely running over my scalp as he combs through the messy strands of my hair. He tangles his fingers in it, twisting a few strands slightly, and then moving his hand to the back of my head. I get a wild thought in my head, half-wondering if he’s about to kiss me and half-laughing at myself for thinking such a thought.
Sure enough, his hand has moved further down my head to the back of my neck, following a trail to my shoulder where he squeezes it lightly before running along my arm slowly as if he has a grip on it as I feel him feel the muscle and bone, though it’s loose enough to allow his hand to slip smoothly down. When he gets to my hand, he squeezes my fingertips lightly, and I take hold of it. Now I can calm down enough to tear my eyes away from watching his and to look back at his face, and he’s got that mildly apprehensive look again.
“I want to…” he says, and he brings our clasped hands towards my body until our hands are at the top of my chest by my shoulder.
I don’t know what to do, so I let go again and watch him carefully as he thumbs my collarbone through the hospital gown I have on underneath my robe. His palm lies flat after that as it goes down the center of my chest to my stomach. It moves to my side where he grasps my waist, and I involuntarily jerk away. “I’m sorry,” he says with a hint of sadness as he lifts his hand away, hovering just a couple of inches from my waist.
I cough. “Uh, no. I’m just… ticklish. It’s okay.”
His hand descends until it’s resting softly against my side, and he brings it up to run over the bones of my ribcage. He inches forward a bit, and his hand travels around to my back. “You’re really thin,” he says finally.
I laugh, trying to keep my voice as low and steady as he pulls his hand back to rest in his lap while I still hold his other. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve always been this thin.”
He sighs and lowers his head, obviously deep in thought. “I think I like you,” he says quietly.
And this is where I feel a million things at once. This is where I know I’m supposed to say that he can’t possibly like me. This is where I’m supposed to come clean and let him know that he likes someone who doesn’t really exist because I’ve kept my mouth shut about a really important part of myself.
But I don’t want to. Because he fucking likes me. Someone actually likes me. It’s a difficult thing to wrap my mind around, but it’s there, and it’s what I’ve secretly been hoping for. And if I do what I’m supposed to, it’ll be gone, and it’ll leave me colder and sadder than I was before I met him. Brendon has quickly become someone important to me. When he hurts, I just want to make it all go away for him, and his mere presence warms my body and makes me feel lighter.
So I don’t do what I’m supposed to do, and I’m a bastard because of it. Instead, I don’t fight the grin that stretches across my grotesque face, and I squeeze his hand tightly. And this time, I’m the one that reaches out, laying a palm on his cheek softly and applying pressure to lift his head. I know he can’t see me, but it doesn’t feel right with him facing away. And the skin of his cheek is soft, and I feel him lean into my touch like I’ve done so many times before.
“I think I like you too,” I say, and there’s that grin again, the one that feels like it’s just for me.
Author: spazzyskittles/Tiffany
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon, Jon/Spencer
POV: 1st (Ryan's)
Summary: An accident lands Ryan in the hospital, and he meets Jon, who tells him of a mysterious patient on their floor. There's something not quite right about him, but then again, there's something not quite right about Ryan as well.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Panic at the Disco. This is all just a by-product of an overactive imagination.
Author Notes: This is a completed story and will be updated every other day. Thanks to my beta pinkkchocolate, I couldn't have done it without you.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
Chapter 8
I wake up, and it’s finally dark out. I try to rub the sleep out of my eyes because after a two-hour nap, I’m more than a bit fuzzy. I disconnect myself from the long since finished drip and sit up. My dinner is on the little rolling table by my bed, and at the sight of the food, no matter how unappetizing it seems, my stomach makes a grumbling noise. I pull the table closer to me and immediately dig in to my now cold food. I don’t really care, though. While I feed my hunger, I’m beginning to remember what had just occurred only a few hours earlier.
What the fuck do I do now? I mean, really. I can’t just tell Brendon about my face now. He’ll probably be repulsed, or even if he doesn’t care, he’ll hate me for taking advantage of his condition. Either way, I don’t want him to stop talking to me. Me, someone who hates interacting with people. Who shuts out the world because the world doesn’t want me around anyway. Yeah, I guess when someone wants me around the way Brendon seems to when I walk into his room and he grins because I’m there, it’s not easy to throw that away.
And he’s wonderful. Brendon makes me feel things I never thought were possible. Whenever I’m with him, time both speeds up and stands still, and nothing seems to exist outside of us. That world that hates me, sees right through me, is gone between the time my hand slips in his and the time I pull it back. I always hobble away, amazed that I’d spent hours with this guy, and no matter how long it’s been, I just want to stay longer.
If I’m being perfectly honest, there are times where I just want to kiss him. I want to lean in and feel Brendon’s lips against mine just to see what it would feel like. Okay, maybe not just that. Because whenever his smile disappears, I want to kiss him to let him know that he’s not alone in this shitty situation. I want him to know that there is somebody who cares about him, someone who gives a shit that he’s looking at the possibility of going through life blind.
I find myself wishing more and more that I was okay. After a while, it was just a lot easier on me to accept it. Sure, once in a while, I’d imagine life as it should’ve been, but for the most part, I’d stopped with the outright complaining. Now, it’s back.
After I finish eating, I pick up my book and continue where I left off. Soon, I’m distracted by a noise that sounds like something is being dragged along the wall of the hallway near my room. It’s getting louder until finally I hear a tap at my door, muffled voices, and a knock.
“Uh, come in,” I say unsurely.
There are more noises at the door before the doorknob rattles, and the door opens slowly. There’s a sound of shuffling feet and then an uncertain, “Ryan?”
“Brendon?” I do my best to get up as quickly as I can to meet him at the door with my crutches as his head turns to the direction my voice is coming from. “What are you doing here?”
I make my way to him and quickly grab onto his arm, and Brendon seems to have visibly relaxed at my touch. “I just learned how to get around on my own. Well, sort of. I had help from Nurse Shelly.” He points his thumb out the door, and I peer out into the hallway where the smiling nurse waves at me before turning around and heading off. “She just told me where your room was and made sure I didn’t bump into anyone. I said I’d visit.”
I chuckle, remembering. “Yeah. Come on, let’s sit.”
“Hold on,” he says as he feels for my hand, and it travels up my arm to my shoulder where he takes a firm grip. “Hopefully, you can still use your crutches this way.”
“I’ll manage,” I say and do my best to guide him to the table that Spencer and I had our lunches at earlier. Thankfully, it’s not too far. Brendon finds the chair easily enough, and he won’t let me pull it out for him. He fumbles a bit, but he gets it on his own.
We get settled, and my hand finds its way into his outstretched hand. His thumb runs along my knuckles softly, and I swallow down the butterflies threatening to come up. Eventually, I relax enough to notice that Brendon is humming something quietly as we sit together, an easy smile on his face.
Dare I say it? “You seem happy,” I say quietly, almost tentatively because maybe right now he doesn’t want to be happy
Brendon laughs, and I quietly let out a breath. “As crazy as it is, yeah, I kind of am.” I squeeze his hand a little, and he squeezes back. “For the first time since the accident, I don’t feel so fucking helpless. I mean, even though I had help, I walked here all by myself.”
I smile. “It’s a big deal, Brendon. That’s so great. Really.”
Brendon bows his head, smile lingering. “Yeah,” he whispers.
Silence fills the air around us, and I take the opportunity to examine Brendon’s features. It still kills me a little how beautiful he is. I wonder if he knows just how…
“Ryan?” I shake my head and focus on him again.
“Yeah?”
“You’re staring at me, aren’t you?” The smile has disappeared from his face.
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble.
Brendon sighs, and I feel all kinds of terrible. I hate when people stare at me; I shouldn’t be doing that to him. “I just wish I could see you, Ryan.”
I tense up, and I’m sure Brendon can sense it. “I’ll answer more questions if you want.” I get uncomfortable when he wants to talk about my looks, but right now, he just looks so sad, defeated. He was happy just a few minutes ago.
Brendon shakes his head. “It didn’t really help.” He thumbs my knuckles again and then stops suddenly. I watch him bite his lip and take a breath. “I have an idea though.”
“What is it?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Can I touch you?” he asks quietly, and I feel my heart speed up as it beats against my chest. I can just imagine Brendon’s hand run along the horrible scar and sunken flesh, imagine him cringe and recoil away in horror.
I swallow to calm myself down a little, but it doesn’t help. “Brendon, I-I-”
“It doesn’t have to be weird!” Brendon says hurriedly. “It doesn’t. It’ll be up to you, I swear. I’ll take what I can get.”
I take a breath because I so want to give him what he wants. I do. He’s so fucking lost, and I can tell he’s desperate. If I were being completely honest, I’d love it if he touched me. I don’t get much contact from anyone, and just thinking about leaning into his touch is making my heart beat fast again. This time, it’s completely different.
“I…” I swallow, “Okay.”
And with that word, I’m just about praying that this works. I switch our hands so my right is in his left to keep it from straying and my left grasps the back of his right. I take another breath, then lift it to my face. The good side, of course. My hand is bigger so it easily curls over Brendon’s fingers, allowing the tips to graze my forehead, down over my eye, over my cheekbone, against the side of my nose. When his thumb gets a little too close to my scar, I shift his hand closer to my hairline, letting him feel my full cheek and push against the side of my mouth. Finally, he reaches my jaw and chin, and I hear an unmistakable, breathy “Wow” escape his mouth. I swallow the butterflies down at that, and somehow, my grip on his hand has loosened.
Suddenly, he pulls his hand from mine, and for a second, I’m terrified because I’ve lost control. But his hand has found my hair, and his fingertips are just barely running over my scalp as he combs through the messy strands of my hair. He tangles his fingers in it, twisting a few strands slightly, and then moving his hand to the back of my head. I get a wild thought in my head, half-wondering if he’s about to kiss me and half-laughing at myself for thinking such a thought.
Sure enough, his hand has moved further down my head to the back of my neck, following a trail to my shoulder where he squeezes it lightly before running along my arm slowly as if he has a grip on it as I feel him feel the muscle and bone, though it’s loose enough to allow his hand to slip smoothly down. When he gets to my hand, he squeezes my fingertips lightly, and I take hold of it. Now I can calm down enough to tear my eyes away from watching his and to look back at his face, and he’s got that mildly apprehensive look again.
“I want to…” he says, and he brings our clasped hands towards my body until our hands are at the top of my chest by my shoulder.
I don’t know what to do, so I let go again and watch him carefully as he thumbs my collarbone through the hospital gown I have on underneath my robe. His palm lies flat after that as it goes down the center of my chest to my stomach. It moves to my side where he grasps my waist, and I involuntarily jerk away. “I’m sorry,” he says with a hint of sadness as he lifts his hand away, hovering just a couple of inches from my waist.
I cough. “Uh, no. I’m just… ticklish. It’s okay.”
His hand descends until it’s resting softly against my side, and he brings it up to run over the bones of my ribcage. He inches forward a bit, and his hand travels around to my back. “You’re really thin,” he says finally.
I laugh, trying to keep my voice as low and steady as he pulls his hand back to rest in his lap while I still hold his other. “Yeah, I guess. I’ve always been this thin.”
He sighs and lowers his head, obviously deep in thought. “I think I like you,” he says quietly.
And this is where I feel a million things at once. This is where I know I’m supposed to say that he can’t possibly like me. This is where I’m supposed to come clean and let him know that he likes someone who doesn’t really exist because I’ve kept my mouth shut about a really important part of myself.
But I don’t want to. Because he fucking likes me. Someone actually likes me. It’s a difficult thing to wrap my mind around, but it’s there, and it’s what I’ve secretly been hoping for. And if I do what I’m supposed to, it’ll be gone, and it’ll leave me colder and sadder than I was before I met him. Brendon has quickly become someone important to me. When he hurts, I just want to make it all go away for him, and his mere presence warms my body and makes me feel lighter.
So I don’t do what I’m supposed to do, and I’m a bastard because of it. Instead, I don’t fight the grin that stretches across my grotesque face, and I squeeze his hand tightly. And this time, I’m the one that reaches out, laying a palm on his cheek softly and applying pressure to lift his head. I know he can’t see me, but it doesn’t feel right with him facing away. And the skin of his cheek is soft, and I feel him lean into my touch like I’ve done so many times before.
“I think I like you too,” I say, and there’s that grin again, the one that feels like it’s just for me.