Work Text:
'Is young a word for dumb
A word for fun
We have the time of our lives every night
Like it's our job to lose our minds every night'
I flick through old photos. I don't know why. Maybe for nostalgia's sake. Or maybe because, if I try hard enough, they can almost make me feel like I did back then. These photos perfectly capture those days. Party after party after party.
These photos aren't available to the public. God no. I could only imagine what the fans would do if they got their hands on these. They'd have a field day! No, these photos are just for us.
Flick. Me and Jon, with beers in our hands. Jon's smiling straight at the camera but I'm craning my head around to watch Brendon play ping pong against some messy-haired dude.
Flick. Spencer, surrounded by a bunch of scantily clad women. He's not looking at any of them, though, he's just staring at Jon. Jon, who is only half in the frame, laughs hysterically.
Flick. Me and Brendon this time. We have our hands around each other's waists. Brendon is raising his glass to the camera, grinning. I look worried. I was probably wondering what would happen if these photos fell into the wrong hands.
Flick. Me and Brendon again. Kissing. One of his hands rests delicately on my waist with his other in my hair. Our legs are tangled. My hands are on his back, his t-shirt scrunched up in my grip.
I shut my laptop lid. I shouldn't be looking at these. I really shouldn't.
I just can't help myself.
I open it again. Flick. Another one of us. We're considerably more wasted this time. We're making out on a couch, tangled together again. I can't tell where either of us starts or finishes.
Of course, we're both shitfaced. Completely gone, from a mix of alcohol and weed and maybe some harder stuff depending on how we felt. Because that's what we used to do. Intoxicate ourselves so that we had an excuse to be all over each other. So that, if anyone asked, we could say we were completely gone and had no idea what we were doing. But the alcohol didn't even do much for me, and if I had any weed it just put me in a good mood. I always made sure not to put too much in my system, so I could remember what happened the next day. So I could remember how Brendon felt kissing me, against me. Even if he didn't mean it.
'But if I were to die tonight
Would you cry or deny my place in your life'
I stare at my phone on my lap. Should I do it? Probably not.
I will anyway.
I type out a simple 'hey' and send it to Brendon. He's still listed in my contacts, even though I've had 4 new phones since the split.
"I shouldn't have done that," I mutter to myself immediately after sending it, and toss the phone to the other side of the sofa.
But, see, here's the thing. I still care about him. Fuck, I might still be in love with him. Something like that...it doesn't just go away. Sure, the feeling might subside when I'm going about my day; when I'm walking Dottie or organising my CD collection. It never leaves, though. And on days like today, I look through these pictures and it all comes flooding back. How his hand used to sneak under my shirt when I kissed him, and how he would rest his cold fingertips on my stomach. How his lips felt on mine, so gentle and soft, and not wrong...not wrong at all. He smelt of cigarettes, usually, but there was also this cologne he always wore. If I close my eyes and remember I can almost smell it now.
I hear him on the radio sometimes. I don't mean to, but when I turn my car on, the radio switches on automatically. He's made it pretty big. I mean, we were big, but only with the outcasts. Brendon's playing on pop stations now. Good for him.
I think he's singing about us, sometimes. There's certain words, certain references to things only we know. Answers to questions I've phrased in my own music. I don't buy his albums- it would be too much torture to hear his voice. But I look through lyrics sometimes. I'm not sure if he misses me, or if he just uses me for inspiration.
I'm not sure if he even cares about me anymore. If I died tonight, he'd probably just say: "Yeah, it's sad, but we hardly even talk anymore," in that fucking pretentious, heartbreakingly sexy voice of his. The media could interview him about me and he'd spend most of the time talking about Sarah.
Oh yeah, and don't let me forget how the media is praising him for his bisexuality. And how he tells the media he's had a threesome but he 'didn't do anything with the guy'. Ha. Don't make me laugh, Brendon. You're a good fucking liar, I'll give you that. Or maybe you're forgetting the times you've fucked a guy, and not because it was in a threesome. Just because you wanted to.
Just because you wanted me.
And I wanted you, but that was my own stupid fault. Then again, who wouldn't fall for you?
'I'm aware that you're scared
Of my heart, but it's here'
I remember that night. Not like either of us could forget it. Or maybe you already have, who knows.
I was sat on your sofa. It was brown leather if I remember right. I had my legs curled up and you sat beside me. Our hands were threaded together, and I was leant against your chest, rising and falling with each of your breaths. Your head rested on top of mine, and we sat like that for God knows how long. It was so perfect. And all the time I could feel this sensation in my chest. Like...I don't know. It wasn't bad, no, it was lovely. It was just, I'd never felt like this, about ANYONE. As we sat in silence, I slowly built up the courage to tell you.
"Bren?" I asked.
"Yes?"
"I don't know how to say this. But, I just need to tell you. Every day, I look forward to spending time with you. And I wear your t-shirts around the house just because they smell like you and if I fall asleep I can pretend you're beside me. All the time we're apart, I can't stop thinking about you. And-and every little thing just reminds me- of you."
It was silent for a minute.
"Ryan, what are you saying?"
"I-I think I'm in love with you."
I felt him tense, and when I turned to him he was shaking his head.
"You can't say that." He told me quietly. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes and I could hardly force out my next words.
"Why not?" I whispered. He sighed and let go of my hand.
"Because- because boys don't fall in love with boys. Sure, we can make out and we can fuck- because it's fun! But boys don't fall in love with each other."
"But I've fallen in love with you," I told him quietly, my heart beating twice every second. He looked at me, with the most fucking pathetic, apologetic expression on his face. I knew exactly what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.
Brendon bit his lip. "I'm sorry Ryan."
I sprung up and stopped him before he could say anything.
Before he could say he didn't love me back.
I stormed off before stopping in the doorway. "You know what Brendon Urie?" I spat, "Fuck you. You- you can't just do that to me and then pretend you don't feel anything for me. You. Fucking. Prick!"
'Every night is the same
Go to sleep with our blame
And the shame is enough to separate us'
A week later we were on tour again, and I was doing my best to avoid Brendon. Which was kinda hard when we were in the same band, confined to the small space of our tour bus. I sure as hell tried, though. If he came and sat on the sofa by me, I'd cross to the other one, and if the others were playing cards late at night I'd go to bed and leave Brendon to play with them.
That's what had happened on the fourth night, actually. Spence, Jon and some of the crew were playing some kind of card game I'd never heard of. Brendon was sat watching them. I'd claimed a headache, and gone to bed despite the fact I was still wide awake.
I'd been laying in bed for what can't have been even 10 minutes when I heard the shutter to the bed section of the bus open. "Hey," I recognised Brendon's voice whisper, "Can we talk?"
"Fuck off," I spat. I heard him sigh and a minute later he shuffled himself under the sheets of my tiny bed. There was hardly enough room for one let alone two in these beds, so we were pressed against each other. I didn't have the willpower to push him out.
"What are you doing?" I hissed.
I felt his lips skim my ear.
"I love you." He whispered, and left his lips resting on the side of my face.
"What?" I asked. I just wanted to hear him say it again.
"I'm in love with you Ryan." He whispered again.
I paused.
"Then why are you acting like this?" I asked, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind my eyes. At least he couldn't see me cry in the dark.
"Because- because you know what would happen if this got out. Our fans are probably too young to even know that boys like us exist."
"Are you embarrassed of me?"
"No-no! I just- I don't think this is right."
When I didn't reply he sighed again and kissed me on the head before getting out of my bed. "I love you, Ryan." He repeated.
As I waited until I heard the shutter close, I could feel hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks.
'But we can't help ourselves
We're in love
And it really hurts when it's wrong'
We broke up not long after that night. The band, I mean, but I guess me and Brendon too. We were never really together in the first place, mind you.
Not much happened since that night. He talked to me, but only about trivial things and I did the same. We didn't fuck since that night. We didn't even kiss again. I don't know why he said he loved me but I know he didn't mean it. He probably just felt sorry for me, which makes me feel unbelievably pathetic.
On the last date of our tour, Jon and I sat down Brendon and Spence to tell them we wanted to leave. It wasn't all Brendon's fault, of course. Jon and I had been talking about this for a while, and both of us were desperate to make a psychedelic rock album- something Spence and Brendon weren't really on board with. But, yeah, it was partly Brendon's fault. Or, I guess mine, for letting myself fall in love with him.
Brendon and Spence took the news pretty well. I mean, I think both of them knew it was coming, Brendon especially.
Anyway, they're both doing well now. Both married. Brendon's still keeping our band alive. Sure it's different, but it's still Panic! And he's in love, with Sarah. As painful as it is, I'm happy for him. He looks at her like...like if she died right now, he would too because he can't live without her. He's beautiful when he looks like that, he really is. I wish that, just once, I could have seen him look at me in the same way.
My phone chimes, bringing me out of my daydream.
It's Brendon.
"Hey, how are you?" He's written back. I feel myself smile as I read it.
We could never make it as lovers, but maybe we can start afresh as friends. Maybe I don't have to lose him.
Maybe I never lost him at all.