theithipscene

I straighten my tie in the mirror and start to make my way to my job interview. Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I drive to the office building that would hopefully be my future workplace.

The job was journalism, working for a local newspaper, something I’d wanted to do as a child. This new life was just getting better and better. My new house was a nice size, three bedrooms, a big kitchen. Life, take two, was good.

I park up outside the sizeable office building and make my way inside, the butterflies twitching and twirling inside my stomach. I walk inside and am greeted by a woman with a sickeningly fake smile. “Name?” She says in an irritatingly high voice.

“Evans. Here for my interview.” I rest an arm on the desk.

“Ah yes, Jonas Evans. Mr. Wentz is upstairs in his office, head straight up, first door on the left.” She smiles and starts to type on her computer. I still haven’t gotten used to my new name, but some things just had to change.

I start walking up the stairs and bump into a tall man on the way. “Sorry!” he says, his voice somehow familiar.

“That’s ok.” I ignore the thought and resume walking towards the office. The door is slightly ajar and I clear my throat.

“Come in.” A voice calls from inside and I poke my head around the door.

“Mr. Wentz?” I ask.

A man at a desk simply nods and beckons for me to take a seat. “Nice to meet you...?”

“Evans. Jonas Evans. And it’s nice to meet you too.” I smile, outstretching a hand.

He takes my hand and shakes it firmly. “So, tell me about yourself?”

“Well,” I start. “I moved here recently, and it’s been my life’s dream to be a journalist. I work hard and fast, I’m dedicated and punctual. Uh...I don’t know what else to say...”

The man opposite me smiles. “So tell me, what was your previous occupation?”

Fuck.

“It was...uh...” I try to stall, racking my brains for something believable. “...I was working in a fast food place whilst I was working on my writing skill. That job was really just to keep me afloat until I had enough money to move here and make a career out of writing.” The lie slips off my tongue as easily as anything and he nods.

“Well, we have nobody competing for this job, and you seem like a worthy employee. When would you like to start?” He grins, resting his chin on his fist.

“As soon as possible!” I perk up.

“Well, you could start right now.” He drums his fingers on the desk.

“Really? That would be great! Thank you very much, Mr. Wentz!” I stand up, grinning like a fool.

“The name’s Pete,” He stands up also. “I’ll show you to your office block right now.”

I follow the man through a doorway, meandering around busy workers and cubicles. “Here you go,” He gestures to a bare looking cubicle. There is a computer on a plain grey desk, a blue desk chair and a small trash can under the desk. “Your editor will be over shortly, he’ll brief you on the articles you’ll be covering. You should start getting acquainted with the people around you. Won’t hurt to make friends in a place like this.”

He walks away and I look around. There is a man with dark hair and glasses on one side of me, and a man with lighter, floppy hair the other side. “H-hey.” I say nervously to the man with glasses.

The man turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Uh, hi? Who are you?”

“I’m Ry—my name’s Jonas Evans. I started working here this morning.”

“Nice to meet you, Jonas. I’m Brendon Urie, and that guy over there is Jon Walker.” He points across to the man with the floppy brown hair. Welcome to the office.”

Jon looks up. “Hm?”

“Jon, this is Jonas Evans. New guy.” Brendon grins.

“Nice to meet you Jonas. Yeah, I’m Jon, as I guess you already know.”

I nod and smile, turning back to my computer, pressing the power switch. “So,” I begin. “Who’s our editor?”

“That would be me,” A voice comes from behind me. “Weekes. Dallon Weekes. And you are?”

I turn around and look at the man. Tall, dark, slender. I stand up and take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Jonas Evans. Just started.”

“I see. I’ll get up your brief.” He takes a step forward to my computer and opens a file entitled ‘The Crawford Case’.

It’s him. The man from Ian’s house. That’s why I recognized his voice when he said sorry in the corridor.

Fuck.

“Yeah, ok.” I keep my eyes on the screen and avoid contact with the man next to me.

“The boys will give you a hand getting started if you need it. All the information you need to start off is right there, you just need to put it all together. I’ll give you any information the Police come up with when the pass it on to us, then you can put it in the next article.”

Dallon walks away and Jon says “Well, that was awkward.”

“Hey Jonas,” Brendon says quietly. “How much do you know about the Crawford case?”

I look down at the keyboard. “Not much, why?”

Jon and Brendon exchange nervous glances and I sit in the middle awkwardly, waiting for an explanation.

“Well,” Brendon starts. “That guy Crawford, he got killed in his house and every bit of money that he had in the house was stolen.”

“Really?” I put on my best poker face.

“What’s worse,” Jon chimes in. “Is that...Dallon was the one who found him.”

He’s definitely the guy.

“Oh god, that’s terrible.” I say in a sad, sympathetic tone.

Brendon shakes his head. “They were best friends.”

“Terrible loss, he was a nice guy.” Jon says quietly.

“You both knew him?” I cock my head to the side, looking at Brendon.

“Yeah, but we weren’t close-close friends. More like acquaintances. Still a real shame though.” Brendon looks back at his computer screen and sighs.

I do the same and start to read the fact file.

...Ian Miles Crawford...murdered in his home...robbed of all of his wealth...no relatives or partners...police are tracking down suspect...good leads...

Shit, how am I going to write an article about a man I murdered and robbed? I decide that I’m going to have to be careful what I say and to only include what’s written on these files, nothing more.

I begin typing and attempt to write an article about myself that isn’t about myself, because that totally makes sense.

A few days later in the newspaper, there is my article, in black and white. I feel proud of my work, my childhood dream finally coming true, but I’m also scared shitless. In the article I had to write that the police are on the murderer’s tail.

What if they are? What if they’re onto me and this is a set up? Could this be a trap to try and catch me out?

No Ryan, you’re being paranoid.

I mean, Jonas. Ryan Ross doesn’t exist anymore.

I feel my cell phone vibrating in my pocket, and I pull it out, my face lighting up when I see who is calling. Spencer Smith.

“Hey man! Long time no see!” I answer the call excitedly.

“Ryan. We need to talk.” the familiar voice on the other end of the line has a serious tone that gives me goosebumps.

“Um...about what? Just catching up, or...?”

There is a pause before Spencer answers. “You know what it’s about. I saw the article in the newspaper about Crawford. What the fuck, dude?”

“Spencer, I—“

“Look, Ryan. I don’t want any excuses; tell me exactly what happened that night. Is that why you left town?”

I don’t answer at first, and I can hear Spencer’s exasperated breaths on the other end of the line. He’s obviously been panicking about this. “Yes.” I answer eventually.

“I need to know the facts. Please.”

“Well, I thought he was still at work. He worked late on Thursdays so when he was home, I freaked out and when he screamed, I hit him. He fell and hit his head on the dresser and I guess it hit him in just the wrong place. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him; I don’t have it in me to kill someone on purpose!”

“Ryan, you could get fifteen, twenty years for manslaughter. Do you understand?”

“Why the fuck do you think I ran away, Spence? For a fucking change of scenery?”

“Calm the fuck down, Ryan.”

“You’re telling me to calm down? Shit, I killed someone.”

“Yeah,” Spencer sighs on the other end. “Yes you did.”

“Spencer, I have to go. I don’t want to think about this, I’ve moved on now. I moved towns, changed my name, my job. Ryan Ross is dead.”

“Ry-“

“No. I miss you, and I hope you’re ok, but I need to go. I’m a different person now, and I have a new life. Good bye, Spencer James Smith.”

I hang up as Spencer tries to say something else. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. But it’s true, I do miss Spencer. He was a good friend.

The next day at work Brendon throws a little poorly made paper plane at me. It hits me in the temple and I look across from my computer at him, scowling.

“Jonas! Wanna come out for dinner with us tonight?” Brendon says excitedly.

“Uh...where?” I look back at the screen and resume typing.

“Chinese restaurant. The one round the corner from here.” He chirps.

“Time?”

“We’ll head there straight from here when we all finish if you want.” Jon joins in, reclining in his office chair and crossing his hands behind his head.

I stop typing. “Yeah, sure. Who’s coming?”

Brendon sighs, counting on his fingers. “Me, Jon, you, Pete, Dallon—“

“Dallon?” I cut Jon off.

“What...is there a problem?” He cocks his head

“No.”

“Well then, we shall go after work.” Brendon drums his fingers on the desk and smiles gently at me.

I glance up at the clock and see the long minute hand inching towards twelve and save my work again before logging off and grabbing my briefcase, following Brendon and Jon out of the building.

We get outside and start to walk to the restaurant. “Pete and Dallon are working a bit later, but they’re going to meet us there.” Jon mentions as we dawdle, taking our time getting to our destination.

I look up at the grey sky, streaks of orange smeared through it from the setting sun, and darker blue and black streaks from the build up of storm clouds.

“Looks like it’s going to piss down.” Brendon says nonchalantly.

Suddenly a water droplet hits me in the eye. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

“What?” Brendon fusses.

“It’s raining.” I moan and rub my eye. We keep walking and gradually the droplets become more frequent. By the time we reach the restaurant, we are saturated.

“Table for five.” Jon smiles at the man standing at the door. We are dripping, leaving a dark, wet trail to our table.

“Here you go gents; I’ll be back with menus in a minute.” The waiter smiles and leaves us to sit down.

Almost immediately afterwards, Pete and Dallon arrive, substantially drier than us.

“Jonas! You’re here too!” Pete grins, sitting down opposite me. Dallon slumps down next to him and we all sit in an awkward silence for a little while, until Dallon speaks up.

“Jonas.”

“Yeah?”

“When you started working with us, I was sure I recognised you from somewhere.”

I stare at him. “That’s strange.” I looked down at the table, the cutlery glistening in the low light of the restaurant.

“Where did you recognize him from?” Pete chimes in, resting his cheek on his fist.

Dallon shakes his head. “I don’t know. I guess you just have one of those familiar faces, eh?” I keep my eyes fixed on the cutlery but watch him in my peripheral vision.

He turns to me as he speaks. “Yeah, that’s it.”

The whole meal is spent in silence apart from Brendon speaking up during the main. “Who’s up for drinks after this?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Jon grins.

We finish up, split the bill and head for the nearest bar. Pete already has a few drinks in him and the tension seems to be oozing out of us, everybody feeling equally relaxed upon arrival.

“First round’s on me.” Dallon offers.

I sit on a stool next to Pete at the bar. “How’s the work going?”

“Oh, it’s great. I love it!” I smile back.

“Here you go, guys. Drink up.” Dallon slides two amber pint glasses in front of us, froth sloshing out over the top and slowly trickling down the sides. I grab the glass and take a big gulp, closing my eyes and savouring the bitter liquid.

I see Brendon in the corner of my eye as I open it, perching next to me on another barstool. I put the glass down and look at him. “I’ll buy us some more drinks,” He says quietly. “Go and get a booth, I’ll be right over.”

I stand up and make my way over to one of the dimly lit booths, the red light above it casting a soft, warm glow over the leather seats and stained table. I slide into one of the sides of the booth and look over to the bar. Brendon is holding the two glasses and walks over to where I’m sat. He scoots into the booth and places the glasses down.

He’s grinning and I can smell the alcohol on him. He’s already drunk a lot more than me, and starts to sip from the new drink. I follow suit, watching him in the corner of my eye, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He places the glass back onto the table and looks at me. I wipe my mouth and replace the glass, turning to look back at him.

“You have beautiful eyes.” He slurs, examining me.

My hand is perched on the table and he rests his hand on top of mine. I look at him carefully, trying to read him. I can’t help smiling and looking down, and he places his other hand on my cheek. Before I even realise what’s happening, our lips are crashing together, noses bashing in a hot, frenzied kiss. I can taste the beer on his tongue and he eventually pulls back, looking down as though he is ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “I should have asked you first. I don’t even know if you’re-“

“Gay?” I cut him off. “Yeah, I am.”

Brendon looks back up at me. “Really? I’d never have guessed.”

I smile at him and move in for another intoxicated kiss. I close my eyes, enjoying every second. I put my hands on his cheeks and pull him into me. The kiss seems to last a lifetime but probably lasts around ten seconds, if that. I open my eyes as I pull away, looking up and seeing Pete looking over. My face flushes red as he sits shaking his head and laughing.

What am I getting myself into?

A chill plummets down my spine as I look before me at what I’ve done.

I hadn't meant to kill him, but I hadn't expected him to be home. I'd been so careful about timing his movements and I knew that he never returned home before nine on Thursdays. That's why I'd been so startled, when I opened his bedroom door and saw him standing there, startled. He'd started yelling, so I’d hit him and sent him flying backwards against the sharp corner of a dresser. His head had hit it with a sickening thud and then bent at an unnatural angle as he'd slid to the floor.

I’ve never killed anyone before, never even come close, and my hands shake unceasingly as I root through his dresser drawers. I keep glancing furtively over at the body, hoping that I’ll glance over and it’ll miraculously not be there, the whole thing will be a horrid hallucination and he will still be at the office. Alive. I can see the corpse lying awkwardly against the chest of drawers, the chest of drawers that I need to access, and my stomach does a somersault. I start to wonder how I’m going to focus back on the task at hand. I tentatively scoot my foot under his limp torso and shift it a couple of centimetres. Shit, he’s really dead. His body is heavy and I manage to shift it a few more centimetres until it slumps heavily out of my way.

I shudder and open the bottom drawer on each dresser, and then work my way up. Only amateurs started at the top, having to close each drawer before opening the next. I find a box full of money and dump its contents into the leather satchel I am carrying with me. Before leaving the bedroom, I glance at the body, wondering if I should search his pockets, but the thought of touching the body again makes my stomach churn like a damn washing machine and I gave up the idea.

I know I should’ve abandoned this profession a long time ago, but it had been months since my last successful job and my cash reserve had almost completely disappeared. I'd spent weeks casing this guy's house after Spencer Smith, an insurance agent who took ten percent of every successful job he’d  turned me onto, had given me the details.
"I’ve got a job for you, Ross.” Spencer had said under the noise of chinking beer glasses, chatting and bad music. “His name's Ian Crawford. He's a journalist, lives alone, and must keep a good hundred to two hundred thousand in cash in the house at any one time," he’d explained when we'd met under the neon beer sign in the back booth at the grimy, sub-standard bar and grill.

Spencer described the security system, a good one, but one that I had cracked many times in the past.

“He's got some relative, lives in Arizona, named in his life insurance policy," Spencer ducked his head and looked around, accidentally making us look even more conspicuous than we already had. "When I talked to him about his homeowner's policy, she told me that there are no other relatives, no spouses, ex-spouses, or anything else."

"What about his schedule?" I asked.

"That's up to you to figure out. I've done everything I can." Spencer gathered up his papers and stuffed them into his briefcase. He'd shown me Crawford’s entire file, including a rough layout of the house and Polaroids of the security system and many of the rooms. Everything he'd shown me went back into his briefcase so he could return it to the office. We wouldn't talk again until I delivered Spencer's ten percent.

I had spent the three weeks following my meeting with Spencer watching Ian’s home, tracking his arrival and departure times until I felt certain of a time when he would be away from the house long enough for me to ransack it. Most evenings he returned home between six and seven, but each Thursday he worked late. On those nights he never returned home before nine.

The time between eight and nine seemed best. By then the sun would have gone down and his nearest neighbours would be unable to see me prowling around outside. I could be inside his house within ten minutes, could ransack the place within fifty minutes, and be back in my car and pulling away moments before he arrived home from the office.

I shake my head, trying to forget all the events that have led to his current, untenable situation. I just need to finish and get out. I need to get away from the house as quickly as possible, but I couldn't leave until I'd gotten all the cash and everything I could pawn. I would need to leave town as soon as possible.

I try to keep my attention on the task at hand, try to concentrate on my desperation for cash and not on the body in the bedroom.

I finish the room and move on to the next, then the next. At a quarter past eight I’ve finished with the upstairs and at two minutes past nine I finished with the downstairs. I' made quite a haul and felt sure I would have enough to leave town, perhaps even to disappear for a long, long time.

As I cross the entrance hall from the dining room heading to the living room, I hear a key in the front door and stop. Ian lived alone and never had unexpected visitors. I'd made sure of it.

When a man opens the door, steps into the entrance hall, and snaps on the light, I am so startled that I stand dumbly, caught like a deer in a car's headlights. The man sees me and instinctively throws his fist, connecting with my face and sending me flying backwards. I hit the ground hard, my head crashing hard against the laminate wood flooring.

“Fuck!” I cry out, my gloved hands clenched in fists in my hair.

“Who the hell are you?!” The man screams at me.

I roll onto my side, holding my head, which was hurting more than my bruising face. “I could ask you the same thing!” I wince, my eyes squeezed shut. The man walks over to me and stands over me. Grabbing my by the shirt collar, he hauls me to my feet. My hands fall to my side and I gather my footing, trying to stand up straight.

“I said, who are you?”

The other man is quite a bit taller than me, I notice as he holds me up in front of him. My breathing is rapid and it feels as though my heart is going to burst through my ribcage. My face is now hurting even more and my body feel limp in the bigger man’s grip.

“Get out. Get out right now.” He spins me around and frogmarches me to the front door. We reach the door and he forces me forward. I fall to the floor, almost landing straight on my face. He throws my satchel out after me and screams “And don’t fucking come back, scum. We don’t want squatters around here.”

He thought I was a squatter.

Hey, I’m not complaining.

I stand up quickly and brush myself off. “I’m sorry sir; it’s just hard to get by at the moment.” I lie, covering my face slightly with my hand.

“Well, I’m sorry, but you can’t stay at my friend’s house!” He shouts slightly, with a firm but sympathetic tone.

“Yes sir, of course, I’m sorry.” I say loudly, trying not to laugh at how much he’s buying it. I start to walk off, my back to the man, biting my lower lip to hold back the laughter.

I got away with it.

It’s not funny. I killed someone. But I’ve gotten away with it, I’m free. Now to go and find Spencer.

I get into my car parked around the corner from Ian’s house, sliding into the driver’s seat and slinging the satchel into the passenger seat. I force the key into the ignition and twist it sharply, listening to the low hum of the engine and exhaling. My knuckles are white on the wheel and I pull away from the street, driving towards Spencer’s office. He knew I was doing it tonight, he’ll be there.

Arriving at his work building, I turn off the car engine and sit staring at the building for a moment before grabbing the satchel, climbing out and walking toward the front door. I press the buzzer labelled ‘Smith’ and wait for a reply.

A voice cracks through the speaker. “Who is it?”

“Ryan Ross. I’ve finished it. I’ve got the stuff.”

There is a silence and a buzz as the door unlocks. I push into it, swinging it open and heading up the stairs in the foyer. I reach the office door labelled ‘S. Smith’ and knock three times on the door.

“It’s open.” The familiar voice comes from the other side. Grabbing the handle and twisting it slowly, I take a deep breath and enter.

Spencer is sitting at his desk, typing on his computer, bathed in the dull orange glow of his desk lamp, the only light on in the room.

“How did it go?” He looks up.

I walk towards his desk and take a seat in front of him. “Completely ransacked the place. Took every dollar in there.” I say complacently, reclining in the chair.

“Let’s see the goods.” He turns to me and intertwines his fingers in front of him on his desk. I sling the bag up by his hands and he undoes the buckle, flipping it open. He takes out the notes and begins to count them. “One hundred and eighty thousand dollars exactly. Good job, Ross. Marvellous job. So, I’ll take my ten percent, which I believe is...” He closes his eyes and does the calculation in his head. “...eighteen thousand and you can keep the rest.”

I nod and look at the money on the desk. One hundred and sixty two thousand dollars to get me out of town. I’ve been almost starving waiting for a job like this. Finally, I have gotten the job that will actually keep me going for a long time.

I can finally start over.

I scoop up the money and put it all back into the leather satchel. “I’ll be seeing you around, Spencer. Take care.”

“You too, Ryan. Stay safe.”

Scooting back into the car, I breathe a sigh or relief. I’m leaving for good, never coming back to this dastardly place.

This is my new life.

We used to be so close. We used to be inseparable, practically joined by the hip. I befriended you when nobody else was interested. I thought I could rely on you, because you could rely on me. I was there when nobody else was, the shoulder you cried on when everything got too much. I was the one whose house you stayed at because you didn’t want to spend another night at home. I was the one who was there for you when all those boys dropped you, left you with nothing.

But none of that matters now.

You’ve changed. I’ve seen it happening, and boy has it hurt, having to sit back and watch you become something else. A year ago you’d never have dreamed of doing the things you have done now. I do wish I could change things, I really do. I would give anything to have the old you back.

They were only words, but they hurt so much more than any cuts or burns ever could. But not only the words, but the whole situation, the fact that you actually did it is what really hit me hard. The fact that after all I’d done for you, you could still do that to me. And I’m almost certain he was involved, because he always is.

He always was.

He’s possibly the biggest factor in all of this, the spanner in the works. I told you he was bad news, I was right. More things you’d never have done a year ago.

A lot can change in a year, we proved that. You proved that. One, two years ago we were innocent. Just kids with dreams and hope. But all that’s gone, all gone because of time and people. I wish things didn’t end like this, and they have ended because of this. But I wouldn’t have known if not for your slip of the hand, your little mistake. I’d never have known, you’d never have told me, you’d have hidden under the masquerade of a computer screen.

And I noticed, when she came along you started losing interest in me. I was an old toy that you’d tired of playing with and she was a new, shiny toy to entertain yourself with. You didn’t need old ‘dependable’ anymore. It seems old friends are low in value these days.

It’s a shame.

I never thought it would end, if I’m honest. I thought we’d be friends for life. We had these dreams of going to America, visiting all the different states. We wanted to see the world.

I guess everything was just a little too perfect.

Adjusting his shirt collar and running his long fingers through his hair, Ryan leaves his house, heading for his car. He scoots into the driver’s seat and wriggles the key into the ignition, turning it gently and listening to the low hum of the engine. He takes a deep breath and pulls the seatbelt around him, fastening it with a click.

He places his hands on the steering wheel, and without realising, his knuckles have turned white from anticipation and excessive squeezing. He lets go and flexes his fingers before placing one hand, more gently this time, on the steering wheel, and the other on the gear stick, dipping the clutch and releasing the handbrake. Everything is happening in slow motion as though he’s forgotten how to drive, or even control his body.

As he manages to drive, he notices that he is shaking with nerves. Has it really been that long since you went out meeting people that you can’t even compose yourself? He thinks to himself as he makes his way to the party.

Upon arrival, pulling into a parking space, Ryan hits a lamp post. “Fuck!” He cries out as the wing mirror falls off. He gets out and runs around to the passenger side of the car. “Shit, shit, shit!” he curses under his breath, picking up the broken off mirror. He tries to perch it back onto the side of the car, but his attempts are futile.

Just he is about to accept defeat, Ryan remembers that in the glove compartment, he has a roll of duct tape which he left in there after he tried to fix a puncture in his old tire (and failed). He throws open the passenger door and dives in, opening the compartment, revealing the silver tape roll. He takes it and slams the compartment shut, jumping out of the car and shutting the door again.

He somehow manages to secure the wing mirror back on. He opens the passenger door and tosses the tape roll carelessly, allowing it to land on the passenger seat.

He makes his way tentatively up to the party entrance, looking around for a familiar face. To his delight, he spots Spencer Smith, one of his work colleagues.

“Hey, Spence.” Ryan calls sheepishly, tapping Spencer on the shoulder.

“Ryan!” The other man turns around, beaming. “You made it! I’m glad; it’s nice that you’re actually getting back out into the world.”

“Yeah,” Ryan shrugs, awkwardly rubbing his forearm.

“So,” Spencer grins. “Looking for love are we, Mr. Ross?” Ryan blushes so much that even in the dim party light Spencer can still see it and laughs. “Well, I can give you a hand.”

Ryan simply blinks at Spencer, not moving or saying anything. The latter gestures across the room at a guy with dark hair and glasses. “That guy,” He explains “Is Brendon. He’s pretty hopeless, but an amazing fuck. If you’re not looking for a relationship, just a good time, he’s the one for you.”

Ryan is taken back by what Spencer is saying, and eventually opens his mouth. “What makes you think that I want a fuck?”

“Oh, because you always want a fuck, that’s why.” Spencer laughs, shoving Ryan’s shoulder. “Bloody horny bugger.”

After a heck of a lot of persuasive talking on Spencer’s part, Ryan finally goes over to the man across the room. “Hey.” He tries to talk confidently, but he falters as the other man looks up. He melts as they make eye contact and Brendon smiles softly.

“Hey, I’m Brendon.” He shifts his weight.

“I’m Ryan. Ryan Ross. Nice to meet you, Brendon. Can I buy you a drink?”

Next thing Ryan knows, he’s up against a wall, wrists pinned, Brendon’s tongue down his throat. Brendon pulls back for breath and Ryan manages to gasp “That all happened quickly.” Brendon pretty much devours Ryan’s face for another minute.

They eventually break from the wall to continue making their way to Ryan’s car. Something surges through Ryan, a primal instinct, an insatiable hunger for Brendon’s lips. He grabs the man by the shirt and turns him and runs him back into the same wall, latching onto his face like a desperate limpet. Brendon responds immediately, kissing back hard and grabbing handfuls of Ryan’s floppy hair. Ryan can taste the alcohol on Brendon’s tongue, and he loves it.

After a further five minutes of walking, stopping, making out and repeating, the two men reach the car. An arm around Brendon’s torso, Ryan fumbles with his keys and unlocks the car. He opens the passenger door for Brendon and as he goes to get inside, they both notice something on the passenger seat.

The roll of duct tape.

Brendon stares at the roll for a moment, before looking at Ryan, wide-eyed and suspicious. Ryan stands, jaw hanging open.

“It’s not what it looks like, Bren!” He tries to defend himself, but Brendon still looks surprised, picking up the roll and examining it. “I was fixing my wing mirror because it broke off and the duct tape was in my glove compartment from when I tried to fix my puncture and I swear I didn’t mean to leave it on—“

Brendon pulls the end of the tape and tears off a piece, placing it over Ryan’s mouth. “Shut up, Ry. I really don’t care. I just want you to fuck me.”

Title: Cameras And Carriages
Rating: PG
Pairing: Joncer, Jon/Spencer
POV: 3rd
Disclaimer: Didn't happen blah
Summary: On the train on his way home, Jon meets a man in need.

Ignoring the signs on the sides of the carriage, Jon reclined, kicked off his flip-flops, and rested his feet on the seats opposite, staring out of the train window. He fiddled with the disposable camera in his hands and turned, pointing the little plastic device out of the window.

Snap.

He took a picture without looking and closed his eyes, adjusting his position on the firm train seat. He exhaled and rested the hand holding the camera on his lap.

He frowned when he heard the carriage door open. He opened one eye and raised an eyebrow when a man was standing there examining him, a superfluously large suitcase next to him.

“Is there space for me in here?” The man smiled nervously and Jon sat up, putting his feet down.

“Uh, yeah, of course, but maybe not your suitcase!” Jon laughed, trying to be funny. “Come on in.”

The man shuffled in and tried to pick up his suitcase. Jon jumped up immediately and grabbed the suitcase. “Allow me.”

“Thanks.” The other man said awkwardly, evidently embarrassed at his lack of strength in comparison to Jon. The latter picked up the colossal suitcase effortlessly and slid it on the luggage rack alongside his substantially smaller suitcase. They both sat down, and the man sat almost opposite Jon, allowing him space to put his feet back up. He shuffled around uncomfortably before eventually speaking up. “My name’s Spencer. Spencer Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Spencer. I’m Jon Walker.”

This seemed to have broken the ice ever so slightly, as Spencer seemed to relax. “Nice camera.” He smiles.

“Uh, it’s just a disposable one, but I guess it does its job.” Jon looked down at the plastic camera and tossed it from one hand to the other.

“Mind if I...” Spencer looked down at it and outstretched a hand tentatively. Jon nodded and passed it to the other man. Spencer looked at the camera in his hands and held it up to his eye, closing the other one. “Smile, Jon!” He laughed and caught Jon unaware.

Snap.

He handed that camera back and reclined in the seat. Jon slid the camera onto the seat next to him. There was something about Spencer that Jon really liked. Maybe Spencer just had a nice aura about him, or maybe it had been something else.

“So Jon, where are you headed?” Spencer closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat.

“Back home to Chicago. What about you?”

Spencer didn’t reply at first. You could have cut the atmosphere in the carriage with a knife. Eventually Spencer spoke up and cleared his throat as he did so. “Yeah, I-I’m going to Chicago too.”

Jon cocked his head to the side. “Why did you take so long to answer?”

“Uh...did I?” Spencer tried to mentally delete the past thirty seconds.

Jon didn’t reply, but just looked at Spencer, tried to decode the man before him.

After a few minutes in awkward silence, Spencer sighed. “I’m just trying to get away from home for a while. I don’t know where I’m going, I’ve got nowhere to stay, but anywhere is better than being there.” The carriage fell silent.

Jon thought for a moment. “Spencer,” He started. “Would you like to stay with me? I live on my own; you could stay in one of my spare rooms. It’d be nice to have some company, the house is pretty big.”

Spencer looked taken back by the offer, and he looked down at the floor of the carriage. “You’d do that for me?” He asked in a small voice. “You’ve only just met me.”

A pain struck in Jon’s heart when he heard Spencer sounding so small and helpless. “Spencer, I wouldn’t offer it to you if I wouldn’t do it for you.”

“You’re a very good person, Jon. God bless you. Thank you so much, I can’t thank you enough!” Spencer bit his bottom lip and looked up at Jon with watery eyes.

The train pulled into the station and the two men departed, Spencer followed Jon close behind. Jon didn’t live too far from the train station, and they arrived at the house quickly. Spencer was surprised at just how big the house was. He couldn’t thank Jon enough for doing this for him. After he settled into his room, he walked downstairs and walked into the kitchen to find Jon cooking a pot of pasta on the stove.

“Jon,” He said softly. The man before him jumped and turned around. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Jon placed his hand on his heart, touched by the tone of Spencer’s voice, the look in his eyes. “It’s ok, Spence. I couldn’t let you wander around on the streets. You can stay here as long as you want.” Spencer smiled before walking forward and hugging Jon tightly around his waist. Spencer and Jon stood there in embrace for a while, nothing but the sound of their hearts beating and the sound of the pasta bubbling over.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
aw c:
first joncer fic, if this gets a good response and people would like one, I'll write a sequel or something c:

~Angela

funny things happen when there's only two of you, only each other for company. You develop strange feelings that you can't explain. they feel wronge but you long for them. in the desolate quietness of the mountains stood a cabin and in there, there were two blokes getting frisky. these two men were Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross. the sexual tention was high. higher then it had ever been, higher then their dicks.

It all started when they went on a holiday. As friends, they decided to take a vacation in a cabin, do mountain climbing and fishing. Y'know, manly shit. they never thot that an all boys hoillday could lead to something as sorded and sexual then this. the next thing they knew it wasnt the fishing rods that were in their hands....

"Hey, Ry" Brendon pestered his friend Ryan for the 17.6 billionth time that day "Can we PLEASE go on a guys holiday and stay in your friend's cabin?" he beged

"um.. yeah... i dont see why not, it would be fun" he repilled. the next week they loded there car and set off on a long tiering jonry to the cabine in the woods.when they got there they went to catch dinner.   as he cast a line out to sea [to see if he could catch a dream] Brendon sang out loud to himself "DON'T STAP NEVEH GIV AP NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH REACH THA TOP NEVA FURGET WHAT YOU HAVE GAT NAH NAH ALL BACK TO YOU!!!1!" and ryan laughed because he was a faggot. they whent caching anything but this wired feeling came over them, like nothing realie mattert beause they had each other. they snuggled up to eachother by the fire. brendon shuffled closer to the fire but burnt his humungous flappy nigger lips because thy just like spilled everywhere and ryan was like "lol do you want me to kiss it better?"

"yes, i do. is that bad?" he mutter ashamed

"no" ryan lent in and kised brendan soft and gentaly

their tounges met they didnt stop there.  Brendon was thinking 'my parents raised me to be a good mormon boy so this shouldnt be right' but it was. It was so wrong it was right and they both new it. Brendon started kissing back and ryan responded angrily and hungrily and oh my god it was steamy. it caried on and on ultil they stared cerresing eachothes skin and hair. ryan ripped into brendons top. Just as it was getting hot Ryan's phone started ringing. Brendon picked it up and Spencer was on the other end. "HEY!"

"What do you want?!" Brendon replied breathlessly.

"Oh hey brendon, I have a message for Ryan - TELL YA BOY ASSHAT DAT DA WHISTLE GO WHOO WHOOO!!!"

"FUCK OFF SPENCER WE'RE HAVING SEX AND SHIT OMG GTFO" brendon slams the phone on the floor angrily and proceeds to stick his tongue down ryan's throat. ryan losed his trouser and slid bredans hands in. Brendon gasped in excitement and clasped his hand around ryan's mahoosive piece. as brendon slid his hand up and down ryans penis he starded to shake feeling that he was doing something right for once.

"fuck," the words escaped ryan's mouth and he smiled, closing his eyes and moaning. ryan the slied his hands down bdens trousers so he could expreance the same plesure. And fuck, did brendon experience it lol he was so happy, he couldn't breath, pleasure made him shiver all over. bredand groued loudly and deeply. the noise pushed ryan to the edge and made him come everywhere, all over both of them like a fucking firetruck. as he moved faster up and down bredhdi’s penis he moand louder and deeper.

The first sleepover fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And then we went to sleep lol

there once was a penis called angela. bredon liked to suck on the penis. ryan liked it in his butthole. jake fancied angela but she rejected him he turnt into a crab infested prostitute. so she just did spencer insted. No toothpaste involved. he licked the vasaline off the penis....befor inseting it in him self. He used a camool to help.

to get rid of his pain jake slept with 100 thai lady men ;). to forget the pain angela caused. Circles are the new squares, how can he walk on those mothafuckin' step-pads?!?!!!11!!!one!? it was the day of the wedding... whos wedding was it? ryan and bredans, spencer was increddable jelouse . "It's not mah foult dat ur in luv w/ me or s/t sponcor I just don't love you like i love ry he's a beast lols~" brendon said coming up for breath.the camool goes lol wut. spencer groaned still in pain from a night of man on man passion. dayum it was so hot and even brent wilson was there da fuq they must have been so fucking drunk or high or summit what even idk. "YOWZAAAAA" screamed spencer as he saw his penis cumin up the isle... it was messy. he was tund on by ryan in a sunning long white wedding dress . spancor cud hav swern he read a fic like dis last night idk but he has really high and stoof so he didnt even know where he was and lol why is dolan raping a unicorn in the pews?! because he likes it....

this high sexual fustration ended with all the wedding gests in a hot wet orgy . lol like penis wentz was there and everything is was fuckin steamy and there was spunk everywhere lol dry cleaning bills. they were through the roof!!!! just like the penis, they were so wet they looked like the just got out of the shower!! so they ran around the shopping centre naked as the day they were born. fucking every one and every thing in sight, bernad’s har stuck to his face as he fornacated . jesus dallon christ this was so sticky and ugh what even there was spunk and bodies everywhere it was like a sex massacre lololololol text it.

brendon a newly wed fornicated with 3 yes 3!!! men! they had a gang bang evey hole was full!!! "UGHHHHHHH" brendons sex noise was so high pitched and loud animals thought they were under attack!!! so they fornicagted too! dogs and cats living together!!! the sex was hot the orgasiums where long and hard as they all fuck though the night. Ryan, jon and spencuh were all so high that they didnt even know what the fuck was happening but they called like everyone in their phone contacts (which was like pete wentz, gabe saporta and a guy from the mcdonalds drive thru) and asked them to join in so the others came round and they had a gang bang lol then their girlfriends came downstairs and were like "what is this noise why are you having a gang bang without us lol move over" and sarah and breezy were like ‘om nom nom spunk’ and dallon and ian walked over and jumped on the boys and girls like hungry animals or s/t lol idk.

SPUNK WAS FILLING THE ROOM. bredav didnt care about the arrivel of the girls he was too intreted in his new husban ryan, his hot body, his lesbain hair and tight ass. but i guess it wasnt very tight cause ryans a whore lol he love da spunk hahaha ah ha his five a day was penis, balls, ass, spunk and brendon LOL  you know it. hes sexy and he knows it. "HARDER, HARDER!!!!, TAKE IT BRENDON TAKE IT BRENDON!!!!!!!" RYAN TORE BRENDON A NEW ASSHOLE.he fucked jurwgrd longer and harder untill another hot bitch wanted there way with him, as the mintets turn to hour the sex got hareder and more satafying. ryon larved grendond but he wus a whore so he let sgfben have sex with some other skank and moved on to penis wentz lol he loves penis wentz haha no he just loves penis.

while fucking a bitch ryan thought to himself "lol what am I having for dinner tonight?" but he was thinking this out loud because brendon said that he had his penis for dinner. the stress and heat of the orgy was driving bredon to the eadge untill he fell a sobbing broken man in to ryans strong but careing arms, ryan made him smile the only way he knew how, ryan droped to his knees and slid bredans peins in to him mouth he sucked hard and tiwisted his tounge aound the peins untill bredan came groaned and laught. all of a sudden ian and dallon came over and ian was laughing idk why but dallon whipped out his monstercock and squished in in ryan's mouth too and ryan fucking loved it haha and ian was like "can i join in" and they were like "no nigger you're too small gtfo" and he cried and sat on the floor wallowing in self pity and brushing his curly hair lol. sorry i mean his pubes...

the sex slowly came to a natual stopping ponit so bredan and ryan lay on the flor spooning . Dallon went to bed cause he was tired from excessive fucking and penis wentz went home with the mcdonalds boy lol and ian was still sat sobbing and combing his mini fro down below because yolo~ ian decided to have a nice wank as everyone was asleep... he watched some hardcore gay porn and wanked 3 times the end result as sticky.

when everyone woke up it was like it had been snowing, only it hadn't, it was just dried spunk. so brendan picked it up and put it on his cereal. he enjoed the salty taste it remined him of so many hot nights of passion. And the taste of ryan (he tastes like you only sweeter). all of a sudden he felt his penis go hard and looked down to see ryan was on the end of it... yumm. touching and cerresing his skin, ryan climbed his way up bredns body licking and kissing as he whent. he sucked and licked his nipples, nibbled gentaily at his neck then tounged him hard exchangeing saiver and dignaty. Brendon started crying "RYAN! HOLY SHIT!" and he gasps, grabbinng big handfuls of ryan's lonmg floppy hair (which reminded him that ryan needs to get a fuckin haircut seriously what is up with that stupid hair-do fucking hipster) and yanked hard, screaming for more cos brendon's like that. then they did eachother up the ass

the end :3

The other sleepover fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is the fourth letter. This is the seventeenth phone call.

Ryan sits up in his bed, yawning and stretching simultaneously. He glances at the clock. 11:45 Am, Why the fuck am I up this early? He asks himself, before slumping back down, his head plummeting into the soft, thick pillow. He lets his eyes drift shut but they open immediately when the sound of the front door knocking beckons him from is bed.

“Ugh, why?!” He cries out, pulling himself out of the bed and pulling on a t-shirt and adjusting his sweat pants. “Coming!” He calls, yawning and rubbing his morning-after eyes. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have drunk that much last night.” He scolds himself, holding his head and staggering to the door. Ryan has been going out every night this week, and almost every night for four weeks. It all started at his friend’s party, and he’s really paying for it now.

Grasping the key and turning it, he unlocks the door and pries the door open. “Jesus fucking Christ! Again?!” He shrieks, glaring at an envelope on the doorstep. He picks it up, examining it, already knowing exactly what will be in it, and walks back inside. Sliding a long finger under the flap, he opens it, tearing the paper. He reads the letter in his head as he did every time before.

You said you loved me. I still love you. I need to see you. Please don’t hang up when I call. I miss you, and I will keep sending you these letters until you notice me. I hope you remember me, I could never forget you.

I love you Ryan.

Xxx

Ryan crushes the paper in his hands and launches it at the trashcan. “Fuck off!” He screams at it, kicking the wall. He leans against the wall and slides down it, slumping on the floor, taking his head in his hands.

This person has been sending him these letters for three weeks. He has kept all of them; he’s kept count of the phone calls, they’re all stored on his cell phone in his call log. Thirteen letters, all saying the same thing, or near enough. Thirty-four phone calls, all beginning with “Ryan I need to see you.” And all ending within a few seconds.

He lets out a frustrated cry and hurls his cell phone across the room when it starts to ring. “No,” He cries. “Not again! Please not again!” The phone rings a little longer and eventually, begrudgingly, he crawls over to the phone, lying on the floor. Hands shaking, he picks up the phone. He takes a deep breath and hits the answer button.

“Ryan! I need to see you—“

“What the fuck do you want?!” He cries into the phone, standing up abruptly.

“What’s wrong, Ry?” the voice on the end of the line sounds hurt and worried.

“Stop ringing me. Stop sending me letters. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to. Get the fuck out of my life!” He yells, standing up and pacing.

“But...Ryan...I love you...”

Ryan screams in frustration. “You don’t even fucking know me! Who are you?!”

There is silence, and eventually there is a sigh. “You don’t remember...”

“No, I don’t,” Ryan growls, clenching a fist. “So get out of my life.” The line goes dead on the other end. Ryan flings his cell phone at the wall and it shatters, the back and battery flying out of it and the various pieces falling to the floor.

Ryan begins to retreat to his bed when the door knocks. Fuck, he thinks. He spins and approaches the door cautiously, taking a deep breath. He grabs the door handle and turns it slowly. He pulls the door open and holds his breath. A man is standing there, beaming and rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes and back again. His hands are behind his back, and there’s something a bit off about him.

“Who are you?” Ryan demands, examining the man before him.

“You don’t remember.” The man stops smiling and stands still.

Ryan cocks his head to the side and thinks, before it hits him. “Shit, you’re the one who’s been calling me and sending me those letters! Get the fuck away from me!” He tries to shut the door but the man runs forward, knocking Ryan onto the floor. “What the fuck?!” Ryan cries out, trying to get back up as the man stands over him.

“Ryan, please,” The man pleads. “Please don’t do this!”

“Don’t do what?! You just forced your way into my house!” Ryan yells at him, getting up and regaining composure.

The man places a hand on his shoulder. “I love you Ryan. Please remember me.” He looks like he is going to cry, and there is a catch in his throat as he speaks.

Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t remember who you are. How do we even know each other?”

The other man strokes Ryan’s cheek and sighs. “Remember, four weeks ago, you went to a party. I bought you a drink and we got to know each other a bit more. Then you said that you wanted to get to know me even more, and we went back here. We fucked, and you said that you loved me. I remember that night like it was yesterday.”

Ryan is taken back by this, and looks at the boy carefully, taking a step backwards. “Look, I don’t even know your name, but you remember everything. You know I was probably really drunk. Why can’t I remember anything from that night?”

The man before me looks down and bites his lip. “Because you lied. You don’t really love me. You never did.” He looks back up, revealing that he is actually crying now. “You’re a horrible, cruel liar. You’re breaking my heart Ryan, I love you so much but you don’t care about me.” He sobs and wipes his eyes.

On impulse, Ryan takes a step forward, putting his arms around the man’s neck. “I’m sorry. I really am. Can you at least tell me your name?”

The man sniffs, resting his head against Ryan’s shoulder. “My name’s Brendon.” Ryan strokes the other man’s hair with one hand, the other hand placed on his back, the thumb rubbing back and forth along his spine.

“Ok, Brendon. Tell me again what happened that night. I want to remember.”

Brendon raises his head, looking Ryan straight in the eye. “Really?”

“Of course. I really want to know.” Ryan smiles at Brendon. Brendon smiles, his tear-stained cheeks a bright shade of red, his hair a tousled mess.

Letting out a slight giggle, Brendon proceeds to explain. “Well, we were at your friend Spencer’s party.” Brendon blushes before managing to speak again. “Well...I think...that if there’s such thing as love at first sight, I felt it that night.” Brendon sighs like a love drunk schoolgirl, and closes his eyes before continuing. “I eventually managed to get up the courage to go and speak to you, and I used that old chat up line about how much a polar bear weighed before asking you if you wanted a drink. I remember when you laughed at how cheesy it was. When I heard your laugh, my heart skipped a beat.”

Ryan’s heart flutters as Brendon spills his memories. “Oh, Brendon, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“But that’s not all,” Brendon continues. “You accepted the drink, and we got talking. I remember how cute you sounded, slurring your words slightly from having just a few too many drinks.” Brendon strokes Ryan’s face. “We got talking more and you suggested that we came back to your place. Obviously I agreed, and you said that you wanted to have sex with me. It was perfect, you were incredible and I kept saying about how much I loved you, and eventually you said ‘I love you too’. I never forgot that. Not one second passed that I didn’t think of you after that.”

Ryan’s heart melts as Brendon tells him all of this. “I-I remember...I remember that...” Ryan realises, and takes Brendon’s face in his hands. “I remember all of it now. I remember that cheesy line about the polar bear breaking the ice. Oh Brendon! I remember!”

Tears of joy trickle down his cheeks and he looks Ryan right in the eye before their lips crush together, a frenzy of desperate kissing. Brendon kisses Ryan hard, like he’s hungry. And Ryan kisses back. Hard.

Ryan looks up at the ceiling, exhaling contently. “I love you, Brendon.”

Brendon rolls over to Ryan, pulling the sheets up to their chests, indulging in an Eskimo kiss. “I love you more.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Ryan smirks, rolling onto his side and weaving an arm around the other man’s torso, pulling him into him. The mattress creaks under them as they cuddle and playfully argue about who loves who more, like a couple in high school.

They lay there cuddling for a while, on the bed, in the room where time doesn’t matter, because at that moment all that mattered was for them to be together.

“Where are we going?” I pout, jabbing Spencer in the shoulder. We’ve been driving for an hour and he still won’t tell me where we’re headed.

“It’s a surprise.” He repeats for the thousandth time this journey.

I sit back in my seat and cross my arms. It’s my birthday. You don’t keep secrets from the birthday boy. It’s just not the done thing. Well, except with secret birthday parties...and presents...ok, so maybe you do.

I fidget and grasp my stomach. “I’m hungry, Spence. I’m really hungry.” My stomach gurgles audibly and I stare at him as he simply grins, reaching over and turning up the radio.

Several minutes later we arrive at a Chinese restaurant. My mouth drops open and I look at Spencer with wide eyes. “We’re eating here?”

“Yeah, we are.” I wrap my arms around Spencer’s neck and squeeze tight.

“I’m going to eat so much food, oh my god Spencer.”

He grins at me as we leave the car. I rub my stomach and lick my lips, almost running at the restaurant doors, bursting through them and bounding over to the front counter. Spencer swans over, meeting me by the desk and smiling at the lady behind it. “Table for two, I reserved it earlier. Mr Smith.”

The woman looks at a sheet before looking up and smiling. “Yes, sir. You’ll be led to your table shortly.”

I smile widely at Spencer who is leaning on the front desk. A boy who looks around my age walks up to us after being beckoned by the lady. “Good evening, gentlemen. I’ll show you to your table.” He smiles, spinning on his heels and leading us away from the desk.

Spencer nudges me. “Nice ass.” He winks at me. Ever since I came out as being bisexual, Spencer has been pointing out guys to me. I look down. Damn, this one did actually have a nice ass. I shake my head, dragging my sight off of the boy’s ass and trying to ignore Spencer.

We arrive at our table and sit down. The waiter hands us menus and we start to browse. “I’ll be back shortly to take your order.” The boy says. “I’m Ryan and I’ll be your waiter tonight.”

He walks away, and I watch him leave. “Stop peeking!” Spencer teases, poking me. I turn around and shake my head, looking down at the menu. So much to choose from. Chow Mein, chicken and cashew nuts, chop suey, battered prawn balls, chicken satays, lemon chicken, duck pancakes. I can’t choose.

“What are you having?” I look up, watching Spencer reading the intricate menu. He has a crease on his forehead from concentration.

“Uh...I think I’ll have...uh...” He mumbles, still concentrating on the menu.

I laugh to myself, looking back down at the menu. We eventually decide on what to get, and I gesture at the waiter to come back over. “Hey, um, we’d like to order now.”

The waiter, Ryan, nods and smiles, getting his notepad out ready. We reel off our long list of food, watching Ryan scribbling furiously in the notepad. “Thank you, I’ll be back soon with the food.” He smiles at Spencer, and then at me, lingering before walking away. My heart skips a beat, and I place a hand on my chest.

“Are you ok, Bren?” Spencer frets, and I nod, placing my hand onto the table and regaining my composure. “He’s just...”

“Gorgeous?” Spencer finishes my sentence. “Get in there, Bren.”

My heart is racing and I take a deep breath before drumming my fingers on the table. “Oh, shut up Spence.” My face reddens with embarrassment.

“I’m serious. He totally digs you.”

We wait for what seems like an eternity, but is in fact only twenty minutes, for the food to be placed on the table. It seemed a lot longer with Spencer constantly talking about how great Ryan looked.

“Here you go, enjoy.” Ryan smiles, plates of Chinese food balanced precariously on his arms and in his hands. He places them on the table and looks at me again. “And happy birthday, Brendon.” He grins at me. Spencer must’ve said something about it when he reserved the table. I feel a fluttering inside me, and I feel myself going red, from embarrassment and flattery.

After the meal, I feel bloated and extremely content. We waddle back to the car clutching our full stomachs, sliding in and exhaling. That was incredible.

But one thing’s for sure, I will certainly be going back to that Chinese restaurant as soon as possible...requesting a particular waiter.

Everything ached. His head killed. Brendon tried to adjust his eyes to the lights, tried to focus on the worried faces around him.

“Brendon, we need to get you out of here and get you checked out.” A worried, familiar voice fretted.

“What...What happened?” Brendon whispered, barely audible over the shouting in the crowd in front of him.

He tried to focus on who was talking. “Some asshole bottled you, Brendon. You got knocked out. Hit you right in the temple, man.” Brendon tried to sit up, but his head throbbed. Fuck it hurt. “Brendon, we’re going to cut the set and take you to the medics.” Brendon recognized that the voice was Zack’s.

“No,” he choked out. “I want to finish the set. Help me up.” He demanded, reaching out for someone to help him. Zack and another guy helped him up and a medic checked that he was ok. They still finished the set, but Brendon really wasn’t ok.

That night on the bus, when Brendon was recovering from the blow, Ryan came and sat by him on his bunk. “Are you ok, man?” He asked gently, brushing a strand of Brendon’s hair from his face. Brendon shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, wincing from the pain of moving. There was a big red mark spreading across his temple, and Ryan felt a pain in his chest, like his heart was being torn up just looking at the younger boy.

Ryan weaved an arm around Brendon, pulled him into his chest and kissed his forehead. He let out a sigh and Brendon looked up at him with wide eyes. “Ryan,” He asked in a small voice. “Can you look after me tonight?”

Ryan took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course I will, Bren. Of course I will.”

In return, Brendon looped his arms around Ryan’s torso and hugged tight, resting is face on Ryan’s chest. “I love you so much Ryan.”

“I love you too, Brendon.” The older boy smiled down at him. “I wish you hadn’t had to go to through this today. It’s not fair. It shouldn’t have been you. I wish I could just take all the pain away from you, because you’re so perfect and I never want you to feel anything less than that.” Ryan placed another kiss on Brendon’s head before he continued. “I love you so much; I never want you to feel any pain.”

“Oh, Ryan!” Brendon whispered into the older boy’s chest, tightening his grip around him. “I love you so much, thank you so much for just being here.”

Ryan let out an audible “aw” and Brendon laughed slightly but winced again.

“Do you want an painkillers or something, Bren?” Ryan stroked Brendon’s hair and the younger boy nodded slightly. “Ok, I’ll be right back, sweetie.” Ryan supported Brendon until he was in a comfortable seating position before speeding off to get some aspirin and a glass of water. On his way back he noticed that Spencer and Jon were out. Probably out getting high or drinking, he thought to himself with a smirk.

“Here you go, baby.” Ryan smiled, handing the pill and the water to the boy on the bed. Brendon took the pill and nuzzled back into the chest of the older boy.

“I love you so much, Ry.” Brendon whispered, and with a kiss on the forehead, Ryan returned it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aw c:
Hope you guys liked it, this is my first oneshot, and well, it had to be Ryden XD
this was fun to write, I hope to write some more :3
~Angela

Chapter two

I shake my head. “Resistance?”

“There is an underground operation to remove The Dukkha from power,” Brendon explains, a serious streak in his low voice. “We’re looking for recruits for the resistance team.”

I take a moment to process the information. “A...a rebellion? You’re going to rebel against The Dukkha? But how—“

“We’ve got hundreds of people on our side,” He explains in a low voice. “But we need more. We can make this rebellion a revolution.”

I swallow hard. His eyes are penetrating, and as he stares, I feel as though he wants me to say something. Without thinking, the word “Okay” Slips from my mouth.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, I’ll join you.”

Brendon stands up abruptly. “Really?”

“Yeah...yeah I will.” I whisper. I’ve never been the rebellious type, but I guess society has never forced me to be.

The familiar clicking sounds from the television. Broadcast time. We don’t even stand up; we remain on the couch, simply listening to the false words of The Dukkha’s representatives. Brendon eventually stands up and walks over to the small television. He mutters “The revolution starts here.” And presses the power button.

“Shit, Brendon. They’re going to see that this television wasn’t on during the broadcast, and it’s going to link back to me.” I panic, walking over to it and reaching to turn it back on.

“Ryan, calm down,” He says softly, covering the power switch before I can reach it. “I haven’t seen a broadcast in two and a half years, and I’m still kicking.”

I sigh and begin to pace. “So,” I begin. “Who else is part of the resistance?”

Brendon looks up. “I’m not prepared to divulge that kind of information yet. But I can take you somewhere where I can show you.”

I nod. “You might want some clothes though.” I look at him, standing half naked before me, the towel being the only thing keeping his dignity.

“I’ll grab my clothes and—“

“No,” I cut him off. “I’ll lend you some of my clean clothes. You can’t wear them old rags.” He looks at me carefully, eyes thankful.

~

Brendon fully clothed and both of us fed, I follow the man like a dog follows his master. He looks around dubiously, making sure that nobody is following us as we walk to what I assume will be the resistance central station. We reach a large, tan coloured slab in the middle of a street, camouflaged by the dusty ground surrounding it.

“Give me a hand.” Brendon gestures to the slab and I step forward, taking a corner and helping him lift it. It’s not too heavy, but it’s a lot easier with two people. Lifting the slab, we exhume a long staircase, which I can only assume leads down to the resistance base.

We descend the stone staircase, being swallowed by the darkness below. I whip a lighter out of my pocket and ignite it. The dark staircase is bathed in a sea of amber light. Brendon continues to lead me down the stairs and we reach a heavy wooden door.

The man before me clenches his fist and knocks twice, slowly and heavily, and then four times rapidly. Must be like a code knock or something. A slot in the door opens and two blue eyes glare through it.

“Who is that?” the eyes stare at me, and I shift my weight onto the other foot.

“He’s with me, he’s safe,” Brendon explains. “He wants to join us.”

The slot slams shut, and there is a rattling from behind the door. Within a few seconds the door is opened. The man has light brown hair which sticks out in different directions, and a slender structure, possibly from lack of food.

He takes a step backwards and allows us to enter, scrutinizing me, taking in every little detail. I feel slightly uncomfortable being examined like this, but try to shrug it off.

The base is more like a hollowed out cave than a command base. There are a few people milling around, doing nothing in particular. I follow the two men to another room, past another heavy door, in which a short man with spiky black hair and an even shorter man with curly brown hair are standing, discussing the contents of the file in the shorter man’s hands.

“Hey guys, we have a recruit.” The man who answered the door addresses the two men. They both look up from the folder, straight at me.

“Uh...hey, I’m Ryan,” I barely manage to verbalize anything intelligible, faced with the new people. “Ryan Ross.”

The shorter man clears his throat. “Crawford. Ian Crawford. Good to have you with us.” I smile and nod as the other man takes a few steps towards me.

“And I’m Pete Wentz,” He says gruffly, grasping my left hand tightly and shaking it almost brutally. “Welcome to the resistance.” He lets my hand go, and it falls limp at my side, throbbing from the release of pressure.

Brendon places a hand on my shoulder and says “And this is Spencer Smith, the guy who opened the door.” I turn to face Spencer, and his eyes are narrowed at me. I outstretch my right hand for a handshake but he ignores it and leans against the wall, arms crossed.

I flex my fingers, allowing the circulation to resume as I look around. “So Ryan,” Pete begins, looking at me carefully. “How did you meet Brendon?”

“Uh, well I was getting my rations, and on the way back I saw him in the street. He looks really unhealthy and stuff so I offered for him to come back to my apartment and get cleaned up. I made him some food and—“

“We don’t need your life story.” Spencer deadpans, and I feel my skin growing hot with embarrassment. I swallow hard and Brendon intervenes.

“He helped me. That’s all that matters.” He defends me. Spencer shakes his head and looks in a different direction. There’s a lot of atmosphere, and I clear my throat which, if I’m honest, doesn’t really assist the situation. Brendon walks over to me and places a light hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll show you around, introduce you to the team.”

~

Walking around the base, I see a variety of people, whom are all introduced to me individually.

“This is Patrick,” Brendon states, gesturing to a man sitting hunched over a laptop. “He’s our mole. He’s got access to Dukkha databases and he’s trusted on the inside.”

The man looks up, taking off his cap, ruffling his floppy, light brown-blonde hair and replacing it. “Nice to meet you...?” He extends his hand awaiting a reply.

“Ross. Ryan Ross.” I smile, accepting his handshake. He is a lot gentler than Pete was, and after the greeting, he resumes typing rapidly of the key pad, slumping over it and blocking out the rest of the world.

We walk to another few people. “Hey guys,” three men and a woman look up. “This is our new recruit, Ryan Ross.” There is a resounding, disinterested mumble of “Hey” from the group. “That guy,” He says pointing to a man in flip flops. “Is Jon Walker. A bit...quirky, but you’ll get used to it.” He then turns to a man with stubble and hair that seems to stick up as though it is static. “That’s Jeremy. And that guy next to him, that’s Taylor.” He points at the other man. “And the girl,” He gestures to a girl with hair that looks like flames. “That’s Hayley.” I observe the almost glowing girl and the other men carefully before following Brendon to two other men sitting in a corner, one of them writing in a folder containing a file and another on a laptop.

“Newbie.” A man with frizzy brown hair and glasses looks up from his laptop at me and Brendon. He is wearing a hoodie with the words "Down with The Dukkha" on it. Brave, I think to myself.

“This,” Brendon steps forward “Is Ryan Ross. He’s a new recruit. Ryan,” He turns to me “This is Andy and Joe.” He gestures to each man in turn, Andy being the one who spoke up initially, and Joe being the man writing in the file.

“Nice to meet you, Ryan.” Joe doesn’t look up from the file.

“Well,” Brendon begins, leading me away from the other people. “You know the team now. Shall we get started?”

“Started on what?” I raise an eyebrow, looking at Brendon inquisitively.

“Getting you rebellious.”

Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Woop all new characters!
Anyway, hope you like this :D
fun times.
~Angela

Chapter one

The familiar clicking of the television awakes me from my daydream. I squint, my sight hazy from the dusty light of my apartment. It is viewing time, an allotted time for the people of this godforsaken city to be conditioned into believing what The Dukkha, the dictatorship government, want them to. I stand up and walk to the desk in front of the small box, sitting down and glaring at the fuzzy screen.

There is a crackling as the television begins, the regular faces appearing on the screen, talking about how wonderful The Dukkha are, subliminally messaging the forced audience. Every day we are forced to watch these broadcasts, it’s like a way that the government can keep an eye on what we’re taking in. We have a set amount of media that we have to watch every day.

I hate the broadcasts. Every day we are polluted with these fake stories about how The Dukkha has enriched our lives, about how we are a better society with them in power. They are the ones producing the broadcasts, they would say that. The Dukkha forced their way into power. Money and force are the reason that they are in charge and we are suffering.

The broadcast finishes and I stand up, stretching. I walk across the apartment, looking in the small, begrimed kitchenette for any food rations that might not have decomposed yet. I swing a cupboard door open and all that is inside it is a brown banana skin, slimy and muculent.

To avoid gagging I quickly close the cupboard and move on to the next one, dreading what may lie inside. Pulling the doors open, I sigh and observe a small mouse withdrawing from a small packet of now empty crackers. A low growling erupts from within me and I clutch my stomach, bending slightly from the dull ache of hunger.

There are some ration tickets in my desk drawer I think, and I walk back to it, pulling it open and sighing with relief at the sight of the beige slips. I pick them up and hold them close to me, whispering ‘thank you god’ under my breath.

Putting on a pair a battered grey plimsolls and a jacket, I tuck the tickets into my pocket and leave. It’s only when walking around that you really notice just how much of a ghost town this has become. Three years ago, this street would have been full of children, playing tag and having water fights during the summer. Now there is nobody. Everyone stays in their houses unless they need to get food.

There is no colour, either. That’s one of the things that I really miss. Everybody wears the same things; there are no flowers or other plants in this desolate wasteland. Nobody has cars because nobody can go anywhere; we all have to stay at home so that we don’t miss the broadcasts. The houses that were once inhabited by happy families are now dilapidated, garden abandoned, front porches decaying and rotting into nothing. The town is derelict.

I reach the ration station and meet the man standing behind the counter. He is tall and  wearing a green apron (by far the most colourful thing for several square miles) and he has brown hair which sits flat on his head, a few stands in his eyes as he looks up from the desk at me. “Ryan!” He manages to smile. “Here for your rations again, I see. Got your tickets?”

“Thankfully.” I half laugh, handing the tickets to him.

He disappears for a minute before returning with two eggs, a pint of milk, a small loaf of bread, some butter, a banana, some meat and a small packet of crackers. “There you go.” He places the rations into a brown bag and hands them to me.

He goes to walk away and I reach over the counter and grab his shoulder. “Dallon,” I say softly as he turns around. “Send my love to the family. And take care of yourself.”

He nods and smiles at me, a sad look in his eye. “You too, Ry. Stay safe.”

We are all suffering, but at least I just have myself to look after. He has Breezy and the kids to look after, and he has also been helping out his friends, including me.

One time I didn’t have any ration tickets, and I was starving, and Dallon stole some food from the ration station for me. He risked his life. The penalty for stealing food in this town is death, if you’re caught, and he risked his life for me, and for his other friends. He’s also given his rations to other people before, since he can’t steal all the time, or he’d get caught. Dallon’s been going hungry making sure that others don’t, and I couldn’t admire him more for that.

Making my way back to the apartment, I see a man wandering around. I watch him carefully as he walks around and he notices me looking at him. “What do you want?” He says acidly, spitting the words at me.

“Nothing, I’m just wondering what on earth you’re doing. People generally don’t go out unless it’s for rations, which it doesn’t look like you’re doing.” I retort, glaring at him. He takes a few steps towards me, examining me as he walks.

“I just wanted the fresh air.” He lies as he approaches me, his gaze shifting to the bag of rations in my arms. He subconsciously licks his lips and by looking at his dishevelled appearance, he probably hasn’t had somewhere to live for a while.

“When was the last time you ate, sir?” I say softly, taking in the structure of his thin, probably malnourished body beneath the slatternly clothing.

He closes his eyes and grimaces before shaking his head. “I don’t know. Can’t remember.”

There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach, and I walk forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, tucking the ration bag under my other arm. “I’ll take you back to my place; you can have a shower and I’ll get some food in you. There’s not much here, but I can’t leave you out here with nothing.”

The man looks up at me, surprised, a spark of hope ignited in his wide brown eyes. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Well, who else is going to?” I smile simply, ruffling his dark, messy hair. “What was your name, by the way?” I cock my head to the side.

“Uh...Brendon. Brendon Urie.” He says quietly.

“Well, Brendon, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Ryan Ross.”

~

We walk back to my apartment and I helped him get out of the tatty clothing. “The shower is just through there. I’ll cook us some food and we’ll eat it before the next Dukkha broadcast.”

“Thank you again, Ryan. I can’t thank you enough. I really can’t.”

I empty the contents of the ration bag that Dallon gave me onto the counter of the kitchenette. I could make fried egg sandwiches I think, planning something to cook. Fried egg sandwiches seem like the most likely thing that will be made, since I’m not a chef, and can’t make anything particularly nice from the slim pickings before me. I subconsciously smile as I hear the sound of the shower.

I grab a small pan and place it on the hob, twisting the gas knob and igniting it, small blue flames dancing up and colliding with the base of the pan. I grab a knife and slice a small knob of butter from the little block and flick it into the pan, watching the yellow blob melt into the pan. Bubbles form in the oily substance and I drop the eggs into it, smiling as there is an audible sizzle from the pan. I butter two slices of bread and cut them both in half.

I turn and put the other rations in the fridge. I suppose I could keep the crackers in the fridge, that way no mice will eat them I think idly to myself as I shove the food scraps inside. I hear the sound of the shower stop and Brendon walks through shortly after, towel around his waist. He is drying his hair with a hand towel and walking over to where I am standing.

“That shower was wonderful.” He grins, gazing dreamily at the eggs in the frying pan.

“This is almost ready, if you want to take a seat.” I nod, looking down at the pan. He complies, sitting tentatively on the two-seater couch. I slide the eggs onto one of each of the halves of bread, placing the other half on top and turning off the gas on the hob. I slide the sandwiches onto two plates and balance the frying pan on the hob before taking the food over to where Brendon is sitting.

“Bon Appétit!” I laugh, handing him the plate.

“Thank you so much, Ryan. Really, thank you.” He says sincerely, taking a huge bite of the sandwich. I take a bite too, the warm yolk exploding in my mouth. A bit of the golden liquid drizzles down my chin and Brendon laughs.

“So,” I say, swallowing my mouthful. “Do you have an occupation? Anything you’d like to tell me about yourself?”

“Well,” Brendon looks down at his sandwich. “Are you a patriot?”

I sit back. “What do you mean?”

“Do you love The Dukkha?”

“God, no. I despise them,” I start, malevolence in my voice. “I hate them with every bone in my body, with every beat of my heart, they are an abomination, they are—“

Brendon cuts me off. “Well I am a leading member in the resistance.”

Chapter two