Distill The Scene

He’d find it weird, Ryan thinks. Nothing seems to faze him but this... this, Ryan thinks he’d find weird. Creepy. Odd. Unnerving.

But, then again, maybe not... he always seems to surprise him. Just when he thinks he’s got him figured out, he takes Ryan off guard – in a pleasant way, though. It’s interesting. It’s mysterious.

Like that time Ryan was looking at him across the canteen, and Ryan was certain that he would choose a banana over an apple, and he chose a kiwi instead. A kiwi. Ryan found it astonishing, and so very fascinating.

It makes Ryan yearn even more for him.

Brendon Urie: an icon of Palo Verde High School. He’s the guy who everyone looks up to, the one who the cheerleaders swoon over, the one who the jocks respect, and one who the regular guys strive to be like.

And you know the part that Ryan really doesn’t get? He doesn’t even try.

He just hangs out with his little bunch of friends at lunch (disciples more like, Ryan thinks), and just sits there. He never smiles; at least, Ryan’s never noticed him smile, and Ryan would know. He just nods at the appropriate times, giving one-word answers every now and again. Anyone else who glances over at the table just assumes that he’s listening intently to one of his friends... but Ryan knows differently. He can tell when Brendon is gazing into space when his eyes glaze over, chewing absently on his chosen fruit of the day. Ryan doesn’t know what he’s thinking about, but hell, he knows it must be something really important or cool.

After all, it’s Brendon Urie.

Of course, Brendon isn’t gay. He couldn’t be, not with all those people looking up to him and wanting to be like him. If he were gay, people would call him the ‘freaky fag’, kind of like Ryan, but maybe even then Ryan and Brendon could be together as the hopeless, unpopular faggots that they’re destined to be.

It just shows how invisible Ryan is, doesn’t it? All that staring, examining Brendon, and he doesn’t even notice. Not once.

Ryan’s relieved. Because that’s the thing he knows, just knows Brendon would find creepy; a silent stalker. Just like he’s doing now, actually. It’s 2003, senior year, and Ryan’s leaning against a wall, pretending to sip at his full can of beer.

“House party!” someone yells over the roar of the music, flinging their shirt around over their heads like a lasso, and the drunk students all cheer and scream in encouragement.

Yeah, sure, so it’s a cliché house party in high school. But hey, this is Ryan and Brendon, and as cliché as it seems, this is what they do.

Ryan only agreed to come after his best friend Spencer persuaded him to come, as he knew Brendon would be there and he also knew that Ryan fancied the pants off of him, because c’mon, it’s obvious.

Well, to everyone but Brendon.

Or so Ryan thinks.

“You’re Ryan, right?”

Ryan just stands there, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. He could really use Spencer’s gift of gab right about now, but the latter ran off into the dark with some chick twenty minutes ago, so he isn’t really much help right now.

“Uh... Ryan. Ryan Ross?” Brendon says unsurely, cocking his eyebrow in the most Brendon-ish way. “You’re in my history class.”

Ryan suddenly rejoices in his head. He knows who I am! I’m not invisible! He then decides to say something, anything, because Brendon’s looking at him as if he’s completely retarded (which he is, at this point in time) and Ryan can’t let him walk away, not now.

“Ngghhh.”

Ryan mentally pats himself on the back. Good job, you idiot.

Brendon chuckles softly and Ryan has that feeling again, where he’s pleasantly surprised. Actually, in this case, it’s more like pleasantly shocked. He’s never seen Brendon Urie smile, let alone laugh, not once.

Unfortunately, it just makes Ryan giggle.

Stupidly.

“Smith told me you liked me,” Brendon says in a matter-of-fact tone and Ryan cringed.

Ryan makes a mental note to kill Spencer at the next available opportunity. Brutally.

“S-sorry... don’t l-listen to him, h-he’s a bit... u-uh, he was dropped on his head when h-he was a baby, a-and—”

Brendon silences me with a glare. I shrink back, swallowing. “Shut up, Ross, or Christmas won’t come early for you.”

“W-what?”

“I take pity on the lesser beings, sometimes... when I’m feeling generous,” he smirks.

“What do you m-mean?”

Brendon huffs in impatience and snatches the beer out of Ryan’s hand, dumping it on a table. He grabs Ryan’s fingers and yanks him up the stairs, causing the latter to go all ‘fangirl’ inside his head.

It’s a good thing he has this head of his, to conceal his babbling thoughts.

And soon, Ryan knows exactly what Brendon meant.

It hurts, it really fucking hurts. But he was doing it, with Brendon Urie of all people, and he wanted to lose his virginity, he really did. He thought that maybe, after this, things would change, that Brendon and Ryan would hold hands and he’d be the envy of every girl, and some of the guys, in school, because he’s holding hands with Brendon, not them.

The next day, it all went back to normal.

Five years later.

He’d find it weird, Ryan thinks. Nothing seems to faze him but this... this, Ryan thinks he’d find weird. Creepy. Odd. Unnerving.

“Ryan, stop fucking staring at me when I’m asleep, you psycho.”

Yep, he’s right. Even after all these years, he’s still right.

“Sorry,” Ryan says softly, not to disturb his sleeping beauty. Brendon’s fringe has flopped in front of his face, covering his eyes in a messy tangle of hair. Ryan can’t stand it when Brendon starts to subconsciously frown in his sleep, his puffy lips stretching into an irresistible pout, so he gently brushes Brendon’s hair out of his eyes.

“Go ‘way,” Brendon groans, shuffling under the covers.

Ryan smiles slightly, stroking Brendon’s cheek gently. “You loved me, even the first time you talked to me, didn’t you Bren?”

Brendon bats Ryan’s hand away, rolling over. “Get over yourself, Ross.”

But Ryan just sits on the end of the bed, smiling. Even if Brendon won’t admit it, he knows.

The ring on Ryan’s finger is proof.