A Dangerous Face and an Almost Illegal Taste

Ryan Ross was lying in his bunk. He was lying in his bunk but he wasn’t sleeping. He was staring at what should have been the ceiling but was, in fact, the bottom of Brendon’s bunk. Ryan was lying in his bunk and now he was annoyed. After a day of performances and running from one place to another you were supposed to be tired. You were supposed to crash into waves of sleep after you fell into bed.

Ryan Ross could never sleep more than a few hours a night, if that, after a concert. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and into jeans and an oversized hoodie. He grabbed a notebook and pen that he didn’t expect to use and stepped outside of his band’s tour bus. He shut the door, breathing in the night air that bit at his lungs and nose. He took two steps before he realized he had forgotten shoes. He looked back at the bus, but the irrational part of his mind was lazy and overpowering.

There were a few random security guards scattered about, a gang of roadies drinking behind a stage, and a few lesser known band members smoking something that probably wasn’t legal on a picnic table. Ryan walked in the opposite direction, wanting to be alone to breathe and not think. He sat on a the bench of a plastic picnic table, crossing his arms on the table and resting his head on them.

The next thing he knew, two arms were shaking him awake. “Ryan? Hello, Ryan? Wake up.” Fingers snapped. That was Brendon’s voice.

“Wha’?” Ryan sat up, suddenly aware of the bright sun and dozens of people running around them.

Brendon’s brown eyes were laughing at him. “You know, one of these days a fan girl is going to find you and take advantage of you and then all your money’s going to go on child support.”

“Shut up.” Ryan said tiredly, squinting against the sunlight. He grabbed the notebook he had brought; the pen was missing. He swung his legs over the bench of the picnic table.

“You’re not wearing shoes.” Brendon said.

“I knew that.” Ryan replied, yawning. He let his friend lead him back to the tour bus, eyes half closed and feet dragging. He nearly collided with a man dressed all in black smoking a cigarette. He opened his eyes, managing a quiet ‘sorry’ which was shrugged off as the man walked past.

“After the show we’ll go to the store and get you some sleeping pills, all right?” Brendon said. He pushed open the tour bus door and let Ryan walk in first. “We have a few hours before we need to get ready. One of us will come get you. Get some sleep, Ry.”

Ryan dropped his notebook on the floor as he walked to his bunk, burying himself under the blankets and falling sleep quite quickly. He woke up to another pair of arms shaking him awake. Spencer’s blue eyes were sparkling innocently, calmly. “Ry, it’s time to go.”

Those words and those eyes seemed to make the sleep fly from Ryan’s eyes. He didn’t know why. It was Spencer. It was always Spencer. He sat up. “Where’s Jon and Bren?”

“Flirting.” Spencer said laughing quietly. “Brendon asked me to wake you up. They’ll be here soon. The girls will all run off to see Gerard when My Chemical Romance goes on in about ten minutes.” He stood up. “I’m going to watch TV. You should shower before Bren gets back and steals it.” Their band mate was a shower hog, generally not emerging from the bathroom until ten minutes after he had run out of hot water.

Ryan nodded. “Thanks.” Spencer gave him a smile and walked to the living room area of their bus. Ryan knelt on the floor and pulled out the drawer underneath his bunk. After surveying the contents, he picked the outfit he would wear for their show. He pulled it from the rest of the clothes and walked into the bathroom, turning on the water and stepping into the hot spray. The tension melted away from his shoulders. And those ten minutes without it were enough to warrant a contented sigh. He knew as soon as he stepped out that his shoulders would hike up toward his chin again. All three of his band mates had commented on it, as did Pete when he flew out to see one of their performances.

He’d had a bit of tenseness in his shoulders since middle school, but within the past few months it had gotten so bad that it was starting to affect his posture. A few times he had nearly been reduced to tears from the pain. Spencer had tried to convince him to see a doctor and try to get a prescription for muscle relaxants. Ryan had ignored him as he normally did when Spencer displayed common sense.

He stepped out of the shower, shoulders immediately hiking up nearly an inch. Maybe he should just live out the rest of his life in the shower. He snorted and grabbed a towel, drying his hair. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Jon was in his bunk playing on his Nintendo DS and putting off getting ready. Brendon was getting dressed in the living area, watching TV with Spencer who had apparently changed while Ryan was in the shower.

They looked up when he walked in. “How can you watch this crap?” Ryan asked, making a face at whatever reality show was on.

“Can’t find the remote.” Spencer said even thought it was right in front of him.

“So it has nothing to do with the girls being half naked?” Ryan asked coyly. The younger boy blushed, picking up the remote and changing the channel. Ryan sank down on the couch next to his friend. “Uh, Spence,” he began, looking awkward, “could you, um . . .” He gave a shrug, hoping he would get the point.

“Shoulders.” Spencer and Brendon both said at the same time, Jon’s voice half a step behind theirs once he caught on.

“Uh, yeah. Those.” Ryan said, his skin growing warm from embarrassment.

“Yeah, sure. Turn around.” Spencer said. “And take that shirt off. It’s too tight.” After Ryan complied, the younger boy put his hands on his shoulders, lightly massaging and gradually increasing his pressure. He was the only person who could give Ryan massages that he didn’t pull away from, cursing and wincing. Nobody understood why. Spencer didn’t give great massages. And he almost always snapped at Ryan afterward when his shoulders immediately arched back up.

Sometimes Ryan thought Spencer knew. He didn’t know how Spencer could know and he didn’t know why he thought Spencer knew, but he did. Spencer thought Ryan was a step between stupid and ridiculous, but he didn’t really know.

They sat like there for about fifteen minutes, exchanging small talk about the performance and Brendon and Jon’s ‘luck with the ladies’ as Brendon said. “You ought to go start on your face.” Spencer said to Ryan finally. “You know how long that takes.”

Ryan nodded in agreement, shoulders immediately returning to their ‘normal’ state when Spencer’s hands fell away from his skin. “Jesus, Ryan,” he muttered, “I’m going to tie your arms to your sides.”

“Kinky.” Brendon said, giving a small growl which caused both boys to start giggling, Spencer’s chastisement forgotten.

* * *

Ryan and Brendon were the first to arrive at the backstage area to ‘primp’ as Spencer called it, usually sticking his tongue out or making a face after finishing whatever sentence contained the word. Jon was, hopefully, finally getting dressed and ready. Spencer wouldn’t come until last, hoping to dodge the gel and hairspray Ryan would attack him with.

Ryan was drawing on his eye with blue today, adding sparkles as he went. He had bought a pack of rhinestones that matched and was hoping someone could help him figure out how to get them to stick. Brendon was putting on eyeliner and trying to discreetly move closer to Ryan. It wasn’t working, but the older of the two didn’t say anything. There was an unspoken agreement in the band that you should always let Brendon think he’s smarter than he is, among other things.

“Why do you think Spencer’s the only one that can give you massages?” Brendon asked, breaking the silence between the two of them.

Ryan shrugged. “Hell if I know.” He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes when he saw Brendon’s reflection in the mirror. Spencer and he, and occasionally Jon, had discussed this newest development to Brendon’s obsessional personality in metaphors for the past month or so.

“Maybe you should go see a acupuncturist or something. Obviously Spencer’s not doing too great of a job if your shoulders go back to the way they were ten seconds after he stops.”

There it was, Brendon Urie’s ridiculous obsession of making sure he was Ryan’s best friend. Trying to slam Spencer in the hopes of reminding Ryan that he, Brendon, only had his friend’s best interests at heart. It was annoying Ryan more than Spencer. Spencer had the tendency to shrug off most things, especially Brendon’s childish games.

“Yeah, maybe.” Ryan said. Nobody’s fucking stabbing needles into my back.