‹ Prequel: Sick and Sain
Sick Boy
Chapter 6
But just as always, Gerard and Ryan had to say goodbye. It happened so often it was almost routine. Sadly. It scared Gerard sometimes—how easy it was to say goodbye to the love of his life—to the one boy he would do something—anything—for. But it was odd—Gerard couldn’t remember life before Ryan. No. He remembered it, for sure, but Ryan was always inserted in the picture somewhere. Ah yes—Warped Tour. Had been a drag that Ryan wasn’t on it…Yes. A drag. And signing. Maybe we should have signed to Fueled By Ramen, Mikey? But Gerard, they didn’t want us! Yeah, but Mikey…Ryan’s there.
“I’m gonna miss you Gee,” Ryan muttered when they pulled up to the airport. They were out in public. They were being stared at. They really didn’t give a fuck. Fuck. “I guess I’ll see you when we come through…”
“Yeah,” Gerard said, momentarily businesslike, “When is that?”
“Three weeks and two days,” Ryan smiled. Stupid. Don’t tell him that! Fucker, you’re like…a stalker or something. God, Ry. You need help. No seriously. You need to check yourself into that damn asylum again or something. I dunno. You need to talk to someone. But about what? Oh my, oh my. Do not start this. We do not want to start this. You are fine. You are really, really good right now. Do not start it. No. Don’t. Remember last year? Remember last May? That’s dangerous Ryan. You are dangerous. So be careful. And just calm yourself down. Get through these three weeks without getting too sick and finally, you’ll be fine. Fine. Don’t worry.
“Three weeks and two days,” Gerard smiled and kissed Ryan on the forehead, “Okay. I promise—I’ll count the hours.”
Ryan smiled, returned the kiss and giggled some more. Just for the hell of it.
“No. Seriously.”
“Weirdo.”
“I know.”
“Gee—I, I gotta go…” Ryan muttered, seeing Brendon wave frantically from the corner of his eye, “We have to go…”
Gerard kissed Ryan hard. On the lips. With minor tongue. Purely affection, very little sexuality involved. Which was really how Ryan liked it—when it got down to it. A romantic. A chemical romantic. The last of the romantics. Sick, Ryan. You’re so sick. Who talks about shit like this anymore.
“You’re insain.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I love you,” Ryan muttered. I love you. I’m so sorry for being drunk all the time. I love you, I love you. I. Love. You. Love. Love. Love, love, love. Lovelovelovelove.
“Be careful,” Gerard called as he rushed along, “Be careful Sick Boy. I love you.” Be careful. Don’t choke on your own vomit. Please? Brendon. Watch out for him. Spencer. You’re his best friend since kindergarten or something. Jon. Please. Gerard. What can you do? Boys will be boys, Ryan will be Ryan, Sick will be Sick.
**
It was a sad day when the creature before Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith and Jon Walker was their best friend Ryan Ross. Sure he was quiet. Sure he was weird. Sure he was…well…himself but this was…this was not right. The Ryan they knew at least had the decency to look like he was breathing. This Ryan, spread out in the back of their tour bus, watching TV like it was his lifeline. He had been quiet on the plane, but that was Ryan. He had been silent when they climbed onto the bus but that was Ryan. But it wasn’t Ryan when he didn’t immediately claw his guitar from the case. It wasn’t Ryan to go and lie in the back of the bus and watch a godforsaken daytime talk show.
His band mates clustered towards the front of the bus, confused, bored, and waiting for sound check. They were also slightly afraid of going in to talk to Ryan but none of them actually wanted to admit that. The thing was—this was Ryan. Really. This was Ryan but not in the way they liked to think of Ryan. This was Ryan they remembered last year—but maybe not so bad. This was Ryan.
It was time to get used to the new Ryan. Or the old one maybe. Low energy Ryan. Ryan who ate all the time and never gained weight. Who popped pills like a little kid eats M&M’s. Ryan who considered his life to be horribly failed. Yes. That new Ryan was back. And it was an unwelcome change. But it was time to be there. It was time, motherfuckers, to start going back to church. Because maybe if you went to church, God might like you and give you back the Ryan you actually liked. You know…Ryan Ross. RyRo. No just…him.
But the thing was—why? Ryan knew why. Spencer didn’t. Brendon didn’t. Jon didn’t. Ryan knew damn well why. But he wouldn’t dare tell anyone. Because that would make the reality of it true. He was failing Gerard. Failing. In his one week with him, he had spent it drunk. That, my dear, in Ryan Ross’s eyes, was the very definition of failure.
“I’m gonna miss you Gee,” Ryan muttered when they pulled up to the airport. They were out in public. They were being stared at. They really didn’t give a fuck. Fuck. “I guess I’ll see you when we come through…”
“Yeah,” Gerard said, momentarily businesslike, “When is that?”
“Three weeks and two days,” Ryan smiled. Stupid. Don’t tell him that! Fucker, you’re like…a stalker or something. God, Ry. You need help. No seriously. You need to check yourself into that damn asylum again or something. I dunno. You need to talk to someone. But about what? Oh my, oh my. Do not start this. We do not want to start this. You are fine. You are really, really good right now. Do not start it. No. Don’t. Remember last year? Remember last May? That’s dangerous Ryan. You are dangerous. So be careful. And just calm yourself down. Get through these three weeks without getting too sick and finally, you’ll be fine. Fine. Don’t worry.
“Three weeks and two days,” Gerard smiled and kissed Ryan on the forehead, “Okay. I promise—I’ll count the hours.”
Ryan smiled, returned the kiss and giggled some more. Just for the hell of it.
“No. Seriously.”
“Weirdo.”
“I know.”
“Gee—I, I gotta go…” Ryan muttered, seeing Brendon wave frantically from the corner of his eye, “We have to go…”
Gerard kissed Ryan hard. On the lips. With minor tongue. Purely affection, very little sexuality involved. Which was really how Ryan liked it—when it got down to it. A romantic. A chemical romantic. The last of the romantics. Sick, Ryan. You’re so sick. Who talks about shit like this anymore.
“You’re insain.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I love you,” Ryan muttered. I love you. I’m so sorry for being drunk all the time. I love you, I love you. I. Love. You. Love. Love. Love, love, love. Lovelovelovelove.
“Be careful,” Gerard called as he rushed along, “Be careful Sick Boy. I love you.” Be careful. Don’t choke on your own vomit. Please? Brendon. Watch out for him. Spencer. You’re his best friend since kindergarten or something. Jon. Please. Gerard. What can you do? Boys will be boys, Ryan will be Ryan, Sick will be Sick.
**
It was a sad day when the creature before Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith and Jon Walker was their best friend Ryan Ross. Sure he was quiet. Sure he was weird. Sure he was…well…himself but this was…this was not right. The Ryan they knew at least had the decency to look like he was breathing. This Ryan, spread out in the back of their tour bus, watching TV like it was his lifeline. He had been quiet on the plane, but that was Ryan. He had been silent when they climbed onto the bus but that was Ryan. But it wasn’t Ryan when he didn’t immediately claw his guitar from the case. It wasn’t Ryan to go and lie in the back of the bus and watch a godforsaken daytime talk show.
His band mates clustered towards the front of the bus, confused, bored, and waiting for sound check. They were also slightly afraid of going in to talk to Ryan but none of them actually wanted to admit that. The thing was—this was Ryan. Really. This was Ryan but not in the way they liked to think of Ryan. This was Ryan they remembered last year—but maybe not so bad. This was Ryan.
It was time to get used to the new Ryan. Or the old one maybe. Low energy Ryan. Ryan who ate all the time and never gained weight. Who popped pills like a little kid eats M&M’s. Ryan who considered his life to be horribly failed. Yes. That new Ryan was back. And it was an unwelcome change. But it was time to be there. It was time, motherfuckers, to start going back to church. Because maybe if you went to church, God might like you and give you back the Ryan you actually liked. You know…Ryan Ross. RyRo. No just…him.
But the thing was—why? Ryan knew why. Spencer didn’t. Brendon didn’t. Jon didn’t. Ryan knew damn well why. But he wouldn’t dare tell anyone. Because that would make the reality of it true. He was failing Gerard. Failing. In his one week with him, he had spent it drunk. That, my dear, in Ryan Ross’s eyes, was the very definition of failure.