Do You Know What It Feels Like?

Friday, 3:17 PM

Ross garage.

Approximately 14 minutes and 23 seconds later, Panic! at the Disco was set up, plugged in and ready to perform.

Or, at least, most of them were.

"Okay, so, uh, this song. Yeah. It's called "Time To Dance", have you heard of it? Wait, no, wait, of course you haven't." Brendon stuttered. One may have gathered that he, at any normal situation, would be speaking at the speed of light, fueled by the various sugars streaming in his body's system.

But this was not a normal situation.

In front of him sat Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III - bassist of Fall Out Boy, Decaydance label holder; the label they had one shot at being signed into. If they did well, they'd be off, recording songs, playing nights - in short, doing things kids like them only dreamed about. If they didn't do well, if they screwed it up, they'd lose any chance of becoming professional, of living the dream, of ever achieving the only thing they truly wanted.

So, no pressure.

Not to mention, he'd only expected Pete to come. Just a pair of eyes - tantamount to a million, but even still - watching them, assessing them. But, no. There had to be three pairs of eyes. One similar to Pete's, the other not so, but still almost equally piercing.
So it was like three million eyes watching from Ryan's battered couch.
Great, just perfect.

Pete was smiling - like he was really excited. Was he?, Brendon wondered. He was sure everyone was thinking that too. Was everyone as nervous as he? Did they also feel the tension, the stress?

"Sounds cool. Can we hear it?" Pete's sister, Andy, piped in.

"Actually, I'd prefer if you took yourself and your big mouth out for a bit so we can do business." Pete replied slowly.

"... Nah." She shook her head. "I'll stay." She smiled warmly. Someone scoffed in the background. He was willing to bet it was her friend.

"Uh, okay, you ready, guys?" Ryan asked, checking the tuning of his guitar for the last time. No. But what choice do we have? Brendon bit his tongue back.
The only thing that would come out of his mouth would be their lyrics. Ryan's lyrics. Their notes.

Time to dance.

x

Ross garage (still).

3:17:52 PM

Andy wasn't sure which was more attractive - the song, or the guy playing it.

"Give me envy, give me malice, baby, give me a break!"

Was it illegal? It couldn't be wrong to find him a little bit more than cute. It wasn't as if her brother would care. After all, Pete was here to do his "business". She'd come to do some "business" of her own.

Okay, so maybe she hadn't known anything about the whole band signing thing. But it wasn't her fault that Pete had left his stupid computer running, almost overheating. It wasn't as if she had just opened the song and played it because she wanted to poke around his messy files. She had just felt compelled to.

"Boys will be boys, hiding in estrogen and wearing aubergine dreams."

And if she hadn't done it, she probably wouldn't have been able to come along. Had she not come along, she would not have stumbled upon Ryan Ross.

Which would have been, had the case gone as such, a very depressing thing to miss.

"Come on, come on, this is screaming, this is screaming, this is screaming - 'Photo op!'"

She mused over his features. It was overboard to think they were almost perfect.
She decided to think it, anyway.

As his fingers moved across the fretboard, he chanced a small glance at her. Or Pete. Either way, she must have been thinking too hard. She pulled her head from the cloud and blinked for what felt like the first time since they had begun. In an effort to compose herself, she ran a hand through her hair and looked away, feigning nonchalance. When she subtly looked from the corner of her eye, he had gone back to concentrating on his precious guitar.

Of course.

"Boys will be boys, hiding in estrogen and - boys will be boys. Boys will be boys, hiding in estrogen and wearing aubergine dreams."

Oh, was it over?

x

Ross garage (what did you expect?).

3:20 PM

"So I've thought about it."

Panic! at the Disco held their breaths, sucking in the fumes of Vegas air swirling around the garage. Whatever Pete Wentz would say next would determine their fate for the rest of their natural lives: live a star, or live a hobo.

His call.

Ryan couldn't be sure what his face looked like, but he could feel himself slipping mentally. Everything was so surreal - Pete would surely poof into nothingness if he so much as blinked.

"And I think..."

Relax, he told himself.
I can't! his entire being protested. Well, no point in trying. He began to freak, starting to shake from the tips of his thin, long fingers. He could imagine those dreadful words coming out of Pete's mouth.

"You guys aren't ready for the music industry yet. It's going to take some time. I'm sorry."

"... You guys are fucking awesome. Hands down - I'll sign you for sure."

Was that it? Was that really it? That couldn't have been it. This was a joke, right? It wasn't real. Pete Wentz hadn't said that.

No - everyone was jumping up and down, punching their fists in the air, making their way to Pete to give him the biggest hug humanly possible.

Ryan's eyes were wide, shocked - he couldn't believe anything that had just happened. It was impossible that Pete had listened to them on LJ, had come all this way to Nevada to watch them, and had signed them with the biggest smile on his face.

What was he thinking? Of course it was possible. It was happening.

Brendon attacked Ryan, ruffling his hair. "We did it, Ross!" He yelled into his ear, drilling and embedding the message into his brain permanently. "WE FUCKING DID IT!"

He was right - they had done it. Ryan let a huge grin onto his face. "Hell yes!" he agreed.

Pete was laughing on his couch, clapping his hands. "God, you guys should have seen your faces, it was like you needed to take a -"

"Congratulations," Pete's sister came up to Ryan, shyly holding out a hand to shake. Elated, half insane, he took it and shook it vigorously.

"Thanks. Thank you. Oh my God."

So they had done it, Ryan thought proudly. They were now officially under Decaydance, and would be a professional band. They would record, perform, be someones.

Today was, and will most probably always be, the best fucking day in Ryan Ross' life.

x.fin.x