I Never Told You What I Do For A Living

After Ryan came out of the bathroom (which he nearly sprinted to), there was a ten minute argument that ended with Ryan telling me that, no, he wasn't going to stay in the dress, and that was final. So, eventually, I gave up and retreated to the bathroom to wash my face.

"He looks fucking awesome in that dress..." I muttered to myself angrily before turning to find a washcloth. I accidentally caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror while looking around, and stopped.

"Oh, hey there. Brendon Urie, you are one fine male specimen," I laughed, putting my hands on my hips. I frowned. "Your ass is huge, though."

Shaking my head, I turned away from the mirror to look for the washcloths again, successfully finding one (and a few of those tiny shampoos and soaps, how cute) and trying to make sure there was no extra blood on my face like there'd been on Ryan's.

"You know, you don't have any clothes other than the dress, so it's that or boxers..." I pointed out, walking out of the bathroom. Ryan glared at me for a moment and then sighed.

"Well, Brendon, I guess I'll just sleep in my boxers. I'm not staying in this goddamn dress," he mumbled, sounding annoyed that I was still talking about it. "I swear to god, you're being the girl next time. You have the hips for it, anyway."

"Mmkay," I said, yawning. "Whatever. 'M tired. I'm going to bed."

Ryan rolled his eyes, trying to hide a smirk.

"Go ahead. I'll probably go to bed soon too, anyway. We have to get up and leave early tomorrow," he said matter-of-factly. I groaned.

"Why? Jesus, it's a sleazy hotel, they aren't going to barge in with a bunch of cops and be all 'Aha! We knew it was you because you slept past twelve and-"

"I don't care," Ryan said sternly, cutting me off. "I've been at this longer. We can't stay in one place for too long, Brendon. End of discussion."

I sighed and threw myself onto the bed, immediately crawling under the filthy comforter.

"Fine," I muttered, making Ryan laugh.

"And I call the right side of the bed," he added.

"You are so fucking picky, oh my god. I just want to sleep," I groaned, rolling to the left side. Ryan laughed again.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not."

I didn't reply, just burrowed further under the covers and fell asleep.

~•~

When I woke up the next morning, it was because Ryan was singing something quietly to himself. It was something by The Counting Crows, and I recognized the tune, so I sat there for a few minutes and listened before opening my eyes and slowly sitting up.

"Did I wake you up?" Ryan asked, immediately stopping. I shrugged.

"Yeah. But it's okay, we have to leave anyway, right?" I asked. He nodded.

"Uh...yeah. I definitely want to get outta here before one, so..."

I looked at the tiny clock on the dresser, which said 11:53AM in bright green.

"Didn't you say we were going to leave at ass-o-clock in the morning?" I asked.

Ryan shrugged.

"I figured you were right. Sleeping in isn't going to do any harm," he mumbled. "Sorry for, uh, waking you up, though."

"'S alright," I laughed. "You have a nice voice."

"Thanks," he said a little awkwardly, smiling. I nodded.

"Mhm," I replied. It was quiet for a few moments.

"So, uh, do you have any clue where my make-up is?" Ryan asked, standing up. I just shrugged, trying to refrain from letting my eyes wander across his exposed torso.

"It...might still be in the car. I know you left the-"

"Room service!" a woman suddenly chirped, barging into the room without warning. She wheeled a tiny metal cart in after her and closed the door before turning around. Her smile suddenly vanished.

"Aren't you people supposed to fucking knock?" Ryan hissed, and the woman opened and closed her mouth a few times, seemingly unable to form a  coherent thought.

"Y-You're Ryan R-Ross," she finally forced out, backing up a little. I rolled my eyes.

"No shit, Sherlock," I sighed, getting out of the bed. "Seriously? This hotel is like, not even one star. But you fucking have room service. Typical. Just our luck, dear lord."

Ryan shot me a glare before beginning to walk towards the woman with his hands up.

"Listen, we're not going to hurt you..." he said calmly, inching closer to her. Her eyes widened.

"D-Don't touch me!" she shrieked. Ryan's eyes narrowed and in one swift movement, he had one hand covering her mouth and the other one holding her tightly so she couldn't thrash around too much.

"Sweetie," he cooed, "we sort've need you to stay quiet. Can't have everybody knowing where we are, you know."

The woman tried to squirm away, but Ryan held her in place and looked at me.

"Well? Are you just going to stand there?" he asked. I stared at him for a moment, then blinked.

"Do we even have anything? The knife's in the car with your make up, Ry, I-"

"Whatever," he sighed, sounding annoyed. Suddenly there was a loud crunch as he snapped her head sideways, and she fell limp in his arms.

"Now what the fuck are we going to do?" I asked, and Ryan shrugged, letting the girl drop to the floor.

"What do you mean? We leave. I don't need make-up," he replied, finding the dress he'd thrown off the day before. 

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"But aren't we going to at least try to hide her?"

Ryan shook his head.

"No time. We have to go now, Brendon. Get dressed," he commanded, grabbing his wig and rushing into the bathroom. I picked some sort of breakfast pastry off the silver cart and looked it over before taking a bite and shrugging,  and then started to look for my flannel.