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~Pete’s POV~
“You waiting for somebody, Wentz, or can any once upon a friend sit down?”
Yes, I know the voice, but I’m still blinking behind my sunglasses until I can distinguish him from the glare of the sun. And even after my eyes and ears are in mutual agreement, I’m still on the unexpected side of surprised as to who is standing there.
“Ryan Ross.”
“You say my name like finding Santa Claus standing in front of you would be less of a surprise.”
If it wasn’t March…
“Ryan, hi, sit. Please.”
We both know the ‘please’, while not an after thought, exactly, is me remembering to try a little too late. And when Ryan sits down without pointing that out? Well, that’s him doing a better job on the exact same subject matter.
“So, you didn’t answer me, waiting for somebody?”
My head shakes as one shoulder lifts in an almost shrug.
“Nah, just my coffee.”
Which suddenly appears out of nowhere like the server was just waiting for the lead in. I can’t help smiling when Ryan orders a drink that would whip my fluffy flavoured milk almost coffee’s ass. If you didn’t know him you could maybe believe he was ordering to prove he isn’t his face, when all Ryan’s really doing is ordering what he likes to drink. Strangers, fans, the world at large, seem to think Ryan is deeper than the happy majority, that he has a method and a motive in every thing and every thought.
In reality black and strong enough to warp your spoon is just how Ryan likes to drink his coffee.
Then again, those same faceless, internet opinionated humans are still running Ryan version 2009 and back then, well the road trip between fact and fiction was a hell of a lot shorter than it is now.
“So…”
This used to be lot easier between us. There used to be more fawning too.
“How’re you doing, Ryan? What’re you doing? Ummm, how’s life?”
Okay, I’ll admit it, I wasn’t expecting his reaction to be laughter. Loud laughter. At me. And he only just manages to stop before his he-man drink arrives.
“Yeah, fuck you too, Ross.”
The mouthful of his coffee he takes would burn the fuck out of anybody else’s taste buds. But not Ryan Ross.
At least now that he’s got something to drink he’s done with the laughing thing.
“I’d just forgotten how fucking bad you are at small talk when you’re nervous, Pete. So forget the how’s the weather shit and tell me why the nerves in the first place.”
Wow. I’m not sure exactly what Ryan’s full of right now, but he sure is over flowing with it.
“It’s been a while, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right, bullshit to you too.”
Seriously, that drink is gone in about three gulps and he’s hand flapping at the waiter for more.
“If I was going for dick of the year I’d be pinching your checks and saying shit about how much you’ve grown about now.”
“You won that award from oh five to oh nine consecutively, so how about you don’t so I won’t have to get up and walk away.”
“Again.”
It had to be said. I had to say it. Except that it didn’t, and I shouldn’t’ve, but I still did it anyway. The look on Ryan’s face tells me he knows the whole split second decision-making process that had me opening my mouth. He’s also letting the same look blatantly let me know I went in exactly the wrong direction.
“Fuck, Pete, how many times do we have to have this discussion before you can get over it? It’s not like you don’t still have a fully functioning selling-through-the-roof band for your precious label and I got to keep what was left of my soul. I get that the whole ‘look after yourself’ thing is a completely unknown concept to you, but I did what I had to do, for me. Brendon, Spencer, Jon, we’re all finally getting over it, so now it’s your turn. Get. Over. It.”
Honestly? I thought I had. Well, professionally I was never under it. Panic split, Spencer kept Brendon, Ryan kept Jon and whatever else he thought he needed at the time and it was as rosey as a clusterfuck could be. Eventually.
Personally? Well the phone call I got was from Spencer. From Ryan I got, yeah, almost nothing. And I got a lot of it.
It’s been years, I should be over this. And if Ryan and I hadn’t gone from something to nothing in the space of Spencer telling me Panic was done, maybe I would be. But what can I say? I stew. A lot.
And as far as Ryan’s concerned, I’ve been fermenting for a long fucking time.
“You left Panic, you left Spencer, you left Decaydance. I get the whole everything turned to fuck and it was get out or get arrested for murder, believe me, I get that. But you left everybody, Ryan. Friends that had nothing to do with your band. You were just gone. It was always you I was closest to in Panic and I got what? Three voice mails, a text or two and I don’t really consider a couple of caps lock emails any kind of *discussion*. After a week or two even that fucking stopped.”
“Were we close, or was I just the one that thought you walked on water? Because you know, there’s a difference in there somewhere, Pete.”
Differences like those aren’t strangers to me anymore. I kind of miss the days when they were.
“Why didn’t you keep walking, Ry? Not then, fuck talking about then, you’re right, it is what is was, and talking about it is just going to piss us both off, but today, why didn’t you just keep walking today?”
“You looked like you needed a friend.”
Ryan’s second coffee has arrived and I hand what’s left of my to the server to be taken away. The milk from it is starting to curdle in my gut, so pushing away what’s left is the better part of not puking on Ryan’s shoes.
“I’ve been told I look like that a lot lately. By my friends, who are apparently never the right friend.”
“Or you never let them be.”
Strangely I don’t remember Ryan being quite…like this. At least not to me.
“You don’t get a second Patrick in your life, Pete, just like I’ll never get another Spencer. But thousands of people out there never even get one of them, so be fucking grateful and admit other people might love you as well. Not like Patrick loved you, but like Gabe does. Or Travis does. Or I could.”
When Ryan finishes this drink, thankfully he doesn’t order a third. Thankfully not because I want him to leave, but because while Ryan doesn’t get animated, he gets twitchy and I don’t deal so well with twitchy any more.
“I don’t want another Patrick. And I think I liked you better when there was more worshipping me and less attitude.”
“Please, there was always plenty of attitude, ask Brendon.”
Ryan won’t ever get another one of those either, but as much as he loved, or loves, Brendon, I think he’s more than a little glad they’re not in a direct orbit of each other anymore.
I know Spencer is.
“Nah, I’ll pass on the asking thing. If attitude is what I’m going to get, I guess I can deal.”
Or I can try too.
“Are you? Dealing I mean. With everything else.”
My smile is slow, my snort is soft and this man child who, in some ways hasn’t changed a beat from the boy child I once knew, and in other ways doesn’t even resemble him, is going to take some getting used to.
“Not really. I can almost accept only getting one Patrick in my life. Fuck knows I wouldn’t have missed a second with him and I’ll always worship at his feet for everything he gave to me even if…if he never sings another word from me. Yeah, I can almost choke that down, but what happens if I only get one Ashlee, one chance at that kind of happy? What if my kid gets a dozen brothers and sisters and I never have anything more than him? It doesn’t matter how small I cut that up, I’m never going to be able to swallow it.”
So many people have tried to tell me that’s not how it works, and if I have to hear one more fucking time about an ocean with plenty of creatures in it, I’m going to start fishing with a hand grenade. Because none of those people reassuring me are me.
And I know me.
We’re not that lovable.
“If Bronx gets a thousand brothers and sisters, he’ll still have you, Pete, and honestly? I would have fucking killed for a dad like you.”
Coming from anybody else…
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Maybe we should have ordered something to eat.
“Thanks.”
“The only thing you’ve ever sold short is yourself, Pete. You give all your belief away, try keeping some for yourself once in a while.”
“Some people are easy to believe in.”
Ryan smiles, and even though I can’t see his eyes, I know they’re lit with a spark that is pure Ross.
“I know. I’m sitting down and having coffee with one right now.”
“Fuck you.”
This time Ryan actually laughs and, okay, I don’t laugh back, but my smile is a whole lot more than it was. Or has been.
And, shit, the staff are starting to look at us like we’d better order something else, or leave, and I’m not up to food right now. But this is easier than anything’s been in a long time, and I need it.
Fuck, I need it.
“So, umm, what do I have to do to keep you around this time? I doubt you want another record deal.”
The kick to my shins is sharp, hard and perfectly aimed. Now that really fucking annoying habit of Ryan’s I hadn’t really missed.
“You don’t have to resort to bribery you ass. Pick up a phone and call me. Maybe let me take you out to dinner.”
“Dinner? Like two friends meeting for tacos?”
Just once, and really, I’d be fucking over joyed if that once was right now, it would be so very helpful if Ryan’s face gave you a clue as to what his words actually mean. There used to be days when talking to Ryan made me realise why Patrick sometimes wanted to push me from a moving bus. But were we both tend to talk in convoluted riddles, my emotions are there, all over me, to illustrate my words. Ryan’s…not so much. Or you know, never.
Does he mean dinner with a guy he used to know? Does he mean that mythical dinner you’re always going to have with that one person but never get around to even thinking about unless they’re standing in front of you?
Or does he mean…
Ryan shaking his head stops the conversation me and myself are way to involved with.
“No, not like that. Look, if I was better at this, I know things like if it’s too early, or soon, or whatever, but I’m not, and let’s face it, chances are you’ll walk away today and not give me a second thought unless I give you a reason to. So I’m talking about going on a date, Pete, you and me. No Spencer’s, no Patrick’s, no heroes, bosses or employees. Just two grown ups having dinner, maybe seeing a movie. There might be popcorn and hand holding, but we both go into it knowing no one’s going to get lucky on night one.”
“You’re asking me out? Really?”
I’m not saying this is wrong, or that it should be, but Ryan blew me the night I introduced myself and would have bent over for me in a heartbeat if he thought it was what I wanted. The man sitting in front of me wouldn’t offer me a quick fuck if it was the last fuck either of us would ever have.
It’s weird. And I like it.
“Yeah, I am.”
No qualifications, no excuses. That’s a part of Ryan I remember admiring. Usually right before I wanted to kill him for it.
“I’d like that.” I’d really like that. “I’d like to get to know this you.”
“That’s what dating is all about, Pete. Two people who don’t already know each other having fun learning what they can.”
“I don’t remember it ever being like that for me.”
And I really didn’t mean to say that out loud.
“Then it’ll be something new all round, won’t it? Because that’s exactly what it’s going to be like with me, Pete, slow. One date at a time, and like I said, maybe a phone call or two in between. Things have changed, we’ve changed. I’ve changed.”
It’s not hard to tell that Ryan is making a point, a sharp and pokey point, of separating himself from his past and everything he did or didn’t do back then. This isn’t a comfort or pity fuck, and even though this should feel like we’re doing everything backward, or sideward, it doesn’t. It feels like…the nervous dance my innards used to perform when I had a bass in my hand and I was waiting for Andy’s count. It feels like something that could actually be vaguely right.
Even though at the moment it’s just a promise of a maybe.
I like it.
Reaching my hand out, my fingers make grabby motions and I can just imagine Ryan rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses as he hands me his phone.
“My number has changed since you last had it, but I’m giving the number of the house and my Bronx phone as well. Please don’t give anybody the Bronx number, Gabe’s the only other person that has it. If you need me though, it’s the one phone I’m guaranteed to answer, but, umm, don’t call because you’re bored at three in the A.M. As it is I jump ten foot in the air when it rings during normal daylight hours.”
One day I’ll work out if it’s entirely a good thing that my kid knows which buttons to push to make Daddy talk to him.
Ryan takes his phone back, but there’s a soft brush of his fingers against mine as he does. And for once, I can see that it’s not a come on, it’s comfort.
But it’s also only there for a second before Ryan is poking at his phone and mine alerts me to a new message.
“That’s the only number I have, Pete. Use it.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
Somehow, in a weird synchronicity, we both decide it’s time to go, and somehow, standing up is a whole lot easier than sitting down was, there’s a weight that’s…still there, but it’s just a little lighter.
“So this date-“
“I’ll call you, Pete. Waiting is part of it, you know.”
We both throw cash on the table, and I follow Ryan the few steps back out onto the sidewalk.
“So it’ll be three days before you call?”
For the first time since he stood in front of me, Ryan takes off his glasses and smiles at me, so sweetly and so freely.
“Maybe. Maybe not. That’s why it’s called waiting, Pete. So take care of yourself, okay?”
I know the look on my face is more smirk than anything else, but the face wearing it isn’t a caricature of me so it’s not a bad thing.
“Okay.”
There’s an almost nod, glasses placed back over eyes and then Ryan is just…gone. Into the sea of people that are all going somewhere, whether they realise it or not.
I’m going somewhere too.
I just have to wait to find out where.