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Brendon woke up the morning his interview with Papermag was released and flipped over onto his stomach. The house was empty aside from his dogs, heart empty aside from his love for his fans and, unfortunately, his ex-bandmate, Ryan Ross. His lingering feelings had mostly dissipated by the time Jon and Ryan left in 2009, but they rekindled when he and Ryan saw each other again for the first time in ages at Adam Levine’s Halloween party. They talked for about thirty minutes and even exchanged their new numbers- Ryan if a bit hesitantly after that one terrible girl had feigned being Brendon for months on end as Ryan believed he was getting an old friend back.
Checking his phone, he realized that he was- A, fucked, and B, an absolute, ginormous, massive idiot. It wasn’t because he was trending on twitter and almost a hundred thousand people had been congratulating him on coming out as pansexual for five hours, nor that about an eighth of the attention he was receiving was hate towards him, things he’d done in the past, or towards the LGBT+ community in general. No, it was that he had two missed calls and three texts to match from none other than Ryan Ross. He wasn’t sure what he expected would come out of the magazine in regards to his and Ryan’s budding new/old friendship. He knew now, of course, from the limited time between texts and calls that this was an urgent matter, for Ryan at the very least. He breathed out slightly at the sight of the message’s contents, having been afraid that Ryan would be angry, but still felt his muscles tense at Ryan’s words.
Hey dude, saw your interview! Proud of you for coming out. 9:31 am, RR
That aside, can we talk about some of the stuff you mentioned about me? Yea I get it and all but i wanna hear it proper from you I guess. 9:33 am, RR
Lemme know when you can talk. Tried to call once before messaging you, second time after most recent message, B. Know you’re busy. Listened to your album by the way. Not what I expected, but totally you. 9:47 am, RR
Brendon fumbled with his phone in his hand; those messages were over three hours old! What if Ryan thought he was ignoring him? Nonetheless, he typed up a text message quickly before throwing his phone down onto his bed as he dragged himself to his feet.
I can talk anytime, bro. Not very busy for a few more days. Just lemme fix breakfast and I’ll text you after I make something. 12:53 pm, BU
Brendon heard his phone chime from the kitchen, hoping that it was Ryan despite refusing to give in to his urges to check it and let his scrambled eggs burn. He dumped a bunch of shit in the pan with them: butter, salt, pepper, olive oil, parmesan, anything that would keep him from racing to his bedroom, really. He didn’t want to come off as desperate to Ryan Ross of all people, who he knew as switching girlfriends every ten minutes due to lack of interest and diversity. Ryan had probably (definitely) changed since they were seventeen, but one could never truly give themselves a valid reason to act desperate towards their crush unless they didn’t really care about them.
Rather than going back when he finished cooking and grabbing his phone, he plopped down on the couch and turned on some celebrity news network. Sure enough, his face was plastered over half of his news channels, bragging about his admittance like it was some personal feat that they had conquered, rather than him. Disgruntling though it was, nobody was talking much about the section of the article Brendon was quite sure he’d get into an argument with Ryan about, and so he took that as some form of a small victory.
Was ‘Rydon,’ or ‘Ryden,’ or whatever the hell the shippers he’d made out to be adorable called it, even relevant anymore? For all the majority of the fanbase knew, they hadn’t been in real contact since the split. Maybe this wouldn’t ruin him and Ryan again. Ryan did say he was proud of Brendon, and that he knew Brendon was busy. He was flexible, for God’s sakes! He wasn’t pressuring Brendon at all, aside from having slightly pummeled him with messages, verbal and visual.
Why was it only just occurring to Brendon that he could’ve lied, pretending to be busy and just ignoring all of Ryan’s deeply and violently personal questions in the form of dodging like it was a gym class in middle school and he was the only kid not hit yet. Welp, he couldn’t gain anything from regretting the mistakes he’d made, and who’s to say that lying wouldn’t have been a giant mistake either. He ended up wolfing down his food and leaning against the wall behind his bed to check his texts from Ryan.
Ah, okay. ill wait. 1:02 pm, RR
Hey 1:09 pm, BU
Ryan shot back a reply. Had he been waiting just for Brendon?
Able to talk? 1:09 pm, RR
Yeah, Ry, what’s up 1:10 pm, BU
You brought me up in your interview with that magazine, remember 1:10 pm, RR
Vaguely, Brendon joked.
Why? 1:11 pm, RR
Because we’re back in each other’s lives now and we were talking about Sins and you wrote that song 1:11 pm, BU
Lemme rephrase. Why’d you talk about me and stage gay and people thinking we were together? 1:13 pm, RR
Brendon was starting to get confused. What did Ryan not understand?
Because they were asking about stage gay and kept talking about you after I mentioned you 1:14 pm, BU
Brendon, don’t play dumb. Why did you say it 1:14 pm, RR
Hard to explain, Ry 1:15 pm, BU
Easier to in person, maybe? Meet up in 20 at cafe you like? 1:15 pm, RR
Yea okay 1:16 pm, BU
With that, he closed his messages app and went to take a shower. Stepping in was embarrassing; the numerous occasions where he’d slunk off to the bathroom in the middle of hangouts or playing video games just to shower so he could have a clean place to jack off so when he spurted out with a stutter in his hips and a cry of Ryan’s name on his lips, there would be no residue to prove it. It was even worse when he finished washing his hair and poured out some conditioner, glaring at the bottle like it had personally offended him. The bottle was guilty of no crime aside from assisting Brendon in slicking his fingers up and sliding them into- into somewhere entirely unimportant and highly important for Brendon to not be remembering right then as he was just about to meet up with Ryan after not having seen him for a few months and not having spoken to him since he released High Hopes. He toweled himself off quickly, keeping his chest damp enough that his shirt stuck to it and would leave absolutely nothing to the imagination if he were to go out in public in it. That was his plan, anyway. He styled his hair in a way that he hoped would make him look hotter and threw on his fluffy jean jacket before feeding his dogs, smoking just the tip of a blunt, and stomping out the door.
The drive to the coffee shop was serene. Tinny music played from the radio and Brendon even sang along when he heard a Sinatra classic come on. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel when he hit a light and absentmindedly changed the station to a pop one. His neutral expression flashed into a grin as the entrance chords sounded from his new song Roaring 20s. He sang along to that too, feeling a bit odd at the points when his voice matched completely with the radio’s. He arrived with five minutes to spare and settled in a booth after ordering a delicious latte along with a few vanilla scones from the food display. He ran his fingers sharply through his hair, wiggling himself on his seat, scarfing down a scone, sipping his drink.
Ryan arrived minutes later, apologizing profusely for only being the slightest bit late, multiple times even, for he felt even worse considering that he’d invited Brendon there in the first place. Ryan snuggled up in the booth, brushing his shoulder against Brendon’s and smiling at him.
“So, uh, that article,” Ryan started once he’d stolen one of Brendon’s scones and casually given Brendon a one armed hug as they sat together. “Why’d you say that stuff?”
“Aggressive, are we,” Brendon teased, slowly drinking his coffee and leaning back.
“B, c’mon, I didn’t come here for games,” Ryan shouted. Brendon sighed, not wanting to admit anything that would incriminate himself. People started to stare at the two of them and Brendon heard a few whispers of surprise and elation at having seen Brendon freaking Urie and Ryan Ross together, of all things. The ‘Ryden/Rydon’ fans would be quaking when they found out.
“Ryan, what do you want me to say? You’re being too vague!”
“You told me, Brendon, that you would explain when we got here. But fine, I’ll be specific. Why did you say that you wanted to kiss me?” Brendon’s mind shut off and he suddenly was possessed by some type of truth demon that compelled him to say his next words without thinking.
“Because I do, Ry,” Brendon breathed out, looking into Ryan’s fucking gorgeous eyes and dropping his smile.
“You… I thought the article was past tense. You used to want to or you do want to kiss me?”
“I do, and if that’s a problem, I completely understand. There are still thousands of people that ‘ship’ us together, so if me kinda feeling the same as those people makes you uncomfortable or puts you in an awkward position, we can cut our ties. It’d be hard for me, but I wouldn’t mind if it made you happier.” And then, after years and years and seconds and seconds of waiting, Brendon realized why exactly it was so urgent for Ryan to know about the meanings behind Brendon’s phrasing.
Ryan hooked one hand by the back of Brendon’s neck, the other cupping his chin and swiping his thumb over Brendon’s lips.
“Ryan?”
“Brendon,” Ryan muttered, and kissed him. It lasted less than a second, so it was really a peck if anything, but it was real and it was there and it was igniting something in Brendon that he hadn’t felt since he and Ryan played around with each other on stage.
“Ryan,” said Brendon, breathing heavily just from that slight contact in lips and pressing his forehead against Ryan’s. Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon and breathed him in with another pant of Brendon’s name. Looking up, Brendon saw phones out and squealing teenagers. “Can we go back to my place? Just to talk, even? Too many people here.”
“Agreed,” Ryan said, leaving his car in the parking lot and climbing into the passenger’s seat. Ryan only put on a seatbelt when Brendon yelled at him for forgoing one, only to unbuckle it at the first light they hit.
Ryan shimmied himself closer to Brendon and kissed him, for real this time. Their lips slotted together like puzzles pieces, like the moon and the sun. Brendon kept both eyes open, everything in him focused on Ryan aside from his vision, trying to make sure the light hadn’t changed while simultaneously becoming more and more overstimulated by the sensations Ryan was allowing him. Ryan’s mouth tasted like vanilla scones but was gradually tasting more like him by the second as Brendon licked into it. Ryan crooked his fingers into Brendon’s jacket and pulled him closer as if the amount of space between them that Ryan dismantled would never be enough until they practically melded together. The soft, gentle pressure of Ryan’s tongue pressing against his caused Brendon to breathe in short, huffing breathes when they split apart. They only broke apart after a languid session of making out car-side when four honking noises rang out. Brendon evidently hadn’t been paying enough attention to the light and had to speed to get in line with the other cars.
They chatted for a little longer and kissed at random intervals, lazy and euphoric until they stumbled drunkenly out of the car. Brendon grabbed Ryan’s hand like he’d done in that one interview with the jackass questioning them and taking Ryan’s phone all those years ago and dragged him inside. Turned out that Ryan loved him just as much as Brendon did.