Work Text:
When Brendon woke up that fateful morning, the first thing he did was slap his hand to his forehead and yell, “Shit!”
Wow, he’d forgotten something. Again. How not like him to forget things (please note the italicized sarcasm).
He peered around his room, looking woefully at the fifty sticky notes he had strategically positioned in every nook of the place, all saying the same thing.
“JON’S BIRTHDAY SATURDAY. GET CAKE.”
Brendon had achieved the incredible feat of not noticing a single one of these reminders for the past three weeks.
Brendon was the absolute worst about dates, especially birthdays, and he knew it. The fact that he was a struggling, poor musician trying to make it New York City certainly put a damper on the luxuriousness of the presents he could buy for his friends. This year, since he sure as hell couldn’t afford something nice for Jon, he had decided to settle for buying him a cake (which he had settled for countless times in many years past). Vanilla and chocolate marble with royal icing was an absolute favorite of Jon’s; he’d said that a year ago on his last birthday. Brendon was so very proud of himself that he had at least remembered that much, seeing as he forgot to brush his teeth in the morning on an embarrassingly frequent basis.
Here he was, sitting rigidly upright on his bed, and it was Saturday, “the day”, so to speak. Brendon Urie was not in possession of a cake of any kind, let alone Jon’s favorite. The worried young man frantically glanced at the clock, which unfortunately warned him that he had awoken a mere hour before he had promised to be at Jon’s place, bearing a gift that Jon was sure to love. Well this whole situation sucked.
Brendon practically launched himself out of bed, and showered so quickly that he could still feel the sticky residue of dried shampoo as he combed his hair out. He threw on the first outfit that he yanked out of the closet, and was out the door before he even had the chance to take a breath. He could still feel the sleep tugging his eyelids down as he was chilled by the mid-September breeze.
He knew of an awesome cake place, his go-to when he was the designated cake purchaser for birthdays and other occasions (which was surprisingly often, partially because his friends and family knew of his abysmal monetary situation, and partially because these same people knew how unreliable he was about just about everything and figured that cake-purchasing wasn’t too difficult of a job for the boy to do). Unfortunately, it was a haul from his little apartment; this fantastic bakery was practically on the other side of the city. Brendon could fell his heart in his throat as he ran both hands back through his hair and let out a panicked squeak, much like that of a mouse caught in the clutches of a hawk. There was really nothing to do besides trust a random cake store in New York and be a one-time customer there (or so he thought).
Brendon nearly smashed the screen of his phone as he typed at light-speed, “Cake shops near me”.
Immediately, several results popped up, but one caught Brendon’s eye right off the bat, since it was only a just down the street. It was a shop he’d never heard of despite living not even a block away from it; it was a little store called “Ross Cakes”.
Brendon snorted at the name. To him, it sounded like a really bad brand of Hostess-like cupcakes that were popular in the seventies or something. Maybe it was the weirdness of the morning, but he actually laughed out loud at the (honestly) unfunny name. Sleep deprivation and panic will do that to you.
The laughter ceased, though, when he saw that he now only had forty-five minutes to buy this cake, take public transport, and then walk the rest of the way to Jon’s place. He really didn’t want to be late, but a sigh escaped him as he realized that he was only going to once again solidify his position as the unreliable, late friend.
Brendon shoved his hands in his pockets and hurriedly made his way down the bustling New York sidewalk. It wasn’t long before he was outside the door of Ross Cakes, which he could have seen from ninety miles away. The little shop was like a spotlight on the dustily-colored block; the yellow exterior shone bright against the monotonous greys and browns of the sooty shops neighboring it. The display window showed an abundance of cupcakes with all sorts of decorations covering the tops, ranging from sports logos to flora and fauna. A fondant ballerina danced across a tiny pink cake, while a sugary tiger roared atop another one. Spectacular wedding cakes towered above petite cake pops, and were frosted with intricate and colorful designs, resembling Victorian furniture in some cases. Brendon took a moment to gape at the craftsmanship before realizing with a jolt that he really didn’t have enough time to stand around.
Brendon threw open the door and stumbled so crazily inside that he was surprised the workers didn’t think he was a drunk homeless man off the street. Workers? Make that worker. The sole employee on shift was sat behind a glass counter, reading a music magazine. That sole employee on shift also happened to be one of the prettiest boys Brendon Urie had ever laid his eyes on.
This serendipitous encounter was going to be a hell of a lot more than he had bargained for.
Was it mentioned that Brendon was a hopeless romantic? Well, that’s an important piece of information to know. He was the head-over-heels, “need-to-find-my-soulmate” kind of lover (and had been a bit promiscuous in this search for “the one”).When he fell, he fell hard. Like, smash your face on the pavement hard. And this time was certainly a testament to that.
Brendon gaped at him from all the way across the store for probably a solid minute before the employee even noticed that someone had arrived (despite the pretty raucous-sounding bell that had screamed out Brendon’s entrance). Finally, this mysterious worker raised his dark brown eyes from the magazine and squinted towards the door. Brendon could feel his pulse roar in his ears and his heart leap up so far into his throat that it nearly choked him. It didn’t help that those deep eyes softened right up when they were introduced to this customer. There was a second where their eyes were locked. As they looked at each other in that fateful moment, heat filled the room, like that of a chemical reaction. Both boys could feel it. Neither one wanted to be the one to break it, but the mystery cake boy took on that burden.
“Can I… help you?” A melodious voice flowed from a pretty mouth; the handsome, lean boy rose to his feet and placed two equally thin hands on the counter and leaned forward. Brendon’s legs were reduced to jello as he took painfully awkward strides towards the counter. The closer he got to the employee, the more he forgot how to use his legs and breathe.
“Yes- hi, hello I-” Brendon cleared his throat for just a few seconds too long as the lean boy gawked at him.
“I’m, um… it’s my friend’s birthday, and, well, you know how it’s a thing to buy cakes on birthdays.”
Brendon laughed like a strangled hyena while being met by a deadpan look from the worker. Everything about the mystery boy’s expressions screamed “I really don’t want to be here right now”. Even so, his eyes read a different countenance. Though the corners of his mouth were turned town in a bored frown, there was still a light in the back of his eyes, especially whenever he cast a glance at Brendon. Interesting… very interesting.
Brendon took a step closer to the counter, and only then noticed the gold nametag pinned to the employee’s apron: it said “RYAN” in thin black lettering. Ryan… that was a name Brendon would never forget, a name he never wanted to forget.
“Is the birthday today?” Ryan asked, furrowing his brows and crossing two skinny arms across his chest, looking almost defensive. This only served to make Brendon more nervous around this ethereally handsome young man. Ryan received a nod from Brendon (not really a nod, more like a clearly over-enthusiastic flailing up and down of the head).
Ryan sighed. “You’ve really mastered the art of procrastination, haven’t you.”
Though his tone sounded mordant and biting, Ryan’s lips couldn’t help themselves but to curve up in an affectionate little smirk. This customer was different, and he knew it. He could feel it in his chest, and his face was just beginning to show it. Brendon’s head had practically spun all the way around in embarrassment, so he failed to notice this little expression.
“Well,” Brendon countered. “I guess they didn’t call me the King of Procrastination for nothing!”
No one had ever called him that.
When Brendon received yet another blank stare as a response, he cleared his throat again (but not quite so uncomfortably loudly this time). He made sure not to look Ryan fully in the face so as to not get lost in those deep brown eyes. He knew that he’d just trail off his speech and stop talking entirely if he even took one look into those enticing pools of color.
“His favorite type of cake is marble with royal frosting. I’m only meeting him and my other best friend in his apartment, so it could be a small round cake, I guess. Also, could you maybe write happy birthday to him on top?”
Ryan pushed out air between his lips, which made Brendon feel a hot rush shoot through his body.
“Ok, what’s the name then?” Ryan asked, picking up a piper full of blue frosting.
In his rush of hormones and feelings, Brendon got so excited that Ryan was asking for a name that he didn’t even weigh the possibility that Ryan might not be asking for his name.
“Brendon!” He cried out his introduction, spilling over with excitement and reaching out and hand to shake Ryan’s with.
It didn’t take long for Ryan’s third blank stare of this short encounter to speak volumes to Brendon. Embarrassed, he swiftly retracted his outstretched hand and tried to play it off by running it through his hair as though to fix it (though this stunt only succeeded in mussing it up and making him look even more insane).
Literally every person on Earth knows that trying to play off a handshake like that never works. Ryan, being included in the group “every person on Earth”, saw right through it. His smirk unwittingly grew a little wider, and perhaps his cheeks flushed a little pink as well, but, once again, Brendon’s humiliation blurred his vision of what was right in front of him.
“Oh, you meant my friend’s name.” Brendon chuckled painfully while crying inside.
Ryan couldn’t even hold back his fondness for this awkward customer anymore; he broke his expressionless air by snorting laughter. Brendon could feel butterflies all through his body when he saw Ryan’s face soften into a wide smile, even if that beautiful grin was short-lived.
“But seriously, what’s the friend’s name?” Ryan asked, his face fading back to the detached, aloof expression he’d been wearing for much of the conversation.
Brendon could only muster up enough strength to squeak out the name “Jon, with no ‘h’”.
Ryan let out a sigh, even further displaying how little his desire to be working there was.
“Alright, gimme one second, I have to get the cake you want from the fridge.”
Ryan shuffled off into a small closet for a second, and returned with a box with the label “MARBLE, ROYAL ICING” stuck clearly on the lid, next to a little logo with the name of the shop. He popped open the top to reveal a smooth, circular white cake, a blank canvas for Ryan to improve and create upon. He took the piper full of the blue frosting and began to pipe, creating beautifully crafted letters in a loopy cursive script. Brendon was absolutely enchanted, watching as Ryan’s long, spidery fingers pushed out the sweet sugary blue stuff, and how his wrist flicked strategically to add aesthetic writing to the surface of the cake. It was like watching a skilled artist craft a beautiful scene on a canvas, a masterpiece unique to his own style. Brendon felt like he wasn’t even breathing.
Ryan added a last little loop to the “n” in “Jon”, then closed the top of the box and placed it gently in front of Brendon on top of the glass counter. Each movement this lovely employee made was smooth and mesmerizing to Brendon, like watching a brook flow effortlessly through a forest.
“That’ll be thirty, please.” Ryan said, drumming those thin fingers of his on the shiny counter.
Brendon paid him in three tens, and peeked at his phone after picking up the box and nestling it in one arm.
“Aw, shit!” he muttered under his breath. It was reflex to say it, and he hoped that Ryan hadn’t heard it. His prayers were not answered this time.
“What is it?” Ryan asked, going back to that brow-furrowed, arms-folded position. It relaxed Brendon to know that this stance wasn’t a sign of defense for Ryan, but was rather just a natural position for him.
Brendon scratched the back on his head nervously before continuing. He proceeded to again not make eye contact with Ryan’s entrancing eyes.
“I have to be at my friend’s really soon, and I know I’ll be late if I take public transport.”
“I can drive you.”
Wait, what?
“I’m serious, I can drive you.” Ryan repeated, after seeing Brendon’s face visibly become confused. Brendon gaped again, much like the way he did when he first entered the store. The response was so immediate, so sure. God, Ryan was so sexy when he sounded passionate.
“Look,” said Ryan, leaning in close (which absolutely incapacitated Brendon). “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I really don’t want to be here right now.”
Brendon kind of wanted to say he had indeed noticed (a parakeet with no eyes would have noticed, honestly), but he swallowed the words and let Ryan continue in that flowing voice of his.
“I’ve got a car,” Ryan continued, taking off his apron and nametag. “and it’ll fit you, me, and the cake. Come on, let’s go. You don’t want to be late and I want to get the hell out of here, so it looks like we’ve got some mutual interest in driving away from this place.”
Ryan, of course, had a couple of other motives. Maybe this customer was kind of handsome. And by kind of, he meant very. A car ride with a good-looking man was something that Ryan wouldn’t mind to indulge himself in, especially after a couple of rather tedious, slow work days.
In the two seconds before he responded, and billion thoughts raced through Brendon’s head, ranging from a string of question marks to car sex fantasies. Nothing in those countless thoughts was really helpful in stringing together an intelligible sentence, so Brendon had to settle for a simple, weak, “Okay.”
Ryan let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank God. I really needed a real excuse to get out of here.”
And a real excuse to be in a small space with an extraordinarily attractive, gracelessly affectionate customer. What was so wrong with that?
“Aren’t you like, on a shift right now?” Brendon asked. Ryan just laughed.
“Actually, this place is mine. I can do whatever the hell I want; I’m my own boss.”
All at once, it clicked for Brendon.
“You’re… Ross? As in Ross cakes?”
“Yep. I’m Ryan Ross. This place is all mine, unfortunately.”
Ryan took a pause, only to be met with an empty stare from Brendon. He rolled his eyes, but slipped back into that nearly invisible smile once more.
“I’ll explain it all in the car. What’s the address?” Brendon kindly provided it.
Brendon couldn’t believe his luck. He actually was going to ride in the car for a good amount of time with this hot, dreamboat employee. Brendon had checked out many a good-looking waiter or cashier in his day, but could have never even imagined being in a confined space like a car for an extended period of time with a single them. And driving with Ryan Ross the Cake Boy was even more amazing, since Ryan stood out from every hot guy Brendon had ever seen. There was something special about this thin, dark-eyed cake maker. He was just… different. And special. Brendon felt things for him that were foreign, that he had never felt before. In those racing thoughts in his head, the word “love” suddenly popped up, and then dawdled, sticking out like a sore thumb. Brendon banished the thought. There was no way. It couldn’t be… right?
---
Brendon didn’t know what to expect when it came to Ryan’s car, but he sure didn’t expect a firetruck red Mini Cooper with a Union Jack roof. Ryan’s embarrassed excuse was that he found it used and at a super cheap price, but it still “rode nice”. Brendon tried to hide his smirk behind a hand, but Ryan’s flushed red face proved that his attempts were in vain.
“At least the seats are leather.” Brendon mused as Ryan shut the driver’s side door. All he received was another eye roll as a response.
Ryan started the car and pulled out into the busy street. His tiny little vehicle made this dinky puttering sound as it rolled along, which made Brendon giggle hysterically behind his palm. This only proceeded to make Ryan flush a deeper scarlet.
Just being in Ryan’s presence made Brendon so awestruck that he couldn’t even bring his mouth to form a single word of conversation. Instead, his eyes couldn’t get enough of watching Ryan’s driving antics. Ryan didn’t seem to notice the staring, and if he did, he didn’t let on. Every part of his movements, though, implied that he was so concentrated on the road that all peripheral vision had vanished. The way he gently bit his tongue between his front teeth and squinted his dark brown eyes when he floored it in an opening on the road, the way his spindly fingers drummed impatiently on the wheel (in a very musical pattern) when the traffic came to a standstill, the way he hummed unique melodies as he inched forward on the street, the way he thought that Brendon couldn’t hear these original songs (though, on the contrary, Brendon listened close for every note)… Brendon couldn’t get enough of this standoffish cake boy. After an incredulous amount of minutes gathering all of his courage, he managed to ask the beautiful baker one thing.
“So… why do you hate your own cake shop?”
Ryan let out a groan from deep in his throat that Brendon could feel through his whole body.
“Well, it wasn’t originally mine. It was my dad’s and… hold on a sec.”
Ryan did the adorable tongue-between-the-teeth thing as he pulled up quickly in an opening in traffic.
“Anyway, it was my dad’s and… well, I dropped out of college to pursue music and… it didn’t really work out.”
Yeah, that sure sounded familiar to Brendon. To be quite honest he didn’t even really process too much of what Ryan was saying, since he was enthralled with the way Ryan took breathy pauses between random words. It sure as hell didn’t feel like a boy from a fairly anonymous, not-so-famous New York City bakery was talking to him. It felt like so much more than that. Ryan drew a breath and continued.
“I was super poor… I didn’t know where to go. So I went back to my family. My dad was retiring and… he basically told me there wasn’t much I could do. He left me the bakery because I’d really messed up my life by trying to make it.”
Well that explained the bitter, cold attitude. Ryan wasn’t where he wanted to be, and he’d been shot down trying to do what he wanted with his life. Again, this was something Brendon could really personally relate to.
“And, know I’m stuck with this shithole.”
Ryan banged on the steering wheel on the last word as someone cut him off. He spoke distantly, through clenched teeth. Somehow that passionate cynicism made Brendon’s heart poured open with feelings for Ryan the reluctant cake maker.
“I- I’m sorry.” Brendon said shakily, wanting nothing more than to comfort Ryan. Hearing Ryan’s pain made him feel it. “I can relate, y’know. I’m a musician, too.”
Ryan’s brows came together once more and, for the first time in the whole ride, his eyes turned on Brendon. Brendon could feel that gaze, too, warm and focused.
“Really? You are? What do you play? What do you do?”
Holy shit, Brendon thought to himself, trying not to let these emotionally saturated thoughts splay on his face. He’s talking to me. He’s talking to me! Respond, respond before it gets awkward!
“Guitar,” Brendon replied with a faux sense of confidence. “and I sing, too. I mean, I played drums all through school, but I’ve been really focusing on the singing and strumming and stuff.”
Strumming and stuff? What the fuck, Brendon. He’s going to think that’s stupid.
But much to his surprise, Ryan laughed. Yes, it was a short-lived giggle, but that smile that could make flowers grow returned and spread all across his cheeks. He chuckled in a way that set Brendon’s heart aflame.
God, he’s so much hotter than that Cheesecake Factory waiter.
“Whoop, looks like we’re here.” Ryan steered into the parking lot of Jon’s apartment complex and Brendon’s heart sank so far he thought it was going to fall out of his body.
“You’d better get going. If you get out now, you’ll walk in right on time.”
The only issue was that Brendon didn’t want to get out. In fact, every cell in his body was screaming for him to stay on the leather seat in Ryan’s crappy used car. Jon could wait, Spencer could wait. In fact, the whole world could stand still if it meant that Brendon Urie could get just one more second with Ryan Ross.
That, of course, wasn’t the way things could be.
Instead, Brendon picked up his cake and got out of the car.
“Thanks Ryan. Have fun baking cakes and stuff.”
Ryan allowed himself to laugh lightly.
“Yeah, right. See ya… Brendon.”
With that, Ryan Ross drove away.
---
“Look at that, on time and bearing cake!” Jon snickered caustically as Spencer opened the door to let Brendon in.
“Happy birthday, Jon.” Brendon grinned and opened up the box.
“Woah, even the right type? Holy shit, Brendon you’re on a roll today!”
Brendon nodded proudly, and Jon laughed.
“Nice, Bden. Nice.”
Spencer squinted at the box.
“Where’s it from? It looks really good, but I can’t see the label.”
“Ross Cakes. It’s right down the street from me, actually.” Brendon tried with every inch of his being to keep from blushing, but his face betrayed him and turned a feverish red. Jon laughed out loud and Spencer shook his head with a grin; it was apparent that both men knew just exactly what was going on here.
“And I take it that Ross the cake maker was pretty good-looking?” Jon mused, leaning forward and smirking in the chair.
“Shut up.” Brendon retorted through a stupid grin, his face only burning hotter.
Spencer rose from the couch to get a cake knife from the kitchen, but not before calling over his shoulder, “Is this going to be like that Cheesecake Factory waiter incident? Goddammit Brendon, we all know how that ended.”
“No, no, no, this guy’s… different. He’s special.” There was so much more attributed to Ryan Ross in Brendon’s mind, but words were incapable of describing it.
“A lot of people are special.” Jon replied flatly. “You said that about the waiter, and-”
“Enough about Cheesecake Factory. That was one time.”
“One memorable time.” Spencer laughed, as he came in and began to cut cake.
“I mean it.” Brendon countered, unable the rid the defensiveness from his voice. He flopped back in his chair, dreamy-eyed and smiley as ever. Jon and Spencer groaned when they saw that expression. As friends of a hopeless romantic, they’d seen it many a time before, but never this bad.
“I just… God, I really like him.”
“Then talk to him!” Jon pointed at Brendon with his plastic fork to emphasize his argument. “For God’s sake, Brendon, he’s just a cake-baking boy. Seriously, talk to him. ”
Brendon sat there, pensive, images of Ryan’s striking face swimming through his mind and drowning all of his other thoughts. That dreaded feeling came back, that deep twinge that he’d felt the earlier that had caused the word “love” to rise to the surface in his mind. But this time, he let the word linger longer than he’d like, like the smell of a former lover on bedsheets and pillowcases. He didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t get himself to shake that feeling.
And, just perhaps, he really didn’t want to shake it.
---
Over the next few weeks, Brendon made it his mission to find as many excuses to buy cakes as he could. He’d google holidays to celebrate, and then buy cakes for days like checkers day and elephant appreciation day.
“You’ve always like elephants, right Spencer?”
“What? I mean, I guess?”
“AWESOME! Happy elephant appreciation day! I’ll buy a cake for it and we can celebrate! At my place, if you’d like. Did I mention I’d buy the cake?”
“Brendon, I’m really busy, I c-“
“Fine, I’ll mail it to you!”
Sometimes when Brendon got off of work (which was often late, since he begged for extra hours to make more cake-buying money), he’d come up to the big glass window of Ross Cakes and duck behind the towering pastries in the display. The eager Brendon would press his nose against the glass and take shallow breaths in awe, watching as Ryan would lazily frost call-in ordered cakes, as Ryan would pull at the calluses on his fingers (likely caused by guitar) when he had time off, as Ryan would put on the Beach Boys and low key jam out when he thought not a soul in New York was looking. Brendon often was kept up at night, wondering if it was technically stalking. He never really answered that question; he just kind of made himself stop thinking about it whenever the thought came up.
Whenever he’d come up with an excuse to buy a cake, whether it be someone’s one-eighth birthday (much like a half birthday, but one eighth of the year from said person’s birthday) or Johnny Appleseed Day (September 26, for those wondering), Brendon would stroll nonchalantly into Ryan’s store, donning an artificial cool air that Ryan could always see right through. With each visit, the sexual tension increased. The neighbors could practically feel the stiffness of the air every time Brendon set foot in that store.
Every time, like clockwork, the moment that Ryan sensed Brendon’s presence, he would drop everything he was doing and would look up at the doorway. And every time, again, like clockwork, the two pairs of brown eyes would lock, and everything on Earth would stop for just a moment. Ryan would allow just the traces of a smile to creep on his face, and would say the exact same every time (you guessed it, like clockwork).
“You again.”
Brendon would stumble through conversation (usual regarding some riveting subject such as the weather), and Ryan would flow through it in his typical style. Brendon would pick up the cake, the Earth-stopping stare would return, usually laced with a smile or two, and then the frequent customer would exit through the door of Ross Cakes.
It was nothing special, really. Mostly because the head-over-heels, swept-away Brendon couldn’t bring himself to say anything out of the ordinary, and the aloof, but secretly deeply caring Ryan wouldn’t say anything affectionate, of course. Brendon feared when he got home from these frequent encounters (yes, Brendon was finding himself in Ross Cakes at least once a week) that this was the extent of the relationship, that the two would forever be trapped in this funk of distant smiles and weak small talk.
---
One time that was particularly memorable was September 28th (family day, for those curious, so Brendon had promised cake from Ryan’s shop to all four of his siblings). It started out like any other day before, with the gazing and the “you again”. Brendon began to observe that with each visit, their gazes seemed to be tinged with more and more yearning. He did not know, though, what the yearning was for. Actually that’s a lie. He had full knowledge what they wanted, but he shoved it to the back of his brain where it never saw the light of day. The denial was strong in that one.
Brendon crept up the counter (as usual), and asked for his cake in as steady a voice as he could muster (as usual), which, let it be noted, was not too terribly steady whatsoever. His voice cracks and crazy cadences were somewhat reflective of a pubescent teen.
Oh, and of course Ryan still managed to keep his unruffled manner through Brendon’s antics (again, as usual). God, he was just so good at everything, from the demeanor to the cakes to the hair to the smile to the- holy shit. Once this ball started rolling, it was rolling down a hill that was actually a straight down ninety degree drop and there was no way for Brendon to stop it. This day, family day, was especially bad for some reason. By the time that Brendon caught those runaway train thoughts, he realized that his mouth had been moving the entire time. He’d been going on and on about different bodies of guitars for probably a good five minutes. Yeah, sure, five sounds like a small amount of time, but God, when you’re embarrassing yourself for that amount of time straight through, it’s an eternity.
He’d never done this either. He could usually keep cool and not completely lose himself in Ryan’s perfection. But this day… oh, family day. Family day was not a good day for Brendon.
And what made it worse? Ryan’s reaction. He just laughed lightly when Brendon caught himself, and he let a smirk grace his face as a bewildered expression crossed the mortified boy’s face. Brendon flushed deeply, and Ryan grinned even wider.
With each visit, not only their gazes changed, but Ryan’s comfort level changed. On their first encounter, it was as though Ryan was trapped in an invisible box. They could see each other, and Brendon could talk and yammer on all he wanted, but Ryan felt like he couldn’t really do anything. The distrustful and detached attitude he’d formed due to his unhappiness in his place in life sometimes made it difficult for him to see the good in people, let alone get attached. But the more days Brendon wandered into his cake shop, the more Ryan realized that there were some people worth breaking the glass walls for.
As Brendon leaned on the counter blushing, Ryan instinctively placed a hand over Brendon’s and squeezed it. He didn’t even think about it, his hand just kind of traveled over there by itself, as though that was where it was always meant to be. Ryan felt the warmth of Brendon’s hot hands beneath his own, and Brendon could feel the coldness of Ryan’s icy fingers spreading throughout his own hand. Neither boy was uncomfortable, though. The way the skin felt against skin, the way their energies flowed… it made both wonder at the same time why didn’t this happen sooner? It felt so natural, so wonderful.
It only took a second for Ryan to realize where he was. In a moment of weakness, he retracted his hand, embarrassedly wiping it on his pants. Ryan felt like taking away his touch was something he had to do, so why did it feel so wrong? Why did his hand want to crawl back right atop Brendon’s, where it felt like it belonged? It was Ryan’s turn to feel a bit humiliated; he couldn’t even meet Brendon’s eyes. So much for the suave, yet aloof attitude.
This was the first time that Brendon was really clued in on Ryan’s feelings. There was a tug deep in his chest when a part of him realized that Ryan maybe, just maybe, returned the affection, that Ryan perhaps was crushing on a certain someone.
Brendon walked out with a bag full of cakes and a wallet lacking money. Somehow, he was still thanking family day for all it had brought him.
---
Weeks and weeks on end went on like this. It was a routine for Brendon after a while, so it was beginning to lose its excitement. Even with his tiny glint of hope that Ryan had feelings for him too, Brendon began to feel as though nothing was ever going to happen. He was too fearful to really do anything, since Ryan usually showed about as much emotion as a brick wall. Neither boy was budging, so they appeared to be at a stalemate.
One night, everything went a little differently.
Brendon had had a gig at a restaurant that evening, and was exhaustedly trudging home to his apartment. The tired young man wiped the sweat from his brow; it had been such a long day that the weight of his acoustic guitar on his back felt as though it could snap him in half. From work to a crappy gig? Somehow a shitty day had managed to further go downhill. It was only when he walked past the familiar yellow outside of a particular cake shop that he remembered he’d called in a cake for pickup (a post-birthday celebration for Jon, of course). His pulse suddenly pounding, Brendon swept his hair up and tried to rid himself on any and all perspiration as he began to enter.
And, oh, how convenient it was that Ryan Ross was walking out and closing up shop just as Brendon Urie walked in.
In fact, they actually walked right into each other. Brendon, so overwhelmed with his thoughts of what to say and what to do with Ryan, ended up slamming his face right into the person he was planning on talking to. Ryan let out a little breath of air as Brendon instinctively placed his hands right over Ryan’s chest to stop himself from walking into this obstruction further. When Brendon finally realized just what this obstacle he’d walked into was, he wanted to melt into the floor and disappear.
“Oh, shit,” Brendon gasped breathlessly. Somehow he couldn’t bring himself to remove his firmly planted hands off of Ryan’s chest. Ryan didn’t appear to be fighting it, either.
“I- I’m sorry.”
Slowly, Ryan raised his arms from his side, and wrapped his long hands around Brendon’s wrists. Perhaps this was to make up for family day, when he pulled away a hand that really should have lingered with Brendon’s. All that the two of them knew wat that this was the most sexual tension they’d felt in their lives. Neither boy felt as though they had taken a breath in years. Gently, as though Brendon was a delicate paper doll, Ryan removed the two hands from his chest, but didn’t let go of the wrists. He simply held the hands up, like a buffer between their chests. Their eyes locked once more, like they had many times before. But this time, electricity filled the room; Ryan and Brendon could both feel it. Brendon felt so stupid and crazy and strange in the moment, that he felt it was only appropriate to do something stupid and crazy and strange. His lips parted slowly, and he refused to look away from Ryan’s beautiful eyes.
“Ryan… I think I love you.”
Everything froze. Their gaze continued, as both hearts began to beat faster.
Slowly, Ryan leaned forward and whispered so closely to Brendon’s ear that his warm breath made the hair on Brendon’s neck tingle.
“So… What’re you gonna do about it?”
Brendon didn’t even need to wait for an invitation. Their lips collided in a moment of pure bliss. Sparks flew around the room when that kiss locked in; the magic of it was so potent that neither of them wanted to stop. Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon’s shoulders and yanked him in closer, unwilling to let him go and let this dreamy first kiss stop. Brendon breathed shallowly and he leaned in closer, feeling Ryan’s lips and marveling at how good he was at kissing. He didn’t know why he was surprised, but Ryan tasted almost sugary, as though he was sweet inside and out.
They pulled away at the same time, but their bottom lips lingered touching for just a second as they look at each other, as they really looked at each other for the first time.
“I don’t know why I said ‘I think’ earlier,” Brendon murmured. “I know I love you. I love you, Ryan Ross.”
Ryan laid gentle kisses on Brendon’s neck, and smirked as he heard Brendon’s exhale of pleasure.
“I know I love you too, Brendon.” he whispered.
With their fingers intertwined, Ryan pulled Brendon behind that glass counter.
“Hold on just a second.” Ryan ordered, as he opened up the back closet and began to walk in.
“Oh,” he added, popping his head out. “I’d suggest you get out your guitar.”
Brendon smiled widely, and he opened up his case and pulled out his instrument right as Ryan emerged with a guitar of his own.
For the next hour or so, not a word of speech was spoken. They communicated only through song, but that in and of itself communicated their feelings enough. They would go back and forth, singing love songs to each other. They’d play duets and listen as their voices mixed in beautiful harmony. They were both exactly where they were supposed to be, and it was absolutely perfect.
Towards the end of the session, Brendon was trying desperately to play out a song, but kept screwing up the chord changes. He eventually just stopped and looked at Ryan with a goofy expression. The two of them burst out laughing.
“Sorry,” Brendon sighed. “I’ve just had a really long day.”
Ryan smiled, and this time didn’t fight it. He let it take over his whole face. Oddly, he felt better the more he smiled. Strange how much better you can feel if you just let yourself be happy.
“Come here. I’ll sing you a song wrote… I’ll sing you to sleep, if you like.”
Brendon scooted over in his stool, and folded his arms tight across his body as he nuzzled his head onto Ryan’s shoulder. Even with his tired eyes, he could see happiness overtake Ryan’s face.
“What’s this song called?” he whispered gingerly.
“Well, it’s still a work in progress, but I think I’m going to call it ‘Northern Downpour’.” Ryan explained, retuning his guitar.
“It sounds beautiful and wonderful.” Brendon chimed in tiredly.
Ryan responded by kissing Brendon softly on the head.
“Just like you.”
Ryan began to strum the chords gently.
F, to B flat, back to F, back to B flat.
His voice poured from his mouth, deep and full and pleasant. The words and notes were strung together in such a way that Brendon could feel the power of the song all over his body. He could feel that love start deep in his heart, then spread everywhere until the tingling of joy was in the tips of his fingers and the ends of his toes. His eyes began to shut, and he dozed off before he knew it.
Ryan just smiled.
He continued the song as he looked at that silly, awkward boy who was always coming in and buying out his cakes. Ryan’s heart swelled with a love he had never known before. And on and on, the chords rang out, singing a beautiful new song to the world.
Hey moon, please forget to fall down
Hey moon, don’t you go down
You are at the top of my lungs
Drawn to the ones who never yawn