(Brendon & Ryan from Panic! At The Disco)
This sucks I'm so sorry aLSO TRIGGER WARNING SELF HARM
I crashed on the hotel bed. “That was one hell of an interview, huh?” I ask, checking my messages. The interview was just the same few reporters asking seemingly identical questions over and over; it took two whole hours (it might as well have been two years!). “Hmm, yeah.” Brendon said. He seemed a bit distracted, but I didn’t call him out on it. “Hey, I’m going to go take a shower, okay Ry?” he asked as he turned towards the bathroom, not waiting for a response. As he turned the shower on, my stomach grumbled. It dawned on me that neither of us had eaten dinner. Deciding to order a pizza, I don’t bother knocking as I walk into the bathroom (Brendon and I are super close, anyway). “Hey, I’m gonna order pizza. Do you-“ I stop as I notice that Brendon isn’t in the shower. He was sitting on the floor, stripped down to his boxers, his thigh bleeding from a deep gash. His face became disfigured with terror and disbelief as he attempted to hide the razor. “Oh…my…god.” I said, dropping to my knees in front of him. The man that seemed so strong and together crumpled right before my eyes. Sobbing, he gripped my arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Ry! Please don’t be mad at me.” Shushing Brendon quietly, I gathered him into my arms. He looked up at me with terror in his eyes. “I don’t want to quit. Please don’t make me quit Ry-Ry.” I stood up, got one of the hotel’s towels wet, and dabbed lightly at his wound. Tears blurred my vision, but I wiped them away, careful not to get any in his laceration. I pretended not to see all the other white lines, delicately placed along his thighs. “Why would you do this to yourself?” I asked, not daring to look him in the eye. He sat silently for a minute, thinking.
“I…I deserve to be punished.”
“Punished? Why?”
“Because I like you.”
I stopped cleaning and looked into his beautiful brown eyes. “What?” I asked. “I like you, and I’m a despicable piece of trash that you would never care for. Besides, I’m covered in scars. Why would you want a used toy like me?” His eyes examined the floor as he said these horrible things about himself. I cupped his face and kissed his forehead.
“None of your scars could make me love you any less.” I said. He hugged me and said “Well, I love you too, broken bits and all.” I pulled out of the hug and brought out lips together. As we kissed, and I swear I could feel flowers in the place of weeds blooming in the cracks of our hearts.
