The Publicity Stunt - Ryden

Chapter 1: Club One

I wasn't exactly excited to be living in New York. The noise and the crowds threw me off, but it was closer to the band and to our recording studio, so I packed up from LA and moved to New York City.

Close Corners was the number one selling band in America at the time and everyone wanted a piece of us. Especially me. It was strange to think the most popular person in a band headed by Pete fucking Wentz was Ryan Ross. But apparently they were more intrigued by my shy demeanor than Pete's upfront one.

The magazines called me a mysterious musical heartthrob, and I rolled my eyes at that every time I read it in some mediocre article. I wasn't a fucking heart throb, and I sure as hell wasn't mysterious. I liked my alone time. I liked being by myself and reading a book curled in a corner. I liked separating myself from people like Pete and his friends, who went out every night to get shit faced. The people who's faces graced the covers of magazines the next morning with headlines like "so and so, arrested for public indecency! Page 8!". No, that wasn't quite my style.

That's why the paparazzi outside of Club One found it hard to believe when I showed up there next to Pete. The flash of cameras almost blinded me as I moved to step into the long line of people waiting to get into the club. Pete rolled his eyes at me and grabbed my arm. "Dude, you're fucking famous, you don't have to wait in line like a normal person."

He was right, but I still wasn't used to it. The band had exploded overnight after the release of our debut album. Self titled "close corners". It was weird to go from a nobody who never got into places like this, to the guy everyone wanted at their party.

Not that i even wanted to be here. After moving into my new loft, Pete had convinced me to go out with him. Meet some of his friends. I hadn't wanted to but he had pulled the 'you owe me one' card and I was forced to come. And now as the house music beat a migraine into my skull, I regretted not staying home and reading a book instead. Or better yet, jacking off. God knows I wasn't getting laid here. No, I wouldn't lower myself to fucking anyone in this club. They were all snooty, they wore Chanel jackets and Versace shoes and I felt out of place with these upper east side parties.

I stick my hands into my tight, black thrift store jeans and let out a sigh as I look to the bar. I normally wouldn't drink, but the loud music and the fact that Pete had already left me alone made me start walking to the bar.

The music was too loud for the small club, but no one except me seemed to mind. People spoke louder to converse over the music. I looked around to see one couple leaning in close to each other, whispering into each other's ears. The mans hand was on the woman's thigh, pushing her silky red dress up a bit higher than it should have gone in public. They both smelled of booze and cheap perfume. I silently thanked god I was gay. Having to smell something that strong all night would make me dizzy. Boys smelled so much cleaner.

The bartender was a too thin brunette with big brown eyes and a flat chest. Her torso was covered by a simple white t-shirt and she wore tight skinny jeans to cover her small legs. I raised my hand to her when she stopped to look at me with wide eyes. I sighed at that. I couldn't be just another guy at the bar could I? No, I had to be Ryan fucking Ross. Mysterious heartthrob. It fucking drove me insane.

"Rum and coke please." I let out with a soft smile.

"Scratch that. He will have what we're having. Three tequila shots each. That's nine total when you add them up." Pete said from behind me, most likely smirking devilishly at the bartender, because I watched her cheeks turn bright red as she nodded and started pouring the shots.

"He will have the shots. I want my rum and coke." I said, smiling gently at her before turning around to look at Pete. "Don't order for me." I say with a small grin before looking behind him to see a tall skinny brunette boy with pink plump lips and eyes... Fuck, those eyes could make the sun jealous. And I knew him instantly. He was the one person, the one friend of Pete's that I would never fucking like. He was a dick, and we both had an agreement to mutually hate each other.

"What's wrong? Is your band mate too much of a pussy to keep up with the big boys?" Brendon Urie said with a smirk, and Ryan remembered exactly why he despised the boy from afar. He may have been handsome but his entire demeanor was off putting. He was just like Pete except for ten times more arrogant and his smirk was way more devilish than Pete's could ever be. He must have been some kind of role model to Pete. Standing right next to each other, Pete looked like Brendon's model student. The class was douche bag 101.

"Nope, just wouldn't want to hurt your precious ego when I drink you under the table." I answer back nonchalantly.

And then Brendon was leaning into me all to close, whispering into my ear. "You wanna bet? Winner gets to fuck the other one out back?" I shove him back gently and groan in disgust at his words.

"You fucking wish Urie. Now would you mind? I have some tequila shots to take." I turned and took Pete's shots, three in a row, without batting an eyelash. Pete almost looks stunned, but my eyes are locked on his, which turn wide when I move to set the last shot glass down and pick up my rum and coke. "What's wrong baby? Don't think you can keep up with the big dog?" And to make a point, I shoved past him, making sure to hit my shoulder against his as I walk away in a different direction.

God I fucking hate that prick.