pure ⇶ ryden

two

a.n: all i want is a) an aesthetically pleasing room, b) more vinyl records, and c) throam written as my immortal style
and YES, i have a headcanon where travie is aro, ace, and agender, if you don't like it shjt up prepz ok!

lights

entered on june 1, 2006, 2:01 am by lonelymoonlight

i lied.
i want it back
i want it all back.
i want the candles
the crystals
the sea glass
the flowers
and her note.
but the tears are gone
i have a pack of cigarettes out
and i have matches
so why don't i smoke the whole pack?
i'll be distracted by those bright lights
and that jazz tune
and that jazz singer
with the rich voice
who sings to the tune of the lights flickering.

Ryan trudged through the sandy pavement, and sighed a sigh of relief when he saw the lights. Slightly grinning, he pulled out the matchbox. He set the cigarette aflame, smirking.
"Three cheers for the last chapter of my life," Ryan said, letting it rest in-between his fingers. He leaned back and let out a groan as he felt the back of his head the wall. He sighed, and turned around, confused.
And he was sort of glad that he did, because at that moment, he realized it was Travie's cafe. And he felt as if he wouldn't appreciate it as much as he did if he saw it at any other time. So he dropped his cigarette, crushed it with his heel, and went inside.
The diner was really authentic. It had checkered floors, pink walls, teal booths, and neon signs everywhere, because, well, that was just what was in Travie's aesthetic.
The first thing he saw was a woman in a white fur coat and blue hair, and he recognized her immediately. She was Ashley Nicolette Frangipane, who was a pretty fucking famous jazz singer, so Travie must have at least been getting some business, right?
"Y'all know this song, you can sing with me," she grinned, "this is for my friend, Travie, who runs this place. Give it up for Travie!"
Ryan's eyes darted to Travie, who was blushing, but they were still grinning.
Ashley took in a deep breath, and smiled, "Cigarettes and tiny liquor bottles," she sang in her smooth, signature voice.
Ryan finally decided to talk to Travie, who was rubbing their arms and giggling like a child. He put his elbows on the counter and Travie finally looked up, shocked.
"Ryan? Long time no see, man!" They laughed.
"Missed you, too, kid," Ryan chuckled, "how's business?"
"As you can see," Travie gestured to Ashley, "good."
"Are you guys actually friends now? I've missed out on a lot, y'know," Ryan remarked.
"Childhood friends, actually," they beamed, "she works here, sometimes. On Wednesday nights and for a little on Thursday nights, she sings. When the next singer takes over, she takes a smoke break."
"Next singer?" Ryan inquired.
"His name is Brendon, he'll start soon after this song," Travie explained.
"We are the the new americana," Ashley sang, dropping the microphone when she finished. She grinned when she saw Travie.
"Hey, Trav," She turned to Ryan, "who are you?"
"My name's Ryan," He stated, "I'm here to see Travie again, and I honestly wanna fuck someone."
"Same," Ashley cackled, "does anyone have a light?"
"I got it," Travie chimed in as she pulled a cigarette from her coat. They took out a match and swiped it across the table, it burned instantly.
"How did you do that?" Ryan asked, eyes wide.
"I don't know," Travie said, handing the match to Ashley, "it just does that." Ashley nodded, and frantically tried to light her cigarette without the match falling to the floor.
"Hey, Brendon's about to start," Ashley nudged Ryan.
And then Ryan saw Brendon.
Brendon was beautiful, flawless, gorgeous, everything and nothing.
The boy was small, feminine, and innocent, wearing a short black skater dress. His face was bright pink, he had messy hair, and smeared lipstick on.
"Uh, hi," Brendon said in a small voice, "this is a song I wrote, it's called The Death Of A Bachelor."
And for that second, Brendon and Ryan's eyes met. And holy shit, Brendon had the most breathtaking eyes. The way light hit him was absurd, every detail stood out, all his curves and all his perfections, and, oh, there were a lot of them.
Brendon swallowed something, looked down, and up again.
"Do I look lonely?" Brendon started to sing, "I see the shadows on my face."
And, Jesus, when Brendon sang. Oh, God, it was like some figurine came to life in some lame-ass Disney movie, but Brendon would be the part everyone talked about.
"People have told me," he purred, "I don't look the same. Maybe I lost weight, I'm playing hooky. With the best of the best, put my heart on my chest, so that you can see it, too."