Give Me Envy, Give Me Malice, Give Me Your Attention *Ryden*

Give Me a Sign, I Want to Believe

Ryan didn't hear anything about the Periscope until later that night, when Spencer sent him a text asking if he'd watched it. Ryan often went several days without going on the internet at all, because whenever he did it ended up feeling like a full frontal assault of rude comments from ignorant people. Every time he posted a picture on Instagram, there were some sweet messages from fans expressing their love and support for him and his post-Panic music, but the majority of comments were more like this:

Ryan was kneeling in the bathtub

When the fuck will you give us more music?

Ryden

Do you miss Beebo?

Had any milk lately?

And the gay gets gayer

Cheez Whiz

Hey Ryan, you should check out Panic! at the Disco, great band! Guess you wouldn't know...

There were hundreds of times when he'd been tempted to shut down all of his social media accounts, but that would be allowing the assholes to win. The number of Twitter followers he had didn't even come close to how many Brendon had (167,000 as opposed to over a million), but he appreciated the fans he did have, and he wasn't about to let them down by caving in and disappearing off the face of the earth.

The thing he found most intolerable was the fucking pity that people often expressed toward him. He didn't need their pity. His life was pretty damn good. He definitely had regrets (didn't everybody?), and sometimes the decision to leave Panic was one of his biggest, but he knew it was a decision he'd needed to make. The band was never going to work out the way it had been going. He couldn't have continued living that way, feeling miserable and stifled; barely speaking to the person he'd once loved and considered his best friend, because at that point all they ever did was argue.

A lot of people seemed to think that Ryan must be embarrassed that the music he'd released following his departure from Panic hadn't been successful, but he wasn't. He was proud of that music. It was his creation, nobody else's. Deep down, there was a part of him that believed it would have been more successful if he had the looks and on-stage charisma that Brendon possessed. Not that Ryan was bad-looking; that wasn't the case at all. His eyes were an unusually beautiful color; changing (depending on the lighting or his mood) from amber to hazel to brown. With his full head of longish brown hair and "kissable" (as he'd often been told, grimacing every time) mouth, he could hold his own in the looks department. But Brendon had the "it" factor. He was stunning, whereas Ryan was more "boy next door" hot. There was no arguing that the two of them together helped bring more people to the shows...especially once the rumors that they were lovers started spreading like wildfire.

Ryan knew it wasn't fair to resent Brendon for being the band member that most girls (and guys) came to see. It wasn't Brendon's fault that his personality and looks were incredibly magnetic, and on top of it all, his stage presence and voice were amazing. Still, the resentment was inevitable and hard to suppress, and it was a major factor in the demise of the original Panic lineup.

Dottie trotted into the room, snapping Ryan out of his reverie, and he bent down to stroke behind her ears. He'd always been a dog person and Dottie offered some of the best company he'd ever had. Grabbing a dog treat from a Tupperware container next to his fridge, he tossed it to her and said, "So what do you think, Dot? Should I watch the stupid thing or not?"

Spencer hadn't given him any details about the Periscope broadcast; he'd just mentioned that should see it. For a minute, Ryan wished that Jon was here to watch it with him but he and Jon had drifted apart in the previous few years. Jon had always agreed with Ryan's opinion that Brendon had a penchant for overexposing himself. He liked to be seen and he liked to talk, which became even more apparent when he started posting Vines, and then of course Periscope Q & A's. Ryan had watched quite a few of them and had to admit they were pretty funny. He missed that about his old friend. Ultimately, though, all the media coverage and internet footage of Brendon annoyed him. Did he always have to be the center of attention? And smoking weed online for everyone to see, even the 11 year old fans that were undoubtedly watching? If Ryan pulled that shit, he'd be crucified for it. It had been 6 years since the infamous cocaine picture and he still hadn't lived that one down.

He sighed loudly, sat down on his couch, grabbed his phone from the coffee table and pulled up the video on YouTube.

Ten minutes later the video was long over, but Ryan still sat, staring at the screen. His emotions were at war with one another and he wasn't sure which one was going to win the battle.

There was anger. What kind of game was Brendon playing, putting that out there for the world to see? Why hadn't he gotten his number from Spence and called him like a normal person, apologizing in private?

There was surprise. Since when did Brendon even decide that he owed Ryan an apology? He'd always insisted it was the other way around. It wasn't like him to have a change of heart and admit that maybe he'd been wrong all along. Maybe the argument at the party had opened his eyes a little bit.

There was sadness and longing. Ryan missed him. He'd been missing him for years, but lately it had felt stronger and more painful than ever.

The emotion that finally won the internal war was hope. Maybe this meant it was time for them to start rebuilding the bridge they'd blown up between them. Maybe they could overcome their differences and truly, finally forgive each other. Ryan knew they were both to blame for everything that had happened, and he was man enough to admit his part in it. More than anything, he wanted Brendon to be part of his life again; in what capacity, he wasn't sure, but anything would be better than nothing at all. The lyric resonated in his head: friends like us should not be apart...

He closed the YouTube window and dialed Spencer.