last ones out (ryden oneshots)

In The Chelsea Hotel

Disclaimer: Though there are similarities, this isn't based off of The Heart Rate Of A Mouse, though it's one of the only bandom fanfictions I still like.

It's based off of the story of Leonard Cohen and Janis Joplin, which the song Chelsea Hotel #2 is about. It will contain mentions of drug use and will involve death, though I try to avoid that it has to be there if we're talking about Joplin.

Ignoring what happened to Janis Joplin would be disrespectful, and it needs to be acknowledged that we lost a talented young women when she passed.

Nothing but respect to Janis Joplin and Leonard Cohen, and may they both rest in peace.

It Ryan was riding the elevator late at night again.

He was unable to sleep, and even if the Chelsea was a rather comfortable place to stay, his room was rather nice too, he couldn't help but stay awake. Why sleep when there's so much going on in New York right now? Why sleep when there were people changing the world, why sleep when you could be awake.

He rode the elevator every night, with really no destination. There never was a destination in these situations. There never had to be. It was early morning, about four, and no one else was there. No one ever was. No one was ever in here with him until the afternoon came, and he was okay with that. He didn't need company.

The buttons on the elevator continued to be the only technology he ever really mastered, and that was okay.

Eventually, he does go back to his room. Thinking about life tomorrow. Thinking about life in general, when the day would come that he couldn't ride the elevator to escape everything that kept him awake at night, everything that he knew shouldn't matter but it always did. Everything that wasn't supposed to matter did.

Ryan Ross was a folk singer of sorts, with plans to stick around. He was famous, slightly. As famous as you could be in the 60s. There was all type of music taking over now, last decade made them realise it was possible, now they realised they could do what they wanted. All the possibilities, now that the "going to hell" threats were mainly done for.

But one night, Ryan wasn't alone in the elevator. Somebody else had joined him, maybe not intentionally, but he was there. The man stood there, looking as if he had all the time in the world to just ride the elevator. And maybe he did. Maybe he didn't have anywhere to be, and just joined me, not intended to say anything. We didn't say anything.

He started to notice the man early in the morning and late in the evening, riding the elevator with Ryan. He recognised the man as Brendon Urie, also famous. Famous enough, anyway. He looked as if he rode the elevator with such delight, Ryan related to it in a way, how happy he seemed in this simple trip down the hotel floors.

Ryan knew what Brendon was like, stage personality wise. He commanded huge audiences, he needed attention, he wanted all eyes on him. He was talented. Yet, here, it seemed like riding this elevator was the only thing Brendon Urie truly ever knew how to do.

They eventually spoke. He mentioned he was looking for Kris Kristofferson, and Ryan was looking for Brigitte Bardot. Yet they met each other in the elevator.