Hey Moon (Ryden/smut)

Dancing With My Skeleton

Yes I'm actually updating! This chapter is a bit overdue ahh but I hope you enjoy. Also wattpad is being problematic and might have cut it off and repeated lines?? Please let me know is there are any problems. Enjoy~

Brendon's POV//
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Fuck fuck fuck... What should I wear?.. Or more importantly why am I stressing so much about it? I could wear a damned trash bag and the boy would still stare at me like I'm the Sistine Chapel..

But I do care because I've got his attention. He's noticed.

The kiss

That damn kiss. I can remember how his lips grazed mine, like a ghost, nearly invisible with his touch but lingering...

But I can't resurrect him.

I'll just go to his house, do the damn assignment and leave. No kisses, no mistakes, nothing. I can't do that, not again. No bullshit Urie.

Bzzz

Ryan:
8th Windleman street remember? Be here soon ~

                                                             K

I'll take my sweet time if I want to, Ross. But I find myself opening the door to my car.

The sky's gray. Perfect.

Let's see what kind of shit shack I'm in for.

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I'm pretty sure I'm lost when I pull up to a fairly large house with many windows and a 1967 Chevy Converitable.

Not quite a shit shack after all... Gotta admit it Ross I'm impressed, something near impossible to do.

I stride up to the large yellow door and ring the bell, I hear a dog bark and run up to the glass. It's a healthy sized beagle hound looking mutt. A bassett maybe?... kinda ugly. But the boy who comes from behind the dog is quite the opposite.

He opens the door, breaking the wall between us.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"Are you gonna come in?" He laughs, motioning to the threshold.

"Uh yeah.. Yeah." I step inside. No return. No going back.

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"Do you want anything to drink? I got tea, water, lemonade, milk... " he says fixing himself a glass of water.
"No thanks." I say sharply. I can't look weak.
"Suit yourself.. " he shrugs

The house is comfortably decorated; besides the pile of bottles I spot lingering in the living room. Kid must be a damn drunk. What a shame.

He leads me up a stair case, to the attic. I expect to see the bodies of all the other boys he's probably woed behind the green door but instead I see a damn nice room... Small but it has character. A few potted plants, a dream catcher, posters of some oldies.

Well isn't he just the special snowflake?

He sets down the glass of water and sits on his bed, studying a cluster of papers on the. Oh right... the project. I'd forgotten about that part.

I sit on the far part of the bed and pick up one of the papers scanning it.
what's this poem about again? A virgin or something?

"So Rimbaud says 'Love has to be reinvented?' Which expresses his desire and confusion of his sexuality... Perhaps he has trouble accepting the inevitable." Ryan says slyly.