Boy Of The Ball ~ A Ryden AU

9 (Ryan)

Smoke.

Why do I smell smoke?

My mind immediately zooms to a fire.  The cabin (which we've been trapped in for three weeks, writing the album) is made of wood, and therefore is very flammable. 

But I don't hear screams, and there's no blaze of heat, so no, the cabin appears to be safe.

I cross my arms over my chest, and slide my feet into slippers, padding downstairs.

The fridge door is wide open, and I frown, walking over and shutting it. 

Someone must be awake, and using the firepit, because we're in the middle of nowhere. No one is going to break into this place.

I sigh, grabbing a can of Dr. Pepper and walking out the back door, and yup, someone is using the firepit. The smoke is swirling, and it smells horrid, like...

Like burning paper.

I edge closer, the can trembling in my hand, and when the smoke parts, I drop the drink, the caramel liquid pooling around my slipper-ed toes. A strangled noise leaves my throat, and can't move.

It's Brendon, standing there shirtless, his legs clad in pajama bottoms, sweat dripping down his face and back, his hair sticking up. He has an almost zombie-like look on his face, and no recognition flashes in his eyes when his gaze meets mine.

And he's throwing every single sheet of music that we've written into the fire.

"Brendon!" I cry, and all of the sudden my body is flying through the air, and I'm slamming into him, our bodies falling onto the ground in a heap. I suck in a deep breath, and smack him across the face, as hard as I can. My vision is blurry, and it takes me a minute to realize that I'm crying.

"How could you?" I whimper, and he smiles. 

"I should be asking you the same thing... servant boy." He whispers, and I blink. "W-What did you just call me?"

Brendon sits up, and now he's grabbing me, shoving me against the side of the cabin, the wood poking into my back as he shoves his face next to mine, so our noses are brushing and our lips are almost touching.

"I called you servant boy. Because that's what you were. How could you do that? Put our story, our legacy, in an ALBUM? Where anyone could hear? No, Ryan, my darling, no. Those details are..." His hand snakes down my chest, where he slips it up my shirt and traces the contours of my chest. "They're intimate. So, I destroyed it."

I swallow, hard. "You remember? Then why didn't you say anything?" I ask, and Brendon's expression hardens. "Because I thought I was insane! How did you feel, when you took a bunch of drugs, and then you woke up, hopelessly in love with me? Were you in a mood to share your feelings?" 

"No.." 

"Exactly. It was... weird. I was suddenly in love with you, except it wasn't you. But at the same time, it was. You and... servant boy... had some similar qualities. But that's not the point. I googled "Prince Brendon Urie" and... it happened. I was real." 

I stare into his eyes, frowning, looking for any hint of deception. There isn't any. 

"That's impossible." I hedge, and Brendon shakes his head, and then scrunches his face up in concentration. 

"Prince Brendon Boyd Urie, born in 1654, lived in Cornwall, England. The son of King Rowan, he was next in line for the throne, however, on the eve of his engagement party to Gwendolyn Cole, the daughter of a count, Urie disappeared, never to be seen again. It was rumored that he left with George Ross, a young servant of the crown, although the validity of this is not clear. A distant cousin gained control of the monarchy instead."

I stare at him, my face confused, and he smiles lightly. "That's the Wikipedia page. I can show you later. There's oil paintings, backstory, even a sidenote on you." He says, and I blink.

"So... it was real?"

Brendon's lips twitch into a tiny smile, and then he leans forward, and oh.

Oh.

We're kissing.

It's like every memory of the past, of him as a prince and of me as a servant, except it's heightened, it's perfect. His tongue glides across my lower lip, and I shiver, my chest tight. My fingers are sparking, full of energy, and this is right. This is where I want to be, where I should be.

He pulls away, and slowly runs a finger up and down my cheekbone.

"Yes, my Clover." He whispers, in a voice that sends my heart singing. "It was real."

The End

sorry lol this fic sucked ass