conceal | ryden

[04]

[i am realising that i'd rather fall out of my bedroom window to my death than type another word or talk to any one but here i am anyway. it feels like i give a lot to certain ppl but i don't really get a lot back and then i feel shitty like i do now, wow how emo of me anyway,,,,  let's do the chapter.]

ryan.

what the fuck was i thinking. getting attached to new people is never a good thing why did i do it i have too much baggage he'll leave and i'll be heartbroken again why did i do it why did i do it.
brendon urie of all people. the literal sweetest guy alive; and then there's me. i'm like a rat fresh out of the sewer.
i'm working three jobs to keep my father's shitty house so he doesn't go ballistic when he realises that because he stopped working, we would get evicted. that's if he was ever sober enough to realise.
i lift my head off the steering wheel and dig around in my semi tidied car- god who am i kidding- to find some sort of food.
all i find is a packet of expired popcorn from 2015, but it looks and smells fine, so i shrug and eat it anyway.
i shouldn't have blown all my money on coffees.

back to the point; brendon urie. the guy was like a god, with his amazing hair and beautiful eyes and even though his forehead was slightly larger than average, even gods had flaws. if that even counts as a flaw. which in my eyes? it didn't.

from what i've gathered, his friends are the nicest people i've ever met, his parents are generally accepting, his grades are steady, he has a voice that could bring the dead back to life and his laugh could literally rival birdsong. in fact, it did rival birdsong. it was better than birdsong.

i slammed my head back onto the steering wheel. i'm in deep.

i'm at pete's again, packing our football bags before the game. i'm starving, but i'm not giving pete the satisfaction of knowing i like brendon, and if i mentioned anything about being hungry, that's where the conversation would inevitably end up. pete knew i had enough money that morning for lunch, and he's smart enough to figure it out.
my phone vibrates on the desk next to me, and i pick it up. it's a number i don't know, but the message makes me smile.

from: +1 (853) 264-9021
hii! it's brendon
received at 17:18

to: +1 (853) 264-9021
hey brendon!
sent at 17:25

i didn't want to seem desperate.

from: brendon
thanks for coffee today, by the way. and good luck for the game :)))
received at 17:27

to: brendon
aha it's no problem ((:
i'll see you there right?
sent at 17:30

i really wanted him to be there.
that goddamn coffee taking up more than i allowed myself to spend per day had to be worth it.
after squeezing my nails- which i spent far too long biting to be healthy- into the palms of my hands and ignoring pete's worried calls for what seemed like a while, he came jogging into the room, saw me sat on the floor, phone in one hand and blood dripping for the other, and stopped.
"oh ryan."
"i'm sorry," i mumbled, and i was. sorry for being a mess, sorry for getting blood on his carpet, sorry for invading his house and having to take care of me and for the fact that i was too weak to stay for eight more months consecutively in my own house until i could legally move out.
pete tapped my chin. "you'll get through this. there's no reason to be sorry. i'm cancelling your work shift tonight, and you're coming back here and we are going to play video games until our fingers ache and eat our body weight in salted popcorn, because fuck the coach. first of all, you're going to text brendon back, and you're going to hype yourself up for the game. you are strong, you are brave, and i'm right here next to you."
it was the same speech he told me a lot, and it never failed to make me smile slightly. he extended his hand and i took it, sitting on the bed and replying to brendon as pete zipped up our bags and swung them over his back.
from: brendon
wouldn't miss it. also it's :)) not ((: you crazy person.
received at 17:32

to: brendon
don't bully me, sweatie :'((
sent at 17:40

from: brendon
pfft. i'll see you soon :))
received at 17:41

i left him on read, pulled on my shoes and drove me and pete back to school.

the game. right.
against some high school i had never heard of, and didn't really want to. i just wanted to get this game out of the way.

they weren't the best opponents we've ever been against, but probably one of the ones that played the dirtiest. the referee was from their school-completely biased- and no amount of us complaining could get them to swap. it was fine by me. we'd just have to play it on their terms; and i had no intention of going down without some sort of fight. i was fast, i knew this.

it didn't stop me from getting hurt, but it did stop me from getting my head bashed in and a couple bones broken. oh, and we won. i saw pete out of the corner of my eye, half jogging- half limping his way over to me, slinging an arm around me and using me as some sort of crutch to the changing rooms. i elbowed him off, and he stuck his tongue out at me childishly.
"rude," i told him, grinning.
he just rolled his eyes and elbowed me back.
"you like brendon, don't you?" he asks me, out of the blue. hearing it like that; so obvious and stark, like a tattoo. pete must have noticed me stiffening, and he rubs my back between my shoulder blades. "c'mon, dude, i didn't mean for you to get so worked up. you should talk to him anyways- it'll go fine, knowing you."
what the hell was that even supposed to mean?
instead of asking, i make a conscious effort to relax.
"you like patrick, though, don't you?" i half ask, half tell him. it's painfully obvious- pete longs after patrick.

"this isnt about my love life, urie, it's about yours," he tells me, but there's a smile on his lips and a spring in his limping walk.
"are you okay, anyway?" i ask, referring to his limp. he shrugs it away nonchalantly.

"yeah, it's just a sprain. i'll be fine," he says, and he means it.