Brendon stays stock still. Wondering if maybe he is still enough, he’ll vanish into thin air and the inevitable won’t have to happen. However, fate is not on his side, as no sooner has he decided chameleon mode is the best way to go:
“Brendon? Cappuccino’s here.” Brendon spares a fleeting glance at the male barista who hands him his white paper cup, but when he turns back, Ryan is looking at him. Straight at him. Brendon wonders for a moment whether Ryan will freak out and run away, but as a grin set it’s way across his face, Brendon doesn’t really know how to feel.
“Holy shitballs, Brendon Urie. How the hell are you, man?” Ryan extends his hand, grabbing Brendon with an unnecessary amount of force, pulling him into a bro-hug that twists into an awkward too-many-limbed embrace. As Ryan pulls away, Brendon gets the chance to look at him properly. Ryan has cut his hair much in the same style as Brendon has, and he silently sends up a thank you for the cold weather making him wear his beanie. Ryan’s clothes have changed dramatically. Gone are the scarves and chimney-sweep hats and fingerless gloves; they have been replaced with a white ‘I <3 LA’ t-shirt, tight fitted leather jacket and slightly low-riding black jeans. He looks good.
“I...I’m fine. Wow, it’s been ages, dude. What are… what are you doing here, man?” He knows he sounds stiff and mechanical, but seriously… Ryan. For 2 years Brendon had been convinced Ryan was it. Ryan was everything to him, and then that all changed. The stress of their relationship spread over the whole band; infecting it like a virus with no cure. In the end, they’d decided to split: both the couple and, indeed, the band.
“I, er… I’m here with some friends, bought a house not far from here. Been living with Shane and his ‘partner’ for a while. Started up the solo career, and if that doesn’t fly, well fuck it, I’ll go into interior design or some shit. How’s er… how’s Panic?” Brendon doesn’t really know how to respond. Panic is fine, he supposes. Apart from the apparent inadequacy and certain unreliability of their lead singer.
“Panic’s...er… fine. We’re in the process of writing a new album. Well.. I’m writing it. There’s not very much… guitar in it. It’s more of a techno thing. But it should sound good. I hope it will anyway.” Ryan nods along politely, carefully not raising his eyebrows too high when Brendon mentions ‘techno’. Techno had never really been Brendon’s thing, but if he was trying it, why not.
“Wow, techno, ha, things really have changed since Pretty Odd, huh?” Ryan lets out a short, sharp laugh, something that sounds hostile to Brendon’s ears, but is really just more reminiscent.
“Yes. Techno. I think it’ll be good for us as a band. Anyway, I should go, Ryan, I need to get to the studio.”
“You’re late?” Brendon doesn’t look directly into Ryan’s eyes, but he can see the knowing smirk the cocky bastard is wearing like his old ‘fever’ makeup.
“No. Of course not. Just will be if I stand here chatting pointlessly to ghosts of my past. Makes me feel like fucking Ebenezer Scrooge.” Ryan laughs again, making a face that could be understanding, but is contorted with slight disbelief.
“Well, sorry, Mr Scrooge, I’ll leave you to get on with your day. Tell Spencer I said hi, if he is, indeed, still in the band.” And with that, he grabs his caffe latte, thanks the barista and strides out the coffee shop indignantly. Brendon stares after him, frowning with rage and regret.
