Phobia | Frerard

Feretrophobia

Feretrophobia

the fear of caskets, coffins, and dying young

"Ryan."

That name rang in Brendon's head, clunking against his skull like a bucket hitting cement. He felt his skin turn into ice, the hairs on his arms stood straight up only to feel like shards of glass digging into his pores. This was it. This was the end game. And it was easier than Brendon ever imagined it would be. As his eyes met Ryan's again, there was a pang in his chest urging him to end it here without hesitation. But the amount of people around with their staring eyes made it too difficult to get away with the crime easily...and without Ryan he'd never find where Gerard and Frank were.  Brendon still had to wait for whoever Donald was sending out to help.  But was there any reason for help anymore? His mind was going a mile a minute, too much to take in and not enough brain capacity to process it in time.

Ryan's tiny smile dropped and he roughly pulled his hand away from Brendon's handshake which had turned into just a still hand squeeze, "Are you okay?"

Brendon swallowed as he tried to compose himself, "Yeah, uh sorry. I just...caught up in the moment I guess?" The lie didn't sound as believable as he would've liked,  but the amount of adrenaline that was racing through every millimeter of his veins to the tips of his capillaries was overwhelming. Composure was something that he was going to lack for awhile after this.

"You scared me for a second."

"I just um, space out sometimes," Brendon replied, his smirk fake, "don't take it personally."

"Oh, makes sense.  I guess I should just...go then." Ryan said with a forced smile.  Brendon nodded at him, watching the brown haired boy slowly back away with the things he needed gripped so tightly in his hands that his knuckles turned a ghostly white.

As Ryan turned his back, Brendon's gaze hardened and turned into a glare, his eyes following Ryan to the cash register. He pulled out his phone slowly, tapping on the only contact he had now, then raised the phone to his ear.

"Mr. Way," he muttered, "I have joyous news."

-

Ryan returned home a little less than twenty minutes later, and to say the least, he wasn't fucking stupid. He was so shaken he could barely remember the walk home from the store.

He pushed passed Tiny on his way through the front door and slammed the bags of groceries on the counter like they were garbage. Tiny followed at his heal as he marched to the living room where Gerard and Frank were still sleeping.

It was a peaceful sight still, but nevertheless Ryan grabbed a pillow off the couch and hit them both on the head as hard as he could. Tiny barked.

"Wake the fuck up." Ryan hissed, hitting Frank again as he started to stir.

"What the fuck Ryan?" Frank spat, slapping the pillow away from him and pushing Gerard's now stirring body off his arm. Frank rubbed at his eyes and sat up, scowl and everything on his expression.

"Get up." Ryan snapped, "Just get the fuck up and pack your shit."

Gerard lifted his torso from the floor, his eyes wide and his features seeming tired, "What?" Gerard's heart stopped momentarily when his eyes fixed themselves on the look of pure distress and anger written across Ryan's usually light full face.

Ryan rolled his eyes, glaring down at the two boys. He bit his tongue, starting to wonder if he really should say it or not. But he shook his head and didn't hesitate with his words, "Why the ever loving fuck would Brendon Urie be here?"