Rewrite Your Happiness (A Ryan Ross Fanfiction)

A Therapeutic Chain of Events

After the hooded kid left, Brendon and I slowly emerged from the small room we took cover in. "That was...worrisome." I said with a crack in my throat, a shiver running down my spine and arms. Brendon was silent. I began wondering why I was here again. This wasn't something I wanted to see. "Do you think he'll come again?" I asked.

Brendon pursed his lips. It looked like he was about to cry. "We...should've talked to him." He said quietly, his voice faltering. "Damn, I know agony when I see it. But shit...just hearing made it even worse." He continued, trying to keep his voice from drifting. Turned to Brendon to see tears falling from his eyes while he stared at the open door at the top of the stairs. "Poor guy." He finally said before the heat from his tears fog up his glasses.

"Come here, friend." I pulled Brendon into a hug, which he returned quickly. As I rubbed Brendon's back, I begin to think. I knew for a fact that was Ryan, but I didn't know him well enough to tell Brendon about him. But if he ever came back any time soon, we would be happy to interject ourselves if it meant comforting him.

***

The weeks rolled by and there was still no sign of our distressed character. I started working at Tropical Smoothie and Mac tried hitting on me...commenting on how I looked and smelled five fucking times in one day. I understood why Brendon called him desperate for attention. After maybe my third shift there, I did learned Mac came from a family of dentists so he was an uncommonly rich scene kid. I remembered back to my old life, how my older brother would play poker and slot machines at obscure casinos, risk everything to help get food and the next month's rent. I would sometimes tag along and see the stress of risk taking and how the classy regulars would look at us. Knowing how wealthy families treat their own, I somehow understood Mac's appearance and...needs to a certain extent.

I considered messaging Ryan on MySpace, but I had misplaced the paper he gave me with his username...so I followed Brendon instead. I was becoming closer to him than I expected. From literally working at the same place, going to the same school and living in the same house, you'd think we were related. No. We had a plan and we both wanted it to succeed.

I began attending high school again (ugh) and I had maybe two classes with Brendon, as I applied as a junior and he was on the latter end of his sophomore year. He would always end up meeting with his friend, Brent, and discuss bands and music. Since I only knew Brendon, I became a new tagalong. One time, while Brent played bass to Karma Police by Radiohead in the music room, Brendon grabbed a xylophone mallet and started singing into like it was a microphone. Remembering that I had two years of vocal training under my belt, I felt confident enough to grab the other mallet and start to harmonize with him. We jumped around, singing our hearts out as Brent bobbed his head to the playbacks he recorded. It was a moment being created in history.

After four more songs, my lungs were on fire, but Brendon still continued to sing as beautifully and maturely he did at the concert. To think he still had the energy to sing, let alone breath, amazed me. Yes, I was aware of his ADHD, but because of this I would never complain to him about my ADD. Mine was less severe than his diagnosis but I never faired well with it, being called out or treated "special" in school. Brendon, on the other hand, owned it and made me feel like I was complaining about nothing. It was a part of him, so why does that stop me? Maybe this was for the best...

I smiled, watching him dance around singing his little heart out, knowing he had a great future ahead of him.

Brent finished up his recordings and told Brendon that he was prepping for a show in two days, but their singer couldn't make the show. He asked us if we'd both attend accompany them for certain songs. Brendon and I looked at each other then back to Brent. "Yes!" We both said at the same time.