paparazzi // ryllon

chapter three

Rain is gently pattering down. Was gentle, got heavy, and now it's gentle again. It's dark outside. I'm drinking some tea while staring outside the window.

I know he's woken up, because I hear the door open. The house itself is dead silent, the pretty rain is the only thing that can be heard. If I open the window or step outside, the ocean will greet me with its violent midnight waves.

His footsteps stop at the bottom of the steps. He's seen me, and I haven't seen him.

"You can't tell anyone," I inform him. He takes a second to speak.

"Tell anyone...?" he asks, and I turn to look at him. There's one light on, it's above the island. I can see him. His brown eyes, wavy brown hair, pale complexion, cute structure, pink lips; I can see him. I look away, look back at my reflection on the window. Black rimmed glasses, messy hair, tired eyes. He's far more graceful than I could ever be at this moment in time.

"That I'm here. No one knows, they think-... well, they will think I'm on a break," I say, bringing the cup to my lips.

"A break? You're on a break?"

"Yes. Started two days and 6 hours ago, but publicly starting in about 12 hours," I answer, looking at the clock.

"Why a break?"

"Why so many questions?" I mutter, but he doesn't seem to care.

"I mean, I get it, it's always nice to take a break, but how long?"

"Right now we're set on a month, maybe two. Depends how long I wanna stay here."

"Well, do you like it here? So far, I mean."

"Why do you even care? I don't know your name and yet you obviously are trying to make sure I'm fine," I say, leaning against the island in front of him. He sits down on the high stool, essentially making him a little taller.

"Ryan Ross. 22 years old, birthday August 30th, grew up in Vegas until moving here for health issues. Been a fan of you since you were 16. Now you know who I am. Do you like it here?" he asks. He's got a lot of nerve for someone who is inside my temporary home.

"Maybe. It's a bit boring," I say truthfully. "Health issues?" Ryan looks down.

"Lots of stuff happened to me, and... well, I got severe PTSD and would get panic attacks every day, at tops 5 times a day. Nightmares, rarely slept, rarely ate, rarely did anything. I needed to move somewhere calming. Been living here since I was 18," he tells me, smiling like what he just said wasn't depressing as hell. I would say I'm sorry, but it's not my fault and we both know it.

"That sucks," I say, and Ryan looks at me. This is the first time our eyes have been locked for more than three seconds, and I can't help but notice how gorgeous his eyes are. Curiosity fills me, but I force myself to not ask what happened.

His smile fades and he looks down.

"Yeah..." It's hardly a whisper, and for some reason it makes me feel sad. I'm not gonna fucking feel sorry for him, no way.

"So, I'm assuming you didn't stalk me, then?"

"Oh, please, as obsessed as I am, I'm not that obsessed. I may be your biggest fan, but I know how to respect privacy," Ryan says, laughing lightly. His laugh is cute and his voice is really calming. I notice little things like that. Vicky says it's a gift, I say it's a curse.

"Good to know that at least one of my fans is loyal," I say quietly.

"Lots of your fans are, they're just... not shown that much because of the crazy ones. I once had another one of your crazy fans threaten to show up at my house and beat me up after I emailed Vicky and told her that they had your address," Ryan says, and I stop.

"Wait, that was you?"

"All six times, and also told her about the numerous times that there were threats to hurt you during or after concerts." I look at him in confusion. "And based on your expression, I'm starting to realize that it was smart of her to not tell you."

"Wait, you're saying that people have threatened to kill me?"

"Not kill you, just... severely hurt you and hospitalize you. Someone once said they were going to stab you and beat you until you were unconscious. All I do is take a screenshot and send it to Vicky through email. Sometimes she responds, but she always reads them and handles them."

"Well... thanks," I say. He smiles a bit and nods.

"It's what I live for," Ryan says, probably as a joke, but I take it in. Those words are stuck with me now, I hope he realizes that.

"How's your head?" I ask.

"Good. Obviously hurts, but it's not that bad. I've had worse injuries."

Words are stuck.

"Do you want some tea?" I ask. He suddenly becomes shy and a bit flustered.

"Um... I..."

"I'm gonna make myself some more, it won't be any trouble."

"Okay. Sure."

I turn and fill the electric kettle with water.

He's definitely not someone I thought would be my biggest fan.