Bandom Oneshots

A Lover of Mine 》 Ryden

Originally published: October 7, 2017

Pairing: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie

Summary: Ryan Ross learns the true meaning of loneliness after leaving his life and his boyfriend behind.

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A lover of mine once said that loneliness was something he wouldn't wish for. As foolish as it sounds, I disagreed.

I'd love to be alone. People get on my nerves. They're so loud that on most days my ears would ring. It drove me mad. Besides, they're all made up of faux-concern and eyes that look past you. They don't care.

You're nothing to them, and so they are nothing to me.

Of course, that lover of mine was just like them. No matter how much I loved him, I loathed him just the same amount.

And on one of those days when the loathing was all I could think about, I left. I packed my things and left.

I ended up in a whole different country, with a whole different name. It was okay though, because I didn't like my name anyways.

But as I stayed in my new home, alone and completely isolated, I finally felt the horror of loneliness. I felt as each day blurred into nothing, as my hours were pointless. I felt as I myself became pointless, a being with no purpose.

With no one around, I was nothing.

I'd run out to the streets, trying to find people. I did, but I looked past them. They weren't what I was looking for.

I was looking for someone, and it took me a long time, years even, to realize who.

That lover of mine, the one I left behind. The one who's concern had never been fake, the one who always looked at me, not past me.

The one I hadn't realized was my purpose; my one and only.

Again, I packed up my things. I traveled to the place of where we used to live, where I used to truly belong.

As I drove down the highways, I always wondered over the little things. Did he look the same? Have his dreams come true?

Never did I think that perhaps he was driven to madness just like me. He wasn't stupid like me.

I made it to our old apartment complex, and went to find the landlord.

He hadn't changed much. He just looked older, and more worn out than he had been before. Life does that to you.

He looked shocked, and almost horrified, at my presence. "What are you doing here?" he whispered in disbelief.

"Where is he?" I asked. "Did he move somewhere else?"

The confusion that was apparent in his eyes faded away to sadness. He hung his head. "He isn't here any more."

"Do you know where he is, then?" I pressed.

He looked back up at me, and shook his head. "Kid, you don't get it. He's gone."

I froze. No. This had to be some prank. Or maybe I'm just misinterpreting him. He doesn't mean what I think he means. "What?"

"He killed himself a while back," The older man stated, clearly regretful. "Nobody told you?"

And at that moment, I was filled with complete and utter horror. He was always the strong one, he should've lived.

The old him never would've done that. Never.

"Why'd he do it?" I replied, pushing away the immediate thought I had. Because you left him, because you left him alone.

"Sadly, nobody knows all too much of his mental state," The landlord explained. "After you left, he rarely talked to anyone, despite their efforts."

It's my fault. I let him be consumed by loneliness, the very thing I knew he didn't want. The very thing I now despised.

"He still lived here?" I asked.

The older man nodded. "Probably drove the poor kid mad, all the memories, but he did."

Tears welled up in my eyes. I pushed them back for the moment. "Can I go to ou-- his
room?"

He passed me the key to the room. "I've never rented it out to anyone since."

I nodded, and left to go to the room.

As soon as I stepped in, a sob wracked through my body. It looked exactly the same. Except it was clean now, probably the landlord's doing.

Picture frames were on the walls, and I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't deserve him, and I definitely didn't deserve the way he looked at me in those pictures.

I went to the bedroom, and sat down on the bed. None of this seemed real to me.

I checked the bedside drawer, and pulled out a notebook. I had left this behind, and it seemed he knew about it.

I flipped through some of the pages that I had written on, and felt my stomach churn. On most of them, there were small stains on them, his tears.

I sniffled, and closed the book for a moment, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. I started shaking, and tried to calm myself down.

I checked the last page of the notebook. It was written on with black pen. I didn't do this. I never wrote with pen.

He did.

Dear Ryan,

I have no idea what happened, and I also have no idea what happened to you. I know I pushed you away, and for that I am sorry.

And I'm also sorry that I'm doing this, but I can't deal with it anymore. I can't deal with being alone.

I'm just an empty shell of the man I once was.

Forever yours,

Brendon.

It's all my fault, and he even apologized to me. How could he think he was in the wrong?

I was. I always was. I made him become empty, I made him nothing.

I put the notebook back in the drawer and sighed. Laying back on the bed, I was hit with memories.

Him. How perfect he was. Brendon.

I thought of him every day I was gone. But never did I allow myself to remember his name.

Empty.

Had it not have been for the constant beating of my heart, I would've thought I was dead. It's what I deserved.

Nothing felt right without him. I didn't feel right.

So, I became like him. I took a handful of sleeping pills. It felt right.

A lover of mine once said that loneliness was something he wouldn't wish for. I wish it didn't cost so much and take so long for me to agree with him.