Rose Vests and Floral Skirts

Ryan Ross In Skirts One Shot

WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO HAVE YOUR OWN ROOM? YOU’RE SO SELFISH! Brendon’s harsh words were on repeat in Ryan’s head. He was selfish for causing the band to spend extra just so he could be alone. The other members always thought Ryan had some sort of self-conscious issue and didn’t want them to see his body. They weren’t wrong about him not wanting to be seen, but it was for another reason.

Ryan placed his bags neatly on the spare bed and then reached for the bright red one. Pulling the key out of his pocket, he looked around to make sure no one was near. Of course there wasn’t and no one could see in his room because he already had shut his blinds. He unlocked his suitcase and sighed, there they were: his skirts. He picked out his favorite, a pink circle skirt with white daisies and traded the pants he was wearing for the skirt. He went to the mirror and twirled. He was so pretty. No one knew about the skirts other than the people he bought them from and even they assumed it was for his girlfriend.

“I’m pretty.” Ryan twirled again. There was no particular reason Ryan put on skirts other than to feel pretty. “Girl’s clothes are prettier than boy’s clothes,” that’s what he always said. He liked the softness, he liked the freeness, he liked being pretty. It started as a joke when he was hanging with some girl friends of his. They had gotten him drunk and suggested he wear a skirt for their amusement, he slurred an “okay” and the girls squealed with delight. In a matter of moments his pants had been replaced with a skirt (a rather ugly skirt Ryan later recalled, it was a worn out blue pleated skirt with some faded print.) He laughed with his friends at how ridiculous it was, but in reality he felt something finally click inside him. Like this was the thing he had been missing all this life.

“Maybe you could wear these regularly!” One girl suggested. It was such a silly thought at the time- and still was because he couldn’t do it regularly. No one could ever know that Ryan Ross was a cross dresser. He hated that word so much. Cross dresser. It made what he was doing sound wrong, immoral even. But it wasn’t he was wearing something people a long time ago had deemed “feminine.” He couldn’t go further than the skirts, if he did he knew he’d be caught. He knew the boys would disapprove, or laugh, or worse, kick him out of the band. His band. Sometimes he’d imagine himself in a dress or wearing heals, but of course that would never happen. He didn’t have hips or a chest to fit a dress and his feet were too big for heals. Skirts were just the right thing for him and he didn’t have to go further than that. But also, Ryan didn’t want to go further than skirts. The shaggy haired boy knew that if he wore anything else that all of this would be too real. That what he would be judged as an abomination.  That there is something that needs to be addressed about him. But there isn’t. Ryan was a boy, he was just a boy who wore skirts. The only other “girl” thing he did was wear makeup, but everyone in the band did that. Ryan did it better though.

So here he was in his own room, lying on his bed--cross-legged so he didn’t get a draft-- hiding from his best friends so no one could know his dark secret, and thinking about how pretty he was. Ryan scratched his waist band, agitated by the boxer-briefs he was still wearing. Sometimes he wished he had a real close girl friend so he could ask them if he should buy panties, and if so, what kind, and would it feel weird. But no, he was stuck with his sausage fest of a band.

“I don’t need to tell them,” Ryan would convince himself. “I don’t even need the skirts all the time.” When he said the second part he actually wasn’t lying to himself, not completely anyways. Some days he wouldn’t even think of the skirts, some days he was content with his pants and vests, or maybe even a nice suit. But other days he felt so hollow until he put on a skirt. When he put on a skirt how knew this was how he was supposed to feel.

“Hey, Ryan? Look, I’m sorry for going off earlier I- WHAT THE FUCK?” Ryan fell of the bed when he heard the voice. It was Brendon’s voice.

Ryan hugged his knees and started to silently cried.

“Ry?”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” Ryan’s crying was now more audible. He heard the door shut and thanked God that he was alone again. Or he thought he was alone until he felt an arm around his shoulder.

“Ryan, please stop crying.”

Ryan looked at his friend with bloodshot eyes, “you don’t hate me?”

Brendon was baffled at the smaller boy’s question. “Hate you? George Ryan Ross the Third! How could I ever hate you? Just because you’re wearing a skirt? Get real, Ryan! We are best friends. We are gonna be best friends for the rest of our lives.”

Ryan rubbed his running nose on his sleeve, “really? You don’t think I’m weird?”

“Not any weirder than you already are.” Ryan let out a small laugh. “Ryro? Is there something else you want me to call you? Ryana?”

“What?”

“Are you, uh, transgender?” Brendon murmured.  

“NO!”

Brendon felt his face get hot. “Sorry, sorry, I just assumed.”

“Well you assumed wrong,” Ryan spat. “I just like skirts and feeling pretty! Is that so wrong?”

Brendon ran his hands through Ryan’s hair, “No, of course not. You know what is wrong about this though, right?”

“That I’m an abomination,” Ryan’s voice wavered.

“What? No!” Brendon reassured, “I was just going to say that your skirts don’t match those ugly ass vests of yours.”

Ryan playfully hit Brendon, “oh shut up. Thank you, Bren, thank you for being so understanding.”

“Is there anything else you need? You want to tell Spencer and Jon? I’ll tell them with you. Do you wanna wear a skirt on stage?”

Ryan nuzzled into Brendon, “just for now, can we keep this just between us? I didn’t think anyone would ever know my secret and now everything just seems so surreal.”

“Of course,” Brendon nodded.

“Can I just stay here with you for a while? A boy in a skirt cuddling with his best friend, nothing weird about that.”

Brendon laughed, “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Ryana,” Ryan scoffed. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“It was the first thing that came to my mind,” Brendon said defensively.

“Thank you for caring so much. I love you, Brendon Boyd Urie.” Ryan yawned. “You’re my best friend and I love you.”

Brendon rubbed Ryan’s back until he fell asleep. He picked the boy up and placed him on the bed with no bags, “you’ve always been so pretty, with or without the skirts. I love you too, Ryro.” Brendon made sure to lock the door when he door so no one would walk in on his sleeping friend. No one was going to know Ryan’s secret but him, not yet anyways.