Ryden Oneshots

In Which Brendon Has Anger Management Problems And Ryan Doesn't Help

In Which Brendon Has Anger Management Problems And Ryan Doesn't Help

.:. Mentions Of Sex .:.

It’s morning, and Brendon Urie has woken up in a foul mood. He hasn’t felt like this, felt this twisting, writhing, seething coil of pure unpleasantness weighing heavy in the pit of his stomach in a long time and on a normal day it would have taken him by surprise. But this is not a normal day, and Brendon is not in the mood to be surprised.

He storms out of his bunk and into the tiny kitchen area of the bus in search of hot chocolate, just daring something or someone to get in his way so he can kick their motherfucking ass. He finds sugar, milk, a spoon and even spots his favourite snoopy mug lying clean on the draining-board to the left of the sink. When, however, he reaches for the cocoa powder, he finds it totally empty which Brendon knows is not how he left it yesterday morning. There’s a low chuckle from the doorway and Brendon spins sharply to glare at the wraith-like form of Ryan Ross leaning against the frame, a steaming mug of what is unmistakably the last of Brendon’s special Cadbury Swirl clutched tight between his fingers. Brendon flails and makes grabby hands for the cup but Ryan backs away, still chuckling. “Nuh-uh, mine.”

Brendon’s eyes narrow and he takes a step forward, growling deep in his throat with as much venom as he can muster. Ryan only giggles and darts away, escaping back to the safety of the bunks.

***

Ryan bumps into him as they’re leaving the bus. He doesn’t mean to, Brendon knows this, but he can’t control the anger that surges up from deep within his gut at the brush of Ryan’s shoulder against his own as he turns and shoves him back roughly and hisses “What the fuck is your problem, Ross?”

Ryan gives him a look of mild bewilderment but pokes him back gently on the shoulder, a small, bemused smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Brendon lets out a wordless cry of frustration and pushes right past him and off the bus, ignores Ryan’s softly amused voice as it calls after him from the quiet of the stairwell. Just.. not now.

***

They’re at soundcheck, and Brendon is still cursing the world at large. The music is distracting as always, however and he’s getting lost in the rhythm and melody of their songs. He knows them. He’s played them a thousand times before, and they’re the perfect excuse to detatch from his brain for a while. He’s just hit the chorus of Folkin’ Around when an E-string snaps and flies up, cutting a sharp gash across his cheek.

“Fucking OW!” He yelps and glares daggers down at his guitar, seriously toying with the idea of abusing his rock star status by throwing a truly massive diva fit to rival even those of RyanmotherfuckingRoss. The cut isn’t deep but damn it, it really fucking hurts and Brendon is angry, okay?! It’s then that he hears it; the same low chuckle that tormented him this morning and something inside of him snaps. He points a shaking finger in Ryan’s direction and screams “I HATE YOU!” before throwing his guitar into the arms of an unsuspecting tech and storming off the stage.

Even from deep within the heart of backstage – Brendon’s a speedy little fucker when he wants to be – he can still hear Ryan’s faint “I know.”

***

Ryan puts down his guitar and steps up to the mic.

“Hey there Vegas, it’s so good to be home! You missed us?” The crowd roars and Ryan turns to grin manically, or, at least, as manically as it is possible for Ryan Ross to grin, in Brendon’s direction.

“So as you all probably know, tonight is a special night,” Brendon groans. “A very special night. Because tonight,” Ryan walks over and slings an arm around Brendon’s shoulders, “Is our Brendon’s birthday!” The kids in the crowd scream their approval as Brendon hides his face in his hands.