Ryden Oneshots

Serial Killers Don't Vibrate

There is a small, heavy something on his chest. And Ryan thinks it’s vibrating. He doesn’t really want to open his eyes and find out what it is.

A tiny, irrational part of Ryan’s brain squeaks, serial killer! But, even after a two-day-long horror movie gore fest, Ryan’s never seen a serial killer that lies on its victim’s chest and vibrates. Of course, he still racks his brain thinking of heavy objects to beat any possible serial killers with, just in case.

Right, so, tiny something, vibrating, on his chest. Most likely not a serial killer. 

Ryan is not a morning person.

The something suddenly jerks and Ryan’s eyes fly open in a panic as he curses himself for discarding the serial killer theory.

His hands fly up to stop a blow before he realizes that none is coming. Instead, tiny green eyes peer out at him from a grey fluff ball. Ryan blinks back at it.

What kind of fluff ball has eyes?

The door pushes open slowly. Someone whispers loudly, “Here, kitty, kitty. Where are you, kitty? Please come out, I promise not to try to put you in a box anymore!”

Ryan rubs his eyes blearily. What the hell? Brendon? 

“Here kitty, ki—oh, Ryan! You’re up.” Brendon quickly sits back on his feet, pretending like he didn’t just crawl into Ryan’s room.

“And you are on my floor. Why?” Ryan’s voice cracks halfway through the why. He licks his lips, trying to soften the cracked edges.

“Well, um, see. I was looking for--” The small lump of something on Ryan’s chest jerks again, letting out something that sounded like a sneeze. “Mr. Kitten!” Brendon exclaims.

“…Mr. Kitten?” Ryan stares at the ball of fluff on his chest. It’s the size of a dust bunny. It’s the color of a dust bunny. And Brendon calls it Mr. Kitten. Naturally.

Mr. Kitten yawns, tiny pink tongue darting out for a second.

“I was so worried. I just set him down for a moment to get a bow, but when I turned back, he was gone! Sneaky little thing just took off, and I’ve been looking for him for the past hour. Your house is really big, did you know that? So many places for a little kitten to hide, and—Oh, shit. You weren’t supposed to see him yet!” Brendon stands up, darts over to the bed, and sweeps Mr. Kitten up into his arms.

“You saw nothing!” Brendon shouts back over his shoulder as he runs out the door.

Ryan flips onto his side, pulling his sheets over his head. He’s on board with pretending this never happened.

__

When Ryan finally drags himself out of bed—well, not entirely, the comforter came with him—it was nearly noon. Which, for Ryan, is kind of early, but for the rest of the world, not so much. Especially on Christmas. On Christmas, the day starts at six am. Everyone knows this. Except for Ryan, obviously.

Though, Ryan had forgotten it was Christmas. Not like he had any plans, anyway. Jon was back in Chicago, Alex was back in New York, Z was with her family. Ryan had nothing to do but sleep. And that’s what he did.

He shuffles out of his bedroom, past the half-decorated Christmas tree, into the kitchen and stops short. 

Brendon is sitting criss-cross-applesauce on Ryan’s kitchen table, a Santa hat on his head, an eyedropper in one hand, and a kitten in his lap. A grey, fluffy kitten with a gold ribbon tied around its neck. 

“Hey, Ryan! Merry Christmas!” Brendon beams at him briefly before returning his attention to the squirming fuzzball in his lap.

Ryan begins to seriously contemplate going back to sleep.