What I Wanted-Ryden

Chapter One

Ryan was seated in one of the booths seating arrangements, typing away on his laptop. Or at least he liked to think that he was tapping against the keys to make that angelic sound. Or annoying sound- whatever.

He hasn't been able to come up with many stories recently. That hasn't been going well for him. Because he wants to get a promotion. He wants to be a better writer. But ever since there's been this new, little stage at the front of the coffee shop, he hasn't been getting much work done.

He wished he could tell them to fuck off. With their music. Because Ryan didn't care to hear it. And the poets. Don't even get him started on the damn poets. He wished that they would come up with something that wasn't so depressing and negative. Fuck- if you don't have anything to live for, then why not just not live?! That was definitely Ryan's new life motto.

Ryan loved music when he was younger. He'd play his electric guitar in his room, a beautiful and pretty sweet teal one. He had stolen it. Which was something that had always come easily to him. Stealing. Shoplifting. Whatever people called it these days. His father never cared enough to get him one. Or even talk to him about his interest in music. Though his father did have an interest of his own. His fist constantly hitting Ryan's face.

Ryan had learned the simple way. It didn't matter how much effort you put into something. Someone will always, always be there to bring it down. To bring you down.

Which was exactly what was happening right about now.

Angelic voice. That's what the man on the stage has. He's sitting on a stool, a nice leather, black one. It looks perfect for him. He sits on it perfectly. The way that he strums the guitar, then looks up at the customers. As if he's wondering if any of them are listening. Truly listening. Ryan is. And he can't pull himself away. It's much too difficult. Ryan can't make out his features, if he's being completely honest. For the first time, Ryan curses himself for getting the seat the farthest in the back.

The man plays a few more songs. The stage player hair keeps getting in his face, the nicely kept bangs that Ryan can just make out from how far back he is. Though he's hunched over his computer, trying to pay attention to the words that seem to not show up where he wants them to, he's still intently listening to the man. But then he gets off the stage, a few scattered claps being given out, with a small wave and a bright smile. The guy just played for a barely listening audience. Who got excited about that?!

Ryan didn't care enough. He didn't. Not even when the man looked his way, and their eyes locked for just a few split seconds, before the man smiled. Fucking smiled. As if seeing some sleep deprived stranger brought him some new-found joy. Ryan just gave him a blank stare, as he does with many. The musician, if Ryan can even call him that's, face fell the tiniest bit, and he moved his eyes away.

Ryan was just glad that his distraction was gone.

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Ryan had a date. He doesn't usually go on dates. They seem too... formal. Though Ryan does seem to enjoy dresses up. Not to please others, but to please himself. She's practically the same height as him, small chest, as well as light blue eyes. Ryan's always liked small chested women.

They had met a few weeks ago. She was Ryan's new co-worker at his writers firm. Ryan didn't have much interest in her. Even if she was very, very pretty. As he said before, he likes dressing up.

It's going alright. She's going on about how one of her friend's had fell off of her bike and twisted her arm the wrong way. And Ryan's laughing rather awkwardly because, hey, what else is he supposed to say to that. Ryan doesn't go anyplace else other than this coffee shop. It's a few blocks away from his house, as well as from his workplace, so it works real well for him. She had picked a place closer to the front, near the stage. Ryan realizes that she's definitely not his type from that alone.

His random thoughts are completely gone when he hears a voice. A certain voice. And when his eyes make their way to the stage, which is much closer now, he realizes that it's that man. The one with the smile. And that so, so seemingly fragile composure and posture. His eyes are closed as he positions his fingers along the frets, playing bar chords in a certain order, and then bringing his lips back to the microphone, singing into it. It's powerful.

But he guessed that he was paying more attention to the man than to the girl. Jasmine? Jaclyn? Jac? He had no clue.

"I'll speak to you when you actually seem interested in what I have to say," she said, grabbing her purse in between her fingers, and slinging it over her shoulder. She's already leaving before he can do too much. Great. You've screwed up something else, Ryan.

He's standing up, wrapping his scarf around his neck to head into the quite chilly weather, before he's bumping into someone, nose knocking into their forehead.

"Oh- I'm sorry, wasn't paying attention- I've just really got to get back," the voice rushed out. Oh. God.

Ryan looked at who he had bumped into. The man he had bumped into. He was a few inches shorter than him, with a nice, strong build. Not too strong to the point where Ryan has to bring up some of his own insecurities. When the man looks at him, eyes frantic and somehow apologetic, he realizes how they're deep brown. He looks like a lost puppy. And when he speaks, when he had just sung, his big lips moved so, so sweetly.

Ryan must've been staring.

"Did I hurt you?" Ryan just stares in response. "I'm Brendon!"

Ryan doesn't know how to talk to pretty boys.

So all he can do is push past him, knocking into the pretty boy's, Brendon's, shoulder, and head outside.

Fuck.
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hope you guys liked this!
word count:1072