summary // brendon needs to fUCKING CHILL ABOUT THE MOON LIKE SERIOUSLY
aka the only time i will ever write ryden lmao
-
"Jesus fucking Christ, Brendon, don't fuck the moon."
Ryan Ross regrets agreeing to watch the blood moon with his roommate Brendon. Brendon doesn't even like him, so he's got no idea why he begged him to come out here and watch it with him. He'd rather be inside, anyway - his ass hurts from sitting on the roof and he's already habouring a bitch of a cold that the freezing air is not helping and he's fucking hungry, too, because fucking Spencer ate all the crescent rolls. God, sometimes he hates him.
"The moon is my lover and we are to be wed. They love me more than you do, George Ryan Ross."
Brendon's childish quip comes from underneath a mountain of blanket, his entire body (excluding his face) being covered by it, making him look like a floating head. He's got his iPhone on his lap (with that fucking garish neon pink and lime green cover, and good Lord, why doesn't that boy have taste?) and he can see the neon purple of his (Gabe Saporta's) hoodie from within the folds.
"The moon is one person, Brendon. You can't be in a polygamous relationship with the fucking moon and sun."
Ryan rolls his eyes, shuffling to get a better position and to fix his leather jacket. He's been a lot colder since he ditched 2008's paisley shirts and scarves, but now he has taste and doesn't look like he was smothered in glue and shoved in the bargain box at Great Value. Brendon, however.. Well, he looks nice sometimes. And by sometimes, he meant never.
"Haven't you ever heard of a singular they, you asshole? The moon is gender neutral and more importantly I would rather fuck the moon than someone who put his dick in a milk bottle."
Brendon twists slightly and moves closer, although his eyes are kinder now and he seems more tired than malicious. In the solar-powered rooftop night light, the sharp angles of his face seem... smoother. Softer. His eyes seem warm instead of cruel, and his lips naturally quirk upwards - why didn't Ryan notice that earlier?
Ryan looks away, although he can feel his face burn bright scarlet, and he curses his pasty complexion for making it so obvious as he hears Brendon's soft, almost throaty laugh.
"It was one fucking time. You know I was stoned, fuck off."
Ryan quips back sharply, although he does vaguely recall it. It was totally not hot, and Jon wouldn't talk to him for a week afterwards. The fact that Brendon still brings it up, nearly six years later, will never cease to piss him off.
"I'm too busy fucking the moon. Go fuck the sun, it has low standards."
Brendon snaps at him, although when Ryan tilts his head a little he sees a faint (gorgeous) lopsided smile. Amusement leaks into his voice and he turns to Ryan fully. Ryan has to hold back his grin because Brendon is so damn cute, Jesus Christ.
"You're the sun though, cause you light up my world."
The words are out of his mouth before he realizes; Brendon laughs so hard that he's worried the younger might fall off. Flirting has never been his forte, OK, shut up.
Instinctively, he grabs onto Brendon's hands to steady him, causing Brendon to flush and Ryan to stutter apologies.
"My hero. You're not the moon, but you'll do."
Brendon leans over and pecks his cheek, warn breath fanning over the already feverish skin of Ryan's face.
"I'll be the moon if you be the sun?"
".. Deal, then."
