Yet You're my Favorite Work of Art

Chapter One

"Ryan, dear, I'm telling you. You have to come to this gallery opening!" Ashley throws her hands theatrically in the air as she speaks. I can tell this means a lot to her by the way that sparkle in her eyes becomes about ten times brighter. I hold up a hand to get the attention of the bartender, who nods and hands me the check. Ashley's bright red lips turn down and I just groan.

"Ash, it's not that I don't want to go," I throw a few bills on the check and stand up, "It's that I don't feel like going." I tie my scarf a little tighter and exit the bar, entering the cool afternoon in the Chicago streets. Ashley follows me out, the window blowing her blue hair into her face.

"C'mon, Ryan, don't be a little shit. My mother always told me-"

"Don't knock it 'till you try it," I say, quoting her word for word. She puts her hands in her pockets and rolls her eyes.

"Maybe if you took your head out of your ass, you'd be able to appreciate art other than your own." It's my turn to roll my eyes now.

"Fuck off, Ash. The chances of this kid-"

"Brendon. His name is Brendon."

I sigh and hail a cab. "Fine. The chances of Brendon's art making it past this tiny ass gallery are slim to none, and you know that." Ashley grabs my arm and spins me around, crossing her arms.

"You are the most stubborn ass I've ever met, Ryan Ross, and I dated Pete Wentz for a year." The cab pulls over to the curb and the two of us slid inside.

"Yeah, I know you dated Pete Wentz, and your little attempt of an indignity didn't work." She takes out a pack of cigarettes and opens the window, pulling one out and putting the pack away, not offering me one. She lights it quickly and stuffs the lighter in her pocket, holding the cigarette with two fingers and blowing out a puff of smoke.

"Maybe we need a kid like Brendon to help you out."

"With what?"

"I don't know. Maybe that sparkling personality of yours, your people skills, ability to care for other people and their feelings?"

The cab pulls up outside of her building and she gets out, blowing a smoke ring. She closes the door and looks at me.

"Yeah, like that'd happen," I say, waving a quick goodbye and closing the window.

"It's called abstract, asshole." I turn my head to the right a little and squint.

"If you do the classing tilt and squint, maybe it's considered art," I mutter, earning a punch in the shoulder from Pete

"Ah, fuck you, Ross." I take a bow, stretching my ass up in the air like I'm accepting his offer.

"At least buy me dinner first," I joke. A devilish grin spreads across Pete's lips and he wiggles his eyebrows at me. He acts like he doesn't appreciate my criticism but I know as soon as I leave he'll call up his usual booty call and ask them what they think.

"This right here," he motions towards the painting, "is art. So fuck you."

"It's a bunch of circles and squares and triangles, is this art or something I made in math class?" Pete rolls his eyes and cracks open a beer.

"You're an asshole."

"Couldn't agree more." We turn towards the door and look at Ashley. She raises her sunglasses up and rests them on her head. Her heels click across the floor and she tosses her jacket onto the couch. Standing next to me, she crosses her arms and looks at the painting.

"Art is art, Ryan." Pete nods in agreement and offers her a drink. "I don't drink, but thanks." She rolls up the sleeves on her shirt and sits down on the white couch. "Pete, you're going to this gallery opening, aren't you?" I roll my eyes and flop down on the couch next to her.

"God, not this shit again, Ash."

Pete sits down in an armchair and crosses his legs.

"Of course I am. We need some fresh blood in the art scene."

"We have you, Gee, Mikey, Ash, and me, who else do we need?"

Pete and Ashley exchange glances.

"We need Brendon Urie." I stand up angrily and cross the room. I hear Ashley get up and walk after me. "Look, Ry, this kid is amazing! Do you not fucking trust my judgement?"

I spin on my heels and look into her eyes.

"You know I do, Ash. Just not in the mood." I wrap my scarf around my neck and take out a package of cigarettes. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Pete nods and salutes me as I leave as Ashley just slightly waves. I close the door and ride the elevator down to the lobby and get into the car waiting for me. I still can't believe how much effort Ashley's putting into getting me to go to this stupid fucking art gallery. I shove my hands into my pocket and feel a little piece of cardboard. Ashley, that little bitch, slipped the info card for the gallery in there. I look at it and sigh. Brendon Urie. Who the fuck spells that with an O? He's probably some poor little weed addict who thinks he's cool for spelling his name like that. News flash, it's not. For example, Ryan Ross. It's nice and simple and to the point. I do like my name, honestly. It's fun to write a quick, swoopy "RR" in the corners of my paintings. The car pulls up in front of my house and I get out, paying the driver and watching him go. I unlock the front door and step inside, getting tackled by my dog, Ringo. I smile and ruffle his fur, taking off my coat and heading upstairs. I go down the hall and into the art room, turning the light on and looking around. My best, and worst, pieces have been made in this room. Makeups, breakups, laughs, my entire life has been shaped with this room. I throw the cloth off one canvas in particular and sit down on a stool, taking the time to look it over carefully.

It needs something.

I'm not sure what yet, but something. I walk over, paintbrush poised in my hands as I run my eyes over the canvas. I frown and put the brush down, sadly putting the cloth back on it and shutting the light off.

Not today.

A/N: Hi, I always write in past tense, 3rd person POV but this time I'm doing present tense, 1st person POV and I'm scared so yeah leave your thoughts and you'll be loved

~Mel ❤