All of It

One

I was enjoying a good Jack Daniels and playing Fallout when I heard the three knocks at the door.

Sarah, was out with her friends and Dallon was supposed to be in New York for a couple days, so who could it be?

Spencer coming down for a quick visit?

Some interviewer that had wanted information for some stupid magazine that I had completely forgot about?

Maybe a crazed fan that somehow put two and two together and found out where I lived?

No, actually. None of that, but I desperately wish that it was now, because

It was Ryan Ross.

I didn't process it. At first glance he was just a stranger at my door step. A semi familiar face that I would have thought was part of some crappy Netflix original series.

Then it fucking hit me. I wanted to slam the door in his pretty little baby face. I wanted to scream at him, I wanted to never talk to him again. Fuck that bastard for everything he's done to me. Fuck him. Tell him just to go fuck the flying fuck off. I felt everything all at once. Rage and anger and nastoliga and sadness and anxiety and confusion and pain- lots of pain.

I could feel tears wanting- desperately wanting to coat my eyes. I felt my face get hot, and sweat sprouted at my hairline. My hands turned to fists as I held on to the door knob. Rage blinded my senses and left me there gritting my teeth.

We stared at each other. He looked like a sad little puppy. He knew I was mad-he fucking knew I would be mad. And he came anyway. What did he want. What was so fucking important to him that he would visit me now, almost a decade after our fall out. What did the praised Ryan Ross possibly need from me that he couldn't have bothered getting 10 years ago?

"Bren," he started. His voice was small, but still rougher than sandpaper, the way it used to be when we were up writing in the studio at three in the morning. When we were sipping coffee and laughing at jokes that we shouldn't have been making. It sounded the same. Now it was just coated with regret and sadness, which admittedly gave me a small satisfaction. Good thing this little shit has been suffering. I've been too- but I never went knocking on his door. "I-"

I couldn't take it. I couldn't take one more breathing second looking at him without screaming. Without screaming and crying and just throwing a damn tantrum because damnit I was a grown man.

"No," I growled, "listen to me you little fucker. It's been ten years. Ten Long Years since you uttered words to me that I can't even think about without crying like a pussy ass baby. Ten years before you decided to walk out of my life and leave me broken on the floor in pieces. No calls or texts or tweets. Nothing. It was like I never existed to you Ryan. Was the Great Ryan Ross just too good for my presence? Could you just not get over the fact that you left me? Left me for myself alone and sad? What the fuck Ryan. Ten years of no communication and now you're at my door. You were my best friend. My bandmate- hell we fucking dated Ryan! You knew-oh God you fucking knew you were going to get this and much more so why. Why the ever loving fuck are you here like a lost little fucking puppy at my doorstep." I barked. Screamed. Croaked. Fighting back tears I uttered the last few words with resistance, provided by a lump in my throat that wanted to throw out sobs. My eyes burned with tears. I wanted to just go into my studio and cry. Look at the piano and cuddle with my dogs and cry. Because of this bastard that left my ass years ago.

"Brendon, I- I came to talk to you... I feel like we need to clear some things up." He replied, his voice still shy and soft.

I looked down, tired. The constant emotions of rage and anxiety and pain had left me tired. I did two hour concerts not even two years ago! And just by screaming at this little fucker I'm tired.

Well great. I'm old.

Sighing, I stepped aside and whimpered, "do you want a drink, Man?"