Oneshots (every ship I can think of)

Eyes And Stage Fright (Ryden)

A/N: Originally posted in my AO3 (intherearrview) under the same title. Enjoy!

PS: I'm only half sorry for all the angst ^-^

Summary: He was just on the edge of the side of the stage, the rest of the band already on it. This wasn't stage fright, that much he knew, but something different, something else.

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He wouldn't know how to describe it, the sinking feeling that overcame him since the beginning of the show. He didn't know where it came from, but suddenly his hands were shaking, and he felt a cold sweat running down the back of his neck. He was just on the edge of the side of the stage, the rest of the band already on it. This wasn't stage fright, that much he knew, but something different, something else. His eyes searched frantically for the other pair of eyes that was supposed to be expecting him across the stage, but he couldn't find them. They weren't expecting him. He felt a knot climbing up his throat, and he was pretty sure he was going to be sick. But there was a show to play, whether those eyes were expecting him or not, so he swallowed hard, and walked into the blinding white lights, with the roar of the crowd drowning every single one of his thoughts.

***

He tried taking deep breaths; drank a lot of water, drank a lot of beer. Nothing worked, and it got to the point where his breathing was short and shallow, and he was shivering. He didn't feel sick, however-- not physically, at least. But the absence of those eyes... He knew it was that what was causing this. He tried looking for them during the 2 hours they were onstage, but they were avoiding, and he couldn't find them. He didn't know what was wrong, didn't know what was going on, but he was scared. That was it, the word he was looking for.

Scared he might never find them again.

He stood up from the couch he had been sitting on for the past 20 minutes, and walked over to where he knew the owner of those hiding eyes would be. He found him leaning against the dirty-white wall of the locker rooms, smoking. He saw the owner, but he didn't see the eyes.

"Ryan?" he asked softly, stopping a few meters away from him and hesitating before taking one more step. The boy didn't react, just kept taking drags of his cigarette, staring down at the floor. "Ry."

He was starting to feel his heart speed up in his chest, that cold sweat sliding down his spine again, the shivering taking over his body. He was yearning to see that pair of eyes, that pair of eyes he hadn't seen in almost two days, like an addict who hasn't had a dose in a while.

But finally, finally, they're there. They were there, as brown-green as he remembered them, as deep and hypnotic as they always had been.

"Yeah." Ryan said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth, looking at him expectantly. But his eyes weren't inviting; they were blank and devoid of their usual brightness.

"Are you, uh--. Is... Is everything okay?"

Ryan met his eyes, his expression blank.

"I don't know, Brendon. Is it?" he answered in a monotone. Brendon felt his breath hitch in his throat, and a burning sensation behind his eyes, but he blinked repeatedly, pushing it back. He had no idea what was going on, but somehow, he'd seen it coming. And not only after the cold sweat before the show, but for a few days now. Those eyes had met his own less and less, and he knew something was wrong. But these last two days had been a nightmare; not only he hadn't seen the eyes, but he'd barely seen the owner, too.

Ryan detached himself from the wall, and took a step towards Brendon. Brendon instinctively took a step back, regretting it instantly. Ryan squinted his eyes and took one more step forward, and Brendon had to literally bite the inside of his cheek to avoid backing away again. "Is there something wrong, Brendon? You tell me."