opening the door to the place brendon would be calling home for at least half a year, he bit on his lower lip. his side of the room - the left - was bare, with a desk, a mirror, a door to which brendon assumed the bathroom was, a curtain which the closet was, and a black metal bed, with sheets on the side for brendon to put on.
on the other side was the same array, however it was more personalized - posters and drawings on the wall, the bed was messy with grey sheets and a black duvet, and some scattered clothes on the floor. papers were strewn across the desk, and the mirror had cracks on it, as if someone had punched it. standing in front of the said mirror, was ryan george ross the third.
he was tall, although not as tall as brendon. he had messy dark hair that almost covered his eyes, which were lined with thick and perfectly done eyeliner. he looked so thin and fragile, brendon could've sworn that if he held ryan's wrist and flexed his wrist, he would've snapped ryan's wrist in half. his collarbones jutted out, and the shirt that should've been "slim fit" looked baggy on him. the only thing that remotely looked size-appropiate were his black skinny jeans, which only accentuated how skinny was.
looking over at brendon, ryan blinked. "are you brendon?" he asked cautiously, tilting his head, and then shivering softly as the air conditioner turned on. brendon nodded. "yeah. and who are you?" he asked, sitting on his bed and looking at the sheets.
"ryan." he replied, grabbing a sweater from the floor and tugging it over his head, then looking at disbelief. "aren't you cold?" he asked, and brendon looked at the thermometer in response. "it's eighty six degrees, that's perfectly fine temperature."
ryan rubbed his face. "oh, i see. what are you here in for?" he asked, trying to make conversation as he realized brendon didn't have the same problems he did.
"i don't know." brendon replied honestly, playing with one of the strings coming off his shirt. "why are you here?"
"anorexia, bulimia, binging, ocpd, body dysmporphic. the list goes on really." ryan laughed bitterly at his list of disorders as he sat on his own bed.
"it's not a big deal though, i'll be out of here soon enough, when i'm perfect. doctor stump, he's been trying to make me see that i am perfect or whatever, but i'm not, and it's really been pissing me off." he scowled.
"i don't think you're un-perfect," brendon said kindly, with that brutually honest tone he had. ryan looked at him in surprise, his eyes wide with curiousity.
"you're an interesting guy, brendoin, i'll give you that." he said finally, forcing a sad smile onto his face as he plopped down, causing brendon to wince- as he swore ryan was going to break his back that way, since he was only skin and bones.
standing up, brendon began to work on putting the sheets over his matress. "ryan, ryan, ryan." he repeated under his breath, trying to force himself to remember the boy's name. because after all, perfection had to have a name.
YOU ARE READING
ASYLUM. (DISCONTINUED)
Fanfictionbrendon urie had no idea what he was getting himself into. he had a faint idea, but he wouldn't remember what was going to happen anyways, so it didn't matter to him. he finds himself at washington sanitarium, 'the most cheery, pleasant place to be...
