Emo Trinity x Reader

Ryan Ross (Brother) - Lyricist

Requested on Tumblr
Warnings: a little bit of alcohol
Word count: 1 451

Being home from College for a week and going to a party with all your high school friends was supposed to be fun, but this was far from fun. Maybe you just lost connection to all your friends, since they had stayed in your hometown while you had moved halfway across the country, maybe it was because you felt more at home with your college friends and always felt like you had defend every single decision to your high school friends. You did not want to say it was somebody's fault, but maybe things would have been better if you had just met up for dinner. But now two of your formerly closest friends were drunk and screaming at each other, fighting about some guy they apparently were both into (you had no idea what was going on, nobody had told you anything), your best friend was making out with some hot footballer in the corner of the room and the rest of the group got high outside on some weed they had bought illegally the other day. You ran your fingers through your hair, desperately wishing to be able to simply vanish and finish the poem you had started writing before coming here. You felt like you had some really good ideas right now, but maybe it was the alcohol talking. With a sad sigh you looked at your fighting friends and decided that you had enough.

"Guys, hey, guys," you shouted, pushing between the two angry people. "That's enough now, stop it."

"(Y/n)," your friend Clara started, "please tell Simone that it wasn't my fau-"

"Of course it was your fault," Simone interrupted her, "Maybe if you would have as-"

"Shut up! Both of you, just shut the fuck up!"

Much to your surprise they listened and two pairs of curious eyes were fixed on you.

"I came here to have a good time and this is far from a good time," you shot them both glares before continuing. "Clara, I suggest you go find Felix in the garden and Simone, we're gonna find you some water, okay?"

"What about Chris," Simone complained while you dragged her to the kitchen, Clara on her way to the garden.

"The guy you've been fighting about? He can wait 'till Monday," you decided and handed your very tipsy friend a cup of water.

She eyed it suspiciously, but downed it.

"Thanks, (y/n)," she smiled.

You were just about to ask her about her new job at the book store, when she spotted someone in the hallway.

"Oh, there's Trevor, I gotta say hello to him," and suddenly she was gone, leaving you standing in the kitchen like an idiot.

"So much to 'spending an evening at a party like the good old times'," you mumbled disappointedly.

You spent a few more minutes strolling around the house, trying to find someone you could talk to, but you quickly gave up. You were tired and the two vodka shots from earlier made you a bit dizzy, so you decided to go home. You stepped outside the house, away from the music and the cheering people, pulling out your mobile to call your younger brother Ryan. He had gotten his drivers license just a few weeks back, so he could pick you up, since your father were spending the weekend at your grandma's. The phone rang a few times but no one picked up. You called a few times more, not only on the house telephone but also on Ryan's mobile, but your calls were left unanswered. Great, absolutely fantastic. With a deep sigh you turned left and started the walk homewards. It would take you a while, considering it was a few miles from here to your home, but you had no other choice.

After a few streets you started to enjoy the walk. The air was cool, but not cold. The sky was clear and you could see the stars even though the streets were lit up with lanterns. Grasshoppers were cricketing and here and there you could hear frogs. The walk cleared your head up a bit, making you think about the events of the evening. Maybe things had just changed. All your high school friends were still seeing each other regularly while you were so far away, no wonder you had lost the connection to them a bit.

You were still deep in thought when you reached your house, so you did not notice that the light in the living room was burning brightly, which was unusual, considering that your brother Ryan usually spent the whole day in his room. When you opened the front door, guitar music floated outside into the night air. You thought not much about it, since Ryan did play guitar, but suddenly the music stopped and there were voices, voices you did not recognize.

"Nah, that sounds just dump," someone complained.

"Maybe if I play this rhythm underneath..." there was some tapping on what sounded like a pan.

"Still sounds dump. I don't like the lyrics," the first voice complained.

"Oh yeah? Just a minute ago you were still head over heels with this line," now that voice you recognized as Ryan.

Carefully you tiptoed closer to the living room and peeked inside. You saw Ryan, guitar in his lap, sitting on the sofa, a second boy around his age sitting next to him, holding a guitar of his own. On the floor sat another boy, indeed sitting in front of a few pots and pans, holding a wooden spoon.

"It's just no use if you can't find a line to follow this one, maybe we should just change it," the boy next to Ryan complained.

"Uh, what's going on here," you asked, pushing the door open.

Obviously none of the kids had expected to be interrupted, because they all turned to you, Ryan jumping up and almost falling over the coffee table.

"(Y/n), you're home," Ryan mumbled, the nervousness in his voice painful to you. "Didn't you say you were out on a party?"

"Yeah, the party was shit," you told him striding into the living room, taking a closer look at the two boys you did not know. "Who are you?"

"I'm Brendon," the one on the sofa waved.

"And I'm Spencer," the one on the floor added.

"And you are here because...?"

The three boys exchanged nervous glances.

"(Y/n), please, you can't tell dad about this," Ryan pleaded, looking at you with his beautiful, big, brown eyes, melting your heart a little. Damn, you always had a soft spot for your brother, even when he was doing dump shit.

"Tell him what," you wondered.

"We're a band," he confessed, looking on the floor in shame.

You raised your eyebrows. "A band?" You looked over to Spencer who still sat in front of the pots and pans. "Please don't tell me this is supposed to be your drum set."

"We couldn't just carry the drum set halfway through town," Spencer explained, "so we improvised."

You giggled.

"Alright, I see," you looked back to Ryan. "And what is this band called?"

"Panic At The Disco," Brendon announced proudly.

You giggled again, shaking your head amused.

"Okay, sounds legit. Just keep the volume low and no one will ever know you were here for a secret band rehearsal," you winked at your younger brother who seemed to have a stone falling off his heart.

"Oh man, (y/n), you're the best," he grinned.

"Yeah, I know," you smiled slyly and turned to the door. "If you need help with anything, let me know!"

You were almost out of the room, when Ryan called for you.

"There is actually something," he told you. "A few years back you used to write these poems, didn't you?"

You turned back around to him. "Yup, still do. Why?"

"Well, we're kinda stuck with the lyrics somehow; do you think you could take a look?"

You could feel your heart speed up. In your opinion it was a big compliment to be asked if you wanted to help with the lyrics.

"Sure, where's the problem?"

You spent the rest of the night until the early hours of the morning sitting in the living room together with Ryan and his friends. You laughed a lot, and together with Ryan you managed to puzzle together some amazing lines. You shared soda and chips and other sweets, sometimes took a break by singing songs from the radio and by the end of the night you had become the unofficial new member of Panic! At The Disco and Ryan warned you that this would not have been the last time they would ask you for help.