Ryden Oneshots

All Along

"I don't know if I can actually handle being in the same room as Ryan Ross," Brendon said, fluttering his eyelashes at Spencer. "I mean, won't I spontaneously combust from his aura of sheer genius? What if he blinks at me and I immediately turn into a beam of light just to highlight his perfect hair?"

"Stop it," Spencer said, bored, flicking through a magazine.

Brendon drew himself up taller, putting a hand up to his forehead. "Oh, Ryan! I can't believe you've come all this way—"

"Two blocks," Spencer said, without looking up.

"—on such a dangerous mission—"

"Retrieving his scarf," Spencer said.

Brendon changed tack. "I know, dude. Like, no offence, I get that you've been best friends forever since you were too young to know better, but coming around just to get his scarf? Kind of weird."

Spencer gave him a narrow look, the way he always looked at Brendon when Brendon dared to badmouth Ryan Ross. Stupid Ryan Ross. He was in the year above them at school, apparently, but Brendon had never seen him, and he figured Ryan didn't bother showing up very often. If it wasn't for the fact that Ryan was the most unlikely imaginary friend Brendon could think of, he'd be sure that Spencer had made Ryan up. It wasn't fair, that Spencer was so stupidly defensive of a guy who was barely ever around. Brendon had moved to his new school a year ago now, and for the first time in his life found someone who was funny and awesome and who wanted to hang out with him, and goddamn Ryan Ross had gotten there first.

"Apparently," Spencer said, "it's a special scarf."

Brendon squinted at him. "Okay," he said. "You realise what you said just now, right?"

Spencer's mouth twitched. "Brendon—"

"You know what, I think there might be something else going on here," Brendon said, wagging his finger at Spencer. "I mean, this full throated defence? This indulgence of scarves? Spencer, I think you might love him."

"Oh my God," Spencer said.

"It's tragic, really," Brendon said. "The best friend pining away – don't worry, Spence, I'll help you sort it out."

"Please don't," Spencer said.

"Soon you'll be safe in Ryan Ross's loving arms," Brendon said. He turned around and wrapped his arms around himself, stroking as well as he could up and down his own back like the games they used to play in elementary school. "Oh," he moaned, tossing his head back. "Oh, Ryan, Ryan, yes, touch me like that, oh, yeah, Ryan—"

"Um," someone said. Brendon turned around, arms still hooked over behind his back, and blinked at the guy standing in the doorway. He had dark eyes and a red, red mouth. There were beaded bracelets falling around his wrists, and he was twisting them round absently, with – Brendon's mouth was a little dry, huh – really nice fingers. He was wearing a v-neck yellow shirt, and Brendon followed the line of it automatically, the dip of the guy's collarbones, his pale skin. Brendon wanted to bite it.

"Hi, Ryan," Spencer said. He was grinning like Christmas had come early, getting up off his bed and giving Brendon the most evilly delighted look of all time. "You know Brendon, right?"

"I – sort of?" Ryan said uncertainly, and Brendon belatedly unwrapped his arms from around himself.

"Hi," he said. He wanted to die.

"Here's your scarf," Spencer said, crossing the room and handing it over.

"Thanks," Ryan said. He held it close to his chest, cradling it protectively and giving Brendon another sharp, freaked out look. "Um. I have to go."