Ryden Oneshots

Carnival

Carnival (the Normal Kind With Rides, Not the Creepy Ye Olde Carnivale Kind)

Ryan has never felt this crappy in his entire life. Well, except for the time when he was twelve and he broke his foot in the middle of the woods, trying to show off by jumping from a rock on one side of the creek to a rock on the other side. Spencer had had to give him a piggy-back ride back to his house, and Ryan’s foot had bumped a little against Spencer’s thigh with each step. It hadn’t helped that Spencer kept bitching about how much Ryan weighed, even though he was probably lighter than Spencer’s sisters at the time, whom he had seen being lugged around only the week before. But in all seriousness, right now Ryan’s not sure if even the constant jarring of his broken foot had hurt more than this.

Ryan breathes a sigh of relief as he sees the hotel, and even that sends a spiral of pain down from the top of his head to his shoulders. He reaches the hotel, pushes through the “twirly doors!!!” as Brendon likes to call them, exclamation points optional. If he were here, he would be running in circles, pushing the doors with him and letting out gleeful squeals until one of the hotel’s workers came to stop him.

The migraine had come out of nowhere, really. Ryan had just been out buying chips and dip for the band’s “Monthly Movie Night” when suddenly the corner convenience store cashier’s voice had become much louder and booming than before and each ding of the cash register made him cringe. The fluorescent lights had effected him a lot less than they would have, though, because luckily he was wearing sunglasses and a hat to keep his identity secret. Some girl giggling and squealing for his autograph would hardly have lessened the pain in his head, although on a normal day he probably wouldn’t mind so much.

There, finally! His and Brendon’s room! He can only hope Brendon is still out picking a movie (it was Jon’s turn, but when Ryan had called his and Spencer’s room earlier to ask him to go pick one up, Jon had sounded a little breathless over the phone, saying, “I trust Brendon, he has good taste,” and Ryan had heard Spencer say in the background, “So do you, big guy. Now hang up the phone and get your sweet ass back over here.”) Ryan makes a mental note to shudder at the memory at some time when every little movement doesn’t cause him pain, because ew, Spencer is his best friend, and he has no desire whatsoever to hear his “just been interrupted during sex” voice ever ever again.

Ryan is relieved to find, as he opens the door, that there is no Brendon in sight. The hyperactive boy is hard enough to handle on the best of days.

Ryan’s relief is short-lived, though, because as soon as he sits himself down gingerly on the bed closest to the window, trying not to wince, the room’s door is flung open and in steps Brendon, smiling brightly with a plastic Blockbuster bag in hand.

“Guess what, Ryan! You know how two months ago when it was my turn to pick the movie they didn’t have Aladdin, and last month Spencer said that he wouldn’t get it, he would rather have the flesh of his hands eaten off slowly by red ants? Well, I found it! And it’s the Super Special Deluxe Edition, which means –”

“Brendon. Shut. Up,” Ryan grits out, head pounding. Couldn’t someone get Brendon a Ritalin? Or at least get Ryan a few thousand Aspirin?

“– that the graphics are better and there are more – Hey, man, you okay?” The look on Brendon’s face goes from excited to concerned in a second flat, and Ryan wonders, not for the first time, how someone’s face can be so expressive all the time. Now, Brendon is walking over and putting a hand on Ryan’s forehead, murmuring, “You feeling okay?”

It would have been sweet, if Brendon’s hand wasn’t hot and sweaty, and his voice, even though it was lower and quieter than normal, didn’t make Ryan grit his teeth through the pain. As it was, Ryan manages, “Just go away.”