Brendon didn’t really mind working the night shifts at the store. Honestly, sometimes he even liked it. Frank rarely checked in these days, too busy helping his boyfriend run his art gallery across town, and he knew he could trust Brendon and the rest of the workers. Plus, when it came to rules, Frank didn’t really have any and he’d given full permission to all his employees to be rude to the drunken assholes that would come in from time to time. But the best part, according to Brendon, was that Frank let them have full control over the music that played in the store and that was what had made Brendon swallow his pride a little and agree to work for Frank, alternating between the general store at the front and music store at the back. Sometimes, on quiet nights, Brendon would find himself thinking, and the Shane voice in his head would say that’s dangerous, you shouldn’t do that. But he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t given up on his dreams (and wow, he could convince himself so easily); it was just that he was waiting to get a break. There wasn’t much he could do while being stuck here in Vegas and he’d already sent out his demos to all the record labels he could think of in L.A. He’d wait for a month and if he got no reply, which was sadly what happened all the time, he’d start the cycle all over again. He was pretty sure that at one point or another someone would call him, if only to ask him to stop sending them CD’s and bombarding them with emails, and then he could make them realise on the phone just how much he was meant to be on stage. But until then he would continue working two jobs and stalking record execs and A&R dudes. Brendon twirled around in his seat, sighing, and looked at his watch. 11.30pm. Shane would be here by midnight - he usually stayed the last hour with him, kind of the only time during the day when they could be together. Sometimes he’d look up to see something like regret in Shane’s eyes, and all Brendon could do was hope that it wasn’t because of him. He’d met Shane a few months after he had completed high school, a few months after he’d walked away from the bus that would have taken him away from here. Shane had been like a breather for him at that point in his life. The last he’d seen of his parents was the day before graduation, when he told them he was leaving and he hadn’t bothered to correct their belief that he was gone even when he hadn’t. His dreams had no place in the Urie household and so he never even thought of going back. Sure, he missed them. A lot. And one of his biggest fears was that one of them would walk into the store one day and see Brendon working in the supermarket, years after he’d left making grand declarations saying the next time they’d see his face would be on the television. As far as they knew, Brendon was somewhere far away from Vegas and he wanted it to stay that way. He’d been looking for a job on the notice board of the hostel he had been living in when he ran into Shane. Mutual jobless-ness got them talking and two months later they were moving in together in a small two-room apartment. Yeah, it was tough - they rarely got to see each other for more than two hours every day and after two years of living like this, Brendon had moments where he felt nothing but helplessness overtake him and leave him breathless. His life hadn’t been supposed to turn out this way. He could still see Ryan’s face; remember the way he’d gotten angry at first, called Brendon names and said he was a coward, had said that you have to give some things up if you want to reach your dreams. He could remember him pleading, begging Brendon to come with him, they’d planned this together and how could Brendon give it up now. He was still confused about why his refusal to go to L.A. had affected Ryan so badly, and made Spencer leave everything and go with him instead. Sure, they had been best friends, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t make his own decisions. He had decided not to go and Ryan left without him. He wasn’t sure what he regretted more - deciding not to go or the fact that he hurt Ryan. Brendon yawned loudly. In fact, he tried to be as loud as possible. It wasn’t like there was anyone there in the store to hear him. If he wasn’t so tired he would have used his time to work on some new lyrics (which weren’t really his strong point), but he’d had to help Greta do a stocktake and as much as he thought books were cool - he thought it was a residue left over from Ryan - he’d rather prefer reading them than having to lift heavy boxes of them. He wondered for the hundredth time where Shane was. It was past midnight and he was really bored and okay, also a little scared because he’d never been good at hitting other people intentionally and what if someone decided to rob the store? Not like that had ever happened, but you never know. As he was trying to figure out self-defence plans in his head (which involved several martial art routines that he highly doubted he’d ever be able to do, but he looked cool doing them in his head), he heard the stores door slide open. Yay! People!  Or potential robbers! The Shane voice in his head snorted. Some days, he was pretty sure that the voice sounded more like Spencer than Shane, but he didn’t think about that much, because that would remind him that it had been over four years since he’d last talked to Spencer, which would then lead to thinking about Ryan  and just thinking about that hurt. Brendon decided that rather than sitting behind the counter and waiting for the people to get to him, it’d be better if he followed them. That way if he saw them doing anything suspicious, he could just call 911 or knock them out with his non-existent martial arts skills. He went round the end of the aisles, making sure not to make too much noise, and could make out two people standing in front of the large frozen foods section. As far as he could tell, they were both tall, though one was taller than the other, with the smaller one leaning into the taller man. They were both in their pyjamas and he was pretty sure the one on the left was wearing only socks on his feet. Brendon knew this would qualify as stalker behaviour, but they were the only two people in the store and besides, it was his job to help customers! And yeah, that might involve him actually going up to them and offering to help, but he was cool with just standing and staring for now. It was so obvious on seeing them that they were together, with the taller one’s arm curled around the other’s waist, hand disappearing inside the pocket of the over-sized hoodie. As Brendon was trying to figure out a way to come up behind them without surprising them, he heard a phone ring, and for a moment thought that it was maybe his phone and glanced back towards the counter to see if he left it there, until he realised that his phone didn’t have the generic ringtone which could be heard throughout the store now. He glanced back to see the tall one wearing sneakers walk off, talking on his phone, while the socked man still stood in front of the frozen foods section, staring at God knew what. Brendon knew for a fact that there weren’t many options to choose from that someone would spend so long trying to figure out what to buy. Frank wasn’t fond of frozen food. He wanted more and more people to actually buy fresh organic vegetables rather than processed, frozen things. Somehow, things like business logic didn’t matter much to Frank. Brendon was so lost in thought about how much he hated broccoli that he didn’t notice he’d started moving towards the man and was completely oblivious to Shane coming up behind him. Which is why when Shane wrapped his arms around Brendon and asked, “What are you looking at?” he screamed, his mind still filled with images of people with guns asking for money and knocked down the stack of dog food, that he’d spent hours setting up. The resounding noise of falling cans of dog food and Brendon’s scream made the man he’d been walking towards utter a shrill shriek (which was way sharper on the ears than Brendon’s had been). He watched in awe and shock as the man jumped, his feet getting caught in his long pyjamas, and flailed on the spot before falling headfirst into the frozen foods freezer. “Bren! You okay?” Brendon peered up from his place on the floor to see Shane staring at him, clearly worried as to why Brendon had gotten so spooked out. “Dude! You do not just sneak up people!” Brendon grumbled and grabbed onto Shane’s hand to pull himself up from the floor. He hoped his uniform wasn’t ruined too much; he’d done his laundry two days ago and he had no intention of doing it again before next week. Shane just leant in and kissef him and for a moment Brendon was annoyed – where had he been? Before he can get around to asking Shane that, however, he heard a loud painful groan from his left and suddenly remembered about the customer who fell into the land of frozen delicacies. “Shit! Sir, are you okay?” This, okay, was a really stupid question, if the fact that he hadn’t yet managed to lift himself up was any indication. Brendon moved to help the man up, but didn’t pay attention to any of the dog food cans rolling on the ground, and managed to trip over one of them and fall right on top of the customer. This could not be happening. Not only did someone manage to hurt themselves during his watch (and yeah, he didn’t really have an accident free month record, or anything, but he was kind of hoping for an accident free week; Frank said he’d give Brendon two days off if he could achieve that) but the entire floor was filled with rolling cans of dog food and the massive shelf that lined the frozen foods wall was broken. He prayed to a God he sometimes believed in that he could fix the mess before Frank got to the store. “Owwwwww.....” Brendon heard a long drawn out moan from under him and remembered that he was currently lying on top of someone. “Oh shit, I’m sorry sir, I’ll jus- ahhhhh! Fuck!” As soon as Brendon tried to lift himself up, his leg skidded in a puddle of water that had spilled onto the floor and he fell back on top of the guy, his crotch landing right on top of the other’s ass. Oh shit! He tried to get up again, but only managed to slip once more and land in the same freakin’ position again until – “The fuck happened in here? Brendon! Why the hell are you humping the customer? Get up!” Brilliant. Of all the days, today had to be the one when Frank had decided to come in and check on the store he forgets he owned. Brendon mumbled something about the floor being slippery and fucking finally! Shane came over and helped him stand up. Brendon turned to see Shane standing there with a sheepish expression on his face, hiding behind his wide smile. He could lose his job and the one he had with Greta didn’t pay even remotely enough to cover their expenses for a month. Brendon could hear Frank walk off towards the store room, cursing loudly under his breath, presumably to grab to mop to clean up all the water that’s spreading across the floor because of all the melting ice. Lost in all the thoughts of losing his job, he almost forgot about the poor dude who had been pinned under his weight and turned back to help him up, hoping that he wasn’t seriously hurt. Shane had already pulled him to his feet though, and Brendon could see that the man was entirely soaked and had his head bent, face covered by messy brown hair that made it impossible to see his features, as he cradled his right arm against his chest. Brendon felt selfish for worrying more about his job than a person getting hurt, but everyone had priorities, and honestly a broken (hopefully only twisted) wrist could be fixed, but he couldn’t find another job that easily. Just as Brendon was about to move forward and ask the guy if he was okay, Frank came back out from the store room and handed Brendon the mop without a word. Brendon choked down his nervous sigh and got to work; Frank never got angry (that he’d seen, anyway), and he had no idea how to deal with him now that he was so clearly pissed off. “Woah! What the hell happened in here? ” Brendon glanced up to see the other guy, the one who’d gotten the phone call, walk back into the store, sidestepping stray cans of dog food and water puddles. Brendon was relieved to see that at least he was smiling. But his smile dropped noticeably once he saw his boyfriend standing there, soaking wet and still intent on cradling his arm rather than looking up. Brendon tightened his grip on mop and waited for the shouting and swearing to start. It was only when he heard nothing but soft murmurs did he gather the courage to peek and see how the taller one had wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, while with the other he gingerly pushed back the hoodie sleeve of the cradled arm to reveal a massive bruise starting to form. He flinched on seeing the bruise, ‘cause fuck! That’s gotta be hurting like a bitch!, and glances up to see Shane standing by his side, looking bored, while Frank was staring at the two men with a smile on his face (which Brendon understood, because the sight in front of him was adorable). Somewhere inside of him, Brendon’s conscience finally decided to be noticed and that was what encouraged him to step forward a little and clear his throat somewhat nervously. Even though no one had said anything yet, he still did need to apologise - whether for his idiot of a boyfriend deciding to start a freak-out chain reaction or for falling on, and maybe even injuring, a customer. But before he could even get out a word, the taller of the two turned to Frank and said, “Geez Frankie, you should at least warn a fellow beforehand about how hazardous shopping in your store can be.” And just like that Frank was laughing and starting forward to hug the man, who still had one arm firmly around his boyfriend. “Billy Beckett!! When did you get in? Aren’t you supposed to call up people to let ‘em know you’re in town?” Frank exclaimed, back to himself now that he recognised who the men were. Before the guy called Billy could reply, Frank had moved on to hug his boyfriend, clearly forgetting about the injured hand and gripping him tightly, if the noise the injured boyfriend made was any indication. Frank sprung back and started apologising, jumping on the spot. “Oh shit! Sorry! Sorry! I forgot! Damn Rossy, you’re the only one who can manage to get hurt in a grocery store! Sorry!” Brendon looked up with the intention of laughing at Frank’s ridiculousness, a smile already fully formed on his lips when he was met with a sight that made his breath catch in his throat. Brendon gazed into hazel eyes that were as familiar as his own, now filled with tears as Ryan begged him to at least think about it once more, if Brendon could just tell him what it was that Ryan had done that made him change his mind. Brendon moved forward to hug him, tell him that he was sorry again, but Ryan stepped back. His eyes were no longer filled with visions of his dreams breaking; Brendon saw how Ryan steeled himself, their many years of friendship gifting him with the ability to hear all the things Ryan didn’t say. With a last look back, Ryan turned around, shoulders held tense and high, and moved towards the bus, leaving Brendon to pick up the pieces of himself. Brendon found himself staring those same eyes now, four years after he’d last seen them. Now that Ryan was no longer hiding behind his hair, Brendon could see how it had taken him so long to recognise Ryan. His hair was shorter than the last time Brendon had seen him, no longer long and lanky and hanging down till his shoulders. It was still a little long by normal standards, but it was spiked and either he spent hours getting it to look so messy or he’d just gotten out of bed. But his face was still the same. Maybe a little smoother than it was in high school; his face was no longer sharp with tension and his eyes seemed to be more open than they did back then. Brendon felt a tiny spark of relief at that thought. No matter what had happened in the past four years, there’d always been a part of Brendon that had wanted the best for his best friends. “Brendon?” He heard Ryan ask tentatively, like he wasn’t sure that after all this years it really was Brendon in front of him. He wondered whether Ryan had ever thought about meeting him again, running into him somewhere by a stroke of convenience, because Brendon knew he had. Only, it was never meant to be like this. He was never meant to be the one working in a grocery store, serving people. Whenever he imagined it in his head he was always famous, maybe surrounded by people as he ran into Ryan and Spencer at a party somewhere, or maybe at the launch of his new CD or in a high fashion store. There would be a moment of pause where they’d all just stare at each other and then everything would be back to normal. They would laugh, there would be hugs and shouts of “I missed you, man!” “How are you?” “I heard your new CD, it was awesome!” and then they’d get back to being best friends like nothing had transpired. But everything about this situation right now was wrong. “Hey, Ry,” Brendon said raising his hand in a lame half-wave and then cringing inwardly. It felt wrong, so wrong.   Brendon felt like reality had gotten warped somewhere along the line these past few years and he hadn’t even noticed. He knew that Ryan was no stranger to awkward situations but there had never been any where Brendon and Ryan were concerned. But standing there and trying to figure out how to act around his once best friend, Brendon felt nothing but awkward. Frank was the first one to break the silence as they stood there, Ryan and Brendon looking everywhere but at each other while the others glanced between them. “So, you guys know each other?” he asked, pointing to the two of them. Brendon decided to let Ryan answer; he’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day. Ryan spared Brendon a small glance, maybe waiting for him to say something, before he turned to Frank and answered “Yeah, we went to school together,” then twisted back to say something to his boyfriend. That was all that Brendon Urie was for Ryan Ross anymore. He tried to tell himself that he deserved it, but the part of him that was reminding him that he’d be going back home to a two-room apartment and would be back working at the supermarket tomorrow snarled that he really did not deserve this. Just because Ryan had had things that he wanted to run away from, it did not mean Brendon was obligated to do the same. Shane, Brendon’s traitor boyfriend, decided to jump into the conversation and moved forward to shake Ryan’s hand. “Hi! I’m Shane, Brendon’s boyfriend. It’s nice to meet an old friend of his - there aren’t a lot of them left here.” Brendon wondered if he could slink out the back now, and if anyone would notice. Ryan smiled at Shane, and even after all these years Brendon could tell it was as fake a smile as any, and he felt oddly defensive on Shane’s behalf. At least Ryan could try. He walked to where everyone else was standing and leant against Shane, who wrapped an arm around his waist but was still looking at the other three people there. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you too,” was all that Ryan said, and Brendon really wanted to smack his head and make him give better answers. The man standing with his arm around Ryan laughed and Brendon thought that maybe he could read his facial expression, because he spoke up and said “Usually Ryan is a lot more eloquent than this but we’ve been travelling all day and sleep deprivation turns him into a zombie.” And Brendon wanted to say I know, Ryan has always been like this, but then he got annoyed at himself for still knowing that. “Hi, I’m William Beckett. We just arrived in Vegas like, an hour back and someone couldn’t wait till tomorrow to have something to eat, and we knew Frankie kept his store open late,” the man continued. He waved at Brendon and Shane and really, how could Brendon not return such an open smile? “Gerard’s gonna go crazy when he hears you guys are hear. How long are you staying?” Frank asked, stepping carefully over the cans of dog food to begin moving towards the front (‘of the store’?), calling out over his shoulder. William glanced at Ryan as if to ask him, who just shrugged in return. William planted a kiss on his head and called back to Frank, “A month, I guess. Spence wasn’t very specific.” Brendon startled, jerking his head up at the mention of Spencer’s name. So they were together, all these years. Brendon was still in Vegas, struggling to get through the month, and they were off somewhere, and even though Brendon knew he shouldn’t make assumptions (maybe they weren’t doing well at all, just like him), but whatever! He knew that maybe he did the wrong thing by leaving Ryan like he did - maybe he should have convinced him to wait a few more days - but to cut off all routes of contact and leave him alone here, that was just wrong! Ryan had his head bowed so he couldn’t see the way that Brendon was glaring at him. He wanted to shake Ryan, he wanted to make him look up and apologise, talk, at least say something to his once best friend! Shane and William were talking about something, oblivious to how their awkward their boyfriends were feeling. Brendon was ready to pull Shane away - doesn’t he realise how friggin’ late it’s getting? And he still had to clean up the mess he’d made - when Ryan spoke up. “Bill, I think I need to get this checked at the hospital.” Brendon looked over at Ryan to see that he’d pulled the sleeve of his hoodie up even more and there, on the other side of his bruised arm, was a large cut with a piece of glass still stuck in it. Brendon felt sick – he was the one who fell on Ryan and pushed him down. He stared at the cut, horrified, and then noticed the needle marks positioned around it. “Fuck, yeah. Just wait here a minute, I’ll get some paper towels from Frankie and ask him where the hospital is. Or guys,” William peered at Brendon and Shane, “could you take him to the car? I’ll be right back.” And he ran off in the direction that he saw Frank go in. When Brendon moved to hold onto Ryan’s shoulders in case he was feeling woozy, Ryan flinched back from the touch, curling his body around his arm and saying “I’m okay, I can walk, thanks.” And Brendon would really hit him now, if Ryan wasn’t hurt because of him. “Shut up Ross, no one’s asking you.” Brendon grabbed onto him and steered him towards the doors, ignoring Ryan’s feeble protests as Shane moved to his other side. Brendon stopped once they got out the door and looked for the car. By the time they reached the black shiny SUV, and okay, wow, Brendon didn’t even have a car, William has re-joined them, running across the lot and looking freaked out. He made Ryan take off the hoodie and Brendon took in a sharp breath. Ryan was nothing but bones. He always was thin - Brendon even envied him for his metabolism that made sure he remained skinny - but that wasn’t skinny. That was non-existent. The t-shirt he wore hung loose on him, making him small, smaller than Brendon had ever seen him. He heard Ryan’s sharp intake of breath and saw that William was now pressing the towels around the wound, careful to avoid the glass. “Take the keys out would you, Ryan?” William asked and Brendon could see that although he tried to keep his voice calm, his hands were shaking. Ryan reached into William’s pocket and took out the keys, pressing a button to open the doors. Brendon watched as William helped him into the car and closed the door behind him, wondering how they could leave without making things awkward, when William turned and gave them a small, forced smile. “Thank you.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry Ryan wasn’t very talkative today. I would love to hear more about you guys though, about how Ryan was in school. How about you come over for lunch this weekend?” Brendon wanted to refuse, he wanted to tell William that he has no interest whatsoever in talking about those days, but what came out of his mouth instead was, “Yeah, sure.” William smiled and walked towards the car. It was only when they’d driven off that Brendon realised he hadn’t asked them where they were staying. That night, for the first time in four years, Brendon looked up Ryan Ross on the internet. Ryan tried to keep his eyes open but he was exhausted after travelling all day and then surviving the awkward encounter with his once best friend. He had always known that this would happen when Spencer suggested that they take some time off and get away from L.A., had known even before Spencer said it that he was going to suggest Vegas. Ryan would have objected, but Spencer was making his this is not up for discussion face and William looked so happy to get a chance to get a glimpse of the place where Ryan grew up that he just nodded and went back to sleep on the couch. Rehab was exhausting. He typed out a quick text to Spencer, just telling him that he’d reached Vegas and leaving out everything else; he knew that Spencer would just come to Vegas the next day if he heard that Ryan was injured, but Spencer needed a vacation too, especially from dealing with Ryan’s shit. He climbed back into bed, taking care to not to sleep on the arm that was wrapped in bandages. It wasn’t really hurting now, but the meds would wear off by the morning. William wrapped himself around Ryan as soon as he had stopped wriggling around and Ryan smiled and patted his boyfriend’s arm that clutched him tightly around his waist. As William’s breathing evened out, Ryan thought back to Brendon’s face. He was a little pissed that William invited them for lunch. He hadn’t come back to Vegas to patch up old friendships; he was only here to get a grip on his life. He’d be gone once he managed to do that, and until then he had no intention of talking to Brendon. Or telling him what he’d been up to since the day he left Las Vegas. Disappointing one best friend was enough; he didn’t want to see the same look on Brendon’s face too. Four Years Earlier . . . Ryan didn’t break down till the bus crossed state lines, which was when he finally slumped down in his seat and cried until his eyes burned. When the bus pulled into L.A., that was when he wiped his eyes and tried to even-out his breathing. He was here, and even though he was alone Ryan was here with a purpose. Fuck Brendon. Ryan was one of the last people to exit the bus, stepping off and moving to the side to let the last remaining stragglers pass. He glanced around the station and for a moment he felt nothing but helplessness. He couldn’t do this alone, he needed someone here with him; he needed Brendon. Ryan didn’t know when the tears started or when he’d reached the bench seat; he only remembered sitting there and clutching his bag while crying for what seemed liked hours. When he felt like he couldn’t cry anymore, he glanced up, rubbing his eyes, and was surprised to find someone sitting next to him. “Oh, you’re done! I was getting tired of waiting, but I didn’t want to interrupt you; people don’t like it when someone stops them while they’re crying. Anyway, I’m Pete,” the boy (Ryan didn’t think he was much older than him) said, putting his hand forward to shake Ryan’s. Ryan could only just stare and numbly shake hands with this stranger, Pete, who was smiling at him like they’d always known each other. When Ryan made no move to start speaking, Pete continued. “So, you seem awfully sad; wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he asked, leaning back on the bench and rummaging in his bag. Ryan wondered if this was an L.A. thing and whether he should now be prepared for complete strangers to come up to and ask him how he was. He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was with that. Pete handed him a bottle of water and leaned against his bag so that he was facing Ryan, waiting for him to say something. Ryan was grateful for the water; he hadn’t realised how dry his throat was and he finished almost all the water in the bottle before he remembered that it wasn’t his. He handed it back to Pete. “I’m sorry, I’ll buy another bottle.” Pete just laughed. “It’s okay, man. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Maybe we can figure something out?” Pete placed his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, and Ryan thought that maybe that’s what triggered his behaviour next; a comforting touch and someone offering to listen to him in a city where he already felt so alone. Before he knew it, he was crying again and telling Pete everything, about his dad throwing him out when Ryan had told him that he didn’t want to go to college, about Brendon deciding to abandon him at the last moment, and about how scared he was because even if he was back in Vegas he didn’t really have a home anymore. Pete just listened to him, not interrupting him even once and Ryan could see his eyes harden the longer Ryan talked about himself. Finally, when Ryan was done he slumped back against the seat and stared at Ryan for a minute while the younger boy wiped his eyes and started stammering his apologies for dumping his shit on Pete. Pete then stood up suddenly and grabbed his bag in one hand and Ryan’s in the other, pulling him up. “C’mon, get up. It’s getting dark and I have to be up early tomorrow.” Ryan tried to pull his hand back. “What are you talking about?” “Are you always this slow? Wait, I don’t even know your name!” Pete still didn’t let go of his hand, but he was smiling instead of looking annoyed, and Ryan could see that his eyes were still dark, like he was angry at something. Ryan decided he should at least tell the man who gave him some water his name. “I’m Ryan, and I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pete rolled his eyes and said, with an exasperated sigh, “You’re coming to live with me Ryan.” He raised his hand to stop Ryan’s protests. “Look, you just said that you don’t have a place to live and I have a two bedroom apartment with one bedroom empty, so you can live there and once you find a job and start earning money, you can pay me rent. Okay?” Ryan considered his options. He didn’t know Pete, and for all he knew Pete could be a psychopathic killer who prowled bus stations for his latest victims, but even though his smile disarming, Ryan had to agree that he didn’t look very harmful. Besides, he could always spray him with the can of mace he’d packed in his bag (he’d thought it best to be prepared). So Ryan nodded and Pete smiled and an hour later he was being shown into what would go onto be his room, but was for now something like a storage closet. Pete shrugged apologetically and started moving things out, saying, “I’m sorry, it’s been empty for ages and I started just dumping stuff in here. I don’t think it’ll take long to clean, though.” Four hours and three breaks later, Ryan and Pete had managed to clean up most of it and Ryan now had a room to live in. It took him only a day to get comfortable living with Pete, which amazed him to no end because he wasn’t one of the friendliest people in the world. But Pete had this thing about him, and maybe it was just for Ryan, but there wasn’t a single moment where he made Ryan feel like he was a burden or that Pete regretted asking him to come with him. He’d learnt a lot about Pete in the past two days, even though for most of those days Ryan had been at home alone, Pete’s boss demanding that he stay late to make up for missing work while he was gone. Ryan tried to be useful during the day, cleaning up the room - his room now - getting laundry done, walking Pete’s dog, but pretty soon he ran out of things to do and he spent the entire day worried that Pete would throw him out because he obviously had no more use for him. Ryan tried to think of ways to make Pete want to keep him here, and he could only come with one solution, as much as it made him want to throw up. When Pete arrived home that day, as soon as he’d locked the door behind him, Ryan sank to his knees, willing his lunch to stay in his stomach, and started to work on Pete’s belt. He barely managed to open the buckle before strong hands were grabbing his and pulling him towards the couch, where he was pushed down onto the cushions and covered with a blanket. It was only when a glass of water was pressed into his hand that he noticed how hard they were shaking and before he knew it, Ryan was sobbing into a cushion with Pete sitting behind him and rubbing his back soothingly, waiting for his breathing to even out a little. When Ryan finally felt like he could talk without giving in to the urge to throw up everything he’d ever eaten, he twisted in a little and looked straight at Pete, his eyes red and swollen while he chewed on his bottom lip with enough force to make it hurt, and pleaded, “Please don’t throw me out. I’ll try to find something else to do, I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow, I swear, just pleas-” Pete raised his hand a little and Ryan stopped, and tried to breathe calmly even as he took in the way Pete was holding his body and his narrowed eyes were staring at him with an intensity he hadn’t had to face before. “Do you really think I’ll throw you out because you aren’t of any use to me, Ryan? Do you really think I’m such a horrible person that I’ll make you do something like that in exchange for letting you stay here?” He was trying to be calm, Ryan could tell, but it wasn’t working because Ryan could see the anger leaking through his forced tone, could see the way his jaw was clenched and his eyes were flashing as he waited for Ryan to answer. Ryan wanted to say something - apologise, beg, anything - but as soon as he opened his mouth he was crying again; loud, unrestrained sobs and Pete just held him close, not minding the tears that were soaking the front of shirt, and rubbed his back, whispering comforting words all the while. When Ryan finally did manage to stop, again, he wiped his nose on his shirt and looked at Pete, saying, “I’m sorry,” and trying to say thank you, and how can I ever repay you? without actually vocalising the words, and Pete must have understood, because he ran his fingers through Ryan’s hair once and told him to wash his face while he heated up dinner. They never talked about that incident ever again. Ryan fitted into a sort of routine after that. He woke up late and spent his day trying to find a job while he also figured how to go about his plan of getting famous and becoming somebody. The only problem was that Ryan didn’t really know what he wanted to do anymore. Earlier it had all been about Brendon; Ryan would be Brendon’s guitar player, song writer, whatever - the details weren’t that important. What mattered was that they would be away from Vegas and they would be together. Now, he had to figure everything out again and Ryan didn’t have a clue how to try and go about it, so he settled for trying to find a job in the meantime to help Pete with the bills. He’d learnt that Pete didn’t really like his job. In fact, he hated it. But it was a part of the fashion industry, and it was a source of income  until Pete became a big shot fashion designer, which Ryan had no doubt that it would happen eventually. Pete had it in him; Ryan could see it in the moments when he woke up in the middle of the night to grab a glass of water and Pete was still out in the living room, pouring over his sketches and fabrics. It never once occurred to him that maybe they could do this together, fulfil their dreams while helping each other out at the same time. It was Pete who thought of it. Ryan was in his room, staring at his phone which was ringing - again. Spencer hadn’t stopped calling, and it had now been a week since Ryan had boarded the bus. He called every day, between five and nine at night, and every single time Ryan let the phone ring and just stared at it. Pete had asked him about it once but he’d just shook his head and changed the topic; Pete realised that some parts of Ryan’s life refused to let go. He also realised that Ryan wanted to hold on just as tightly as well, he just didn’t realise it. Ryan was contemplating whether or not he should just switch off the phone when he heard Pete calling him from the living room. He stuffed his phone in the dresser drawer under his shirts and exited his room, only to see Pete standing beside what was once his mannequin but was now just a pile of artificial limbs on the floor. He poked an arm with his foot and asked, “What happened to it?” Pete dropped the appendage he was holding and began pushing all the parts out of the way. “No idea. One minute it’s fine and the next it’s all one the floor. This is why I need your help!” He grinned at Ryan, sharp and bright, and even in the few days they’d lived together, Ryan had realised that that particular grin almost always meant bad news for him. “Help with what?” Ryan asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Pete just smiled wider and Ryan fought the urge to step back a little, regretting it when Pete grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, placing him were the mannequin had been standing. “There.” Pete patted Ryan on the shoulder. “Now, I need you to stay there until I say so, and don’t move! Or it won’t be my fault if you get poked by a pin.” And that was how Ryan found himself being turned and prodded, with Pete adding layers and making him try this shirt on or that jacket on, all the while staring at him critically and humming but never saying anything. Ryan was actually fascinated for the first hour, asking Pete questions and seeming genuinely curious about the way Pete worked because he hadn’t really gotten a chance to observe Pete while working; he never approached him when the man was absorbed in his sketches - it seemed rude. Besides, he knew how he himself had been when he used to get really into his writing zone and someone would come and ask him something or just generally distract him; it would take him ages to get back into the right mind-set to start writing again. He hadn’t taken out his notebook even once since he’d stepped foot in L.A. But, after standing like that for an hour, turning when Pete asked him to, raising his arms when told and exhausting all the questions he had in his arsenal, Ryan was bored and Pete didn’t seem anywhere near finished. In fact, he seemed even more interested and was making adjustments and grinning like crazy, so Ryan sucked it up and stood like a good little roommate, ignoring his aching shoulders and feet; besides, the one time he’d tried to move Pete had thrown a shoe at his head. He could hear his phone ringing in the bedroom and for a minute he was actually tempted to go and answer it because it would give him a chance to rest, but then he realised that it was probably just Spencer calling again and Ryan really wasn’t ready to have a conversation with him. He tried not to the let the fact that his dad hadn’t called even once affect him much; he was eighteen, his father was just respecting that. Ryan snorted loudly at his own absurd reasoning, causing Pete to look up from his work table and quirk an eyebrow at him, but Ryan just shook his head. This was another conversation he’d rather not have. He knew parents were a sore subject for Pete; he’d been kicked out the house by his parents when he told them he didn’t want to go to college to study to become an accountant. Pete had made it to L.A. all on his own, finding a job and a place to live and Ryan wouldn’t ever deny the fact that Pete was his new inspiration. Finally, about four  hours later (the last of which was filled with Ryan’s whining accompanied by several objects being chucked at his head by non-amused Pete) Pete straightened up, stretched out all the cramped bones and muscles in his back and gave Ryan a proper once over, making him spin and turn over and over again till Ryan was dizzy, and when he finally did make him stop he gave a Ryan a smile that wasn’t anything like his usual hyper ones. This one spoke of success. He pushed Ryan into his bedroom and made him stand in front of the full length mirror, Ryan protesting all the while about how hungry he was. Pete placed him in front of the mirror and said, “Look at yourself.” And Ryan did; he looked at himself carefully. Ryan knew he was a little vain - posting half-naked pictures of himself on the internet just to hear people compliment him had sort of established that fact and while he wasn’t proud of it, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, too. There was a time, not too long ago, when Ryan would take ages to get ready to go anywhere, spending hours straightening his hair and trying to apply his eyeliner just right. He was pretty sure that he would still do all those things if he had somewhere to go to in L.A. But right now, standing in Pete’s bedroom, Ryan was pretty sure he’d never looked better in his entire life. Or at least his body hadn’t; his face was still plain and sleep affected. He’d always been taller than most kids his age – Spencer had just hit his growth spurt that gave him a few added inches over Ryan – but he was used to being tall and gangly, all limbs and bones. He’d spent most of his teenage years tripping over his own legs. But looking at himself in the mirror now, Ryan didn’t look like the awkward teen he was. He looked (and he would never admit that he used this word for himself in front of Spencer) graceful; all sleek, sharp lines and elegance. Ryan could only stare at himself, his eyes wide and disbelieving as Pete draped himself over his back. “Do you know what your purpose in life is, Ryan?” Pete whispered in Ryan’s ear, still grinning like a loon. Ryan shook his head and met Pete’s eyes in the mirror. Pete smiled, wide and triumphant. “You were born to be my model, Ryan Ross, and we’re gonna take this world by storm.” That was day that Ryan Ross became the face of Clandestine. Ryan didn’t really know how or when Pete even got the time, but within a week he’d started printing out portfolios of Ryan modelling his clothes. Ryan didn’t even know when Pete had taken the photos, let alone when he’d started getting then done all professionally, because had Ryan never worn those clothes outside the apartment and he could tell by looking at them that Pete had taken them while Ryan wasn’t paying attention. He would have been pissed if the photos hadn’t turned out to be actually really good. Because he wasn’t really paying attention in any of them, he was more relaxed than usual and most of them included him laughing or being in the middle of saying something, which gave the photos a more relaxed feel. Which, he realised, was what Pete was going for. He didn’t want his clothes to come off as something that only stiff models wore on the runway; through these photos he was showing his clothes to be that dash of classy you added to casualwear, and it worked. They most definitely looked like they could make up a portfolio, but there was still a hint of amateur-ness than clung to the edges and Ryan knew that that was annoying Pete, but he didn’t know how to help because hiring a professional photographer seemed to be out of the question. The answer came in the form of Tom Conrad. Ryan was out walking Pete’s dog Hemmingway in the park when he first saw Tom, standing near then benches and photographing pigeons. That day Ryan didn’t say anything and continued his walk. But every day for the next week he ran into Tom, who kept relocating to different parts of the park, not really having a pattern behind what he photographed as far as Ryan could tell. On the sixth day of giving each other a friendly smile, Tom walked up to him as he was playing with Hemmy. “Hi. Do you mind if I photograph your dog?” Tom asked, flipping his sunglasses up onto his head. Ryan smiled and shook his head. “Not at all, go ahead. Hemmy’s quite the diva though, you better be prepared for tantrums of quite an epic level.” And Tom laughed, all nice and bright and Ryan really wanted to see more of that smile. They spent almost two hours together that day, following Hemmingway as he rolled around on the grass, and Ryan learnt that Tom was from Chicago and worked for a nature magazine but wanted to be a professional photographer. Ryan nodded and laughed along, smiling in all the appropriate places, all the while noticing how the sun’s rays hit Tom’s eyes, and how he smiled without any worry or stress. At the end of the day as Tom walked Ryan back to his apartment, he pressed his phone into Ryan’s hand and asked him for his number. They went out two days later to a nice Italian place that Tom frequented and Ryan didn’t remember smiling this much since… Well, a very long time. The next week Tom came over to his place to pick him up and while Ryan was getting ready he caught sight of a photo Pete had taken last week. By the time Ryan came out, Tom had found most of the photographs and had them spread around the table, arranging them in some kind of order Ryan didn’t get. Pete returned home to find them like that, making out on the couch with the photos spread all around them. Before he left, Tom and Pete had already worked out a schedule for having more photos taken. By the end of the month Tom and Ryan were official and Pete had about 10 copies of professional-looking portfolios in his bag, each of them filled with professional-looking yet casual photos of Ryan modelling Pete’s clothes. They went all over L.A., making Ryan change in the car. In the end they didn’t even really the need portfolios to get noticed. Pete started getting Ryan to wear at least once piece of clothing designed by him whenever he went out somewhere, even if it was just to get milk when they ran out in the middle of the night. Mostly Ryan agreed to humour Pete, but some days he put his foot down. He wasn’t going to walk Hemmy at six in the morning wearing leather pants; he’d look like a hooker who loved his dog. Pete laughed and slapped him on the back, saying, “That’s the spirit! Now go wear it before I force you to.” In his tenth month of living with Pete, Ryan finally gave in to the nagging voice in his head and decided he needed a haircut, ignoring Tom’s protests that he liked Ryan’s long hair. He wasn’t the one who had to straighten it each day. As he was leaving Pete called his name and when he turned he was rewarded with jacket flying straight at his face. Ryan was very tempted to shred the thing into tiny little pieces but he knew then Pete would get him to help make a new one, and his back could only take so many hours of bending over a table (not all of it Pete’s fault, but it wasn’t like he would go telling him). Ryan had little indulgences, even know when he didn’t really have money to spare, but he just couldn’t let go of them. One such indulgence was getting his hair cut from only the best; most hairdressers would just give a random cut, ignoring the fact that his hair was naturally wavy and what the result would look like once he straightened them out. He remembered junior high very well - those days of mocking when his usual salon had had a new hairdresser who’d butchered his hair; he wasn’t going through that again. So he shrugged on his jacket and made his way towards Tom’s car (Pete didn’t have one) rolling down the window and enjoying the breeze on his way there. He might as well enjoy the feeling of the wind flowing through his hair before he got it shortened. When he got there he was really pleased to see that his favourite hairdresser Brent was present and was conveniently free at the moment (Ryan always forgot to make an appointment), and within an hour Ryan had a new hair cut that he actually liked, even though the bangs would take some getting used to. While walking out of the salon Ryan was too busy trying to see if he could blow his bangs off his face to notice where he was going and he ran into someone who was entering at the same time and who also happened to be drinking something ice-cold and gooey, whic Ryan could feel sliding down his shirt. “Oh fuck, man, I’m so sorry!” said the guy who’d just drowned Ryan in want seemed to be a mango smoothie, the smell almost making Ryan gag. That was when he realised that if the smoothie had gotten onto his shirt, then… “Oh shit, he’s going to kill me!” Ryan tore off the jacket, praying that it was still shiny and black as it had been when he’d worn it. He could have started crying when he saw yellow tracks flowing down the front of the jacket, and maybe the guy responsible for the accident (even though Ryan should have been paying attention, but whatever) was looking at him warily, like he didn’t know how to deal with a teenaged kid almost crying in front of him. Before Ryan could say anything though the guy raised his hand and said, “Look, don’t worry. It’s my fault and I’ll get that cleaned and delivered to you. Is that okay? Just, please don’t cry!” And Ryan wanted to argue that he wasn’t going to cry, the light must be reflecting off his eyes weirdly, but why should he refuse an offer like that, so he shrugged and handed it over, ordering, “Take care of it, it’s one of a kind. And I mean that literally, there’s just this one; Pete still hasn’t gotten around to making more.” And Ryan could be a scary motherfucker when he wanted to be (which wasn’t very often, and came out more in front of people he didn’t know) so the guy, who was way taller than him, nodded dutifully and took the jacket from him, asking Ryan for his address. Ryan scowled at that - he didn’t really think that’s how stalkers operate - throw stuff on you and then asked for your address to return clothes they’d ruined - but the guy promised that he just wanted to return the jacket when it was done, and Ryan possibly may have mentioned (no one can prove it) that his boyfriend was huge and also maybe an Olympic athlete (it was really difficult for him to make up lies on the spot). It was only when he was halfway home that he realised he would need to tell Pete what happened, which was also when he realised that he’d never taken that guy’s number and for all he knew, Pete would never get the jacket back. While waiting for the light to turn green Ryan banged his head against the steering wheel and prayed that Pete didn’t kill him. Luckily when he got home there was only Tom waiting for him, who turned out to be no help at all because he fell off the sofa laughing when Ryan told him. When Pete came home that day he was already exhausted from work and Ryan kept him engaged in random topics of conversation till Pete told him he was going to bed because he had given him a headache. Three days later Ryan was in his room, trying out poses in front of the mirror (which he would never admit to) when Pete knocked on the door and came in when a shocked expression on his face. Ryan was ready to make excuses, thinking he was responsible for Pete’s current freak out, which was when he remembered the jacket and he almost fell down to his knees to beg for forgiveness when Pete asked, still looking dazed and out of it, “Do you want to tell me why Gabe Saporta is in our living room holding my jacket?” Ryan relaxed a little - at least the jacket was here - and asked, “Gabe who? And oh yeah, funny story about the jacket really -” Pete interrupted him. “Forget about the fuckin’ jacket, Ryan! You don’t know Gabe Saporta?” And okay, he’d only spent the past few days freaking out about the jacket so this really sucked, but he didn’t pout and instead said, a little hesitantly, “Umm. No. I’m guessing he’s important?” Pete started laughing and Ryan was actually worried that maybe he’d lost it (finally) when Pete said, “Oh my god! He’s important? You’re asking if Gabe Saporta is important. That’s just precious.” And Ryan wondered if he was meant to answer that or not, but was saved the trouble when Pete continued. “Gabe Saporta is the creator and owner of Cobra Starship.” Ryan must have still looked confused because Pete added, “Which is only the most exclusive and expensive fashion house in the world.” Ryan was getting ready to say something like, “Really? The world?” when Pete interrupted him, again. “Oh my god! Fuck, Gabe Saporta is in my living room! Ryan, do you know how hard it is for new designers to get a start in this industry? And Cobra Starship only takes the best new designers under its wing, like, just one every two years or so. Get noticed by Cobra Starship and the entire fashion world will take notice of you.” Pete ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more as he walked around Ryan’s room. “Fuck! What do I do? I can’t just show him my stuff, that’ll seem desperate. No, I have to appear cool and calm.” He was pulling at his hair by now and Ryan wanted to point out that right now he appeared crazy and also a little scary but he didn’t want to risk having stuff thrown at him again. Instead he said, “Pete, you are desperate. But how about for a start you go back outside, where you’ve left your crush waiting?”  It was sign of how freaked out Pete was that he didn’t even turn and glare at Ryan when he said that, let alone throw anything at him. So Ryan rolled his eyes and walked outside, grabbing Pete’s hand and pulling him along too. When they got outside, Gabe (fuck it if Ryan was going to call him Mr. Saporta) was looking through Pete’s sketches that were spread out all over his work table, the portfolio open towards his left like he’d been going through it. That seemed to spur Pete into action and he walked forward, saying, “Mr. Saporta,” (okay, so Pete had no problems going all formal with this guy) “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, but Ryan was busy setting his hair.” Ryan didn’t even hesitate. He kicked Pete hard enough to make him wince, who in turn spun and glared at Ryan, making pointed eye movements towards Gabe, who hadn’t even noticed them and was still going over Pete’s work. Ryan was about to interrupt and ask him if he liked going through other people’s things without permission when he straightened and turned around to face them, looking very serious and unlike the guy who’d freaked when he thought Ryan would cry. “Whose designs are these?” He waved a hand towards the sketches, beside him Ryan could feel Pete fidget so he grabbed onto the back of his shirt, just to let him know he was there too. Pete stopped moving and breathed a little. He moved towards his table, Ryan still holding onto his shirt, and said, “Yeah, umm, those are mine. They’re all my designs, including those in the portfolio.” Gabe picked up the portfolio and flicked through it, pausing here and there. Ryan could feel Pete holding his breath and Ryan was about to remind him that he needed to breathe when he realised that he wasn’t really breathing either. This was big. This could change everything for Pete. This could make all of Pete’s hard work worth it. Gabe took his time putting the portfolio down and going through the finished clothes that were kept on the nearby chair, humming to himself here and there, and Ryan was seriously about to punch this guy. If he was just playing with Pete he would regret the day he spilled a mango smoothie on Ryan. Before Ryan could say anything though, and this was getting really annoying - why didn’t people let him speak? - Gabe put down everything he was holding and turned towards them again, smirking a little. “How would you like to a part of Cobra Starship, Mr. Wentz?” Ryan could feel a smile forming on his face but he stopped when Pete still hadn’t relaxed. He nudged Pete a little, who in turn, lifted his chin a little and said, “I have two conditions.” Gabe looked amused and he quirked his eyebrow, indicating Pete should continue. Ryan felt Pete take deep breath and say, “First, the name remains Clandestine, even when we’re under the Cobra Starship House.” Gabe took his time, but he eventually nodded and Pete relaxed a little, but not completely, and Ryan wondered what else he wanted. “Secondly, Ryan is the face of Clandestine for me and I know you have your own models or whatever, but I’m not going to even argue on this. Ryan will remain with Clandestine.” Ryan looked at Pete, surprised because he honestly hadn’t even thought about that. He was just amused that it was all for real now, because Pete had no one else and Ryan wasn’t really doing anything all day, so he could wear Pete’s clothes and have photos of him clicked if that made Pete happy. Ryan turned towards Gabe, who was looking at the two of them carefully, like he was missing something. Ryan could feel Pete tense again and he wanted to tell Pete to stop being an idiot and accept the offer because he deserved it. But he felt his mouth open in shock when Gabe suddenly smiled, honest and happy. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect it any other way.” And that was how Clandestine become a part of Cobra Starship, with a new model that no one had heard of as its face. That night Pete took Ryan to a real L.A. night club. Ryan protested because he really just wanted to stay at home and celebrate with his boyfriend, but Tom had agreed to come along and somehow Pete had managed to get a  fake ID for Ryan from somewhere (Ryan didn’t ask, Pete had his own sources). Once he got over his initial reluctance Ryan found himself enjoying the place. He danced with Tom, and sat and watched while Tom and Pete had thrown back shots. He’d already appointed himself designated driver before they left; Ryan had no intentions of drinking, no matter how much the situation called for a celebration. Pete didn’t argue, he just nodded and hugged Ryan and not for the first time Ryan felt a rush of gratitude towards Pete and a sense of wonder at his own fate. How had he been lucky enough to find someone so amazing, who got him without even having to ask within a few minutes of stepping foot in L.A.? As Ryan tried to handle both Pete and Tom, who were multiple levels of drunk, to the car he was sorely tempted to leave both of them behind in the alley. The smell of alcohol surrounding him was making him light headed and he really just wanted to go home and have long, warm bath. As he strapped Pete in, he opened his eyes and grabbed Ryan’s face with both his hands, pulling him down to his level so that they were face to face. Ryan wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol but Pete was too drunk to notice as he said, eyes bright and diluted, speech slurred by shots and shots of vodka, “This is it Ryan, we’re going to be big now!” And then he leaned over the side of the car to puke all over Ryan’s shoes. As far as Ryan was concerned Pete and Gabe would work out the details amongst themselves and let him know later; he trusted Pete, so he decided to relax and spend as much time as he could with Tom because he had a feeling that once all the formalities were done he wasn’t going to get much time to just laze around all day. Unfortunately for Ryan, things didn’t always turn out the way he wanted them to. In his eleventh month of living with Pete, Tom came over to tell Ryan that he’d finally gotten an assignment that could get him noticed by the big guys, but he would need to go to Bali for three months for it. Ryan tried to be supportive as he hugged him and told him, “It’s okay baby, I’ll be here when you get back.” But what Ryan hadn’t expected was for Tom to tell him that he didn’t think that would work out so well, because long distance relationships were always hard to handle and he needed to concentrate on his work and not have to worry about calling up Ryan or trying to be there for him when he was continents away. That was day Ryan Ross went through his first ever break up and it fucking hurt. When Pete came back from his meeting with Gabe he found Ryan curled up on the couch with Hemmingway, who was trying to get out of his grip. Pete took pity on his dog first and prised him out of Ryan’s fingers that were gripping onto his fur. He then took Ryan into his room and made him climb into the bed, covering him with all the blankets he could find, shielding him with pillows on all sides. Pete didn’t really know if it would work or not; it was a tactic that he used when he was scared and hurt (he had spent a month like that when his parents had kicked him out) but if there was one thing he did know it was that Ryan was more similar to him than any person he’d met. Gabe had asked him (once directly and a few times ina very round-about manner) if there was anything between him and Ryan, and by the eleventh time Gabe said, “So, Ryan, huh?” Pete was ready to tear up the contract and stuff it in his mouth. That was the first thing he’d learnt about Gabe Saporta - he was an insufferable asshole. When he’d seen Pete grip the table tight enough to turn his knuckles white, he’d just smiled that shit eating grin of his and then patted Pete on the head. That was the Gabe Saporta way of apologising, which was the second thing Pete learnt about him. Also, when the papers got delivered to his house the next day he saw that Clandestine’s share had been increased and that had made forgiving Gabe a little easier.  Ryan stayed inside the blanket fort for a week, only getting out to use the bathroom and Pete was worried about how vile his blankets would smell once Ryan finally got out of there. But he didn’t force him. Pete knew this had been his first relationship and he hadn’t wanted to be the negative friend so he’d kept his opinions of Tom to himself, but he had already known that there was no way that it could have turned into a long time thing. He made a mental promise to Ryan to never make that mistake again. By the time Ryan’s one year mark came around, he’d stripped down to just two blankets and had been bathing on a regular basis. Hemmy still didn’t come near him but Ryan had a plan that involved liberal amounts of dog treats and praises; Hemmy was a lot like Ryan. Ryan was laying on his stomach under the bed, trying to coax Hemmy out of there when he heard the door bell ring. If it was up to him, he would never leave from this new comfy place he’d found, but the bell rang again and Ryan heaved himself off the floor, trying to brush the dust bunnies out of his hair. “Dude. Relax.” Ryan opened the door and then there was bright, excruciating pain and that was the last thing he remembered. Maybe it was because it had been months, but this time the pain flared hot and sharp, bringing him out of unconsciousness; he wasn’t used to it anymore. Half his face felt warm and sore and he wanted to try to poke it to see if that would make the pain spike, but he couldn’t seem to remember where his fingers were. Or even his hands for that matter. He felt like jelly, spineless, and he didn’t know how long he lay there imagining himself as a purple jelly monster with no limbs when he heard sounds around him and a weight pressing somewhere towards his left. Not that his sense of direction was very sharp at the moment. The weight pressed in and Ryan thought he could feel an arm now, where the weight was, and he wanted to tell them to keep doing that so that he could finally feel all his limbs again. “Ryan?” He’d heard the voice before and if he knew how to get to his brain, Ryan would try and remember. “Ryan?” Oooh. He knew this one; he didn’t think he could ever forget Pete’s voice. After fifteen minutes of listening to two voices alternating calling him, he got bored and decided to try and wake up. He opened one eye, closing it again shrinking back from the light. “Oww,” Ryan groaned, trying to cover his face, but there was still someone holding onto his arm, unrelenting even when he tried to tug it free. “Ryan!” Ryan knew that voice! He sat up suddenly and fast, regretting it when a wave of dizziness rushed over him and he flopped back down onto the couch. He opened his eyes to face blue eyes that he didn’t think he’d get to see again. “Good morning, sunshine.” Ryan had stood as calmly as he could from the couch and moved towards the person sitting on the chair opposite him, smiling as if this was normal and they weren’t meeting after a year apart. As soon he’d reached the chair, he had collapsed onto the person sitting on it, clutching onto the front of Spencer’s shirt like the anchor he always was, even when they weren’t necessarily near each other. “Spencer, you’re – what are you doing – how – wait a minute! You punched me!!” Ryan jumped from the chair and pointed at him accusingly, torn between wanting to cling onto his best friend or maybe punch him instead, because his face really hurt. He poked his cheek with a finger and winced when it was painful. Spencer batted his hand away and pulled him down onto the couch. “Stop that! And, yes, I punched you and it was extremely satisfying. In fact, had you not passed out I would have thrown in a few more, because what the fuck, Ryan? I have only been calling you almost every single day for the past year and never once did you pick the phone - and for all I knew you were dead or worse and I didn’t know!!” Ryan wanted to interject and say something in his defence, even though he could think of nothing to say, but the look in Spencer’s eyes stopped him. He was pissed, yeah, and Ryan got that - he’d acted like an asshole - but he could also see the tears and he realised that he wasn’t just any asshole, Ryan was a selfish asshole who’d hurt his best friend because he was scared. He slid closer to Spencer, who didn’t notice in his current emotional state. “And forget about me, what about my mom, Ryan? What did you think - you’ll leave and she won’t worry? She won’t spend days waiting to hear something about you? And just ’cause Brendon acted like an ass and didn’t stop you, you didn’t think of calling me up, huh? What the hell were you even thinking!”  Spencer paused to take a breath and Ryan slid even closer. “Do you have any idea how scared I was? Do you?!” Spencer was crying by then, and Ryan lifted his arm and slipped under it, hugging Spencer tight. They sat there on the couch, limbs tangled together like each was afraid the other would leave. Ryan told Spencer about everything that had happened from the moment he stepped foot on the bus to the contract. Spencer’s eyes narrowed when he told he was going to model for Pete, even though he had no idea what to do, but Spencer just nodded for him to continue and didn’t say anything. Spencer told him about his last year at school. How much he’d missed Ryan at his graduation, how he didn’t see Brendon much anymore (which did make Ryan feel bad because even though Brendon hadn’t been there for very long, he was still their friend, or Spencer’s friend. He didn’t say anything though. Spencer had always proven to have more brains than Ryan did and if he didn’t want to talk to Brendon then Ryan couldn’t make him). By the time Pete arrived home, Spencer had fallen asleep on the couch and Ryan was sitting on the floor, playing with Hemmingway. He waited for Pete to react to a stranger in their apartment, but what he wasn’t expecting was for Pete to say, “Oh, good, he’s here.” Ryan dropped the chew toy he was teasing Hemmy with, who grabbed it and ran away before Ryan could pick it up again. “Wait. What? How do you even- what?” Ryan was pretty sure that the only time he’d talked about Spencer was that day at the bus station, never after that, and yeah, Pete had heard his phone ring but he’d never asked who it was and Ryan never talked about it. Pete grinned and answered “It was fuckin’ annoying, man, the way your phone rang all the time. So I answered it one day.” Ryan was still just staring at him, finally moving when a pillow collided with his head.  “Stop spazzing out. He picked up the phone and I yelled at him until he told me he wasn’t you,” Spencer said, sitting up and stretching. “Then I yelled at him again because you’re basically living with a stranger.” He gave Ryan a very pointed look when Ryan tried to say something. “And then he told me the address and here I am.” Ryan just got up and hugged Spencer and then Pete. He would have hugged Hemmy too, but when Ryan went near him, Hemmy growled at him and ran away with his toy, while Pete and Spencer laughed in the background. Ryan still wasn’t sure how Spencer actually came to be his manager. One moment Spencer was lounging about their living room, watching daytime TV, and the next he was with Pete and Ryan in Gabe’s office, introducing himself as Ryan’s manager. When Gabe looked at him, Ryan just shrugged and sat down. If Spencer wanted to be his manager, then Ryan wasn’t going to stop him. Besides, and he’ll never admit this, he was really worried about what Spencer would do in L.A. and whether lack of work would make him decide to go back. Now he doesn’t really have to worry about anything. He tunes out of their conversation, which is now more along the lines of Gabe trying to find out whether Spencer has a boyfriend and Spencer being confused over whether he should be annoyed and amused at Gabe. Ryan can sympathise with him, Gabe Saporta is an acquired taste, one meeting isn’t enough to get used to him. It’s only when he’s busy tracing the massive mural of a Cobra wearing sunglasses and too much bling for a reptile, with his eyes that he realises the office is too quiet. He looks back down around him to see Gabe staring at him from across the table. Ryan sits up straight hurriedly, looking around the room for Spencer and Pete, who were there just minutes ago; atleast, that’s what he thinks. “Like what you see?” Gabe asked, smirking while still staring at Ryan, who rolled his eyes and slumped back down on chair. “It’s clearly very unique.” Ryan replied, not really sure if he was allowed to openly mock Gabe Saporta now or if Pete would still throw a hissy fit if he found out. Gabe merely chuckled and took a sip from a mug on the table. “The artist is the brother of a very famous model, one associated with Starship for quite a few years now. I had to beg him to do it for me, snakes aren’t really his style; he’s more of a zombies guy.” Before Ryan could think of a way to respond to that, Gabe continued, “So, are you ready for your first show?” Ryan closed his mouth and thought about it; he was going to be in his first ever fashion in a few weeks, Clandestine’s official launch announcement for Cobra Starship. From what he’d made out, the few times he had paid attention to the people talking around him; it was going to be a huge event, Pete and Gabe had a lot of things planned out. Ryan wondered why he wasn’t nervous, it’s not like he’d ever walked on an actual ramp in front of other people before, but somehow he didn’t think there was anything to be nervous about, how difficult was it to walk in a straight line? Ryan found out exactly how tough it was to be a model within the next few days. The first time Ryan met Travie McCoy, he was speechless for a minute, understandably star struck. Travie was one of the original models that had started their career with Cobra Starship and he’d later also launched his career as a designer with Starship, with his own label, Stereo Hearts under the Starship banner. Why Gabe asked Travie to come in and help Ryan was something he didn’t understand but Ryan didn’t question it, he was getting to work with a legend of sorts and he would be an idiot to have a problem with it. Of course, after a week of “training” Ryan had had enough of the legend. It had been a week filled with stand straighter and what’s wrong with your hair? and countless other things because apparently everything was wrong with Ryan and he could do nothing right. It didn’t help that most of the time his sessions with Travie would have an audience of Starship staff members and it’s really to concentrate on walking straight when you have Vicky-T staring at you; who was another Starship oldie, having helped Gabe launch the fashion house. After one such session, about 2 weeks after he’d first met Travie, Ryan stormed out of the building that was home to the fashion house, slamming the large purple door behind him; there’s only so much criticism he could take in a day. He had been so busy trying to get away from the building, he actually hadn’t put it past Travie to chase him down and drag him back, that he’d bumped right into someone. They barely managed to stay upright, holding onto each other for support. “I’m so sorry!” Ryan said, helping the other guy straighten up, registering that the man was as tall as he was; infact they were both quite similar in appearance, tall and thin, except the other guy wore glasses and had brilliant light brown eyes. “Dude, it’s okay, no harm done,” The other guy smiled, fixing his glasses, “Are you okay?” Ryan ran his hand through his hair, and even though he knew that the guy was most probably asking only to be polite, he replied, “No. Not really.” Ryan kind of expected the man to leave after that, instead the other guy smiled slightly, as if he understood, and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Mikey. How about we take a walk?” Not really having anything to loose, Ryan shrugged and shook Mikey’s hand. Four hours and a coffee run later Ryan was convinced that Mikey Way was God’s gift to him. Not only did he listen to Ryan rant continuously for an hour about everything that was fucked up about Starship and Travie McCoy but, he also managed to convince Ryan that quitting really wouldn’t help him at all. Mikey also managed to convince Gabe to let him take Ryan’s sessions with Travie, because if there was one person Gabe Saporta listened to without hesitation, it was Mikey Way. Ryan was pretty sure there wasn’t anything “romantic” going on between the two of them, but Gabe clearly held Mikey in great respect. Over the month and even after the Clandestine launch show, which went surprisingly well according to Ryan, Mikey and Ryan became close friends, trying to hang out as often as they could. Mikey was Ryan’s first proper contact into the world of models and he found he really did enjoy going out every night and meeting new people, even though Spencer openly disapproved; it was only because Pete saw no harm in it and saw it as a chance for Ryan to find himself some new friends, that Ryan was able to escape Spencer’s lecture. He got where Spencer was coming from, Ryan had never really been the partying kind of guy in Vegas but Spencer should have known that even though that might have changed now Ryan would still never break his promise to himself; no matter how parties or clubs he went to, Ryan never had a single drop of alcohol. One of Ryan’s favourite places to go to was a very exclusive club called Sliver, though he’d never been there without Mikey. He’s pretty sure that if he hadn’t known Mikey, he would have never gotten to know about that place, with how secluded and members only it was; and that’s what made it even more special in Ryan’s head. His first time there, he had been over awed by the sheer feeling of superiority that hung over everyone’s head in the club. Every single person there knew they were something special and at that moment Ryan realised that this was what he’d been waiting to feel like his entire life. He met loads of new people thanks to Mikey, who along with being one of the main faces of Starship was also associated with many other high profile brands, a minor celebrity above the other’s that stood around him. There was Aidan Turner, model turned actor who made Ryan feel like his knees had turned to jelly with when he found himself the focus of those smouldering eyes; Ryan would have counted the squeak that made its way past his throat when Aidan spoke to him as the most embarrassing moment of his life, ever had he not run into Ray Toro the next night. Ryan had been standing at the bar, talking to Bob, the bartender, who was more than happy to keep Ryan supplied with soda all night, when he’d felt someone come and stand next to him. Ryan had turned out of natural curiosity to see who it was and had then proceeded to spill his drink all over the one and only face (or hair) of L’Oreal, Ray Toro. He’d then proceeded to try and help Ray wipe the spilt soda off his clothes, all the while alternating between apologising and telling how awesome he thought his hair was and how Ryan had one thought of getting a fro just because of him. He’s pretty sure if Mikey hadn’t dragged him away in time Ray would have punched him. It had taken some time but as people had started recognising him more as Ryan Ross, and less as the boy who was the face of Clandestine, he found people acting all embarrassed around him, instead of it being the other way round. And though it had shocked him a little at the beginning, slowly he stopped thinking of himself as Ryan Ross, runaway from Vegas and more as Ryan Ross, the model every designer wanted. The first time Ryan went to Sliver alone was a week before his 21^th birthday. He’d woken up that day feeling strangely excited, a novel feeling because birthday’s had never meant much before. But last year his birthday had been made into a special day and he was excited to see what would happen this year. He checked his phone before he got out of bed and on seeing no phone calls from anybody, just Spencer’s daily reminders, he could feel his good mood slipping away.  It was while having a bath that he decided he needed to stop acting like a baby; he was an adult now and he could drink legally now (not that he wanted to). Besides, Spencer and Pete didn’t owe him all their time or anything. And it’s not that he didn’t want to spend time with Spencer and Pete anymore, it’s just that they hardly had time for him now. Both were happy with their lives and boyfriends and Ryan was happy for them. Spencer had met Jon in the most clichéd fashion ever, they literally ran into each other while jogging in the park and early morning collisions led to coffee dates which led to Spencer moving in with Jon a few months later. Ryan and Pete had moved out of the old 2 bedroom apartment about a month after Clandestine’s launch show and while Pete had wanted Ryan to move in with him again, Ryan could already tell that Pete was getting close to Patrick Stump, an extremely talented upcoming musician who Pete had met while designing clothes for one of his music videos. He could see that Patrick would be good for Pete, grounding him when he would get too wrapped up in work and Pete would be the relaxing factor in Patrick’s life. Ryan hardly wanted to come in the way of that, so he’d politely declined and ignored Pete’s pouting to move into his own house. Spencer and Pete had lives separate from his and it was time he found himself some new friends. He stood in front of the full length mirror in his closet for some time, staring at himself and wondering why people even wanted to get him to model their clothes. There were hundreds of people like him all over the city and yet here he was, standing in a closet full of clothes that he’d worn and showcased for the world, some designed keeping him specifically in mind. Ryan shook his head and grabbed a random outfit. He needed to get out of the house. Maybe find some new friends. He decided to not call Mikey, Pete or the others; he wasn’t a kid, he could go out alone. That night was the first time Ryan Ross met Brian Molko. Of course he’d heard of Brian Molko - who hadn’t? Rockstar, part-time designer, part-time model – the man fucking dabbled in everything. But even though Ryan had been in L.A. for almost two years now, he still hadn’t gotten a chance to meet the fabled Molko. It was all pure luck, as it happened, that Ryan was sitting at the bar and talking to Bob around the same time that Brian decided he needed a drink or two. Ryan wasn’t drinking. He liked talking to Bob, who’d sneak him snacks and soda, and he only liked coming to Sliver because he found the ambience fascinating. Velvet armchairs and flashing neon lights, it was everything he loved – worlds colliding. That night he’d already ran into Mikey dancing with some guy called Joel on the dance floor and even from the bar he could see Ray Toro’s ’fro standing out over the crowd. He really wanted to go and talk to Ray again, but he’d embarrassed himself the last time, and he sank back down into his seat a little. He was trying to build a boat using his napkin when someone sidled up next to him and asked him to dance. It wasn’t the first time that night that someone had approached him and Ryan had turned to say no when his voice caught in his throat. Brian Molko. He recognised him instantly but obviously Molko didn’t know who he was, and Ryan almost melted under the gaze that was trained on him. Dark, smoky eyes, and before he knew it, Ryan said yes and he was dancing with Molko, right in the centre of the floor, the location he hated the most. But at that moment, with their bodies grinding together and Molko’s hands firm on his hips, Ryan didn’t care about anything else. Ever since Tom left he hadn’t really gotten close to anybody, but this? This felt good. It made him feel wanted - lusted over, if the way Brian was staring at him was any kind of indication. That night Ryan went home with Brian Molko. They didn’t really exchange numbers or anything - Ryan left early the next day; he had a shoot and Spencer had already called him up twice to bitch at him for still being in bed. He spent the whole day feeling wound up, like last night was just a preview trailer of a movie and he needed more. When Spencer made a remark about the dark circles under Ryan’s eyes, he snapped at him and told him that he wasn’t a kid and he would appreciate not being treated like one. He went back to Sliver after the shoot, hoping to run into Brian again and wasn’t disappointed when he found him lounging at the bar, ignoring the looks that Bob was shooting him. When Ryan went up to Brian and got pulled into an embrace way too indecent for public eyes, he was too busy enjoying it and missed the glance Bob gave him. When this continued for the next four nights, Bob finally pulled him aside to talk to him about Brian, but only halfway into the warning Ryan yanked his arm away and told Bob the same thing he told Spencer. He wasn’t a kid and he was most certainly capable of handling himself. On the day of his birthday he woke up excited, not even annoyed with the photo shoots and meetings he had lined up that day; he had lunch with Spencer, Jon, Pete and Patrick, all of them bringing him gifts, and he was overjoyed at getting to spend time with his friends again. He thought they’d be spending the rest of the day together, but first Pete and Patrick left to work on Patrick’s new show and then Jon said he had to get back to the studio. Ryan had thought that at least Spencer would stay with him, but apparently Spencer was still pissed about Ryan being snarky all week and he told him that there was a lot of work to do regarding the upcoming fashion week, so Ryan was left alone at the table with his gifts. That night was the first time he tried coke with Brian Molko. It wasn’t anything exciting, and he hadn’t planned on it, it just happened. He was lazing around on Brian’s bed, telling him about his day when Brian asked him why he was so tense. That was when everything came out and the next thing he knew, Brian was making little straight lines of a white powder on the table in the living room, and Ryan was bending down with rolled up $100 bill in his hand. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced and when Brian, who was undressing at the foot of the bed, smiled back lazily at him Ryan heard a voice in his head say, this is where I belong. He tried it again the next night, and then the one after, till it got to the point where Brian would automatically cut out lines for him.  It became routine after that, work during the day – pose and pout – and at night he’d be with Brian. Once or twice Spencer or Pete would invite him to come over but Ryan would just shake his head and smile, thinking of Brian. When they’d ask him to at least introduce them to his boyfriend, Ryan would repeat the action; he knew that Brian wasn’t serious and wouldn’t last, even though they did spend almost every night together, but surprisingly it didn’t matter much to him. This was what he’d wanted for so long and didn’t even know about. There was no emotional ties, no dependencies - just pure and simple exchange of goods, though he wasn’t really clear when his one night stand turned into fucking in exchange for drugs. But, as far Ryan was concerned, it was a win-win situation; he got to spend his nights with Brian Molko, who was ridiculously hot and he didn’t have to go out into the streets and look for a dealer. Two months after meeting Molko and Ryan was a regular at Sliver, though he hardly saw Bob these days. He was too busy being a part of the dance floor crowd, being jostled from side to side, with no concept of space or reality existing in that little bubble. He laughed more, he danced more and Brian certainly seemed happy with him. He thought his life would be perfect if everyone else would just get off his case. He didn’t need Spencer’s constant reminders or Pete bugging him about coming over for movie night. Didn’t they get it? He was happy here. Ryan never intended for Spencer, or anybody else for that matter, to find out about his little addiction. Though how he would manage to keep it from people around him was something that would keep him up some nights. But Spencer walking in on him doing lines was really not something he’d ever imagined, or wanted. For a minute everything had seemed to freeze, with both of them staring at each other, before Spencer started shouting while Ryan sat back on his couch and looked around the room. He wished he’d managed to do at least a line before Spencer had interrupted him because that way he would have been able to tolerate his best friend declaring him a disappointment. It almost made him feel nostalgic for a minute, it had been years since someone had called him a disappointment. By the time Spencer got to the part where he ‘was ruining his life’, Ryan had had enough, and decided it was time he maybe added to his two cents to the conversation too. He wasn’t proud of what he said that day. With the craving setting in, he said things that he thought would make Spencer leave faster. He needed a hit, and Spencer being there was stopping it from happening. He wasn’t sure of the things he said, but when he heard himself saying, “Get the fuck out of my house and my life, Spencer!!” and the door slam behind his best friend, for the first time in months Ryan felt like he’d messed up big time. Though even that didn’t stop him from getting back to what he’d been doing before he had been interrupted. He waited for Spencer to reply to his texts and messages for a week, and when he tried calling his number, he found it switched off. He only found out that Spencer wasn’t in the country through one of Jon’s fan sites. The week after that he spent all his time with Brian, only leaving the house to attend Mikey’s brother’s art show. Mikey knew about him and Brian, of course he would with the media all over the two of them and even though Ryan would often try to avoid meeting Mikey know, somehow he could never bring himself to say to Mikey Way. When he left the house the night of that art show, he didn’t know it would be the night he’d finally decide to fix himself. William Beckett liked all his friends in general. He was a fun guy to be with and having been in a band meant that he’d gotten to tour and travel with loads of other people that he’d ended up getting close to. So yeah, William had a lot of friends and he liked all of them. Except now, as he followed his so-called best friend through a big metallic doorway to a club that looked like any other, William wasn’t really sure how fond he was of his best friend any more. “Mike, man, c’mon,” William shouted in the ear of the man walking in front of him. He was tempted to turn around and just leave, but Mike already had a hold of William’s hand, despite his attempts to tug it free. “You need to stop moping.” Mike turned and William could see he wasn’t joking around now. “Look Bill, I love you man, but you need to get a grip on yourself. I was in the band too and yeah, it sucks. But you need to move on now and realise that it’s not all about you! It’s over and I’m hurting too so maybe if you’ll cooperate a little with me here…” And, yeah, William Beckett was a shitty friend.  It was so easy for him to forget that he wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by the band breaking up, or “taking a break”, Mike had been equally hurt. On days when William was feeling a little less resentful he would also accept that the others were also hurt by what had happened, but then he’d remember that it had been their decision, they had been the ones to come up to William and say that they wanted to do their own thing for some time and apparently that own thing didn’t include William. He didn’t know if they’d ask Mike to join them or not; he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He sighed and said, “Lead the way.” He knew Mike would take it for the apology it was meant to be. He tried not to let the bodies bumping into him with each step get to him, or the loud music or the strobe lighting that would leave him blind. He’d forgotten that this would be hard on Mike too and he’d been so busy trying to drown in his own pool of misery that he hadn’t noticed that there were others there with him too. He looked around the dance floor as Mike ordered drinks for both of them; he seemed to know the bartender. William looked at the mass of writhing bodies on the floor with disinterest. But the scene calmed him a little. It was a lot like a mosh pit - bodies pushing each other wildly with no rhythm or reason; people lost in the moment. He turned around as he heard his name mentioned when Mike introduced him to the bartender, Bob. “So, first time?” Bob asked, while simultaneously juggling glasses and bottles around and William briefly entertained the idea of becoming a barkeeper. He did need a new profession now. He smiled and took the drink Bob was holding out to him, nodding his answer. When Bob moved onto the next customer Mike turned to him and said, “See anyone you like?” gesturing towards the floor with his beer bottle. William rolled his eyes and sat down on the bar stool that had just been vacated; truth be told, he planned on not leaving this seat at all. “Not really, but feel free to ditch me anytime to get turned down by whoever you try to hit on.” William laughed and had to twist sideways on the stool to escape Mike’s kicks. His laughter died in his throat when he caught sight of who was standing next to him. In the bright, flashing lights of the club William caught glimpses of the tall, lean body standing next to his stool, leaning against the bar and totally oblivious to the fact that William was staring at him. He was thin, enough that William could see his hip bones through the skin tight blue V neck that he was wearing, and William wanted to reach out and touch them, to see if this body next to his was real. Pale white skin stood out in sharp relief to brown hair that fell over his face, and it was long enough to brush his shoulders that were sharp and hunched over; William wanted to smooth his hands over them, make him relax. He could see that the other boy was talking, saying something to whoever was standing next to him but he couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in his ears, concentrating on the way boy gestured with his hands as he talked, his long elegant fingers moving through the air with each movement and William wanted to grab hold of a hand and never let go, entwine those fingers with his and hold on tight. He kept staring till the lithe body got swallowed by the mass on the dance floor and he longed to keep looking but someone blocked his vision and he glanced up to see Mike standing in front of him, with a smirk on his face. “Who are you staring it?” he asked. William scowled and tried to look at the dance floor from around Mike but the fucker kept blocking his vision. “What?!” he snapped, peering up to see Mike laughing. William wanted to throw his glass at him but he still had more than half the glass left. “I get it man. Fucking models.” Mike patted his head and this time William kicked him. “Huh?” William asked, still too focused on the dance floor and trying to catch a glimpse of that body again to be listening properly. “Models. This place is like their hub, I told you! Why the fuck do you think I wanted to come here?” Mike scoffed and moved to get himself another beer. William remembered it now, Mike’s declaration that he was going to drown himself in one night stands till he could function normally again without moping like William (which was incorrect because William didn’t mope; he was simply musing over past years. (Yeah, he didn’t believe it either.)). But William didn’t want a one night stand and he knew this was crazy because chances are that he was never going to see that guy again (which made something in him hurt); he had no idea who that guy was, what his name was - anything at all, but he knew that he wanted to be the one to make him smile, remove that hunch from those shoulders. Anything would work as long as William could be near him in any way at all but not as a one night stand. He left within an hour that night, leaving Mike, who was busy chatting someone up and didn’t even pay attention to William as he left. He waved to Bob who was busy talking to his co worker with a frown on his face and walked out the door, glad to be out of the smoke-filled club interior. That night he dreamt of a body beneath his; skin shining in the moonlight, dark hair spread out over a pillow and framing a pale face. He couldn’t see the eyes and he wanted to brush the hair off that face to see the pleasure in those eyes but that would mean letting go of the wrists he was holding onto tightly, anchoring himself over that body that seemed so fragile but was pushing back towards him with equal force, long elegant fingers trying to grip the sheets tightly as they moved together. Just as William bent down to steal a kiss from the mouth below his he woke with a start, sitting up in bed, sweaty, panting, and disappointed to see that it all been a dream. If William went back to the club the next night it was only to keep Mike company, who seemed to have had good luck the previous night and wanted to try again. He spent the entire night sitting firmly on a bar stool, talking with Bob whenever he had a free moment and staring at the dance floor whenever Bob was busy. He thought about asking Bob about the man he’d seen yesterday but what would he say? “Hey Bob, so I saw this really hot guy here yesterday, he was tall and thin and just wow! Do you any idea who he could be?” That was like describing almost everybody present in the club at any moment. Not that that description even did the man any justice, but William was pretty sure if he started going on about how ethereal this guy was Bob would probably cut off his drinks. So William just sat tight, drinking and keeping his fingers crossed, hoping he could at least catch a glimpse of that person again. He went there every night for the next two weeks, sometimes even without Mike. It was on his fifteenth day that luck finally shined on William, in a manner of speaking. He was in his spot - Bob actually saved it for him every day, and William was pretty sure that Bob was his new best friend, mostly because he hadn’t heard from Mike in a week. They were sitting at the bar talking when Bob’s co-worker, Jepha, walked up to him and said, “Molko’s here.” William had no idea who this Molko guy was but judging from the expression on Jepha’s face and the rage spreading across Bob’s face William could only guess that he was bad news. “Fuckin’ Molko. Did he get to Ryan?” Bob asked as he almost threw down the bottle of vodka he’d been handling and moved to get to the front of the counter which surprised William, because he’d never seen Bob leave the bar before. William waited at the bar for an hour and by the time he left Bob still hadn’t come back. He didn’t go back to the club after that; he was already being pathetic for spending two weeks waiting to catch a glimpse of a stranger he’d seen there. There was hardly any chance he’d see the guy again. Two months after the band had decided to take break, William finally decided that he’d had enough and started looking for things he could do now. Things he’d always wanted to try but months of touring and recording left him with no time or energy to do so. He started attending painting classes at the craft centre near his house, going early in the morning when the least number of people were present; he didn’t want to run into anyone who might recognise him. William knew it was impossible to try and spend the rest of his life acting like he wasn’t famous but he wanted to at least try. He found he liked painting, and decided to buy the proper materials and equipment. While at the store he ran into that designer who loved zombies a little too much, Gerard Way, who recognised William, and they started talking about painting and how William was just starting out but he really liked it. Gerard offered to show him around his studio sometime in case William was interested in learning some more painting techniques. William didn’t really have anything to do and Gerard seemed genuinely interested in helping him out so he agreed and spent the afternoon browsing through Gerard’s works on his website, finding that he really liked his artwork, even if it was a little dark. Gerard Way was apparently quite a well known name in the art and music world, having been in a band before deciding to leave music to focus on his art and fashion, which he explained to William in quite detail, gave him the opportunity to express his thoughts on the apathy surrounding them using different mediums. He lived in Vegas, but spent quite a lot of time in L.A. because of his work and frequent art showings, but, he hastened to inform William, Vegas was where his heart resided and L.A. was just a sad necessity if he wanted the world to see his creations; also, his brother lived in L.A. They established a schedule and William found that he was actually content with his life, for now. He knew that there was no way he could spend the rest of his life painting, but it was a welcome break, and one that he really needed. And when Gerard held a showing of his art, William took Mike along with him, who brought a date - Tom the photographer, who Mike met at that club. William hadn’t forgotten about that man; he still had the same dream almost every night. They arrived a little early, which is what William wanted; that way he can admire the paintings without too many people around the place. Gerard was there and he introduced William to his boyfriend, who hugged William and started talking about how talented Gerard was, which William totally agreed with. Gerard turned bright red and pulled Frank away from William and his friends, Frank inviting William over for dinner the next week as he was led away. William got separated from Mike and Tom within minutes of arriving at the gallery and he spent his time leisurely at each painting, recognising some from the studio where Gerard had started teaching him. By the time he had done a round of each painting, the gallery had started filling up, with people standing around in groups, talking and admiring the paintings. William was thinking about calling up Mike to ask him where he was when Gerard materialised at his elbow with a tall, thin man beside him who he introduced as his brother Mikey. William didn’t miss the look Gerard gave his brother before leaving them alone and he inwardly cringed at how awkward the entire situation could get when Mikey rolled his eyes at Gerard’s retreating back. William laughed at the look Mikey was giving his brother and Mikey smiled at him, saying, “Sorry about that. Gerard isn’t really the definition of subtle. He keeps thinking he needs to set me up with someone just ’cause he’s found Frankie.” Once they got talking William found he really enjoyed Mikey’s company. He found that Mikey was a model, which surprised him a little because Mikey had none of the bitchy attitude that people generally associated with those of his profession. They were in the middle of a long discussion about The Smiths when Mikey’s phone rang and he went out to attend the call. William decided to go look for the restroom till Mikey came back; he’d had one too many glasses of champagne. After looking for about fifteen minutes he finally asked a waiter, who sent him in the right direction. William didn’t hear it at first; it was only as he was leaving that he heard the small whimpers coming from one of the stalls. “Hello?” he called out, waiting for a reply to see if there really was someone in the restroom besides him. Then he heard it again, more whimpering and a small gasp as if someone was in great pain. William walked towards the only cubicle that seemed to be occupied. He knocked first and said, “I’m coming in.” Before he tried pushing the door, however, it swung open easily and William was met with a sight that knocked the breath out of him. There, lying propped up against the wall, was the person who’d been haunting his dreams for the past month. But that wasn’t what made William feel like he couldn’t breathe; it was the fact that the man (though he looked more like a boy), was almost unconscious, his clothes and hair messed up and one hand wrapped around his stomach as if he was pain. With a start William realised that maybe he was. He bent down so that his face with level with the boy’s and gently brought a hand forward to touch his sunken cheek, his bones standing out in sharp contrast. Fuck, what the hell had happened in a month? But maybe he was already like this when William saw him, the club lights making him look ethereal and nothing like the mess he was now. “Hey, I need you to tell me what’s wrong, okay, that’s the only way I can help you out,” William said in as calm a voice he could manage, even though his hands were shaking. The boy opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the harsh lights. He groaned and tightened his arm around his stomach. William tried not to focus on how beautiful his eyes were. Instead he gently shook the boy’s arm and asked again, “Are you hurt?” He saw the boy shake his head and okay, he relaxed a little; at least he wasn’t hurt. Now he just had to figure out what was wrong. He checked the boy’s pockets for a phone or anything he could use to identify him, but there was nothing he could find and William didn’t know what to do. He realised that he needed some help here and was getting up to go and find someone - Mikey, Gerard, anybody at all - when long fingers grabbed his wrist in a weak hold. “No, please,” the boy gasped, his voice rough, “help me, please.” “Okay, okay, don’t worry. Can you stand? I’ll help you.”  Once the boy nodded, William wrapped his arm around the boy’s shoulders, while his other hand held onto a thin hand. “On three, okay? One… Two… Three.” He stood, pulling that thin, weak body up with him. As soon as the boy was standing he leaned against William, who supported his body easily; the boy weighed almost nothing. With one hand he steered the two of them out of the cubicle and with the other he pulled his phone out of his pocket, calling up Mike and telling him to get the restrooms. By the time William managed to get the two of them out of the restroom and into the corridor he saw Mike walking down the other end of the corridor, Tom behind him. He was getting ready to explain the situation to Mike when Tom exclaimed, “Ryan?” William watched warily as Tom moved past Mike to come and stand next to William, one hand reaching out to steady the boy when he looked like he was about to fall. “Fuck, Ryan,” Tom said, raising his other hand to tilt the boy’s – Ryan’s – face forward from where it was rolling back onto the wall. “What the hell happened?” Tom rounded on William, not letting go of Ryan. Mike stepped closer to William when he heard the anger in Tom’s voice, which surprised William too; he’d never seen Tom angry and judging by Mike’s reaction, neither had he. “I don’t know!” William ran his hands through his hair. “He was lying in a cubicle, I was about to get help when he started panicking so I got him out here and called you guys up.” Ryan gave a small whimper and three heads turned to see what was wrong. William saw Ryan open his eyes and blink at the people around him, confusion clear on his face till his gaze landed on Tom. Ryan’s hold on his wrist tightened. “Tom?” he whispered, terror clear in his eyes, and William wanted to step in and hold onto Ryan tight, making sure he never got that look on his face again. “Hey, Ry,” Tom said softly; he hadn’t let go of Ryan. Neither of them were ready for Ryan to try and squirm out of their hold. He wasn’t strong enough to really get away, but he was trying with all his might, saying, “No, no, Tom, go away, no, can’t see me like this, go away, go away! Go aw-” William felt time stop for a minute as he saw Ryan go still and fall, like there was no more life left in him. He was aware of his arms coming up to catch Ryan as he fell and it was only when he felt Ryan’s breath on his cheek that he could relax a little. Ryan had fainted, the exertion of trying to get away clearly too much for him. William rearranged his arms, holding onto Ryan tightly so that he wouldn’t fall. He looked up when he heard Tom draw in a shuddery breath. He was pale, holding onto Mike’s arm and looking like he was close to tears. “Tom, do you know anyone we can contact?” William asked, keeping his voice calm. He wanted to freak out too but somehow he didn’t Mike would be able to take care of everyone at once. It took Tom a minute to think. William kept his gaze on Ryan’s chest, making sure he was still breathing, which was when he saw the track marks on Ryan’s arm that was hanging limply. Fuck, fuck. This was bad - worse than William had imagined, but at least the marks didn’t look new so Ryan wasn’t high right now. He looked up when Tom said his name. “I don’t… I think I have Pete’s number but it might have changed. We, it’s been years.” Tom stared at Ryan’s face tucked against William’s neck. “I’ll try looking for it. Or I can try Clandestine’s office, they’ll get me in touch with Pete.” William had no idea who Pete was, though he did know Clandestine. He nodded. “Okay, you do that. I think, I think I should take him home. He doesn’t look to be in danger or harmed in any way.” William glanced at Ryan’s arm again, Tom and Mike following his gaze. “I think he’s just drunk right now. He can sleep it off at my house and when he wakes up in the morning we can figure it out then.” Tom looked like he wanted to protest but Mike placed a restraining hand on his arm and Tom stepped back. William shot Mike a grateful smile; there was no way he was letting Ryan out of his sight tonight. The thing was that William was a selfish guy, and he knew that. Heck, he knew that and he had still never made an effort to change because somehow people around him got used to it and no one ever called him on it. Except for the band, of course, and look where that brought him now. But for the first time in his life he was worried for someone other than himself; he wanted to take care of someone other himself and it was a new feeling - and a little terrifying - but William wasn’tgoing to fight it. Mike and Tom help him get Ryan back to his house and wait until he’d gotten Ryan on the bed. He left the covers where they were in case Ryan needed to throw up; that’d just slow him down. He closed the bedroom door halfway, just enough that he could hear if Ryan called out but that the light from the living room wouldn’t disturb the unconscious man. Mike and Tom were sitting at the table waiting for him, three cups of coffee in front of them, and William didn’t think that he’d ever appreciated his best friend so much before. Tom was on the phone talking to someone in a low voice, and William hoped he was able to get in touch with Ryan’s family or friends - anybody. Ryan needed help - help that William wanted to give him, but he was just a random guy who helped Ryan after a bad spell; what he needed was his family. William and Mike drank their coffee in silence, waiting for Tom to get off the phone. William kept an ear out for any sounds from his bedroom. He’d dealt with this before - he’d been drunk out of his mind and he’d handled drunken bandmates, but he’d never tried anything more hard core than alcohol and he was feeling out of his depth here. He was about to ask Mike if he wanted something to eat when Tom finally put down his phone and sighed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “So, I tried contacting Pete but his number has changed I guess, and when I called the office to see if I could get in touch with someone who knew Ryan they told me I could contact his manager, but he’s in Paris at the moment.” Tom grabbed his coffee and downed half of it in one go. William understood how he was most likely feeling. “Okay, so we wait till the morning and when Ryan wakes up we can figure out what to do?” William asked the two of them. Mike looked at Tom, waiting to see what he thought. Tom nodded and ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck man, he wasn’t like this before. When we – when I knew him. He wasn’t like this at all.” He sounded scared and William wanted to comfort him but he didn’t know how because he didn’t know what Ryan was like. He stood up and put the empty coffee mugs in the sink. “You guys should go home and rest,” he said. When Mike looked like he’d protest, William threw a pointed look in Tom’s direction. It was clear that this was affecting Tom more than them, and Mike needed to talk to Tom and reassure him. “I’m pretty sure he’s going to be out till morning, so be back here before nine and get breakfast.” Mike stared at him for a minute and William stared back. He wanted to ask Mike to stay because he was scared, but he thought that he was done being selfish for now. Mike eventually nodded and stood up, placing a hand on Tom’s arm to grab his attention. Tom glanced up at the two of them and William gave him a small smile. Finally Tom rose to his feet and held on tight to Mike’s hand. “Take care of him, please,” Tom whispered to William before he and Mike left. William hugged him and said, “Of course.” Once they’d gone William grabbed the extra blanket from the guest room and curled up on the chair facing his bed. He didn’t think he could sleep tonight. Ryan woke up to a feeling that he was quite used to by now - pain in every muscle and joint that was hot and flaring each time he tried to move. He groaned and tried to stretch, only to give up halfway through extending his limbs when the burning got too much. He didn’t want to open his eyes - he knew that’d just make his eyes hurt too, and he was happy that at least one part of his body was pain free. But the bed he was lying on felt nothing like his, and Ryan knew that he should check who he went home with last night. But because of all the pain, he couldn’t even tell if he did anything last night or just crashed at someone’s house. When he managed to open his eyes (after many tries; each time cursing the faint sunlight coming in through the window) he realised that yes, he wasn’t at home. In fact, he didn’t think he’d been here before - some rooms he had become familiar with now; he could tell when he was with Brian just by the feel of the sheets. He would try and sit up to have a better look around but his head already felt like it was spinning and he didn’t want to try and tempt fate.  So he lay there on the bed and just looked around him, turning his head on the pillow, and he liked what he could see of the room. He was admiring the painting hanging on the opposite wall when he heard someone say, “Hey.” Ryan couldn’t see who it was from where he was positioned so he tried to sit up. Of course that was when his head started spinning even more, and he tried to apologise beforehand but it got lost somewhere when he threw up over the side of the bed. The person said, “Oh, shit. Here, wait, I’ll get you some water.” And Ryan really wanted to apologise but he’d gotten used to vomiting in random people’s houses in the morning, so he remained hunched over the side of the bed in case he needed to puke again. A few minutes later he felt a hand on his back and he jerked, head spinning violently again, resulting in him emptying his stomach again. “Sorry, sorry. Shit, here drink this. It’ll help.” Ryan felt a hand helping him sit up and he grabbed the glass of water thankfully, finishing it in one gulp. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up to see the man walk out the bedroom. It took him some time, but Ryan managed to stand up, holding onto the wall for support. He needed to leave; he never stayed in the mornings, unless he was with Brian. Just as he was wondering if he could leave without his shoes because bending over seemed like a really tough task right now, he heard footsteps and the same man say, “Hey, hey, I think you should sit down,” while a hand comes up to steady him. Ryan was about to say no thanks, I’m leaving when he raised his head to see the who was so reluctant to part with his company and his mouth dropped open in shock. He was pretty sure he would have fallen down if William fucking Beckett hadn’t already been holding onto him. He was too shocked right now to even mentally fangirl at the thought that his favourite musician (that sort of covers the whole bases) ever was touching him. William Beckett (oh my god!) was about to help him back onto the bed when he stopped and wrinkled, his nose and Ryan realised that he just threw up in William Beckett’s bedroom. He was about to apologise when William steered him away from the bed, towards another door. “Maybe you should have a bath. It’ll help you feel better,” he said. Ryan could only, trying not to cringe when his head thrummed. He was in William Beckett’s bathroom and he was pretty sure he was blushing like crazy now (somewhere a voice in his head said what about Brian? Ryan stamped that voice down, though.). Ryan leant against the wall and nodded as William showed him the basic layout of his bathroom, told Ryan to help himself to anything he wanted and that he’d leave clothes for him on the counter. When he left, Ryan stripped as fast as he could without making his head spin. He could feel the faint pangs of need start in his belly and he couldn’t remember when he’d had his last hit. Before he could start panicking though, Ryan heard William coming back and he stepped into the shower cubicle and closed the sliding door. Ryan started the shower and leant into the spray of hot water. When he raised his hand to try and grab the shampoo he could see the track marks on his arm standing out clearly against his skin, and he was hit with the thought that maybe William Beckett saw them too. The idea made him feel dizzy, and he imagined William looking down at him with the disgust, seeing him as nothing more than the messed up druggie with his addictions and problems who could only faintly remember last night. Gerard’s show at that gallery, grabbing the pouch from Brian’s dresser before he left, the bathroom, grabbing onto a thin arm and begging to not be left alone, Tom. Ryan slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth. He was ashamed, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time - embarrassed of himself for what he’d become, and he sobbed quietly on the floor, water from the shower mixing with his tears. He didn’t know for how long he stayed there and he wasn’t aware of the shower door sliding open, so he started when he felt arms wrap around him. “Hey, shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he could hear William say in his ear. Ryan was faintly aware that he was naked, but right now it wasn’t important. He hadn’t felt so broken in a very long time and he’d never had anyone to see him like this before. William sat down onto the wet shower floor, not bothered by the fact that he was wet too now, and he wrapped a towel around Ryan while he pulled him onto his lap, keeping his arms tight around him. Ryan leant into the touch, curling himself up into William’s chest with his face buried in William’s neck, and he cried like he hadn’t in years. He cried for each time he’d hurt Spencer or Pete, he cried for each hit or shot he’d ever taken, he cried for every time he’d hurt himself and he cried for each time he’d given in to Brian. And through it all William held him tight, one hand rubbing his back while he stroked Ryan’s hair with the other, all the while talking to Ryan and telling him it was alright. Ryan cried till his eyes burned and his head was hurting again. Till he had nothing left to cry for and he’d shed tears for everything he thought he’d ever done wrong. William stayed with him, saying nothing, just holding on and offering his silent support until Ryan’s hiccupping deep breaths had turned into small sniffles, the shower still on and raining on them. William waited for Ryan to say something because it wasn’t for him to break the silence. Ryan straightened up a little and tugged the towel closer around him even though it was big enough that he was completely covered. He took a deep breath and said, “I need help.” To his credit William didn’t say “With what?” or “How am I supposed to help you?”. He just tightened his arm around Ryan and answered with, “Then we’ll get it.” And Ryan felt it become a little easier for him to breathe. He nodded and stood up, wobbling on his feet a little, but he held onto the wall for support. “I’ll be right outside, okay? You feel dizzy, weak – anything – call me,” William said, stepping out of the shower and waiting till Ryan nodded. Once he was gone Ryan dumped the now-wet towel on the floor and tried to have a bath as fast as he could. His hands were already starting to shake and he could feel the need gnawing in his stomach again, and he had to get out of here before he gave in. He couldn’t do that now. He’d broken too many promises to people he knew and maybe it was time he kept an unspoken promise to someone he didn’t know. While he was getting dressed, Ryan wondered what was making him so adamant to change this time. He’d never felt the need before - not even when Spencer had ordered him to fix his life and he’d refused; told Spencer to get out of his house, and Ryan wondered how anybody could even stand to be near him. Maybe it was because of the stupid teenage idol worship, looking up to someone who could say all the things with words that Ryan wished he could, but he was also always looking up to Spencer for being so strong for Ryan all the time (till Ryan pushed so hard he himself fell back and he couldn’t see Spencer anymore), even Pete, who was his hero once, and now Ryan couldn’t even remember the last time he’d talked to him. He’d been so busy being angry with the two of them that he’d forgotten about all the reasons why he needed, wanted them around. Somehow it was harder for him to see someone who didn’t know him being so ready to help him out, without Ryan even explicitly asking for it. He could see an eyeliner pencil on the counter but he didn’t pick it up. He just rolled up the sleeves of the sweatshirt and used his belt to keep the long jeans in place. It took him three tries to get the buckle closed, the shivers wracking his body making his fingers tremble. Ryan stared at himself in the mirror, and he didn’t see Ryan Ross, face of Clandestine looking back at him. He saw Ryan Ross, 22 year old runaway from Vegas looking back at him. William was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to be ready when Ryan stepped out of the bedroom, and he was already starting to sweat, hands clasped tightly in front of him to keep the shaking to a minimum, but he was going to fight it - he wanted to fight it. “Coffee?” William asked. He could see Ryan shaking and he knew that the withdrawal was setting in. What he didn’t know was how he was supposed to help. What he wanted to do was hug Ryan and tell him it was going to be okay but all he could do was watch Ryan fidget where he stood, looking young and vulnerable. “No, we need, I need to go - have to go, now - we need to go now before…” Ryan was waving his hands and trying to explain and he waited, he prayed for William to get it. William was watching Ryan and waiting for him to explain when he understood. Oh, need to go before it got harder for me to deny myself. Ryan breathed, relieved when William stood and said, “Okay. Yeah, do you know where?” Ryan nodded and William moved to grab his keys and phone. “Then let’s go.” Ryan Ross checked into rehab three years and five months after he first set foot in L.A. Spencer wouldn’t tell Jon this but he thought Paris was kind of boring. They’d already been everywhere that was worth going and Spencer was tired of having to repeat his order about ten times before the waiters understood it. And though he hadn’t said it, Jon still knew that he missed Ryan, and each time that thought was accompanied by the hurt that flared into existence when he remembered him asking telling him to get out of his house. They’d been there for four days already and this morning when Jon asked him if he wanted to go on some kind of cycle tour of the city, Spencer shook his head and buried back under the blankets. He was here for a fucking vacation and he’d actually like to rest a little, thank you very much, Jon. After a late breakfast in bed and an hour-long bath, Spencer finally felt like he was well rested and decided that maybe he should try and get in touch with the world he left behind (if only for a few days) so he dug out his laptop from underneath all his clothes and propped up loads of pillows for himself to relax against. Like always, Spencer first checked the fashion blogs to see if there was anything about Ryan that he would need to take care of. He got distracted by an article on Gerard’s art show and spent an hour checking out the pictures and reviews – there was a photo of Mikey laughing with that guy who was in that band that broke up recently, so Spencer sends an email to Mikey with that photo attached, adding a smiley face and question mark with it. He expected to find at least one photo of Ryan at the show and his smile faded when he could see none; there was a time when Ryan wouldn’t have missed even a single one of Gerard’s shows. Spencer switched to his personal mail account; he needed to start replying to his sister’s emails asking him about Paris. He frowned on seeing that the newest email was from the credit card company. Back when Ryan still liked Spencer’s involvement, Spencer had gotten his name added to the card because Ryan liked to buy useless and stupidly expensive things only because he had the money now. That way at least Spencer had been able to keep track of his expenses and at times, cancel them before he could end up spending thousands of dollars on a stupid stuffed armchair. He debated to just delete it without opening it - Ryan had clearly stated that Spencer had no say anymore and Ryan was, after all, older than Spencer and he should totally listen to him, but Ryan was also an asshole who couldn’t take care of himself and fuck that shit. Spencer decided he needed a cup of coffee now; too much heavy thinking before lunch made his head hurt. He clicked on the mail icon beside the email about the credit card and left the page to load - crappy hotel wi-fi - while he grabbed his coffee. By the time he returned, the page was loaded and waiting for him on the laptop screen, and Spencer took a sip of the coffee before looking at the screen, regretting it a moment later when there was coffee all over his laptop. But he didn’t care right now because what he’d just read was the thing he’d been waiting to happen for months now, almost a year since Ryan had first met Brian Molko. Jon walked in just in time to see Spencer throwing all the pillows off the bed to look for his phone, and when he asked what Spencer was looking for, Spencer just pointed him towards the laptop, which still had coffee on its screen. Within a few minutes Jon was already booking them tickets to get back and Spencer had finally found his phone behind the bed. He walked out into the balcony, holding the phone to his ear. “Pete?” Spencer was annoyed - he was really really annoyed. It had taken them two days to get their stuff in order and then another two days in London to wait for Pete and Patrick to arrive so that they could get back to the States together. Now, five days after finding out that his best friend had checked into rehab, and rushing back from another continent, he was being told that Mr. Ross was not to have any visitors and that no, I’m sorry, but being his best friend didn’t count. Spencer narrowed his eyes at the car already standing in the driveway, Pete and Jon getting out of the car after him. With Ryan away, no one was supposed to be there. He walked ahead of the other two, taking the spare keys out which he didn't need when he saw that the door was already open. "What's wrong?" Jon asked, coming up behind him. Spencer just shook his head and walked in, clenching his fists tightly. He had an idea of who he'd find inside and this time he wasn't going to stop himself. They rounded the corner from the living room to enter the kitchen and Spencer ran into someone with a smack, two voices cursing as their heads collided. "Oww." "The fuck!!" "Who are you?" "Who the hell are you?" "William." "Spencer." "Will, what's - Pete?" "Tom! The fuck are you doing here?" "Hi, I'm Jon." "And I'm Mike." Jon and Mike shook hands and leaned against the wall to view the people staring at each other. "Who are you?" Spencer asked, staring at William. "I told you,” William gritted out. "I'm William. I'm a friend of Ryan's. Who are you?" "I'm Spencer and I'm Ryan's best friend." Spencer folded his arms across his chest. Jon snorted and elbowed Mike, earning the two of them a sharp look from Spencer. "Oh." Recognition dawned across Williams face. “Hi." Spencer wanted to bang his head against the wall, but before he could ask anything else Pete spoke up. "The hell are you doing here, Tom?" Spencer watched the guy called Tom fidget and shoot the guy called Mike a glance, who answered for him. "He's with me." Mike pointed at Tom and then at himself. “And I’m with him.” He pointed at William. “Wait, you’re Tom? Photographer Tom?” Spencer asked. “Yeah, that’s me.” Tom shifted on his feet a little and Mike moved a little closer to him. “Wow,” Spencer said, running a hand through his hair. “So, how are you man?” Pete asked, smiling and bouncing on his feet a little. Spencer had to really control his urge to bang Pete’s head against the wall. Jon must have been able to sense Spencer’s fast approaching breaking point because he finally decided to step into the conversation. “How about we move to the table and talk comfortably?” Four hours and two breaks later everyone sitting around Ryan’s dinner table, which had hardly been used more than ten times, had a fair idea of how the people sitting with them knew Ryan and what brought them here to this point today. Spencer rapped his knuckles on the table once and looked up at William, asking, “So, he went himself? No one forced him to?” William shook his head. “Nope, it was all him. I just happened to be there at the time.” “Okay. Okay, good. So,” Spencer stood up and turned away, his voice sounding hoarse. “We’re all here to do a job. Will and Mike, you guys can handle the living room - pack his CDs and guitars. Tom, Pete and Jon can do the library and study and I’ll take care of his room. Okay?” He glanced up to see everyone staring back at him. “Move it people! I’d like to get everything done today, thank you very much.” Ryan wasn’t really expecting anyone to come and pick him up. It wasn’t like anyone knew he was there in the first place. So it wasn’t wrong to say he was surprised when he walked out of the building to see William waiting for him in the parking lot. Ryan stared at the car for a minute before walking over and climbing into the passenger seat. Though the silence was awkward, Ryan didn’t try to break it and thankfully, neither did William. It was only when they passed the turn that would lead to Ryan’s house that Ryan had turned to William, who had then informed him that his lease had expired and Spencer had taken rented him an apartment that was conveniently in the same block as William’s. Ryan had started at Spencer’s name, he didn’t even want to know how William knew Spencer; he knew there were bridges he had to mend, he just hadn’t expected to face them so soon. Ryan still hadn’t come face to face to with anyone other than William and the store lady who’d helped him choose a plant. Granted he’d only been out for a few hours, but it was still nerve wracking. He wanted to ask so many questions but he was afraid to know the answers, so he kept his mouth shut and listened to William explain the features of his new home theatre system. Secretly, he was really glad that he didn’t have to see that old house anymore; he’d already been planning on staying at a hotel till he could sell that one and buy a new house. Starting over. He was going to take that literally. The first morning back from rehab, Ryan woke up to the smell of pancakes and he had been almost tempted to just hide under the covers because he knew who it was. But he’d still made himself get up and move to the kitchen, where Spencer had been waiting for him, just standing at the door and staring, wondering how the hell could he even begin apologising when Spencer had come up and pulled him into one of the tightest and most reassuring hugs he’d ever gotten. They’d ended up sitting on the kitchen floor, eyes red and swollen, sharing a plate of pancakes between the two of them. And even though Spencer told him he didn’t need to, Ryan apologised, properly and with words because he knew sometimes it’s best to state the obvious. Which was also why he’d made Spencer call Pete over that evening and had gone through the same routine with him, the only difference being that it was really hard to make Pete stop apologising because he for some reason he blamed himself. Emotionally drained, the three of them had fallen asleep on the couch and when Ryan woke up with his best friends leaning, and in Pete’s case, drooling on him, he had kind of felt like maybe things could work out now. The first month out Ryan had done nothing but spend his days as far away from his old as he could. During the day he would go to painting classes with William, even though he wouldn’t really do anything except follow Gerard around and talk to him about absolutely mundane things. Ryan didn’t have to pretend with Gerard, he was one of the few people who could actually sympathise with Ryan, having overcome an addiction himself.  Sometimes they would write songs together, Ryan and Gerard throwing words together and though he had been initially hesitant, William had started joining after some time. Ryan knew it was hard for him to get back to music but he also knew that William needed that push to start creating words and tunes again; how he’d managed to learn so much someone he’d met just a month back was something that surprised him. Of course, hanging out with Gerard had meant that he was bound to run into Mikey sooner or later, it had only Gerard a few minutes into talking to Ryan for him to inform Ryan that his brother was a model too, but instead of being awkward it had been calming, just like the first time he’d run into Mikey. Ryan really was grateful that he knew Mikey Way. William asked him out exactly six months after Ryan got out of rehab. He knew because he marked every day on the calendar, a smile on his face as he told himself he was doing something his father had never been able to do. He took a week to say yes to William, talking to his counsellors and guide. The last thing he wanted to do was mess up the friendship he had with the man who indirectly saved him, and more importantly he didn’t want to fuck himself up. It was only when Spencer told Ryan that he had faith in him that Ryan picked up the phone to call up William. Seven months out of rehab and Ryan Ross and William Beckett were officially dating; apparently they were the hottest new thing, which really confused Ryan. When they got dubbed, “Rockett” Spencer fell off the couch because he was laughing so hard. Ryan threw a book at him, personally he liked “Ryliam” more (the others all had varying opinions, he only knew this because Pete, for some reason had decided to ask every person he ran into what their favourite was). It was Spencer’s idea after fashion week left Ryan exhausted and close to breaking point, that maybe they should go away for some time. Just William and Ryan so that they could spend some time together and Ryan could get away from the paparazzi trying to pry into every little detail of his life (they already knew about rehab and Brian Molko). Las Vegas was also Spencer’s idea, mostly because he knew Ryan hadn’t been there since his dad died and home was home. Ryan only said yes because William had always wanted to see the place where Ryan had grown up. Present Ryan woke up to an empty bed and for a moment he thought he was still in L.A., with William already up and making coffee. It was only when he stretched out his arm to look for his phone on the bedside table that the pain flared up and he remembered where he was. “Fuck.” Ryan placed his arm back on his chest and reached for his now ringing phone with his other hand. He swiped the screen without checking and placed the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he said, his voice deep with sleep. “I thought I told you to send me a text when you got there,” Spencer said, sounding pissed. Ryan groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. “And I thought I told you to not worry.” “And I thought I told you to shut up and text me,” Spencer replied. Ryan wanted to toss his phone away and go back to sleep. “Spence, it’s what?” He checked the time on his phone. “7 am. You said we all needed a vacation; why are you up so early? And why are you waking me up? What if I’d been having some mind blowing first-day-of-vacation morning sex right now?” Ryan placed the phone by his ear, supporting it with the pillow and pulled the covers over his head. If he could make his mind believe that it was still dark maybe he could fall asleep again. “Some people like to go for a run in the morning, you should try it sometimes,” Spencer said, and Ryan could hear him drinking something, coffee maybe, and he wanted his own cup now. “Also, had that been the case you wouldn’t have answered the phone. And I would have kept calling you till you answered, so essentially, you should have texted.” “Spencer.” “Ryan.” Ryan sighed and moved his face out of the pillow so that Spencer could hear him clearly. “We’re fine. We arrived late and then we were hungry, so we went to Frankie’s store, and then,” Ryan bit his lip and decided to leave the literal running into part out, “we ran into Brendon.” If he told Spencer about the little trip to the ER in the middle of the night, Spencer would be here as fast as he could and that was the last thing that Ryan wanted. Spencer deserved a vacation too. Ryan heard Spencer take in a sharp breath and he decided he better try to at least wake up a little now; he needed to be awake for this. “You ran into Brendon?” Ryan nodded. “Yeah. He, umm, he works for Frankie. In the store. He was there last night.” “Oh. Wow. How is he? Did you guys talk?” Spencer asked and Ryan wondered whether Spencer missed Brendon. He knew he did, sometimes, but maybe not so much in the past year. “He looked the same, just, I dunno, older?” Ryan moved to lean up against the pillows; he could hear William moving about downstairs. Spencer snorted and Ryan heard him putting down the cup. “We are older now, Ry.” “Well, duh. It’s just, you know, yeah.” “What did he say?” Spencer asked. “Nothing much, just. We met his boyfriend, some guy called Shane; I don’t think he went to school with us.” “Shane?” “Yeah,” Ryan decided his need for coffee was greater than his need for sleep. “You know him?” “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.” Ryan hummed and gave up on looking for his slippers, walking barefoot down the hallway. He stopped in front of the door to his old room. “Anyway, Bill invited them over for lunch on the weekend.” Ryan traced the edge of the poster he’d stuck on the door six years ago with his finger. He hadn’t been inside yet. “Oh. You okay with that?” Spencer asked, and Ryan could hear the worry in his tone. A part of him wanted to dismiss the subject and move on but if there was one thing he’d learnt over the past year it was that worrying alone just made it worse. And he owed it to Spencer to be honest with him. “I don’t know, I mean, I don’t think so. It’s just, isn’t it weird, Spence?” He sat down at the top of the stairs. “All these years, I’ve missed him, yeah, but –” Ryan trailed off, hoping Spencer got what he was trying to say. “But a part still feels hurt and betrayed even though that happened years ago,” Spencer finished for him. “Yeah, and I know I’m being childish here and it’s not like I would want to change anything now. I don’t regret it, Spence, just, I really wanted him to come with me and for a whole year I hated him and I know that’s above and beyond my normal selfishness,” Ryan said, running his other hand over the carpet. “Ry, you’re not that same guy anymore,” Spencer said softly, “you’ve changed a lot. And I think a part of you feels guilty for blaming Brendon for so long.” Ryan just hummed in reply; he didn’t really need to say anything. “How about you try it out? It’s just lunch and you won’t be alone,” Spencer suggested. “Yeah, yeah, I guess we can do that,” Ryan said, smiling at William who’d come to sit next to him. He leaned against William, who wrapped an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “He was our best friend once. It’s Brendon, Ryan. Brendon who we left alone there.” Ryan made an angry noise and said, “He didn’t want to come Spence! Don’t you even try that because I’m not going to feel guilty about getting on that bus after he left me at the last moment.” “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but think about it from his perspective too. He never wanted to leave as much as you did and you can’t blame him for changing his mind. For all he knows for the past four years we’ve been together enjoying life in L.A. while he’s still stuck there,” Spencer answered. “Yeah, well, he didn’t want to leave. His decision,” Ryan said petulantly. William poked his cheek and he smiled a little, resting his forehead on William’s shoulder. “Ryan, stop making this so difficult,” Spencer said, sounding annoyed. “Fine.” Ryan resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at the phone. “I’ll try to be normal and friendly when he comes over on Sunday, happy now?” “Not particularly. I’d really like to have pancakes but Jon’s still sleeping, so I’ll settle for satisfied.” Ryan could almost hear his smirk. “Fuck you, Smith.” “I love you too, Ryan.” “Go wake up Jon, I’ll talk to you later,” Ryan said, moving to get up and wincing when he accidentally put pressure on his arm. “Go over to my house today; Mom’s waiting for you. Bye.” Spencer hung up. Ryan kissed William and told him he’d be down in a minute. After exciting the bathroom, he gave into his curiosity and opened the door to his room, but he didn’t step in. It was as he’d remembered it but Ryan didn’t dwell on that or the memories that were coming up; he’d need more than a few minutes to deal with all of those. His attention was focused on an old photo stuck on his cork board that stood out amongst all the band photos and post-it notes. It was of the last day of summer in his last year of school and they’d taken it in front of Spencer’s house. Ryan was in the middle with his arm around Spencer’s shoulders as he leant on Brendon, who had his arm around Ryan’s waist. They were all smiling at the camera, relaxed and comfortable. Ryan thought it was one of his best photos. He saw their smiles - Spencer’s warm and Brendon’s relaxed, which was the way he always smiled; relaxed and giving everything he could. He decided to go visit the supermarket again today. Invite Brendon over himself and maybe apologise for the way he’d been last night. Taking things one apology and one step at a time. Ryan closed the door and walked back down the stairs.