"His Dreams mocked to death by time."

Title: Mixed Up
Author: emma

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Ryden

POV: Second

Summary: “Why can’t you have normal frozen foods?” He scowls slightly because the sharp ache in his head isn’t even remotely satisfied.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters.

Author Notes: So I lost my password to my other account (viewfromupthere) along with the story I had been posting because my computer crashed… so alas I'm starting anew

     CHAPTER ONE:

       When you ask a person how they’re doing you normally get one of two answers; real or fake. Someone who is emotionally open will tell you exactly how they’re feeling, no coaxing necessary. On the other hand there are some individuals who disguise every bit of truth with a carefully designated and designed lie. Brendon supposes he is a mixture of the two. There are days when he wants the world to know what he’s thinking; wants every human being to be in tune with his thoughts. Consequently there are also days when the entire human race becomes his enemy and he shuts them all out, hiding away in what has become an all too familiar persona to the outside world.

He’s thinking all this through as he makes his way to Ryan’s apartment, dodging in and out of traffic, ignoring the anxious jitters driving often brings. He takes the final right turn at the stoplight and pulls recklessly into the cemented drive, narrowly missing the neighbors yellow beamer. He shifts the vehicle into park and sighs heavily to himself, feeling the consequences of the raging New Year’s party the night before.

He sees Ryan pull back the curtains, guessing he must have sensed an intruder on the walk way. The boy grins however, when he notices Brendon and pulls the drapes back into place. Moments later he yanks the door open with a thin arm, clad in a neon red button up and sweats.

“That’s my shirt.” Brendon recognizes the familiar color and reaches a hand out to pinch the fabric.

“Is it?” Ryan raises an eyebrow in response.

“Yeah.” He shrugs to imply it’s of no matter to him, that he was merely pointing out what rightfully belonged to him.

“I like it.” Ryan moves to the kitchen, letting Brendon trail slowly behind.

“Keep it, I don’t care.” He reaches for the freezer door on the refrigerator and pulls out a bag of frozen smucker’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, slapping it against his forehead and sinking into a chair by the bay window opposite the table. They sit there in silence for a few minutes and Brendon feels the sandwiches beginning to thaw.

“Why can’t you have normal frozen foods?” He scowls slightly because the sharp ache in his head isn’t even remotely satisfied.

“They’re not mine. Pete left them here. He insisted on stocking the place full of them while he house-sat last week.” Ryan gestures to the odd arrangement of bags sitting in a pile by the door. “He left half his laundry here too.”

Brendon simply sighed and unwrapped one of the uncrustable sandwiches he had been holding against his head. He took a bite out of one filled with strawberry jelly and offered a wrapped bag to Ryan.

“Want one?”

“Nah.”

Brendon shrugs and gets up to return the semi-frozen bag to its ice cold sanctuary.

“The party yesterday was fun. Gabe and Wil totally ruined Spencer’s car. Did you see what they did?” Ryan was smiling.

“No.” Brendon had spent the night drinking down whatever liquids he could find; the more alcohol the better.

“Dude, they plastered the inside with stickers and wrapped the entire thing in toilet paper and plastic wrap. Took him a fuckin hour and a half to clear everything off.” Ryan’s shoulders quake from the laughter he seems to be suppressing. “The look on his face, god it was priceless.”

Brendon just looked out the window feeling slightly left out, even though it had been his own fault he had missed the past nights fun.

“So ah, what’s up Bren you seem a little on edge.” The other boy leaned forward, waiting intently for a response.

“Nothing. Just a headache s’all.” He cradled his head gently in his arms as if to demonstrate how severely it was throbbing.

“Oh…well okay.”

A familiar voice began crooning loudly, the noise appearing to resonate from the pocket of Ryan’s button up.

          “You do not have Pete’s band as your ring tone.” Brendon stared incredulously at Ryan, smiling lightly.

          “Why not? They call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone…” he belted out accompanying lyrics and grinned smugly; his vocals weren’t half bad. Ryan held the phone to his ear and greeted the caller.

          “Ryan Ross. Sexiest Man alive how can I help you?” He rolled his eyes at Brendon to show that whoever was on the other line was clearly not welcomed.

          “It’s Jon.” Ryan mouthed. He continued conversing for a moment or two before sliding the phone back into his pocket. “He says he was trying to call you and you’re to call him back.”

          Brendon felt in his jeans pocket for his phone realizing he hadn’t felt or heard the familiar vibrations that always escorted a new call or text message. He couldn’t locate it and looked up at Ryan.

          “Can I borrow your phone?” Ryan handed his cell over without a word and waited for him to dial in Jon’s number.

          The phone rang twice before it clicked on and a scratchy voice answered.

          “Ryan did you tell Bren yet?”

          “This is Brendon.”

          “Oh. You’re mother is trying to reach you why aren’t you answering your phone?”

          “I lost it. Wait you wanted me to call you just for that? You couldn’t tell Ryan to tell me?” Brendon shook his head annoyed, regretting the sudden movement instantly.

          “Oh, well I guess…whatever I told you that’s all that matters. Hmph the thanks I get…” Jon continued mumbling but Brendon said thank you quickly and shut the phone.

          “So what did he want?” Ryan tilted his head slowly.

          “Told me to call my mother.” Brendon rolled his eyes and slouched low against the chair.

          “You’re not going to call?”

          “No.” He said stubbornly.

          “All right is it just me or are you in a horrible mood?” Ryan frowned, drawing shapes into the frosted window.

          “I’m not.”

          “You are.”

          “Are not.”

          “Are fucking too.” Ryan stuck a tongue out for good measure and then gazed seriously at Brendon.

          “I’m just…. tired… I’m tired of this place, these people. I need to get away for a while and just…get away.” He buried his head in his arms and slumped onto the table.

          “Where are you planning on going?” Ryan’s face was a mixture of worry and something else Brendon couldn’t quite put his finger on.

          “Away. Forever. I hate the world.”

It was the last phrase that reassured Ryan completely; told him that Brendon was just in one of his mood’s, that he would snap out of it eventually. He stood up and pushed the chair against the wall, coming over to Brendon’s side of the table.

          “Get up.” He tugged on Brendon’s sleeve.

          “No.” The boy mumbled into his arms.

          “Move it Urie.” Ryan was yanking viciously at his arm and Brendon had nearly surrendered when an extremely harsh tug left him on the cold floor. He lay there flat on the tiles and stared with large eyes at the ceiling.

          “Brennn…” Ryan groaned sounding almost annoyed as he kicked at the fallen boy’s shoes.

          Brendon remained on the ground, ignoring Ryan’s protests. He’d be happy to spend the rest of eternity lying on that floor. The cold marble pressed comfortably against his face and he nuzzled his cheek into the tiles, feeling slightly depressed to be so at home on his best friends kitchen floor.

          “You know what they say…” From what Brendon could see Ryan was grinning.

          “No…I fucking don’t know what they say…” He mumbled.

          “If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.” Ryan plopped down on the floor next to him sliding so their heads were lying next to each other.

          “You’re weird.” He muttered, feeling slightly less at home.

          “Says the boy currently worshipping the kitchen tiles.”

          “Ryan Ross you’re fucking annoying as hell.” Brendon groaned, rubbing his fists into his eyes.

          “Brendon Urie, why thank you so much you little fucker, right back at you. Seriously Bren what’s the deal? What happened?”

          “You want to know what happened. Life happened. And they fucking turned me down. Me. They gave away my dream, my heart and soul, for that idiot.”

          “You’re parents?” Brendon could practically feel the surprise seeping from Ryan.

          “Yeah. I told them about college, how maybe I didn’t want to go into the family business after all.”

          “They didn’t like the idea of you singing?”

          “No they think I’m too young, like I'm so fucking desperate for attention I’ll do anything to get it, including aspiring to be in a band.”

          “Well we are still young sort of I mean…”

          “You’re taking their side?”

          “No Bren, I'm just saying they don’t get it, they’ll probably come around though once we actually make progress with the band and all.”

          “Great. Whoo-fucking-hooo… someday my parent’s might take me seriously, now there’s a goal to shoot for.” Brendon let the sarcasm drip heavily off his tongue. “And I can’t believe you said we’re young…we’re nineteen.”

          “Well it is. We’re still so young…”

          “Desperate for attention…” Brendon added mocking his mother’s patronizing voice.

          “So I know why you’re mad but who’s the idiot?” Ryan said referring to the aforementioned subject at the end of Brendon’s little rant.

          “Who else but the acidic asshole Steve?”

          “Who the hell is Steve? You did not just call a living-human being acidic? That’s makes no sense.” He observed obnoxiously.

          “Steve…as in I'm-fucking-your-mother-and-there’s-nothing-you-can-do-about-it… and it makes sense his personality is more sour then a lemon on crack.”

          “Ohhhhh that Steve. Gotcha. But Urie have you been drinking again? Fuck, a lemon on crack? I’m not going to ask.”

          “Fuck the World.”

          “FTW.”

          “Huh?”

          “FTW…fuck the world…” Ryan chuckled. “It’s what the fuck backwards.” He laughed some more, quietly pleased with his little joke.

          “Dear Mr. Ross. I’m sorry your son will never be a comedian. The end.” Brendon grinned.

          “Oh you’re just a regular fucking cosby.” Ryan retorted.

          “Language. Tsk. Tsk.” Brendon was in a sincerely lighter mood now, joking carefully with Ryan.

          “Like yours is any better? You can’t go three sentences without swearing.”

          “Hey Ryan. Just don’t talk for awhile.” Brendon said shaking his head. “Maybe that will help.”

          “Dick…” Ryan muttered.

          “Bam! Ha that’s three sentences right there buddy. And yes I have a dick.” He wiggled his eyebrows, feeling entirely at home again amongst the friendly teasing and bantering. They were both still lying on the floor, gaping at the ceiling like at any moment it might open up and swallow them whole.

          “Wow. Shut up.”

          “Nope no can do.”

          “Bite me.”

          “Been there done that.”

Ryan blushed, remembering that night a few years back. Both boys had been drunk out of their mind and the celebratory birthday dinner had ended with one too many happy endings. Not that either of them openly regretted it. Now it had become a mere inside joke, a way to get around otherwise awkward moments or silences.

***

“I’m on fireeeeeeeeeee n’ now I think I'm readyyyyyyyyyyyyyy to bust a move. Check it out I'm rocking steadyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy to the beat in myyyyy head…” Ryan slurred the song lyrics noisily.

“Ry-Ry. Ryyyyyyyyyy-Ry. Ry-Ryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. Ry-Ry. Ry-Ry.” Brendon had started his own little chant to match the songs beat and was swaying drunkenly from side to side, crooning into an invisible microphone. He collided with Ryan and the pair fell with a jolt to the living room floor, each rubbing a head in agony. After staggering blindly for the couch, they finally made it onto the dilapidated surface and sunk down into the cushions.

“Happpyyy Day Brennnnnn. Happpy 18 day.” Ryan grinned from the other side of the couch.

“Happyyy 18. from Ryan.” Brendon grinned in return echoing his name as a thank-you.

“I got you.” Ryan shuffled around behind the couch to find the box he had brought, wrapped in newspaper and hand decorated. He located the large object and slung it over the couch, hearing a soft thud accompanying its fall.

He made his way back to his seat and watched through have droopy eyes as Brendon struggled to unwrap it. The last thing he remembers was the outside of a cd case before he passed out drunk.

-

Ryan woke up a short time later a massive headache already making its wrath known. He tasted an odd flavor in his mouth and choked on his own saliva as he unglued his lips from around Ryan’s neck. Somehow they had ended up on the floor, wrapping paper strewn carelessly on either side of them. He felt teeth marks in his own skin and looked to see a matching set on Ryan’s neck. To make matters worse he noticed the apparent lack of clothing as both boy’s were lying in only their boxers and Ryan realized then that it was clothes not wrapping paper that littered the room. He stroked his temple lightly and tried to remember anything from the previous hours, ultimately failing. He gave in to the pressure of sleep after a few moments and decided to ask Brendon in the morning.