Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco
The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.
who are you kidding?
Okay, so. Along with everything else, I have been writing oneshots! Yay
oneshots! This one I wrote… awhile back, but not TOO long ago. A month maybe? Idk. But
I'm pretty proud of how this turned out. Have any of you guys heard of the program
“Postsecret”? It's a place where people can take postcards and write down their darkest
secrets anonymously. To be honest, I've always wanted to try it, but I've chickened out on most
accounts. Plus my mom asks me about everything I mail. So strike that.
hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story. There. Okay? xD
It was a really boring day, to be honest.
All they'd done was sit on a bus.
Just, everyone was exhausted. Jon even spent the whole day in bed, and Spencer and Ryan kind of
just sat around watching TV or whatever, whatever the hell Brendon had done the whole day, well, no
one really knew.
It's now nighttime, and lo and behold, everyone is just as lethargic and apathetic as they day
It's always like this, too.
Ryan and Spencer are still sitting, watching some medical drama that neither of them are actually
paying attention to, and Jon's sitting in the back, talking on the phone to Cassie or whoever, and
Zack's not even on this bus for some reason, and Brendon?
Brendon's sitting in the corner, coloring.
He's got crayons, and markers, and pencils and pens and a bunch of index cards.
And he's coloring furiously.
Ryan turns to watch. He smirks just a bit. “Brendon?”
“What in the world are you doing?”
Ryan laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He doesn't look up from his stack of cards, or his rapidly moving purple
“Dude, what the hell are we even watching?” Spencer asks, picking up the remote
and watching the doctors' public display of affection on the television screen with utter disgust.
And Ryan's distracted, just like that.
But Brendon doesn't care.
When he doesn't have a piano or guitar or anything nearby, he colors. And when he's in the middle
of either, you don't interrupt him.
The bus is dark, and everyone, even Brendon, is asleep.
He's still in his mismatched clothes, sitting on the sofa, texting Pete. It's not even really an
intelligent conversation, just a “how was your day?” sort of thing.
So he sets his Sidekick down on the floor and lies on the couch in the darkness.
It's really quiet, except for when the bus hits a bumpy road. But right now, it's the highway, so
it's pretty quiet.
Brendon's stack of index cards are still sitting in the corner.
Ryan's bored, curious, and he can't sleep.
And Brendon's not awake, so it's not like he's going to know.
Slowly, Ryan sits up, and saunters over to the corner where the little 8-by-5 colored pictures. He
flips on the little lamp beside him, and looks at the cards.
The one on top of the stack is just a bunch of Brendon's random doodles. Flowers and such.
Ryan flips through the stack, looking at the doodles. They're kind of cute, actually, all of the
pretty little things he drew.
It's got writing on it. No doodles, just Brendon's scrawl across it.
I hate talking about my sexuality because I'm afraid of what others might think, it says.
Did he really just read that?
Ryan shakes his head, and flips to the next one.
Sometimes, I wish I was still Mormon.
I believe in God, but I don't think He believes in me.
I still don't know my place in the world.
This is wrong. Ryan shouldn't be reading this. He shouldn't be reading this. This is so
unbelievably personal that Ryan just shouldn't be reading this.
I hate his girlfriend. Still.
When I was a kid, I did drugs. I didn't want to, even then. But I did.
I hate touring in foreign countries because accents get on my nerves.
I've never been too fond of one of my brothers.
I regret almost every word I've ever said.
Music is one of the reasons I'm still breathing.
I held a gun to my head once. I think it was my friend's cousin's Dad's or something.
I kind of hate what we've become.
Where the fuck did these come from?
He sets the stack down slowly, his head beginning to ache.
There's still a few empty index cards, and an idle pen.
Ryan's phone vibrates on the floor about five feet away.
Brendon wakes up early, and is really craving some coffee.
The bus is pulled over at a rest stop, so it's quiet.
Everyone else is asleep, too, so Brendon gets some alone time. He skips over to the coffee maker,
and begins to make the coffee.
Suddenly, Brendon remembers that he left his drawings out last night.
He sets down the coffee pot and walks over to where he left his drawings.
Thankfully, they're right where he left them.
Along with another stack of index cards.
Brendon looks down, and although he doesn't have the world's best memory, he swears on his life that
when he went to bed last night he only had one stack of index cards.
He picks up the stack, and looks at them. He doesn't read anything they say, he only glances.
Immediately, he knows that it's all Ryan's handwriting.
So, slowly, he flips back to the first one, and reads.
I had sex with her once.
I thought of him the whole time.
Brendon reads it over, and over again.
My first car crash when I was driving wasn't a mistake.
My least favorite thing in the whole world is a mirror.
When the world crumbles, I stand.
When I crumble, the world stands.
I don't really hate my mother.
My friend knocked up this one girl when I was in high school.
I had a crush on her.
I didn't hate Catholic school as much as I say I did.
I love him a lot; I wish he knew.
Did he even know any of those?
He sets the stack down silently, and walks back to the coffee pot.
They're at this ballroom place.
Brendon actually has no idea what it's called at the moment, even though he usually knows the whole
tour schedule by name.
He's sitting at the piano, sort of playing, sort of not. Brendon, honestly, is really distracted to
Brendon turns. “Hey,” he says with a smile.
“Hey,” Ryan replies quietly. He walks over to the piano bench, and sits beside Brendon.
“…so,” Brendon says, looking down at the black and white keys.
Ryan doesn't say anything at first. Then, he says, “So I saw what you were coloring the other
Brendon freezes. “You did?”
“Oh.” Brendon rubs the back of his head. “…I saw what you wrote,
Ryan looks down. “You did?”
They're both looking away from each other.
Slowly, Brendon goes, “I… just needed to let everything go for a second. I needed to
tell someone that wouldn't judge. I didn't mean to, like… have those sitting there so you
could, you know, have to find out all that shit and stuff.”
“No, I know.” Ryan nods. “I know.”
“…I didn't know all of that, Ry.”
Ryan shrugs. “Yeah. It's… just stuff I bottle up and hide. We all do it. I just
wanted you to know that you weren't the only one.”
Brendon just barely smiles, still not looking up from the piano underneath his hands.
“Can I… trust you, Ryan?”
Ryan looks at Brendon. “Of course. Why wouldn't you be able to? We're friends. We've been
friends for a long time.”
“I know.” Brendon gets up. “I was just making sure, you know?” He looks
into Ryan's hazel eyes. “Just making sure.”
And for a long time, the subject was dropped.
Jon and Spencer are both asleep somewhere.
On either side of the aisles of the plane sit Ryan and Brendon. Ryan's reading, Brendon's listening
to Ryan's iPod and writing something in a notebook.
Ryan turns the page, engrossed in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland for like the third time
today. He doesn't know why he reads the book so much; as good a book as it is, it isn't his
favorite. Yet he's reading it again for the umpteenth time, and-
Suddenly, a notebook lands on his lap.
Ryan looks down at the notebook, and then over at Brendon, who's innocently playing the air drums to
God knows what.
Ryan picks up the notebook and flips to the first page.
Ryan groans, sets his book down, and pulls a pen out of his pocket. Why? he writes.
You're listening to MY iPod; you should be fine. He tosses the notebook over to the other
side of the plane and goes back to his book.
Five minutes later, it comes back.
I know, but I'm actually getting really bored because I keep losing that stupid solitare game. I
don't know what to do now. I feel like talking but I don't wanna wake up Jon or Spence.
You mean you actually care whether someone's sleeping or not? Seriously?
Shut up. What should I do?
Remember those index cards?
The notebook doesn't come back for awhile. Finally, Brendon rips out that page, and scribbles
something down. Ryan watches out of the corner of his eyes.
Finally, the notebook lands back on his lap.
Ryan keeps the notebook on his lap for a moment. Then, he writes, No, you're right, it's
Good. There's a space between the word and the next sentence. I'm more afraid of heights
than I let on.
Brendon's breathless after reading those words. He keeps going. Sometimes I think I'm
overestimated. Sometimes I think I'm underestimated. Sometimes I don't even know.
A sliver of the reason I quit college is because I didn't think I was good enough.
That one time we sang “Round Here” and it got filmed or whatever, I almost burst into
tears on stage.
Brendon's hand is shaking. I don't know what I'm going to do when this ends.
My father started hitting me when I was 4.
I don't think I'm good enough.
I envy kids with the courage to cut themselves sometimes.
I wish I hadn't gone out with Keltie.
I wish I hadn't lost my virginity to you.
Because if I hadn't, I would know whether you were the right one or not. The page has little
wet spots on it. Ryan looks over at Brendon. He's looking away.
Ryan takes a deep breath. I think of you when I touch myself.
I think of you when I don't.
Sometimes our fans are the best things in the world, and sometimes they're the worst.
The only thing I like about myself is the way I think.
That's a good thing to be proud of.
I wish I was Spencer, so I could be closer to you.
I'm closer to you than I was to Spencer.
This hurts so fucking bad.
Brendon coughs, but Ryan can tell it's not a cough but a choked sob.
I'm glad I told you I was bored twenty minutes ago.
I hate it, too, and everything about it.
Brendon drops the notebook, and looks away, holding his face in his hands.
Ryan's too afraid to get any closer.
They don't say a word for a long, long time.
Brendon stands, and walks across the aisle to the seat next to Ryan.
Ryan watches Brendon, worried.
Quietly, in a hoarse voice, Brendon says, “Do you know how happy I am right now?”
“I don't,” Ryan says, “because I think I surpass it.”
Ryan reaches over, and puts Brendon's head on his shoulder.
And they both sob silently, and hold each, and kiss and cry because they aren't the only two broken
people in the world.
And they love each other.
The world is at a complete standstill.
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.