Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Panic! At The Disco
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We're at the venue. Some random reporter is standing waiting for us. He looks scared.
Brendon slips his hand quickly into mine, gives it a squeeze. I squeeze his hand back, and sigh.
Then I let go, and walk beside Jon. I notice the look of annoyance cross his face. He shoves his
hands into the pockets of his stripy hoodie. His mood has suddenly reversed.
I quietly let a groan slip. This is gonna be awful. Interviews are tedious enough when Brendon's in
a good mood, let alone when he's got a raincloud shooting out lightning over his head.
I wish his psyche was as simple as the little boy on the EasiSingles ad- give him a toasted
sandwich, and the sun comes out to chase away the clouds.
Sometimes, that move works. But not with the cheese- chocolate nearly always works. Or Skittles. Or
Gushers. Or… well, anything over loaded with sugar.
We smile at the interviewer- he seems nervous too. Well, Spencer, Jon and I smile- Brendon
He talks to us, hands flying and voice high pitched- he's scared out of his wits.
I excuse myself to get a glass of water. Jon follows me. “What's up with Brendon?” he
asks quietly. “He's still touchy. About the whole thing, like he wants to admit we're dating
and I don't. It's really pissing him off.” Jon is silent. I know his views on this. He's on
Brendon's side. He thinks that if I love Brendon as much as I say, then I should say it to the
Spence disagrees. “Think of the fangirls, Ry. They write fiction about you guys fucking each
other already, and you haven't admitted you're dating yet. They'd have a field day!” I agreed,
but silently thought, “It's kinda helpful sometimes, the slash.” Some of those people
are awesome writers. But they always make me the controlling one. Which makes me wonder, should we
be closing the curtains?
He grabs a piece of bread, I get some water for myself and Brendon. We sit back down on the couch-
Spencer is forced to sit with the interviewer, while Jon, Brendon and I squish in together.
There's a coffee table right in front of us. I set Brendon's water down in front of him, but he
takes it right up, and plays with it, tilting the water around in the pristine glass, and taking a
sip every once in a while.
The press of the glass to his lips is very distracting. I'm glad Spencer seems unable to stop
talking. He goes on, and on, and on.
Then when he stops talking, Jon looks around nervously and fills the silence.
When Spencer tires of talking, and Jon has his mouth full, I speak. Jon gets bored. He holds out a
piece of bread to Brendon.
Brendon leans forward, mouth wide open. I stop talking, and watch this, mesmerised. Jon takes away
I start talking again, ignoring the stony pout on Brendon's face. It's extremely hard to ignore.
Someone starts talking, again. This interview feels very forced- maybe it's because of Brendon's
thunderous bad mood. Usually, we're very easy to talk to. Just not today, I guess.
Brendon drains his glass. He is about to put it down on the table- but he notices I'm watching him,
taking in his every movement.
Slowly, tantalisingly slowly, he rests it on the shiny smooth surface. Then gives me a death glare.
I swear Spencer's been giving him lessons.
Sweat is building up on my forehead and on the back of my neck. Desperately, I beg whatever's out
there to please, please let us go.
The scent of finality is in the air. I breathe a sigh of relief. Then, he lets us go.
I get out of there, out of the venue. I lean against the cool, slightly damp brick wall.
I shudder, and gulp air. It's soothing- the damp air swirling down into my lungs, cleansing the
It cools down the back of my neck, wipes off the stickiness, restores my breathing pattern to
I feel eyes on me, then a small hand in mine. A stripy arm wraps around my waist. I lean into his
“I'm sorry,” I mumble. “Don't be,” he says, a slight smile in his voice.
“No, I mean, you're right. And so is Jon. We should say something about us.” Light
fingers caress my neck.
Then he's at my front, with both arms around me, his head resting on my chest. “I love
you,” I whisper, pressing my lips onto his hair. He smiles into my shirt.
A hand is in mine. “Do you want to go back in?” he asks gently. I smile.
We walk back inside, hands swinging between us. This isn't my ideal- I guess I always thought I'd
be the guy with the trophy wife, the cheerleader kids, the pristine Mercedes in the drive, and the
degrees from Dartmouth and Harvard on my walls.
But this is so much better.
A/N I'll be putting this up on SATD (soon, hopefully) but I love you guise more, so… I'm just
hoping someone reads this. It was inspired by that interview w/ all the tension? I can't really
remember the name of it, but I think it was for LJ…??? idk.
Reviews are, as always, much loved. <333333
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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.