secret lines (and bound so tight), 1/3
secret lines (and bound so tight)
The bulk of his evening papers had already sold, but the newsboy still had a few more to get rid of before he could call it a night. He sighed, scanning the street for potential customers, but most of the crowd was further down the road, watching a busker attempt to charm a snake out of its basket.
A man broke away from the crowd and started up the street, and the newsboy jumped at the chance to rid himself of another copy. "Paper, sir?" he asked, holding out one of them hopefully.
The man shook his head, barely glancing over, but after a moment he did a double-take and grinned. "Actually," he said to the boy, "I'll take the lot."
*
*
"Front page news, Ross," Alex said, tossing one of his papers down on the table as he sat next to Jon. "You're moving up in society."
"I think you mean moving down," Jon said, snatching it up before Ryan could see it. "This is another gossip rag, isn't it?"
"Don't be so insulting, Jon," Ryan said, leaning over to read over Jon's shoulder. "Any publication that focuses on me is clearly the height of journalism."
"Oh, look, I got a mention!" Alex said as he read from one of the extra copies he'd purchased. "I was starting to think the public had forgotten who I was."
"Yeah, that's probably not going to happen when you pay journalists to include your name in their articles," said Jon, helping himself to the half-finished drink Ryan had been sipping slowly.
"Fuck you," Alex said, leaning over to smack his arm. "I do no such thing." Jon smacked him back, and Ryan took advantage of his distraction, snatching his glass back and downing the last of his whiskey.
"I've got to get home," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if my father's waiting for me, ready to disown me as soon as I walk in the door."
"You want us to walk you home?" Alex asked. "Wouldn't want the vampires catching up with you."
Ryan shoved him in the arm lightly as he passed. "Z would hit you for that," he said.
"She'd hit him a hell of a lot harder than you could," Jon said, grinning as he poured himself another drink. "Night, Ryan."
"Night, guys. Don't let the vampires bite," he called back as he left.
It was a lot earlier than he thought; it was hard to see the clock tower from the steps of Jon's apartment, but he thought it said that it was barely ten. If he was lucky, his father would have given up on chiding him for the publicity his latest antics had received and just gone to bed. Ryan's father's threats to disinherit him had been coming with increased frequency over the past few months, and while Ryan was sure his father wouldn't really leave him penniless, he was starting to become a little nervous.
The streets were crowded that night, though it was still early. Ryan remembered after a moment that the spring festival was the next night, so the crowd was probably due to tourists who had come for tomorrow's festivities. He passed by crowds of people smoking and talking and laughing outside the pubs; a few of them seemed to recognize him, probably from the sketches and daguerreotypes that sometimes made it into the articles, but no one spoke to him, and he made it home without incident.
The mansion was dark when he arrived, and he managed to get to his room without running into his father or any of the help. He sighed with relief, shutting the door and, after thinking about it for a moment, locking it behind him. He was sure his father would want to have words with him in the morning, but he was equally sure that it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have while nursing a hangover.
*
Ryan's dreams were normally disjointed and a little boring, just fragments of memories all mixed up with each other, but his dreams that night were anything but dull. They were horrifying, full of ghoulish things clawing at him and biting at his skin, letting him escape just so they could catch him again, and he twisted and turned as he tried to escape, only waking when his movements sent him tumbling out of bed.
It was mid-afternoon, and the bright sunlight that trickled through the shade on his window calmed him down, though it did little to help the pounding headache that the previous night's activities had left him with. He pulled himself up and did his best to shake off the lingering apprehension the dreams had left him with. Once he'd composed himself enough to get dressed he stumbled down to the kitchen, cringing when the light coming in from outside hit his eyes. The cook, well-accustomed to Ryan's comings and goings, took one look at his bleary expression and nodded to himself as he asked, "It'll be a light breakfast today, then, Mr. Ross?"
"Please," he answered, rubbing at his eyes.
"Go on and sit, then," he told him. "I'll bring it out when it's done."
Ryan nodded and seated himself at the little table in the corner of the kitchen. He usually ate there, except for the rare occasion when he and his father were both taking their meals at the same time, in which case they normally ate in the dining room. He hated the formality of it, though, and avoided that room whenever possible - much like he did his best to be out of the house as often as he could.
The cook made him a cup of hot tea and returned a little later with a plate of toast and eggs. He set the plate down and, after hesitating a moment, held out an envelope, its corners slightly worse for the wear after being tucked inside his pocket. "Your father asked me to give this note to you if you came down for breakfast," he said, sounding apologetic. "He was in rather a bad mood when he left it with me."
"I'll bet," Ryan said under his breath, accepting it with a grim smile. "Thank you, Louis." The cook went back to his chores, and Ryan opened the note.
Dear Ryan,
You are to meet with me immediately to discuss your recent antics. While I'm sure that you are disinclined to do so, I would like to point out that as of this morning, your access to your trust has been taken away, and shall not be restored until I am satisfied that you are in accordance with the terms of our agreement regarding your lifestyle.
Father
Ryan groaned, crumpling the letter up and shoving it into his pocket. It was hardly the worst case scenario - his father hadn't mentioned tossing him out on the street, at least - but it certainly wasn't a satisfactory start to the day. He ate his meal slowly, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation, but after a little while the clock struck three and he realized he only had a couple of hours before his father's offices closed. Not wanting to make his father even angrier, he hastened to get ready.
He walked out the front door and immediately went back inside, the sunlight making his head hurt even more. He dug around in a cabinet by the front door until he found a pair of tinted glasses he'd left there awhile back. He was hit with a pang of nostalgia as he put them on - they were a pair Spencer left behind the last time he visited, back when he was on holiday from the flight academy. That had been over two years before, and it was the last time Ryan saw Spencer; they had drifted since Spencer graduated, which Ryan knew was mostly his fault. It wasn't like Spencer hadn't tried to get back into contact, but Ryan was always busy with one thing with another, too caught up in whatever adventures he was having with Alex, Z, and Jon.
He set out for the office building, grimacing when the glasses weren't enough to keep his headache from getting worse. He kept his eyes to the ground, for the most part, and he didn't miss much - Ryan hated the city in the day, the way the streets were nearly empty when most of its residents were at work. Lanverne was at its best in the night, when the lamps were lit and the workers went home and changed their clothes and went out again. It all felt fake to him, somehow, the way everyone wasted their days doing things they didn't want to do and then lived a wholly different life by night.
("Stop whining," Z had told him once when he'd complained about it. "At least you can go out in the day without bursting into flame." She'd had a point, but that didn't stop him from grumbling about it.)
The walk to the legal offices wasn't a long one, but he was stopped just outside by a girl who sheepishly asked him to sign her copy of yesterday's Times. "Wait, what?" Ryan asked, and she held it up so he could see. Sure enough, there he was on page two, daguerreotype and all. The Observer was just filled with sensational bullshit that nobody ever really took seriously, but the Times was a well-respected paper with a good reputation. It looked like he was the victim of a slow news day, he thought as he quickly scrawled his name across the picture and handed it back, smiling weakly at the girl. She beamed at him before thanking him and running off down the street, paper clutched tightly to her chest.
He sighed, squaring his shoulders, and walked up the steps of the building, carefully navigating his way through the corridors of the building - he wasn't sure he could count the number of times he had ended up lost in there. His father's secretary raised his eyebrows when Ryan walked in, but all he said was, "Your father's a little busy, but if you'd like to take a seat, I'm sure he'll be available soon." Ryan nodded, taking his glasses off as he sat down. He fiddled with them in his hands, already bored and expecting to wait awhile, but he'd only been there a minute or two when the door to his father's office opened.
"Oh, Ryan. We were just talking about you," his father said. "Come in." Ryan entered and saw a vaguely familiar woman sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "You remember the Rev. Mrs. Urie, don't you?"
"Of course," he said, inclining his head. "How are you, Reverend?" He'd met her once or twice back when he and Spencer and Jon occasionally spent time with one of her sons. He hadn't seen her in years, though, not since he and Brendon had their falling out. He had no idea why she was there.
"I'm very well, thank you," she said, smiling politely, and - if Ryan's assessment was correct - warily.
He sat beside her and glanced questioningly at his father, who looked happier than Ryan had remembered him looking for a long time. "We were just discussing our problems and discovered we had a few in common," he said. "I believe you're acquainted with the reverend's son, Mr. Brendon Urie?" Ryan nodded, bewildered. "The reverend came to see me today with an interesting proposal. Brendon, it seems, is in need of a spouse, and after yesterday's debacle in the press, we've decided that it might be best if the two of you were affianced."
"You want me to marry him?" Ryan asked, blinking in confusion. "But - why? That doesn't make any sense." Aside from the fact that he and Brendon could barely stand each other, it didn't make sense that a reverend would let her son marry someone like Ryan, let alone ask for the marriage to take place.
"Brendon's in a bit of trouble," she said, frowning. "As are you, I hear. Your father and I believe it would be advantageous for the two of you to wed, if only to dispel any future rumors before they begin."
"I - I don't -" Ryan had no idea what he was supposed to say, never mind what he wanted to say, but his father broke in to counter his argument before he'd even made it.
"While you're here, Ryan, I thought we might discuss your finances? I've asked my accountant to work out a reasonable allowance for you over the next few months. He tells me that twenty drams a week should be sufficient, given that your necessities are already provided for." Ryan blanched. Twenty drams wouldn't even pay for a drink at the cheapest pub he could think of; that "allowance" was useless, just a pointed reminder to follow his father's rules. "Of course, should you decide to get married, your trust fund will be reinstated."
"Of course," Ryan echoed bitterly. "Tell me, what does Brendon think about all this?"
"He did seem a little out of sorts," the reverend said, "but Brendon doesn't always know what's best for him."
"Actually," Ryan snapped, even as he wondered why he was bothering to defend Brendon, of all people, "I've always found him to be capable. I'm sure he's able to make his own decisions."
The reverend just smiled faintly and said, noncommittally, "Perhaps. If you'd like to talk to him about it, you could always go see him at his shop. He's open late on Fridays."
"All right," Ryan said. "Do you have the address?" He'd heard that Brendon had established a shop in the city, but he never bothered to find out where - it wasn't like he ever planned to visit him.
"I'm surprised you don't know," Ryan's father said. "His advertisement was on the same page as one of those lovely articles from yesterday. Surely you've seen it." He held up the page in question, and Ryan flushed, leaning over to snatch it from his father's grasp.
"I'll go see him," he said, "but I'm not - I can't -"
"Have fun," Ryan's father said, raising his eyebrows. "Should I give you a few coins in case you need to hire a carriage to get home? I know how expensive those can be."
He scowled and tucked the newspaper under his arm, leaving without saying another word.
*
Ryan walked there in a daze, too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings. He didn't realize he was in Sheridan Court until someone banged into him, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was just outside Pete's apartment.
Sheridan Court had been Ryan's favorite part of the city back when he and Pete were still friends; it was filled with all sorts of bizarre little shops, and grocers that sold food imported from places Ryan had never even heard of, and an open market that always seemed to be frequented by the strangest people. He and Pete always used to climb up to the roof of his building and watch the busy street below them, making up stories about the passers-by. This time he just hurried past, hoping to avoid running into anyone he knew - his discussion with Brendon was going to be difficult enough without having to talk to anyone, especially Pete, beforehand.
It wasn't hard to find Brendon's shop, the sign over the door brightly emblazoned with URIE'S EMPORIUM OF WONDERS. He entered with trepidation and didn't know whether to feel relieved or not when the man behind the counter turned out to be someone entirely unfamiliar. "Can I help you?"
"Yes," he said, stepping forward. He banged into a shelf and cursed, dropping his newspaper, and he flushed as he bent quickly to pick it up. "Sorry," he said as he straightened up, suddenly tongue-tied and foolish. "I was looking for, um -"
"For me, I'd wager," Brendon said from behind him, and he whirled around, nearly dropping his paper again. Brendon hadn't changed much in the few years since they had seen each other and Ryan suddenly remembered that last time they'd spoken, spitting mad and at each other's throats. And he thought of the time before that, Brendon flush against him, pressing him into the wall, his lips touching Ryan's almost gently, so different from the way he'd held Ryan's wrist tight enough to bruise.
"Yeah," he managed to say, shaking the thoughts out of his head. His face was still embarrassingly hot. "Can we talk?"
Brendon nodded. "Dallon, can you manage the shop for a few minutes while I talk to Mr. Ross?" Dallon smirked, but when he saw Ryan's glare he schooled his features into a perfectly blank expression and nodded, busying himself by polishing one of the timepieces displayed on the counter.
"This way, Ross," Brendon said, leading him through the store and up a set of narrow stairs in the back. They ended up in a small, cluttered one-room apartment; every flat surface was piled high with books and papers and tools. Ryan had to carefully navigate his way around the piles of junk on the floor. Brendon cleared some papers from two chairs, tossing them carelessly onto a stack of books that was nearly as tall as he was.
"Nice place," Ryan said flatly, crossing his arms as Brendon sat down. "I really like what you've done with it."
Brendon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, how about we save the insults for later," he said. "I don't know about you, but after what my mother told me today, I'm not really in the mood to squabble like children."
Ryan nodded, all of the fight suddenly leaving him as he sat down next to Brendon. "Sorry," he said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Brendon, what are we going to do?"
"I wish I knew," Brendon said. "I wanted to tell my mother no, but she - I'll be disowned if I don't."
He sounded miserable, and Ryan felt a sudden wave of guilt. All he had to lose was money, not his family. "I'll take the blame for it if you don't want to," he said, and Brendon glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they had started talking. "I mean, my dad's just not going to let me have his money, and I can... I don't know, I'll find a job or something," he said. "You could just say that it was all my fault, and then your mother won't be able to do anything."
"That's nice of you," Brendon said. "If it's not you, though, she'll just find someone else for me to marry." Ryan hadn't thought of that. He wondered if a similar idea has crossed his father's mind. "I'd rather it be you."
"You - you actually want to marry me?" Ryan asked unthinkingly, and Brendon flushed.
"No," he said. "For fuck's sake, Ross, you know better than that. It's just..." He shrugged, doing his best to smile. It wasn't convincing. "Better the devil you know, right? At least you're not a stranger."
"Yeah," Ryan said. "So, um. What did you do that was so horrible that your mother wants you to marry me, of all people?"
"Nothing," Brendon said. "Honestly, nothing. I was courting a girl, and she's now, uh. With child."
"Yours?" Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Definitely not," Brendon replied, shaking his head. "It's absolutely impossible. But my mother doesn't believe me, and she's worried about our family's reputation if people should find out."
"That's a shitty reason to marry off your son to someone who always ends up in the fucking Observer for sleeping around," Ryan remarked, managing to startle a laugh out of Brendon.
"I wish she saw it that way," he said. "I -" He didn't get to finish whatever he'd been planning to say; they were interrupted as something flew through the window and crash-landed onto the floor. Brendon jumped up, running over to it.
"What was that?" he asked as Brendon picked it up gingerly, cradling it to his chest as he brought it over to his workbench.
"Her name's Sophie," he said. "Do you see a screwdriver around?"
Ryan found one up on top of a bookcase and brought it over to Brendon, who was crooning to Sophie. "Did Uncle Pete treat you badly?" he asked. Ryan scoffed as he handed over the screwdriver and saw that Brendon was talking to a mechanical pigeon. Ryan had seen clockwork birds before - Z's friend Charlotte collected them, and there were always a dozen or so swooping around her house eerily whenever he went over there, but none of them were as realistic as the one on the workbench. Sophie's wings fluttered feebly and she made a weak cooing sound when Brendon spoke to her, and were it not for the small wind-up key that stuck out from between her wings, she could easily have been mistaken for a real bird.
"Did you build her?" Ryan asked, reluctantly impressed when Brendon nodded.
"She's a prototype. She was only supposed to be ornamental, but I think Pete must have messed with her circuitry or something, because he always manages to get her to carry messages between us. She'll only ever bring stuff to or from him, though."
"I like her," Ryan said, and Brendon smiled, looking surprised.
"Thanks," he said before turning his attention back to the bird. He unscrewed a panel on her side, glancing at the wiring before rolling his eyes and closing it back up.
"Is she broken?"
"Pete just forgot to wind her before sending her back," he said, rolling his eyes and twisting the key on her back a few times. Sophie chirped, nuzzling at Brendon's hand for a second; when he turned his palm up, she opened her beak and dropped a small, folded piece of paper into his hand.
Brendon unfolded it and laughed. "Pete says he's buying me a wedding present, but I'm not allowed to share it with you," he said.
"I probably deserve that," Ryan said, crossing his arms and glancing away uncomfortably. As he looked away, something on a shelf caught his eye and he wandered over. "What's this?" he asked, cautiously reaching out. It was a flower, so delicately sculpted that he didn't quite realize it wasn't real until he felt it, all cold, wrought metal. The petals unfolded at his touch, and he blinked, unable to keep from smiling.
Brendon laughed. "I should have known you of all people would love the roses," he said, and Ryan's smile faded. "No, sorry, it's okay," Brendon said quickly. "It likes you too, see?"
Ryan looked down again to see that the rose's stem was winding itself around his wrist. He laughed, stroking its petals again. "You want to keep it?" Brendon asked.
"Really?" Ryan said. "Oh, no, I couldn't -"
"It likes you more than me," Brendon said. "Besides, I've got others. It can, um, it can be an early wedding present or something."
"Thanks," Ryan said, his stomach sinking; for a brief moment, he'd managed to forget about the whole marriage thing. Brendon must have seen his apprehension, because he immediately started rambling, Sophie still clutched in his hand.
"Look, I know this probably isn't what you want, and it's definitely not what I want, but I don't want to lose my family over something so stupid, and I just - I don't know what else to do, but if you don't want to that's okay, I'll come up with something -"
"It's all right," Ryan said, cutting him off. "I feel the same way. I think we'll probably end up killing each other, but I don't really think we have any other option."
"So... we're doing this?"
Ryan sighed and glanced down at the flower around his wrist. "Okay," he said softly. "Yeah, let's do this."
*
Alex laughed. Well, Alex continued laughing. He'd been doing so periodically since Ryan walked into Z's house with news of his impending marriage, and it was starting to get annoying. Jon, at least, was sympathetic; Ryan couldn't really tell what Z was thinking, but she wasn't mocking him openly, which he felt was definitely a point in her favor.
"So there's no way out of it?" Jon asked.
"Not really," Ryan said. "If we don't, he gets disowned and I get disinherited, or else our parents decide to marry us off to god-knows-who."
"You might be better off finding someone else," he replied. "I remember you and him having some pretty fucking ridiculous fights over absolutely nothing."
"It wasn't over nothing," Ryan said. "It was -" he paused, realizing that he actually had no idea what started their fights, just what eventually ended them, along with their tenuous friendship. "He's an ass," he finished unconvincingly.
"Not really," Jon said. "I don't see why you two hated each other so much."
"It doesn't matter," Ryan said, waving his hand and causing his drink to slosh precariously in his glass. "I can't stand him and now I have to marry him, and -" Something horrible popped into his head. "Oh, hell, he's probably going to invite Pete to the wedding."
"You have to talk to him sometime," Z said.
"I know, but marrying Brendon fucking Urie is going to be awful enough without having to deal with Pete at the same time."
"Poor thing," she said, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. He relaxed a little, dipping his head and closing his eyes.
"I bet he's going to invite Spencer, too."
"Hey," Jon said. "You wouldn't get married without inviting Spencer yourself, don't even lie."
"Would so," Ryan said, but it wasn't true, and he was sure Jon knew it.
"We're out of brandy," Z said. "I think there's another bottle in the cellar. I'll be back in a moment." She left the room, and Ryan jumped when he realized that the fingers combing through his hair hadn't stopped moving. Vampire magic, he thought wildly before twisting around to see Alex perched on the arm of the sofa, grinning as he dropped his hand from Ryan's head.
"I really hate you," Ryan said.
"I'd believe it if you hadn't just been about to start purring," Alex said, and Ryan sighed, standing up as Jon began to laugh.
"You can all go fuck yourselves," he said. "I'm going home."
"Not without saying goodbye to me, you're not," Z said from the doorway.
"Of course not," Ryan said, and Z followed him out to the front door. "Hey," he said before stepping outside. "What do you think I should do?"
She paused to consider it for a moment. "I think you should go home, get a good night's sleep, and think it over. You don't have to decide right now, do you?"
"My father expects an answer -"
"So answer him. But he can at least wait until morning to hear the verdict, can't he? It's not like you're getting married under cover of darkness as soon as possible, right?"
"Right," he said, relieved to put off his decision, even if it's just for a few hours. "Goodnight, Z."
"Goodnight," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "And remember, if you have his babies, I want to be the godmother."
"I hate you," Ryan said, letting go of her hand, and she grinned at him, darting in to press her lips to his temple.
"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Go home, Ross. Get some sleep."
*
Ryan didn't go home, and he didn't get much sleep. The spring festival was in full swing by the time he left Z's, and while he hadn't planned on stopping by, he got distracted by a group of dancers near the docks. He wasn't sure what kind of dance they were doing, but one of the dancers was small and blonde and pretty, smiling as she spun around the stage.
He thought about waiting until the dance was over, seeing if she'd let him buy her a drink, but then he thought better of it. The streets were crawling with reporters covering the festival, and the last thing he needed right now was to end up in the papers again.
I need a drink, he thought, suddenly wanting to put off sleep as long as he could, as if that meant he could delay his decision. He ducked into the first pub he found and got a table in the corner, his back to the rest of the pub. He was on his sixth drink when he realized there was someone standing beside him, waiting for him to notice him; he glanced up and frowned. "Oh," he said. "It's you."
Pete grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You can't avoid me forever, Ross," he said, and Ryan sighed.
"What am I supposed to say?"
"You don't have to say a thing. I just wanted to give you a warning."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, I'm a jackass, Brendon's too good for me, if I hurt him you'll hurt me, et cetera, et cetera. I know the drill."
"Not that," Pete said, shaking his head impatiently. "Well, yeah, okay, that, but there's something else." He looked around the bar, making sure no one was paying attention, and when he was satisfied he sat down across from Ryan, looking at him with a frown.
"What?" he said. "If you want an apology -"
He shook his head impatiently. "It's not that," he said. "I mean, if you wanted to apologize, that would be awesome, but that's not what I have to tell you."
"Just spit it out," Ryan said, just wanting this conversation to be over already.
"I need you to do something for me. If you're getting married to Brendon, I mean. You need to watch out for him," he said, and Ryan raised his eyebrows.
"That's it? Take care of Brendon?"
"I've been having these dreams," Pete said, and sighed when Ryan rolled his eyes again. "They keep coming true. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I had these dreams about - well, it doesn't matter what they were about, but they came true, and now I think these ones are going to come true, too."
"How much have you had to drink tonight, Pete?" Ryan asked, and Pete narrowed his eyes, calculating.
"You've been having dreams too," he said, and Ryan's eyes widened as he thought about the nightmares he'd been having with increasing frequency. Pete was watching him intently, and he nodded. "I thought so."
"How did you know?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "They're just nightmares. Nothing serious."
"That's what I thought at first. It was just kind of normal nightmare-material, monsters in the forest, falling to my death, stuff like that." Ryan shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how well that described his latest dreams. "But then I started having them about Brendon."
"So you think something's going to happen to him just because of your dreams?"
"Those, plus something a fortune-teller told me," he said. "What, you don't think it's weird that we're apparently having the same dreams?"
"I think they sound like pretty common things to dream about," Ryan replied, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Look, it's been nice catching up, but -"
"Right," Pete said, scowling. "You've got somewhere more important to be, I guess. Just... if you do end up with him, remember what I said, okay?"
"Okay," Ryan said. There was something earnest about Pete's expression, like he believed every word he was saying and needed Ryan to believe it too. "And I'm sorry, by the way. We should catch up for real sometime soon."
"Anytime, Ross," he said, standing and clapping him on the shoulder. "And congratulations on the engagement, even if he's too good for you."
Pete left, and Ryan stayed in his chair, staring morosely into his glass. After a moment he stood up, his head spinning. It was still relatively early; he knew he should just go home, but instead he walked into the next bar he came to. This one was more crowded, a bunch of people dancing to the music drifting in from the streets through the open door. He ordered himself another drink at the bar, chatting up the bartender and earning himself a discount.
He was drunk; he wasn't as bad as he usually got when he went out for the night, but he was out of it enough to collide with someone as he moved away from the bar, drink in hand. "Hi," Brendon said, his voice a little too loud like it always was when he was drunk, and Ryan sighed. His luck was awful.
"Hi," he said. "You look like you're having fun."
"Yeah. I figure I've got to have fun now while I still can," he said, as though marrying Ryan was a death sentence.
"What, like I'm not going to let you do what you want or something if we get married?"
"Shh," Brendon said, widening his eyes. "We're not talking about that tonight. Tonight is for dancing, Ross. Dance with me?"
I'm not drunk enough for this, Ryan thought, downing his whiskey as quickly as he could before setting the empty glass down. It was good, stronger than the watered-down shit they'd served him at the last place, and it gave him a good enough excuse to allow Brendon to pull him into the crowd.
They kept a respectable distance from each other, like all but a few of the couples in the crowd were doing, but after a few moments Brendon shifted closer, his lips curving up a little as he tilted his head, giving Ryan a considering glance. Ryan had only seen that look once before, but it was one he didn't think he was likely to ever forget.
"How drunk are you?" he asked.
"A little," Brendon admitted. "You?"
Ryan considered it for a moment, then let his hand slip from Brendon's shoulder to the curve of his hip. "Enough," he said.
"This isn't a good idea," Brendon pointed out.
"No," he said, "it's really not," and then Brendon was stretching up, Ryan already ducking his head down to meet him halfway. Neither of them hesitated; Brendon tightened his hold on his shoulder and moved his other hand up so he could twist his fingers through Ryan's hair, keeping him from moving away. Not that Ryan had any plans to do so with the way Brendon was kissing him, eager and a little sloppy.
He did break away first, though, when he realized they were drawing stares. Brendon made a low keening sound and tightened his fingers in Ryan's hair, trying to pull him back, but Ryan shook his head, wincing when Brendon pulled too tightly. "Not here," he said, "come on," and he grabbed Brendon's arm, pulling him outside.
There was an alleyway next to the pub and against his better judgement, Ryan led Brendon in, just far enough in that they probably wouldn't be noticed by passers-by, and pushed him against the wall. Brendon's eyes were dark, his pupils blown, and Ryan couldn't help leaning in again.
"Is this -" he asked, so close their lips brushed together.
"Shut up," Brendon said, eyes closing, and he didn't shove Ryan away, didn't say anything else.
"Okay," said Ryan, feeling lost but closing the distance between them all the same, letting Brendon kiss him just as hungrily as he had before.
He didn't mean to press closer, but he lost his footing and suddenly their bodies were flush against each other; Brendon let out a little gasp against Ryan's mouth, fingers flexing against his skin until they were gripping tight enough to bruise. He was hard, Ryan knew, couldn't not know with the way he was pressed against him, and Ryan let out a muffled groan, his hand falling to the waistband of Brendon's trousers, thumb tucking in underneath.
Brendon froze, going still against Ryan. "S'okay," Ryan muttered, his hand sliding back up to Brendon's shoulders. "I didn't -" He had no idea how to finish it, because mean to wasn't quite true and want to was a flat-out lie.
Brendon shook his head. "No, it's - I -" He laughed, sounding sheepish. "I'm too drunk for this," he said, Ryan nodded, stepping back reluctantly.
"I'll walk you home," he said.
"Thanks," Brendon said. "You don't have to."
"I don't mind," Ryan said.
There was a chill in the air. The cold sobered him up a little, and he managed to keep his distance from Brendon as they staggered through the streets. "All right," Ryan said when they reached the shop. "I'm going to head back and see if I can find a driver to take me home."
"There's no way you're sober enough to walk back there," Brendon said, and it was probably true. Ryan wasn't sure how much longer his legs were going to hold him up. "You can stay with me, if you'd like."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said cautiously, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
"I'm not going to jump you," he said, unlocking the door and leaving it open behind him as he went inside.
Ryan followed, fastening the lock behind him and looking around. Brendon was already on his way upstairs, stumbling gracelessly over the narrow steps. Ryan followed without much delay; there was something eerie about the shop in darkness, with all of the clocks and machines and gadgets ticking dissonantly.
Brendon was straightening things up in his flat when Ryan entered, moving things off the bed and setting them carelessly on the floor. "You can take the bed," he offered. "I'll clear off the couch."
Ryan hadn't even been aware that there was a couch in the flat, but there was, buried under a few of the haphazardly stacked piles of equipment. He shook his head. "No, you can, it's - or we can share, I'm not - I don't -"
Brendon looked at him for a moment and nodded, looking tired. "Yeah, okay."
Ryan kicked off his shoes and, after a moment's consideration, tossed his jacket to the floor, crawling into the bed otherwise fully dressed. Brendon followed suit, settling down cautiously next to him. The bed was too small for both of them, really, and Ryan had to turn on his side to keep from touching Brendon, who was perched precariously on the edge of the bed. "This is ridiculous," Ryan muttered. "Come here," he said, voice low, and Brendon blinked at him.
"I don't -" he said, but Ryan cut him off, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"Good night," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes, and after a few moments, Brendon sighed and stretched out a little, moving close enough that they were just barely touching.
*
Ryan didn't expect to get much sleep, but he drifted off easily. His dreams weren't so easy, though, all strange nightmares with little coherence to weave them together; slender creatures with sharp claws chased him through the woods, and then suddenly he was flying, escaping the clawed things but getting lost in the clouds, unable to find his way back into clear skies.
The dream ended with him falling through the clouds and down toward the ground, but never hitting it, just falling further and further. He woke in a cold sweat, confused, and it took him a few moments to regain his senses. He rolled over, shutting his eyes and drawing the blankets up to his chin. His heart was still beating in overtime, but it was easy enough to calm down with Brendon lying warm and still beside him, breathing deep and even, too loud in the otherwise silent room. A few minutes later he was nodding off again, and he thought absently that his dreams might be a little calmer if there were always someone there beside him, a reassuring presence to wake up next to.
*
Ryan woke up curled around someone. He wasn't quite aware of where he was or who he was with, just that he was warm and comfortable. He sighed, tightening his hold, and Brendon said, "I didn't have you pegged for a cuddler," his voice sleepy and amused.
Even so, he was reluctant to move away, shutting his eyes tight and shifting a little closer, already half asleep again when he heard Brendon chuckle. "We have to get up," he said.
"It's still dark," Ryan replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"I have to open the shop soon," Brendon said. "And you should get home."
"Oh," Ryan said, sitting up and shaking off the last of his drowsiness. "Right. I'm, um. I'm sorry about last night."
"Don't be," Brendon said, waving it off. "I'm the one who -"
"No," Ryan interrupted. "No, we were both drunk, it -" He cut himself off, shaking his head and sitting up. "I should get home," he said instead.
Brendon nodded and gestured to a door in the corner that Ryan hadn't noticed before. "You can wash up in there if you'd like," he offered. "There should be some water in the washpan."
There was, and it was freezing cold, but it woke him up a little. When he came back out, clean, alert and painfully hungover, Brendon had dressed and was kneeling by his workbench, gathering some tools together.
"I'm off, then," Ryan said, and Brendon nodded, too distracted by the search for the last of his screwdrivers to look up. "Thanks for letting me stay here," he said.
"You're welcome," Brendon said brusquely, and Ryan left, feeling a weird disappointment, though he couldn't pinpoint its cause.
He walked the long distance home rather than finding a driver to take him, all too aware of how much money he'd spent last night, and how little he had left. It was early enough that some of the revellers were still about, though their muted celebrations were a far cry from the parties of the previous night.
It took him the better part of an hour to make it home, and his father was waiting for him at the door, looking absolutely livid. "I thought I made myself clear," he started, but Ryan cut him off.
"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know I was at Brendon's," he said, and his father blinked in surprise.
"So you've made your decision?" he asked.
Ryan hardly remembered last night's dreams, let alone the idle thoughts that crossed his mind while half-asleep, but the feeling they had left him with was almost enough to chase all of his doubts away.
"You didn't leave me with much of a choice," he said, and left it at that.
*
Much to his relief, Ryan's father and Brendon's parents took the wedding arrangements into their own hands. Ryan's largest contributions to the process were choosing an outfit for his wedding day and picking his best man. He spent a solid hour trying to figure out whether or not to ask Spencer, despite not having talked to him in so long, but the decision was taken out of his hands when he learned that Spencer had already agreed to be Brendon's best man. A little relieved, Ryan picked Jon, but he was still a little nervous about having to see Spencer at his wedding, of all days.
The date was set for a lot sooner than Ryan would have liked; really, any time was sooner than he would have liked, but Brendon's family wanted their son safely married off before news of his former girlfriend's "trouble" became well known. If all went according to plan, Brendon and Ryan would be safely away on their honeymoon - if you could call going to the countryside a honeymoon - when the child was born.
They only saw each other once more before their wedding day, and that meeting only took place because Brendon sneaked out the night before the ceremony and went to Ryan's house. Ryan awoke when something cold touched his face. He sat up in a panic, still caught up in his dream, but then relaxed when he saw what it was that woke him.
"Hey Sophie," he said, "Brendon finally teach you to go to someone besides Pete?" Sophie hopped onto his finger, laying a note on his palm; he unfolded it and laughed to himself.
Hey asshole, I'm outside. Hurry the fuck up and come out, it's freezing.
He checked his timepiece - it was past two, and it hit him that they would be getting married in less than twelve hours. Ryan dressed quickly and headed outside, Sophie perched on his shoulder and flicking her wings every so often. Brendon was waiting by the gate, dressed too lightly (in Ryan's opinion, at least) for such a chilly night, and he smiled tensely. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," Ryan said, and Sophie hopped from his shoulder to Brendon's.
"I just wanted to make sure everything's okay," Brendon said. "I mean, about tomorrow. No second thoughts?"
"I'm way past second thoughts," Ryan admitted, and Brendon laughed.
"Me too," he said. "But we're doing this?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "I guess we are."
Brendon let out a breath and laughed a little nervously. "I guess that's it, then." He hesitated, then pulled a little box out of his pocket. "So my parents said they'd pick us up some rings, but I told them not to because I had some in the shop that never sold. And then I realized I didn't even know if any of them would fit you, so." He shrugged, opening up the box and taking out a ring. "I can adjust it if it doesn't fit," he said, holding it out.
Ryan took it and slipped it onto his finger. It was a fairly simple ring, just a gold band with some decorative engraving, but it was cold and heavy and reminded him of what was going to happen the next day. Not that he needed reminding - it was the only thing he'd been able to think about - but it made it more real somehow. He stared down at his hand. "It fits," he said, his voice shaking a little.
"Great," Brendon said. "Here, I'll make sure they end up wherever they need to be for the ceremony tomorrow."
He nodded, sliding the ring back off and handing it to Brendon. "You should go home," he said. "Get some sleep."
"Right," Brendon said. "You too. Sorry to wake you and everything."
"That's okay," Ryan said. "See you later."
"Later," Brendon echoed, and they hesitated a moment before turning. Ryan felt awkward, restless, a little outside of himself; his fingers twitched like they wanted to twist themselves into the fabric of Brendon's shirt and pull him closer. He curled them into his palms, digging his nails in.
The moment passed. Brendon smiled awkwardly and left, hurrying back down the path. Ryan let out a breath and uncurled his fingers, leaning on the gate and looking after Brendon until well after he was out of sight.
*
Part Two
Master Post
The bulk of his evening papers had already sold, but the newsboy still had a few more to get rid of before he could call it a night. He sighed, scanning the street for potential customers, but most of the crowd was further down the road, watching a busker attempt to charm a snake out of its basket.
A man broke away from the crowd and started up the street, and the newsboy jumped at the chance to rid himself of another copy. "Paper, sir?" he asked, holding out one of them hopefully.
The man shook his head, barely glancing over, but after a moment he did a double-take and grinned. "Actually," he said to the boy, "I'll take the lot."
*
*
"Front page news, Ross," Alex said, tossing one of his papers down on the table as he sat next to Jon. "You're moving up in society."
"I think you mean moving down," Jon said, snatching it up before Ryan could see it. "This is another gossip rag, isn't it?"
"Don't be so insulting, Jon," Ryan said, leaning over to read over Jon's shoulder. "Any publication that focuses on me is clearly the height of journalism."
"Oh, look, I got a mention!" Alex said as he read from one of the extra copies he'd purchased. "I was starting to think the public had forgotten who I was."
"Yeah, that's probably not going to happen when you pay journalists to include your name in their articles," said Jon, helping himself to the half-finished drink Ryan had been sipping slowly.
"Fuck you," Alex said, leaning over to smack his arm. "I do no such thing." Jon smacked him back, and Ryan took advantage of his distraction, snatching his glass back and downing the last of his whiskey.
"I've got to get home," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if my father's waiting for me, ready to disown me as soon as I walk in the door."
"You want us to walk you home?" Alex asked. "Wouldn't want the vampires catching up with you."
Ryan shoved him in the arm lightly as he passed. "Z would hit you for that," he said.
"She'd hit him a hell of a lot harder than you could," Jon said, grinning as he poured himself another drink. "Night, Ryan."
"Night, guys. Don't let the vampires bite," he called back as he left.
It was a lot earlier than he thought; it was hard to see the clock tower from the steps of Jon's apartment, but he thought it said that it was barely ten. If he was lucky, his father would have given up on chiding him for the publicity his latest antics had received and just gone to bed. Ryan's father's threats to disinherit him had been coming with increased frequency over the past few months, and while Ryan was sure his father wouldn't really leave him penniless, he was starting to become a little nervous.
The streets were crowded that night, though it was still early. Ryan remembered after a moment that the spring festival was the next night, so the crowd was probably due to tourists who had come for tomorrow's festivities. He passed by crowds of people smoking and talking and laughing outside the pubs; a few of them seemed to recognize him, probably from the sketches and daguerreotypes that sometimes made it into the articles, but no one spoke to him, and he made it home without incident.
The mansion was dark when he arrived, and he managed to get to his room without running into his father or any of the help. He sighed with relief, shutting the door and, after thinking about it for a moment, locking it behind him. He was sure his father would want to have words with him in the morning, but he was equally sure that it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have while nursing a hangover.
*
Ryan's dreams were normally disjointed and a little boring, just fragments of memories all mixed up with each other, but his dreams that night were anything but dull. They were horrifying, full of ghoulish things clawing at him and biting at his skin, letting him escape just so they could catch him again, and he twisted and turned as he tried to escape, only waking when his movements sent him tumbling out of bed.
It was mid-afternoon, and the bright sunlight that trickled through the shade on his window calmed him down, though it did little to help the pounding headache that the previous night's activities had left him with. He pulled himself up and did his best to shake off the lingering apprehension the dreams had left him with. Once he'd composed himself enough to get dressed he stumbled down to the kitchen, cringing when the light coming in from outside hit his eyes. The cook, well-accustomed to Ryan's comings and goings, took one look at his bleary expression and nodded to himself as he asked, "It'll be a light breakfast today, then, Mr. Ross?"
"Please," he answered, rubbing at his eyes.
"Go on and sit, then," he told him. "I'll bring it out when it's done."
Ryan nodded and seated himself at the little table in the corner of the kitchen. He usually ate there, except for the rare occasion when he and his father were both taking their meals at the same time, in which case they normally ate in the dining room. He hated the formality of it, though, and avoided that room whenever possible - much like he did his best to be out of the house as often as he could.
The cook made him a cup of hot tea and returned a little later with a plate of toast and eggs. He set the plate down and, after hesitating a moment, held out an envelope, its corners slightly worse for the wear after being tucked inside his pocket. "Your father asked me to give this note to you if you came down for breakfast," he said, sounding apologetic. "He was in rather a bad mood when he left it with me."
"I'll bet," Ryan said under his breath, accepting it with a grim smile. "Thank you, Louis." The cook went back to his chores, and Ryan opened the note.
Dear Ryan,
You are to meet with me immediately to discuss your recent antics. While I'm sure that you are disinclined to do so, I would like to point out that as of this morning, your access to your trust has been taken away, and shall not be restored until I am satisfied that you are in accordance with the terms of our agreement regarding your lifestyle.
Father
Ryan groaned, crumpling the letter up and shoving it into his pocket. It was hardly the worst case scenario - his father hadn't mentioned tossing him out on the street, at least - but it certainly wasn't a satisfactory start to the day. He ate his meal slowly, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation, but after a little while the clock struck three and he realized he only had a couple of hours before his father's offices closed. Not wanting to make his father even angrier, he hastened to get ready.
He walked out the front door and immediately went back inside, the sunlight making his head hurt even more. He dug around in a cabinet by the front door until he found a pair of tinted glasses he'd left there awhile back. He was hit with a pang of nostalgia as he put them on - they were a pair Spencer left behind the last time he visited, back when he was on holiday from the flight academy. That had been over two years before, and it was the last time Ryan saw Spencer; they had drifted since Spencer graduated, which Ryan knew was mostly his fault. It wasn't like Spencer hadn't tried to get back into contact, but Ryan was always busy with one thing with another, too caught up in whatever adventures he was having with Alex, Z, and Jon.
He set out for the office building, grimacing when the glasses weren't enough to keep his headache from getting worse. He kept his eyes to the ground, for the most part, and he didn't miss much - Ryan hated the city in the day, the way the streets were nearly empty when most of its residents were at work. Lanverne was at its best in the night, when the lamps were lit and the workers went home and changed their clothes and went out again. It all felt fake to him, somehow, the way everyone wasted their days doing things they didn't want to do and then lived a wholly different life by night.
("Stop whining," Z had told him once when he'd complained about it. "At least you can go out in the day without bursting into flame." She'd had a point, but that didn't stop him from grumbling about it.)
The walk to the legal offices wasn't a long one, but he was stopped just outside by a girl who sheepishly asked him to sign her copy of yesterday's Times. "Wait, what?" Ryan asked, and she held it up so he could see. Sure enough, there he was on page two, daguerreotype and all. The Observer was just filled with sensational bullshit that nobody ever really took seriously, but the Times was a well-respected paper with a good reputation. It looked like he was the victim of a slow news day, he thought as he quickly scrawled his name across the picture and handed it back, smiling weakly at the girl. She beamed at him before thanking him and running off down the street, paper clutched tightly to her chest.
He sighed, squaring his shoulders, and walked up the steps of the building, carefully navigating his way through the corridors of the building - he wasn't sure he could count the number of times he had ended up lost in there. His father's secretary raised his eyebrows when Ryan walked in, but all he said was, "Your father's a little busy, but if you'd like to take a seat, I'm sure he'll be available soon." Ryan nodded, taking his glasses off as he sat down. He fiddled with them in his hands, already bored and expecting to wait awhile, but he'd only been there a minute or two when the door to his father's office opened.
"Oh, Ryan. We were just talking about you," his father said. "Come in." Ryan entered and saw a vaguely familiar woman sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "You remember the Rev. Mrs. Urie, don't you?"
"Of course," he said, inclining his head. "How are you, Reverend?" He'd met her once or twice back when he and Spencer and Jon occasionally spent time with one of her sons. He hadn't seen her in years, though, not since he and Brendon had their falling out. He had no idea why she was there.
"I'm very well, thank you," she said, smiling politely, and - if Ryan's assessment was correct - warily.
He sat beside her and glanced questioningly at his father, who looked happier than Ryan had remembered him looking for a long time. "We were just discussing our problems and discovered we had a few in common," he said. "I believe you're acquainted with the reverend's son, Mr. Brendon Urie?" Ryan nodded, bewildered. "The reverend came to see me today with an interesting proposal. Brendon, it seems, is in need of a spouse, and after yesterday's debacle in the press, we've decided that it might be best if the two of you were affianced."
"You want me to marry him?" Ryan asked, blinking in confusion. "But - why? That doesn't make any sense." Aside from the fact that he and Brendon could barely stand each other, it didn't make sense that a reverend would let her son marry someone like Ryan, let alone ask for the marriage to take place.
"Brendon's in a bit of trouble," she said, frowning. "As are you, I hear. Your father and I believe it would be advantageous for the two of you to wed, if only to dispel any future rumors before they begin."
"I - I don't -" Ryan had no idea what he was supposed to say, never mind what he wanted to say, but his father broke in to counter his argument before he'd even made it.
"While you're here, Ryan, I thought we might discuss your finances? I've asked my accountant to work out a reasonable allowance for you over the next few months. He tells me that twenty drams a week should be sufficient, given that your necessities are already provided for." Ryan blanched. Twenty drams wouldn't even pay for a drink at the cheapest pub he could think of; that "allowance" was useless, just a pointed reminder to follow his father's rules. "Of course, should you decide to get married, your trust fund will be reinstated."
"Of course," Ryan echoed bitterly. "Tell me, what does Brendon think about all this?"
"He did seem a little out of sorts," the reverend said, "but Brendon doesn't always know what's best for him."
"Actually," Ryan snapped, even as he wondered why he was bothering to defend Brendon, of all people, "I've always found him to be capable. I'm sure he's able to make his own decisions."
The reverend just smiled faintly and said, noncommittally, "Perhaps. If you'd like to talk to him about it, you could always go see him at his shop. He's open late on Fridays."
"All right," Ryan said. "Do you have the address?" He'd heard that Brendon had established a shop in the city, but he never bothered to find out where - it wasn't like he ever planned to visit him.
"I'm surprised you don't know," Ryan's father said. "His advertisement was on the same page as one of those lovely articles from yesterday. Surely you've seen it." He held up the page in question, and Ryan flushed, leaning over to snatch it from his father's grasp.
"I'll go see him," he said, "but I'm not - I can't -"
"Have fun," Ryan's father said, raising his eyebrows. "Should I give you a few coins in case you need to hire a carriage to get home? I know how expensive those can be."
He scowled and tucked the newspaper under his arm, leaving without saying another word.
*
Ryan walked there in a daze, too caught up in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings. He didn't realize he was in Sheridan Court until someone banged into him, jolting him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was just outside Pete's apartment.
Sheridan Court had been Ryan's favorite part of the city back when he and Pete were still friends; it was filled with all sorts of bizarre little shops, and grocers that sold food imported from places Ryan had never even heard of, and an open market that always seemed to be frequented by the strangest people. He and Pete always used to climb up to the roof of his building and watch the busy street below them, making up stories about the passers-by. This time he just hurried past, hoping to avoid running into anyone he knew - his discussion with Brendon was going to be difficult enough without having to talk to anyone, especially Pete, beforehand.
It wasn't hard to find Brendon's shop, the sign over the door brightly emblazoned with URIE'S EMPORIUM OF WONDERS. He entered with trepidation and didn't know whether to feel relieved or not when the man behind the counter turned out to be someone entirely unfamiliar. "Can I help you?"
"Yes," he said, stepping forward. He banged into a shelf and cursed, dropping his newspaper, and he flushed as he bent quickly to pick it up. "Sorry," he said as he straightened up, suddenly tongue-tied and foolish. "I was looking for, um -"
"For me, I'd wager," Brendon said from behind him, and he whirled around, nearly dropping his paper again. Brendon hadn't changed much in the few years since they had seen each other and Ryan suddenly remembered that last time they'd spoken, spitting mad and at each other's throats. And he thought of the time before that, Brendon flush against him, pressing him into the wall, his lips touching Ryan's almost gently, so different from the way he'd held Ryan's wrist tight enough to bruise.
"Yeah," he managed to say, shaking the thoughts out of his head. His face was still embarrassingly hot. "Can we talk?"
Brendon nodded. "Dallon, can you manage the shop for a few minutes while I talk to Mr. Ross?" Dallon smirked, but when he saw Ryan's glare he schooled his features into a perfectly blank expression and nodded, busying himself by polishing one of the timepieces displayed on the counter.
"This way, Ross," Brendon said, leading him through the store and up a set of narrow stairs in the back. They ended up in a small, cluttered one-room apartment; every flat surface was piled high with books and papers and tools. Ryan had to carefully navigate his way around the piles of junk on the floor. Brendon cleared some papers from two chairs, tossing them carelessly onto a stack of books that was nearly as tall as he was.
"Nice place," Ryan said flatly, crossing his arms as Brendon sat down. "I really like what you've done with it."
Brendon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, how about we save the insults for later," he said. "I don't know about you, but after what my mother told me today, I'm not really in the mood to squabble like children."
Ryan nodded, all of the fight suddenly leaving him as he sat down next to Brendon. "Sorry," he said quietly, staring down at his hands. "Brendon, what are we going to do?"
"I wish I knew," Brendon said. "I wanted to tell my mother no, but she - I'll be disowned if I don't."
He sounded miserable, and Ryan felt a sudden wave of guilt. All he had to lose was money, not his family. "I'll take the blame for it if you don't want to," he said, and Brendon glanced up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since they had started talking. "I mean, my dad's just not going to let me have his money, and I can... I don't know, I'll find a job or something," he said. "You could just say that it was all my fault, and then your mother won't be able to do anything."
"That's nice of you," Brendon said. "If it's not you, though, she'll just find someone else for me to marry." Ryan hadn't thought of that. He wondered if a similar idea has crossed his father's mind. "I'd rather it be you."
"You - you actually want to marry me?" Ryan asked unthinkingly, and Brendon flushed.
"No," he said. "For fuck's sake, Ross, you know better than that. It's just..." He shrugged, doing his best to smile. It wasn't convincing. "Better the devil you know, right? At least you're not a stranger."
"Yeah," Ryan said. "So, um. What did you do that was so horrible that your mother wants you to marry me, of all people?"
"Nothing," Brendon said. "Honestly, nothing. I was courting a girl, and she's now, uh. With child."
"Yours?" Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Definitely not," Brendon replied, shaking his head. "It's absolutely impossible. But my mother doesn't believe me, and she's worried about our family's reputation if people should find out."
"That's a shitty reason to marry off your son to someone who always ends up in the fucking Observer for sleeping around," Ryan remarked, managing to startle a laugh out of Brendon.
"I wish she saw it that way," he said. "I -" He didn't get to finish whatever he'd been planning to say; they were interrupted as something flew through the window and crash-landed onto the floor. Brendon jumped up, running over to it.
"What was that?" he asked as Brendon picked it up gingerly, cradling it to his chest as he brought it over to his workbench.
"Her name's Sophie," he said. "Do you see a screwdriver around?"
Ryan found one up on top of a bookcase and brought it over to Brendon, who was crooning to Sophie. "Did Uncle Pete treat you badly?" he asked. Ryan scoffed as he handed over the screwdriver and saw that Brendon was talking to a mechanical pigeon. Ryan had seen clockwork birds before - Z's friend Charlotte collected them, and there were always a dozen or so swooping around her house eerily whenever he went over there, but none of them were as realistic as the one on the workbench. Sophie's wings fluttered feebly and she made a weak cooing sound when Brendon spoke to her, and were it not for the small wind-up key that stuck out from between her wings, she could easily have been mistaken for a real bird.
"Did you build her?" Ryan asked, reluctantly impressed when Brendon nodded.
"She's a prototype. She was only supposed to be ornamental, but I think Pete must have messed with her circuitry or something, because he always manages to get her to carry messages between us. She'll only ever bring stuff to or from him, though."
"I like her," Ryan said, and Brendon smiled, looking surprised.
"Thanks," he said before turning his attention back to the bird. He unscrewed a panel on her side, glancing at the wiring before rolling his eyes and closing it back up.
"Is she broken?"
"Pete just forgot to wind her before sending her back," he said, rolling his eyes and twisting the key on her back a few times. Sophie chirped, nuzzling at Brendon's hand for a second; when he turned his palm up, she opened her beak and dropped a small, folded piece of paper into his hand.
Brendon unfolded it and laughed. "Pete says he's buying me a wedding present, but I'm not allowed to share it with you," he said.
"I probably deserve that," Ryan said, crossing his arms and glancing away uncomfortably. As he looked away, something on a shelf caught his eye and he wandered over. "What's this?" he asked, cautiously reaching out. It was a flower, so delicately sculpted that he didn't quite realize it wasn't real until he felt it, all cold, wrought metal. The petals unfolded at his touch, and he blinked, unable to keep from smiling.
Brendon laughed. "I should have known you of all people would love the roses," he said, and Ryan's smile faded. "No, sorry, it's okay," Brendon said quickly. "It likes you too, see?"
Ryan looked down again to see that the rose's stem was winding itself around his wrist. He laughed, stroking its petals again. "You want to keep it?" Brendon asked.
"Really?" Ryan said. "Oh, no, I couldn't -"
"It likes you more than me," Brendon said. "Besides, I've got others. It can, um, it can be an early wedding present or something."
"Thanks," Ryan said, his stomach sinking; for a brief moment, he'd managed to forget about the whole marriage thing. Brendon must have seen his apprehension, because he immediately started rambling, Sophie still clutched in his hand.
"Look, I know this probably isn't what you want, and it's definitely not what I want, but I don't want to lose my family over something so stupid, and I just - I don't know what else to do, but if you don't want to that's okay, I'll come up with something -"
"It's all right," Ryan said, cutting him off. "I feel the same way. I think we'll probably end up killing each other, but I don't really think we have any other option."
"So... we're doing this?"
Ryan sighed and glanced down at the flower around his wrist. "Okay," he said softly. "Yeah, let's do this."
*
Alex laughed. Well, Alex continued laughing. He'd been doing so periodically since Ryan walked into Z's house with news of his impending marriage, and it was starting to get annoying. Jon, at least, was sympathetic; Ryan couldn't really tell what Z was thinking, but she wasn't mocking him openly, which he felt was definitely a point in her favor.
"So there's no way out of it?" Jon asked.
"Not really," Ryan said. "If we don't, he gets disowned and I get disinherited, or else our parents decide to marry us off to god-knows-who."
"You might be better off finding someone else," he replied. "I remember you and him having some pretty fucking ridiculous fights over absolutely nothing."
"It wasn't over nothing," Ryan said. "It was -" he paused, realizing that he actually had no idea what started their fights, just what eventually ended them, along with their tenuous friendship. "He's an ass," he finished unconvincingly.
"Not really," Jon said. "I don't see why you two hated each other so much."
"It doesn't matter," Ryan said, waving his hand and causing his drink to slosh precariously in his glass. "I can't stand him and now I have to marry him, and -" Something horrible popped into his head. "Oh, hell, he's probably going to invite Pete to the wedding."
"You have to talk to him sometime," Z said.
"I know, but marrying Brendon fucking Urie is going to be awful enough without having to deal with Pete at the same time."
"Poor thing," she said, running her fingers through his hair soothingly. He relaxed a little, dipping his head and closing his eyes.
"I bet he's going to invite Spencer, too."
"Hey," Jon said. "You wouldn't get married without inviting Spencer yourself, don't even lie."
"Would so," Ryan said, but it wasn't true, and he was sure Jon knew it.
"We're out of brandy," Z said. "I think there's another bottle in the cellar. I'll be back in a moment." She left the room, and Ryan jumped when he realized that the fingers combing through his hair hadn't stopped moving. Vampire magic, he thought wildly before twisting around to see Alex perched on the arm of the sofa, grinning as he dropped his hand from Ryan's head.
"I really hate you," Ryan said.
"I'd believe it if you hadn't just been about to start purring," Alex said, and Ryan sighed, standing up as Jon began to laugh.
"You can all go fuck yourselves," he said. "I'm going home."
"Not without saying goodbye to me, you're not," Z said from the doorway.
"Of course not," Ryan said, and Z followed him out to the front door. "Hey," he said before stepping outside. "What do you think I should do?"
She paused to consider it for a moment. "I think you should go home, get a good night's sleep, and think it over. You don't have to decide right now, do you?"
"My father expects an answer -"
"So answer him. But he can at least wait until morning to hear the verdict, can't he? It's not like you're getting married under cover of darkness as soon as possible, right?"
"Right," he said, relieved to put off his decision, even if it's just for a few hours. "Goodnight, Z."
"Goodnight," she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "And remember, if you have his babies, I want to be the godmother."
"I hate you," Ryan said, letting go of her hand, and she grinned at him, darting in to press her lips to his temple.
"Yeah, yeah," she said. "Go home, Ross. Get some sleep."
*
Ryan didn't go home, and he didn't get much sleep. The spring festival was in full swing by the time he left Z's, and while he hadn't planned on stopping by, he got distracted by a group of dancers near the docks. He wasn't sure what kind of dance they were doing, but one of the dancers was small and blonde and pretty, smiling as she spun around the stage.
He thought about waiting until the dance was over, seeing if she'd let him buy her a drink, but then he thought better of it. The streets were crawling with reporters covering the festival, and the last thing he needed right now was to end up in the papers again.
I need a drink, he thought, suddenly wanting to put off sleep as long as he could, as if that meant he could delay his decision. He ducked into the first pub he found and got a table in the corner, his back to the rest of the pub. He was on his sixth drink when he realized there was someone standing beside him, waiting for him to notice him; he glanced up and frowned. "Oh," he said. "It's you."
Pete grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You can't avoid me forever, Ross," he said, and Ryan sighed.
"What am I supposed to say?"
"You don't have to say a thing. I just wanted to give you a warning."
Ryan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know, I'm a jackass, Brendon's too good for me, if I hurt him you'll hurt me, et cetera, et cetera. I know the drill."
"Not that," Pete said, shaking his head impatiently. "Well, yeah, okay, that, but there's something else." He looked around the bar, making sure no one was paying attention, and when he was satisfied he sat down across from Ryan, looking at him with a frown.
"What?" he said. "If you want an apology -"
He shook his head impatiently. "It's not that," he said. "I mean, if you wanted to apologize, that would be awesome, but that's not what I have to tell you."
"Just spit it out," Ryan said, just wanting this conversation to be over already.
"I need you to do something for me. If you're getting married to Brendon, I mean. You need to watch out for him," he said, and Ryan raised his eyebrows.
"That's it? Take care of Brendon?"
"I've been having these dreams," Pete said, and sighed when Ryan rolled his eyes again. "They keep coming true. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I had these dreams about - well, it doesn't matter what they were about, but they came true, and now I think these ones are going to come true, too."
"How much have you had to drink tonight, Pete?" Ryan asked, and Pete narrowed his eyes, calculating.
"You've been having dreams too," he said, and Ryan's eyes widened as he thought about the nightmares he'd been having with increasing frequency. Pete was watching him intently, and he nodded. "I thought so."
"How did you know?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "They're just nightmares. Nothing serious."
"That's what I thought at first. It was just kind of normal nightmare-material, monsters in the forest, falling to my death, stuff like that." Ryan shifted uncomfortably, thinking about how well that described his latest dreams. "But then I started having them about Brendon."
"So you think something's going to happen to him just because of your dreams?"
"Those, plus something a fortune-teller told me," he said. "What, you don't think it's weird that we're apparently having the same dreams?"
"I think they sound like pretty common things to dream about," Ryan replied, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Look, it's been nice catching up, but -"
"Right," Pete said, scowling. "You've got somewhere more important to be, I guess. Just... if you do end up with him, remember what I said, okay?"
"Okay," Ryan said. There was something earnest about Pete's expression, like he believed every word he was saying and needed Ryan to believe it too. "And I'm sorry, by the way. We should catch up for real sometime soon."
"Anytime, Ross," he said, standing and clapping him on the shoulder. "And congratulations on the engagement, even if he's too good for you."
Pete left, and Ryan stayed in his chair, staring morosely into his glass. After a moment he stood up, his head spinning. It was still relatively early; he knew he should just go home, but instead he walked into the next bar he came to. This one was more crowded, a bunch of people dancing to the music drifting in from the streets through the open door. He ordered himself another drink at the bar, chatting up the bartender and earning himself a discount.
He was drunk; he wasn't as bad as he usually got when he went out for the night, but he was out of it enough to collide with someone as he moved away from the bar, drink in hand. "Hi," Brendon said, his voice a little too loud like it always was when he was drunk, and Ryan sighed. His luck was awful.
"Hi," he said. "You look like you're having fun."
"Yeah. I figure I've got to have fun now while I still can," he said, as though marrying Ryan was a death sentence.
"What, like I'm not going to let you do what you want or something if we get married?"
"Shh," Brendon said, widening his eyes. "We're not talking about that tonight. Tonight is for dancing, Ross. Dance with me?"
I'm not drunk enough for this, Ryan thought, downing his whiskey as quickly as he could before setting the empty glass down. It was good, stronger than the watered-down shit they'd served him at the last place, and it gave him a good enough excuse to allow Brendon to pull him into the crowd.
They kept a respectable distance from each other, like all but a few of the couples in the crowd were doing, but after a few moments Brendon shifted closer, his lips curving up a little as he tilted his head, giving Ryan a considering glance. Ryan had only seen that look once before, but it was one he didn't think he was likely to ever forget.
"How drunk are you?" he asked.
"A little," Brendon admitted. "You?"
Ryan considered it for a moment, then let his hand slip from Brendon's shoulder to the curve of his hip. "Enough," he said.
"This isn't a good idea," Brendon pointed out.
"No," he said, "it's really not," and then Brendon was stretching up, Ryan already ducking his head down to meet him halfway. Neither of them hesitated; Brendon tightened his hold on his shoulder and moved his other hand up so he could twist his fingers through Ryan's hair, keeping him from moving away. Not that Ryan had any plans to do so with the way Brendon was kissing him, eager and a little sloppy.
He did break away first, though, when he realized they were drawing stares. Brendon made a low keening sound and tightened his fingers in Ryan's hair, trying to pull him back, but Ryan shook his head, wincing when Brendon pulled too tightly. "Not here," he said, "come on," and he grabbed Brendon's arm, pulling him outside.
There was an alleyway next to the pub and against his better judgement, Ryan led Brendon in, just far enough in that they probably wouldn't be noticed by passers-by, and pushed him against the wall. Brendon's eyes were dark, his pupils blown, and Ryan couldn't help leaning in again.
"Is this -" he asked, so close their lips brushed together.
"Shut up," Brendon said, eyes closing, and he didn't shove Ryan away, didn't say anything else.
"Okay," said Ryan, feeling lost but closing the distance between them all the same, letting Brendon kiss him just as hungrily as he had before.
He didn't mean to press closer, but he lost his footing and suddenly their bodies were flush against each other; Brendon let out a little gasp against Ryan's mouth, fingers flexing against his skin until they were gripping tight enough to bruise. He was hard, Ryan knew, couldn't not know with the way he was pressed against him, and Ryan let out a muffled groan, his hand falling to the waistband of Brendon's trousers, thumb tucking in underneath.
Brendon froze, going still against Ryan. "S'okay," Ryan muttered, his hand sliding back up to Brendon's shoulders. "I didn't -" He had no idea how to finish it, because mean to wasn't quite true and want to was a flat-out lie.
Brendon shook his head. "No, it's - I -" He laughed, sounding sheepish. "I'm too drunk for this," he said, Ryan nodded, stepping back reluctantly.
"I'll walk you home," he said.
"Thanks," Brendon said. "You don't have to."
"I don't mind," Ryan said.
There was a chill in the air. The cold sobered him up a little, and he managed to keep his distance from Brendon as they staggered through the streets. "All right," Ryan said when they reached the shop. "I'm going to head back and see if I can find a driver to take me home."
"There's no way you're sober enough to walk back there," Brendon said, and it was probably true. Ryan wasn't sure how much longer his legs were going to hold him up. "You can stay with me, if you'd like."
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he said cautiously, and Brendon rolled his eyes.
"I'm not going to jump you," he said, unlocking the door and leaving it open behind him as he went inside.
Ryan followed, fastening the lock behind him and looking around. Brendon was already on his way upstairs, stumbling gracelessly over the narrow steps. Ryan followed without much delay; there was something eerie about the shop in darkness, with all of the clocks and machines and gadgets ticking dissonantly.
Brendon was straightening things up in his flat when Ryan entered, moving things off the bed and setting them carelessly on the floor. "You can take the bed," he offered. "I'll clear off the couch."
Ryan hadn't even been aware that there was a couch in the flat, but there was, buried under a few of the haphazardly stacked piles of equipment. He shook his head. "No, you can, it's - or we can share, I'm not - I don't -"
Brendon looked at him for a moment and nodded, looking tired. "Yeah, okay."
Ryan kicked off his shoes and, after a moment's consideration, tossed his jacket to the floor, crawling into the bed otherwise fully dressed. Brendon followed suit, settling down cautiously next to him. The bed was too small for both of them, really, and Ryan had to turn on his side to keep from touching Brendon, who was perched precariously on the edge of the bed. "This is ridiculous," Ryan muttered. "Come here," he said, voice low, and Brendon blinked at him.
"I don't -" he said, but Ryan cut him off, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips.
"Good night," he said, leaning back and closing his eyes, and after a few moments, Brendon sighed and stretched out a little, moving close enough that they were just barely touching.
*
Ryan didn't expect to get much sleep, but he drifted off easily. His dreams weren't so easy, though, all strange nightmares with little coherence to weave them together; slender creatures with sharp claws chased him through the woods, and then suddenly he was flying, escaping the clawed things but getting lost in the clouds, unable to find his way back into clear skies.
The dream ended with him falling through the clouds and down toward the ground, but never hitting it, just falling further and further. He woke in a cold sweat, confused, and it took him a few moments to regain his senses. He rolled over, shutting his eyes and drawing the blankets up to his chin. His heart was still beating in overtime, but it was easy enough to calm down with Brendon lying warm and still beside him, breathing deep and even, too loud in the otherwise silent room. A few minutes later he was nodding off again, and he thought absently that his dreams might be a little calmer if there were always someone there beside him, a reassuring presence to wake up next to.
*
Ryan woke up curled around someone. He wasn't quite aware of where he was or who he was with, just that he was warm and comfortable. He sighed, tightening his hold, and Brendon said, "I didn't have you pegged for a cuddler," his voice sleepy and amused.
Even so, he was reluctant to move away, shutting his eyes tight and shifting a little closer, already half asleep again when he heard Brendon chuckle. "We have to get up," he said.
"It's still dark," Ryan replied, his voice muffled by the pillow.
"I have to open the shop soon," Brendon said. "And you should get home."
"Oh," Ryan said, sitting up and shaking off the last of his drowsiness. "Right. I'm, um. I'm sorry about last night."
"Don't be," Brendon said, waving it off. "I'm the one who -"
"No," Ryan interrupted. "No, we were both drunk, it -" He cut himself off, shaking his head and sitting up. "I should get home," he said instead.
Brendon nodded and gestured to a door in the corner that Ryan hadn't noticed before. "You can wash up in there if you'd like," he offered. "There should be some water in the washpan."
There was, and it was freezing cold, but it woke him up a little. When he came back out, clean, alert and painfully hungover, Brendon had dressed and was kneeling by his workbench, gathering some tools together.
"I'm off, then," Ryan said, and Brendon nodded, too distracted by the search for the last of his screwdrivers to look up. "Thanks for letting me stay here," he said.
"You're welcome," Brendon said brusquely, and Ryan left, feeling a weird disappointment, though he couldn't pinpoint its cause.
He walked the long distance home rather than finding a driver to take him, all too aware of how much money he'd spent last night, and how little he had left. It was early enough that some of the revellers were still about, though their muted celebrations were a far cry from the parties of the previous night.
It took him the better part of an hour to make it home, and his father was waiting for him at the door, looking absolutely livid. "I thought I made myself clear," he started, but Ryan cut him off.
"I'm sure you'll be pleased to know I was at Brendon's," he said, and his father blinked in surprise.
"So you've made your decision?" he asked.
Ryan hardly remembered last night's dreams, let alone the idle thoughts that crossed his mind while half-asleep, but the feeling they had left him with was almost enough to chase all of his doubts away.
"You didn't leave me with much of a choice," he said, and left it at that.
*
Much to his relief, Ryan's father and Brendon's parents took the wedding arrangements into their own hands. Ryan's largest contributions to the process were choosing an outfit for his wedding day and picking his best man. He spent a solid hour trying to figure out whether or not to ask Spencer, despite not having talked to him in so long, but the decision was taken out of his hands when he learned that Spencer had already agreed to be Brendon's best man. A little relieved, Ryan picked Jon, but he was still a little nervous about having to see Spencer at his wedding, of all days.
The date was set for a lot sooner than Ryan would have liked; really, any time was sooner than he would have liked, but Brendon's family wanted their son safely married off before news of his former girlfriend's "trouble" became well known. If all went according to plan, Brendon and Ryan would be safely away on their honeymoon - if you could call going to the countryside a honeymoon - when the child was born.
They only saw each other once more before their wedding day, and that meeting only took place because Brendon sneaked out the night before the ceremony and went to Ryan's house. Ryan awoke when something cold touched his face. He sat up in a panic, still caught up in his dream, but then relaxed when he saw what it was that woke him.
"Hey Sophie," he said, "Brendon finally teach you to go to someone besides Pete?" Sophie hopped onto his finger, laying a note on his palm; he unfolded it and laughed to himself.
Hey asshole, I'm outside. Hurry the fuck up and come out, it's freezing.
He checked his timepiece - it was past two, and it hit him that they would be getting married in less than twelve hours. Ryan dressed quickly and headed outside, Sophie perched on his shoulder and flicking her wings every so often. Brendon was waiting by the gate, dressed too lightly (in Ryan's opinion, at least) for such a chilly night, and he smiled tensely. "Hi," he said.
"Hi," Ryan said, and Sophie hopped from his shoulder to Brendon's.
"I just wanted to make sure everything's okay," Brendon said. "I mean, about tomorrow. No second thoughts?"
"I'm way past second thoughts," Ryan admitted, and Brendon laughed.
"Me too," he said. "But we're doing this?"
"Yeah," Ryan said. "I guess we are."
Brendon let out a breath and laughed a little nervously. "I guess that's it, then." He hesitated, then pulled a little box out of his pocket. "So my parents said they'd pick us up some rings, but I told them not to because I had some in the shop that never sold. And then I realized I didn't even know if any of them would fit you, so." He shrugged, opening up the box and taking out a ring. "I can adjust it if it doesn't fit," he said, holding it out.
Ryan took it and slipped it onto his finger. It was a fairly simple ring, just a gold band with some decorative engraving, but it was cold and heavy and reminded him of what was going to happen the next day. Not that he needed reminding - it was the only thing he'd been able to think about - but it made it more real somehow. He stared down at his hand. "It fits," he said, his voice shaking a little.
"Great," Brendon said. "Here, I'll make sure they end up wherever they need to be for the ceremony tomorrow."
He nodded, sliding the ring back off and handing it to Brendon. "You should go home," he said. "Get some sleep."
"Right," Brendon said. "You too. Sorry to wake you and everything."
"That's okay," Ryan said. "See you later."
"Later," Brendon echoed, and they hesitated a moment before turning. Ryan felt awkward, restless, a little outside of himself; his fingers twitched like they wanted to twist themselves into the fabric of Brendon's shirt and pull him closer. He curled them into his palms, digging his nails in.
The moment passed. Brendon smiled awkwardly and left, hurrying back down the path. Ryan let out a breath and uncurled his fingers, leaning on the gate and looking after Brendon until well after he was out of sight.
*
Part Two
Master Post