This was written a while ago. Panic at the disco fanfic (aww, we miss that !), staring the beautiful Ryan Ross. These are just drabbles, written around 1am.
Warning: Nothing much to warn you about. Ryan is being a little depressive
Disclaimer: He's not mine. Nor are the lyrics from Pretty. Odd.
Little deaths in musical beds
Heavy panting broke the calm, sleepy atmosphere of the cabin. Sweat stuck Ryan's wavy auburn hair to his forehead as he sat in bed, his frail chest heaving.
Ryan Ross was falling. Again.
It's just the end of the world.
The guitarist waited for his breath to calm before trying to unclasp his hands from the side of the bed. He hated this feeling. The feeling of loosing control. Feeling like you're falling further into darkness, that the bed beneath you has disappeared and all you can do is grab desperately at what is around you. It kept on happening.
Ryan swung his legs out of bed and, standing shakily, headed for the window. Struggling with the heavy mechanism he pushed it open and leant outside, flinching slightly as the freezing air hit his face. Beat backbones.
He tried to go back to when it started happening. When had he started falling every night? Thin eyebrows came together as the boy strived to remember. After a couple of minutes spent rummaging through what had gone on in the past few weeks Ryan sighed and looked up to the starlit sky above him. Something was going wrong and he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Things are shaping up to be pretty odd. Every time he closed his eyes he fell. But then, even with his eyes open he tripped. He had lost count of the number of times he had suddenly forgotten how to walk and had had to grab onto one of his band mates to stay upright. Jon said it was tiredness. Brendon said it was lack of food. Spencer just frowned and waited for their petite guitarist to recover. Oh if they just knew.
Once he was sure that the earth beneath him wasn't about to collapse he shut the window and crept back inside - although it was extremely unlikely that his weight would make a floorboard creak… Ryan looked down critically at his bed. The sheets were drenched with sweat and the covers mirrored his earlier struggle to wake up. He pulled a face and changed direction, this time aiming for the door. He slinked downstairs and breathed when he reached the kitchen. No risk of waking the boys up from down here. The boy flicked the switch, blinking in the sudden light and sat at the table, wedging his face in his arms. The dried sweat on his forehead felt uncomfortable against the sleeves of Brendon's large jumper. His nose tingled with the sudden urge to cry but he bit back his tears, shaking his head. He didn't know how, but he couldn't get out.
Darkness swirled around from behind his eyelids, making him dizzy. He didn't want it to happen again. He wasn't steady enough yet. He couldn't cope with the waking moments anymore. He looked up at the liquor cabinet in front of him.
With bushels of bad habits.
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