hellohush (hellohush) wrote in composedenigma,

A Snapshot of the Wind, Sitting on Top of Life [Standalone]

Title: A Snapshot of the Wind, Sitting on Top of Life [Standalone]
Author: hellohush
Rating: Like, PG.
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon’s breath was light in Ryan’s ear as they both gazed up at the near-skyscrapers. “We’ll stay in the biggest one, the tallest,” Brendon whispered, and Ryan smiled and fell asleep against the warmth of his back.

Disclaimer: Well, if this is real, then I own New York City. I really don‘t think our two favorite boys sit on top of buildings.
Author Notes: Well, I haven‘t posted anything in… a million years, so this was just spur of the moment. This is me expermenting with snapshots, and.. um, other things. I also love to do this. (The writing and the sitting-on-top of buildings.)

He likes the feeling of the wind on his back, and the cold concrete beneath his fingers. His hand and the cool wall the only thing stopping him from falling over the edge.

Sometimes the wind blows hard, and Ryan can’t see for the hair in his face. He can’t see and the panic rises up like his own hand is gripping his throat, not the thin wall. That takes all the excitement, the peacefulness out of it. Not being able to see ruins it. If he can’t see, he’ll die.

Brendon figured it out within the second week. Ryan gave him a lot of credit for that.


“You want to jump, don’t you Ryan Ross,” he said. Ryan couldn’t see behind him, hell, couldn’t see in front of him. Tonight the wind was cold and dry, and blew in his face, trying to push him forward, away.

The top of his particular warehouse, where Panic! At the Disco had played it’s first show, was not a very forgiving one. The roof was metal, for one thing, and numbed Ryan’s fingers faster than anything. It was like a downgrade from the tar tiles of his roof, and the cold concrete of various abandoned buildings.

Ryan couldn’t even feel his face, anymore.

“No,” Ryan said, “I want to feel.

Brendon climbed over the gutter grate, and awkwardly onto the ledge that divided air from ground.


The first hotel they came across in Kansas was a small, dinky little one-story thing with a curved roof.

They stayed and Ryan couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned until someone in the bed next to him sighed, got up with a rustle of sheets, and slipped over his own.

“Go to sleep, Ryan Ross. Tomorrow night you can sit up on top a five-story Holiday Inn Express.”

Ryan woke to warmth at his back, arms around his waist, breath in his ear, and a smile on his face.


The next night they couldn’t get a hotel, Illinois was an over-night trip. Ryan choose to stare out the window of the van, comforted by the fact Brendon never slept either.

Brendon looked with him, huddled close, softly humming to whatever was playing in his head that Ryan didn’t understand.

Chicago was big, bigger than Las Vegas. The buildings were better and bigger, too.

Brendon’s breath was light in Ryan’s ear as they both gazed up at the near-skyscrapers. “We’ll stay in the biggest one, the tallest,” Brendon whispered, and Ryan smiled and fell asleep against the warmth of his back.


“Spencerrrrrr,” Brendon whined, high pitched and annoying in a way that made Ryan want to cover up his ears and smile at the pain of others. The bus swayed in a way that was different from a van. It was higher up, more affected by the wind and Ryan liked it better.

“Spencer Smith, entertain me,” Brendon said, grinding his head harder into Ryan’s thigh.

“Shut-up, Brendon,” Spencer replied, rolling his eyes in Ryan’s direction.

Ryan’s long fingers curled themselves over Brendon’s mouth, the nails playfully digging into his chin. A muffled noise met the action followed by Brendon’s tongue.

Disgusted, Ryan let out a squeal and fell off of the couch, rubbing the palm of his hand against his jeans.

“I hate you,” he muttered, stalking off to his bunk to the laughter of Spencer and the giggles of Brendon.


“He didn’t show up, Brendon,” Ryan whispered, words almost lost to the wind before they came out, “He didn’t show up, again.”

Normally neither of them spoke while they sat up in the sky. Brendon just waited until Ryan almost fell forward from exhaustion and carried him back to their room.

“We had to do it,” Ryan continued, “We had to.”

Brendon just nodded, although he was sure Ryan couldn’t see him. “Tomorrow,” he said, “Or next time we stop, I’m going to make sure we stay in the tallest building I can find.”

Ryan waited a few minutes, maybe even a half-hour, “Jon was good.”

“Yeah, he was, he was good.”


New York City, Ryan decided, was his favorite city in the world. The Four Seasons Hotel was the tallest, or so Brendon had read on Google, and so he booked him a room on the top floor. He found a blueprint that told him where the door to the roof was.

Brendon told Ryan he felt like a super spy. Helpfully, Ryan ordered him a pair of night-vision goggles online.

“Why aren’t we staying at the Plaza, man? These are the fucking VMA’s, we’re the stars,” Spencer wanted to know, his hip on an angle and his suitcase in Jon’s hand.

Brendon just laughed, “It’s the tallest in New York, and we’re the biggest.”

Jon quoted Rose from Titanic, and told him he may be interested in theories about the male preoccupation with size. Later he came barging into the Brendon and Ryan’s hotel room with pamphlets on Viagra he found in the lobby.

“These,” he said, straight faced and knowing, “Are for you, I thought you might need something to read while Ryan puts your make-up on for you.”


“That was the best night ever,” Spencer said as they crowed around in the interior elevator. His eyes gleamed and he took the plastic cup from Jon’s hand, setting it down on the dirty carpeted floor.

Jon grimaced for a second as the elevator came to a stop, but grabbed Spencer’s outstretched hand anyways, practically skipping down the hall.

“It’s three in the morning, Ryan,” Brendon stated, looking sidelong at Ryan.

“And?” Ryan inquired, looking back at him, “We’re going up.”

Brendon smiled, and they walked hand in hand up to the ‘roof exit’ door - “You are such a good spy, Brendon,” - and met the cool wind with smiles.


“I almost jumped once,” Ryan said calmly one sunny afternoon, up on top of a Hilton somewhere in the Mid-West.

Brendon took another sip of Red Bull as a gust of wind pushed hard against his back, causing his knuckles to whiten against the concrete edge, and waited for Ryan to continue.

“The night I got that call, I almost jumped.”

“I was with you, Ryan,” Brendon stated slowly, “You wouldn’t of.”

Ryan didn’t look at him, continued to look out at the endless sky before them. “I came back out, after. I told you I had to go to the bathroom, remember?”

The words coming out were forming slow. Brendon remembered.

“I knew you’d fall back asleep, and you did. So I went up to the top of where we were staying, and I sat on the edge. I almost let go, too.”

“What stopped you?” Brendon whispered, emotions twisting up inside of him like snakes. Ryan could have died. He wouldn’t have been there to stop it.

“You,” Ryan said simply, turning around to meet Brendon’s eyes. “I’ll never jump as long as I have you.”


In the small hotel room, with the air conditioning stuck on high, Brendon brushed his lips against the neck of the boy in front of him. He leaned up and kissed his ear, his cheek. Leaned over him and kissed his forehead, his nose.

“Never?” he asked, and watched Ryan’s eyes meet his in the darkness.

Felt lips connect with his.


“I love you, Ryan Ross,” Brendon said calmly one evening, “And at the end we are going to jump together, from the top of the world.”

Ryan just smiled, he liked the feel of the wind on his back, and his hand warm on the fingers below his.


Okay, so, yay. I'm back, sort of. Not just commenting.

I did a quick run-through of this. So, I know it's unbeta'd and stuff.

(Oops, sorry about the first-time through.)

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