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"This song is called Northern Downpour."
The two of them stood (friends, best friends, lovers; anything could describe them) merely a few feet from each other. Ryan strung the melody along, his other hand holding the guitar up, pressing it against his body with the help of his guitar strap.
It came naturally, really. His guitar pick sat between his nimble fingers, plucking at the strings, playing a song that meant I love you. Nothing could compare, nothing at all, to the hum of the instrument intertwined with Brendon's voice.
Nothing could compare to Brendon bringing life to the words Ryan wrote, breathing into them like he truly understood. And maybe he did.
"If all our life is but a dream..." Brendon sang, just faintly muffled through his ear piece, rumbling through the theatre.
There was balance, harmony even. Ryan guided, Brendon lead. It was crazy to think that four years ago they were stumbling over the chorus of Esteban, petty arguments that developed into yelling matches that developed into Ryan's forehead pressed against Brendon's at night. If you had asked him at 18 years old what he thought of Brendon Boyd Urie, Ryan Ross would tell you that he was an alright guy.
Now, however, he saw Brendon Urie as his muse. Brendon guided, Ryan lead. "...for diamonds do appear to be," Brendon hummed into his microphone.
Ryan averted his gaze from his hands to the crowd, a sea of cellphones and glow sticks and in-between waving at him--at them--like the ocean. "I see your lighters and cell phones," he commented, his lips curling into a soft smile, as if splashing his face with lukewarm seawater on a sweaty summers day.
It was strange how their love brought together so many, he thought, as his eyes skimmed across the faceless crowd. What they called love didn't go by dictionaries. Love had been reinvented in Nevada, and cemented in North Carolina. Instead of a word that 18 year old Ryan Ross would mock, calling it a sham, its definition had been molded into this. This... This moment was love. From the crowd to their microphones, from Sourh Carolina to Virginia, love was in the air, and the two lovers breathed it--merely a few feet away from eachother.
"Tripping eyes and flooded lungs," Brendon sang, lips pressed against the microphone.
"Northern downpour sends its love--I love you," he laughed, tipping his head away from the microphone. This song meant I love you. Disregard their previous definition of it--this song meant love. Ryan's lips opened to sing along with Brendon, mirroring the other's voice of honey with one like dew.
Their new version of love sewed the pairs voices together, "Hey moon, please forget to fall down," Ryan sang with a strained voice, eyes locked onto the sea of strangers, "hey moon, don't you go down."
He kept strumming, slightly shying away from the mic, "Sugarcane in the easy morning..." Brendon shouted, Ryan following along. They weren't his words to sing, but they were Brendon's--if anything, they were Jon's, he wrote the line, adding onto Ryan's flurry of words with ones that made even less sense.
"...I missed your skin when you were east," and Ryan was back in New York, "you clicked your heels and wished for me..." and they had settled into Seattle.
Focus, he told himself, pick gliding across the strings easily, letting his voice flow freely, "...I know the worlds a broken bone," they harmonized, singing their special line together, singing Ryan's soul out together, "but melt your headaches, call it home."
Home was anywhere Brendon was. Home was a tour bus, home was a cabin, home meant the scent of Brendon's sweat and shampoo--was it too bold to propose reinventing the definition of home too?
Regardless, home meant Nevada, home meant Myrtle Beach, home meant mattresses without sheets, home meant bunkbeds and home meant love. And love meant Brendon, Ryan settled on.
Focus, now,
"...Sugarcane in the easy morning..."
And then Brendon meant post show kisses, hotel bedrooms, hugs that lingered too long and touches that would disgust most. If Brendon meant love, so did those.
Overall, Brendon meant Ryan Ross' other half. Brendon meant Ryan Ross' sidekick, it meant Ryan Ross' hero. Ryan Ross' rescuee, Ryan Ross' savior.
Brendon meant a voice that perfectly aligned with Ryan Ross'. Brendon meant a man that perfectly aligned with Ryan Ross. And that definition wouldn't change, not anytime soon, Ryan thought, combing back Brendon's fringe with his hand as he watched the younger sleep by his side.
fin.