based on this instagram post whoops

fucking love ryan ross

~

"We should totally schedule another tour," Brendon spoke, disrupting the silence between the group. "Or better yet, album ideas."

"Firs of all, we literally just had a god damn tour," Jon replied, rolling his eyes. "Can we at least have a break? I'm exhausted. Anyway, where's Ryan? This is his house after all."

"Maybe writing some theatrical shit upstairs," Brendon grinned from ear to ear, "I'll go check on him. Make sure you both don't go around and fuck each other while I'm gone!"

Spencer gritted his teeth, "Oh, fuck you."

He'd already left the living room and jogged up the stairs, nearly tripping on the last step. It was like Ryan to disappear once and a while; the guy liked his own free time. Yet, why now? Especially at his own damn house with guests over. He stood in the hallway, dumbfounded at the amount of doors that were at his sides.

He debated whether or not to shout his name; Ryan could have been taking a shit after all and he didn't want to scare him. So, he just whispered, "Ryan?"

There was no reply (obviously, since he was quiet on purpose). He strolled down the hall to the second to last door, which was slightly opened. He took a breath and kicked the door. Yeah, irrational, but who cares? Left on the white door was a muddy footprint of Brendon's bottom left shoe.

"What the hell!" Ryan shouted, standing up from behind his bed. Brendon furrowed his eyebrows. "Dude, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

Brendon shrugged, then drew his attention towards the bed, "I didn't know you collected stuffed toys. What are you, six?"

Ryan rolled his eyes, "Out of the two of us, you're the one who acts like you're six. And no, I'm not collecting them."

"Well, Ross, I didn't know you were a hoarder," Brendon smirked while walking closer to the bed. The heels of his shoe clicked against the wooden floor.

Ryan's room wasn't exactly what you'd define as "tidy." He had a couple of posters hanging on the wall, lopsided, along with some calligraphy quotes. The floor was a mess, however, with scattered envelopes, plastic wrap, boxes, paper, and scarves. Yes, scarves.

"Where did you get these scarves? And stuffed animals?" Brendon picked up one of the scarves that were scattered on the floor. It was a maroon shade.

"A hobbit," Ryan smiled. "And these stuffed animals are from fans. I got them while we were touring."

"You kept all of it?" Brendon blinked.

"Of course!" Ryan exclaimed. "What did you do to your stuff? Toss them?"

Brendon frowned, "Kept them someplace safe, but really—how do you plan to sleep on your own bed with all of these here?"

Ryan remained silent. He stretched, plopped onto the bed, and rolled into the middle of the mess of stuffed toys. One had squeaked, catching both of them off guard. Ryan, at this point, appeared to be drowning in toys.

Brendon bent down on the floor, picking a couple up and stacking them on his body, "You could honestly be buried in these."

A muffled 'so' came from his throat. Brendon rolled his eyes, "Honestly, how can I fit there as well?"

Brendon snickered as he jumped into the pile, nearly crushing Ryan in the process. The guitarist grunted, "Brendon, get off! Your shoes are dirty and they're touching the bed!"

"Oh come on, Ry," Brendon teased, "you love me."

Brendon snuggled closer to him, causing Ryan to flinch in dismay. He wrapped his arms around him, tightly, and snickered once more, "Now you're trapped. George Ryan Ross III; died due to suffocation under stuffed toys. Is that really how you want to die?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Ryan spat trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"You love me."

"No, I don't."

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Spencer shouted, once more catching the two off guard. "Brendon, you better get off of Ryan."

"Or else what, Spence?" He smirked, challenging his authority.

Jon muttered, "And you told us not to fuck each other."

Brendon eventually sat up, causing a multitude of stuffed toys to fall on the floor. Ryan gasped for air, rolling out of the bed and falling as well. He dashed to Spencer's side.

"Jesus Chris, Urie," Jon sneered. "And Ryan, could you please explain why there's a shit ton of stuffed animals on your bed? New kink?"

Ryan had just groaned.