10 Reasons Never To Room With Brendon Urie, Part 2
Ryan was still awake when Urie’s alarm went off. Urie rolled over to turn it off, but he must’ve miscalculated the size of the tiny bed as he fell off on to the tacky floral carpet.
Ryan laughed while Urie looked up at him with sad, sleepy eyes. Ryan felt a little bad, but not enough to apologize or help the other boy up.
Urie grabbed some clothing and escaped into the bathroom, cheeks a soft and embarrassed pink. Ryan kind of wondered why Urie felt the need to do that. It wasn’t as though Ryan hadn’t already seen him naked -not that Ryan wanted to see Urie naked.
Ryan pulled himself out of bed and felt a twinge of pain in his back and hips. The bed itself had been uncomfortable, and having Urie asleep on top of him really hadn’t helped the situation. He leaned backwards and cracked his shoulders as he stood up, a few different popping sounds could be heard from different locations on his spine.
He walked over to his suitcase, the carpeting feeling strange against his bare feet. He got down onto his knees and pulled out his clothing and frowned. He hated having to look professional for hockey games, it was so stupid. They were just going to get on the ice and beat each other up anyways, why was there a need to look professional before the process began?
As Ryan was still half naked, he heard the bathroom door click open. Ryan turned his head to see Urie emerge from the bathroom, actually looking half decent. He pulled his arm up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. His white dress shirt was untucked, and it came up with his arm, revealing a soft line of peachy skin and a defined v shape in his hipbones between the white wrinkled fabric and his black dress pants.
He walked back to his suitcase, which was lying beside Ryan’s on the floor, crouched down and pulled out a black tie. Ryan wasn’t paying too much attention to Urie, so he didn’t notice the way that Urie was looking at him. Okay, he noticed a little bit. But it was probably just his imagination, there was no way Urie was gay. After all, hadn’t he called Ryan a fag?
After Urie had finished tying his tie, he stood up again and grabbed his hockey bag and stick. It was pretentious that Urie would pay hundreds of dollars for a Nexus 3000. It was just a stick; it wouldn’t make him a good hockey player. He walked away from Ryan, the sound of footsteps growing quieter, and then the door squeaked as it opened. The door closed, and Ryan was alone. Thank god, being around Urie was exhausting. Ryan stood up and walked to the nightstand, where he had left his phone the previous night. He flashed on the screen to see a lot of notifications, as well as the time, 6:25 AM. But what stood out to him was the 3 messages from Tom, as well as 2 snaps from him. Ryan didn’t bother to open them, just unlocked his phone to clear up his notifications, and then locked it again.
He dressed himself quickly, stuffed his phone in his pocket, then grabbed his own bag and stick and left the hotel room empty behind him.
When he found himself in the lobby, he saw Jon and Spencer sitting at a table meant for two people. Ryan liked Jon, but it was getting irritating how Jon thought that he could replace Ryan as Spencer’s best friend. Ryan walked over to where they were sitting and feasting on god-only-knows-what nasty hotel food. He dropped his bag down to his feet and pulled up an extra chair.
“Morning,” Ryan grumbled, slouching down into the uncomfortable chair.
“Someone’s grumpy,” Spencer noted. Ryan glared at him.
“You and Urie actually made it through the night without killing one another? That’s progress,” Jon let out a breezy laugh.
“I need a coffee,” Ryan muttered, standing up and walking towards the table that held the carafes. He poured out a decent amount into the cheap paper cup then added cream and sugar. He popped a lid onto the top, assuming that they’d likely be leaving fairly soon.
He returned back to where he had previously been sitting. Jon and Spencer were laughing about something completely unknown to Ryan. It made him uncomfortable.
“So what were you guys yelling about last night anyways?” Spencer asked Ryan.
Ryan quickly attempted to remember the story that Urie had told Mr. Beckett, “Oh, that. I was watching the recap from the Canadiens game and he was telling me to shut up,” he lied. He may not have liked Urie, but he wasn’t about to spill what had actually happened. That would’ve been cruel, even considering their history.
Spencer raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t prod any further.
“Okay boys! The bus is here, I expect all of you and your equipment to be on it in in the next 10 minutes!” Mr. Saporta announced to the breakfast room full of boys.
Ryan motioned to Spencer to stand up and come with him. Spencer obeyed, standing up and slinging his hockey bag over his shoulder. The two began to walk out together, but Jon quickly followed behind them.
Spencer and Ryan put their equipment in the compartment under the bus, but Jon just walked on since he wasn’t technically a player. Ryan had been on varsity long enough to know that Jon would likely be sitting with the coaches at the front, strategizing. After all, the first round robin game makes or breaks you.
Ryan followed Spencer to the area behind the coaches. Really? Spencer knew that they always sat at the back. It was a pecking order thing. Ryan was the captain, so he got to sit in the prime area at the back of the bus. Spencer being the captain on the Huskies had that liberty too. Unfortunately for Ryan, Urie was also considered a higher status player, considering he had a letter on both varsity and the Hurricanes, and especially because of who his father was. Jon had gotten to sit at the back with them on the way down by association. At least by sitting at the front they could avoid Urie’s annoying personality.
Soon enough, the bus was filled with loud and excited voices of teenage boys high on the possibility of victory, and they were on their way to the arena. Ryan knew it was about a half hour drive from their hotel, so he gave his coffee to Spencer and used it as an opportunity to powernap.
He awoke disoriented and fuzzy eyed, Spencer was shaking his shoulder. The only thing in his vision was the giant arena outside his window. Ryan was actually really excited, they were playing on the Canadiens practice ice.
“I’m up, I’m up,” Ryan said, flailing his arms to stop Spencer.
“Good, because this team would do shit without you,” Spencer smiled, handing Ryan the remainder of the cup of cheap coffee Ryan had given him at the beginning of the ride. Ryan frowned when his hands weren’t met with warmth.
“Drink it,” Spencer said. “You’re gonna fall asleep on the ice otherwise, man.”
Ryan rolled his eyes, but he knew that Spencer was right. He quickly downed what was left of the cold coffee, cringing as he did.
“Alright Bulls! Don’t tell your principal I said this, but lets fuck this shit up!” Mr. Saporta yelled. The bus was filled with an eruption of cheering. The doors opened, and everyone was flooding out.
The game went better than any of them had expected it to, especially considering it was so early morning. They were playing a AAA team from Quebec, ranked third in the province, Jon had informed them. The one actual official manager task that Jon performed was scoping out the competition, and he did a pretty damn good job of it.
Ryan won every single faceoff, as usual, but was always certain to send the puck either to his right or behind him, never to his left. After all, he couldn’t trust Urie with anything, especially not the puck.
To no one’s surprise, Brent got kicked out in the first period of the game. He checked some kid into the boards from behind. Whoever it was definitely obtained some kind of major injury from it, they were on the ground for at least 5 minutes and had to leave the game. Jon was obviously the most knowledgeable on how penalties worked, so the coaches let him talk to the refs about what kind of penalty Brent would be looking at. Jon informed the whole team that unfortunately, Brent would not be playing the rest of the tournament with them. Ryan was quite relieved that Brent wouldn’t be playing anymore.
Ryan scored the opening goal, feeling glorious as the number on the scoreboard shifted from 0 to 1. After the game, he would discover that his assist had come from none other than Brendon Urie.
Ryan scored twice more throughout the game, every goal had actually come from his line. A hat trick from Ryan, two goals from Urie and a goal from Oakes. Spencer unfortunately let two goals past him, but it was okay. They had still made a considerable victory.
In addition to their goals, both Ryan and Brendon had achieved the medal of honour of a Gordie Howe hat trick. Ryan had assisted Oakes’ goal, and been penalized for tripping, as well as an interference call which was absolute bullshit. Brendon got a penalty for fighting, but in his defense, he hadn’t started it. Probably just instigated it, like the little shit he was.
Ryan’s line was on when the final buzzer, and the five boys on the ice erupted in happy victory. They all threw their sticks in the air, and the whole team followed them onto the ice and skated back to doggy pile on Spencer. Everyone was laughing, everyone was smiling.
They were instructed to stay on the ice for team MVPs to be announced. Ryan’s body was still so filled with adrenaline that he wasn’t even upset when the opposing coach announced that Tom was the Bulls MVP.
They skated off, and Ryan felt homesick. He belonged in uncomfortable skates on dimly lit ice pads at unspeakable hours of the morning. When they reached the changeroom, everyone was still lit up off of the excitement of winning the first round robin by so much.
“Boys! You all played fantastically today, and I expect the same quality of game from you every game!” Mr. Beckett said enthusiastically. There wasn’t really much of a reaction from the team.
“That was fucking AWESOME!” Mr. Saporta yelled, throwing his clipboard and papers down beside him. The whole team started cheering. Mr. Beckett gave him a weird look.
“Get your asses changed and back on the bus in 20 minutes! See you all then!” Mr. Saporta chuckled, while picking up everything from the floor and walking out of the room. Was he allowed to leave them alone? Probably not. But no one really cared enough to report him. They all loved Mr. Saporta.
Ryan got out of his rancid hockey equipment as quickly as he could, and briefly considered showering before remembering that they’d be back at the hotel soon enough. He had no need to expose himself to his entire team this time.
The bus ride back was mostly just all of them going on about how well the game had gone. Jon was in the front seats with the coaches again, analyzing how the game had gone and what had made it go so well so that they could continue that trend. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that Mr. Beckett looked completely and totally confused.
They got back to the hotel, and Urie had brought one of those pretentious hockey equipment-hanging trees. Ryan unfortunately had to hang his own off of the shower rod, considering he was not a rich snob.
Ryan quickly changed out of his sweaty dress clothes, and jumped in the shower quickly. He rinsed off his body quickly, attempting to remove any of the teenage boy hockey odour off of himself.
He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. He walked back into the main area of their hotel room, to see Brendon lounging on the good bed, playing with his phone. He looked so stereotypically Canadian: a red lumberjack flannel and blue skinny jeans. A beanie pressed down his fluffy hair. He looked up for a moment, presumably to ensure that it was in fact Ryan in the room, not some axe murderer. Once Urie’s attention returned to his phone, Ryan grabbed a clean pair of boxers, a blue flannel and a pair of roots sweatpants. He knew it would be cold, so he grabbed a toque out of his suitcase as well.
He dropped the towel from around him, leaving himself completely naked and exposed. He must’ve imagined it, but he thought he heard Urie let out a tiny squeak. He must’ve, because when he looked over his shoulder, Urie was contently typing something on his phone instead of staring at Ryan.
Ryan quickly pulled his clothing on, just to be safe.
“What the fuck, Ross?” Urie asked him, staring at the clothing he had just put on.
“What?” Ryan replied. Urie’s face was slowly starting to turn as red as the flannel he was wearing.
“That’s my fucking shirt. Give it back,” Urie said through gritted teeth, his fists clenching. Okay, so it was Urie’s shirt. But it was soft and it smelled nice. It brought out Ryan’s eyes. He had taken a liking to this shirt, and had absolutely no intention of returning it to its rightful owner.
“No it’s not,” Ryan lied defensively.
“Yeah, it is.” Brendon started. “I lent it to you when you invited yourself into my home on Sunday because you’re too fucking stupid to remember your own fucking key!”
Yeah, it was that shirt. Ryan had only worn it that one day, but it was nicer than any of the clothes Ryan owned. It wasn’t high fashion, but it was soft and it felt broken in.
“Did you ever think that maybe I own the same one? Every fucking Canadian has a Roots flannel!” Ryan yelled back.
“Oh, like you could afford a Roots flannel,” Brendon jabbed. He didn’t just fucking say that. Ryan raised up his fist, then lowered it, deciding his place on the varsity team was too precious to give up for that asshole.
“You take that back right fucking now!” Ryan warned him, eyes narrowing.
“Make me,” Urie replied quickly. Before Ryan could generously fulfill Brendon’s request, there was a knock at the door.
“Boys, open up right now!” Mr. Beckett yelled. Ryan frowned. Why was it never Mr. Saporta checking on them?
Brendon sighed and stood up off of the bed to open the door. Ryan trailed behind him.
“We’ve all been waiting in the lobby for 5 minutes! You’re making us all late! And of course, Gabe had faith that you wouldn’t be fighting but no, of course you are!” Mr. Beckett exclaimed,
“Hey, it’s not what you think,” Ryan said, trying his best to keep his voice even. Urie raised an eyebrow at him.
“Well, then what is it? Because I am this close to removing you from the roster,” Mr. Beckett said, gesturing with his hands just to show how close he was to kicking them off.
“Brendon claimed that Ottawa was the greatest team of all times, and I had to set the record straight because they’ve never won a single Stanley Cup,” Ryan lied. It was believable.
“Okay, fine,” Mr. Beckett said, but Ryan wasn’t sure he fully believed it. “You both need to come downstairs though. Now.”
The two obeyed and followed Mr. Beckett through the quiet hallways. The elevator ride was probably the most awkward thing Ryan had experienced in a lifetime.
When the elevator doors opened, everyone was staring. This was really fucking embarrassing.
“It’s all good,” Mr. Beckett announced. “I don’t have to kick them off of the team.”
Everyone started laughing. Ryan felt the blood rushing up into his cheeks. This was really fucking embarrassing. And all over a shirt, too. To be fair, it was a really nice shirt. They both tried to disappear into the crowd of the team, but ended up in the same place, beside Jon and Spencer.
“A flannel Ryan?” Spencer asked.
“Yeah, and?” Ryan replied defensively, going to zip up the coat he had frantically grabbed before he had left the hotel room.
“Since when does Ryan Ross wear flannels? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stealing Brendon’s shit,” Spencer chuckled as the group began to walk.
“That’s because he fucking did,” Brendon pouted.
“I did not! Fuck you!” Ryan raised his voice.
“Ryan, calm the fuck down,” Spencer said, placing a hand on Ryan’s shoulder.
“No! He keeps accusing me of shit I didn’t do!” Ryan declared. He very well knew that he did, in fact, steal Brendon’s shirt. But if he acted like he believed he didn’t, maybe the others would believe he didn’t too.
“Ryan, you might want to quiet down, people are looking,” Jon advised.
Ryan huffed and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. Urie looked at him almost sympathetically.
Ryan stayed shut up for the rest of their walk, letting his brain focus on the soft browns and pure whites that the city held. He felt softer, lighter than he did at home, more at home. People passing by their group were speaking the French he knew and understood, as opposed to the strange mix of Parisian and Quebecois that the schools taught. Jon and Spencer tried to bring him into their conversation on several occasions, but Ryan preferred to look around at the city.
They ended up in the Quartier Latin area, inside Ville-Marie and Ryan had been to Montreal enough times to know that it was the only place with anything worth doing.
“You boys have free time for the next 5 hours! We’ll all meet here again at 4pm. Enjoy your freedom, don’t do anything that could get us fired,” Gabe announced, and everyone dispersed.
Ryan knew the area, and motioned for Spencer and Jon to follow him. Unfortunately for him, Urie took it as an invitation as well.
“So I know this great place we can go for lunch,” Ryan started, about to step out on the street. “It’s just down th-“ he started, before being pulled backwards by the collar of his shirt as a lime green smartcar was centimetres away from hitting him. He had expected it to be Jon or Spencer, but was astounded when he turned around to see that it was actually Urie holding onto the collar of Ryan’s shirt for dear life.
“What the fuck man? You could’ve died!” Urie said. Since when was Urie concerned about whether Ryan lived or died? It was probably some ploy to convince Ryan to pass the puck to him. Besides, it was a smartcar. He would’ve walked away with a couple of bruises at most.
“I forgot that all of the drivers in Montreal are assholes,” Ryan mumbled.
“Apparently you forgot jaywalking was illegal too,” Spencer joked. Ryan shot him a dirty look, and he ceased his laughing. Ryan realized that Urie’s hand was still around his collar, and their faces were still far too close for comfort.
“Fuck off,” Ryan said to him, swatting his hand away.
“This is the thanks I get for saving your life?” Brendon smirked. “Some damsel in distress you are.”
If Urie made one more homophobic comment, Ryan would definitely push him into the path of the next smatcar that drove by. Or better yet, the next pick up truck.
Ryan instead took the path with the crosswalk towards his destination, and mumbled something to himself about how much better it would be if they were in Quebec City right now.
The afternoon in Ville-Marie was nice. Ryan enjoyed himself. Jon spent a lot of time taking pictures, which made sense, he wanted to be a photographer. Ryan kind of wanted to go and visit the gay village, but he didn’t dare say that in front of anyone on the hockey team. Spencer mostly just tagged along and Urie? Well, Ryan really had absolutely no idea what Urie was doing. He was like a five year old, he’d get distracted every thirty seconds by the newest and shiniest thing. Ryan had attempted to utilize several of these opportunities to ditch him, but unfortunately, Spencer and Jon deemed that as “mean”. Ryan wished that they would stop attempting to form a friendship with Urie. He was not prepared to leave his own friend group because of that dipshit.
They were late getting back to the meeting spot, no thanks to Brendon’s need to go into every single store on their way back because he “didn’t want to miss anything”. They were expecting their coaches to chew them out to hell’s end -they had already chewed Brendon out to hell’s end for it- but there was just the varsity team standing there, no coaches anywhere in sight.
“Jon, where the hell are the coaches?” Brent called out.
“How am I supposed to know?” Jon asked.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the manager?” he replied.
“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to manage the fucking coaches!” Jon said. Surprisingly enough, this was the angriest Ryan had ever seen Jon. And the guy still had a smile on his face.
“Weren’t you guys supposed to be back here like, 20 minutes ago?” Tom commented. Did he really feel the need to be all high and mighty like that? Besides, Ryan had authority over the rest of them, it didn’t matter how late he showed up. It was Urie’s fault they were late anyways.
“Yeah, we were Tom. We fucking know,” Ryan said through gritted teeth as conversation in the group lulled. Fuck, everyone had heard that. Ryan knew his team well enough to know that they'd get suspicious. Fuck. Someone was going to find them out. If not, Urie was going to make some homophobic joke and out them. Fuck.
“You know what guys? This is ridiculous. I'm just gonna go and look for them,” Dan announced. Thank god for Dan taking the attention off of the mess that was Ryan and Tom.
“Don't get killed!” Jon called. “I get stuck filing the insurance papers if you do.”
“You got it, man,” Dan replied, before waving to the group and walking off.
Once conversation started to pick up in the group again, Ryan heard Urie ask “Trouble in paradise?”
Ryan immediately elbowed him in the stomach as hard as he could.
“Hey, what the fuck?” Urie said between staggered breaths. Good, Ryan was glad that he had knocked the wind out of Urie. Maybe then he'd shut his big fucking mouth.
“You know exactly what,” Ryan replied. He was so, so sick of Urie’s homophobia.
“I'm gonna tell Beckett! You're gonna kicked off this fucking team,” Urie tattled.
“You'll get kicked off too,”
“You really think they're gonna kick me off of the team because you fucking assaulted me? That's rich, even from you Ross,” Urie spat.
“Yeah? Well when I tell him what you-” Ryan was cut off by Dan’s return to the group. All of the blood was flushed out of his cheeks, he looked like he had just seen a ghost.
“Dan! What the fuck are you doing back already?” Tom called out.
“I-I found them,” he stuttered.
“Great! Where are they?” Jon asked.
“Guys, this is gonna sound really weird but you have to believe me,” Dan said, his eyes wide as one could possibly imagine.
“Just spit it out Keyes!” Brent rolled his eyes.
“They were hooking up,” Dan dropped a bombshell. Was he really going to make up bullshit like this? Fuck, was he just as homophobic as Urie? Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was no way it was true, Beckett and Saporta were way too good to cheat on their wives. They wouldn't. This was Dan looking for attention and being a homophobe.
“You're fucking lying,” Ryan replied.
“I'm not, I swear to god!” Dan countered. “If you don't believe me, go look for yourself Ryro. Actually don't do that, that'd be weird.”
Suddenly everyone erupted with questions and accusations.
“Jon, you know Beckett and Saporta. Tell them there's no fucking way Dan’s right,” Ryan turned to Jon.
“Honestly? It doesn't surprise me,” Jon replied. Ryan’s stomach dropped. He felt uncomfortable and frankly, quite sick. Was Jon a homophobe too? No way. Ryan had seen the way that Jon looked at Spencer’s ass, there was no fucking way.
“Aren't they married?” Ryan asked, hopeful that maybe the rings around their fourth fingers had just been a figment of his imagination.
“Yeah,” Jon replied.
Was that the life Ryan was destined for? Being married and having to sneak off with random guys the first opportunity he got? No. No, no, no. That wouldn't happen to him. He wouldn't let it.
Speak of the devil, the two secret lovers returned. A real fucking modern Romeo and Juliet. How romantic.
“Hey guys, sorry we’re a little late. Let's get back to the hotel, okay?” Mr. Beckett said softly. All of the boys exchanged subtle glances. No one dared say a word.
“Wow, you guys are pretty salty considering that we’re only like, five minutes late. It's not like we would've cared if it were you,” Mr. Saporta added. Everyone cringed at his attempt to use teen slang.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm not cool, I get it,” Mr. Saporta laughed.
They walked back to the hotel, and everyone remained entirely silent. No one dared to open whatever was standing behind door number gay.
Their game went well, but they were a fantastic team, so that was completely unsurprising. Plus Brent was gone, so their penalty minutes were pretty much cut in half.
Ryan was happy to know that he scored two goals and had an assist, but wasn't so happy when he got sent to the penalty box for tripping. C’mon, the guy was obviously faking! Ryan wondered when refs would start being forced to take eye exams.
He was even more unhappy when Urie scored a hattrick.
The final score was 6-2, which was a fairly substantial win. Urie won game MVP, which Ryan thought was totally unfair, considering he had also racked up eight penalty minutes. Ryan only got two minutes.
“That was a good fucking game boys!” Mr. Saporta cheered as they reentered the dressing room. He wasn't met with his usual cheers, but instead, an awkward and uncomfortable silence. Except for Urie. Urie cheered like the fucking imbecile he was.
“Alright, I guess we’ll debrief on the bus to the restaurant then,” Mr. Saporta said, sounding a little discouraged. He and Mr. Beckett left the dressing room, and there seemed to be an air of relief.
While Jon dealt with cleaning off the whiteboards and dumping what was left of the water bottles, the rest of the dressing room erupted in gossip.
“Aren’t they married?”
“I mean, I always knew Coach Beckett was kind of girly, but gay? No fucking way.”
“With Coach Saporta? How much trashier could they really get?”
“Kinda funny that our coaches are fucking faggots, huh?”
Finally, Jon spoke up.
“Guys, you know what? Let them live their fucking lives. Does it affect you, does it really change your whole life to know that your coaches love one another? No, it fucking doesn’t. They’re your coaches, the fucking least you can do is respect them. God, sports aren’t just about the actual sport! It’s about a fucking team! And you guys are being fucking immature and you know what? You were lucky enough to get a spot on this team. I didn’t get that privilege. But you have less sportsmanship than the fucking football team! Let them live, and shut up about it. Stop being assholes,” and every single person in the room shut their mouth. Ryan was frankly astounded that Jon had the guts to say that, he wasn’t even on the team. Ryan was expecting the whole team to slander Jon, but the exact opposite had happened. Ryan was so, so proud of Jon for having the guts to say that. Jon might’ve been replacing his space in Spencer’s life, but in that moment, Ryan couldn’t love a person more than he loved Jon.
The bus ride to the restaurant was extremely awkward. Ryan sat next to Spencer- at the back this time, thank god- and they didn’t really talk, but Spencer pulled up this instagram page called etobicokememes and it was actually pretty funny. Ryan made a mental note to follow once they got wifi.
The usual excited cheers of teenage victory were replaced by a low hum of people who knew something they shouldn’t. It definitely didn’t get better once they reached the St. Hubert’s.
This time, instead of having multiple tables, there was just one long one for the entire team, including the coaches.
Ryan was happy that Saporta and Beckett had chosen to go to St. Hubert’s, Ryan was constantly telling Jon and Spencer how good it was. Plus, it was more Anglo-geared, so he wouldn’t be forced to order for his whole team.
Ryan took a seat on Spencer’s right. Jon was to the left of Spencer, and to the right of the coaches. Ryan thought that was a pretty decent setup, until Urie and Brent sat across from them. It got even worse when Urie started complaining about how his precious vegetarian ass couldn’t eat anything on the menu. Ryan had to restrain himself from saying something stupid.
Everything was quiet for a very, very long time. No one really had anything to say to anyone.
“Okay kids, what the hell? We fought with the admin for months last year to get you an awesome away tournament this year, and this is how you thank us? Everything was fine the yesterday and this morning, so what’s the deal now, huh?” Gabe finally spoke up. Ryan thought that no one in their right mind would answer that question. He expected everyone to continue quietly eating their meals without any letting a peep out of their mouths. Unfortunately for Ryan, Urie was certainly not in his right mind.
“Well, you see, when you were late earlier, Dank Eyes decided to be the hero of our team and go looking for you. According to him, he found you guys hooking up, and thus, we all feel very, very uncomfortable,” he articulated very matter-of-factly. God, why was Urie so fucking stupid and why did he hate gay guys so much?
“Yeah, plus like, aren’t you guys married?” Brent chimed in.
There was a soft lull, only the voices of the other restaurant patrons could be heard. Saporta and Beckett locked wide eyes for half of a second, then proceeded to burst into hysterical laughter. Everyone seemed extremely confused. Finally, Mr. Beckett’s laughter died down.
“Yeah, we’re married,” he said.
“Married to each other,” Mr. Saporta laughed. This did not help the rest of the table’s extreme confusion.
“Wait, what?” Brendon asked.
“God Bilvy, these kids are so stupid aren’t they?” he continued. Bilvy? Was that some kind of pet name?
“Hey, give them some credit. It’s not like we ever actually told them,” Mr. Beckett replied.
“Yeah, alright kids. Your coaches got married over the summer. If any of you have a problem with it, I’m sure flip flops Walker would be happy to take your place on the team,” Mr. Saporta explained.
“I really would,” Jon perked up.
It all made sense now. Mr. Saporta’s disappearances for “photocopies”, the weird stapler incident, the fact that Beckett was the assistant coach when he clearly knew absolutely nothing about hockey, the weird glances that the two of them had always exchanged.
Ryan suddenly felt his heart swell. Saporta and Beckett had a life together, a future together. Maybe, just maybe, Ryan would be lucky enough to have something like they did someday. He hoped he would, anyways.
Everything was mostly back to normal, but at least Ryan could more easily pick out the homophobes on the team through who was uncomfortable. Brent was a definite yes. The rest were a little harder to tell, but the one he had suspected most was smiling this wide, bright grin. What the fuck? He was probably planning to sabotage them or something. Ryan would not let that happen.
The rest of the night was back into routine, everyone went back to behaving normally, for the most part. Unfortunately, routine meant that Urie still refused to sleep in his own fucking bed. Ryan was not looking forward to another night of discomfort and elbow shaped bruises.
Urie didn’t really snore that night. Ryan was thankful for that. He considered throwing him out of bed, and maybe it was all of the hope in his heart from the coaches, but Ryan didn’t really want to. Brendon looked so soft and peaceful and his breaths were in sync with Ryan’s… So instead of throwing him out, Ryan gave himself one moment and let himself run his hand through Brendon’s hair. It didn’t feel like Jac’s or Keltie’s, it wasn’t damaged from too much hair dye. It was soft and strong between his fingers. Just this once, Ryan would remove his hands from their uncomfortable position at his sides, and let them fall into the small of Urie’s bare and muscular back as he shut his eyes and attempted to fall into the same deep sleep as the boy sharing his bed.
Maybe, just maybe, one day Ryan would have what his coaches had. One day, instead of falling asleep in that same bed as a boy who hated him, he'd finally get to experience the feeling of falling asleep entwined with a boy who loved him.