Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9384782.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Panic!_at_the_Disco
  Relationship:
      Ryan_Ross/Brendon_Urie
  Additional Tags:
      Minor_pairings_-_Freeform, Violence, Child_Abuse, Eventual_Smut, Angst
      with_a_Happy_Ending, Angst, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Coma,
      Cheating, Jealousy
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-01-19 Words: 2685
****** How Misery Loved Me ******
by TheButterflySings
Summary
     I posted this once on Wattpad, I'm going to post it here and delete
     it from Wattpad in hopes that I will get comments that are worthwhile
     and not either a) song lyrics, b) stupid references to things I don't
     care about, c) other stupid things that offer no constructive
     criticism, or anything beneficial to my writing.
This wasn't my choice, to be clear. I didn't chose to go to a private, all-boys
school. I know for a fact I'm not going to fit in, I know for a fact it's not a
good idea. I know who I am as opposed to who they are, and it's not a good
combination no matter how I look at it.
But my parents are concerned about the bullying going on in my old school, a
lot of it targeted toward me. I'm not sure, to be honest, how the bullying is
going to stop when I'm transferring to an all boys school with a bunch of rich,
preppy kids, but it's what my parents wanted, so I'm doing it. I don't have a
choice anyway. They won't let me stay.
They say they're doing it because it's what's best for me, but I know that's
not true. They don't care about me and haven't for a long time. They're doing
it because this is the way they'll get me out of the house most often, and they
have the opportunity to say that it's what's best for me. It's all bullshit.
It's a mask, the mask of perfect parents put up for society's sake. God forbid
it ever break.
I don't like masks.
At least I'm not leaving much behind in the move. I don't have many friends
back in my old school, no one that'll be heartbroken that I left. So I'm not
really heartbroken about leaving. Bigger and better things, I guess... Yeah.
Right. It doesn't get 'bigger and better' for people like me. I'm not
optimistic about this, if I hadn't made that clear enough.
I'm not rich or preppy. My family doesn't have a lot of money, and I'm not even
really sure how they can afford to send me to this school. I'm not like the
stereotypical 'schoolboy'. I'm loud and standoffish and I have the most skewed
sense of humor of anyone I've ever met. I'm not humble, but I'm not arrogant. I
stand out, sometimes in a good way, sometimes not. I'm outgoing, I'm
charismatic, I'm a diva, and I enjoy attention. But for the most part, I just
go along with everything that's happening. I'm not a schoolboy.
It's a nice school, I've heard, Darcy Prep, and it's a big, pretty brick
building. In a way, it's castle-esque, and it just looks downright expensive.
It's got a lush green lawn and a heavy iron fence and there's a statue of
someone (I'm assuming Edwin Darcy, the school founder) by the front door.
There's another building, smaller and just as majestic, that houses the
football/soccer/track field and the baseball diamond, as well as an indoor
swimming pool. This is very obviously a school that has money, and isn't shy
about spending it for their students' entertainment. As far as schools go, it's
nice.
And the one person I've met so far is pretty cool, Spencer Smith. He greeted me
when I came to the door and offered to show me around the school, and he
offered with a smile, like he wanted to, instead of like it was his obligation.
And yeah, I know, the one who does that in the horror movies is the murderer in
the end, but Spencer looks way too innocent for that. He's a cute, short kid,
with some baby fat, baby faced with messy light brown-blond hair, baby blue
eyes, and a nice smile, so I allow myself to trust him. And he's carrying one
of my bags for me, so how horrible can he be?
"What brings you to Darcy Preparatory School for Boys, Brendon Urie?" he asks
kindly. He's got a nice voice, sort of on the higher end, but pleasant to
listen to, filled with kindness and an undertone of sass that tells me he's not
completely innocent, like his boyish looks and gentle face would lead most to
believe. He leads me down the hall, pointing out classrooms as we go. I'm not
going to remember where anything is, and I think he knows it, because he's
basically given up on the tour.
"Parent's request," I reply. "Problems at my old school. You know, stupid
people and drama."
I don't offer details and Spencer doesn't press. "Hm," he says, glancing at me
thoughtfully. "This is the dining hall," he says, changing the subject as we
walk into another room.
The room looks like the Great Hall from Harry Potter, except much, much
smaller. And yes, I am a nerd, I revel in my nerdiness, even embracing it.
Mostly I'm a Harry Potter nerd, but I'm also a nerd for Dungeons and Dragons
and Lord of the Rings. Long tables stretch from one end to the other, and
there's a table set on a platform looking down on all the others. Staff table,
I'd imagine. The whole room is lit by chandeliers, and high on the walls are
stained glass windows, depicting pictures I recognize as bible stories. That's
a little off-putting but somewhat beautiful, and the hall has a light, airy
feel.
"Um, wow."
Spencer laughs. "Yeah, people come down here to get food, cuz the chefs serve
it here, but everyone eats in the dorm room. It's technically against the
rules, it's like rule number seven in the handbook, but no one cares. The
teachers let it go-- some of them even come and eat with us. I think they think
they're doing something right if that's the only rule we break. You know,
teacher logic. Come on."
He leads me down the middle of the dining hall to the door on the opposite side
of the room. The door opens to another big room, this one with teenage boys
scattered around it. And I stare.
The boys are scattered in groups of five or six, each group around a tv. The
tv's total at eight, each large flat screens. A ninth smaller tv is connected
to a playstation, and there's an X-box off to the side. There's vending
machines against one wall, and a table against another that is set up with a
coffee maker and a cappuccino machine. There's a pool table, a foosball table,
and an air hockey table. Couches and lounge chairs are placed randomly, and
there's a large bookshelf against one wall, filled with books that look both
recent and old.
"Wow," I repeat, dazed. Money is obviously of no shortage here. Then again, I
think about how high the tuition is, and that's pretty self-explanatory.
"This is the dorm. The boys hang out here when they're not in class. Most of
them are, right now. But there's only two hundred something students here, so
it works. The door on the right wall leads to wing one, the two doors straight
ahead go to wings two and three, and the one on the left wall is wing four.
There are twenty-five sleeping rooms in each wing. Some rooms house three, even
four. Most house two."
I nod, filing that information away. It'll probably be important later. "Okay."
"Before I show you to your room, I'm gonna introduce you to my roommate, Jon
Walker. Jon!" he calls to one group of guys, sitting on the air hockey table.
One glances up from a conversation he's having and smiles widely before jumping
off table and bounding over to us. "Hey kid," he says, pulling Spencer into a
warm hug that Spencer returns with a smile.
Jon is taller than Spencer, more muscular. He has dark, messy hair, soulful
dark eyes, and a ragged beard. He'd look homeless if not for the tan slacks and
the blue and black blazer that is the school uniform. His hair and beard are
unkempt, like he doesn't care enough to pay attention to them. But his smile is
wide and friendly and mischievous, his eyes wise, but glinting with deviance,
and I like him instantly.
"Hey, Jon," Spencer replies with a grin. "This is Brendon Urie, he's new."
"Yeah, I could tell. I'm Jon."
"Brendon. Nice to meet you." I hold a hand out.
"You too," Jon responds with a wide smile, taking my hand and shaking it
firmly. "Welcome to the life that is known as Darcy Prep. Hope you'll come to
enjoy it as much as most of us do. It's better than you'd probably think,
initially. Seen your room yet?"
"Thanks, and no, I haven't," I reply. "Can you give me any advice on how to
handle my roommate?"
"Depends on who it is," Jon answers, leading us over to the couch and sitting
down. I lean my suitcase against the couch and Spencer sets my bag beside it.
"Some people, like Spencer, are easy to get along with and will do all the work
for you." He grins at Spencer, who rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. "Did
the secretary tell you which room you're in?"
"She said wing four, room twenty-three," I say, surprised when Spencer makes a
noise like a choking cat and Jon's easy smile tightens slightly, any hint of
humor dropping out of his eyes. "Is that bad?" I ask uneasily, and duh, it's
obviously bad. There would be no such reaction if my roommate was a happy,
easy-going, fun person to be around. That's just my luck, isn't it?
"Um, did she happen to say who else rooms in wing four, room twenty-three?"
Spencer asks.
"Ryan Ross, I think." Spencer winces at the name, as if it's physically
painful. "Is that bad?" I repeat.
"No. Just... Okay," Jon responds, "my advice is this. Be careful. Ryan
isn't.... an easy person to handle. It's very easy to say the wrong thing, or
to upset him, even without meaning to. He's...." Jon's voice trails off, and I
watch him struggle for words before Spencer finishes his sentence.
"He's strange. And I've heard things about him-"
"-Things that aren't proven to be true," Jon cuts in. He rolls his eyes at
Spencer and then turns to me. "He's weird. No lie. He hates people, he's
antisocial. He's ridiculously smart, an incredibly sarcastic asshole, and no
one knows much about him. I'm fairly certain he's from a broken background.
Maybe you can break the mask he wears, but... I'm warning you. There's a reason
most people are scared of him. I'm not saying I am, or I even understand it,
but I know there is a reason."
"What's wrong with Ryan Ross?" I demand. Because they're making this kid sound
like a serial killer instead of an ordinary teenage student, and though,
rationality tells me I should be frightened, I'm more curious. I'm always
curious. I like answers because answers are reasonable things. They make life
easier. They're understandable.
"I was just wondering the same thing," a cool voice says from behind us, and
Spencer literally jumps. Jon winces. Me? I turn around.
It's obvious who spoke, and it's almost as obvious that the speaker is Ryan
Ross, standing just behind the ugly blue couch Jon, Spencer and I have sat down
on.
He's a tall boy of around 5'11, slender, all bone, no real muscle (so how
anyone finds him scary, I don't know). His hair is light brown, a few shades
lighter than mine, and it sticks up some, like he didn't bother to even think
about brushing it. His eyes are golden brown, icy and angry, one thin eyebrow
arched in disdain, long fingers drumming against his leg as if in annoyance.
His mouth is twisted in a scowl.
"You're my new roommate?" he asks coolly, and it takes me a second to realize
that, duh, the question is directed to me, the only new kid standing in the
general vicinity. Probably the only new kid in the building. I feel sort of
stupid, and I wonder if that's just a side effect from being around him. He
seems like he has the ability to make people feel stupid.
"Um, yeah," I stammer, caught off guard by the icy demeanor. "Brendon, um, Ur-"
"I honestly don't care who you are," Ryan cuts in. It's almost malicious,
partially annoyed, and kind of tired. "I'll show you to our room."
I glance at Spencer and Jon, not sure it's exactly a good idea to follow
someone who so obviously hates me on sight. (And I've never been hated on sight
before; usually I say or do something first, so this is a new, unnerving
feeling of insignificance rather than the normal brand I feel every day.)
Spencer shrugs. Jon waves me towards where Ryan's walking. I don't exactly want
to follow, but I'm pretty sure I don't have a choice. So I stand up.
"Hey, Ross," Jon says as Ryan is walking away from us. Ryan stops and glances
back at him, eyebrow arched up again, a cool sneer on his face. Jon just grins
slightly and says in a casual tone, "Don't hurt the new kid."
Ryan scoffs quietly but almost smiles, though he rolls his eyes and ducks his
head to hide it. He keeps walking, pausing once to glance back at me, eyes
softer than before, something like amusement shining in them. "Come on."
I grab my suitcase and bag and follow him down the hallway. He stops at the
last door on the right and unlocks it quickly. "Welcome to Hell," he mutters,
pushing the door open.
The room is very basic, average size. There's two beds, both with simple gray
bedspread. There's a desk with a fancy-looking high tech computer in one corner
and a bookshelf in the other. The door that I'm assuming leads to the closet is
along the back wall. Next to the bed on the left is guitar and a backpack.
There's one poster on the wall over it, a Beatles poster, and I smile. But
that's the only thing that makes it feel like someone actually calls this place
a home.
"That's my bed," Ryan informs me, motioning to it. "And you can take as much of
the closet as you need. I use less than half of it. The computer and the books
on the bookshelf are available when you need them. Just don't touch my guitar
or anything in my backpack and we shouldn't have a problem."
"Okay...." I set my stuff down and open my suitcase before going to the closet
and pushing the thick wood door open.
Ryan wasn't exaggerating. He uses about an eighth of the closet space and
that's it. I mean, it's a nice sized closet, so an eighth is more than you'd
probably think. Mostly vests and button down shirts, some jeans, and some
scarves hanging in the back. I guess it works fairly well for me; I like
clothes, and I'll probably use the rest of the space for myself. I'm just
starting to unpack my things when I hear the door open.
I turn to see Ryan about to leave. "Where are you going?" I ask, not that it's
my business. Still, it would be nice for my roommate to help me settle in.
"Out," he mumbles, back still turned to me. His voice is quiet and muffled. I
barely hear him.
"Okay, hold on," I say, and Ryan sighs bitterly, turning to face me. He looks
incredibly bored, his expression reading, 'I'd rather be anywhere else right
now'. I ignore that and continue to speak, even though I'm not sure I want to
know his response to what I'm about to say. "At least tell me why Spencer seems
scared of you."
His eyes darken considerably, and he straightens, body stiffening, anger
radiating off of him. His expression doesn't change, but it doesn't need to.
It's obvious enough that my question pissed him off. He's silent for a few
seconds before answering, voice icy and annoyed. "Why don't you listen to Jon
and Spencer and all the other assholes in this school and the fucking rumors
they spread and you'll figure it out." He walks away before I can respond,
slamming the door as he goes.
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