It’s mid June in Las Vegas and the boys are in Spencer’s backyard lying in the grass, legs intangled messily with each other.
They’d just finished practicing and it had been Brendon’s magical idea to venture outside of the basement and into the 98 degree mid-day Las Vegas sun.
Brendon, Ryan thinks, is full of
ideas. And of course, because what is Brendon Urie if not thourough, Brendon is the first to complain.
“Ry-annnnnn.” Brendon whines from his place in between Ryan and Spencer.
Brent makes a move to look at the singer but winds up flopping back down onto his back before he actually sees what Brendon is complaining about
time. It’s just too damn hot to care about Brendon’s bitching.
Ryan has his arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the murderous UV rays that threaten to wreck his beautiful hazel orbs. He only half hears Brendon’s dramatic expression of grief.
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