300 Minutes

by inthevegaslights

Summary:

Ryan Ross was born into money. He never had to grow up with a single want except for his excessive desire to create and to share. At nineteen he had published his first novel, a frighteningly popular love story that he grew to hate. Eleven years later, Ryan has not written anything else but instead spends his days with a revolving door of lovers and fair weather friends. By the urging of his friend Z Berg, he attends a party thrown by a rapidly rising musician who has earned more money in the past two years than he knows what to do with. While Ryan prefers the company of people not in the celebrity scene, he finds himself strangely drawn to a man who doesn't believe in more things than he believes in.

Chapter 1: Prologue

"Hey, it's me. Actually--Did I ever give you my number? I think I did. Maybe. I'm pretty sure I scribbled it on your arm. Wait, no, I told you to get a hold of my agent. No, that was that other guy. Never mind. This is probably the stupidest message I've ever left someone.

Anyway, the reason I'm calling is--Hold on.

Here it is.

So, get this, I'm in this book shop in London, and I'm just kind of looking around and I find this book from like--Shit, it says 2005. So like, fucking twelve years old, yeah? And I'm looking at it and it has this awful cover. Just, flowers and it's like, made to look way older than it is. Like this pretentious fucking love story that's trying to play like it's some sort of work of Victorian art. You should see it. The author doesn't even have a name! They just have their initials like they're fucking Tolkien or something. And I'm just looking at this stupid ass book and reading the synopsis or whatever and for some reason your face popped up in my head. It's dumb, but like. I don't know, I thought you'd appreciate that this ugly ass book on the other side of the world from twelve years ago gave me serious 'you' vibes.

The summary is kind of--Well, it's very you, too. The way they talk about love. I wonder if a chick or a guy wrote this. Fuck if I know. Doesn't matter.

Yeah. So like, I'm gonna be in Europe for another month and a half. Finishing up the tour for my last album. Did you hear it? No, probably not. Didn't you say you hated my first album? I'm pretty sure you did.

Fucking asshole.

I'm kidding--Maybe. But yeah, so like. I don't know. Give me a call back I guess? Or don't. How long has it been? I don't know. I don't measure that kind of stuff, y'know.
Hey--

Just---Well---

Do you even remember?"

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