Ryan was a little more blank than the person he'd chosen to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't his fault, necessarily, and it wasn't Brendon's fault that his excitable demeanor made Ryan look like a depressed little shit in comparison, but that was a lot easier to place the blame on rather than circle back to whatever early-life influences made him so keen to remain invulnerable. Either way, he appreciated Brendon's "passion," the fire in his heart that never really went out (although he'd unfortunately seen the dark times in Brendon, too, and it affected the world around him, as if all nature stopped blooming and all colors turned greyscale). He was talkative enough for the both of them, charming enough to make Ryan seem interesting by extension, a main attraction that fortunately drew the attention away from Ryan, who was easily overwhelmed by it. Not that Ryan usually [i]said[/i] any of this to him, of course. Instead he teased Brendon about the 'Aries flame,' or played annoyed when he wasn't entirely bothered. Part of it was just because he stuttered and stumbled over his words or couldn't wear the proper inflection, so if he was set on complimenting Brendon, it'd sound monotone and ultra-quiet. That didn't come off very genuine, even if he meant it with his whole heart.

The other part of it was just the fact that he was very obvious about how he felt, at least around Brendon. Catch him anywhere else and he was a pro at keeping his face unreadable, controlling any emotion so it didn't translate into his expression; with his husband he lost his guard and it was a little ridiculous. He'd be watching Brendon perform and forget he was meant to be an entertainer himself, or if he was in the audience he'd forget he was in a crowded room. He'd be listening to him talk, anything casual, and forget that he was supposed to [i]respond[/i] to him rather than simply enjoy his voice or his ideas or the way his expression changed with every topic. Or his mouth. That was a problem too. He'd probably do whatever Brendon told him to, fuckin' rob a bank, if he was simply smiling at the same time. So, Ryan wasn't easily charmed, necessarily; he'd just ended up with the embodiment of charisma.

Their puzzle-piece fit together was often their downfall, despite all the good things that came with it. In particular: getting work done. It used to be that they'd go to separate rooms, meet up with a third party present to ensure they actually came up with a finished product; since they started living together full-time and were married, things took ten times longer to get through the completion process. It started with Ryan being unable to write coherently and Brendon being unable to tab anything useful out, then they both pretended like they weren't getting all green on their tuners just to restart (Ryan personally must have undone five strings in his effort to avoid productivity), then Ryan's hands were sifting through Brendon's hair in his lap. He had no idea of how they got there, no memory of abandoning their guitars to escape to the living room, but decided this was more comfortable anyway. 

His thin V-neck was not providing much warmth at all and he wondered where his second layer went before peeking through one eye and remembering Brendon had taken it for himself. He looked better in it anyway. Not wanting to disturb the peace, he quickly shut his eyes again, pretending he hadn't seen Brendon sitting up for the first time in a while. Hearing the shifts in audio from the television, changes in language or inflection or music, he realised Brendon was probably bored as hell without ten types of stimulation at once and consequently searching for the entertainment from TV. He definitely didn't have the attention span for it. [i]Baby,[/i] came the second sign of his utter boredom, and Ryan really could have cried when he felt Brendon's fingers lace through his, the gentle kiss on the back of his hand. Tears of joy - it just wasn't incredibly often Brendon presented this kind of calm. He suppressed a smile, letting the moment live a little longer. [i]You alive?[/i]

Ryan's breath hitched by a fraction when Brendon's fingers drifted through his hair, once again charmed. [i]Are you broken?[/i] He felt Brendon rise first, then the weight of his hand disappear, and risked cracking his eyes open to watch him stretch out the stiffness like a cat. He was wearing this tiny smile, the kind that literally put Ryan in the palm of Brendon's hand, and again Ryan lost all his will to speak and break the serenity. Instead he just watched through barely-open eyes, his overgrown fringe helping to hide that he was awake and had been ever since his body deemed the room too cold. [i]Ryan, baby.[/i] Ryan held on, touch feather-light, to one hanging side of Brendon's shirt, but kept his eyes 'closed.' [i]I know you’re awake. But I think I just had the greatest song idea. Plus the dogs need to be walked. Plus I think we should go out for lunch. Can’t do that while you’re ‘asleep’.[/i] Lots of 'plus'es. And his scheme was foiled. Ryan gave in and just opened his eyes minutely, searching Brendon's features, familiarizing himself with the light again.

[b]"You're sweet,"[/b] he said quietly, promptly ignoring everything Brendon had tried bribing him awake with to instead mirror his actions from earlier, drawing his hand up to kiss and then lacing their fingers together where he could see them in the light. Then he let their hands drop to his chest, pulling Brendon down by a buttonhole on his shirt simultaneously. He kissed him, but barely - like he was afraid of breaking the pattern of softness. Ryan looked at him a little while longer then decided he was [i]really[/i] bad with words. Why he was even a writer, he'd never know. [b]"What's this song idea? And I vote we sit outside, wherever we go."[/b]