While everyone else was relatively productive, more specifically the crew than people like Brendon, Ryan was hunting down a place to isolate himself and/or fall asleep before the show. He never had coffee or energy drinks beforehand for this exact reason - he totally preferred passing out in a jumble amongst stage clothes and unused amps. It didn't happen all the time, especially not in the beginning of their career. Back then he couldn't even speak to anyone; he was busy roaming about making sure everyone else's job was done perfectly just because he had this compulsive need to ensure his New Shiny Band would make it without any messy stage shows. It was worth it 'cause his efforts were never for naught, but still, a little ridiculous. Over time he realised it was an annoying habit that probably made him seem super condescending, so he started to only obsess over his own preparedness, then gradually scaled it down to not obsessing so much, and these days his main goal was avoiding the panic attack that, before, would happen every other time. Locking himself up in the bus or the van bathroom rather than the venue to avoid everyone while his brain calmed down had never been a particularly fun experience.

It didn't really make sense to get so nervous when he didn't feel really uncomfortable playing, and in fact was confident with his abilities when it involved nothing but playing guitar (these days he didn't have to do so much backing vocals, anyway). Still, thinking about dropping every single spare pick lined up on his mic stand, or strings breaking and crew not bringing out a second instrument fast enough, or some much more fatal disaster happening was bound to destroy his confidence at any given time; then when he got on stage and actually faced the sheer amount of people there it was worse. For whatever reason, Ryan had issues looking even individual people in the face, couldn't look directly at interviewers unless he had a double dose of Valium or something in his system. Generally, though, when he was trying to stray from the prescriptions, he could look to his left and see the person he was most comfortable with in the world, and usually it was easy to pretend everything else wasn't there, just background noise in the distance. Nevermind the fact that Brendon was talking to them, always appealing to them; somehow his incredibly sensitive internal panic button didn't react to that.

On shows like this one, where the venue was an arena and not a little club or converted bar, Brendon somehow sensed that he had to come deal with Ryan. Which, y'know, incredibly fucking sweet and thoughtful, but mostly Ryan wished he didn't have to do that, wished he could enjoy the little downtime they got beforehand. So he just acted like nothing was wrong. Ryan prepared himself for Brendon's eventual approach by very faux-calmly going through the motions of dressing for the show, something not quite the frontman's look but close enough to look like his sidekick as the rest of the band was wearing, which ended up just being black pants and a black button-up, all in such smooth material that you could almost fool yourself into believing it was silk and most importantly [i]not[/i] leather. Very much Brendon's trademark, that was. Ryan struggled with his hair in the mirror for a while, wondered at the heaps of makeup that were in front of the mirror and decided that trying anything for his skin would just look shitty by the end of the night and any of the old eye makeup would be too cringey by now. Finally he settled on a corner to hide in, his guitar almost concealing his body if only he weren't so damn long, phone in his hand with his tuner open. 

Brendon did eventually find him, moving so quickly over that Ryan didn't look up before he was an inch away with a finger under his chin. A little taken aback but not about to deny the approach, Ryan tilted up in counterpoint, trying his hardest to give back as good as he got but only managing the faintest of kisses. To compensate he just grinned back up at him reassuringly - more of a "I'm fine you don't need to [i]worry[/i]" than anything else - and ran his knuckles over the material on Brendon's thigh, rolling his eyes at the consistent choice of leather. He had no idea how Brendon, the god of overheating, hadn't died yet in that stage outfit. [i]Excited, baby?[/i] Finding that his throat felt tight, but Brendon was probably not really asking anyway, Ryan just nodded shortly, his smile still going strong. [i]I’m so fuckin’ ready. How long do we have? We have, like, twenty minutes.[/i] Ryan didn't bother that time, instead just gazed up at him wonderingly. Odd how his mind worked that fast without it taking a turn for the negative. Again, he was stuck in this loop of admiring Brendon; he just never got old, was the thing.

He was expecting the bursts of energy to carry Brendon off anyway so wasn't too shocked when he disappeared off somewhere; instead he tuned his guitar for the sixth time, stood around with the smokers outside without actually taking any offers, then hung around at side stage where he could see the front few rows of the audience holding on to the barrier impatiently. They must have been there for a while - there were already rows, still people filing into place, and the security roaming between the barrier and the stage actually had a job to do already. Not usually the case. Ryan was spotted but his all-black attire wasn't an immediate giveaway, his face blended in with the crew around him. He waved at those who looked over anyway, though, listening to people already calling requests despite none of them being onstage except for roadies putting out his stand and testing the gear last-minute, taking some into consideration. Interesting how pretty much all of said requests were old stuff. Personally, Ryan was almost past that point; it was all a little too personal, a little too nostalgic.

Ryan barely heard his cue when it was called but bounded over right on time, hanging on to one of Brendon's belt loops for a moment so he knew he was there before letting go and travelling further to the right of the stage. He forgot to smile, just kept his head down for the first breaths of them being on stage, then while lugging a guitar over his shoulder handed to him by crew he chanced a glance towards Brendon, who was wearing the easiest grin of all time. It was enough for him to reflect the exact same one on a relative scale, although his own was directed mostly towards Brendon, maybe the front row if he angled just right for a second. It happened every time but still never failed to amaze him - Brendon travelled over to his side of the stage, pulled him in to a kiss usually reserved for late nights or passing incredible moments, and everything else went silent. It's like he did it on purpose so Ryan forgot every fear sensation, every pinprick of anxiety that still got to him after all this time. Call it fanfare or what you will, he was pretty grateful for the comfort, even if it was a little public. He mouthed 'I love you' at the same time Brendon did, fingers drifting over the strings inadvertently to play a long, contented note.

[i]Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, he just looks so [/i]gorgeous[i] tonight, doesn’t he?[/i] Ryan turned meekly away, instantly looking  taken aback. His support mic was quieter so he waited a beat for the approving coos to almost cease before turning back to his stand and responding, angling towards Brendon. [b]"All right, but Brendon's our frontman for a reason, no? Always beautiful,"[/b] he said in a playful tone, grinning when he heard another upheaval of agreement. Their bandmates just looked a little sick of them. Ryan gathered himself enough to actually look at the faces in the crowd, tried to recognise who'd been to shows before and who was chasing every date they could. Actually, there were a few - Ryan tried to catch their eye and smile knowingly, try to ignore the warmth in his chest that remained from Brendon addressing him. [i]Anyway, what’s up, fuckers? Love y’all. This first song’s called LA Devotee.[/i]

He and Dallon, naturally, had some weird fucking mind meld, didn't even need the cue in their ears to be virtually right on beat with Brendon. [i]You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, o-oh-[/i] This song was easy, fast-paced but rhythmic enough and without too much conflicting sounds that Ryan wasn't on edge the whole way through. This way, he could veer towards his husband, play towards him and just add to everything that pointed to the main attraction. [i]Oh, the neon coast was your sign, and the Midwest wind with Virgo rising, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no-o.[/i] Ryan had, like, a skipped heartbeat when he thought Brendon actually messed up, then he pieced together the joke and rolled his eyes as emphatically as possible, turning away to give up on playing to him although it really was the cutest thing ever. When he glanced back Brendon was waiting for him to look and so Ryan obliged, eyeing him and starting to help close the gap bryween them until he realised Brendon was just de-clothing again. Ryan tilted his chin up in an 'oh really' sort of motion, grinning modestly, then shook his head at Brendon.

[i]Static palms melt your vibe, midnight whisperings...[/i] Shirt came off, people lost it, of course, and Ryan had naturally been nearing Brendon as he prepared to launch into the chorus, ending up just a handful of feet away when he got there. He was wary - whenever he got [i]too[/i] close Brendon found a fitting point in whatever song was on to hold the mic between them and share their voices - but he figured if Brendon really did want a reaction he'd get it anyway, and here he was showing ample interest, letting his gaze roam over him calmly as if the song hadn't just entered the fastest pace it could.