Ryan was still paying for his misguided judgment, thinking he could even try to use their connection as a vantage point in the argument, and in trying not to obviously overreact his mind drifted to those dumb safety pamphlets you'd find in the pocket of the seat in front of you on an airplane. He read them every time even though they always said the same thing, and the little comics had these utterly calm people in the most extreme of situations. Some orange cartoon-skinned yellow haired woman with wide eyes but an otherwise blank face climbing out of an airplane that had dropped into the ocean minutes ago; a businesswoman depicted somehow being able to remember to take her heels off before going down the slide that takes her away from a slowly sinking aircraft. In the face of the terror that was Brendon being hurt by him, Ryan tried desperately to emulate those people in similarly harrowing situations: he kept his features flat, eyes narrowed to avoid giving away his own distant sense of hopelessness.

He was able to keep from immediately jumping to apologies, holding some sort of high ground even though he was kind of over their 'fight' and more interested in moving past it, compromising. Instead he was acting a little callously, and he recognised in Brendon's face alone that his unresponsiveness was worse than his instinct to make up for everything and beg for forgiveness. Ryan shifted his attention to the wall, feigning deep interest in the eggshell paint shade just to avoid watching as Brendon lost more and more respect for him. [i]Just, [/i]okay[i]? That’s where you’re meant to apologise. How fucking dare you-[/i] When he broke off momentarily Ryan finally looked back, animated for a frame of a second when he considered responding. Not the best choice. [i]You don’t actually think I don’t love you, right? Because it’s not fucking funny.[/i] [b]"I know,"[/b] he murmured immediately, out of the energy to finish saying exactly what he knew, but anyway he meant that he knew exactly how Brendon felt. And he knew it wasn't funny. But his natural reflex to respond to that, however out of the blue, was kind of amusing, so Ryan's lips quirked slightly up on one side when he said, even quieter, [b]"I love you, you know."[/b] It was stupid timing. He hadn't even meant to - his own eyes turned to the ceiling quickly and he killed the small self-loathing smile that had formed in the past half minute.

It wasn't funny for long, though, and in fact disappeared from his mind moments later when he uncomfortably shifted the topic back to Brendon's words. Brendon, however, didn't seem to want to confront the fact that he'd mentioned missing the 'old days.' Ryan got that, he did, but he also couldn't just leave it [i]alone[/i]. None of this was under his jurisdiction, probably. He hadn't even been there. Brendon suffered through it, mostly, while he had yet to move east, but he had still seen the disease take a hold on someone else, so maybe he did sort of have an understanding of how it worked. He doubted his father was having any of he 'fun' Brendon was alluding to. Then again, even Brendon may be misinterpreting or misconstruing what exactly had happened. The mind played tricks on people sometimes; it made us believe the good times were better than they were, that the hard times were more bearable than they had been in the moment. Made us believe that being able to die from an addiction was fun when there existed facilities to cater to said addiction. Ryan tried to squash the image that sprung to life in his head of Brendon in a bar, looking like any normal drinker, but really it was his sixth visit that month, that week, that day. 

[i]It really isn’t that big a deal. You never write anything anymore, so there’s nothing for me to reject.[/i] That wasn't what Ryan was talking about. He didn't come down on Brendon for dodging confrontation yet, though, and just continued, effectively ignoring what he'd said (although it was very true; Ryan had hit a sort of slump, not interested in writing especially when the rest of his collaborators were moving towards a genre that he himself had no fancy or inspiration for). When a silence followed his words he thought maybe addressing it all was too much for the time being, and maybe they should just cool off for a bit, so he started to bail. Having stood still as a statue for several moments Ryan shook himself slightly, then let his uncertainty translate into his features before starting to speak. [b]"I-it's okay, we..."[/b]

[i]I miss it.[/i] Ah. Not what he'd expected. Brendon clearly knew that, because judging by his expression he wasn't done but he knew Ryan needed to get that through his head. Ryan didn't, really, but he stared on as if he was accepting of the fact that Brendon could admit his attachment to the past. [i]That’s what people don’t understand. Sure, what came with it was awful, but the drinking? The actual- parties? Nights out, whatever? It was fucking fun, okay?[/i] Ryan set his jaw and sort of dropped down beside Brendon, finally sitting again and letting his shoulders go slack. He didn't stay level with him, though, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, scrubbing over his admittedly slightly worried face to avoid showing too much concern when it wasn't wanted. [i]What I can remember, was- crazy. And I do miss it. I struggle with that shit every day, so I write about it because it’s what most of my life has been dominated by.[/i]

[b]"And you can't talk about it, 'cause."[/b] Ryan was nodding, but cynically, suddenly hating himself more than before. It wasn't that he was saying Brendon couldn't talk about it as in he wasn't allowed to - he must not have felt like he [i]could.[/i] And, what Ryan didn't say out loud but was pretty obvious, because Ryan had never been entirely receptive to anything Brendon had to say about drinking. Unless it was about recovery, he tended to accidentally sound like a huge fucking asshole. Ryan knew it, too, but only retroactively. He let his face rest in his hands for a few absent moments, not speaking but considering, until finally he did lean back, facing Brendon fully this time. [b]"I'm sorry, baby. I get it - just."[/b] He restarted, eyebrows knotting together. [b]"Touring is fine. Being on the tour ensemble is fine, I mean, you're right, it's basically all I'm doing now, so. It's just that... you writing that stuff by yourself... I don't want you to feel like you have to be alone, you know?"[/b] It all seemed so. Irrelevant. Ryan shook his head again, wishing he had any sort of clarity, and tried again to make Brendon understand that he wasn't trying to sound so unreasonable. [b]"I know it's not your main reason to want to make the music yourself. I - I hope you know that you don't have to push people away from the personal stuff, is all. I'm always here for you."[/b]