Ryan expected to feel like a parent coming home from a business trip to find their teenaged kid, but not to this extent. The house basically looked like the equivalent of said teenaged kid's wreckage post-party, red Solo cups strewn about and broken decor, except the red Solo cups were actually Pabst Blue Ribbon cans and the broken decor was broken guitar strings. Ryan would be panicking if he didn't know for certain that that was [i]Holden's[/i] beer of choice, and also Holden typically never brought his own shit to break, so it always ended up being any of Ryan's instruments. It was fine; he usually just hunted down Holden later on and forced him to restring every guitar, not just the broken one. So, walking through the house again and finding it somewhat in ruins after only three days spent away, he couldn't bring himself to get angry - he wasn't the one who was responsible for fixing it.

He'd also be pissed that Holden the human tornado had even come round if that didn't mean that at least someone had stopped by and ensured that Brendon was alive. He could easily have faceplanted during a backflip, or something, maybe forgotten to eat while playing games the entire time. At least with the human tornado in question over, Brendon would be stocked up with pizza boxes (which was much more easily accessible than the tons of healthy to semi-healthy foods Ryan had stocked up on in preparation for his absence; in retrospect, a shortsighted choice, in that he knew Brendon wouldn't touch anything not directly in front of him). It wasn't that Brendon was irresponsible or [i]that[/i] immature, per se. He just didn't really give a fuck about self-care until he was, like, on the brink of death.

All that said, Ryan wasn't really surprised to find him on the couch damn near naked with a controller in hand and - thank god - a pizza at his side. He wasn't sure if the disheveled hair he usually took such ridiculous measures to keep in line was a result of not sleeping or oversleeping, but it was hard to focus on that when he looked stupidly cute despite three days of living like an isolated high schooler. Ryan was in the room just in time to hear him scold Bogart and sort of laughed at his obliviousness (although worrying; what if it [i]wasn't[/i] Ryan, god) before addressing him, finally. [i]Freak? Thanks, babe.[/i] What a reaction. Ryan was almost offended. Then again, staring at a screen for 72 hours straight had likely numbed his reflexes.

He watched, entertained, as Brendon just as calmly moved Bogart off, then appeared to register fully for the first time that Ryan was actually back. Ryan beamed at him as he turned, suddenly animated. [i]Fuck off, yours can’t even-[/i] He cracked up when Brendon quit his point mid-sentence, catching him as he came over the back of the couch and helping to keep him balanced after such quick movements. He curled his hand protectively round the back of his head when it was tucked against his shoulder, the other barred around his waist to keep him close, until Brendon was pressing a kiss to his cheek and he couldn't do much other than laugh softly, contentedly. He tried to stem it by the time Brendon was framing his face so carefully, to no avail; it just died down somewhat into a fond smile. [b]"Can't what? This is an anti-'Dottie slander' household."[/b]

Clearly not minding very much, though, Ryan dragged the hand curled round the back of Brendon's head to between his shoulderblades, pressing little circles with his fingertips like a lazy massage. [i]Hey. I’ve missed you so much.[/i] Ryan couldn't help the gentle laughter that bubbled at that again, nearly returning the sentiment before he was interrupted with a kiss that was pretty characteristically Brendon. Desperately trying to stop gleefully laughing or smiling in order to reciprocate in full, Ryan was able to properly kiss back about 25% of the time - and was almost self-conscious about it until he realised Brendon was kind of in the same situation. When they pulled apart they were identical, laughing breathlessly, Ryan feeling like he could lose his balance in a second.

[i]Fuck, why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back? I would have- put some clothes on.[/i] Ryan looked at him curiously, half-happy half-confused, before he came to the conclusion that Brendon somehow didn't get his texts. He looked around for a moment before leaning away, sort of taking Brendon with him while he retrieved Brendon's overturned phone and came back to their original spot. He pressed the home button, revealing tons of new notifications flooding the screen. [b]"Babe, Do Not Disturb mode has never been your friend."[/b] He peeled away one of Brendon's hands just to give his cell back, let him look through it all, probably 75% Holden trying to earn another night at PBR heaven. [b]"Also, I don't think you would have put clothes on, but the sentiment means a lot. Besides- I don't [i]mind.[/i] Kinda the opposite."[/b] He smoothed a hand over Brendon's chest, grinning widely again, and kissed him for another long moment, evidently still recovering from their brief time apart.

When he pulled away to breathe Ryan was reminded of the state of the house, glancing past Brendon's shoulder to see a fraction of the mess. [b]"How did it get like this in three days?"[/b] he asked with short breath, not annoyed or angry sounding but more fascinated. [b]"And, how are you alive? I count three pizza boxes."[/b] Both he and Holden were tiny, probably weighing no more than 130 each and a culminating average of 5'7. It was amazing how much they could shovel in - and how much they could drink without bursting, whether it be cherry Cola or a lager.