Aside from no one [i]else[/i] expecting it, Ryan himself never, ever planned on drinking, even casually. It was an overdone topic, really, one that he always told himself to get over when it popped into mind, but his childhood mixed in with Brendon's personal traumas all made him stray from the substance altogether. Drugs or cigarettes, sure, he'd comfortably dabbled, funnily enough. Alcohol, however, was off-limits. Sometimes he let his guard down just to avoid either pitying looks or otherwise judgmental ones - those who knew him better would always feel sorry for him when they saw him sipping at anything, as if he couldn't [i]see[/i] or something, and then those who didn't know him at all thought he was the wet blanket asshole drinking, like, Gatorade at a party. It was hard to not come outright with 'I'm not pretentious, it's just that my dad has cirrhosis,' or something to that tune. Generally, though, Ryan strayed away from explaining himself. At this point the only person who knew his situation to a T was Brendon, and Brendon never criticized.

In fact, Brendon was shockingly supportive of any and all decisions he ever made, for someone who'd had his own struggles. When Ryan eventually did start warming up to social drinking, Brendon remained a comfortable bystander, not even giving in to what was probably a trigger (and thusly very inconsiderate of Ryan, but he was also sick of acting like any little thing would set Brendon off; he had way more faith in him, really). Then, when his 21st rolled around, Brendon made no mention of what turning that age entailed outside of passing jokes or hints at what his party might include. If he was concerned about Ryan's well-being, he kept it to himself thankfully, 'cause God knows Ryan would just take it as being patronizing; if he was upset about not being able to come on account of both his age and his record, he didn't pass it on to Ryan, and as such didn't shame Ryan into staying home. Really, Ryan was really goddamn lucky to have Brendon, and it became even more apparent around this birthday in particular.

Anyway. It was a little weird. Ryan wasn't used to liquor, although he'd managed beer and wine before. Ironically he'd settled for his dad's favorite, and that, too, he expected might upset him - but oddly enough, it didn't. Sometimes his thoughts strayed to what his dad might be going through that very moment in Vegas, or to the one percent chance that Brendon might be set back a few years by Ryan welcoming irresponsibility in a whole other state... for the former it was such an old, done-to-death topic that he quickly brushed it aside, and for the latter, well. Ryan wasn't stupid. He knew Brendon was fine, had been when he left Seattle and apparently still was, if the content of his texts meant anything. All of that aside, Ryan was coming to his own unbiased conclusions about alcohol, which were mainly that it tasted like shit and he didn't like not being able to stand straight. Shocker that the control-freak was opposed to those side effects.

Despite this, when he flew back Ryan stocked up even more on the flight, going from tipsy to flat-out drunk thousands of feet in the air, and ended up somewhere inbetween those two states of being whilst on the comedown to his house. So he arrived at home semi-drunk. He was, unfortunately, probably not going to fully remember Brendon being his keeper, sort of laughing at how ridiculous he was while setting him away to bed (though not after they showered one another with welcome-home type kisses and compliments). He was also probably not going to remember instantly falling asleep once Brendon actually did coax him into bed, but that's exacty what happened. [i]Instantly.[/i] Evidently, Ryan was the sort of drinker to just get a little goofier and much sleepier. Luckily it seemed like he didn't subject any of their other friends to that behavior for very long... although they'd probably have words for him once they collectively found out the birthday boy had gone missing.

Ryan didn't wake up at eleven when Brendon did, nor did he wake up when Brendon went through a typical morning routine. At some point he heard the door to the bedroom reopen, though, and shifted a little, conscious of something happening but fully feeling the payback from last night. If he'd just had water, [i]none[/i] of the protests his body was making would be happening, but as it were he was dehydrated as hell and his head was pure pressure. Ryan felt the mattress dip beside him just before something pressed into his blanket coccoon. [i]Sleeping beauty?[/i] Ryan made the most low-effort 'hm' sound he could in response. [i]Is someone hungover?[/i] [b]"Go away,"[/b] Ryan mumbled, muffled against the fabric surrounding him, and hugged it all closer while Brendon tried to dismantle his fortress. Somehow he wasn't warm enough but still burning hot - so, decidedly, blankets were still necessary.

[i]Damn, rough night?[/i] Since some light had reached him and he could make out some of Brendon, Ryan glared at him for a second before squeezing his eyes shut again, desperate to sleep even though he wasn't tired at all. Overtired, as a matter of fact, as if he'd slept too long. He successfully ignored Brendon's annoying prodding but couldn't escape Brendon straight-up [i]climbing over him[/i] to get to the window, nor could he avoid the assault of sunlight that immediately followed. Ryan groaned, rolling onto his back. [b]"I thought you [i]loved[/i] me,"[/b] he said sorrowfully, pulling a sheet away from his mouth and squinting at the ceiling. His eyes gradually adjusted, and he started to slowly wriggle, just loosening himself from the mummification of the covers.

[i]This feels like an emotional episode of, like, an alcoholic recovery show, osomething.[/i] [b]"Shut up. Your [i]mom's[/i] an emo-"[/b] Ryan started to fight against Brendon when he returned, climbing onto him again. He pressed a hand to his chest and pushed, only admitting defeat when it appeared that Brendon was only giving him a kiss. Ryan relaxed somewhat, stilling beneath him and letting his eyes slip shut as Brendon planted a kiss to his cheekbone. [i]Though he seems to be trapped in both bed and denial, Ryan’s eventually going to have to face facts... He’s relapsed, and his boyfriend won’t be happy.[/i] Ryan waved an arm in an effort to hit him, missing by at least a mile. [b]"Idiot."[/b] If he had the nerve he'd probably throw Brendon's words right back at him, but he very much did not. [i]Wake up, asshole.[/i] [b]"I'm awake, thanks to you. My head fucking [i]kills.[/i] Do we have aspirin? Or running water?"[/b] He glanced to his side, catching a piece of Brendon's toast and holding it above his face, considering it. Nope. Definitely not hungry. He chucked it at Brendon instead.