Though he was definitely a misfit amongst his family of haughty characters and superiority, Brendon never claimed to want a normal life, never droned on about how he wasn’t supposed to be rich or famous, et cetera- he did feel comfortable lounging on velvet sofas in suits that cost several times more than ordinary people’s rent, drinking ridiculously expensive wines and champagnes in restaurants where no bottle cost less than a hundred dollars, enjoying the company of A-listers and being invited to prestigious events despite the fact he wasn’t even strictly an entertainer. Brendon was just rich, but maybe he just got out a lot- he was apparently easy to befriend, even easier to bed if the rumours were true, and wherever he went, trouble and drama and cameras tended to follow, so he always added a little spice to usually boring occasions. These didn’t always end up in praise, and often after high-profile nights out his alleged behaviour was reported on in a spiteful light and a hateful sting, criticising him as the disgrace of the family and much too morally flexible; though, no matter what the media tried to do, spat on his name and stamped over his image, he somehow came out smelling of roses.

Brendon was independent and capable of getting himself both in and out of trouble with relative ease- to get into trouble, he just behaved as normal, and to get out, he flashed a few enticing smiles, said a few charming words that obscured whatever he’d got up to into insignificance, and it was like he had a clean slate. Well. Not to Boyd. Brendon pushed his luck all the time with his mother and father (his mother usually didn’t do anything beyond shaking her head disapprovingly), but he wasn’t stupid, and at this point was uneasily aware of the fragile state of his relationship with his father. The last thing he wanted to do was bite the hand that fed him, so he fell in line just enough that he would stop breathing down his neck for as long as it took for him to get involved in his next big scandal. It wasn’t as if Brendon was without talent- though he rarely demonstrated it due to lack of opportunity, he was an incredibly talented vocalist and musician, skills he demonstrated on any of his dozen favourite guitars or the grand piano in his penthouse. Nobody had ever really showed this much appreciation, though; his father had once told him that if he was as skillsd on the piano as he was with keeping his image clean, he’d skip Brendon’s older siblings and hand the company straight to him. Brendon didn’t respond, just continued playing.

As much as he’d scorned the idea of getting a second irritating babysitter, Ryan was easy to be around and quickly became a source of entertainment in the life of an easily bored sycophant who needed constant stimulation or he’d probably trash a hotel room. Ryan was more like a friend (though still a glorified servant), even if Brendon knew that if he didn’t pay him he wouldn’t stick around for long. Nobody ever really did, and Brendon just tired himself out thinking about it. He didn’t like to wallow in self-pity- he had everything he ever wanted, what was the point? Even so, only a week into their working relationship and Ryan was comfortable calling him by his first name, interspersed with ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Blake’ just for the sake of feigning some kind of professionalism. Brendon wondered if Ryan had bragged to his friends about meeting him, or had told them how much of a pompous, irritating ass he was. Honestly, he didn’t much care- curiosity just brought up the questions in his mind, which was odd, because usually he didn’t care what people thought of him as long as it was about him. Any publicity was good publicity. His father would not agree.

Though he had countless ‘friends’, Brendon’s instinct was, rather shamefully, to call his paid assistant and think up a lame excuse for his company close to 3am. Luckily, Ryan was compliant even when Brendon thought it would be a lost cause due to the initial snap he was greeted by from over the phone. Ryan brought the sodas Brendon was requested, and though he quickly internally registered that he wasn’t even thirsty, he felt obliged to crack open a can away if only to show some kind of alleviation for Ryan’s commitment to the role. He wondered when it would be appropriate to start asking him to buy drugs for him to save him the hassle. Before he got chance to consider that properly, Ryan had touched on a sore spot seemingly out of nowhere and Brendon recoiled in self-defence before he had time to steel himself and brush it off with a laugh. Of course he got [i]lonely-[/i] even with, in the grandest cliché, almost a new lover every evening in Brendon’s life, his encounters were fleeting and forgettable and lacked substance- leaving him fulfilled during but not after. All feelings of closeness and companionship quickly fell to dust as the door swung closed on the way out. It was the only time he ever felt vulnerable.

He had friends, too, and family- but 99% of his supposed friends were fake as all hell and his family was irritating and patronising and treated him like a problem that needed to be solved, a wrinkle in the cloth that needed to be smoothed out. Ryan was only his employee, sure, but he seemed genuine, and he hadn’t let him down so far, so- that’s why he called Ryan. He didn’t feel like he had anybody else to call who would answer, nevermind come over at 3am. Over his dead body would he admit that, though. [i]Then say I’m off-duty.[/i] Brendon laughed, tapping his fingers absently against the aluminium of his can. [b]"You’ll be off-duty when I’m dead, babe.”[/b] Came his reply, grinning effortlessly through his words, ignoring the inappropriate nature of his pet name. [i]I’m not paid to be your friend. I chose that part.[/i] Huh. Brendon mulled this over as he shrugged off his jacket and quarter-way unbuttoned his shirt, finding that statement unfortunately hard to believe. [b]”So, with that in mind, can I cut your pay?”[/b] He tested, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side to watch Ryan’s reaction.

[i]You make it sound so absurd.[/i] [b]”You’re my employee, I’m meant to be professional. Believe it or not, this is me trying my fuckin’ hardest,”[/b] Brendon murmured, amused, leaning his side against the balcony ledge and meeting Ryan’s eyes, just before his PA glanced out at the skyline. He followed his eyes, and blinked; he’d seen this view so many times it didn’t seem extraordinary anymore, but when he studied it, the appeal kind of came back. It was a weird feeling- so high above everyone else, almost on a pedestal, but so isolated. Looking down at the chaos and beauty of the city. Something dumbly poetic crossed his tongue but he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts in, where they belonged. 3am was the time to take chances, sure, but not a time to be completely stupid. [i]My visiting hours officially end at 4 a.m., so you just made it, yeah. I would've come over.[/i] Brendon half-smiled. [b]”Sweet.”[/b]

[i]Yeah, you don't need, like, a bribe, or a cover story. You're enough, you know?[/i] Almost stunned, Brendon’s easy, bright smile quickly faded, and instead he was left looking a little dumbfound by the apparent genuity of his tone. Opening his mouth to respond, he found himself without words for once in his life, he so he just laughed without breath, moving his hands automatically down to his shirt again to pull another few buttons from their loops. It was a warm night dispersed with breezes few and far between, so he had some excuse- but mostly he now had a goal so typical of him and he knew exactly how to achieve it. Brendon had done this before. [i]I'm wondering 'why me' when you probably could've called, like, the Queen, though.[/i] Shrugging, Brendon picked up his can of Dr. Pepper- half left- and gestured with his head for them both to go back inside his apartment, leaving the remaining cans out on the balcony, quickly forgotten. [b]”The Queen wouldn’t take my shit,” [/b]Brendon responded after a moment, setting his suit jacket carefully down on one of the sofas and then giving Ryan his full attention, his dark eyes lingering and his eyelashes casting shadows against his cheekbones again. He exhaled, and left his lips slightly parted, and then he folded his arms loosely across his chest after setting down his can on a mahogany coffee table. [b]”So, are you in a rush? Got anyone to get home to?”[/b]