Ryan's efforts to stay annoyed at Brendon were squandered by his looks alone, and it'd be ridiculous if only anyone wouldn't be charmed by Brendon's appearance - especially the way he looked in sunlight. There was a reason Ryan carried such a strong mental association between his soulmate and the sun itself; he looked more alive than ever, more at home than ever, when he was illuminated in the natural light. It wasn't that deep, really, but Ryan comforted himself in thinking about it as the exact opposite of all the places Brendon found himself during the worst times of his life. Dark alleyways and poorly lit bars and neon-artificial clubs, those were all completely separate realms from the security of pure skylight. When he saw Brendon glowing warm and lively, it looked like he'd already finished reinventing himself from those times.

But Ryan was a romantic, and it really wasn't anywhere close to worthy of that much overanalysis, so he didn't bother commenting on the sight. Instead he just stared a little dumbly as Brendon's muscles stretched with the rest of him, skin bright with health and usually dark eyes revealing more depth than ever, then ducked his head to look at his hands while he picked at his fingernails absently. He barely even had the awareness after that to think about his own insecurities when next to Brendon like this (which usually the situation always dwindled down into). [i]...When am I not self aware?[/i] Funny he should ask. Ryan could ask the exact opposite of himself, 'cause apparently he very easily tuned out of awareness. He humored Brendon nonetheless, a tiny smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. [b]"All the time, baby,"[/b] he said, instantly thinking about the more than one occasion where he had to tell Brendon he was about to walk into a pole, or something. Pretty typical. 

At his appearance, Brendon just shrugged, and oddly Ryan was flattered by his carelessness. So maybe Ryan had other redeeming qualities - what a nice thought. [i]When has that ever stopped me?[/i] Taking that as rhetorical, Ryan seized the opportunity to admire him again while he glanced down at his phone, taking in the contrast of his eyelashes brush over his cheekbones, the newly emphasized freckles dusting his skin wherever it faced up to the sun. He wrung his hand together, trying to avoid reaching out to him already. He managed to save himself from something of a faux pas by diverting the conversation from alcohol to weed - not much better in any authority's opinion, probably, but definitely minutely more comfortable for him to discuss without sounding like a judgmental or cynical asshole. 

[i]It’s gonna be my 21st, so you better outdo yourself this time.[/i] Oh, Ryan had a [i]lot[/i] of plans for Brendon, and they didn't all involve his birthday. He held his chin in his hand, elbow on the mattress, but angled so lazily he was barely holding himself up while he considered Brendon. [b]"I'm not worried,"[/b] he confirmed, which was likely a big deal keeping in mind that Ryan was pretty much always afraid of fucking up or disappointing someone. Brendon in particular. Maybe he was a little worried someone [i]else[/i] might ruin the party - but every prime suspect for that was someone that Brendon liked, for example goddamn Holden or Gabe, all of whom had proven themselves to be little shits for the past couple days - but for the most part he was pretty sure he had his boyfriend's best interests in mind. 

Ryan knew Brendon was probably mentally scrutinizing his new behavior, which he himself had only just fully registered, and looked sheepish. [i]I’ll give you that, babe. What just happened?[/i] Slightly embarrassed by the effect Brendon rightfully had on him, Ryan shook his head a bit, dismissive. Brendon pressed on anyway. [i]So, did drinking turn you into a bottom, or what?[/i] Ryan let go of his shirt and instead lifted one hand to press against his face briefly, play-fighting him as if they were kids again. [b]"Quiet, you."[/b] Really not funny. But Ryan had exhausted all of his overreacting energy already, or something. [i]Joking. Hey, your 21st would have been so much more fun if I was there.[/i] Ryan went silent, staring him down reservedly, because either this could be very bad or slightly cute. He wasn't that excited about his chances. His hands dropped unceremoniously to his side. 

[i]There was this one time at this shitty dive bar, I met this guy called Josh and he made a bet with me, who can chug a beer the fastest- he fuckin’ destroyed me, can you believe it?[/i] Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, somewhat impatient, and his bizarre act from moments ago was completely gone. [b]"No. I guess not."[/b] He tucked one hand into his hair, then folded it behind his head, gazing up at Brendon in wait of the end of this very thought-provoking anecdote. [i]He made me wear high heels as penalty for losing. Also, he was hot. 99% sure he took me home, it’s all a bit foggy.[/i] [b]"I'm going to ignore everything I don't like about what you just said. Where'd you even get high heels? Who let your dumb ass borrow their shoes?"[/b] Ryan's fingers were playing along the skin he'd bared for himself along Brendon's waistline, pinching him very lightly to pair with his teasing. He forgot his resolve to forget everything unpleasant to make another mocking joke. [b]"Also, it seems like it's safe to assume you just go home with everyone from these stories, based on what you say."[/b] Ryan was grinning, though, oddly not mad but more amused by his misfortune.