Over the past few months, Brendon had, with newfound enthusiasm and motivation, made improvements to himself and his life- which was a strange resolution for somebody who had it all, a penthouse apartment, expensive clothes, all the material goods he could ever want. He had been closed-off and emotionally unavailable in the past, unable to commit properly or engage in close, emotionally intimate relationships, or take those that said they liked him for real seriously. Ryan was one of those that vowed that he saw him as more than the son of some Forbes motherfucker, but as a person who genuinely didn’t trust anyone as far as he could throw them (and he was relatively tiny), it was a stretch for Brendon to even open up a little without getting stressed out and closing back off completely. He expected Ryan to give up with trying to get through to him early on, stop attempting to build a closer relationships of the foundation of the mess they had become- but he was persistent, and eventually, Brendon began to see him as a best friend, someone dependable and trustworthy, and after the brief crisis with Shane, Ryan became a lover, and they made so much sense it was ridiculous to him that he hadn’t dropped his defences and let him in earlier on. But it didn’t matter now- they were together.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing, unfortunately. Brendon had lived a certain way his entire life- alone, neglected but simultaneously spoiled- so his outlook on life was almost twisted. He saw life as a means of getting wasted and spending extortionate amounts on useless things and engaging in ‘morally ambiguous’ and ‘reckless’ behaviour (as it was described by the media, who lapped up all the ‘estranged millionaire son’ drama they could ask ever ask for). He had barely been keeping his head above the water for most of his adult life, but somehow, he coped- he enjoyed parties, he liked drinking, and before he and Ryan became more serious, he enjoyed frequent flings without any regrets. And this social butterfly/party animal aspect of Brendon had by no means faded away along with his emotional vulnerability and insecurity (and some of that naturally remained, it was deep-set); he still attended any events he was invited to, even when he had plans with Ryan. Those plans were rearranged hastily, and in their place, Brendon invited Ryan along every time, and usually he accepted, albeit while reluctant and mildly bitter.

That was the instance that night- Brendon and Ryan had reservations somewhere, but when Brendon received a last minute invitation that Ryan was, you know, inclined by his job to show Brendon. Immediately enthusiastic, he half-assed an apology for the change of plan (offering him only a ‘sorry, baby, some other time’ and kiss on the cheek), and immediately got ready, deciding to wear a new scarlet suit he hadn’t yet premiered. Ryan, of course, agreed tentatively to come along, even though he had many, many reservations and he was (rightfully) bitter. He felt somewhat neglected, and Brendon was too oblivious to realise, because Ryan didn’t express his opinions on Brendon’s over-indulgent lifestyle- criticising his behaviour hadn’t gone down too well in the past, because he was used to everyone tending to his every whim and kissing the ground he walked on. Brendon needed somebody to wake him up, tell him that to this extent, how he was behaving was reckless and unsafe without dancing around it, and ground him a little before he caused himself serious problems before he even turned thirty. 

Honestly, Brendon didn’t even know whose party it was, he just showed up and looked pretty and immediately broke into a bottle of red wine, offering some to Ryan (who shrugged and decided on one glass, mostly from the pressure of the whole situation- this was notably the first and last direct interaction Brendon had with him the entire night, even if he gushed about him to anyone who would listen for the rest of the time he was there), before swanning off around to speak to A-listers that he hated, B-listers that hated him and randomers who somehow got inside and flirted with him for all of their worth. It was quarter to one in the morning when Ryan walked up to Brendon, who was asking a crowd nearby him if they wanted to do shots with him, and held onto his waist gently to get his attention, mumbling in his ear that he wanted to go home. Brendon just heard ‘go home’ and shook his head defiantly, stepping forward out of his gentle grasp. [b]“Fuck that,”[/b] He had replied, loudly, grinning at the crowd of people who were waiting for their shots. [b]”But by all means, go home.”[/b] Ryan had muttered something like ‘fuck this’ and turned around, but Brendon didn’t pause to look and instead leaned over the bar to grab the attention of the bartender and satisfy his entourage. He thrived on the attention.

Come 3am, and Brendon’s thoughts finally turned back to his boyfriend. He looked around trying to find him, then remembered he’d gone- hesitating for a moment, he remembered they’d agreed to meet back at Brendon’s if Ryan wanted to leave a little earlier (which was prone to happen), and, motivated by sudden, intense, drunk affection, he decided to leave. Brendon said goodbye to everyone that looked disappointed by his exit, and all those that looked like they were celebrating his departure, too. He all but stumbled outside, called his chauffeur, and ordered them to take him back home- ‘to see my boyfriend’, he added, deciding that detail was necessary. It took about fifteen minutes, and Brendon was home- but, strange, his door was locked. Ryan didn’t leave it locked if he knew Brendon was coming back. Curious, he unlocked the door and shut it behind him, only to be greeted by an empty apartment. [b]”Honey, I’m home,”[/b] He called, his voice rough, as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the couch, making a beeline to his kitchen to retrieve some more wine for his own personal afterparty. [b]”Baby, are you here?”[/b] No response. 

Frowning, he left the glass on his counter and turned, heading into his bedroom, then bathroom, then back into the open plan living room to double check. Was he on the roof? By the pool? He went and checked there, too, but Ryan was nowhere to be found. Which left one conclusion- Ryan went home to his own apartment. Brendon felt an overreaction build in his chest and his immediate reaction was to sulk, sitting on his couch for about ten minutes while he stared at his phone and wondered whether or not to text him. He did. [i]I thought you were coming back to mine,[/i] read his text, but with several drunken spelling errors. [i]Where tf are you? Did you plan on telling me you’d fuck off home?[/i] Brendon paused, put his phone down, then combed his hands through his hair, blinking profusely. His head was going to hurt in the morning. He picked his phone back up. [i]This is bullshit.[/i]