Ryan had never been in it to 'change' Brendon or anything like that. After all he had liked him as he was - there was no reason to reform him or try to shape him to some new ideal. As much as he liked Brendon naturally, though, he had a lot of shortcomings and annoying habits that he'd worked on since they met (and even moreso since they got together), and Ryan appreciated it beyond words. It'd even inspired him to work on himself in turn. When Brendon started learning to say what he was feeling rather than push it aside, Ryan learned to withhold his criticisms and judgments unless they were productive/constructive. When Brendon tried opening up a little more, sharing experiences and thoughts that came to mind that were maybe slightly deeper than a '[i]one time in Vegas[/i]'-esque story, Ryan later remembered to distance himself from his often guilt-trippy and self-victimizing tendencies.

That was the thing: both of them had their own problems to get over. So Ryan knew it was sort of absurd how much it bothered him that Brendon occasionally still stuck too true to his hedonistic, luxurious lifestyle, even after welcoming someone very unused to that into his world. Ryan knew it wasn't right to 'correct' him, it wasn't his place in any way, not as his personal assistant or his friend or even his boyfriend. He wasn't necessarily hurting himself, otherwise Ryan would see it as a good time to step in without looking like too huge an asshole; either way, though, he'd be patronizing to stop him one day and discuss the dangers of drinking, whatever. The extent of what he could do was accompany Brendon on all of his adventures, or at least the ones he could get away with going to, and making sure he stayed safe wherever he was. Ryan wasn't perfect himself, obviously, but he at least was so unused to the life Brendon normally led that he could maintain a level head throughout.

Sort of. Sometimes it became too much for him to watch Brendon around people who brought out the worst, most frat boyish part of him, or to lose count of how many shots he'd taken with a grimace, or to lose track of Brendon altogether and get stuck in a crowd of people who didn't give a shit who or what he was unless they knew he was with Brendon. In which case Ryan ensured they knew that his connection to Brendon would benefit no one else, thanks very much. In these situations he'd make a terse exit, although he hadn't had to do it too often, fortunately enough - Ryan had developed patience levels through the roof ever since they first met. Surprisingly, that skill could come into practice even in situations involving more than just Brendon. Pretty impressive, really. Anyway, the exits were subtle, usually just a squeeze on Brendon's arm and a half-smile and a gentle 'see ya' and the message was across that he was getting out of there. No big deal.

But when they'd been planning something for [i]them,[/i] a real date that wasn't just Brendon impulsively throwing a hundred bucks to an usher so that everyone else's reservations were rendered irrelevant, and then a dumb party got in the way of that, Ryan was kind of bitter. As soon as he had to deliver the invitation he knew the night to themselves was gone, so he at least got to cool himself off before the party itself and could hang off Brendon's arm (then, later, trail behind him like an accessory) without snapping at anyone. He held the same glass of wine the whole night, sipping it halfway before deciding it'd just be his cover from receiving more offers of alcohol or other unsavory courtesies, and watched to make sure Brendon didn't get too much too quickly himself. The role of 'control freak boyfriend' wasn't so bad when you were employed to be checking on him, anyway.

Some time close to one a.m., Ryan decided he was sick of it, though; he was tired as fuck and people kept giving him these weird, passive aggressive looks, probably for not leaving their guest of honor alone, and he was generally over it all. So he invited Brendon to leave with him, give him the benefit of the doubt: he gently looped an arm around him, fingers pressing into his side delicately, and whispered close to his ear that he was done for the night - if he approached this any other way he'd get a straight-up 'hell no,' he was sure. Brendon, though, was quick to move away, and Ryan leaned back in counterpoint, watching him sharply. [i]Fuck that.[/i] Ryan stared at him for a moment, then at their audience, knowing he must be part of the entertainment. Brendon tended to get even bolder when there were people around to see. [i]But by all means, go home.[/i] Yeah, fuck this. He looked at him for a second longer, face carefully blank, then tossed his groupies another critical glance before taking his leave. 

They shared the car here, and Brendon's driver was still outside sitting on the hood of the car, phone in hand. Ryan hesitated, thinking of going to his place as was generally agreed upon, but he didn't really want to see Brendon stumble in later and have to pretend to want to flirt with him until he fell asleep half-dressed. Which sounded about right. Ryan hailed a cab and went to his own place, relatively untouched since he and Brendon started officially dating, all the Post-Its collected into one sticky pile on the coffee table and half of his belongings gone, strewn about Brendon's place. Suddenly not all that tired (and he still gave enough of a shit to make sure Brendon at least got home and didn't pass out in public, even if he was kind of mad at him), Ryan curled up into an armchair fully clothed, pulling out a book decisively but turning on the television at the same time.

[i]I thought you were coming back to mine,[/i] came the eventual, expected text, or at least that's vaguely what it said once Ryan took a second to translate it. He placed his phone on top of the open, unread book, raising his eyebrows at it. While he was plotting out a reasonable response, another came - [i]Where tf are you? Did you plan on telling me you’d fuck off home?[/i] Ryan didn't appreciate the tone of that one, actually. He started typing before remembering Brendon definitely wouldn't be able to read all that well and called him instead. [b]"Hey, B,"[/b] he started, more gently than he would have liked, then allowed a moment in case Brendon's drunk brain needed to calibrate. [b]"So you made it home? Cool. Sorry, you were sort of being an asshole, and I didn't want to deal with it at whatever ridiculous time you came back, so. Did you have a good time?"[/b] Weirdly, these words seemed like they should be aggressive, but his tone came out pretty flat, casual. Evidently it was possible to call someone an asshole in a conversational way. Anyway - he wasn't up to picking a [i]real[/i] fight, would probably end up back at Brendon's sooner or later regardless.