Some people got all the luck, Brendon had thought as soon as the cab pulled up in front of the wooden mansion, extravagant even when half-claimed by nature, occupied by an undoubtedly pretentious asshole who was way too young to have so much money. Brendon was bitter about it, because although he knew Ryan wasn’t a fluke, Jon said he was smart, his writing was apparently incredible, he was successful and rich in his early twenties, Brendon had been a prodigy, a talented vocalist and musician with a music degree and nothing to use it for. Life had thrown him in at the deep end and it went to show that sometimes you could have all the talent and ambition in the world and life would just be cruel, give you the short end of the stick, and you’d wind up in a tiny apartment in New York he could barely afford with an unemployed roommate and a habit of being hired for about six months before inevitably fucking it up. As far as Brendon knew, this job was definitely much shorter than even that, so he’d have to constantly be thinking about where his next paycheck came from. He just hoped this guy- or his publishers- were generous to a Brooklyn kid who definitely looked out of his element and completely unprepared.

Spencer was at the forefront of his mind a lot of the time, and on the way there, instead of brushing up on the apparently amazing book series, he had been distracted by his doubts about this Ryan character. When Brendon made that phone call to Spence after a while evening of trying-not-to-get-wasted-but-getting-wasted-anyway with Jon, he’d sounded worried, weary, but then that was just his voice nowadays. His chest tightened with worry- and then anxiety, confusion, because when he mentioned Ryan, Spencer went quiet, seemed liked something was bothering him. He wouldn’t say what it was, and if Brendon had the choice, he’d go with his gut and not even go upstate to even meet Ryan- but he didn’t have that kind of freedom, that kind of leverage. He was embarrassingly desperate, and he hoped it would show around this young man who had everything he could ever want [i]already.[/i] Brendon tried to convince himself not to despise him just for being successful- so he found another reason to distrust him; if he and Spencer had really once been so close as Jon had told him, why was he letting Spencer rot away in a tiny apartment? Clearly he never meant that much to him. Or maybe Spencer was too proud to accept help. It sounded a lot like him.

[i]It’s my air, on my back porch.[/i] Brendon nodded, eyebrows raising, distracted from his mental tangent as he looked around, mockingly pretending to agree that this was indeed Ryan’s air. [b]”I’m honoured you’re even letting me breathe it,”[/b] He said quietly, tilting his head and exhaling pointedly. It was a strange mixture of fresh country air and the smoke from Ryan’s apparent frequent habit, and though he was more than used to the constant smell of cigarette smoke in the city, out here, it was more obvious, because everything else smelled so sweet and clear and clean. Who was he to judge, though- if Ryan had offered, Brendon would have taken the opportunity instantly to finish one off with him, join him in tainting the air. [i]Look, nature and I have a deal. I let it eat at my house if I get to fuck up the air quality.[/i] He shrugged, couldn’t argue, followed Ryan’s gaze to the all manners of plant life that seemed to quite enjoy springing up where it wasn’t supposed to, flowers between the cracks in the wood, moss and ivy climbing up beams and walls. What a strange man, he thought again, distantly, and suddenly he wanted to know more about him, but then he remembered he didn’t really care.

Brendon tried to gain an upper hand, play on the possibly-false information Jon had given him (that Ryan was already kind of behind schedule and he needed somebody by the weekend), but Ryan didn’t seem shaken, just irritated and adamant, clearly offended that somebody somewhere thought he was [i]desperate.[/i] Brendon wondered how many other New Yorkers he’d seen and turned away, and wondered how he was going to make himself the exception. [i]Not necessarily.[/i] Fuck. He’d fucked up. Brendon was thinking grimly about the very real possibility of having to hitchhike all the way back to New York City. [i]But the sooner, the better, I suppose.[/i] He even spoke pretentiously. Must be the life of the party. [i]With my job, deadlines are pretty flexible.[/i] Oh, fuck you, Brendon thought, feeling defensive, expendable, hopeless. It wasn’t like there was anything he had to make him stand out prior to now other than a rapidly approaching deadline, and now apparently that wasn’t even a think in the first place. Four hour journey home, here we come, he thought distantly, and figured he’d already fucked this up, he had nothing else to lose. So he kept with the attitude.

[i]I am.[/i] Certainly didn’t look busy. Brendon was about to semi-seriously insult him further, out of amusement more than anything, but suddenly Ryan was inviting him inside, and Hope swelled again inside his chest- maybe Jon was right, maybe he was secretly stressing about his own personal deadlines, never mind the production company’s. Or maybe he was a good fit. Fuck, he didn’t care, he just wanted to job- so, after a moment of hesitation, apprehensive about being amongst such luxury, he stepped inside, feeling like a fish out of water. But then, he’d felt like that since the cab pulled up in the enormous driveway. Brendon was so enthralled with the minimalist but clearly wildly expensive decor, he barely even heard Ryan’s low voice asking him an actual question, so there was an obvious pause as he orientated himself, turned around and processed his request. Talk about himself- okay, not a big deal- but how much depth did he want? Brendon decided he’d go surface level- if he wanted more, Brendon could face that later, decide how much he wanted to tell this stranger.

It would have been irrelevant to tell his possible future employer his star sign if he wasn’t just trying to establish whether he had to read about boring, completely forced straight romance subplots, or whether he and Ryan shared some ground. Nothing changed in Ryan’s expression when Brendon casually dropped the fact he was an Aries, and he waited impatiently for a few beats- nothing. Frustrating. How was this guy straight? Brendon shook his head, knew he was basing this off nothing but speculation (as he often did, but granted, successfully), and it wasn’t a big deal. So he said nothing, eyed Ryan (who he now thought was definitely a Virgo), and then shook himself out of his brief daze, moving on to talk about how broke he was. That was impressive to an employer, right? [i]Oh, trust me, I feel awful. You must be pretty confident, if you spent that much without even calling before coming here.[/i] [b]”Less confident, more like running out of options,”[/b] Brendon shrugged, clearing his throat but trying to sound as lighthearted as he could. [b]”Got axed, like, fuckin’- yesterday.”[/b] He frowned. It felt like longer. Suddenly, he was embarrassed, and ran a hand through his hair. He was joking, mostly, when he mentioned making Ryan feel bad, and though confused when Ryan started rooting around his own couch, he was even more confused when he was handed a wad of money.

Confused, maybe, but not stupid, he took it before Ryan had a chance to backtrack, second guess himself about paying this kind of ratty-looking Brooklyn kid before he’d even done anything worth paying for. [i]For your trouble. And, in the future, don’t waste your money on cabs. I have a car you can use. A few, actually.[/i] Jesus. Brendon nodded, folding the money away hastily. [b]”Uh- thanks.”[/b] He was grateful, sure, but this was probably fuck all to this guy. God, why was he so spiteful? [i]So, how much did Jon tell you?[/i] Brendon slung his bag from his shoulder suddenly, carefully placing it on the nearest sofa, glancing at Ryan to make sure it was okay. Then he straightened up, shrugging his jacket off, and folded it over his arm. [b]”That he knew you in Colorado, you were an author and you needed a source- a NYC native,”[/b] He clicked his tongue, gesturing at himself, [b]”And I here I am, nothing but a kinda pretty face from Brooklyn. Although- he wasn’t [i]mad[/i] specific.”[/b]

[i]I'll probably need you around for a few weeks. Don't know if you knew that part. If you need anything, like, clothes or whatever, just say so.[/i] Brendon noticed he was starting to walk away and followed him after a moment, not before pulling his phone out of his pocket. [b]”Um,”[/b] He began, checking it before looking up, [b]”Ryan? So, man, do you have WiFi up here? Or are you a strong believer that the internet distracts us from one of life’s greatest pleasures- [i]reading,[/i]”[/b] He grinned, but it dropped a little when he realised there was still hardly any signal. [b]”How do you even survive?”[/b]