Ryan wished he could've gotten some sort of résumé or value sheet or a goddamn handwritten note from Jon about the guy, not because he needed to know about his skills or experience for professional reasons but just because he was so intriguing that taking his sweet time trying to naturally learn more about him was almost frustrating. And Brendon wasn't the oversharing type, it seemed like, which would be wonderful if Ryan didn't want to hear about everything he had to say. He wanted to know what [i]part[/i] of Brooklyn, what was it like, who the hell taught him that sharing his star sign was at all a quality he thought was imperative for his employer to know, how did he know Jon, why was he so ready to disband all of his old life for this uncertain shaky one, what was that old job he'd got the ax from. So much. And Ryan knew he could be a bothersome shit when he - not [i]wanted to,[/i] but accidentally was, so, he tried to keep that under control.

In fact he was already a little bit afraid Brendon didn't like him. There were no distinct signs, really, just tiny things here and there that said Ryan wasn't his absolute favorite: sometimes he'd cast him a relatively unfriendly or offput glance, or he didn't say something in the sweetest tone ever. It was the combo of Ryan not being used to someone being casual and normal instead of crawling at his feet, and Brendon being unintentionally mysterious, that made him paranoid. For the umpteenth time, he so rarely talked to people, but it was even rarer that he actually gave a shit what they thought. He probably wouldn't, not so much, if he wasn't already feeling bad that someone had to be staying in his place for a while, practically on some kind of forced not-so-vacation. It was a nice enough environment, but no one would want to be stranded with an offbeat reclusive author with no telltale background to speak of. Basically, he had a lot to make up for, and he wasn't sure how to go about it with Brendon.

Money was a start, and Brendon already seemed shocked at how he so easily handed it out. By no means was Ryan [i]filthy[/i] rich, he couldn't walk into a room of proclaimed business magnates and philanthropists and the like and stand up to them easily, but to 'normal people' all kinds of rich were the same. And he supposed, since he wasn't born into the life, he sort of thought the same thing - which was why he placed the same or similar value into his accumulated wealth. He hadn't been stupid in the start. The success of his book felt like something completely unreal that he'd wake up from and find himself penniless again, halfway bankrupt by university, so he'd started tucking away at least 90 percent of every check he received and saving it all without touching it. It was like that for three years, and sometimes he saved even more than that just 'cause; all throughout he worried that his sudden good fortune would disappear at any second. Needless to say, he lived in an apartment probably even worse than Brendon's while all of his money sat locked away in a bank account, and all he spent his money on was rent and school. No debts, but no luxuries, either.

Then, when he did earn his degree, Ryan was quick to buy a house and escape literally everything, continue his bizarre spending habits way out where no one could see. It's why décor existed everywhere but the spaces he most frequently occupied. He wanted so desperately to be ready for anyone else's necessities, but for his own he didn't bother much. He made donations when he could, when he cared, but ironically for old friends he hardly chipped in. Vaguely he wondered whether Jon had mentioned anything about that... and if Jon had made any mention of Spencer, who was ten times more likely to be annoyed by Ryan's hoarding, to Brendon. After all, the three of them had sort of been a package deal until he basically ran away to live in isolation. A fucked up story, but hey, that's what he made a living through. Fucked up stories.

Surrounded by said wealth, Brendon looked entirely lost, out of his element. Ryan felt for him, smiling small when he looked at him so helplessly, but he couldn't do much other than valet his coat for him. Honestly, he was barely used to it all himself - after all he ignored basically every room except for the living room, which had become a writing space and a sleeping space and an eating space on the infrequent days he chose to do that, all in one. Someone who knew how to respond to a disproportionate influx of cash like his would be utilizing the mansion in its entirety, most likely. Brendon looked like just about everything Ryan had to offer him was confusing, though, including the compliments. Maybe Ryan hadn't been genuine enough; it looked almost like he didn't want to hear the facts that were him being just. Gorgeous. Suddenly wondering whether he'd crossed a line, like maybe that wasn't what you said to someone so new in your life, he quickly looked away, tense. At what point had straightforwardness gone out of fashion? He had to remember that, break the habit. 

[i]Interesting choice of password for a literary genius.[/i] Ryan cast him a serious look, blinking slowly. Genius? Critics said that because they pretended his metaphorical ability was something worthy of applause. Teenagers said that because sometimes he made the cut for a social media quality quote, uncredited and purely there for the depressive appeal. He rarely believed any compliment anyone paid him, and he hardly believed this one. [b]"I suspected you hadn't read my writing before, but now if you're calling me a genius then you really must not have,"[/b] he half-joked, and he was so unfamiliar with the concept of kidding around that it came off a little too darkly until he smiled, sort of sideways. [i]I’m not surprised. No offence.[/i] Oh, good, so maybe he wasn't prone to giving Ryan way too much credit. Or Ryan just actually acted like a hundred year old raisin like he felt. Damn. He shrugged unwittingly in reply, not offended at all.

He was starting to pick up on it not being exactly appropriate to stare, but Ryan allowed himself some leeway while Brendon slowly circled around to admire hisroom, silently praying that he didn't just like it - loved it. Again, if he was going to have to stay here, Ryan wanted him as happy as possible, and this was starting to apply more and more resoundingly to Brendon specifically the more he became endeared to him. Brendon's gaze roamed freely around his new space, awestruck, but Ryan's was fixed on him, a tiny smile threatening his lips when he felt kind of accomplished. [i]Wow.[/i] [b]"You like it?"[/b] he asked carefully, sounding uncharacteristically worried, and closed the space between them to stand beside Brendon, see it all more from his perspective. [i]This is tight as fuck.[/i] Ryan gave him yet another slightly bewildered look, only to find that he had the sweetest smile of all time, and his peculiar slang was instantly forgiven.  He looked confused for a fraction of a second more before he naturally broke down into mirroring Brendon's sunnier-than-possible grin, barely measuring up to the amplitude of his, but still.

It took a moment for him to grow nervous about it, shoving his hands in his pockets again and forcing himself to look at the floor, biting his cheek to cut off his smile. Tight as fuck. Sure. He had a feeling he'd be picking this stuff up in no time. [i]I mean, this one room is bigger than my apartment.[/i] Ryan looked up again, his expression once again closer to flat, but empathetic nonetheless. [b]"Oh. Well,"[/b] he said simply, hesitant, and decided maybe it was time to throw Brendon sort of a bone. He may as well know a [i]little[/i] about Ryan if he was going to be, like, stuck in his house. [b]"Well, I used to be the same, so. Don't worry. Hopefully when it's time for you to go, you'll be able to afford an upgrade, if you want."[/b] Maybe he could hook Brendon up with some entitlement to the royalties. It's not like he needed all of it, anyway. He felt weird talking about himself, though, and shifted on his feet sort of awkwardly, like a kid being forced to talk to the cashier rather than his mom taking over.

Thus far he thought he'd maybe sort of made up for the relatively rude introduction his general accidental bluntness. It's not like he could by any means control it [i]now,[/i] but he could at least retroactively recognize his mistakes, and he felt bad enough that he thought to comment on it before, like. He didn't know. Leaving Brendon alone to get settled? Maybe that was the right thing to do. Anyway, first things first. [b]"Hey, Brendon. Brendon, right? Not Brandon,"[/b] he said, totally nailing this whole 'play nice' thing by fucking his name up potentially. [b]"I don't talk to people much, obviously. Sometimes I can be a little too- direct. I've been told."[/b] Translation: he didn't see it, eighty percent of the time. But if people thought he was an asshole they were probably right. [b]"I'm sorry about earlier. I hope you know you're totally welcome here, especially considering you came all this way, and everything."[/b] That was about as nice as it got, but he still said it in the most monotone voice ever and with strictly dubious eye contact. He had his hands wrung nervously behind his back and was already stepping away, preparing to escape and leave Brendon to his own devices, but he still needed to tie up all the loose ends on pleasantries.