Honestly, Brendon didn’t really like Ryan; at least, not right away, else maybe he just didn’t feel strongly enough either way. To him, a struggling native New Yorker who had about ten minutes ago been unemployed for the umpteenth time in three years, and had the responsibility of not only supporting himself, but a friend recovering from addiction, Ryan was privileged, and rude, and a straight-up asshole. He wasn’t being entirely fair when he sneered about him in his mind; this strangely dressed and annoyingly handsome recluse of an author never [i]spoke[/i] to anyone, didn’t interact with other humans enough to know what was rude or not. Brendon was a cynic, but in the back of his mind he told himself he was being presumptuous, and knew he’d be mad if Ryan thought him some kind of stereotype. What was interesting to him was how Ryan came to be alone in this mansion of his, with scarcely any visitors besides members of his production team- was he born into privilege, did he know nothing besides wealth and isolation? Was he self-made? The latter was more likely, as much as Brendon hated to admit, because hell, he’d been friends with Spencer and Jon back in Colorado. Brendon knew better than anyone that Jon and Spencer certainly hadn’t been born into the high life, and doubted they ever got opportunity to mix with people who were- they often didn’t want to. Maybe that’s why they never spoke about Ryan, Brendon mused. Maybe they felt betrayed in some way by his success.

So, Brendon wasn’t overly fond of this strange author, but it wasn’t like he could pick and choose who he’d be working for any more. Not that he ever had. Blue-collar construction work hadn’t exactly been his first choice of career, but before the company let him go because they didn’t want to pay for his jacked health insurance, he’d been getting better at it, like Jon said, on the road to a promotion. He brought himself back to those brief weeks of calm- he’d been planning on what he could do with the higher wage, maybe fix the shower, double glaze the windows, and save the rest up. He’d never had the opportunity to save money for himself- so Brendon was happy, Spencer was happy, Jon had been doing well then, too. But, like always, things went wrong for Brendon, and he was back at square one. And, he realised guiltily, he’d run away from it all. Sure, it was to get a job, but he knew in his heart he could’ve found a more convenient one back in the city- but Spencer, New York, Jon, everything that reminded him he was nothing was wearing him down. This was almost an escape plan, a chance to breathe some new air, even if the unfamiliar was frightening to Brendon, who had hardly ever even been out of the city. He reflected on this guiltily for a second- damn it, Spencer. He’d promised he’d call Spencer when he got there. He told himself he’d remember, knowing full well he’d forget.

Asking for the WiFi password was a precursor to everything if he wanted to survive in this mansion, which was, now he looked at it, kind of minimalist and bare behind all the expensive ‘necessities’ like a sofa and a TV that was clearly never switched on, and had an ambient mode that let it blend in with the wooden panels of the wall. Brendon planned on spending a lot of time in his room, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, and a lot of time in the pool he’d seen out back, but he kind of new deep down that Ryan would want his money’s worth, and authors apparently took their shit really seriously. Who really cared about realism? Who wanted to read about real life? Brendon was sick of that anyway. He had a feeling he wouldn’t enjoy Ryan’s books if he read them- which was unlikely to happen, considering he had the attention span of someone constantly on a sugar rush. Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he signed up for this- a job that would involve a lot of [i]reading.[/i] He almost felt like asking Ryan to read it out for him, but that would a) be very awkward, and b) Brendon would tune out in the first thirty seconds. Fuckin’ adhd did a number on him.

[i]I suspected you hadn't read my writing before, but now if you're calling me a genius then you really must not have.[/i] Brendon looked alarmed, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly- but then he looked affronted. [i]Suspected.[/i] He straightened up a little, defiant. [b]”Whaddya mean, [i]suspected?[/i]”[/b] A pause, and he relaxed his shoulders. There was no point in pretending- besides, that would be awkward later on when Ryan asked who was his favourite character, or something, and Brendon would inevitably reply ‘the main one- protag- protagonist, was it? Fuck, what was he doing here? [b]”Okay, yeah. Sorry, don’t get a lot’a time to be reading. I’ll once-over the synopsis on Wikipedia, though. Don’t stress.”[/b] Brendon wondered if Ryan could tell he was joking, and then wondered to himself whether he was actually joking. Like he said earlier, reading entire novels? Not his thing. He purely didn’t have the attention span to sit still long enough and not get distracted. To reassure Ryan, he flashed him a grin.

Worries about his qualifications (or lack thereof) for this job were quickly cast aside when Ryan showed him the room he’d been staying in for an undetermined amount of time. Right now, he was hoping [i]forever[/i] was on the table, and was wondering whether he could realistically live here after he was dismissed without Ryan noticing. Probably quite easily- the guy didn’t even hear him knock, quite loudly, on his front door. To be fair, there was a long distance between the front door and his back porch, but Brendon was being liberal with his realism. Fuck, he’d gone off topic, again. He moved his attention back to the room. [i]You like it?[/i] Brendon’s grin was wide, his eyes were glinting, and for a moment he wondered whether he was overreacting. It was just a guest bedroom. But fuck, it was so pretty... [b]”It’s deadass, like, the prettiest room I’ve ever seen. Was the decor your choice, or do you leave it to someone else?”[/b] Probably someone else, he thought absently. Like this guy had time for- or interest in- interior design. 

It got a little too real for Ryan, apparently, when Brendon made an offhand comment about his living conditions back home. He didn’t sound very sympathetic, but Brendon didn’t care. How would he know what that was like? Or maybe he did. Brendon had no clue about this guy’s background. Apparently nobody did. [i]Oh. Well.[/i] Yeah, Oh. Brendon raised an eyebrow as he looked away. [i]Well, I used to be the same, so.[/i] Really? Brendon’s interest was piqued and he looked back around at Ryan, suddenly disliking him a little less. [i]Don’t worry. Hopefully when it’s time to for you to go, you’ll be able to afford an upgrade, if you want.[/i] That was the dream. He imagined it, wistfully, living in a place like this. That would never happen, but he sure could upgrade from his place back home. Clicking his tongue, he nodded, as if to say ‘yeah, I hope so’, and left it at that, not wanting to discuss his home much anymore- even if that was literally going to be his job. Telling Ryan about his whole damn life. Shit, maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew with this one. 

[i]Hey, Brendon.[/i] In a way he hadn’t heard it said before, Ryan said his name. Brendon replayed his voice in his head, and blinked slowly. [i]Brendon, right?[/i] [b]”Charming,”[/b] Came his immediate response as his eyebrows lifted- okay, yeah, people called him [i]Brendan [/i]and [i]Brandon[/i] pretty often, but he’d told Ryan less than five minutes ago, and his still wasn’t apparently sure, said it speculatively like he’d read it backwards from a smudged nametag, or crudely written on a Starbucks cup. [i]Not Brandon.[/i] He didn’t grace that with a reply. [i]I don’t talk to people much, obviously. Sometimes I can be a little too- direct. I’ve been told.[/i] Trying to stop himself from jumping to agree, Brendon bit the inside of his cheek and held his tongue, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, sleeve of tattoos now visible since he’d shrugged off his jacket. [i]I'm sorry about earlier. I hope you know you're totally welcome here, especially considering you came all this way, and everything.[/i]

This was a far cry from the ‘What the literal fuck are you doing on my back porch at eleven in the morning’, Brendon considered, noticing Ryan’s nervous tics because they mirrored his own. He [i]seemed[/i] geniune- like he regretted being an asshole, was really just really bad at talking to anyone, never mind strangers- and Brendon found that he didn’t [i]dislike[/i] him anymore. He even thought he could grow to like him in more ways than just thinking he was really, [i]really[/i] attractive. Yeah, he hadn’t forgotten about that part. Exhaling, breaking the quiet between them for a moment, his mouth curved up into a half-smile, and he finally stepped forwards and offered Ryan his hand. A handshake. Probably what they should’ve done when they first actually met, rather than staring eachother down on the back porch. [b]”Thanks, man.”[/b]