When he thought about it more, he realised he knew shit about how and where Jon and Spencer had grown up. He’d been the newcomer of the group- they were from Colorado, he knew that, and Brendon was born and bred in NYC- and though he fit into his rightful place amongst them pretty fast, none of them really talked about their past. They knew he was raised a Mormon, but not that his parents were lowkey incredibly homophobic, they knew he had adhd and anxiety disorder and had suffered from depression, but not the extent it actually affected him, because he was pretty good at looking like he swimming when he was really sinking, stuck in a hopeless rut. Brendon was nothing if not a fighter- and a selfless one, taking in Spencer, who could offer nothing in return for Brendon’s money and hospitality. Poor Spence- he’d had it rough with addiction, and they spoke about it a lot, but Brendon knew he’d never mention it if he and Jon hadn’t picked up on it anyway. Jon was probably the most functional of them, misleadingly- though he drank constantly, he had it a bit more together than the others, and always somehow seemed chill, like he had a plan. Brendon adored them both, so he distrusted Ryan for apparently abandoning who were meant to be his friends and leaving them struggling in the city.

But Brendon didn’t really [i]know[/i] what happened. Clearly Ryan and Jon weren’t on awful terms- he called him about distributing a job ad, of course- but when Brendon called Spencer outside of the bar and mentioned Mr. Ready by name, there was an obviousness terse edge to Spencer’s voice, like it was painful just to hear his name. If Brendon knew better, if Spencer had told him, he’d be aware that Ryan ran away at the sight of his blossoming addiction, sort of leaving him in the dust to protect himself from being reminded of old traumas, therefore leaving Jon in the process. If Brendon knew, he’d confront him, of course. But Spencer knew Brendon was set on his job- he knew it was Brendon’s funny way of coping, running away for a while, and he accepted it, even if he felt kind of stabbed in the back. Ryan had run away from Spencer because he was a problem, and now Brendon had done the same, run off [i]to [/i]Ryan. It was painful, and Spencer wanted to unload everything off his chest right then on the phone, but Brendon sounded adamant, so he accepted he’d be staying with Jon for the foreseeable future. 

So, yeah, his two closest friends that he met in university had told him jack shit about their famous ‘friend’, just that they were childhood friends linked only out of Ryan’s convenience- he called Jon when he needed something done in the city, because he was more reliable than his own production team. Jon was too chill to mind, apparently. Brendon wondered if Ryan knew about his close friendship with Spencer. Funny, he thought; he was the replacement in the end- replacing Ryan, the successful, smart one, who had run off at the first sign of trouble and the first glimpse of a life better than the one he had. That’s what Brendon presumed had happened, and, almost guiltily, he saw Ryan’s side of the story with clarity; Brendon was a young man with high hopes and strong ambitions, and if he saw even a chance at a breakthrough, he’d take it without thinking about the repercussions of dropping everything else around him. But he’d accepted at this point his dream wasn’t going to be realised, and he’d be skipping from job to job for the rest of his life. He tried not to think about it much, or it overwhelmed him.

[i]I don’t mind at all.[/i] Really? Brendon exhaled a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to be immediately fired for not brushing up on his employer’s work, but he was also confused; surely it was a necessity to be familiar with what he’d be critiquing. For lack of a better word. [i]I’m not a huge fan of my own work, anyway.[/i] A very brief pause was taken to process this. Brendon couldn’t imagine putting something out there that he wasn’t happy with- he was something of a perfectionist, became completely absorbed in his interests, fixated on his passions... the idea of offering something incomplete or what he deemed imperfect to the world was alien. Even if he’d never experienced it before. He would have brushed it off as Ryan being put under pressure by a pushy production company, but Ryan had basically already said that they bowed to his every whim. So it was something else. Was he just that self-critical? [b]”Definitely a Virgo,”[/b] He commented absently, thinking out loud. [i]Sort of glad you haven’t read it before- even[/i] I [i]can make a better first impression than that garbage.[/i] [b]”It can’t be that bad. It gave you the means to buy this fuckin’ mansion,”[/b] He shot back, somehow feeling like he had to defend this guy’s own work... from himself. [b]”And everyone seems to love it.”[/b]

Brendon’s curiosity about Ryan’s self-directed, heavy criticism of his work was swept under the metaphorical rug to think about later when the forefront of his brain was taken over by the introduction into this hopelessly pretty guest room. He was a very visual person, and the light lavender and the cream and the rich colour of the pine would made him feel calm- like he could breathe here, even more so than in the fresh country air outside. [i]Mine.[/i] Ryan designed this? Brendon looked over at him, interested. [i]Thank you. No one's ever stayed before, so... good thing my first guest comes with a note of approval.[/i] Oh, so he was gay, too. Or [i]gay-ish[/i]. Brendon smiled, hoping there was now a mutual understanding between them, and flung his hands out gesticulatively as he turned his attention to the room again. [b]”Seriously, this is tight. Hey, if your writing career crashes and burns- become an interior designer.”[/b] 

He was semi-comfortable now, but he’d expected for Ryan to go away and do whatever he did at eleven in the morning (smoke on his back porch, apparently), so a silence settled and he felt like actually just asking him whether he planned on leaving, or if he wanted Brendon to start right away. He hoped not- more than anything, he wanted to curl up in those sheets, forget about everything, and sleep for a day. Something told him that wasn’t on the agenda, but he could sure dream. When Ryan finished his apology of sorts (Brendon thought that was the goal of the little parting speech, anyway), Brendon extended a hand automatically, and Ryan eyed it like he’d grown an extra one and thrust it in his direction. For a mortifying moment, Brendon was sure he was going to be left hanging, but then Ryan took his hand and shook it with a surprisingly strong grip. Admittedly glad this was all over with, he went o pull his hand away; what he didn’t expect was for Ryan to take hold of his wrist and turn his hand over, and Brendon instinctively almost jerked back, yanked his hand close to his chest, a typical New Yorker in that he didn’t like being [i]grabbed[/i] by strangers, even if Ryan wasn’t really a stranger any more. He was his boss. That almost made it worse- but he just watched, vaguely uncomfortable, but fascinated to say the least.

Oh, Brendon thought, his tattoos. They were, at most, a colourful collection of things he’d regret, not because of the content of the art on his skin, but because he spent money on getting ink and not actual necessities. Still, he liked them, and was glad they were usually universally admired. Some hibiscus flowers, a nod to his Hawaiian heritage; some piano keys, naturally indicating his love for music; a portrait of frank Sinatra, his idol; his upper arm homage to one of his favourite bands, and on his other arm, a yellow rose. He wasn’t done yet, and he had plenty of ideas for new ones, even if he told himself that was stupid, save your damn money. He knew he’d impulsively get them done anyway. [i]You play piano?[/i] Brendon pulled his hand back as Ryan let go, and folded his arms across his chest again, nodding. [i]And other instruments, I take it.[/i] [b]”I have a music degree,”[/b] He offered, but nothing more as of yet. He wasn’t about to spill his dreams to someone he barely knew. [i]You should’ve said so. I’ll show you where all of mine are sometime.[/i] Brendon was unashamed to admit that he lit up instantly- Ryan played? Played what? [i]All[/i] of his instruments? So, a lot, he glanced at Ryan’s hands before he folded them behind his back again, and yeah, he had guitarist’s hands. [b]”Sweet,”[/b] Was all he could manage, grinning with his eyes again.