When Brendon first arrived at Ryan’s gorgeous house in the countryside, he had no idea what the fuck he was doing there, and felt largely like a fish, gasping, stranded out of the water. He was out of his element and surrounded by furniture and clothes that cost more than his rent, or even his entire goddamn apartment. He was staying in a room bigger than his home back in the city. He was sleeping on Egyptian cotton (Brendon didn’t know what the difference was apart from that it was more expensive and was admittedly for comfortable), and stealing from the cupboards very expensive liquor. Ryan hasn’t noticed yet- or else, he didn’t care, and hadn’t said anything. It might be absurdly expensive to someone like Ryan, used to mooching off Jon for cheap beer, but to Ryan he supposed it wasn’t even that big a deal, he could just buy more to shove in his cupboards and never drink. Wait, no. This guy had a wine rack. [i]A wine rack.[/i] Brendon was more than impressed- it was his second favourite feature of the house, his favourite being the pool, where he spent most of his free time, and a lot of the time he was supposed to be doing actual work.

What made the unfamiliar surroundings worse was that he and Ryan didn’t really see eye to eye, and were awkward around eachother at first- even when Ryan recognised him as a musician, and told Brendon he played as well, Brendon was weirded out by how he had grabbed onto his arm, and sort of defensive of his own severely limited access to instruments nowadays; his music degree had been a godsend, but only because it made everything at the time a little more bearable. Now, it did nothing for him, except impress this rich guy who literally had a Steinway in one of the many rooms, and a dozen different guitars that Brendon fawned over for a whole day and yearned to take home with him. Still, they bonded over this mutual love of music, even if both of them rarely got to express that nowadays- it seemed that Ryan’s wealth gave Brendon the means to do what he loved, and Brendon’s passion and talent reignited the enthusiasm of a man who had all of his time taken up by writing another novel in a series he despised. Brendon never would have expected it, but in about a week, they were much more comfortable around eachother, able to back-and-forth jokes and teasing with ease, spending most of their time dicking around rather than doing actual work, excusing it as ‘letting Brendon settle in’. Which he did, quickly, once he could navigate the way to the kitchen and back.

It made being a little peckish a lot easier, even at 2am- a time when he thought even Ryan was in bed, and their rooms were on completely different floors, so it wasn’t like Brendon’s rooting about would wake him up. Unfortunately for Brendon, he hadn’t yet learned that writers stayed up until the early hours of the morning most nights, fuelled mostly on coffee and an ever-dwindling willpower to stay awake. Either away, when he walked into the kitchen and found that the light was already on, Brendon froze, caught in the act, only to find that Ryan had extended over to him a soda. Dr. Pepper. Ryan had picked his favourite out of the endless options available, and Brendon wondered distantly whether that was an accident or from memory. Deciding he was dwelling too much, he smiled in relief that Ryan wasn’t, like, disturbed by Brendon wandering the halls at night, and took the soda from his hand, cracking it open and taking a swig. [i]Damn it,[/i] He thought suddenly, staring belatedly at his soda can. This would mean he couldn’t replace some of the expensive shit with water.

[b]Morning.[/b] Ryan’s voice was welcome on an evening where he’d mostly been listening to bullshit music, and now the constant hum of the coffee machine. It was rough from tiredness, but soft and almost warm. Brendon wondered for a speculative moment if he had any singing ability, like himself- an ability he had hinted at but not yet given Ryan the privilege of witnessing for himself. [b]”Morning, honey,”[/b] He joked, glancing over at the coffee machine, distracted because it was loud as fuck. Suddenly, he remembered what he was wearing- literally just his underwear, and then Ryan’s hockey jersey- a sort-of hand-me-down that Ryan offered to him to wear, and what he wore in the mornings and evenings most days. Ryan didn’t see how much he wore it- Hey, it was comfortable- so he was kind of sheepish, folding his arms across his chest. He was so distracted by the jersey that he forgot he was also in his underwear. This would be a learning curve- don’t wear just underwear, ever, Ryan is a vampire and will most likely be lurking somewhere.

[i]I could also make you coffee, if you like. Or you never made the twenty-something switch from energy drinks to espresso?[/i] Brendon was still grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners as per usual, and he shrugged a shoulder helplessly, finishing the can in just one more swig before moving to put it in the trash, turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter. [b]”Hey, I don’t mind coffee, but nothing beats Dr. Pepper. Let’s be real.”[/b] His eyebrows were raised, gleeful despite the time, and the calm weariness that was settling in his bones, willing him to go to sleep. It’d go away when the caffeine and sugar kicked in, he was sure. Now, usually, Brendon didn’t have a self conscious moment in his life, but he realised he’d been lying on his back against the cushions for the past three hours, so his hair was probably everywhere, and here was Ryan. Maybe Brendon just had a thing for guys who looked like they hadn’t slept in years- Ryan probably hadn’t. And he definitely had a thing for Ryan, he’d accepted that now. He’d even spoken to Spencer about it, who sort of groaned and then hung up, but Brendon was never one to deny himself any free thought. He wore the jersey because it smelled like Ryan, nothing less.

[b]”So, why are you awake?”[/b] He asked finally, folding his arms across his chest against the jersey that was too big for him. It smelled faintly of vanilla, fresh cotton, and pine, and Brendon’s eyelashes were skimming his cheeks as he looked up through them at Ryan, because he imagined how much stronger that would be if he was closer, maybe, perhaps closer than an employee and an employer should be. It wasn’t a big deal, though- Brendon had, somewhat unromantically, accepted the fact that- quote- ‘I’d let Ryan dick me down, I guess’. Spencer didn’t appreciate that information. Jon just sort of judged him in silence. [b]”Important author stuff?”[/b]