Brendon often wondered why Ryan, who he found to be surprisingly apt (in fact, incredibly talented) in playing various instruments, dropped what he saw through brief expressions and longing looks and heard through wistful sighs  to be his true passion for writing some novels he didn’t even like. Ryan was much more talented than Brendon with a guitar (he should’ve guessed from the beginning with the telltale callouses of his hands- hands he incidentally couldn’t stop staring at once he started), but not as well versed with the piano, which was Brendon’s area of expertise. That, and vocals- Brendon was a singer above all else, despite being impressively multitalented. He’d asked Ryan out of sheer curiosity and almost hope whether he was much of a singer, and though he always looked awkward and mumbled some kind of bullshit excuse and changed the subject, Brendon just [i]knew[/i] from his voice that he had some ability, and he was desperate to hear it. Unfortunately, it took Ryan long enough to even play something on guitar for him, and that was his most confident area. Seemed it wasn’t ever going to happen- but Brendon was everything but a quitter.

He imagined that Ryan was more active with playing and writing music when he was younger, and he often wondered about his lyricism; seeing as he was such a skilled writer anyway, coupled with music, Brendon imagined he had a least some experience there. But it was all speculation. Ryan was closed off as all hell, especially about his past- so Brendon hadn’t even attempted talking about Spencer and Jon directly yet, just hinted at them and dropped their names in conversation every now and then, leaving a very worried look on Ryan’s face as he tried to seem unreadable. When Brendon mentioned Spencer, especially, Ryan started to fidget, attempted to be expressionless and failed miserably every time because his eyes gave it away and so did his gradually fading smile. He always opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, as if confused and about to ask a question- but he always faltered, laughed awkwardly, changed the subject, of excused himself and left. Clearly being in this huge house all alone hadn’t helped him in the ways of being any more talkative about anything, never mind more personal information about his past. Even surface level things, like his parent’s first names or the existence of any extended family. He was a closed book.

Though, Brendon was the same. The reason he never spoke about himself was a) some of it was too painful to discuss, brought back overwhelmingly unpleasant memories, and b) he just assumed people didn’t really care, because back in the city, nobody did. After all, he’d been kicked out of his last position because he was a weak link, a loose end, a disadvantage. Brendon had sort of settled into that role by now and went with it, even if every time he did the same thing, ended with the same bad rep- kick off, storm out, go and get drunk with Jon, who could always be relied on to be there just to be a semi-sympathetic ear. Spencer wasn’t exactly the kind of guy Brendon could do that with- he’d be mad if he knew Brendon was hiding shit from him, not telling him when he was upset or stressed, but Brendon just told himself that Spencer had way too much to be dealing with right now to waste time worrying about Brendon, who was admittedly a fighter, had survived this long and supposed he could keep surviving as long as his heart kept beating. The Aries flame was always alight, even when everything seemed dark and hopeless.

It didn’t feel like that now. How could it? Brendon was by no means ‘fixed’, but his days felt a little brighter, he felt more fulfilled than he had in- probably years. He was surrounded by nature, something he had never previously grown to appreciate, having lived for his entire life in a grey, industrial environment, he was sleeping a bed with Egyptian cofton sheets in a gorgeous room bigger than his apartment, he was living in a house he still hadn’t fully explored, he had access to a pool and a Steinway piano and all th guitars the could ever play. The company wasn’t bad, either- Ryan was, surprisingly, a great host, apparently instructing his housekeeper to stock the fridge and cupboards with whatever food and soda he saw Brendon consuming most frequently. Plus, he was either too obvious to notice that all of his alcohol was being halved with water, or he didn’t care, turned a blind eye, and either way that was great. Brendon couldn’t ask for any more- he was living out the lifestyle he’d always dreamed off, minus the reading pretentious books and reciting his entire childhood to someone he met last week. 

Okay, yeah, he was wearing Ryan’s jersey and little else, very funny, was Ryan [i]smirking?[/i] He flushed, rose dusting his cheekbones, a hand reaching up to scratch his neck sheepishly as he glanced at the floor, the countertops, anywhere but Ryan. He thought for a terrifying moment Ryan was going to comment about the interesting choice of dress, but he didn’t, saved Brendon from drowning himself in the pool by changing the subject back to soda. Not that the jersey had been a topic of conversation. It had just been a false alarm. [i]Not even coke? Pepsi?[/i] Brendon shook his head ardently, ready to give a ten minute speech about sodas, but instead watching as Ryan took his coffee and leaned back against the counter island with his mug. Realising then that it was 2am, neither of them should really be awake, he took the plunge first and asked Ryan outright what the hell he was doing. Brendon had the body clock of a teenager, but Ryan? Brendon guessed vampire. Close to mentioning that, he was cut short when he saw Ryan grinning at his hair- the hair he knew was probably sticking up everywhere, unfortunate evidence that Brendon was not 100% princely and angelic all the time. A wave of self-consciousness hit him and he looked away. Brendon [i]never[/i] got self-conscious.

[i]You think too highly of me if you think I’m currently, or ever, doing something important.[/i] Still recovering from his knock in confidence, Brendon folded his arms across his chest and leaned back to try and consider him fully. [b]”Shut up,”[/b] He said finally, glancing over towards where Ryan kept all the expensive shit longingly. [b]”You’re the hardest worker I’ve ever met.”[/b] He had an admirable work ethic, but Brendon saw that he tended to push himself too hard, and that’s why writing wasn’t really enjoyable for Ryan any more. Had it ever been? There was that, working too hard, not giving himself a break- and then there was something else underlying that he couldn’t quite figure out. [b]”Then there’s me, ranting about Dr. Pepper.”[/b] [i]Although, watching old documentaries and chainsmoking indoors [/i]is [i]very productive.[/i] Brendon stared as Ryan took a sip of his black coffee, and wondered how he drank it; Brendon loved coffee, but had to take it with a lot of sugar. He liked everything sweet. Anyway. [b]”You’re so easy to make fun of,”[/b] Was a musing that left his lips, but no actually mocking left after it- he just let a grin play at the corner of his mouth. 

[b]”By the way,”[/b] Brendon began, combing a hand through his hair, now hyperaware it was untidy; [b]”I’ve been here a week and you haven’t once offered me a single smoke. Bad hospitality.”[/b] Honestly, Brendon had been trying to quit back in the city, almost as a show of support to Spencer. He felt guilty about it, but Ryan’s frequent habit had reignited the desire to do so again. Spencer didn’t have to know, he thought mournfully, dispelling the guilt from his mind. [i]And you? Finished my books yet?[/i] Shit. Brendon’s eyes widened and he bit his lip, clearly thinking fast for an excuse, but in the end he let his shoulders sag and shrugged only barely. [b]”Uh, like, three-fifths through the first one. I’m not very good at concentrating for a long time, alright?”[/b]