It was obvious now more than ever that Brendon was used to always getting what he wanted, how he wanted it, when he wanted it, and with no argument. [i]He[/i] had been the one who ditched their plans (and Ryan finding a long enough gap in Brendon’s schedule so they could go on a date was next to impossible) in the blink of an eye, deciding that a self-indulgent and pretentious socialite party (read: alcohol and attention) was more important than some one-on-one time with his boyfriend where they could ignore the fact that Ryan basically ran his whole life for a few hours. Brendon had let down Ryan, not the other way around, and when he was given a chance at redemption, to head back with his boyfriend and spend the rest of the night together, he was so easily encouraged by his posse’s approval that he treated Ryan like he worked for him, nothing more. He had been dismissive and rude, told him to leave and not even offered him a kiss goodbye, a reassuring or apologetic touch, a backwards glance, a ‘text me when you get to my apartment’. That was another thing. Though it was true the plan was universally always ‘go back to the penthouse’, Brendon had given no indication of time, not exactly made his boyfriend feel very appreciated- it was unfair of him to expect Ryan to bow to his every whim, to allow Brendon to walk all over him.

Brendon didn’t mean to be so overly assertive and controlling- it was just difficult for him to try and balance the professionalism required to deal with an employee and the affection and compassion required to interact with a boyfriend. He got it muddled at the wrong times and looked like an asshole, like he took everything Ryan did for him for granted; and okay, sometimes he did, because he’d been brought up to expect everything to be handled for him, to be presented for him on a silver platter. His family might have been emotionally neglectful and disinterested, but Brendon would be lying through his teeth if he ever said he was deprived of material possessions. In fact, that was how Boyd Blake traditionally showed Brendon that he remembered he existed- sent him some lavish gift. This was the only form of affection he ever received, and he was still learning new ways because he didn’t know anything different. Brendon had come a long way since first hiring Ryan- hell, they were dating, Brendon was happier than he had been in a long time- but there was more than enough room for improvement.

[i]’Basically’ saying it, isn’t saying it.[/i] [b]”You’re such a tightass.”[/b] Case and point. And, okay, it was more or less a ‘fuck off’- mostly for the amusement of the posse that had followed him around the entire night, practically his shadows. [i]And, um. I didn’t realise I did it that often- I’m sorry.[/i] Brendon wasn’t buying that; he couldn’t think of a single time Ryan hadn’t bailed early or convinced Brendon to go home with him. Brendon didn’t stay out this late every single night- he was flesh and blood, he was enamoured with his boyfriend, he equally enjoyed spending entire evenings just lounging around in bed- but Ryan left early every time without fail. And, fair, it wasn’t his scene, Ryan was out of his element, but Brendon wasn’t thinking about that now. He was just mad that he was alone in his penthouse and Ryan hadn’t even told him there was a change of plan- hadn’t even spoken to him about it first. [i]I guess I’m just not used to... all of that, as you are.[/i] Brendon rolled his eyes, glancing critically at his phone. [b]”You know, there were a lot of things I wasn’t used to when it came to us, and I didn’t have a problem at least [i]trying.[/i] You just fuckin’ turn up and look miserable. It’s a party, have some fun. It’d do you some good,”[/b] He muttered.

[i]It didn’t sound like you cared much about seeing me the last time we talked.[/i] Brendon bristled. Okay, maybe he’d dealt with the situation wrong, but it wasn’t like he didn’t want to [i]see[/i] Ryan. [b]”If I didn’t want to see you, why would I even message you? You’d come to me eventually anyway.”[/b] A pause. Even drunk, he recognised that sounded dickish. [b]”’Cause, work.”[/b] [i]It seems like you only started giving a shit once I’d actually left, so.[/i] Frowning, he tried to detect any maliciousness in Ryan’s tone, but there was nothing. If anything, he sounded tired, worn out, but calm nonetheless. That just made Brendon more irritated, because he was dizzy, upset, and he felt like shit. Maybe he should’ve stayed at the party, where he couldn’t stop to dwell on his own well-being. [i]I mean- you cared more about that party than[/i] our [i]date. What was I supposed to think, Bren?[/i] Brendon fell into a sullen silence, feeling guilty even when incredibly intoxicated, aware enough to know that he did this a lot. Old habits apparently died hard, it was true. [b]”I’m sorry, okay? There are plenty other fuckin’ dates we can go on.”[/b] 

Brendon still felt argumentive, but when he opened his mouth he felt suddenly nauseous, slightly dizzy, and his temples started to hurt. In a last petty attempt, he threw Shane’s name out there, then immediately reached out and pulled it back in, feeling awful even saying that man’s name. Thankfully, Ryan seemed to know he wasn’t serious, would never be about that asshole. So he didn’t have to beg for forgiveness. [i]No problem.[/i] That would be embarrassing. After that, he was completely sick of Ryan and now he just felt awful, so he hastily said he didn’t feel good and went to hang up defiantly. [i]No, hey, Brendon, baby, stay on the line.[/i] Suspicious, Brendon stopped, leaning against the counter island of the kitchen and falling silent to listen to the background noise on the other end of the line. [i]What are you talking about, you don't feel good? Are you sick? Now you need to stay home, okay? Just - don't hang up, 'til I know you're all right.[/i] Brendon was quiet for a second. [b]”I just feel sick, I- no, fuck you, you’re in the car,”[/b] He exclaimed, grip tight on his phone. [b]”Don’t fucking come over, I don’t want to see you. Suck my dick.”[/b] Finishing on a high or low note, depending on how you looked at it, Brendon hung up, then more or less stumbled his way to his bedroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him.