Brendon still wasn’t entirely sure whether Ryan a) had absolutely no idea that he was halving all of his expensive liquor with water, or knew that he was stealing from the [i]expensive[/i] alcohol cupboard and didn’t care- but either way, he hadn’t once been caught even glancing in its direction, and Ryan’s apparent obliviousness meant he was descending down the dangerous road of complacency. When he first decided he was going to steal from his boss and potentially jeopardise the first job he actually enjoyed in years (because it was mostly an extended vacation, but he was [i]paid[/i] rather handsomely to do it), he had been careful, to say the least; hastily memorising the rough outline of Ryan’s routine over 24 hours, figuring out when was the time he was least likely to even go downstairs, never mind the kitchen. Now, Brendon was no secret agent, but where alcohol like that was concerned, he became something of a tactical and stealth genius, opening and closing cupboards swiftly and silently and barely making any noise as he pulled out and placed bottles, poured liquor, and left the kitchen without a trace. 

As of yesterday, it had been a month since Brendon first turned up, confused as all hell, on Ryan’s back porch. Four weeks gave him plenty of time to perfect his tactic- but also plenty of time to grow too comfortable, and with no failure or mistakes to learn from, he became not only complacent, but careless. Brendon usually made sure he didn’t drink enough to make it obvious the next morning, and he never drank too much out of the same bottles (unfortunately Ryan didn’t restock, because he didn’t know it was being reduced in the first place)- basically had a foolproof way of covering his tracks entirely. One evening, though, when Ryan had said he had a migraine of some kind (Brendon didn’t really listen) and told Brendon he was going to bed early, Brendon got too excited from the prospect of extended freedom. The nights prior, Ryan had stayed up with him, and though that was nice- he was learning more and more about Ryan, things he obviously felt vulnerable sharing- it meant he had no chance to do his usual and raid the cupboards. Funny that he had finally started to properly gain Ryan’s trust and he was risking it all the time for the sake of getting tipsy for a little while.

So maybe what Ryan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him (it wasn’t like he couldn’t just easily buy another dozen or so bottles of the stuff Brendon had drained), but that particular evening of drinking, he went beyond tipsy, and it extended into the night and then the early hours of the morning. Brendon hadn’t even eaten anything, hadn’t drank any water in hours, and in not long at all he was completely wasted, leaving glasses and bottles out on the counter, dismissing his mess because [i]Ryan wouldn’t see it, he could clean it up later when he sobered up.[/i] He left the kitchen an hour ago and had completely forgotten about it, too busy flicking through channels, fucking around with the fancy light system, asking Ryan’s Alexa (obviously he had one, though he clearly never used it- probablt didn’t know how) stupid questions, lying on his back across the cushions and crossing his ankles on the armrests of furniture that cost more than his rent back home. He’d moved from the kitchen, out to the pool, into his bedroom, around the living room, and finally he ended up in Ryan’s study.

This was one place that Ryan told him was off limits. He’d been in Ryan’s bedroom by now, but only briefly, and just to give him coffee or something. His study was usually locked, but Brendon knew where the key was, and in his intoxicated state, invading his employer’s off-limits personal space was going to be hilarious. Anyway, he got inside, and left the key in the door, immediately registering that this room was even weirder and more like Ryan than any other room in the house. It seemed very cared for, which was strange, because Ryan didn’t even use this room as often as he wrote in the living room, or the other office, or at his desk in his bedroom, or outside in the garden. Brendon wondered why he wasn’t allowed in here, but only for a moment- he was then distracted by the unbelievably comfortable-looking leather desk chair, and he wasted no time in all but staggering over and collapsing into the upholstery of the seat, swinging it around on the wheels and extended his legs out across the desk, over torn-out pages and notepads and various stationary, only just avoiding his laptop. He crossed his ankles and let his feet extend off the edge of the table, and leaned back against the chair, lifting the entire bottle he had been dragging around for about half an hour and taking a swig. Lucky that Ryan was asleep.

Maybe he jinxed himself just by thinking that- although he didn’t think it, really, he just kind of remembered that Ryan existed, and although the house was huge, they were still only a few flights of stairs and hallways apart, and Ryan actually knew where he was going. Brendon still got lost in the corridors. Anyway, he was just starting to stare at the ceiling when a figure in the doorway caught his eye. Normally, he would have maybe frozen up and started making plans on how to drown himself efficiently, but when he was this drunk, Brendon didn’t really care that Ryan was standing a few feet away, wide awake. [b]”Hey, this room is tight,”[/b] He slurred, grinning, [b]”Can’t believe I’ve been here a month and only just seen it now.”[/b]