Unused to guests, much less actual housemates (although Brendon was only temporary), Ryan wasn't sure how to handle Brendon. Actually, Brendon may even be a special case when it came to treating visitors because he was a very [i]unique[/i] individual. Ryan had, of course, already come to understand that he had a teenager's diet, and easily catered to it - before he usually just forgot to feed himself and found whatever was easiest left in his kitchen by whichever staff took pity on him, generally some kind of canned soup or a ready meal or, because it was easier to drink the calories he needed to live rather than actually eat, he'd find some kind of shake. So basically he acted like some retired old guy. Easy life. Then Brendon came and things he never touched disappeared, so Ryan naturally got someone to restock the random arrangement of snacks Brendon seemed to survive off of: Doritos, Coke, Skittles - any sour candy, really - so on. It was kind of sweet, he wasn't hard to take care of at all considering anyone else would be taking advantage of the free amenities and potentially radical diet changes available to them.

Brendon, though, only did a few things that would be worthy of Ryan getting upset with him, and even then Ryan didn't really care. He was a little messy, too distracted whenever he was running around the place to pick up after himself, but Ryan was pretty much the same. This was what housekeepers were for, anyway. Then sometimes Ryan didn't really feel up to talking more about his personal life, but Brendon pushed regardless, and that was actually vaguely irritating - but over time he'd become even slightly grateful for the relief, realizing that getting some stuff off his back was helpful. Finally, the alcohol. Ryan wasn't a big drinker himself; in fact he only really sipped at beer or wine or heavily mixed drinks if he was actively trying to start drinking, or if it was a social thing. But he wasn't dumb. He'd spent his entire childhood sniffing out liquor, cleaning up after a gradually more careless drinker. After the first time he thought he smelled rum in his kitchen, Ryan checked his supply and found that his vodka poured way more quickly, was way less strong than he remembered it was meant to be.

It was more funny than it was irritating, although Ryan figured he'd probably be pissed if he actually did drink. Truthfully he was glad to have it gone. It was only there for guests - and Brendon was a guest, so he may as well take it. Actually, Ryan was considering how to best break it to him that he really didn't mind the stuff going, but he was sure that'd be too much like putting him on the spot. Anyway, Ryan had only caught on about a week ago, so who knew how long it'd been, but he did know that a lot had disappeared. More than anything, he was fairly impressed by Brendon's tolerance. He got up every morning looking pretty normal, never really smelled like a usual hangover, and generally was good at whatever sneaky process he had orchestrated. Or maybe he wasn't trying to be sneaky at all, just trying to be polite keeping everything at the same level? Unlikely. Regardless Ryan chose not to say a thing.

All the changes were throwing him for a loop, though, and a handful of times this month he found himself with headaches or other physical signs of his introversion taking a toll. When he complained of a migraine, Brendon didn't seem to mind him retreating - thank god. Most anyone else would probably think he was rude if they saw him escape to hide in his room early so often; Brendon understood. Anyway, he wasn't lying, and Ryan actually did catch some sleep for a few hours, such a rarity that it was kind of unfortunate that he could only manage to pass out from a debilitating headache. It was basically a full night's sleep, as a matter of fact, only he woke up more disoriented than ever in the lightless hours of morning, dark enough for stars and moon to still be out but early enough for dim rays of sunlight to rise over the treeline all around his home. Not an unusual setting for him, just not something he'd usually wake up to.

He also didn't usually wake up to the distant sound of his living room's television blaring, playing through paid programming like no one was actually watching it. His headache was decidedly gone, so Ryan had the patience to investigate. He rubbed his eyes, then rose and pulled a jacket over bare shoulders, not bothering to zip it in his stumble to the living room. Yep. As suspected, he was met with the glow of a television, nothing else. Ryan switched it off, thinking this would be kind of strange if Brendon wasn't already something of a wild card, and figured that his night/morning was going to be a game of finding where Brendon was. Probably lost. He wandered around a little more, sorting absently through his overcurled hair while he peered into rooms, not finding him in the library or any of the guest rooms or taking a three hour shower in any bathrooms. Odd. 

He finally came to a hallway he nearly skipped because he was so sure Brendon wouldn't be there - the one that led to the study, where the light was on, illuminating the rest of the hall. The one room he told Brendon [i]not[/i] to go in. This was where everything truly personal lived, where he kept all his childhood journals and a lot of his dad's belongings that he rescued from his basement in Colorado and where he organized all the more important segments of his writing, and most crucially the place where Brendon couldn't Aries everything up. He felt this vague wave of irritation/anxiety under the surface, trying not to jump to any conclusions, maintaining a calm exterior while he approached the doorway. Ryan drew his finger over the key already in the door, pursing his lips tight as he realized Brendon somehow must've known where it was for some time now, and slowly pushed the door further open to lean against the doorframe.

Considering he still looked semi-asleep and his hair curled boyishly at the ends, Ryan probably didn't look very threatening. But seeing Brendon hanging over his desk, untouched by anyone but himself before, it was very careful control that kept him from breaking his unperturbed expression. He liked Brendon, sure, in fact he was growing on him more and more by the day, but this was kind of hard to excuse. [i]Hey, this room is tight.[/i] Ryan blinked at him slowly, fingertips tapping on the side of his thigh at a fairly rapid pace, and registered the indistinct bottle in his hand. That explained it. Clearly his judgment was impaired... but then Ryan wasn't sure a sober Brendon would even care that much. [i]Can't believe I’ve been here a month and only just seen it now.[/i] [b]"Considering I told you that this room was off-limits, it's not that hard to believe."[/b] His voice was rough from an actual [i]human[/i] amount of sleep, and he'd be bothered by it if it didn't kind of add to the energy he was exuding anyway.

Ryan meandered in, stuffing his hands in his pockets and keeping his shoulders high. Brendon was in his jersey. Sweet, but. Kind of hard to keep charmed by that when his feet were also up on the desk carelessly, bottle full of alcohol dangerously close to hours of work and a computer that he wouldn't be able to recover. He crossed the room until he was opposite Brendon, looking over his work and the wood at him, unreadable. [b]"Brendon,"[/b] he said carefully, tilting his head to meet Brendon's gaze. [b]"Get off my desk."[/b] He paused, waited, working his jaw, pulling his lip between his teeth briefly. Ryan held his hand out, gesturing vaguely towards the bottle. [b]"And give me that. Why are you in here?"[/b]