Brendon now enjoyed Ryan’s company, something he thought would never happen when he was first greeted rather snappily on a suspected rich asshole’s back porch. They had more in common than he would have initially thought- within an hour Brendon learned they were both musicians, guitarists and pianists chiefly (though respectively, Ryan and Brendon tended to specialise in specific instruments), and suddenly he no longer felt completely lost in a house as huge and luxurious as Ryan’s, because there was opportunity to play music to an extent he hadn’t in years (plus there was a pool). Still, it took a couple of weeks to get used to the sense of soullessness in the entire house. It was well decorated- the furniture and the art was expensive, high-end, comfortable, aesthetically pleasing- but most rooms seemed unoccupied, a shell of a living space, and sort of bare and minimalist in a weird, quirky antique way, like Ryan had half-moved in and never even sat on the huge sofa or turned on the expansive widescreen TV. It was always so quiet, too- Brendon was used to other people being around, Spencer and Jon and Gabe and Vicky, the noise of the city, the business of everything. The isolation and the loneliness at first drove him crazy, because his only company was somebody who was so isolated and closed off that he might as well not even be there.

Well, if Brendon was sober enough to articulate serious thought, he’d understand why the house felt so metaphorically empty. All of Ryan’s true passion and emotion went into the places he worked the most, his literature, his own bedroom, and his largest study, the places and things he either used the most or felt the most personally connected to. But Brendon wasn’t sober- he was drunk to the point where if he stood up he’d probably fall directly into Ryan, who was standing in the doorway, leaning against it and looking completely unimpressed by the scene he found in what was supposed to be an off-limits room. Hey, if Ryan wasn’t going to open up, stuck in a permanent social rut, Brendon had to take matters into his own hands. Not that any of that was on his mind. He was just fascinated by the journals (the covers, not the contents- again, he didn’t have the patience to read, especially Ryan’s spider scrawl), tried to guess Ryan’s computer password (giving up after trying ‘ihatebrendon’ and ‘ihatemyselfandmywork’), and shifting dozens of times to maximise comfort in the leather desk chair.

Ryan looked cute. He always did, but Brendon was intoxicated and he had no problems thinking about his boss that way at that moment in time. Actually, Brendon didn’t haven’t ever have a problem with it- The difference was he had a filter when he was sober that completely disappeared when he was drunk. Brendon leaned back further in the desk chair and regarded his employer with a slight, tipsy smile, looking him obviously up and down, from the boyish way his hair started to curl to his ridiculously long legs. He bit his lip, batted his eyelashes, watched Ryan’s fingers tap at his thigh and remembering how much he loved his hands, his arms, shoulders, collarbone- huh, it really did all spill over once he let himself indulge in thoughts about his totally inappropriate crush. Brendon didn’t mind at all, and his eyes lost focus for a second, lost in thought before Ryan’s voice broke the quiet. [i]Considering I told you that this room was off-limits, it’s not that hard to believe.[/i] Brendon grinned, shrugging a shoulder. [b]”Hey, you sound [i]hot,[/i]”[/b] - He smirked, then threw up a hand - [b]”And anyway, I told you I smoke, and you still haven’t ever actually fuckin’ offered. You’ve made me resort to fuckin’ stealing.”[/b]

He watched from under his eyelashes as Ryan approached, sighing with disappointment inwardly when Ryan hid his hands in his pockets. He noticed how he was standing straight, shoulders back, and Brendon couldn’t get over how tall he looked when he did so. Brendon played with the hem of the jersey he was wearing to occupy his hands, always fidgeting, but instead of it being because of hyperactivity, this time he felt a nervousness building in his gut, from the change in Ryan’s usual voice and posture. Even drunk, he recognised that maybe he’d fucked up. [i]Brendon.[/i] They locked eyes and Brendon swallowed, feeling a strange cocktail of fear and excitement. His name sounded so good coming from his mouth, why hadn’t he noticed that before? [i]Get off my desk.[/i] Fuck. Brendon’s jaw hung open just a little, entranced and intimidated by whatever new behaviour Ryan was showing, shocked by his apparent newfound authoritative nature. Brendon wondered if the migraine caused brain damage, or he was just really that pissed at Brendon for stealing his shit and breaking into the one place he wasn’t allowed to go. Either way, he became compliant after a second of hesitation, pulling his legs back and folding them inwards towards his body before placing them unsteadily on the floor. He even pushed himself back on the chair, allowing it to roll back a few inches. He didn’t break eye contact the entire time.

[b]”Anything else you’d like me to do?”[/b] He piped up, the corner of his mouth pulled shamelessly up in a drunken smirk. Brendon was intimidated, sure- but he had no survival instincts. [b]“Get on my knees? In a heartbeat.”[/b] Whatever remnants of common sense he had were probably cringing fully out of existence and saying goodbye to the job he had and the money he needed so desperately. Drunk Brendon fully didn’t care. [i]And give me that. Why are you in here?[/i] Automatically, Brendon stood up, slightly unsteady, but pressed the front of his thighs against the table so he could lean over slightly and hand Ryan the almost-empty bottle. [b]”I’d exhausted all other fuckin’ entertainment,”[/b] He announced, gesturing an unsteady hand around what was probably supposed to be the whole house, even if he was only in one room. [b]”And I was curious why you keep this shit locked all the fuckin’ time. Journals? I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to a sex tape on your computer- hey, what’s your password?”[/b] He turned his attention back to it, resting his elbow on the desk to steady himself and leaning in to use the keyboard, legs outstretched behind him, giving the illusion of balance. He looked up, though, careful, because Ryan seemed like he wasn’t done being pissed. But Brendon wanted that, even if it was balanced with a healthy dose of fear.