[i]You’re such a tightass.[/i] Alright, pretty true. But Ryan still raised an eyebrow at his phone, waiting for an 'I take that back' or something similar that never came. It's not like it hurt to hear or anything, but it was still kind of bothersome anyway. His argument that all of that was out of his element was quickly proved moot, too, and Ryan became slightly more nervous, shifting to hug one knee to his chest while he listened. [i]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.[/i] Ryan nearly protested something about how he didn't look [i]miserable[/i], but honestly. He probably did. Not that he tried to look that way, it was just his face. He was a pretty easy book to read sometimes if he wasn't focused on not being so much. [i]It’s a party, have some fun. It’d do you some good.[/i] He was chewing his lip, mostly just thinking how Brendon had a fair point, frustrated about that since [i]he[/i] was the drunk one, he should be totally unreasonable. But Ryan was annoyingly tightly wound sometimes.

He persisted trying to regain the upper hand - if he'd had it in the first place, that is. By now he wasn't so sure. [i]If I didn’t want to see you, why would I even message you? You’d come to me eventually anyway.[/i] Ryan laughed sarcastically, this short, cold sound, because why would he? Like a moth to flame? Before he could come up with any smart response, Brendon seemed to catch on - [i]’Cause, work.[/i] Ryan rolled his eyes, leaning back with the knee hugged to his chest until he was basically curled into his chair inwardly. He sort of just wanted to hang up and let all of this blow over, but Brendon wasn't the 'blow over' type. Things tended to flame on until they were actually dealt with. When Ryan was a bit more direct, Brendon grew quiet. Maybe he was actually getting the message across. [i]I’m sorry, okay? There are plenty other fuckin’ dates we can go on.[/i] Right. He exhaled softly, nearly a sigh, and pursed his lips, hesitant. [b]"Sure, because you sound [i]very[/i] genuine."[/b] His voice was barely loud enough to actually sound bothered, unfortunately.

Moments later he was escaping his apartment, suddenly worried about Brendon's well-being despite their current situation. That's how it tended to work between them, anyway; no matter how they were going as a couple or even as friends, they generally had each other's back. Some sort of unspoken rule. He tried to stay quiet about it since, if Brendon caught on, he'd definitely hang up/lock Ryan out/block him out in some way or another, for no other reason other than how pettily pissed off he was while drunk. And then in the morning when he'd sobered up and forgotten what little thing had frustrated him to no end while he was drinking he'd wonder where the hell Ryan was, why hadn't he stayed the night, where was the ten missed calls he usually had sitting around, et cetera. So. To avoid that whole mess, Ryan hugged a couple of fingers over the receiver, muting when he could, and unfortunately even that wasn't enough. Brendon was apparently just on edge enough to catch on, albeit at the very last moment.

Ryan was already starting to drive when Brendon said something about it. [i]I just feel sick, I- no, fuck you, you’re in the car.[/i] He couldn't help it. Ryan cracked up into a grin, 'cause that was his boyfriend. So sensitive. [b]"No, I'm not,"[/b] he said innocently, decidedly less irritated. He turned a corner a block away from Brendon's place, shaking his head a little in amusement. [i]Don’t fucking come over, I don’t want to see you. Suck my dick.[/i] Sure he didn't. He'd gotten home and immediately called whining about not seeing Ryan. Ryan called bullshit. He drove the final two or three minutes, tapping on his steering wheel agitatedly the whole way there, and ended up running up the steps to Brendon's building and waiting what felt like hours in the elevator. It was probably more like a handful of minutes, but at this point he was afraid Brendon was either a.) getting sick by his lonesome or b.) passed out, or both, and that was a pretty unsafe mix. 

On his floor, Ryan rushed into the penthouse with his own key, stepping into the living room and finding - with a note of surprise - that it was not as trashed as he'd expected. In fact, Brendon must not have been in here long, 'cause it wasn't trashed at all. Assuming Brendon stumbled off somewhere, Ryan retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen, painkillers for the morning, and hung onto them while he continued investigating. He hovered around for a moment, listening for any movement, then cautiously went on to Brendon's bedroom, the door hanging open carelessly. He crossed his arms over his chest, observing a very wasted Brendon slung over his bed looking like maybe he wanted to get the hell out of here but physically couldn't, either too tired or too sick to. Whatever the case, Ryan had to suppress a smile, not so much laughing at his misery but more at the contrast between his attitude and his appearance. [b]"Hey, baby, y'know, you've never looked better. Drink some water, dummy."[/b] He held out the glass reverently, moving closer from the doorway. [b]"Been sick yet?"[/b]