Over the past few months, Brendon had, with newfound enthusiasm and motivation, made improvements to himself and his life- which was a strange resolution for somebody who had it all, a penthouse apartment, expensive clothes, all the material goods he could ever want. He had been closed-off and emotionally unavailable in the past, unable to commit properly or engage in close, emotionally intimate relationships, or take those that said they liked him for real seriously. Ryan was one of those that vowed that he saw him as more than the son of some Forbes motherfucker, but as a person who genuinely didn’t trust anyone as far as he could throw them (and he was relatively tiny), it was a stretch for Brendon to even open up a little without getting stressed out and closing back off completely. He expected Ryan to give up with trying to get through to him early on, stop attempting to build a closer relationships of the foundation of the mess they had become- but he was persistent, and eventually, Brendon began to see him as a best friend, someone dependable and trustworthy, and after the brief crisis with Shane, Ryan became a lover, and they made so much sense it was ridiculous to him that he hadn’t dropped his defences and let him in earlier on. But it didn’t matter now- they were together.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing, unfortunately. Brendon had lived a certain way his entire life- alone, neglected but simultaneously spoiled- so his outlook on life was almost twisted. He saw life as a means of getting wasted and spending extortionate amounts on useless things and engaging in ‘morally ambiguous’ and ‘reckless’ behaviour (as it was described by the media, who lapped up all the ‘estranged millionaire son’ drama they could ask ever ask for). He had barely been keeping his head above the water for most of his adult life, but somehow, he coped- he enjoyed parties, he liked drinking, and before he and Ryan became more serious, he enjoyed frequent flings without any regrets. And this social butterfly/party animal aspect of Brendon had by no means faded away along with his emotional vulnerability and insecurity (and some of that naturally remained, it was deep-set); he still attended any events he was invited to, even when he had plans with Ryan. Those plans were rearranged hastily, and in their place, Brendon invited Ryan along every time, and usually he accepted, albeit while reluctant and mildly bitter.

That was the instance that night- Brendon and Ryan had reservations somewhere, but when Brendon received a last minute invitation that Ryan was, you know, inclined by his job to show Brendon. Immediately enthusiastic, he half-assed an apology for the change of plan (offering him only a ‘sorry, baby, some other time’ and kiss on the cheek), and immediately got ready, deciding to wear a new scarlet suit he hadn’t yet premiered. Ryan, of course, agreed tentatively to come along, even though he had many, many reservations and he was (rightfully) bitter. He felt somewhat neglected, and Brendon was too oblivious to realise, because Ryan didn’t express his opinions on Brendon’s over-indulgent lifestyle- criticising his behaviour hadn’t gone down too well in the past, because he was used to everyone tending to his every whim and kissing the ground he walked on. Brendon needed somebody to wake him up, tell him that to this extent, how he was behaving was reckless and unsafe without dancing around it, and ground him a little before he caused himself serious problems before he even turned thirty.

Honestly, Brendon didn’t even know whose party it was, he just showed up and looked pretty and immediately broke into a bottle of red wine, offering some to Ryan (who shrugged and decided on one glass, mostly from the pressure of the whole situation- this was notably the first and last direct interaction Brendon had with him the entire night, even if he gushed about him to anyone who would listen for the rest of the time he was there), before swanning off around to speak to A-listers that he hated, B-listers that hated him and randomers who somehow got inside and flirted with him for all of their worth. It was quarter to one in the morning when Ryan walked up to Brendon, who was asking a crowd nearby him if they wanted to do shots with him, and held onto his waist gently to get his attention, mumbling in his ear that he wanted to go home. Brendon just heard ‘go home’ and shook his head defiantly, stepping forward out of his gentle grasp. “Fuck that,” He had replied, loudly, grinning at the crowd of people who were waiting for their shots. ”But by all means, go home.” Ryan had muttered something like ‘fuck this’ and turned around, but Brendon didn’t pause to look and instead leaned over the bar to grab the attention of the bartender and satisfy his entourage. He thrived on the attention.

Come 3am, and Brendon’s thoughts finally turned back to his boyfriend. He looked around trying to find him, then remembered he’d gone- hesitating for a moment, he remembered they’d agreed to meet back at Brendon’s if Ryan wanted to leave a little earlier (which was prone to happen), and, motivated by sudden, intense, drunk affection, he decided to leave. Brendon said goodbye to everyone that looked disappointed by his exit, and all those that looked like they were celebrating his departure, too. He all but stumbled outside, called his chauffeur, and ordered them to take him back home- ‘to see my boyfriend’, he added, deciding that detail was necessary. It took about fifteen minutes, and Brendon was home- but, strange, his door was locked. Ryan didn’t leave it locked if he knew Brendon was coming back. Curious, he unlocked the door and shut it behind him, only to be greeted by an empty apartment. ”Honey, I’m home,” He called, his voice rough, as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the couch, making a beeline to his kitchen to retrieve some more wine for his own personal afterparty. ”Baby, are you here?” No response.

Frowning, he left the glass on his counter and turned, heading into his bedroom, then bathroom, then back into the open plan living room to double check. Was he on the roof? By the pool? He went and checked there, too, but Ryan was nowhere to be found. Which left one conclusion- Ryan went home to his own apartment. Brendon felt an overreaction build in his chest and his immediate reaction was to sulk, sitting on his couch for about ten minutes while he stared at his phone and wondered whether or not to text him. He did. I thought you were coming back to mine, read his text, but with several drunken spelling errors. Where tf are you? Did you plan on telling me you’d fuck off home? Brendon paused, put his phone down, then combed his hands through his hair, blinking profusely. His head was going to hurt in the morning. He picked his phone back up. This is bullshit.

Ryan had never been in it to 'change' Brendon or anything like that. After all he had liked him as he was - there was no reason to reform him or try to shape him to some new ideal. As much as he liked Brendon naturally, though, he had a lot of shortcomings and annoying habits that he'd worked on since they met (and even moreso since they got together), and Ryan appreciated it beyond words. It'd even inspired him to work on himself in turn. When Brendon started learning to say what he was feeling rather than push it aside, Ryan learned to withhold his criticisms and judgments unless they were productive/constructive. When Brendon tried opening up a little more, sharing experiences and thoughts that came to mind that were maybe slightly deeper than a 'one time in Vegas'-esque story, Ryan later remembered to distance himself from his often guilt-trippy and self-victimizing tendencies.

That was the thing: both of them had their own problems to get over. So Ryan knew it was sort of absurd how much it bothered him that Brendon occasionally still stuck too true to his hedonistic, luxurious lifestyle, even after welcoming someone very unused to that into his world. Ryan knew it wasn't right to 'correct' him, it wasn't his place in any way, not as his personal assistant or his friend or even his boyfriend. He wasn't necessarily hurting himself, otherwise Ryan would see it as a good time to step in without looking like too huge an asshole; either way, though, he'd be patronizing to stop him one day and discuss the dangers of drinking, whatever. The extent of what he could do was accompany Brendon on all of his adventures, or at least the ones he could get away with going to, and making sure he stayed safe wherever he was. Ryan wasn't perfect himself, obviously, but he at least was so unused to the life Brendon normally led that he could maintain a level head throughout.

Sort of. Sometimes it became too much for him to watch Brendon around people who brought out the worst, most frat boyish part of him, or to lose count of how many shots he'd taken with a grimace, or to lose track of Brendon altogether and get stuck in a crowd of people who didn't give a shit who or what he was unless they knew he was with Brendon. In which case Ryan ensured they knew that his connection to Brendon would benefit no one else, thanks very much. In these situations he'd make a terse exit, although he hadn't had to do it too often, fortunately enough - Ryan had developed patience levels through the roof ever since they first met. Surprisingly, that skill could come into practice even in situations involving more than just Brendon. Pretty impressive, really. Anyway, the exits were subtle, usually just a squeeze on Brendon's arm and a half-smile and a gentle 'see ya' and the message was across that he was getting out of there. No big deal.

But when they'd been planning something for them, a real date that wasn't just Brendon impulsively throwing a hundred bucks to an usher so that everyone else's reservations were rendered irrelevant, and then a dumb party got in the way of that, Ryan was kind of bitter. As soon as he had to deliver the invitation he knew the night to themselves was gone, so he at least got to cool himself off before the party itself and could hang off Brendon's arm (then, later, trail behind him like an accessory) without snapping at anyone. He held the same glass of wine the whole night, sipping it halfway before deciding it'd just be his cover from receiving more offers of alcohol or other unsavory courtesies, and watched to make sure Brendon didn't get too much too quickly himself. The role of 'control freak boyfriend' wasn't so bad when you were employed to be checking on him, anyway.

Some time close to one a.m., Ryan decided he was sick of it, though; he was tired as fuck and people kept giving him these weird, passive aggressive looks, probably for not leaving their guest of honor alone, and he was generally over it all. So he invited Brendon to leave with him, give him the benefit of the doubt: he gently looped an arm around him, fingers pressing into his side delicately, and whispered close to his ear that he was done for the night - if he approached this any other way he'd get a straight-up 'hell no,' he was sure. Brendon, though, was quick to move away, and Ryan leaned back in counterpoint, watching him sharply. Fuck that. Ryan stared at him for a moment, then at their audience, knowing he must be part of the entertainment. Brendon tended to get even bolder when there were people around to see. But by all means, go home. Yeah, fuck this. He looked at him for a second longer, face carefully blank, then tossed his groupies another critical glance before taking his leave.

They shared the car here, and Brendon's driver was still outside sitting on the hood of the car, phone in hand. Ryan hesitated, thinking of going to his place as was generally agreed upon, but he didn't really want to see Brendon stumble in later and have to pretend to want to flirt with him until he fell asleep half-dressed. Which sounded about right. Ryan hailed a cab and went to his own place, relatively untouched since he and Brendon started officially dating, all the Post-Its collected into one sticky pile on the coffee table and half of his belongings gone, strewn about Brendon's place. Suddenly not all that tired (and he still gave enough of a shit to make sure Brendon at least got home and didn't pass out in public, even if he was kind of mad at him), Ryan curled up into an armchair fully clothed, pulling out a book decisively but turning on the television at the same time.

I thought you were coming back to mine, came the eventual, expected text, or at least that's vaguely what it said once Ryan took a second to translate it. He placed his phone on top of the open, unread book, raising his eyebrows at it. While he was plotting out a reasonable response, another came - Where tf are you? Did you plan on telling me you’d fuck off home? Ryan didn't appreciate the tone of that one, actually. He started typing before remembering Brendon definitely wouldn't be able to read all that well and called him instead. "Hey, B," he started, more gently than he would have liked, then allowed a moment in case Brendon's drunk brain needed to calibrate. "So you made it home? Cool. Sorry, you were sort of being an asshole, and I didn't want to deal with it at whatever ridiculous time you came back, so. Did you have a good time?" Weirdly, these words seemed like they should be aggressive, but his tone came out pretty flat, casual. Evidently it was possible to call someone an asshole in a conversational way. Anyway - he wasn't up to picking a real fight, would probably end up back at Brendon's sooner or later regardless.

Ryan was, in short, everything he could have asked for in a boyfriend and more- he was sweet, attentive, caring, organised, adoring, affectionate, meticulous, reliable, the like- but along with those positive Virgo traits came a host of less favourable personality quirks. Ryan could be something of a control freak, overly critical, had a mean-spirited and ruthless dry side- not to Brendon, but it was still evident- he could be judgemental, closed off, passive aggressive. Brendon had learned, though, that the point of a relationship wasn’t to try and fix’ anyone, but making them happy, improving eachother, not holding a grudge against them for mistakes or personality traits. It wasn’t about perfection, it was about realistically being happy, and if Brendon held every slightly negative trait against Ryan and criticised him for it, and vice versa, then they would never work. So, Brendon, an exuberant and passionate but hot-headed and stubborn Aries, felt himself slowly falling in love with Ryan, a more mellow and subtly witty but self-critical and fastidious Virgo- not that he was ready to admit that, yet. He wasn’t even sure what he felt was what he thought he felt. It was all too confusing; Brendon didn’t like not knowing things, so he procrastinated even thinking about it for too long, or he was overwhelmed by both anxiety and affection and that cocktail of emotions was a disastrous one.

That was all well and good, but they shouldn’t let eachother get away with shitty actions and behaviour, and Brendon’s callousness (or most likely obliviousness) to Ryan’s feeling of neglect when he was out partying was the definition of shitty behaviour. He cast aside pre-meditated plans for a date with Ryan in favour of some random A-lister party and lots of alcohol- naturally, not a great move, and Ryan didn’t feel too happy about it, or very prioritised. Brendon wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t realise Ryan cared that much, because Ryan was used to not telling Brendon how he felt at this point- because Brendon couldn’t handle criticism. It was a cycle they needed to get out of if it was going to work- because Ryan didn’t deserve second class treatment, and Brendon wouldn’t benefit from Ryan stewing silently on all the wrongs that Brendon had done upon him. They needed to communicate- Ryan needed to stop sugarcoating everything in order to cushion the blow, and Brendon needed to stop being oversensitive and defensive about everything he did. They had a lot of work to do, but at heart, they understood eachother. It was just a matter of stubbornness and closeness- becoming less like two separate units tentatively holding hands, and more like one, embraced. So to speak.

Apparently that wasn’t going too well that particular night, because Brendon shamelessly bailed again and Ryan said nothing, just went along with it. For Brendon, it was great- he could have a great time with semi-strangers and famous friends (depending on what you qualified as friends), drinking himself silly because he hadn’t known any different his entire life. It was a miracle he hadn’t developed some kind of addiction yet, and it was even a stretch to say he had a problem- He didn’t feel like he needed to drink, per say, he just enjoyed it so much that he wanted to, even after killer headaches and ruthless hangovers. Nevertheless, it was still unhealthy- Brendon just brushed off any concerns people expressed by telling them they were boring, they needed to get a better hobby than judging him all the time, it was none of their business how much he drank. Ryan, unfortunately, included. He was just used to being on the defensive all the time that he didn’t recognise that people genuinely were concerned about his wellbeing. His father, for example, always told him to curb it on the bad habits- but Brendon could tell he cared less about Brendon’s health and more about his own image as a father and as a man.

So, in short, Brendon still wasn’t fully ready to receive criticism, or what he saw as patronisation. When Ryan came over, all gentle even, arm looped around him and hand at his waist, he initially felt like leaning back into his arms and falling asleep- but the laughs from the little entourage he had nearby and surrounding him told him he should probably ignore whatever Ryan was about to say. Something about wanting to go home- hard pass, Brendon thought, as he stepped away from his grasp, then made an offhand, dismissive comment that was barely concealed code for ‘leave me alone/go away, you’re ruining my fun’. So, Ryan actually left, and Brendon didn’t even look back to check. He thought at the back of his mind that it was okay, he’d be at his penthouse, he’d see him later and they could have their alone time. He didn’t think about the fact he’d be much more drunk and would probably only talk about being ‘dicked down’ or something along those lines. Intoxicated Brendon was a handful, to say the least, Ryan learned the hard way that any filter he might have had went completely out of the window.

And that was the case through text, too, even if it was hard to tell because Brendon’s drunk typing was barely legible. He didn’t think before he wrote, didn’t think that maybe he was overreacting- he was just pissed, because he’d left that party because he missed his boyfriend and his boyfriend had decided to swan home instead of to his penthouse like they agreed. The texts he sent were fuelled by pettiness, and when he put his found down to wait for a response (sometime tonight, hopefully. If Ryan was asleep, he’d be even more mad) he began to unbutton the top few fastenings of his long-sleeved shirt because it was warm as hell in his apartment. He considered going for a swim- maybe not a good idea for drunk Brendon, but he was never one for good ideas anyway. He looked down and saw that Ryan was typing, and laced his fingers together, eyebrows furrowed- but then his boyfriend was calling, and Ryan looked at the picture he used for his caller ID, wondering whether he should just leave it to ring. The temptation to be salty was too much, though, so he picked up, stayed silent. Hey, B. Brendon scoffed immediately. ”Don’t hey, b me, dick,” He muttered, blinking a little when he registered that yeah, Ryan was talking again. So you made it home? Cool. ”No, Ryan, I used my fucking psychic powers to notice that you aren’t in my apartment. Yeah, I’m home.” Sorry, you were sort of being an asshole, and I didn’t want to deal with it at whatever ridiculous time you came back, so.

Brendon stayed in offended silence for a few moments, setting his jaw. Then he all but slurred his next sentence out, so he sounded pissed and very drunk. Not a good combination. ”How was I being an asshole? I told you I didn’t want to go home. I’m allowed to stay out,” He snapped, leaning back in his chair and holding the phone close to his ear, all testy but barely listening. ”Y’know, I came back much earlier than usual because I missed you, and you fuck off away from me. Thanks, baby.” Brendon really did say things he didn’t mean a lot of the time- and a combination of impulsive, irritated thoughts and lack of filter was dangerous. He put his phone on speaker and cracked his knuckles idly. Did you have a good time? Brendon’s response was immediate. ”Yeah, without you. You’d probably know what that was like if you didn’t have a stick so far up your ass,” He said, dragging his hands quickly down his face and then picking his phone up again. ”You know, whatever. I’ll go back out.”

It was sort of funny how much of a different person Ryan became around Brendon. Not really different, more truthfully, but he became more himself, with less of a front. For example around others he felt the need to put up this semi-aggressive, defensive wall, and push it forward to show that he was assertive, not to be walked over, especially when it came to guarding the people he cared about. With Brendon it wasn't like he couldn't at times be forthright and bold - in fact he was even annoying about it fifty percent of all occasions, because the longer they were together the more he knew his intermittent attitude was not much of a dealbreaker for Brendon - but he just didn't feel the need to be that protective around him. He could be protective of him with no issue. Really, though, Ryan was more comfortable knowing that Brendon wasn't malicious towards him or looking to 'gain' anything from him in any way more than he was in anyone else. No need to be on edge around him.

Which sometimes meant he forgot boundaries completely and let himself get walked over, and Brendon didn't even mean to do that. It was the combination of Ryan not caring enough to look out for a drawn line and Brendon not knowing, after a lifetime of inexperience, how to remember where other people's priorities might lie and simultaneously take them into account alongside his own, that was deadly. So, ultimately, the issue they always ended up at on nights like these was neither of their faults - just a combination of their collective flaws. Could it be solved with just a little bit of mutual communication? Probably. But Ryan never thought of it or dwelled on it long unless he'd just suffered the effects of their culminated shortcomings, and he was sure Brendon usually forgot about it all come morning time/if he remembered he wasn't used to talking about anything, anyway. When Ryan had a problem discussing things, well. Safe to say that Brendon had it much, much worse.

Anyway, he wasn't really thinking of fixing it now, either. After all, letting them both pass up the date originally was something of the past, and now all Ryan was focused on was the way he was all but welcomed to leave the party without a second glance. He probably could've fought more to stay or for Brendon to come with him, realistically, but. He still bore his tidbit of anger with pride, regardless. He wore it nonchalantly as ever, though, his mood barely reflected in his voice when he spoke with Brendon, who did not hold any of the same courtesy while drunk. Don’t hey, b me, dick. "That's your name, crackhead," he instantly told the slurred voice on the other line, kind of smiling against his receiver. He couldn't even be legitimately angry at the way Brendon sounded like that, especially not now that there was an image in his head of the suited playboy disheveled and lost-looking while searching his huge penthouse for a missing boyfriend. He was... sort of ridiculous.

No, Ryan, I used my fucking psychic powers to notice that you aren’t in my apartment. Yeah, I’m home. Ryan cracked up as quietly as possible, really just a rush of air escaping from his grin, and his annoyance only existed as a backdrop to his amusement. Before they were officially dating, this was his hell. Now he supposed he was allowed to laugh at Brendon for being absurd and entitled. He played dumb, though, making his voice lighter so it seemed as if he'd been given new information. "Oh." How was I being an asshole? I told you I didn’t want to go home. I’m allowed to stay out. "Brendon, you said 'fuck that' when I said we should go, and then you invited me to leave before sharing a laugh with your crew. That was kind of asshole behavior. So I, 'by all means, went home.'" It was kind of dramatic to quote Brendon when, in this state, he'd likely have no memory of ever saying that to Ryan, particularly when he'd said it in passing in the first place. But Ryan lived for the drama and besides - Brendon wouldn't remember any of this anyway, he was sure, much less this part alone.

Ryan realised belatedly he was still all in his party gear, fiddled with the jacket he'd relied on ever since receiving one (1) approving comment from Spencer while he halfheartledly listened to Brendon slur on. Y’know, I came back much earlier than usual because I missed you, and you fuck off away from me. Thanks, baby. Maybe he really had hurt Brendon's feelings. Drunk or not, they mattered to him. So Ryan paused, unable to think of any words in his own defense, and felt a little badly, biting his lip and casting his gaze to the ground. "I didn't think you would-... I'm sorry about that, actually," he replied hesitantly, sounding genuine for the first time during the call, his voice softening. He wasn't sure that Brendon actually cared that much, and maybe it was another instance of drunken clinginess being disrupted superficially, but still. If he was only temporarily hurt, it was still Ryan's responsibility, and he wasn't going to ignore it. He listened to the white noise on Brendon's end become clearer, the telltale sound of his knuckles crackling, and he knew the phone had been switched to speaker.

Yeah, without you. "Baby," Ryan said beneath his words, half-argumentatively, but he didn't have any contest prepared for it. You’d probably know what that was like if you didn’t have a stick so far up your ass. Ryan pursed his lips, and he knew Brendon was really just talking by now, but. There was some truth to that, honestly. He paused, nearly tried cutting in with something unrelated to divert the topic, but Brendon continued. You know, whatever. I’ll go back out. Ryan felt a faint sense of panic for whatever reason, and there was none, really, because it's not like him going out again was a bad thing. Not to anyone but his liver, probably. But also he was likely just saying that. Ryan paused again, wondering. "Are you really going back out? You could just - go to bed. I'll come over if you want, you know." He cringed, anticipating whatever 'why didn't you come over in the first place' or 'fuck off' variation was coming. There was also a 'I'll go back out with you' hanging on his tongue, but he both didn't really want to and knew Brendon was wont to tell him no.

Unlike with Shane, where his relationship had been mostly horrible, peppered with rare instances of him being suffocatingky sweet, Brendon’s time so far with Ryan had been mostly everything he could have ever hoped for- somebody who actually respected him, knew him well, genuinely cared about him. They went on dates (when Brendon didn’t bail), slept over at eachothers apartments more often than they slept alone (mostly at Brendon’s), and they kissed without it leading into something, called eachother baby, Brendon introduced Ryan as his boyfriend before his PA. Brendon saw him as something of an angel, but that could be dangerous- even though Shane, a man he know saw as the devil incarnate, an asshole on all accounts, walked all over him, Brendon sometimes didn’t recognised that he was unintentionally walking over Ryan, who didn’t really feel compelled to talk about it because Ryan had to work on his critical attitude, Brendon on his ability to take criticism, and both of them had to work on communication. A little of that, a little honesty in the gentlest but firmest way possible, this could probably all be solved in an evening. But no, Brendon swept their plans under the rug and decided to get wasted, shunning Ryan to please his audience, and Ryan went home, which was admittedly understandable.

That’s your name, crackhead. Brendon sounded affronted even though he didn’t say anything- his stunned silence said it all as he bit his lip hard and fought with his dwindling common sense. He wanted to rip into Ryan- but he couldn’t actually think of much he could use to drag him. Fuck Ryan for being boring and an amazing boyfriend. ”My name is Brendon,” He replied intelligently, sounding more silky than scathing. He heard Ryan’s amused rush of air and felt like throwing his phone across the room, but instead his put him on speaker, cracking his knuckles way too aggressively and considering just hanging up before this conversation became too annoying and too complex for drunk Brendon to handle. Oh. Brendon, you said ‘fuck that’ when I said we should go, and then you invited me to leave before sharing a laugh with your crew. Brendon clicked his tongue, leaned back against the cushions, shutting his eyes as he spoke- or tried to speak. ”Ryan, baby,” He started, definitely not intending to sound affectionate. ”You said you wanted to leave. I basically said feel free. Would you- would you fuckin’ prefer if I asked you to stay? I just said I didn’t care, I wasn’t being a dick. It always happens anyway,” He muttered, opening his eyes and staring at the lights on the ceiling. They were way too bright, but he didn’t look away, even when he started to feel dizzy.

That was kind of asshole behaviour. So I, ‘by all means, went home.’ Brendon sat up, furrowing his brow- what? Why did that sound so pointed? He paused a moment, confused, then shook his head. ”You could have at least told me,” He messed with the cuffs of his sleeves, picking at the fabric and blinking away the blurriness from his vision. ”I was looking forward to seeing you.” Some would say a pathetic attempt- but he meant at. At least, drunk him meant it. Sober Brendon would have pretended to stop caring and been in the pool by now, sending Ryan obnoxious selfies just to irritate him- and subtly tell him that yeah, he did miss him, come over. He was a lot of work- but he liked to think he was usually worth it. Just maybe not now. I didn’t think you would- sorry about that, actually. ”Didn’t think I’d what? Care? Charming,” He retorted, not even giving Ryan a chance to breathe. He sat back again, dragging a hand roughly through his hair as it started to fall in front of his eyes, and breathed deeply. Mistake. He suddenly felt nauseous, and paused, glancing towards the bathroom. False alarm, thankfully- but he still felt slightly sick as Ryan continued on.

Baby. Don’t ‘baby’, me, he thought stubbornly, getting closer to just hanging up and leaving Ryan to some documentary or boring book or whatever his boyfriend got up to when he wasn’t working for Brendon, or with Brendon. Maybe that was Brendon's problem- he still thought that Ryan’s world revolves around him. And work wasn’t life- and neither was a boyfriend- even if he was a pretty big part, it was selfish of him to think he was all that mattered. And he didn’t, really, but he didn’t exactly show that. Are you really going back out? ”Well, y’know, somebody ruined my other plans. So, yeah.” He sounded sort of immature- but that was Brendon when he was mad, and drunk. You could just- go to bed. He was about to tell him that he was okay, thank you, but Ryan continued- I’ll come over if you want, you know. He paused, because god, it was tempting, suddenly he was tired, suddenly there was nothing more appealing than falling asleep in Ryan’s arms and sleeping possibly til the afternoon. But Brendon was stubborn. He had to make his point somehow, and giving in was not how to do it.

He stood up suddenly, taking his phone with him, and swayed, realising he was dizzy, drunk, and nauseous. It would be fun to try and go back out like this, now those shots he’d taken right before he left had kicked in. Brendon hesitated. ”Don’t bother,” He said finally, moving over to the kitchen counter to steady himself, ”Clearly you didn’t want to in the first place. Stay at home, read your book or whatever, enjoy your alone time. I’ll go fuckin’ find someone who’s actually fun- Shane,” He announced, not thinking, before immediately feeling even more sick and clenching his jaw, backtracking before he even took another breath. ”No, no, fuck that, forget I said that,” He mumbled, leaned against the counter and putting his phone down. ”I don’t feel good, I- I’m gonna go.”

Maybe the reason Ryan was so focused on working on himself rather than on both of their problems collectively was just that this was his first relationship where they fit together so well. A lot of people could reminisce on good relationships that didn't end on bad terms, or just had memorable enough times where they didn't see it as a mistake; most if his were ventures he regretted wasting his time with, or that were taken with people who influenced his personality in ways he was still trying to change. And all of them were short-lived, unimportant. So he didn't really know how to solve problems maturely when it came to a two-person team... and if past relationships were his poison, then Brendon must have it much, much worse. Ryan knew very little, if anything, about what came before Shane, but he was fairly certain that he himself was Brendon's first real partner. It was a scary thought - he could be the bad trial run, or something. It's not like many people struck out on their first (ish) try, so... but that was just him being a pessimist, typical. Ryan tried not to dwell on all of that too much,

My name is Brendon. Ryan stared at the wall and wondered how he'd ended up here. Maybe if he hadn't responded to the rich man's cry for help in the first place. Or he didn't give in to Brendon's seductive personality. Sigh. But his life would totally suck then, and he wouldn't have this kind of top notch entertainment. Although - as amused as he was, Brendon seemed pissed, so he tried to take him a little more seriously. Ryan, baby, you said you wanted to leave. 'With you' hung on Ryan's lips, but he knew he was still suppressing a small laugh at Brendon's half-second accidental sweet tone, so he stayed quiet. I basically said feel free. Would you- would you fuckin’ prefer if I asked you to stay? I just said I didn’t care, I wasn’t being a dick. It always happens anyway. Well, if that made sense to drunk Brendon, Ryan supposed he could convolute his own rationality. He supposed. And- that last part was concerning. Did he really think Ryan always bailed? Maybe he did do it too often, now he thought about it.

Ryan knew he was going to sound nitpicky if he went on any longer about Brendon's exact phrasing, but he did anyway. "'Basically' saying it, isn't saying it. It felt like 'fuck off.'" He paused, wishing there was a phone cord or whatever to nervously toy with; alas. He existed in the 2010s, where life was the worst. "And, um. I didn't realise I did it that often- I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not as used to... all of that, as you are." If he was hard to understand stumbling over every word normally, he felt bad Brendon had to try and comprehend what he was saying now, in his state. Aside from that, his defense didn't really hold strong; he'd had to accompany Brendon places for some time now, and should ideally have grown accustomed to the lifestyle he led at least slightly more than staying until 1 am. He wasn't sure how to clearly explain the way his social battery ran out quick, apart from special cases like when he really did have to take care of Brendon. In those situations, Ryan existed beyond normal introvert limitations quite impressively.

You could have at least told me. I was looking forward to seeing you. Ryan was prepared to be petty and argue that he did tell him, he should've just guessed he meant his real home, but. At the time he kind of hadn't, not until he went outside and changed his route. And Brendon was being undeniably sweet saying that - yet Ryan wasn't sure he really believed it. "It didn't sound like you cared much about seeing me the last time we talked," he said, barely argumentatively because he wasn't really feeling up to maintaining a conflict. It felt more like he was keeping him on the phone than much else, at this point. Didn’t think I’d what? Care? Charming. Ryan pursed his lips. "Well. It seems like you only started giving a shit once I'd actually left, so. I mean- you cared more about that party than our date. What was I supposed to think, Bren?" His tone was oddly calmer, because Ryan was actually sort of curious about Brendon's thought process. He knew in the back of his mind it was a bad time to ask, all things considered, but he held out hope that maybe Brendon could arrange his mind clearly enough.

Well, y’know, somebody ruined my other plans. So, yeah. It would've been kind of funny if he wasn't actually concerned about how much worse Brendon would get as the night progressed should he head out again. Ryan fiddled vaguely with the idea of going over there whether he was welcome or not, either to accompany him when he left or to coerce him into passing out early (if 3am could still be considered that). When he offered to come over Brendon paused, hesitated, and Ryan took it answer enough, starting to straighten up from where he was curled into the crook of his chair. Don’t bother. Ryan hugged his phone to his ear with his shoulder, shoving his wallet from the sidetable back into his pocket, his keys.

Clearly you didn’t want to in the first place. Stay at home, read your book or whatever, enjoy your alone time. Ryan looked guiltily at the book in his lap that he hadn't even read more than ten words of. At least Brendon still thought highly of his attention span. He set the novel aside, standing and moving before a mirror, running his fingers through his hair while Brendon ranted. I’ll go fuckin’ find someone who’s actually fun- Shane. A corner of Ryan's mouth jerked up and he moved to the door, heading out into the hall. Bullshit, he was gonna talk to Shane again. As far as both of them were concerned, he was dead, excommunicated. No, no, fuck that, forget I said that. "No problem," Ryan said easily, jogging down steps until he was outside his apartment building, squeezing the receiver closer to him to conceal the sounds of city life until he could get into his car and turn the ignition.

He heard the faintest movement, and suddenly Brendon's voice sounded more distant. I don’t feel good, I- I’m gonna go. "No, hey, Brendon, baby, stay on the line," he urged hurriedly, raising his voice to cover whatever distance Brendon had put between himself and the phone. Ryan pulled out of his parking space while he switched to speaker and set his own phone on his thigh, maneuvering into the steady line of cars already on the road and setting off in the direction of the penthouse. "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." And hopefully he'd been quiet enough to hide the fact he was already a quarter of the way there, 'cause God knows Brendon would rush to cut the call if the boyfriend he felt like he was in some kind of spat with was on his way over.

/

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. He 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.

’Basically’ saying it, isn’t saying it. ”You’re such a tightass.” 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. And, um. I didn’t realise I did it that often- I’m sorry. 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 guess I’m just not used to... all of that, as you are. Brendon rolled his eyes, glancing critically at his phone. ”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 trying. You just fuckin’ turn up and look miserable. It’s a party, have some fun. It’d do you some good,” He muttered.

It didn’t sound like you cared much about seeing me the last time we talked. Brendon bristled. Okay, maybe he’d dealt with the situation wrong, but it wasn’t like he didn’t want to see Ryan. ”If I didn’t want to see you, why would I even message you? You’d come to me eventually anyway.” A pause. Even drunk, he recognised that sounded dickish. ”’Cause, work.” It seems like you only started giving a shit once I’d actually left, so. 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 mean- you cared more about that party than our date. What was I supposed to think, Bren? 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. ”I’m sorry, okay? There are plenty other fuckin’ dates we can go on.”

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. No problem. 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. No, hey, Brendon, baby, stay on the line. 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. 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. Brendon was quiet for a second. ”I just feel sick, I- no, fuck you, you’re in the car,” He exclaimed, grip tight on his phone. ”Don’t fucking come over, I don’t want to see you. Suck my dick.” 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.

You’re such a tightass. 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. 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 trying. You just fuckin’ turn up and look miserable. Ryan nearly protested something about how he didn't look miserable, 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. It’s a party, have some fun. It’d do you some good. He was chewing his lip, mostly just thinking how Brendon had a fair point, frustrated about that since he 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. If I didn’t want to see you, why would I even message you? You’d come to me eventually anyway. 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 - ’Cause, work. 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’m sorry, okay? There are plenty other fuckin’ dates we can go on. Right. He exhaled softly, nearly a sigh, and pursed his lips, hesitant. "Sure, because you sound very genuine." 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 just feel sick, I- no, fuck you, you’re in the car. He couldn't help it. Ryan cracked up into a grin, 'cause that was his boyfriend. So sensitive. "No, I'm not," he said innocently, decidedly less irritated. He turned a corner a block away from Brendon's place, shaking his head a little in amusement. Don’t fucking come over, I don’t want to see you. Suck my dick. 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. "Hey, baby, y'know, you've never looked better. Drink some water, dummy." He held out the glass reverently, moving closer from the doorway. "Been sick yet?"

Maybe presuming that his boyfriend would always come ‘crawling back to him’ no matter what wasn’t the right way to go about his first ever real, committed relationship- and actually saying that to Ryan was even worse; however, he did have some basis for such a presumption. Brendon was used to people being at his beck and call- Ryan included, partially because of Brendon’s superiority complex and his constant need for attention and stimulation, partially because Ryan worked for him and he had to come back anyway. Brendon wasn’t completely stupid, so he wisely chose to attribute his words to the latter reason; work was why he’d unconditionally come back, not because he thought Ryan was pathetic or desperate or was prone to cavin- Which he wasn’t (save maybe the last one). They were both mutually affectionate and respectful of eachother, largely, but showed that affection in different ways; Brendon being physical and apparently always requiring full attention, Ryan was more emotionally intimate and tended to prefer words or softer things, kisses that were chaste but no less indulgent, gentle embraces. This meant that often there was an imbalance- one was more satisfied than the other- and unfortunately, it was usually Brendon, and Ryan was too nervous about his reaction to protest beyond sulking for a little while and only when Brendon wasn’t looking.

Anyway. Brendon was genuinely sorry he’d upset Ryan, but he was drunk and u reasonable and was more prone to being pissed than apologetic. Therefore, his apology could be seen as half-assed, superficial- and Ryan picked up on that immediately. Sure, because you sound very geniune. Brendon clicked his tongue, shut his eyes tight and exhaled a sigh, his emotions conflicted- should he beg forgiveness, or act all exasperated and petty about it? Well, there wasn’t much of a confict- this was Brendon, an Aries, and a drunk one at that. He leaned forwards so he was closer to the receiver. ”What do you want from me? I’ve fuckin’ apologised. You always find some excuse to be mad, I’ve always done something fuckin’ wrong.” That was an exaggeration that Ryan definitely wouldn’t appreciate, but right now Brendon had been reduced to have the attitude and demeanour of a tantruming five year old and he didn’t really care that his boyfriend might be even more irritated at him. Brendon was feeling provocative, trying to wind Ryan up into feeling the same level of annoyance as he did when he got home to an empty apartment, forgetting he’d already felt that dejected when Brendon basically told him to fuck off without a second glance.

Suddenly, though, Brendon felt nauseous, and lost some of the fire in him that allowed him to be so irritating and argumentative. For a moment he spoke normally to Ryan, albeit slightly slurred; told him he felt sick, that he was going, they could finish this argument in person when Brendon was sober and that tension could be released in much more enjoyable ways. Even pissed off at Ryan, he had his priorities straight. Ryan told him to stay on the line, though, and he did, if only to complain more as he moved from the kitchen towards his bedroom, deciding that the only sensible course of action was to pass out in bed. For a moment, he suspected nothing when Ryan sounded all concerned (typical Ryan, frightened by shadows- the shadows being any hint that Brendon felt less than perfect), but then the background noise finally reached his ears and he stopped in the middle of the floor, narrowing his eyes. That fucker thought he was stupid. Brendon swayed, staggered a little before sort of regaining his balance, and then jerked the receiver closer to his mouth and spat accusations at him. No, I’m not.

”Fuck you, man,” He mumbled, again feeling a distracting wave of nausea and continuing towards his bedroom after steadying himself. ”You’re an asshole, and I don’t want you here. Go fuckin’ home.” Brendon inhaled sharply, feeling dangerously sick. Then he hung up and finally walked in through his doorway, hanging onto it desperately for a few beats before attempting to kick it closed behind him and almost falling over in the process as his whole world lurched sideways. Brendon miraculously retained the motor skills to unbutton his suit jacket- a red one, he’d bought it especially for his and Ryan’s rare, proper date night- and he flung it aside, for once not really caring about hanging it up because he now knew it wouldn’t exactly retain any romantic memories. He headed into his en suite, and glanced hesitantly towards the toilet, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. He wasn’t encouraged when he was shaken up by another spell of intense sickness. Brendon dragged a hand through his hair and over his face- his hair was somehow immaculate- and then he fumbled with his shirt buttons, reaching the fourth as he reached the doorway heading back into his bedroom before giving up and just collapsing onto the bed, too tired and drunk and sick to do anything else.

Probably five minutes later, when he was already close to drifting off, he heard the front door open, and rolled onto his back, glancing at his bedroom door. He considered getting up and locking it- he’d installed one only when he started dating Shane, the exact reason was up for debate- but he couldn’t will himself to get up and he rolled back over. Moments later, his bedroom door opened and he knew Ryan was probably laughing at him, so he scowled into the cushions. Hey, baby, y’know, you’ve never looked better. ”Fuck off,” He replied instantly, though it was muffled by the pillows. Drink some water, dummy. Brendon didn’t move. His eyes were still closed. ”Fuck off.” A pause, and he sighed into the bed again. ”I told you not to come. Go away.” Been sick yet? ”Motherfucker,” He swore, finally turning onto his back and drawing himself closer to the headboard away from his boyfriend. ”Go away.”

Ryan probably should have let go of the whole abandoned date hours ago, like, when they were at the party they'd ditched it for, but he hadn't. It was a bad habit of Ryan's, hanging on to shit that upset him rather than bringing it to light with Brendon and discussing it. But that at least went both ways - if he tried to 'talk things out' with Brendon, then even Brendon wouldn't be great at it. So they were equal. In any case, now he was stuck in a cycle, and Brendon appeared to notice despite his drunken state. What do you want from me? I’ve fuckin’ apologised. You always find some excuse to be mad, I’ve always done something fuckin’ wrong. The fact was that this was an exaggeration, sure, but it held enough truth in it - that Ryan tended to become short with him fairly easily, or at least lose his softness - that Ryan felt guilty. He paused, hesitating, and even after trying to start a response, he couldn't grace Brendon with anything. Second-guessing himself, Ryan stayed quiet, letting those comments float unanswered.

Instead, he headed on his way to Brendon's. For one thing he didn't like the idea of either of them falling asleep angry with the other - he personally wasn't upset with Brendon, so now he had to fix his wrongdoing with Brendon. Even if there was a larger chance that sober Brendon would either have forgotten or forgiven him already, still. He feigned innocence all the way. Fuck you, man. He'd accidentally been an asshole often enough that he'd heard that before. It honestly held no weight. Ryan continued driving, unmoved. You’re an asshole, and I don’t want you here. Go fuckin’ home. Still so obviously untrue. Ryan was about to argue that Brendon was the one who wanted him here in the first place, had sent the trigger text for this entire conversation, and did 'go fuckin' home' now mean something different from 'go back to my apartment and wait for me like a lapdog,' but Brendon was quicker to hang up than he was to reply. Damn. For the first time, like, ever, he'd been confident in what he wanted to say.

When he actually did get to Brendon, he was face first in the cushions, everything but his jacket still on. Very endearing. It was hard to be mad at someone so horribly, horribly messy. Fuck off. Unclear, but Ryan got the message, persisting regardless. He could stand whatever Brendon said to him as long as he got him something to avoid waking up feeling shittier than he really had to. Fuck off. I told you not to come. Go away. Still didn't care. Ryan moved closer, reaching the end of Brendon's bed. Motherfucker.[/i] When Brendon turned over, he raised his arms slightly, water and pills still in hand, in faux celebration. "There he is," he cheered gently, smiling at him despite the scowl he received. Go away. Doing the exact opposite, Ryan approached him, placing the glass and the pill bottle on his nightstand and leaning against it.

The way he was tucked back up to his headboard like Ryan was a disease was amusing, but Ryan made a desperate effort to rein in any sign of him thinking this was funny, bringing his expression to one of calmness. "I'll go if you do as I say," he said in a controlled voice, trying to meet Brendon's gaze. As far as he was aware, Brendon could go one of two ways: respond to authority incredibly well, because he could be dismally submissive, or reject it vehemently because he was also so strongly Aries. Ryan hoped to god he stuck with the former. "Deal?" Without waiting for an answer, Ryan took his hand, firm at first in case he tried to pull away, then loosening once he started to undo his sleeve clasps, reaching across him to catch the other hand.

The role of 'babysitter' was one he'd, evidently, grown quite comfortable with, because Ryan was already fully prepared to care for a drunk Brendon. "I brought painkillers," he reminded Brendon distractedly after a pause, gesturing with a nod to the nightstand while he tugged him closer by the front of his shirt. "Take them and finish that water. And, I'm not letting you sleep in a full suit, so hold out a little longer, 'kay?" It felt like he should clarify, anyway. Unbuttoning the rest of the shirt buttons Brendon hadn't gotten to for him probably looked like something Brendon would get the wrong idea from. He was silent for a little while, slightly morose looking, and pulled Brendon's shirt apart for him finally so he could shrug it off. "Did you really come home early because you missed me?"

So, yeah, he’d made an ass out of his boyfriend at a party that he’d chosen to attend over going on an actual date with Ryan, taking the side of a group of people who were probably just hanging around him for the popularity points instead of the side of his boyfriend. He’d been drunk, but he had still consciously made the decision to completely brush him off and almost encourage his departure, when he could have been civil, nice, understanding, turned around and kissed him goodbye and asked him to text him when he got home. Yeah, his home, not Brendon’s apartment. Brendon had apparently ruined that by being so rude to him at the party. He wondered absently, his brain not fully focused, whether or not if he’d behaved differently- like a lover was supposed to- Ryan would have been here waiting for him and he could have just fallen asleep in his arms rather than be lying on his bed, alone, swearing at him and telling him to leave him alone and that he wasn’t welcome over the phone. It wasn’t ideal, and if Brendon had been sober he’d have forgiven Ryan and apologised for his own mistakes by now, but Brendon was intoxicated and he wasn’t exactly thinking logically. Enter Brendon, cussing up a storm down the line at someone who just wanted to make sure he was okay.

There he is. Apparently his drunken aggravated state wasn’t enough to put Ryan off giving up and staying at home, because Ryan was at the doorway and then at the end of his bed. Brendon turned over, looking expertly sulky. Like he was moments away from just pouting and having a tantrum like a child. He scowled in contrast to Ryan’s smile and moved pointedly backwards as Ryan walked around to his nightstand, holding water and what he assumed to be painkillers. Brendon’s back was pressed against the headboard and his limbs drawn up close to his body, his legs bent, only half extended, and his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. He glowered at Ryan and only received a calm look and a cool tone in return. I’ll go if you do as I say. Brendon paused, met his eyes for a long pause. That kind of language and tone triggered something in him and it always had- he was used to responding to requests, or more appropriately commands, from Ryan in particular, and he was moments away from doing so. But no. He was also an Aries, he was also pissed, and he was also drunk. Uniquely, those qualities took a step over his almost embarrassing submissiveness for once.

Deal? Brendon shook his head, adamant, but peculiarly he didn’t resist much when Ryan undid his sleeve clasps apart from attempting to weakly tug his hands away in turn. ”I know what you’re trying to do,” Brendon declared, almost triumphant, mostly accusatory. ”You’re trying to exploit whatever power you think you have over me.” He was slurring, and probably didn’t make much sense, but in his head, he was a genius, a detective, he’d figured Ryan out. ”Well, for your fucking information, I wouldn’t do anything you asked me to if you paid me. The idea repulses me.” Brendon let out a noise close to a whine when Ryan then pulled him closer by the front of his shirt, but was too disorientated to actually physically protest. I brought painkillers. Take them and finish that water. “No.”Brendon glared at him defiantly as he started to unbutton his shirt, and for a moment he was confused. What was Ryan doing? He glanced down at Ryan’s hands as he worked quickly, thought absently about how nice his hands were and then pushed the thought away, then raised a curious eyebrow.

And, I’m not letting you sleep in a full suit, so hold out a little longer, ‘kay? Brendon was stubbornly quiet, but didn’t have the energy to protest or pull away like he wanted to. Ryan had finished unbuttoning his shirt, he realised after a few seconds, and he automatically shrugged it off his shoulders, then collapsed onto his back so he was lying flat along the horizontal of his bed, and dropped the shirt unceremoniously off the opposite side onto the floor. Brendon then lay there, staring groggily at the ceiling, blinking because it was dark and he couldn’t really see. Ryan was sat on the bed near his feet and he lifted a leg and pressed a foot against his chest, pushing backwards as if trying to get him to go away. ”Leave me alone,” He muttered, fumbling to fold his arms behind his head. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, wondering whether it would be a good idea to stay in the bathroom all night, but then the nausea passed again and he just closed his eyes, dropping his foot back down.

Did you really come home early because you missed me? Brendon lifted his head up to regard him, suspicious, and then he sat up, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed and chewing absently on his lip. ”If I knew you were fuckin’- gonna be such an ass about everything, fuck off home, I wouldn’t have bothered,” He said in a low voice, still slurring every now and then, clearly not able to string coherent sentences together anymore. ”I missed you, and I just wanted you to be here, and you- you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you went home instead.” He went sullen, quiet, fidgeting and looking down at his hands before unsteadily rising from the bed and steadying himself against the nightstand before leaning over and picking up his shirt. Against the presumed wishes of Ryan, he wandered around to his bedroom door and leaned down to pick up his suit jacket, heading then over to his wardrobe and making a drunk, half-ass attempt at hanging them up, almost falling into the wardrobe in the process. ”It’s not like I didn’t care about the date. I got that suit just for it. I thought you’d like it. I just-“ Brendon frowned. ”Whatever. Will you go away now?”

Maybe if Ryan hadn't known Brendon before, when he was so emotionally closed off and unaccepting of anything that came close to romantic intimacy, he wouldn't be so patient with him whenever he did things like this. But he did - he'd gone through the pain of believing Brendon could never like him back the same way, and when he pushed past the initial phase where he was afraid to even touch him, he'd done the whole routine where he scrambled out of his bed in the mornings before Brendon could kick him out first. It'd been rough, and now he tried to stick it out as much as he could when Brendon was still showing signs of adjustment these days. Plus, it's not like Ryan didn't have his own moments. He was critical and overbearing and generally hard to be around sometimes - a lot of times - and Brendon rarely said a thing about it or gave him flak otherwise. Ryan knew him well enough not to be put off by his sometimes troublesome behavior, and Brendon was understanding enough not to take his bad moods to heart. They were on the same level, then.

Trying to act authoritative to win his attention over seemed to work for a moment, where Brendon just gazed back at him with a careful look, but then he was shaking his head stubbornly. Either way, it didn't matter much, because Ryan successfully undid the clasps on his sleeve with the bare minimum protest. I know what you’re trying to do. Ryan smiled to himself, amused, as he reached over to access Brendon's other sleeve, a steadying hand on his opposing shoulder to keep him still. "Oh, yeah? What's that?" he asked, humoring him. You’re trying to exploit whatever power you think you have over me. Ryan narrowed his eyes at him, trying to understand exactly how that thought came to his head, how that could possibly seem like a feasible conclusion to come to. Well, for your fucking information, I wouldn’t do anything you asked me to if you paid me. The idea repulses me. "Brendon, what power am I supposed to have over you that I could exploit? You pay me. I'd say that puts you a few steps ahead of me."

He was half-grinning again when he pulled a whiny Brendon closer, shaking his head somewhat. No. "Yes." But he didn't actually force the medicine on him just yet. He could probably get him to relent when he was more half-asleep. Ryan caught the defiance in Brendon face while he watched him undo his shirt buttons and knew what wild thoughts were running amuck in his mind, no question about it. He tried to quell whatever ideas Brendon was getting before they went too far and it seemed to work; he removed the shirt without complaint, tossing it aside carelessly. Unfortunately, though, it didn't seem to help how he felt about Ryan at the moment, because after lying there resignedly for a few moments, he was pressing his foot against Ryan's chest to get him away. In turn, Ryan hung onto his ankle, laughing a little bit at his meager attempt to remove all company. Leave me alone. Brendon folded his arms behind his head and let up, so Ryan moved entirely onto the mattress rather than just sitting on the edge, criss-cross and letting his knuckles trail back and forth along Brendon's knee.

He didn't leave him alone, in the end, just posed a more genuine question, a little affected. When Brendon sat up and regarded him more seriously he straightened, trying to match his position, level out. If I knew you were fuckin’- gonna be such an ass about everything, fuck off home, I wouldn’t have bothered. Ryan's face went a little flat, feeling the slight guilt again, and he ducked his head to watch while he twisted his fingers until his knuckles turned white. I missed you, and I just wanted you to be here, and you- you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you went home instead. Ryan inhaled slowly, exhaled in an almost-sigh, watching how unhappy Brendon looked and feeling his heart sink. "I'm sorry, baby," he said softly, reaching out to him and letting his hand drop against the sheets while Brendon stood. It's not like he could repeat the sentiment of him not knowing again, argue that he thought he'd been dismissed anyway again, so he let it be, chewing his lip while he watched Brendon stumble.

Ryan would be amused watching him struggle to pick up after himself, then nearly fall into his wardrobe, but. Nothing was really that funny now, with Brendon genuinely sad, hurt, rather than drunkenly upset. There was a difference now, even if he was still unmistakably wasted. It’s not like I didn’t care about the date. I got that suit just for it. I thought you’d like it. Ugh. Even such a tiny thing made Ryan hurt with him. I just- whatever. Will you go away now? Ryan rose, headed to the wardrobe and closing the distance between them again. He fit his hands over Brendon's hips, running his thumbs over the stark line of bone/muscle definition on either side. "I did like it," he said, with a tiny smile, trying desperately to get one on Brendon's face. He raised one hand, settled it on the back of Brendon's neck, swaying them a little. "I'm sorry. I should have been here then, but. I'm here now, okay? I just wanna be sure you're all right." He pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, smoothing strands of hair from his temple, then gestured with a nod at the water on his nightstand. "So I need you to drink some water for me. Yeah? Will you do that?"

Usually Brendon was easily won over. For somebody so used to getting his own way, with Ryan, he was uncharacteristically obedient, more likely to listen when he was spoken to. Mostly it was because he was gross. When Brendon was drunk, though, anything usually compelling him to listen and do as he was told was thrown out of the window in some bizarre perceived act of rebellion. Brendon proudly announced that he had Ryan ‘figured out’, all the while grudgingly allowing him to undo the clasps of his sleeves because he was tired but this was a nice shirt, and even when he was drunk he had some appreciation for fine clothes (read: every piece of clothing he owned, save maybe Ryan’s assortment of hoodies and jerseys. Those held a different value). Apparently, Ryan found this amusing. Brendon was taking himself too seriously to notice. Oh, yeah? What’s that? Taking it as a genuine question, he tilted his head and pursed his lips as if thinking deeply about it. Then he answered, announcing it with a sense of triumph, and Ryan evidently didn’t appreciate his perceptiveness.

Brendon, what power am I supposed to have over you that I could exploit? He blinked, like it was obvious. ”You fuckin’ think you can just give me commands and I’ll go all pliant and willing. Well. You’re absolutely right,” He half-slurred, grinning- but that was literally the opposite energy that he wanted to convey here. So he straightened, tried to fix his mistake, cover it up. You pay me. I’d say that puts you a few steps ahead of me. A pause, because that was true; Brendon paid Ryan to basically run his life, both personally and professionally at this point, way too personally that was appropriate for an employer and their employee; but they were dating. Ryan was his boyfriend, Brendon was his. They had the kind of relationship that Brendon had never once in his life anticipated having. Even that sentiment wasn’t enough to stop Brendon blurting out the first thing that then came to his head as he thought about their whole financial situation. ”Doesn’t that make you a hooker?”

He had great timing, too, because Ryan was currently unbuttoning his shirt, but for once Brendon didn’t much care about it and made no attempt at some appropriately nasty joke- he just sat there and sulked like a champion until Ryan unfastened the last button of his shirt, and then he seemed to forget about his supposed appreciation for fine clothes and chucked his shirt over his shoulder off the bed, moving to lie on his back and then press his foot firmly against Ryan’s chest, using all of his strength (not much) to try and get him off the bed and prompt him to just leave him alone. It didn’t seem to work. Ryan just hung onto his ankle and Brendon yanked it out of his grip and drew his whole body up and back into a sitting position, regarding Ryan almost doubtfully, still wanting him to just go away and let Brendon pass out peacefully in his slacks and shoes. I’m sorry, baby. Brendon huffed, full of scorn, and unsteadily rose to his feet, artfully dodging any gentle attempts at apologetic physical contact- he ignored the basic longing to just go back and let Ryan hold him and busied himself picking up his discarded suit pieces.

Crossing his large bedroom, he reached the wardrobes and hung on, clumsily trying to fit the suit pieces onto the correct hangers and stubbornly going at it until his effort turned into something... functional. His scarlet suit hung rather sadly in the closet and Brendon shut the door with a sigh, turning around just as Ryan got to him, instantly reacting by stepping aside as if to move away. Brendon was too uncoordinated, though, and Ryan evidently had too much purpose now to give up and let Brendon stumble away like a child for the rest of the night until he passed out from exhaustion on the carpet or something. Brendon didn’t have the energy or fire in him right then to resist when Ryan fit his hands over his hips- he just looked down, blinked slowly as Ryan ran his thumbs along the sharp lines, then looked up from under his eyelashes at his boyfriend, suddenly feeling less like he wanted to protest and more like he wanted to curl up in his arms and go to sleep. I did like it. Brendon supposed he could forgive him now- but he was still the expert at sulking, and he needed to maintain his reputation, so he tried his hardest not to return Ryan’s smile. ”Go away. I don’t- I don’t require your services. You overcharge.” Brendon was trying not to grin. He gave up quite fast, and then offered him a sheepish, sleepy smile.

I’m sorry. I should have been there, then, but. I’m here now, okay? He felt a sense of comfort and warmth settle in his chest. Ryan was here now, what else mattered? He wanted Ryan to be here always. Brendon was dazed, suddenly, by the intensity of his emotions. I just wanna be sure you’re all right. He nodded, closed his eyes as Ryan kissed his cheek. So I needyou to drink some water for me. Yeah? Will you do that? Another pause, and Brendon glanced over to the nightstand at the glass of water, and the painkillers, and after a second he seemed to give in, nodding. But he didn’t actually do anything, just buried his head into the crook of Ryan’s shoulder and leaned against him, apparently too tired to support himself anymore. He exhaled, content, murmured into his shoulder. ”I love you.”

You fuckin’ think you can just give me commands and I’ll go all pliant and willing. Well. You’re absolutely right. Ryan arched back a little to regard him more seriously, his fingers still curled somewhat in the fabric of of Brendon's shirt. One minute hot, the next cold; yeah, sounded about right, but he hadn't expected it to be that simple. He'd expected at least 3-5 business days until he got some results on the 'calm Brendon down' project, and here he was, totally lucky. Ryan smiled real small, amused and pleased simultaneously, and was even more contented to see that Brendon was smiling back. Not for long, though. Apparently Brendon noticed that he'd changed moods too quickly and fixed himself, straightening to undo any measure of easing the air in the room that he'd made moments ago. Ryan forced himself to match his energy, trying to hide any of the laughter threatening his lips and tilting his head towards Brendon uncertainly.

Doesn’t that make you a hooker? Even worse. Ryan's attempt at a flat expression fizzled for a moment, screwing up into a half-smile and half-bewildered face, while he couldn't decide whether he should snap at Brendon for that or laugh at it. Either way, he was just glad Brendon was taking himself a little less seriously, not arguing when Ryan raised reasonable points (but, was not arguing as good as making jokes? Probably not). "Hey, hey, whoa, I wasn't sleeping with you for at least a month there in the beginning," he contested, then paused, hesitating. He lowered his voice to a level of realization. "...Which I guess would just make me a bad hooker. Alright, shut up." So mostly he was bantering, yeah, and it was dangerous to get comfortable like that when at any moment Brendon could flip around and decide he wanted to be morose and sulky again, but. Fuck it. He took advantage of the funnier moments while he could.

Brendon had more fighting spirit in him despite the brief moments of peace they caught; Ryan watched him dance around, a stumbly, stunning mess, and felt this faint ache in his chest alongside all the remorse choking him up. At this point it was a familiar swell, the same thing he felt when he saw Brendon unexpectedly in some online article in paparazzi photos, or when he saw Brendon standing before the fridge illuminated only by the artificial light while he chugged orange juice from the carton in the middle of the night, or when he could roll on his side in the morning and see Brendon still asleep and taking even breaths. Yeah, he hadn't quite put a name to it, but he liked it, coming at the most bizarre and most normal times, when Brendon wasn't doing anything and yet it was still so endearing. Ryan was fond of him, to say the least. And although he felt terribly about the night already, watching Brendon winding down after it all made him feel a little better; fitting his hands around his narrow sides and holding him steady, close to him, seemed to tune everything else out. He smiled a little watching Brendon glance down at the gesture, evidently sated, all of his features softening. Funny, Ryan remembered moments ago he was complaing about something like going 'pliant and willing,' and now...

This drunk, Brendon wasn't as sneaky, and Ryan noted, dotingly, that he was fighting a smile, his face conflicting with his stubborn head. Whatever, Ryan could be patient. Go away. I don’t- I don’t require your services. You overcharge. There. A pause and he was smiling, not one of the big, world-stopping ones, but no less powerful; Ryan pursed his lips, one hand raising to run his thumb along the corner of his mouth affectionately. "I feel like you don't mean that," Ryan said, a humorous undertone to his voice, then quirked an eyebrow. "Well. Except for maybe the last part. I'll have you know, I'm expensive as hell." Very unfitting topic of conversation, considering that after a few more moments he was navigating his words very carefully, apologizing and trying to reassure Brendon, the whole deal. He was used to the typical ice walk, and here they were; it seemed to be working, because Brendon suddenly looked a lot less at will, less focused and more flexible with whatever Ryan asked of him.

He thought maybe Brendon was finally going to drink the damn water, maybe even take the painkillers despite Ryan not asking outright quite yet, but he just spared a glance their way and nodded in the affirmative that he would eventually. Good enough for maybe any other time, but he'd been nearly sick a while ago and Ryan was still worried, so he was preparing to walk them back over to the bed when Brendon buried his head into his shoulder, seemingly forgetting everything he was cranky and sullen about this entire time. A bit surprised, Ryan curled a tentative hand around the back of his head, hesitating before he kissed his hair blindly and let his cheek rest against the top of Brendon's head. His weight was practically nothing, or if it wasn't Ryan would have gotten used to it by now anyway, so he swayed them a little, free hand sliding absently up and down Brendon's back to soothe him.

It was kind of worrying that he chose this over passing the hell out, given his state (but then Brendon was anything but predictable), so Ryan opened his mouth to ask if he was all right when Brendon spoke first. I love you. Ryan smiled to himself, tender, hand still moving at an easy pace. "I l-" He broke off, stilling completely, and pulled his head back, trying to see Brendon. "What? What'd you..." Fucking Brendon, really. Choosing this time of all times to say that for the first time. Of course. When they spent at least one night a week looking up at the stars, or otherwise someplace beautiful... this was how he... but, Ryan realized, it didn't really matter, because on reflex he was going to return the sentiment before the depth of what Brendon had said had reached him. Maybe it was the first time he'd said it to anyone, fuck. Ryan cradled his head more carefully, trying to level their gazes, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Bren," he answered, finally, his mouth curling into a grin again without his conscious control. "And I really hope you're not too drunk to remember that in the morning."

Brendon was infamous for being both hard to please and impossible to predict even to his family members. Perhaps the only person who really understood what was going on in his head at this point was Ryan- his boyfriend, the person who now knew him the best alongside Gabe and who spent the most time with him. That could be attributed to the fact that, well, Ryan relied on him for a paycheck, just like how Brendon relied on Ryan to sort his entire life out, but a lot of it was- well, they enjoyed each other’s company. Even when Brendon didn’t particularly need to see Ryan anymore that day, or at all, he saw him because he wanted to, and if a day went by where he didn’t, the next time he saw Ryan he’d be possibility the clingiest person in the world, wrapping himself around Ryan and only speaking between kisses. Now, though, when he was sulking, something he was very good at, he could only allow himself to gently smile back at Ryan, then he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed at him and straightened up, stiffened, forced the smile away from his face and looked on at him, sullen. He was stubborn, and even if any genuine anger was fading due to the fact he was both very sleepy and too drunk to keep the reason why he was angry clear in his head, he was going to at least try and be persistent.

Hey, hey, whoa, I wasn’t sleeping with you for at least a month in the beginning. Okay, Brendon couldn’t help but giggle at that, and he regarded Ryan from under his eyelashes, mostly low because his eyes were lidded and sleepy. ”Y’remember the first time?” He bit his lip and let his eyes drop down to Ryan’s mouth, forgetting again he was supposed to be angry and instead mourning what this night could have been if- well, if he’s decided to go on this date. Maybe they could have been romantic, and maybe Ryan would be taking his clothes off for a different reason other than putting his drunk ass to bed. Shut up, Brendon. ...Which I guess would just make me a bad hooker. Alright, shut up. Brendon considered this for a second, lifting a hand up to trail from his shoulder to his collarbone and down to the neckline of his shirt, eyes fixed on the fastenings. ”Nah, I’d say you’re a good one. Brendon star of approval. I’ve slept with a lot of people, and not a lot of them get such an honour.” Nodding affirmatively, he then rose, determined to get away.

Something of a hot mess, shirtless with tousled hair and slacks he probably shouldn’t sleep in, half-staggering around his extravagant bedroom and picking up his discarded clothes in some kind of systematic way. Every time he leaned down to pick something up, he threading falling over, but he did it anyway because he hoped Ryan felt bad. Even after all his borderline flattery that probably betrayed the fact that his heart wasn’t in being mad at him anymore. It seemed that he succeeded- Ryan always was a bit of a pushover, sensitive to Brendon’s emotions- good- and Brendon therefore didn’t protest when he turned to find Ryan had followed him, and didn’t pull away when his boyfriend fit his hands around his hips, trailing his fingers along the sensitive skin of just above his waistline. Even so, he tried to stop a smile surfacing, and didn't really manage as it slipped through the cracks on curved the side of his mouth as he looked down at the gesture, remembering suddenly how comfortable he was like this, how safe and and wanted that Ryan made him feel. He reflected distantly on how he was something of a playboy to the public and to any people who wanted his company, but that he never felt desired, not til Ryan. He didn’t know what was up with that.

I feel like you don’t mean that. Well, he was right, and Brendon had more or less dropped his vendetta and was fully ready to stand here cuddling him until he fell asleep in his arms. Well. Except for maybe the last part. I’ll have you know, I’m expensive as hell. Brendon nodded, apparently in full agreement. ”You break my bank. Worth it, though. You’re sexy.” Leaning into his shoulder and grinning against it, he pressed his body even more flush to Ryan’s and curled his arms around him, breathing in against his shirt. He closed his eyes just as Ryan kissed his hair and tried to snuggle even closer when his boyfriend rested his cheek on his head. It was actually still dark in the room, Ryan had been merciful and kept the lights off, and in this environment, darkness, comfortable against Ryan and resting his head on his shoulder, he felt moments away from just falling asleep there in his arms like he wanted to. Luckily, in case of such a situation, it seemed that Ryan was more than capable of all but carrying him to bed. He felt his heart flutter, enamoured, and he wasn’t even looking at him.

I l- Brendon pulled back as Ryan did, waiting for the full response, and was a little confused by the surprise on his face. What? What’d you... He blinked, wrapped his arms around his shoulders in preparation to pull himself closer again, annoyed by the brief distance. ”I love you,” He repeated, like it was obvious, his head tilted back earnestly. He waited as Ryan seemed to come to terms with it and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Brendon was content. I love you, Bren. Well, he sure hoped it was Brendon that he loved, not someone else. And I really hope you’re not too drunk to remember that in the morning. Brendon matched his grin finally with a famous one of his own, extending himself upwards and moving his hands fo cradle Ryan’s jaw so he could kiss him tenderly, eyes fluttering shut and landing a soft, gentle bite to his bottom lip before he trailed kisses off down to the side of his jaw. ”If I am, just tell me again.”

/

Y’remember the first time? Ryan stared back, caught off guard, and realized Brendon's attention had dropped to his mouth, lip comfortably between his teeth. He was gorgeous, and Ryan admired for a moment before trying to stop Brendon's train of thought in its tracks. He should definitely not be thinking like that when he was this wasted. "Yeah, yes, but let's not dwell on that right now," Ryan said hastily, somewhat hypocritically considering his mind was already going a mile a minute just at the reminder. He sucked in a breath to cool it, but he'd already accidentally pressed Brendon on, watching his hands trail down the delicate line of bone, then to the slightly mussed collar of his shirt, cautious. Nah, I’d say you’re a good one. Brendon star of approval. I’ve slept with a lot of people, and not a lot of them get such an honour. Ryan's jaw practically dropped when he moved away. Who the hell tells their boyfriend 'I've slept with a lot of people' outright like that? God, only Brendon. Not that he hadn't already known anyway.

He could only watch Brendon bumble about uselessly for a minute or so before actually coming to his rescue, charmed by how wonderfully ridiculous he was. Even if he were sober, this would be pretty typical behavior. Ryan had to come close, had to wrap himself around him again, had to support his weight like his life depended on it. The irresistibility Brendon demonstrated to him was much different from the kind that magazines and press and taglines all claimed of him. Sure he was beautiful to the outside world, it was easy to see, but no one saw this side, completely goofy and charming beyond belief and endlessly entertaining, not to the same extent that Ryan got to see. You break my bank. Worth it, though. You’re sexy. Ryan stopped to look at him like he was crazy because no one called him that, ever, but Brendon was already leaning in, as if it was nothing. Easily, Ryan caught him, basking in the warmth that was them cuddling this close again, even upright.

Ryan thought maybe he'd just fall asleep before the conversation continued, but Brendon was admitting to loving him seconds later, and. That would be a lot to take from anyone. Obviously it was always flattering. But Ryan was his first real, real relationship, the first person he'd probably said it to in such a way, and. The pressure was on, sure, but that part of it was in the back of his mind for now. Just the fact that Brendon probably had spent time trying to put a word to his feelings, realizing that 'love' was the answer for them... and, more than that, he likely meant it. It held so much more coming from Brendon than from anyone else. Brendon didn't give this part of himself to anyone, even after years of the spotlight taking away so much that was supposed to be dear and private to a normal person. Ryan stared at him, stunned, and this was one of those times he was rendered speechless. Being told 'I love you' hadn't been something so important before - and he'd never felt so right and genuine in wanting to say it back.

Brendon, predictably, saw no big deal, even seemed confused by Ryan's state of shock. I love you. Ryan had no idea how to convey the mass array of emotions running through him, just kissed Brendon's head and returned the sentiment, wishing there were more powerful words for this. Well, there were, but Ryan would have to write it all down for him. He made a note to self to do just that before Brendon's showstopping smile was on his face and Ryan had, quite literally, never felt weaker, sinking against Brendon's hold when he held his face gently to kiss him. He closed his eyes, relaxing fully against him when he felt the faintest bite on his lip, followed by a garden more kisses planted along his jawline, ever so typical of Brendon. If I am, just tell me again.

Ryan's breath came out in a rush, his smile playing on his lips, and he kept his eyes blissfully closed. Brendon wasn't sober yet, but still he was grateful to finally say these words aloud, so- "I love you," he murmured, close to his ear, hand wrapped carefully around the other side of his head. "I love you so much. And I missed that smile. You forgive me now?" He was laughing slightly beneath his words, amused to think that just minutes ago they were bickering about Ryan being at the wrong apartment, of all things.

Yeah, but let’s not dwell on that right now. Brendon strongly opposed that suggestion, and made sure Ryan knew this by being extremely tactile in an alcohol-fuelled reconnection with his kinaesthetic senses. It probably wasn’t anything that Ryan want already use to; Brendon was usually a ‘handsy’ (for lack of a better word) and flirtatious drunk, this had just been blocked so far by Brendon’s frustration with Ryan and constant dramatic whining as he complained about being abandoned, Ryan trying to change him, Ryan being an utter tightass who just wanted to ruin his fun. Now, though, since he’d calmed down a bit and was no longer running entirely on pettiness, the true intoxicated Brendon was unveiled, complete with shamelessness and a complete lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. ”I disagree,” He muttered, hands indecisively fumbling with his boyfriend’s shirt buttons, too uncoordinated to actually get anywhere- but it was the thought that counted. ”I’ve been thinking about you all day. Jesus, you do things to me.” Brendon locked eyes with him briefly but his vision was slightly blurred around the edges and he had to blink rapidly to try and keep it at bay. Frustrated, he all but whined, inhaling and exhaling with a heavy, disappointed sigh- it seemed tonight certain wants and/or needs wouldn’t be fulfilled.

It was his own fault, but Brendon wasn’t sober enough to accept responsibility, so he poured as if a toddler and turned on his heel, forgetting completely about the unsolicited information he had given Ryan Shit his sex life prior to them dating. Ryan probably knew all that stuff anyway from being his personal and long-suffering assistant, so he didn’t think it would shock him, believed that he was simply reiterating a well-known fact. That Brendon was- had been- something of a thot. In the words of many, including Brendon himself. However, as much as a Casanova as he believed himself to be, Brendon was close to blackout drunk, completely wasted, and he could barely keep himself upright by the time Ryan had come to his rescue by moving over to him and wrapping his arms around his body to support his weight and make up for his lack of balance and coordination. Luckily for Ryan, this time Brendon was more compliant, burying his head into the fabric of the shirt he’d half-heartedly tried to remove and inhaling his familiar scent- it was comforting and appealing and Brendon wondered whether the next level for them was Ryan allowing Brendon to just rob him of his entire wardrobe. Even if he wasn’t allowed, he’d probably do it anyway.

Brendon really was on the verge of passing out there and then, drifting off in Ryan’s embrace (sometimes he pretend to be asleep just to be carried to bed, so it wasn’t exactly unusual for Brendon to promptly ‘fall asleep’ in Ryan’s arms), but he had one last thing burning on his mind that he wanted to get out fast, considering he was at serious risk of losing consciousness in a very short time- It was a confession, one he’d had whirling around in his head for a while, and Brendon decided that now, when he was wasted and half-asleep, was the best time to tell Ryan that he was in love with him, after a ridiculous argument and an admittedly very messy night. He meant it, though. He meant it- and he couldn’t understand why Ryan looked so shocked, blinking up at him hazily and repeating it like it made more sense to him than anything else in the world, like it was so easy, when really it had taken him a long time to come to terms with it, to understand his own feelings and identify them as love, not lust nor infatuation. Brendon Bellamy had fallen in love- somehow, he couldn’t imagine it as a tabloid headline, but it sure was what he wanted everyone to know. The infamous wildcard of the powerful Bellamy family had found himself a constant besides parties and hedonism.

Brendon leaned up, albeit shakily, and kissed Ryan, a gentle, sweet kiss full of surety and contentment. He pulled back after a few moments and trailed gentler kisses down his jaw, indulging. When he withdrew to look up at him adoringly, Brendon was smiling too as Ryan exhaled, returning to him a happy, extremely tired, crooked grin. Unable to stay anything but fully pressed against him for very long, Brendon tightened his grip on Ryan, hands naturally finding his much more sober other half’s waist as he drew himself closer, close enough so that in the dark, quiet room, Brendon could hear Ryan’s heartbeat and his own leapt. I love you. He closed his eyes serenely and turned his head, pressing his nose against Ryan’s cheek before he slumped a little and his forehead rested with considerable difficulty against his shoulder, just inwards to the join of his neck and collarbone. ”I love you too.” Brendon had apparently forgotten that he was the first one of them to say that. I love you so much. I know, baby, I know, Brendon thought- and he did; never before had he felt so comfortable with somebody, so in tune. The concept of soulmates had been one that Brendon always scoffed at, but now...

And I missed that smile. It returned to his face, and Brendon was laughing, dissolving into giggles and he wasn’t entirely sure why. You forgive me now? Still giggling, Brendon only cut himself off when he caught Ryan suddenly in a much more involved kiss, with enough force so the two of them staggered a little due to Brendon’s almost-reckless abandon, tilting his head and sliding his hands into Ryan’s hair as he tried to coax his mouth open. Unfortunately for him, he again wasn’t really in the right state to be pulling stunts like that, so he quickly burnt out, and it dissolved into more lazy, less ambitious kisses, slowed all the way down to a stop when Brendon really was now mostly asleep and slumped against Ryan with his chin hooked around Ryan’s shoulder and his arms again securely wrapped around his torso. ”Mm,” Came his reply, finally, and he blinked furiously, straining his eyes to try and peer through the darkness. ”Baby, I’m tired,” He complained. ”Will you carry me?”

/