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 [i]used[/i] 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. [i]Sure, because you sound[/i] very [i]geniune.[/i] 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 [i]much[/i] of a confict- this was Brendon, an Aries, and a drunk one at that. He leaned forwards so he was closer to the receiver. [b]”What do you want from me? I’ve fuckin’ apologised. You always find some excuse to be mad, I’ve always done [i]something[/i] fuckin’ wrong.”[/b] 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. [i]No, I’m not.[/i]

[b]”Fuck you, man,”[/b] He mumbled, again feeling a distracting wave of nausea and continuing towards his bedroom after steadying himself. [b]”You’re an asshole, and I don’t want you here. Go fuckin’ home.”[/b] 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. [i]Hey, baby, y’know, you’ve never looked better.[/i] [b]”Fuck off,”[/b] He replied instantly, though it was muffled by the pillows. [i]Drink some water, dummy.[/i] Brendon didn’t move. His eyes were still closed. [b]”Fuck [i]off.”[/i][/b] A pause, and he sighed into the bed again. [b]”I told you not to come. Go away.”[/b] [i]Been sick yet?[/i] [b]”Mother[i]fucker,[/i]”[/b] He swore, finally turning onto his back and drawing himself closer to the headboard away from his boyfriend. [b]”Go [i]away.”[/i][/b]