Brendon was not someone who could be considered easily entertained. He was hyperactive, full of seemingly boundless energy, could only engage in a certain activity for a limited amount of time until it became tiresome and he moved onto the next thing, unable to stretch his attention span beyond a usually brief time period (unless he was impassioned and especially focused; the only activities that usually took and held onto his attention like this were music (playing, writing, singing), and the odd session where he sat down to play certain video games and could be found still playing five hours plus later. When he was drunk, this was elevated- though he could entertain himself with more things due to a heightened sense of intrigue with his surroundings, the length of enjoyment he got out of his immediate surroundings didn’t parallel the amount. For example, Ryan was more than well off- he had plenty of technology around that he never used, and when Brendon commented that he had a console back home, Ryan went and ordered one, if only to keep Brendon off his back and entertained for even minutes longer.

Like previously stated, Brendon could play games for hours and not even think to move in order to eat. Now, though, when he was drunk beyond a sense of boundary or survival instincts, he couldn’t even play for ten minutes before giving up and flicking through TV channels instead. Instantly tired with that, he went venturing around the house- well, the ground floor, mostly because he couldn’t climb the stairs. So he swanned- more like staggered- in and out of the kitchen, largely, lounging around on the sofas, walking into and then right back out of the library, wandering through corridors he didn’t recognise- and in his travels he almost fell down a short set of stairs, and just managed to catch himself on the railing. When he leaned dangerously, he saw a door off the the right, and his interest was piqued- so he teetered down the stairs and tried the handle. Locked, of course. Unlike Ryan’s study, which Brendon had been told about (even if it was off-limits), this mystery room hadn’t even been hinted at. Brendon was fascinated, but as soon as he got back up the stairs, he had mostly forgotten about it in favour of accessing the one room he wasn’t allowed in (aside the basement, apparently).

[i]I didn’t realise I was obligated to offer you any when you could get your own.[/i] Brendon shrugged a shoulder, half-assed. [b]”Hosts are supposed to be fuckin’ [i]polite,”[/i][/b] - He wrinkled his nose and looked on scornfully - [b]”Therefore offer. You’re the worst host ever.”[/b] A bold declaration, maybe; Brendon had no survival instinct left in him. [i]Was I supposed to offer you drinks so that you didn’t steal any of that, either?[/i] Brendon only processed that once he’d removed his legs from Ryan’s desk and folded him inwards towards his own body so he could roll the desk chair backwards and put a little distance between him and Ryan, because he was a little intimidated. He clicked his tongue, tipping his head back and fixing his eyes on the ceiling as if mulling over a question he already had an answer too. He shifted in the chair, resting his ankle on his opposite knee, and resting his elbow on the armrest to prop his head up. [b]”That would’ve made it easier, yeah.”[/b] Brendon was grinning, somehow still charming- in a fucked-up drunk kind of way.

Brendon then stood up, right after alluding to some totally inappropriate fantasies he had playing through his head in the background all the time whenever he thought about Ryan too much and too hard anyway. Ryan didn’t seem on board, much to Brendon’s disappointment; he met his eyes as they narrowed, and released his grip on the bottle just as Ryan reached out and took hold of it. He instantly regretted- he should’ve just downed the rest, make the most of the last drops he’d probably ever get once Ryan was through with him and realised how long Brendon had been raiding his unused stash (that was, in fairness to Brendon, collecting dust. Clearly Ryan wasn’t much of a drinker). He stared at Ryan for a few more beats and then shook his head a little to bring himself out of his persistent daydreams, turning his attention back to the computer he’d unsuccessfully tried to ‘hack into’. He was staring at the keyboard, considering likely passwords, but when he looked up to ask Ryan, he was startled by Ryan’s sudden closeness, how he was leaning commandingly over the desk, staring at Brendon levelly. Brendon couldn’t look away. [i]I gave you one rule, Brendon.[/i] A stupid rule. [i]Not to go in my study.[/i] Why? Was Ryan afraid he’d care about all his stupid childhood journals? [i]When I welcome you to the entire house, I expect you to respect[/i] my [i]space.[/i]

Brendon took a few moments to register what Ryan had actually said, because he was too distracted by his face and his voice and his eyes and his curly-at-the-ends hair to actually care what he was saying. But once he realised how imposing and direct he sounded, Brendon swallowed, blinked, looked away, hid a smile that threatened to show at the worst time. [b]”I mean-“[/b] - He glanced away and then back at Ryan nervously, but with the hint of a smirk- [b]”It’s not the entire house if you keep me locked out of two rooms.”[/b] Yeah, two. He knew about the basement. Anyway, Brendon was hardly standing up straight, and Ryan seemed to notice. [i]Sit back down. You’ll fall.[/i] Again, instantly, without even thinking about it, he did, looking at Ryan from under his eyelashes, almost dazed. [b]”Check you out. Top fuckin’ energy,”[/b] Brendon grinned, amused with himself, but also fascinated by this side of Ryan he’d seen hints of but not to this extent. [b]”You’re hot when you’re mad.”[/b]

[i]You wouldn’t have found anything interesting. It’s all just... whatever I saved from my place back in Colorado.[/i] If Brendon had been sober, he would have pressed that pressure point. What was his life like in Colorado? What were Jon and Spencer like? Why did he fucking leave them? Brendon’s two friends didn’t talk about it at all beyond surface level crap he’d heard a thousand times. If Brendon was sober, he’d care and persist, but he wasn’t. So he just brushed it off in his head for sober Brendon to worry about. He watched Ryan scowl at the bottle and looked on, resigned. [i]I don't care what you drink, Brendon. Stop refilling shit with water, though. Just tell me what to replace, Christ.[/i] Eyes widening, Brendon opened his mouth as if to speak but did so before he fully processed what Ryan was implying. Oh. He knew. Brendon wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed he’d been caught or relieved that Ryan didn’t care. Maybe a bit of both. [b]”It’d be my pleasure.”[/b]