Ryan could tell that Brendon was controlling himself beyond belief, knew that every glance sent his way was judgmental and every tone he picked was careful, his words calculated when he wasn't just throwing them out there without regard. He knew it wasn't from anything like sympathy, because he'd sort of seen that before from Brendon; this was probably just him confused by the circumstances, and, in fairness, Ryan was deeply confused, too. For Brendon he still didn't know why Ryan was [i]there,[/i] had deigned him an escape route over everything else, was still here after their confrontations. For Ryan it was about the same, and then more, like why he hadn't yet scratched Brendon's eyes out. He hoped whatever personality changes came from drinking weren't, like, revealing of someone's true intentions, because if so, his true attitude towards Brendon was radically different than he'd thought.

Instead of continuing on his personal tangent, Ryan excused his being there once and for all instead of dancing around the subject - and Brendon instantly didn't seem to appreciate it. [i]Oh, it wasn’t just me, was it?[/i] Ryan was prepared to be dismissive again, even quirking the corner of his mouth in the first start of an effort to make some joke about it, but then Brendon was actually standing, moving with surety towards him. Ryan barely had time to register it before his wrist was in a vice and he was shoved backwards - definitely not good for his situation, and he felt a vague sense of panic about falling right over, but Brendon's apparent newfound strength kept him up. He nearly held onto Brendon in counterpoint to keep himself steady but was too stubborn about the matter, preferring instead to stumble dangerously along with Brendon as a ruthless guide. [i]Not [/i]just [i]me, huh?[/i] Suddenly this wasn't really funny anymore. An extremely rare occasion, Ryan was actually slightly intimidated, trying desperately to hide it from showing in his expression - so much so, he didn't have an answer for that. [b]"Don't fucking touch me,"[/b] he tried, tugging his wrist a little although he knew full well Brendon was the source of all his balance for the time being, and his voice was barely reliable for any venom.

[i]You’re a fucking joke. You can’t fly across the country like some lovesick dumbass and then turn on my doorstep, complaining about your girlfriend. 'Oh, Brendon, my girlfriend doesn’t even know me.'[/i] Ryan was backed against the wall, too close for comfort, and he felt this weird surge of anger mixed with the choking feeling of tears, but he definitely wasn't about to [i]cry,[/i] god forbid. It was more from frustration - the more he desperately wanted to leave, the more impossible it seemed, and he'd gotten himself in this situation in the first place. And he was frustrated with himself for shorting the patience Brendon had allotted him; although just a little, it was still revolutionary for them. Had he been even slightly appreciative or shown it genuinely, maybe this wouldn't be happening, maybe he wouldn't be cornered and spoken to so harshly. Sure, he was pretty used to it, it happened every week with them at least, but. He didn't want to deal with it tonight.

 [i]'Oh, Brendon, what should I do, I’m so pathetic that I can’t even talk to her.' I tell you what I fucking think, try to at least make you stop being pathetic on my hotel room couch, and you turn around and tell me you came here because of the [/i]show. [i]You’re a lot of things, dickhead, but you’ve never been a good liar. So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?[/i] Ryan swore his heartbeat was audible. He'd never felt like he'd genuinely been knocked down a rung by Brendon, but now, where he felt an actual edge of panic to the overtone of hatred and was rendered entirely speechless... it was very new. He had no answer for him and even if he did, he probably couldn't get through it with a steady voice, so he stayed silent, staring with almost-wide eyes back at Brendon until he finally let up, turning away from him and swearing. The irritation in his tone said enough; Ryan didn't chase him to get back at him - partially to avoid more fighting, partially to stay standing at all - just pressed closer to the wall to maintain balance, shutting his eyes and jumping slightly at the sound of the fridge door slamming.

Intimidation was one thing, but he was still Brendon's equal when it came to angry shouting matches, so he was, of course, pissed right back at him. Just without the same level of clear-mindedness to honor him with real responses. And he'd never been quite [i]this[/i] drunk around Brendon, so it all felt different, the warmfuzzy that [i]should[/i] come along with drunkenness only serving to assuage his usual hotheadedness. Where he might usually be screaming at Brendon right now, he was focusing his energy on staying standing, maybe drifting towards the door in a belated effort to escape. [i]You’re a real fucking piece of work. I let you in my hotel room, I dare say give you [/i]advice, [i]and you can’t even properly thank me.[/i] What did that matter, Ryan thought, keeping his eyes on the prize of getting to the goddamn door, until Brendon intercepted his route, fingers curled in his shirt unrelentingly. Shit. Was it really that big a deal, he'd [i]tried,[/i] that was as good as thanks got with them.

Ryan almost argued as much, bringing his gaze back in an impatient glare to Brendon and preparing to try and fight back after being quiet so long, but suddenly they were very close, and Ryan blinked rapidly, recalibrating. [i]What do I have to do to make you thank me, huh?[/i] Usually it was Ryan in that position, talking down to him, mostly just because he got to that angry level first. And now. It felt... too weird. He definitely felt something other than affronted, aggravated, and he wasn't sure how to take it, how to react. Ryan's eyes flickered around his face uncertainly, his chin lowering slightly from the confrontational angle it'd taken, and he wasn't even [i]trying[/i] to think of something to say. [i]Is this what you want, birthday boy? Is this why you’re here?[/i] Ryan willed him to get his hand out of his shirt and away from his chest lest he feel his ridiculous heartbeat, but. It didn't really matter because Ryan broke character first, barely waited for him to finish his interrogation before he leaned to close the tiny gap between them, his hand raising from his side like he planned on hitting him or [i]something[/i] until instead it curled around the back of Brendon's neck and suddenly he was kissing him.

And he was trying stupidly, desperately, to tilt Brendon's head back until there was easier access to slip his tongue into his mouth, when it occurred to him exactly what was happening, and Ryan flattened against the wall again, bracing because he had nowhere else to go. He paused, the image of panic, and he could shut up and look like an idiot or try to regain some dignity [i]somehow[/i] if only he said something. Anything, really. He hesitated a little longer before wrapping his hand around Brendon's, trying to tug it away from his shirt. [b]"Fuck this. I'm leaving, alright? Like you want. Unless you want to give me more shit, then by all means, prolong your misery. I can't stand you, either."[/b]