Brendon had, in a sense, always known that he would be successful in some way. It was just a feeling he had, a vitality- not in that he ever particularly wanted to be famous, but he knew he was going to be someone, do something worthwhile, that would be remembered. It had been difficult to convince himself at first, while he was en route to becoming a cosmetologist and working at smoothie bars and balancing his relationship with his Mormon family and his lust for an alternative lifestyle, but everything changed when he was invited into some juvenile band amongst three other kids his age, all of them in it for different reasons. Spencer, he just went along because he enjoyed playing the drums almost as much as he enjoyed spending time with his best friend; Brendon had been invited along and he’d always had a talent for anything and everything to do with music, having self-taught himself how to play several instruments already, so he was on board before he was even affirmed into the band; Brent was there because he had nothing better to do with his time and Ryan, well, Ryan just needed an outlet for everything he had to say but couldn’t say aloud. It shouldn’t have worked- Spencer and Ryan were childhood friends, sure, but Brent and Brendon turned up almost out of the blue. Brendon just happened to have the skills on hand to step into Ryan’s unsteady, uncomfortable shoes (he was never meant to he some kind of charismatic frontman).

After some drama with Brent, Jon turned up- Jon, the chillest guy that Brendon had ever met (Ryan was too high-strung, and Spencer had some kind of quiet unrest about him), and to that day the only one who really ever talked about the existence of the two albums they made together in their youth. Brendon did sometimes yearn to get back into contact with Jon- Spencer remained a close friend throughout the years, Ryan was a complete no-go- and it turned out he was given this opportunity sooner than he thought, though maybe ten years down the line from the split wasn’t exactly soon. Brendon had just been under the impression that he’d never see him again, because of how busy Brendon was, and they’d just. Drifted. It was difficult to connect after so long a silence- but Jon managed, god bless Jon Walker, he convinced Brendon to come down and see him and though at first he was doubtful and fully convinced that this would all be an awful idea; it would be too awkward and uncomfortable, there would be some kind of bitterness between them over the staggering differences in success, but then, Brendon realised. It was Jon, the easy-going one, Jon only had well wishes for Brendon. More than he could say for other ex-band members.

Though maybe Brendon would be eating his words, because he arrived at the venue, which was all purple and silver and splashed with stars, small and cluttered and homely but also fascinatingly ethereal and otherworldly, Jon was nowhere to be found and Brendon had to hang at the back awkwardly as he searched the crowd for a familiar face. Or unfamiliar. Though he couldn’t imagine that Jon would have changed much- a decade was a long time, sure, but they’d run into eachother a good few times earlier on, and as long as he had known and loved Jon Walker the only recurring difference was the cycle of beard/no beard. Other than that, he was instantly recognisable and comfortingly familiar. Or, he would be- if Brendon could fucking [i]find him.[/i] It didn’t help that Brendon was a less than average 5’9; he couldn’t even see over some of the kid’s heads and he wasn’t willing to stand on his tiptoes and lose any dignity just to find his bastard of a supposed friend who had decided to drag him all the way here and not even turn up to greet him. Despite himself, he was smiling almost affectionately. 

Luckily for Brendon, Jon did eventually make an appearance  by his side, not saying a word but smiling at him almost knowingly and bumping their shoulders together, turning Brendon’s body with his as if trying to direct his attention to the stage. Reluctant, Brendon blinked at him- as much as Z or whatever was killing it up there, he’d much rather catch up with an old friend than stand around listening to love songs he didn’t relate to. He almost spoke up, but Jon wasn’t having it, and anyway, there were people in the crowd murmuring, and he caught fractures of sentences, mostly excited utterings of his name under excited breaths, and Brendon realised he was being recognised. It was astonishing- there probably wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t know who he was. Maybe it was something to do with Jon, who had been tagged on to Brendon’s life for over a decade and still didn’t seem to mind. Either way, Brendon shrunk away from the growing attention, shy in a place where he felt very alone aside from Jon’s reassuring presence beside him. He clicked his tongue and looked up to the stage, deciding that this probably wasn’t going to be a particularly long show and he and Jon could talk properly afterwards.

He wished he’d gone with his gut and left the venue before fan attention became too much to control, because when he looked up, staring right at him was a certain Ryan Ready, and Brendon felt his throat start to close up, anxiety start to set in, a cocktail of emotions like recognition and anger and sadness and shock swimming around his head and crossing his face in seconds. He wondered whether Ryan could see his reaction in the dim mood lighting- he hoped to god that he didn’t, Brendon didn’t want him to see him vulnerable, he needed to control his emotions before this became too much. It wasn’t even that big a deal, it’s just [i]Ryan[/i], just an old bandmate, just like Jon except this one had broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces without pausing to give a proper goodbye, this one was beautiful and boyish and Brendon felt his heart ache with a unfamiliar yet nostalgic agony, like a mixture of the anguish he felt when Ryan attempted a very messy version of a ‘clean break’ and the moment when Ryan proposed, earnest and nervous and gorgeous and Brendon was there, his breath knocked out of him. This sensation was bittersweet- there was his [i]ex-[/i]lover, the bastard who brought him all the way up then let him crash and burn all the way down, he ought to storm out, yell at Jon, never look at Ryan’s face again; but there was his ex-[i]lover,[/i] his ex-[i]fiance,[/i] and he looked so beautiful in the light and Brendon was transfixed, a deer caught in headlights, though he was shrinking again from all the attention.

Brendon finally remembered to breathe, exhaling an unsteady breath, and he closed and opened his eyes just in time to catch Ryan’s tentative smile, and how dare he, fuck him, Brendon wanted out. But, again, he couldn’t motivate himself to get the fuck out of there, so he just stood, tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, right next to Jon, and watched as Ryan and Z started to play. It was a familiar sight, and a familiar voice- but Brendon was shocked by how much more refined it was, how smooth and gentle compared to a rougher tone that Brendon grew to know all those years ago. For a moment, he was so astounded by his vocal performance that he barely heard the lyrics until he actively listened. It sounded like a love song. [i]Since we met I sit around and want you...[/i] It was a love song, from the Young Veins record, Brendon recognised it because he had listened to Ryan’s music when nobody else could see, tried to dissect them and find secret messages to him in the words. But these words were clearly meant for somebody else. 

[i]I don’t do the things I oughta do; I’m so in love I let the world go by me.[/i] It was a love letter to someone else. And yet, Ryan kept looking at him, and Brendon lowered his gaze every time, before it was inevitably drawn back. [i]Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but you...[/i] Brendon looked down at his hands for the rest of the song, didn’t see Ryan leave the stage, didn’t notice Jon mysteriously leave his side like some kind of omniscient phantom, he just wrung his hands together, terse and anxious and he needed to leave and get drunk or do something to make him forget tonight. He stayed still for a few more beats before he moved to turn around, but then he felt a light brush at the back of his arm. Expecting a fan, he composed himself as much as possible and turned around with as bright a smile as he could muster, one that immediately faltered when he realised that the one trying to get his attention was [i]Ryan.[/i] He really thought Brendon wanted to talk to him, even after all this time? [i]Brendon.[/i] Okay, yeah, he did. Brendon met Ryan’s eyes searchingly but said nothing. [i]It’s great to see you, man. I would’ve never thought I’d see you here.[/i] Sneering internally, the muscles of his jaw stiffened- was it really great to see him, Brendon thought that was a lie- and he forced a small smile. [b]”I didn’t know you’d be here either.”[/b]

[i]Thank God for Jon Walker, right?[/i] Offering only a shrug, he turned mechanically to search for Jon to save him from this situation, but that fucker had upped and left and Brendon was now alone with the one person he wanted to kill and embrace with equal ferocity. [b]”I’d say he’s a bit of a liar, really,”[/b] He muttered, biting his lip, a nervous habit, and tentatively looked Ryan up and down if only to survey if anything had changed. He seemed taller, but he probably wasn’t. He certainly looked handsome, less in a boyish way after all these years. He didn’t look like a liar- but he was, and Brendon didn’t trust his nervous smile. [i]Hey, listen, do you want to come backstage?[/i] Alarm bells went off in Brendon’s head and he ran a hand shakily through his hair. What was he supposed to say to this? He was conflicted before he even thought about it; here was an opportunity, to talk to one of his oldest and formerly best friends, to repair a broken relationship- or to go off the rails at him and tell him about every agony he had put Brendon through, detailing every individual piece of his shattered heart. The latter looked much more appealing during the initial stages of anger and shock, but he allowed himself some time. [i]Get over yourself, Brendon. It’s been a decade. Don’t ruin it.[/i]

Brendon blinked, relaxed his jaw and his hands and his shoulders with a steady exhale, and offered Ryan the smallest of side-smiles, the corner of his mouth curving up and wavering. [b]”Uh, yeah, sure.”[/b]