There was something off about Brendon. Or just... something off about Ryan when he was around the guy. He'd only basically learned his name thus far, and roundabouts what he could afford, maybe, but still in the short time he'd been on Ryan's doorstep he somehow changed Ryan's countenance drastically. Usually Ryan was distracted, focusing on finding something to live for for the next five minutes, something to keep him invested in whatever the activity at hand was, or maybe trying to come up with alternative ways to make ends meet. On the odd occasion he'd let himself daydream about what his life could be, what he could be doing - what if he'd accepted the audition from those two guys in band club, what if he'd ended up in their band, what if he had his degree, what if, what if, what if. Brendon, though, commanded his attention and all his curiosity, and made him feel a bit more in the moment than normal, made him care a lot less about everything falling apart around him in the background. Maybe just... talking to someone friendly, bizarre but sweet, was touching enough to Ryan who rarely interacted with anyone at all to make him feel different for a few passing moments.

It wasn't an extreme change, or anything, but Ryan was still starved for something, anything that wasn't how he usually felt, so he stayed considerably close to Brendon, subconsciously afraid if he went too far then he'd get away. Fortunately for Ryan, Brendon had given him this omniscient smile, soft and serene, when he dwelled half a second too long on their handshake - like he just. Knew. Ryan supposed he must be easy to read these days; maybe after a lifetime of keeping everything under lock and key, now his feelings were starting to show on his face. He hoped not. He was definitely feeling a [i]lot[/i] of things about someone whose name he learned to properly pronounce five seconds ago. While he followed Brendon into the apartment he was almost concerned for his judgment, wondering what he thought of it all, whether it was up to standard. Weird, he didn't even give a fuck what the landlord thought, usually. He didn't have the time or energy to care. Now, though... somehow different.

He kept it clean, a force of habit. Even if two jobs could consume up to fifteen hours of his day he still found time to tidy up. While he sometimes left belongings strewn around for convenience there was still no dirt or dust to be seen, cleaner than it was when he'd moved in, and every light remained bright and unflickering once he learned to keep them fixed up. His meager amount of furniture was arranged in a way that made the place look at least mostly inhabitable - his 'dining table' matched the cabinets of the kitchenette, his futon, dragged out of his father's house, remained the same as it looked the first time he built it from the box, the box television he'd found on the curb a year back had been fixed up to the best of his ability, the coffee table free of mug rings and adorned with newspapers only slightly out of date. There was no point in maintaining it, he knew; he was leaving soon, anyway. In the back of his mind he knew he should keep his exit as not-messy as possible, make it easier for whoever had to pick up the pieces. As little marks left on the world as possible. He hadn't made much of a dent yet, anyway.

And maybe since that was his plan, he should be sparing Brendon, but. He could always just move to his father's shortly beforehand, whatever. He could work out the details when he actually [i]had[/i] a confirmed roommate. If he was becoming easy to read, Ryan hoped none of this was too painfully obvious. [i]Where do you work?[/i] Ryan paused, not super excited to admit he wasn't doing anything truly important at all for the world, but. Whatever. Brendon was evidently still emitting that weird calming effect. He didn't dwell long. [b]"Mornings, I work in this book shop in the city. Customer service. At night I wait tables. It's all very glamorous."[/b] He didn't mention how his tip rate had steadily dropped since he lost the will to smile all sweet for people. When he wasn't guaranteed even, like, four dollars, it was hard to muster all of that up. Even now Ryan had to remember to wear at least a pleasant, neutral smile, instead of letting his face rest in some brooding flatline. (Brendon, he noticed, had mastered that pleasant neutral smile, and he wasn't exactly surprised).

[i]Don’t worry, I’ll have enough money to help with that.[/i] Ryan considered him seriously for a moment, vaguely confused- why would he take that stress upon himself? Ryan hadn't really asked... although he was planning on maybe asking for a deposit, at most. He searched his face - perfectly crafted, the fucker - for the punchline. Nothing. [b]"You really don't... have to... It's my debt, you know? Don't worry about it."[/b] A rare occasion, Ryan felt something frantic in his chest, couldn't put a name to it. He had a personal deadline aside from the eviction notice, and here it was, speeding closer. If he took Brendon's money it'd be like he was tossing it in the trash - in fact anything he took from anyone would be a waste now. [i]Just tell me how much you need.[/i] What could only be loosely described as panic surged then faded a little the longer he looked at Brendon, taken aback by his generosity. He tried to take it casually rather than outright deny his help or accept it. [b]"Uh, well - let's not get ahead of ourselves, just... make sure you even want to live here first, yeah?"[/b] He smiled, forced, trying to joke around and failing for the most part. Honestly. Couldn't take anything gracefully.

When Ryan sat across from him he noticed, with even less surprise because now this was becoming slightly predictable, how much Brendon contrasted with the rest of the place. Sure, he could keep it as clean as he wanted, as neat and orderly as ever, but everything would stay subpar and dingy and slightly off - Brendon, however, floated through the apartment with ease, took a seat at a rickety chair with one slightly shorter leg than the others and didn't even seem to be off-balance. Practiced, poised, all of that. Maybe he came from a rich family and that's why he was so ready to take someone else's debt. More importantly something in his neutral expression was comforting, naïve, and after Ryan became bored of his keys he let his gaze rest on his face, forgetting that there was something of a time limit to eye contact (face contact?) and simply watching him for some time. 
 
Ryan cut him off before he got into answering, too afraid of being a bad host, and Brendon seemed amused by his limited options. Maybe just him in general. Ryan sat back, an eyebrow quirked barely, wondering whether to be offended - but it was hard to be when Brendon regarded him so earnestly, openly. [i]No, Ry, I think I’m okay.[/i] Ry? Were they there yet? Ryan paused, smirked. [b]"Suit yourself, Bren,"[/b] he returned easily, smiling genuinely for the first time in some time. [i]Uh, I- model. Yeah.[/i] Ryan raised one shoulder. [b]"I could've guessed. Considering you look like that, it must be a reliable income, so. Fine by me."[/b] It was barely even delivered like a compliment or flattery. Just plain truth. He waited, wondering if that was the end to the story, then leaned forward on his elbows. [b]"That's all? No backstory? Where were you before Vegas? Do you do anything else besides modelling - any hobbies?"[/b] Ryan wasn't sure how else to go about ensuring your new roommate wasn't some kind of crazy runaway inmate, whatever, and Brendon definitely wasn't [i]that[/i] but he was definitely odd.