Twenty-one was a weird age. The supposed drinking age when really you've probably been drinking for years already, the age where you should maybe sort of have your shit together but it's fine if your credit is shit and you live with roommates, the age where you still have nightmares of being late for first hour before waking up in a cold sweat realizing you aren't in high school anymore. Anyway, now that was Ryan's age, and he was trying to measure his life thus far up to it. He'd drank (and smoked, for that matter, more than just cigarettes, and tripped and gone on benders), he was definitely more rich than any twenty-one year old needed to be yet still unfulfilled by the work he'd put out to earn that wealth, and high school was far behind him. In fact, Ryan felt fucking fifty. He wasn't necessarily unhappy, but there was a lot going on that he'd rather not be; he'd rather have a different life on his twenty-first. Then again, surely nearly everyone did. He wasn't special.

And his biggest issues were probably nothing to other people. He'd lost the last parent he had contact with in the summer of last year, he wasn't totally sure where he stood with his girlfriend he'd had for nearly that amount of time, and he fucking hated his band's frontman. Well. He said that, they both said that, but really they both also knew that there was more subtext there than either of them wanted to address. Still - that was just another shitty thing he didn't want to still have happening by the time he was twenty-one. Maybe his gift to himself could just be kicking Brendon out of the band, whatever, but considering he still missed the kid whenever they were apart, that probably wouldn't bode so well. He'd spend probably twenty minutes rejoicing in the newfound quiet... then sulk about it until they could somehow win Brendon back over. So maybe Brendon was his biggest issue. Ironic, in that he was 5'9 on a good day and maybe 130 soaking wet.

Anyway. Apparently celebration was in order. Ryan wasn't sure that it was all for him - he didn't enjoy any of it. Nothing from Keltie, that is, and she was the only one who'd gotten to him yet; really, a photoshoot? Ryan could barely look in the mirror half the time. A series of photos of him, even if it included someone he considered objectively a hundred times more beautiful than was reasonable to date him, was definitely not something he'd ever wish for on his birthday. Ever. And then, hours later, he was brought down to some club in NYC, playing excited about it the whole way there, letting his face fall flat when no one was looking. Inside the walls were decorated with more teen-years pictures, there were people wearing shirts with equally unflattering images on them, even his cake was the same; and then Keltie was prancing around with her friends in clothes that barely qualified as that.

It wasn't just that he didn't like the party, really. He could deal with a shitty party, he had before. But the fact that Keltie threw it, and honest to god thought he'd like it - they'd been together nearly a year, and he switched between thinking they were just temporary to thinking that they were meant to be together forever, but mostly he thought he was pretty good at consistently showing her that he loved her and knew her to the core. This was just another bead on a string of signals that she had no idea who he was or what he cared about - granted, both of them were tearing what had even started out as a rocky relationship apart, but lately it'd been her mistakes that were pushing him towards the edge. He didn't want to be there. He smiled for a few pictures, maybe got caught with his true emotions on his face in some of them (and prayed none of those would find their way to social media), and started trying to find a way out not even two hours into his own birthday party.

She invited Spencer, because she knew him, knew they were childhood friends. Of course. That was easy. Jon, though, somehow slipped under the radar, and Ryan didn't even have a clue where he was - he'd called and wished Ryan happy birthday earlier that day, clearly not wanting to spoil the birthday surprise that he must have assumed he wasn't invited to because Ryan didn't mention him enough or something, and now Ryan couldn't for the life of him find Jon. Brendon, though. He knew if Brendon got an invite he must have turned it right the fuck down, and he knew he was home because the asshole posted on some form of social media every twenty minutes. That became Ryan's excuse: he didn't miss Brendon, he didn't wish he was here, Brendon was just the only one available to run away to. And, well. Ryan would go be alone instead of any of this if he didn't... miss Brendon. Had he not indulged in twenty-first birthday festivities and had a few drinks already, he probably would have convinced himself not to go to him, too.

Five or more drinks in, though, Ryan couldn't stop thinking about how bad the future (and the present, and the past) of his relationship looked, and about all of the sporadic moments where he forgot how much he hated or wanted to hate Brendon, all of the moments where he wished there weren't unwritten boundaries between them, all of the moments where one of them accidentally became vulnerable and suddenly they weren't at each other's throats with a vengeance. Namely, he couldn't stop thinking about Brendon. So much so that he found himself making some lame excuse of 'I'm going to the bar,' and instead heading to the door, straight out of the club, out of New York City, all the way to Brendon's in Seattle where they were meant to play a show later. He did have the decency to warn Brendon about it first: I'm coming over, unlock your door, which was about as friendly as it could possibly get in his texts to Brendon. He made a point not to check his phone after that. If Brendon was telling him to fuck off, he didn't want to see it - hell, if Brendon was telling him he wasn't home or wasn't going to be home, he'd rather just risk it. Anywhere but that party.

A couple of hours after initially making the decision to get the hell out of there, Ryan ended up at his door, cursing himself for not bringing a coat because the hotel was far and he was always cold anyway. He stood there for a handful of seconds, thinking that this is stupid, what was he thinking, Brendon's not even going to want him here and he'll probably just be an asshole right back at him anyway, and then he was knocking on the door because he didn't really care. He hadn't seen him in a couple days already, fuck it, he missed him, hated him but needed him around regardless. When the door opened he didn't even bother standing around waiting to be invited in; Ryan ducked into the narrow gap between Brendon and the doorframe, looking around the room resignedly. "Hey, what's up, is this the hotel bar," he mumbled, distracted, already rooting around in the minifridge for tiny shot-sized bottles of alcohol. He came up again with multiple necks between his fingers, looking triumphant. "I'll reimburse you." He fell back onto a hotel couch, letting the bottles clatter between himself and the back cushion, long legs strewn everywhere, and started opening a tiny Grey Goose. "So, what does the famed Brendon Blake get up to on a Thursday night." Clearly he wasn't intent on addressing the whole 'ditching my birthday in the middle of the night' thing.

Brendon wasn’t 21 yet, but it wasn’t like he didn’t drink as much, if not more than his older friends- he thought the whole thing was stupid, because who really waited until their 21st birthday party to drink for the first time? Obviously, though, Ryan’s birthday party was at a 21+ venue, and since Brendon was only 20, he wouldn’t be allowed in even if he wanted to go. Luckily for him, he definitely didn’t. Sure, he was the frontman of the band that Ryan was in- they probably spent more time together and Ryan did with his girlfriend (definitely not out of choice)- and ideally, they’d be very close friends, but no, Ryan hated Brendon’s guts and Brendon hated his right back. He was an entitled, pretentious, demanding, over-critical, self-pitying, stubborn asshole, and Brendon was at the petty point that just hearing Ryan breathe set him off. He imagined Ryan had some choice adjectives about him, too; Brendon had literally knocked him down a tier in a band that he started, but hey. Brendon’s answer to that was ‘get better at singing, then’. Ryan could sing, but- Brendon’s voice was much more powerful and his range was astounding. In short, he was the stronger choice, and Ryan hated that because it wasn’t like he could really argue, no matter how much he tried to find fault with his notes.

That was one of Ryan’s issues. Brendon was amazingly, undeniably talented, and even the filter that was hatred that made everything Brendon did a hundred times worse still left Ryan jealous of his multi-instrumental prowess and his incredible vocal talent. Brendon’s issue with him was that he couldn’t even admit it. Brendon was under the impression at first that Ryan just wanted to see the band succeed- which would mean falling into place as lead guitarist and lyricist and allow Brendon the freedom to embrace the role as a frontman, a job that Ryan despised anyway- but now he thought that he just wanted to see Brendon fail, and was critical at every turn, shut down his ideas and threatened to, like, kick him out, even though he was now a major key in keeping the band successful and relevant. The appreciation for Ryan’s voice, still a little rough around the edges, was relatively niche, but now it was a novelty, a bonus, whenever it turned up in live performances. Spencer and Jon had even negotiated that Ryan take backing vocal duties on future records. Brendon wasn’t happy with that- he was wary that Ryan was shouldering in and trying to toss him to the curb, like some kind of bizarre Shakespearean power struggle- but he accepted it. Maybe it would get Ryan off his back for two seconds.

But it didn’t. Even when Brendon wasn’t around, Ryan was asking where he was, presumably so he could rock up and ruin his day. It was the same the other way round. Brendon hated it when he was around, but hated it when he wasn’t there, either- he missed him, and it drove him crazy, because he didn’t know why. Sure, there was all of that tense subtext, but that alone didn’t equate to Brendon actually missing his presence. Maybe it was just odd to have him not around, because they were together so often. Not as often as they used to be- Ryan’s girlfriend of a year or so took up most of his free time- but still, it was an odd feeling, simultaneously detesting a person and feeling lost when they weren’t around. It didn’t make sense and Brendon didn’t try to make sense of it. He just ignored it, excused his constant enquiries about Ryan’s location, and got on with it. He’d put up with it all for a long time, and it was apparent that nothing was going to change any time soon- even, now, the presence of Keltie, who initially Brendon thought was a temporary thing, and he was proven wrong. Which was embarrassing. Brendon still stood by the whole ‘Ryan hasn’t a hetero bone in his body’ thing.

Besides sexuality, Brendon just thought Keltie was a little... Much. She seemed sweet, but Brendon watched their relationship turn sour in real time, even if only subtly. Speaking of Keltie, she was the one who tasked herself with throwing Ryan a birthday party- and Brendon was out before anyone could tell him he wasn’t even invited. He saw it all over social media, though, when the night came around, and spent most of th night vagueing about it, laughing at all the pictures of Ryan, and posting every twenty minutes about what he was doing (watching TV and eating takeout). He kind of wished he’d snuck into the party, now, because the whole theme was embarassing Ryan, which sounded like his own personal heaven. That was okay for an enemy to think, but a girlfriend? Brendon wasn’t sure why he even cared, but thinking about it, did Keltie even know Ryan at all? She looked at him like a weird zoo animal, fascinated but not understanding, like he wasn’t her boyfriend but a novelty for her to parade around. Yeah, okay, Brendon was observant. And he knew enough about Ryan that he could see the absolute horror on his face in some photos, and clearly it wasn’t a great night for him. Brendon relished that idea. It was the least he deserved.

So, once he got bored of watching for updates about Ryan’s birthday party across the country, he raided the minifridge for a few snacks and those mini bottles of alcohol, downing a couple pretty quickly and breaking into a bag of skittles. He was on the hotel couch, wearing pyjama pants and no shirt. He’d grown a stubble- mostly out of not bothering to clean shave. His hair, though, had been cut a little shorter, styled more than usual, even if at the moment he was sporting a semi-bedhead, locks falling into his eyes. He had a bag of skittles nestled in his arm and a few tiny, empty bottles lined up on the coffee table. His phone was charging in the corner, on silent, and the TV was on, some eighties music channel that Brendon was half paying attention to; It was late, his plan was to pass out watching it. His night was already planned out- and the last thing he expected was a knock on his hotel room door. Cleaners? At this time of night? Sighing, he unfolded his body from the couch and crossed the room to the door, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair and pulling the door open, hanging onto the doorframe.

Hey, what’s up, is this the hotel bar? What- what. Brendon blinked, blinked again. Was he hallucinating? He did a double take, a triple take, went for a fourth look, but Ryan was already weaving around him to get into his hotel room. Brendon turned around, baffled, shut the door behind him, taking a moment before he finally realised that Ryan fucking Ready was in his hotel room. The same Ryan Ready who was supposed to be at his birthday party right now, in New York. Brendon leaned against the door, almost not knowing how to react, and then he followed Ryan, lost for words. I’ll reimburse you. Brendon frowned when he saw the bottles Ryan had in his hands. ”You fucking better, what the fuck are you-” So, what does the famed Brendon Blake get up to on a Thursday night? Brendon was still coming to terms with this as Ryan collapsed onto the sofa. It took him a moment to formulate a sentence. ”...What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room on a Thursday night when you’re supposed to be at your birthday party? In New York?” Brendon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair and then crossing his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed. But then a smirk crept up to his lips. ”Did you fly across the country to see me instead of your girlfriend?” A pause. ”Fuckin’ loser. Does she know you’re here?”

Had Ryan actually thought this through, he'd realize that presenting himself for Brendon to make fun of after undoubtedly being given so much fodder was a bad idea. To be fair he hadn't actually seen any of the pictures or other documentation of how awful his party was... other than a small glimpse of the photoshoot Keltie had taken the liberty of posting everywhere she could. That was just the start of things Brendon could laugh at, though. The teen pictures he'd semi-successfully kept from his friends' camera rolls (except for maybe Spencer, but he wasn't malicious enough to bring them up), the fact that Keltie apparently thought he'd love some sort of skimpy Rockettes visit (an easy door for another 'not-a-hetero-bone-in-his-body' comment, probably), or even the ultimate tragedy of the night: a summation of how genuinely awful his long-term relationship was, how much time and energy he'd wasted on something so clearly incompatible.

But he didn't think it through, and now he was going to him like a magnet, attracted over hundreds of miles. Last year when Ryan learned his father was terminal Brendon had become so uncharacteristically sweet, probably just unsettled by the way Ryan couldn't bite back as hard or as often, how his expression and general body language had changed, whatever. No matter the case, he'd been so nice, and Ryan had never been the target for Brendon's kindness in the same way Brendon had never been on the receiving end of his. Once he was moving past the heaviest burden of grief, he realized what had been going on - and he liked it. The tiniest sample of them actually being friends and close was something he genuinely wished he could have. But of course this was a passing dream, one that lasted for seconds whenever it came back to him.

Now was one of the times, sort of; he felt so shitty he just wanted them to be civil to one another, or if he couldn't have that he'd rather hold the upper hand whenever they were at each other's throats (because apparently that was his limit... either he could acceptably be relatively all right with Brendon or he could be absolutely extinguishing his confidence). A tiny part of him was aware that he wanted Brendon to be nice to him, to wish him a happy birthday, to pretend he'd have wanted to be there, to tell him he'd missed him the same way Ryan had missed him. Scarily he registered that in this state he wanted things from Brendon that were less friendship-oriented and more like something one may want from a boyfriend, and he was quick to wash away that mindset. The thought alone was horrifying. Ish. Maybe a little bit tempting. Not that he'd ever admit it, or let himself think of it longer to exist as anything but an intrusive thought.

When he got to Brendon's, he answered the door shirtless and stubbly and messy-haired, and after so much tight-spaced band time together he had seen that and was fairly used to it, but still. He couldn't look at him long or he'd risk something showing through his expression, probably, something embarrassing, so he ducked through the doorway smoothly as soon as he could, shutting his eyes tight and pretending he was welcome. Brendon looked confused, not angry yet, and Ryan prayed silently don't make me go don't make me go, all the while feigning total confidence in his being ghere by welcoming himself to Brendon's hotel amenities. As many of them as he could hold, actually. Judging by a quick look around the room, it seemed like Brendon had already broken into the alcohol. He definitely wasn't twenty-one. Lucky fucker gets a room paid for by the record and gets everything he'd normally have to wait a year for.

You fucking better, what the fuck are you- Characteristically, Ryan cut him off before he could scold him more, already breaking into a tiny vodka. Meanwhile, Brendon was evidently calibrating to the situation still, genuinely baffled by Ryan appearing here. Maybe he hadn't gotten the text, then, or just didn't believe it. Either was plausible - he could've definitely set Ryan to 'no notifications,' and if he had them, it wasn't feasible that Ryan would ever go out of his way to see him. But here he was. ...What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room on a Thursday night when you’re supposed to be at your birthday party? In New York? Ryan looked at him through narrowed eyes, wanting desperately to talk about how it felt to be at that place where he didn't even know anyone, how he felt now in general, but that wasn't their relationship. Instead, he set aside the now-empty vodka, moving on to a tiny rum bottle.

Brendon looked resigned for a moment, then smug, and Ryan was torn between wanting to wipe the fucking smirk off his face and thinking he had such an endearing side-smile. Weird. Did you fly across the country to see me instead of your girlfriend? Empty rum. He set it aside, moved on to a second bottle of the same. Pointedly, he looked rather pissed that he couldn't come up with another excuse than that. Whatever; he wouldn't have wanted to keep up a lie all night anyway. Fuckin’ loser. Does she know you’re here? "Fuck you," he burst out immediately, sitting up and pulling his legs up to sit criss-cross on the couch. "Fuck you, okay? All you ever do is whine about Keltie. Maybe it's not your fucking business." Ryan's third shot unsteadily landed on the coffee table next to the slowly forming line, and he paused for a long moment, forcing himself to look away from Brendon. God, he wished they were different people.

Ryan started to talk then stopped in the same second, hesitating a little while longer. Suddenly the anger dissipated from his face, not totally but mostly, and was replaced with something closer to despondency, an actual frown threatening. "A year, and she has no idea who I am," he said quietly, melancholy. "I should have broken up with her so long ago." He hugged his arms around his legs, feeling the room move around him and knowing he probably should have let his last drink be in NYC. Fuck. He glanced at Brendon, feeling a twinge of mortification that certainly paled in comparison to what he might have felt sober, then quickly looked back at the floor. Whatever Brendon was thinking, it was probably already not so good, he'd probably already lost any semblance of an upper hand. So fuck it. "I feel like shit."

Brendon had seen glimpses of undoubtedly mortifying photos of Ryan posted everywhere in the background, on the walls, on people’s shirts, and he only wished he was there to mock him. He’d have a field day with all the ammo provided at Ryan’s hellish birthday party; and though he knew Ryan was probably having a shitty time anyway, he didn’t much care. It had gotten to a point in their more than dysfunctional relationship (or lack thereof) that neither of them had any mercy anymore, but then similarly neither of them really took anything the other said to heart, because they’d heard every insult under the sun from eachother before. Time hadn’t turned them sweeter, either, like everyone hoped would happen, so life would be easier for everyone else; in fact, they were both so stubborn that he grudges they bore for eachother had only strengthened even as they spent more and more time on the road, every waking moment spent within twenty feet of eachother, much less when they were in the bus. Was Brendon going to wish him happy birthday? Acknowledge it besides making fun of how old he was getting? Of course not. Would Ryan do the same on Brendon’s birthday? Undoubtedly. They’d fallen into loathesome step with eachother, forever wanting to get closer, but when they did, they moved away from eachother in a heartbeat, in some sort of dicey dance routine.

Not to say Brendon hadn’t entertained the idea of them being friends. Familiarity often sweetened a sour taste, and though Brendon would never admit it, he did wonder whether they would get on if Ryan didn’t think Brendon shouldered in without warning on his not even coveted spotlight, and Brendon wasn’t fiery and argumentative and headstrong, more of a speaker than a thinker, always saying the first thing that came to his mind and in the process, fanning the flames of a confrontation up into a malicious inferno. So, though he thought about it fleetingly, their prospects weren’t looking good. He’d entertained it firstly earlier in the year when Ryan’s dad became terminal, when he’d surprised even himself by shutting up when he saw it necessary and even offering slightly awkward but sweet words of support because in his eyes, he might want to throttle Ryan and throw his body off the side of the tour bus most of the time, but nobody deserved to go through what Ryan was going through. He’d even hugged him that one time. He sneered at the thought, now, though he felt a little warm inside at the same time.

So it wasn’t like Brendon was evil. He had a conscience, and he could be observant when he wanted to, so he knew that Ryan would probably be having a shitty time at Keltie’s tone-deaf and completely nonsensical party- and his point was proved when a slightly tipsy Ryan turned up at his hotel room door in Seattle when he was supposed to be in NYC. Understandably, he was stunned- even if they had been close friends, he’d be taken off guard by Ryan flying across the country to see him, but what made this all the more baffling was that they weren’t. They weren’t friends. They weren’t acquaintances, either- they knew too much about eachother for it to be that. They were bandmates, with a strong mutual dislike for eachother, and it was equal parts aggravating and confusing that Ryan would show up on his temporary doorstep in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be across the country, with the rest of his friends, his girlfriend, and at his birthday party. Brendon trailed Ryan over to the couch and stood on the other side of the coffee table, folding his arms across his chest because he suddenly realised he felt a little exposed.

Though still intensely baffled and curious, he was now amused, the full absurdity of the situation realising itself in his mind; Ryan fucking Ready and abandoned his birthday party and his girlfriend of a year in favour of crashing the hotel room and raiding the minifridge of the bandmates across the country that he supposedly hated. More material. Ryan was making it too easy. Fuck you. Brendon blinked, bit his lip, tried not to giggle, because clearly something was up, otherwise Ryan wouldn’t react so animatedly. He watched, clearly judgemental, mock-pitying, as Ryan sat up and crossed his legs. Fuck you, okay? ”You were the one who came here, Ryan,” Brendon interrupted, sounding bored until Ryan became a little more hysterical. All you ever do is whine about Keltie. Brendon raised his eyebrows, clenched his jaw. Like he was the only one. Maybe it’s not your fucking business. Ryan was right, it wasn’t, but did Brendon care? Not much. ”Hey, I haven’t got a problem with Keltie, she seems nice. Bad taste in men,” He mused, seriously trying to control his face to stop himself from smirking as he stared at all the little bottles lined up on the table.

A year, and she has no idea who I am. There was a pause while Brendon processed Ryan’s words, noted the swift change of his tune, and realised that yeah, this was all definitely to do with Keltie. He saw that Ryan was upset, but he didn’t feel any sympathy yet. ”Maybe that’s why she’s still with you,” He suggested helpfully, chipping at his nails as if none of this really mattered much to him. Looking up, though, he figured that sad Ryan would be even more annoying than usual, so he physically strained to try and be actually of assistance, in the driest way possible. ”You’re a dumbass, you know that? She’s always looked at you like you’re some kind of weird zoo animal. You’re her... Objective eye candy. A talking point in her circle.” Harsh, maybe, true, yes. Brendon felt a little bad, now, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe seeing Ryan all vulnerable like this again brought back the sweetness he’d displayed once before. I should’ve broken up with her a long time ago.

Oh. Brendon clicked his tongue, didn’t want to voice his agreement but agreeing with him anyway. He didn’t care, of course he didn’t, not like he actually, you know, worried about him sometimes, but he knew Ryan would be better off without Keltie. Brendon walked around after a moment of hesitation and sat down on the other end of the couch, still examining his hands. He said nothing, just tried to seem a little disinterested. I feel like shit. Brendon eyes the little row of mini bottles and then glanced at Ryan, but said nothing for a moment, before shaking his head.. ”Seriously. What are you even doing here?”

It made exactly zero sense that Ryan should come here, with relatively zero forewarning, close to the middle of the night, so on - and then be an asshole to Brendon. If they had to pick someone, it should be Brendon scaring him off with his frankness, but apparently Ryan's sense of how to treat other human beings totally died out around him. Anyway, it probably didn't matter; Brendon seemed way more confused than he seemed annoyed. Ryan didn't blame him. If he was in Miami and Brendon flew in from D.C. to crash his hotel room, he'd wonder a few things: how come it had to be him he chose to see, why would Brendon abandon all his business for Ryan across the country, how long was he planning on bumming around, so on. Yeah, he could see it from Brendon's point of view, but mostly he didn't care. Let him be confused. Ryan was self-important around him and him alone, so he may as well act as entitled as he wanted while he was here.

He thought he sounded vindictive, even, but then Brendon was clearly trying to suppress a laugh, biting his lip withholdingly. Ryan could practically feel the scrutiny. He set his jaw tight, more pissed by the second. You were the one who came here, Ryan. Brendon had the nerve to sound bored. There was a messy internal conflict following that; Ryan wanted to send him over the edge, make him spiral the way he was himself, watch him lose his shit like he'd seen hundreds of time before, all because he sounded so damn smug about all of this and how dare he be bored when Ryan felt as awful as he did now. Then the other side of the war wanted some kind of comfort, wanted the person he'd basically only ever been an asshole to to be gentle with him, tell him what he had with Keltie wasn't the end of the world and make him believe it. That side was pretty unequipped for battle, though, and had rarely existed as strongly and as frequently as the other, so mostly Ryan was angry.

It seemed like he got close - Brendon's jaw set tight, he could tell from the tensing muscles at the sides of his face, and his eyebrow arched critically. Didn't feel like much of a win, still. Hey, I haven’t got a problem with Keltie, she seems nice. Bad taste in men. Damn. Ryan had already pulled the 'fuck you' card twice, but still it was on the tip of his tongue. Instead he made an exasperated sound, something between a sign and an 'ugh,' and tipped his head back, shoving his hands through his hair and holding them there while he glared at the ceiling. "Hilarious. Dickhead." Yeah, sure, he hadn't been joking, but Ryan could pretend. He nearly went for a sensitive spot, said something like 'if she has bad taste for liking me, then you do, too,' but that came too close to actually talking about whatever weird double-nature relationship they had, and he wasn't ready for the awkwardness behind that. Nor was he ready for whatever accusatory comeback - and a rightly founded one, most likely - Brendon would come up with.

Maybe that’s why she’s still with you. Ryan's gaze shifted slowly, miserably, from the ceiling to Brendon, and he looked at him tiredly for a long moment before rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe." He was off his game. He dropped his hands from his head back to his sides, fingertips digging into the couch cushion. You’re a dumbass, you know that? Was this really the time to be reminding him? Ryan returned his attention to Brendon, suspicious about the sudden change in direction. She’s always looked at you like you’re some kind of weird zoo animal. You’re her... Objective eye candy. A talking point in her circle. The anger in Ryan's face died out and he blinked at Brendon, mulling that over. It was true, and he knew it for a while on some level, just didn't really think about it. He didn't like addressing the way Keltie looked at him like some rare creature any time before, but now at the tipping point it was just another straw on the camel's back.

Ryan shrugged a shoulder, reserved, and let his gaze flicker to the floor again, chewing his lip somewhat anxiously. "I know," he said in a more neutral voice, quieter. They still weren't being nice or even levelling, but the lack of confrontation in his tone was hard to find, so much so it felt almost odd not to be yelling at Brendon for being honest. "I have known, I just -" Ryan paused, hesitant. What was he willing to say in front of Brendon? Again, if he was sober, he probably wouldn't have said a single word about any of it. Now, though, he was on the verge of a tangent and couldn't stop. He scratched his temple self-consciously, pulling his legs closer again while he stared at the floor intently. "It makes you feel important, you know. Less damaged, being idealized like that." And that'd been the case. Somewhere along the way he had fallen even deeper into his destructive self-perception, thinking himself so fucked up and messy that he'd become codependent with Keltie. Honestly, it wasn't good for her either, but the bottom line was that neither of them were innocent here. Anyway this was all very dramatic, and he realized he'd been telling Brendon about it and paled, suddenly deeply uncomfortable when seconds ago he'd waltzed in completely disregarding how unwelcome he was without issue.

But Brendon had mercy, even if it was short-lived, because he was quieter when he sat down on the other end of the couch, having the heart to look disinterested. That was probably an effort to get under Ryan's skin again, but really he'd rather not have Brendon's full undivided attention on him while he was being this sensitive about his shitty relationship. Seriously. What are you even doing here? Ryan ran his hands over his face, then got through another shot, willing the room to spin more on him. He didn't know. He honestly didn't. He'd already run through a series of excuses; 'you were closest,' bullshit; 'no one else was available,' he probably could have found someone who didn't hate him that hadn't been at the party; 'I was going to be in Seattle for the show anyway,' yeah, still didn't explain the ditching the party rather than waiting 'til morning and choosing Brendon's place rather than getting his own room; so forth. The fact he didn't want to bring up: he really did want to see Brendon. Actually, despite the nature of their circumstances, he felt some kind of relief from seeing him again. It made no sense at all. Like hell he was going to say that to Brendon, though.

Ryan started to speak, prepared to improvise entirely, and could only meet Brendon's gaze for a second before he had to look down again. "I don't know. Actually, fuck, I should just - I can go. I don't know what I'm doing here." He nearly even said 'sorry' about it. Jesus, it must be a bad night. Ryan started to stand up, unfolding from what had become his little nook in the corner of the couch, and immediately felt his balance thrown. Feeling the room turning around him and his head swimming, Ryan dropped back down after a second, leaning all the way back against the cushions to stare at the ceiling and struggle to refocus his gaze. "...On second thought, I might not be able to go." Ryan paused, reconsidered the whole apology he'd forced himself to pass up, then finally looked at Brendon again. "I shouldn't've come. I'm... I'm sorry, whatever. I didn't think it through. I just couldn't be there anymore." 'And you came to mind first, because you were on my mind,' yeah, that didn't sound great, so miraculously he controlled his mouth for the time being.

It was so strange, to see Ryan mostly curled up in the corner of his hotel room couch, or as much as he could be with his ridiculously lengthy legs. A few hours ago Brendon had been laughing to himself at all the pictures and videos all over various social medias, and now here was the man of the hour himself, Ryan, clearly still not having a very good night. Brendon could tell he wasn’t enjoying it just from his expressions, when he dropped his guard for a second and the obviously fake smiles became frowns or looks of plain horror. Still, he hadn’t imagined it was this bad- bad enough that he left his own birthday party that his girlfriend of a year had thrown him, caught a flight from NYC to Seattle, all just to see Brendon- presumably. It wasn’t like Ryan didn’t have anybody else who wasn’t at the party. Jon didn’t go, and Brendon was sure Ryan had a other few friends who couldn’t make it who lived in Seattle. The point was, he’d picked Brendon. His supposed arch-nemesis. In fairness, Ryan was more than a little tipsy- maybe the tense flipside of their relationship surfaced as he became more intoxicated, and it just lead him from one impulsive decision for the next that ended up with him at Brendon’s hotel room door.

If Ryan hadn’t ducked through immediately, Brendon liked to think he’d have just turned him away and locked the door in his face, but really, he wasn’t completely heartless, he’d probably grudgingly let the mess of a man crash on the couch. That was probably what was going to happen anyway, unless he was sober enough to leave and find somewhere to stay and actually get there safely. Brendon was almost willing to just tell him curtly he could stay til the morning and turn in to bed, sadly abandoning the skittles he’d left on the table, but not before grilling him about everything, because this series of unlikely events was the most amusing and baffling thing that had happened to him all week. Plus, it would probably lead to future material to use against him. He already had the sturdy skeleton of a possibly frequent mockery in his arsenal; Ryan had left his birthday party and flown across the country to get to him. That was mortifying in itself, especially for Ryan, who claimed to detest Brendon just that much. Honestly, that’s why he was so confused. Though the party was shit, he was there with his friends and his girlfriend- surely even that would be miles better than being alone with the one person he hated more than anyone else.

None of it made sense, and Brendon didn’t care enough yet to do anything more than mock him at every opportunity he was given. Ryan wasn’t exactly making it very difficult, handing Brendon content on a silver platter just by sitting there rather sadly in the couch corner, a line of little alcohol bottles growing in length along the table. He better reimburse, those shitty things were expensive for what they were. Hilarious. Dickhead. Brendon clicked his tongue, ran his hand habitually through his hair just as Ryan shoved both of his hands into his own and leaned back to regard the ceiling with some kind of drowsy absent-mindedness. That, or he was deep in morose thought. With Ryan, it was hard to tell which was which. ”Well.” He said, smoothly, though his voice was a little rough from sleeping in late and then napping and not talking at all for the entire day. Brendon hadn’t even seen another human for the past couple of days, and this human wasn’t exactly his first choice to bring him back into the world of people. Brendon rubbed his eyes and then spoke up again. ”I wasn’t joking.”

He didn’t show any more mercy, because apparently he had to flex just how more controlled and put together he was right now in comparison to the drunk birthday boy in his hotel room. Yeah. Maybe. Brendon paused, admittedly a little surprised, and he shifted on his feet just a little, not sure what to say. It was no fun if it didn’t affect Ryan, or he had nothing to say back, and clearly Ryan just didn’t have it in him right now to be malicious. That... Basically never happened. So something really was up. He thought for a moment about being gentle- well, as gentle as he could be with this annoying tightass- but couldn’t quite figure out how, it had been so long since he’d been even vaguely nice and supportive to his bandmate. They really were fucked up, and Brendon looked remorseful for a split second before he steeped himself and set his expression to stony, and his tone to matter-of-fact as he cut right to the point. Dancing around the truth wouldn’t get Ryan out of his slightly pathetic all time low. He met Ryan’s eyes even as they flashed with suspicion, then watched as he looked down, shrugged a shoulder, chewed on his lip. Maybe they were on the same page. I know.

Huh. Brendon had figured he wouldn’t convince him so easily, and here was saying he didn’t even need convincing. Brendon thought that over as he went and sat on the opposite end of the couch, scratching absently at the back of his neck and then loosely crossing his arms again. I have known, I just- Brendon watched carefully as Ryan drew his legs in, and noted how he looked increasingly vulnerable- and he tried not to betray any reaction. It makes you feel important, you know. Something connected in his head, then, as he wondered why Ryan needed that kind of attention to feel important. Maybe Brendon taking his place was still a root for insecurity. Ryan was a naturally insecure person, sure, but- when Brendon stepped into his shoes and fit them even better than he did, it was a huge blow to his already fragile ego, and knocked him down the ladder more than just a couple of rungs. Brendon tried to imagine how he felt, tried to emphasise- yeah, it would make him feel unvalued too. But he couldn’t feel sympathy for him- not yet. He could have taken it gracefully. Instead, he’d been a dick, way too arrogant for someone supposedly so insecure.

Less damaged, being idealized like that. Damaged. Brendon supposed that was a reference to his shaky childhood and then the dealings with his dad a year back. He clicked his tongue, not sure how to respond- what did Ryan expect? A hug? Some reassurance? Brendon didn’t have it in him to offer Ryan any friendship, because they weren’t friends. ”What’s the big deal, just break up with her,” He said, finally, his voice still harsh and careless as he picked up Ryan’s last stolen mini bottle and finished it for himself. He’d need it if Ryan started crying, or something. After he placed it down, assembling it into Ryan’s little line, he cleared his throat and sat back, but inclined his body only slightly towards Ryan’s to finally ask him what the fuck he was really doing here. He could’ve complained about his girlfriend to anyone. Suddenly, Brendon narrowed his eyes- Ryan was predictable, he used Keltie as cannon fodder to get under Brendon’s skin. Was this all some kind of elaborate plan to humiliate him? He ground his teeth, suddenly much more distrustful, which was saying something.

I don't know. Actually, fuck, I should just - I can go. I don't know what I'm doing here. Brendon exhaled, thankful, but he was also unsure that Ryan would even be able to leave. He watched, concealing his amusement by biting the inside of his cheek as Ryan tried to stand and almost instantly collapsed back into the couch. On second thought, I might not be able to go. ”You think?” Brendon sounded thoroughly unimpressed. I shouldn't've come. I'm... I'm sorry, whatever. I didn't think it through. I just couldn't be there anymore. A pause, and he looked up, letting a moment of silence settle over them that wasn’t awkward, per day, but it was far from comfortable. Ryan apologised. To him. He wasn’t even doing it sarcastically. Brendon felt a little triumphant. ”You’re what? Can’t hear you,” He drawled, resting his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, smirking a little. But- it felt a little wrong. If he continued with this, Ryan would never shut up, so he swallowed his smiles and bit his lip hesitantly, thoughtful. ”Look, You’re obviously upset, I just don’t get why. You and Keltie were never meant to be together forever or some shit like that. Just be thankful it’s earlier on. It’ll hurt less.” A pause, and he sighed. ”Anyway, you’re here now. There’s no point apologising.”

Ryan already wasn't in tune with his own emotions much anyway, but the complications with Brendon were much, much worse. Yes, when asked, his plain answer was that he hated Brendon, down to the bone. But here he was, picking him as an escape route when reasonably if he hated Brendon as deeply and truly as he said he did, he'd have just slept on the New York City street until morning. And it's kind of universally accepted that if you hate someone, you don't desperately want them to care about you and be sensitive to your situation. Ryan was introspective for sure, but he didn't want to dwell too much on the complexities of all of that. Rather than try to understand why Brendon had adopted the role he did in Ryan's life, and why it was that fucked up and convoluted, Ryan ignored it, reacted in whatever way came naturally thanks to the haze of drinks clouding his judgment. Normally he'd stick to his guns and stay cold and bitter no matter what, but. This was a very new situation, all unfamiliar feelings.

And although he was drunk, Ryan wasn't totally oblivious to how he looked. Pretty pathetic, really. It could be chalked up to just girl trouble, sure, but that was an easy way out; his issues were primarily with Keltie but didn't end there. He was also newly troubled by whatever the hell the subconscious whims were that drove him here. He'd never even given Brendon a faint chance of being his friend, or his acquaintance, anything. With these new, unfamiliar circumstances, Ryan was a little afraid that he didn't just hate Brendon, and now his conscience was trying desperately to show that. On some level, apparently, he wanted to be with him on this milestone, as much as he tried to explain it away with something else. And, understandably, Brendon wanted him all the way fucking gone. Ryan agreed even though it had been his own feet carrying him here - it'd be easier to be suffering through that bullshit party than it was to deal with his unpredictable shifts in feeling.

Well... I wasn’t joking. The content of his words aside - asshole, as per usual - Ryan noticed for the first time how rough Brendon's voice sounded, and then, by extension, the state of him, the room. Clearly he'd been alone for some time now, without even a phone call as evidenced by the disuse of his voice. Ryan regarded him more carefully for a few seconds, wondering if that was by choice, if he was lonely or just preferred the time to himself. His natural instinct was good, he deserves it, for the former, and fuck him, he can't have it, for the latter, but on the same scary subconscious level as before, Ryan was almost worried. Sure, Ryan himself had had a shitty time as of late, but he was surrounded by people, and some of them even meant well. Brendon looked like he'd successfully roped himself off, oddly enough considering he was the extrovert out of the group. But Ryan's drunk brain was the one that brought up these unnecessary concerns and it was the (gradually weakening) sober part of him that quickly dismissed them; if Brendon had been alone for days, then that was pretty pathetic, and he was an asshole anyway so he should be. Logic and reason, there.

Thankfully, Brendon was on the same page, and didn't oblige Ryan's BAC by being merciful towards him. Well - not much, anyway, because Ryan knew he could be really digging deep, tearing him a new one, if he wanted. That was slightly irksome in itself, knowing Brendon was holding back, but clearly he wasn't prepared for Ryan to be here. He comforted himself in knowing that the reservations weren't for his sake and Brendon was just low energy. What’s the big deal, just break up with her. That was the coldness Ryan was used to. He smirked for a split second, cynically, then actually thought about those words. He'd been thinking about it, just never heard it out loud, and it didn't really help to hear it in Brendon's voice specifically - but still. After a few moments trying to imagine what it would be like to actually go through with that - god, Keltie would cry, and knowing the nature of their relationship probably argue, make him feel like shit about it - Ryan felt like he honestly couldn't ever do it, he was trapped. In a brief lapse of judgment, Ryan forgot to hide his heart, wearing the mixture of fear and vulnerability on his face. It lasted for a second, give or take, before he remembered the ruthlessness of his company, and hid half his face in the palm of his hand, blinking rapidly.

He thought he could get out of there and made a wholehearted attempt only to be turned right down by the unforgiving forces of gravity. No way he was going, clearly, unless Brendon very kindly bodily threw him out. He'd appreciate that, actually. You think? That tiny part of him still felt bad for intruding, and he gave in momentarily, genuinely apologizing against every fighting spirit within him that protested against it. And fucking Brendon let a quiet overcome them that made him dwell on it. Great. Ryan cringed inwardly. You’re what? Can’t hear you. He wasn't lying, he really was apologetic, but now he didn't want to be, or at least he didn't want Brendon to know. So he bit back. "Forget it," he muttered, trying to stand again and hanging on to the back of the couch. He succeeded in that first step, staying as still as he could while he willed the room to stop spinning, a death vice on the seatback.

While waiting, though, Brendon spoke up again, looking thoughtful. Look, you’re obviously upset, I just don’t get why. Ryan's turned a tired face on him again, thinking that this was actually a pretty soft approach. He could just be saying 'suck it up,' or something, but. He wasn't. Ryan pursed his lips, trying not to look grateful or anything similarly gross. You and Keltie were never meant to be together forever or some shit like that. Just be thankful it’s earlier on. It’ll hurt less. He was right. He was absolutely right, Ryan knew it, just. It didn't feel good, didn't feel like the right resolution. And- 'it'll hurt less'? Since when did Brendon give a fuck about what hurt him or not, and how much? Ryan blinked at him, considering sitting back down but suddenly too restless, endlessly anxious in the wake of a desperate situation. Anyway, you’re here now. There’s no point apologising.

He was being... uncharacteristically patient. Well, it was characteristic, in truth, just not with Ryan in mind. Ryan watched Brendon a little longer, wondering if he was as confused and muddled up as Ryan was, but that was a long shot. He most likely wasn't. Ryan wasn't sure what he expected from him at this point. Instead of directly addressing his rational approach to Ryan's distress, he veered slightly off topic, his attention span short at the moment anyway. "...I was going to come to Seattle, anyway. For the show later. It wasn't just you." He nearly said something like 'don't flatter yourself,' but again. Whatever was in alcohol made him not want to hate Brendon as much. Ironically, he hated that phenomenon. All the same, it was responsible for him using the pleasantries he had never done before with Brendon. "Um. Thanks. For-" He didn't know. Awkward suddenly, Ryan's steadying grip on the couch was no longer helpful to him staying upright, and he swayed a bit. "I don't know, just. I knew I was going to have to break up with her, but hearing someone say it out loud... thanks, whatever." So maybe 'whatever' negated whatever sincerity he had, but he meant it, deep down.

Brendon hadn’t intentionally been avoiding people, and therefore he guessed he wasn’t intentionally alone- he just was. Since the unfortunate fact was that a lot of his friends were mutual with Ryan (neither of them had any clue how, and probably, neither did the friends), a large portion of them were in NYC for Ryan’s party- the one that Ryan himself decided to ditch not even a couple of hours in, when Brendon thought about it and worked out flight times and recalled when it was all supposed to start. So, yeah, he’d been on his own in a hotel room for a few days; so what? He didn’t care. Brendon was a social creature, but he enjoyed being his own company sometimes. It meant he could eat as much candy as he wanted without being called a five year old by certain people. Well, one certain person, to be exact. He’d created his own solitary entertainment, alternating between channels every fifteen minutes because that was when he usually became bored of one activity, seeing how far across the table he could throw a skittle and land it in a solo cup. Singing in the shower. Almost falling asleep in the shower. Passing out throughout the day on the couch, even scribbling down the odd lyric that somehow came to mind in a place that wasn’t exactly inspiring.

It wasn’t all bad, and Brendon had mixed feelings about the next few days where the whole band would arrive in Seattle for the show they were playing. For one, he missed Spencer and Jon (the latter of whom hadn’t even been invited to Ryan’s party), but for another, he’d have to put up with Ryan again for god knows how long. It seemed Christmas came early for him that night- the world famous Ryan Ready graced his presence sooner than he had to and Brendon was predictably thrilled by the one person he actually genuinely hates crashing his peaceful night in and being a dick to him in his own hotel room. Brendon honestly couldn’t have been happier. At least this was a fantastic opportunity to mock him until he curled up into a ball and cried, which, the more Brendon observed, the more he wondered whether it was actually likely, and he started hoping that Ryan didn’t get too upset because then he’d be sad and drunk, and that would be almost too pathetic for Brendon to bear. So he told himself it would be better in the long run if he quietened for a while, obeyed his own common sense for about two seconds before being tempted by Ryan’s vulnerability and giving in.

Forget it. Yeah, he wasn’t expecting Ryan to stick by that half-ass attempt at an apology. He wasn’t even sorry for Brendon- he was sorry for himself, sorry that he had nobody else to go to other than the person he claimed to hate with his entire being. And he was sorry he had to say sorry, because for once Brendon hadn’t been aggravating, he’d been in a different state, and all of this was the result of Ryan’s consecutive shitty decisions. Brendon was finding it hard to be sympathetic- he was just sick of Ryan’s whining and wanted him either gone or so silent that he forget he was there so he could finally go to bed and enjoy his final days of peace and quiet. Watching as Ryan tried to stand up, swaying slightly, Brendon smirked cynically, because this was all so stupid. Why couldn’t Ryan just stay at his stupid party and break up with his girlfriend there? Why did he have to follow the astoundingly apparently irresistible urge to fly across the country to see Brendon and Brendon alone? It was too much for Brendon, for whom the idea of passing the fuck out was becoming more and more favourable with every passing second of watching Ryan struggle to balance even when holding on to the back of the couch.

Even so, he tried to control his temper and his voice, sounding as flat and nonchalant as possible, soft enough to stop Ryan from getting angry, firm and emotionless enough to stop him being all weird and in order to shut down the idea of Ryan maybe unloading any other personal shit onto him that Brendon really didn’t care that much about right now. First of all, he was too tired. Second of all, it was Ryan. His compassion only went so far for a man who had never shown similar support to him. ...I was going to come to Seattle, anyway. Brendon rolled his eyes, regarding Ryan judgmentally and clearly not buying his excuses. For the show later. Did he mean the one that wasn’t even tomorrow? It wasn’t just you. Brendon clenched his jaw, closed his hands into fists, and exhaled. ”Oh, it wasn’t just me, was it?” He stood up suddenly, animated, agitated, and took a few intentional steps forward towards Ryan, curling his hand around the wrist that was steadying Ryan against the couch and shoving him bodily backwards, his grip surprisingly strong enough to keep him more or less upright more out of necessity than caring whether he fell over. ”Not just me, huh?”

Brendon tightened his grip on Ryan’s wrist, recalling how they’d done this a year ago when Ryan had been angry enough to shove him out of the bus. ”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.” The room was small enough so that when Brendon took another few steps forward and shouldered Ryan along with him, Ryan was more or less against the wall and Brendon was glaring up at him. ”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 show. 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?”

There was a silence, and Brendon let go of Ryan’s wrist, and turned around, swearing. ”Fuck.” Half-stumbling, though he wasn’t even really drunk, Brendon went back over to the minifridge and opened it, slamming it shut again when he saw it was empty. I don’t know, just. I knew I was going to have to break up with her, but hearing someone say it out loud... thanks, whatever. Brendon honestly couldn’t believe his ears. Inhaling sharply, he dragged his hands through his hair and down his face, and suddenly he was unbelievably warm, from anger or tension or whatever else. This is not the night he wanted, but it was the night he got. ”You’re a real fucking piece of work. I let you in my hotel room, I dare say give you advice, And you can’t even properly thank me.” With purpose again, he headed back over to Ryan and fisted a hand into his shirt. ”What do I have to do to make you thank me, huh?” He leaned in close, waiting for Ryan to shove him away, but he was close enough now that he was speaking inches away from his mouth. ”Is this what you want, birthday boy? Is this why you’re here?”

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 there, 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. Oh, it wasn’t just me, was it? 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. Not just me, huh? 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. "Don't fucking touch me," 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.

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.' 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 cry, 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.

'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 show. 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? 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 this drunk around Brendon, so it all felt different, the warmfuzzy that should 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. You’re a real fucking piece of work. I let you in my hotel room, I dare say give you advice, and you can’t even properly thank me. 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 tried, 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. What do I have to do to make you thank me, huh? 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 trying to think of something to say. Is this what you want, birthday boy? Is this why you’re here? 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 something 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 somehow 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. "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."

Brendon wasn’t used to behaving like this. Out of the two of them, during arguments he was surprisingly the one that was usually more meek, Less intimidating and more just persistent and stubborn. Ryan usually became genuinely angry faster, and Brendon supposed that was a reflection on their relationship. They were only like this because Ryan decided he was going to hate his guts from the very beginning, and Brendon just generously followed suit- it wasn’t like he could even pretend to like him or be civil for the band’s sake, because Ryan was just that antagonistic and they both just wanted to see eachother shrivel up with embarrassment, crack under pressure or explode with some kind of held-back rage. If it meant the other was experiencing any kind of intense negative emotion and it was completely obvious, they treated that as a victory. Brendon didn’t think about it all too much, because he worried that if he did, he’d feel some kind of remorse, wish he could turn back time and fix their relationship, make peace and get rid of whatever vendetta Ryan had against him. Maybe compromise more, criticise and insult less- Brendon knew how to be nice and he knew how to collaborate, but nobody saw that, because he wrestled with the duty of primary creative input in the band with the most insufferable man in the world.

So, usually, he’d be the one shoved backwards, if they ever even came to blows. Though their arguments were often heated and intense, it surprisingly rarely ever became physical, mostly because Brendon sort of knew that Ryan would have the advantage there (though it didn’t look like it), partly because they were worried that rage expressed in such an ungoverned and freeform way would morph from frustrated energy into something else. It was like that now- Brendon became so aggravated with Ryan’s absolute inability to be civil or polite even when Brendon did something arguable hospitable or even nice that he pretty much went for him, using some unknown strength (he wasn’t scrawny, but he was small and not muscular) to hold onto Ryan’s wrist as he shoved him backwards, not really caring at this point if he fell over or something. He just needed to get his point across, and apparently, this was the only way he could get through to somebody so stubborn and currently so drunk. Through yelling at him, tightening his grip on his wrist, ignoring his weak protests and shutting out thoughts of confusion as to why he wasn’t resisting very much aside from light tugs. Ryan was admittedly stronger than him, or at least taller, more physically imposing in that way. If he wanted to, he could gain the advantage- Brendon passed the missed opportunity off as Ryan being too drunk.

Don’t fucking touch me. Brendon sneered, and now he was breathing heavily because he hadn’t moved much in the last few days and this was probably the most physical excursion he’d done. Shoved his bandmate against a wall. He tried not to think about the connotations too much there and also ignored how close they’d been to being functional together as people for a second there earlier, and how maybe Brendon jumped the gun and ruined it, Ryan was drunk and sad and he just needed to come round a little. Instead he ignored the half-hearted tugs at his restraint around Ryan’s wrist, and noted for the first time the lack of any real bite to his tone, despite it being a situation where typically, Ryan would usually yank his hand free and either retaliate or just spit insults at him and leave before either of them did something they were going to regret. Not immediately, obviously. They’d probably be triumphant and satisfied at first, but when they were being kicked out of the band for taking their ridiculous feud too far, they’d probably wish they had been a little more agreeable for once. ”What are you gonna do about it? Cry?”

He pulled back and let go of Ryan’s wrist, wringing his own hands as he crossed the room to get to the fridge, hanging on to the door even though he wasn’t drunk or dizzy, glancing inside, realising Ryan had generously taken and downed all of his little alcohol bottles and slamming it shut, endlessly irritated by this guy waltzing into his world and doing whatever he damn pleased, and he’d get away with it because he was Ryan and he was important to the band. Was he? Anybody could play guitar. His lyrics were unique, sure, but they made no sense- Brendon had admittedly less master of language in some ways, a less extensive vocabulary, but in his head, that just meant he was less pretentious, made more sense, wrote actual discernible lyrics rather than fucked up poetry that people pretended was profound and it was actually up-its-own-ass garbage. Yeah, Brendon wasn’t having a very good night. Newly frustrated, he crossed the room again, clutched at the front of Ryan’s shirt, brought their faces close together and snarled out his provocative insults. He wanted Ryan to come undone, one way or another. Watching Ryan’s face intently, his jaw clenched, he noticed his eyes flicker around his face, and wondered what the hell he was thinking. Why wasn’t he saying anything back? Brendon opened his mouth to speak again, try and provoke a better reaction.

Before he could, Ryan was raising his arm and Brendon was almost prepared for him to hit him, or something, but then suddenly his hand was curled around the back of Brendon’s neck and he had closed the gap and their lips were together and Brendon felt a rush of heat and confusion- what’s happening? He didn’t resist or pull back, but he didn’t return the kiss for a good second, until Ryan was tilting his head back and kissing him like he was starving and Brendon dug his fingers into Ryan’s chest through his shirt and returned the- favour?- allowing Ryan’s tongue into his mouth, then meeting it with his, his eyelids fluttering even when they were shut and his heart racing in his chest. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt. He imagined Ryan could actually hear it. Suddenly, though, Ryan pulled himself backwards like he’d been slapped, and Brendon leaned forward uncontrollably to continue their kiss. Then there were a few brief moments of silence, where they stared at eachother, weighing up what the hell just happened. Ryan’s hand curled over Brendon’s hand in his shirt at the same time that Brendon offered him a breathless, triumphant grin. ”So you didn’t come here just for me, right?”

Fuck this. Brendon didn’t say a word- Ryan was the one who kissed him, after all. I’m leaving, alright? Like you want. Brendon wet his lips, stared at Ryan’s. He wasn’t sure he wanted that anymore. Unless you want to give me more shit, then by all means, prolong your misery. I can’t stand you, either. Brendon rolled his eyes, tugged a little on his shirt as if attempting to get Ryan’s attention actually down to what was happening. ”Shut up for one second, will you?” He asked sarcastically, and he leaned up, merciless, to trace his tongue across his jaw and then talk into his ear. ”You can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. I won’t let you.” He then drew back for a second, but only a few inches. His heart was racing, he could feel Ryan’s going at a similar pace beneath his shirt. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back, removing the locks that had fallen over his eyes, and greeted Ryan with yet another challenging, but this time heated, glare.

It was true, Brendon was often the one biting back rather than first; Ryan only took his aggression out on Brendon because he would hit back, as a matter of fact. He was the initiator, the stronger source of anger even most of the time, despite being known as the less powerful personality, the anxious and quiet one. That wasn't wrong, because he was indeed deeply introverted, years of living as a social pariah child turned him into a soft-spoken and eye contact-avoidant adult. But no one except those who were with them on the long bus rides and stretched hotel stays knew that he could stand up to his exact opposite, Brendon, the definition of extroversion, the fiery personality and bold stage presence. Somehow, Brendon brought out that side in him, something that never reared its ugly head unless he was (easily) provoked by his frontman.

He was in a weaker place now, multiple different factors changing their dynamic drastically, ultimately making Ryan genuinely nervous about his missing sense of an upper hand. Usually he had at least something, and now... nothing. He knew he could. He could shake Brendon off easily, if he fought past the drunk dizzy spells that came on for three seconds every minute or two, or he could berate him and scream at him until he jusr went the hell away or at least moved Ryan's drunk ass out of the hotel room, or he could. Just leave everything. Crazily, he wanted to burn every bridge he had, knew it was all over with Keltie and knew that with whatever his relationship had become with Brendon (on his own end, anyway; it seemd Brendon didn't feel even distantly as confused), the band was probably fucked, too. Or maybe he was being dramatic, emphasized by his current state of hazy-headedness. That sounded about right.

Brendon's only response to his protests were hateful, a cynically amused scowl and a smart response. What are you gonna do about it? Cry? Well. Ryan had felt pretty close to it a few times tonight because apparently he was a lightweight more than ever, but. To that, he was adamant on not being emotional at all, frowning deliberately at Brendon and trying to come up with something that would be the end-all to this confrontation entirely - but he had nothing good. Motherfucker. Either way he could tell Brendon was running his fuse short; right, he hadn't even burst completely yet, but he was close to blowing up. Ryan welcomed it. He wanted to actually fight, or do something physical, get rid of all the restless energy making his hands tremble and his face scrunch irritably. Anything to wipe the recurring smugness off of Brendon's face. Anything to make him shut up, stop reading Ryan's mind, stop seeing right fucking through him all the time, because he did know. Asking why he was really here when he did know, god, he knew it all. He'd just let Ryan off the hook, miraculously, until now.

And Ryan almost did. He was fully planning on it, roughing the knowing look off of his face once and for all. But he didn't. Somehow he was kissing him, all the anger misrepresented, all of his hate for him somehow directed this way. He didn't know how the frantic energy came out that way, he had no idea, but at least the subtext they always skirted was finally answered. Worse than that, Brendon wasn't pushing him away, wasn't avoiding him or even answering to it. But then he was, and his hand against Ryan's chest felt almost affected, and he was kissing back, and. God. Ryan almost lost himself in it, let all his drunken impulses take him, ignore all of his common sense and normal rationality. Somehow, though, he forced himself to pull back after a few moments, mouth red and shining and holy shit, what were they doing, how could he ever fix this. Worse: Brendon had something to say about it, after the initial shocked pause. So you didn’t come here just for me, right? Ryan thought about correcting his mistake, actually hitting him. But. He couldn't bring himself to.

Brendon was pulling a little at the fabric of his shirt again and Ryan tried to refocus from the sudden sheen on his lips, full as usual, suddenly more distracting than ever. Shut up for one second, will you? Ryan's face twisted into a mean look again, and he was prepared to fight back again, try to escape this, but then Brendon was leaning up and- god, Ryan couldn't stand him, how controlled he was even here. Ryan shuddered at the sensation, him licking a line along his jaw, then his breath so close to his ear, nearly shoving him away by reflex but dropping his hands to his sides instead, weakly. You can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. I won’t let you. Ryan stared back at him, reading the heat in his expression but unable to react properly, torn between shoving him away and storming out and whatever or finishing what he'd started, giving Brendon something to remember, something to keep him from feeling like he'd won whatever this is.

He kept on looking for a few extended moments, still feeling hurt and sad and lost, but now with the overlay of the heat between them, the tension and incompatibility that somehow made them compatible. His breaths became slower, studying Brendon's face, everything that pissed him off before momentarily beautiful in the way it was all so comfortably familiar, and. He was kissing him again, one hand raising to tug on his hair, roughly then rougher, the other finding the small of his back to pull his body even closer. For good measure he caught Brendon's bottom lip between his teeth, biting alongside all the hair-pulling in case he wasn't getting the message, and this was so juvenile but he couldn't do a thing about it, making a tiny, involuntary and anxious sound before catching himself and trying to correct it. "Like this is my fault," he murmured breathlessly against Brendon's mouth, pulling back mere centimeters to argue before going straight back to kissing him. "You've been begging for it since we met. I'm not fucking blind." Kind of hypocritical, since he sometimes stared a little too long for comfort, but. Mostly he was trying to negate all the signs of weakness he was letting show.

Somewhere in his head, somehow, Brendon had known, since he opened the door and Ryan immediately weaved around him to get inside, exactly what Ryan was there for. Exactly what he wanted, even subconsciously. It was a subtext they didn’t notice, or rather, tried to ignore. And here it was, surfacing fully for the first time- Brendon had touched him along the waist or ran his hands down his chest in the past just to mock him, just to get him wound up, but they’d never- Ryan had never. Brendon was, for a good few seconds, stunned. He knew what Ryan really wanted from him, but whether he’d actually go through with it and take it? That was a different story, and the aggression and forcefulness with which Ryan kissed him caught off guard, not quite throwing him off balance, but certainly changing things around in his head. It did take a few moments for Brendon to process what was happening, decide what action to take (be that shove him off or kiss him back), and then carry out his decision, which in the end was to just as eagerly and heatedly kiss him, blunt fingernails digging into his shirt and chest and clutching at the material to drag him closer, close enough that he forgot that this was an awful idea and instead was fully driven by something other than his head.

He stared at Ryan’s mouth when he pulled back after chasing their kisses for a few embarassing moments, his heart thudding under his chest as he didn’t bother trying to look away, instead almost marvelled at the redness of Ryan’s mouth and wet his own lips again, swallowed, his mouth dry despite everything. Brendon ignored the way Ryan’s expression changed as he leaned in bodily to trace a stripe along his jawbone with his tongue, hoping to coax whatever he could from Ryan’s boring, vanilla ass and satisfy whatever suppressed and undisclosed desires he had swimming around in his head, shut away until now when they were being slowly released, crowding Brendon’s mind, shoving our any remaining common sense. Though Brendon was sort of lost in the moment, he was more in control than Ryan was. It was different, taking the reins- the hatred he had for Ryan meant that he felt some kind of grim satisfaction, a dark triumph, because Ryan kissed him, he might’ve been drunk, but it just went to show. That had been what he has wanted for god knows how long. Brendon spoke softly, smug, into his ear, curled a hand around Ryan’s wrist again, reminding him of the moments before any probably reigniting any desire in Ryan to just punch him and be done with it.

He almost expected Ryan to hit him, he had ever since Ryan got here with his angsty air and his easily aggravated personality. Upset Ryan and intentionally provocative Brendon didn’t mix- and that was saying something, because even normal Ryan and Brendon didn’t mix. Instead, there was a pause, Ryan’s breathing slowed, Brendon’s own chest was heaving up and down, and there was a sheen of sweat over his skin, which was hot to the touch. He looked up, defiant, victorious, at Ryan’s face, grinning at the sheen of his mouth, taking the moment of suspension to meet his eyes and try to figure out what the hell he was thinking about. Not much of an opportunity to think was given to either of them, though, because Ryan was kissing him mindlessly again, and Brendon welcomed it, moving one hand to hang onto the neckline of his shirt, pulling him down, and curling the nails of his other hand into Ryan’s corresponding hip. Apparently Ryan had the same idea, but he expressed it borderline viciously- In seconds, his hands were in Brendon’s hair, pulling hard, and Brendon made a soft, strangled noise in the base of his throat, pressing his hips against Ryan’s just as Ryan pressed a hand against the small of his back.

About to speak up, defend himself and withhold his dignity before he became the submissive mess he tended to quickly morph into no matter how confidently he started, Ryan interrupted his train of thought by biting into his bottom lip and Brendon had to choke back some kind of juvenile groan, lifting the hand at Ryan’s hip up and curling it roughly around the back of his neck, attempting to press even closer when it was literally impossible, but it was like Brendon was starving and it was embarrassing but he found comfort in knowing that this wasn’t one-sided. Brendon heard the noises he was trying to suppress- he wasn’t easy to fool, nobody was, in such an intimate situation. Brendon was close to regaining control and pulling back, aiming to leave him hanging, but Ryan was talking against his mouth and he had to pause to listen, or try to, over the sound of his own breathing. Like this is my fault. Honestly, he didn’t particularly care whose fault it was at this point, but he sneered, the competitive streak strong, especially against Ryan. ”Can I remind you,” He bit back, twisting the fingers he had around the back of Ryan’s neck into the longer locks of his hair, ”That you kissed me?” And he wasn’t lying. Sure, Brendon had arguably done everything in his power to lead him to this action, but who initiated? Ryan. He’d hold that above him until the end of time.

You’ve been begging for it since we met. I’m not fucking blind. ”You saying you haven’t? You’d do anything to have me, wouldn’t you? Want me so bad.” A scornful pause, a seconds-long sneer, and Brendon cut through the limbo and used both of his hands to fist into the front of his shirt yet again, pulling him down closer, slipping his tongue into his mouth and freeing one hand to curl around his jaw, letting his eyes fall shut as he tried to dispel every last lustful thought from him with a long, lecherous kiss, so he could step away with no problems. And after a few long counts of Mississippi, he pulled back, untangled his hands from his shirt and hair. Brendon stepped away, breathing hard. He ran a hand automatically through his hair and let the corner of his mouth quirk up into a smirk. ”Happy birthday.” Feeling like he’d suitably triumphed, he turned around easily, though his breathing was still slow and laboured, his heart thudding away at speed. Once he was a distance across the room from Ryan, hanging onto the doorframe to the bedroom, he paused as if considering turning around. But he used every ounce of common sense he had and decided that letting him stay there, unsatisfied, in the living room would be much more satisfying for Brendon in the end.

Brendon was finding new ways to piss him off all the time, whether he meant to or not, that was just the nature of their relationship. One of the worst Ryan had picked up on, though, was the way he tended to see right through him; Brendon was perceptive to all his dumb wants and desires and impulses, picked up on every shift in body language and day-to-day slip-up. It probably wouldn't bother anyone typically, because no one was as guarded as Ryan, but he spent his whole life hiding his true feelings on anything and everything. When he was that vulnerable to the person he despised most, the person he actually lamely brainstormed ways to drive crazy... yeah, it set him off a little. Clearly the same case was here - Brendon was barely looking at him any way other than knowingly apart from the occasional variations he incorporated, like when he imbued some tense heat into his expression, or there was underlying anger, so on. In any case, it frustrated Ryan to no end, made him feel naked and exposed and like he needed to leave even in this state. That's what he wanted, anyway: out.

It didn't feel so much like that when Brendon let his fingernails drag down Ryan's chest, though, when both of them had momentarily lost sense, or maybe Brendon was thinking and he knew he could use all of this against Ryan sometime later. That was enough to throw fuel into the flames of suspicion - with all of this, Brendon could do some serious damage, tell everyone Ryan had been the one to initiate a heated kiss between them, had been the one to come here in the first place, not to mention the hundreds of miles he'd traversed in order to get here. Not that anyone really gave a shit about their feud as much as them, but Ryan had jumped the gun, done all of this before breaking it off with Keltie... as much as he told himself that Keltie was probably with somene else already and they'd been done for a while, been dead for at least a month now, no one had ever said it definitively out loud. It wasn't fair. Still. He wasn't thinking about that enough to stop himself, not when he was just finding out how easily he and Brendon fit together, like puzzle pieces. Ryan didn't get that much.

He was, mostly by habit, looking for things he could throw back at him: the slight shine on his skin telltale of sweat, even though they'd barely done much yet, the occasional swell of his chest, the rise of hs body temperature. Ryan was responsible for all of that. He was proud of it, allowed himself the victory for a few moments, until Brendon was meeting his gaze with nothing but triumph to read, and he knew none of it was actually a win. He was still the one who came here, the one who started this twist in their usually much easier to navigate relationship (god, and he thought it was difficult before). Ryan knew what he'd usually do with the knowledge that Brendon had the upper hand. He'd do whatever he could to undo it, whatever was in his power to knock him back down, no regard to how much it hurt Brendon; now, though, he knew what he wanted from him, exactly like Brendon suspected. He could play stupid as much as he wanted, but it became simple once their lips first met. So he let Brendon have it and went right back to kissing him, furious and desperate and maybe a little more pathetic than he was used to being.

He registered Brendon's hand switching to hook in the collar of his shirt - that fucker was going to stretch out the neckline, he wasn't worth it, he wasn't, and still Ryan didn't shove or pull away - and his nails digging into his jutting hip, the way they instantly matched each other's energy almost laughable. Some people were meant to be lovers, yeah, but Ryan was pretty sure they were meant to be enemies, and this was a very strange way of expressing it. He swallowed down the noises Brendon made, nearly inaudible beneath the struggling white noise in his head, welcomed them with his own when their hips rocked gracelessly together. They were both clearly losing control and it was slightly worrying, Ryan overwhelmed by how it seemed like he couldn't get closer to him if he tried, didn't want to get away at all despite every resounding instinct to do exactly that. Had he not just sunk his teeth in or been tugging Brendon's hair nearly out, maybe this would feel romantic or passionate in a good way, Brendon's hand curled around the back of his neck, his own holding Brendon steadily close by his back. But that wasn't them, probably never would be.

Ryan tried to undo some of how far they'd gone, try to talk it away. Brendon didn't seem very receptive. Can I remind you - Ryan winced, exhaling sharply at Brendon turning his own move on him, thumping his head back against the wall to try to save himself from the sting of too much hair-pulling. Seriously. Juvenile. -that you kissed me? Ryan scowled, narrowing his eyes at Brendon. "Right, sure, and you didn't kiss back at all. If I recall correctly, you were..." Ryan straightened, stretching out the meager couple of inches he had over Brendon, then tried to exaggerate the sounds he'd heard moments before - deeply overexaggerate, complete with his eyes rolling back until he stopped to add insult to injury. As per usual. "Oh, oh, Ryan... Yeah, fuck you." He continued trying to push the blame back onto Brendon, at least partially, when really. If he was using reason, he'd definitely just admit to himself who was at fault here, suck up his pride and not say it aloud.

You saying you haven’t? You’d do anything to have me, wouldn’t you? Want me so bad. It wasn't like he was saying anything particularly seductive, but still Ryan's stomach turned uncomfortably, a reaction he desperately wished he could control. The words alone made his jaw set a little more tightly, frustrated that Brendon could do that, and he stared speechlessly back at his sneer until Brendon was pulling him down again, both open-mouthed and lusting. Ryan meant to do more damage, really, pull more or bite more or something, but instead his hands landed on Brendon's hips, fingernails digging into the bone with only firm pressure while Brendon's came to curl around his jaw. It was nearly easy, simple, something Ryan could get used to, and he leaned in to the touch - until Brendon was pulling back (Ryan's brain dumbly protesting nonono against his better wishes), disentangling entirely. Ryan felt, melodramatically, a little cold, and he watched in confusion as Brendon composed himself again. Happy birthday.

What? No, fuck that, they weren't done, Ryan's mind had drifted a lot and he didn't intend on letting it down, but. He was still frozen in place, feeling emptyhanded, almost drained. If Brendon wanted to go, then, fucking- whatever, just... except he didn't, because he paused, hesitated in a way that would've gone unnoticed if Ryan wasn't watching him so intently, and Ryan knew it. He scowled, the flame reignited, and followed him at an uneasy pace, his footsteps drifting but sure in their direction nonetheless. He caught himself on the bedroom doorway, hanging on. "What the fuck," he demanded, nonsensically, already continuing forward to shove at Brendon, trying to knock him back onto the mattress. "You think that's it? No, fuck you - you started this, too, so fucking finish." He moved closer until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was leaning over Brendon, running his fingers through his hair roughly before he was kissing him again, both hands around his head. He pulled back slightly just to mock him - "'Happy birthday,' god, asshole," - before continuing, one hand sliding down to grip his arm.

Brendon was, unsurprisingly, a strong believer in fate. Maybe not destiny- he didn’t believe everything was set out before you, he believed that a combination of talent, luck and hard work brought him to where he was today and would carry him into the future- but as far as relationships went, he did believe that certain people and their relationships were already set out from the beginning, no love could be artificially forced where the true emotion wasn’t there. Similarly, he believed that some people just didn’t get along, despised each other’s very presence, and no matter what other people did or no matter how much either or both parties tried to change that, if the hate was so strong and ingrained, those people couldn’t be forced to like eachother. When it came to him and Ryan, though, interestingly, that wasn’t what he thought. He believed that if things had started out differently, if the circumstances at changed, if there was more honesty and open communication within the band before and just after Brendon joined, that maybe their relationship would be different. But the cards hadn’t been dealt that way. Their introduction was tragically and openly hostile, and so was the rest of their personal relationship. Professionally, they managed to mask it, faked the existence of a friendship so no stupid rumours arose and their feud didn’t disrupt the band more than it already did. It worked- to an extent.

But nature had pulled a cruel joke on them, and aside from their strong mutual dislike (understatement of the year), they were both also attracted to eachother with an intensity neither of them anticipated at first but quickly arose without warning. One day, Brendon had been glaring at Ryan while he was playing guitar, at first being internally scornful, but suddenly noticing how pretty his hands were- what?- how the colour of his eyes was basically rich honey; he was strikingly endeared by the curls at the ends of his hair and he was so tall, his voice so rough and attractive, his smile boyish and- god, Brendon was floored, and then he was angry again. It was embrassing- but it was mutual. If it was unrequited, it would probably be easier for one of them to just shut up and get on with it- but no, it was obvious, they both knew about it, just never spoke about it properly besides the odd barbed comment or venomous remark. They used this odd twist in their relationship as a double-edged sword in arguments- when, say, Brendon mocked Ryan about the way he always stared at him when he was shirtless in a way that definitely wasn’t platonic, it was a completely valid point, but Ryan just turned it right back on him and snapped back at him, sneering about the way Brendon gazed at his hands or lost himself in Ryan’s eyes when they were supposed to be having an argument. Neither of them could win on that front, they were stuck in a rut, every comment a hypocritical one- but it didn’t stop them trying.

Their habit of testing the waters there had lead them right to where Tebet were now, tangled together and kissing heatedly, Ryan backed up against the wall, holding Brendon’s body flush by the small of his back and curling locks of his hair around his fingers roughly. Brendon was sweating already- embarrassing- and his breathing had quickened then slowed, unsteady and not in control anymore. Neither of them were. They were both slightly buzzed- Ryan much more, he was drunk- and the rush of heat the came with finally addressing the subtext physically and rectifying the undisclosed desires they had tried so hard to suppress. All they needed, apparently, was a little alcohol, and a hotel room far away from anyone who might find out, and they’d be hungry for eachother, sounding almost desperate and wanton and Brendon tried not to care but it was all so telling. His body, apparently, wasn’t capable of telling lies. He growled in frustration against Ryan’s mouth as they pressed together, and twisted his fingers into his hair, pulling hard to try and spend this heated energy.

Right, sure, and you didn’t kiss back at all. Brendon narrowed his eyes, wet his lips and clenched his jaw as Ryan straightened up, clearly trying to drag his attention to his height, and it was working. To counter, Brendon dragged him down, closer, wanting to continue whatever they were doing before Ryan had a chance to be a smartass. Or, even more of one. Oh, oh, Ryan... Brendon almost snarled,and he lunged in suddenly to bite at his neck, just over his pulse, latching his mouth roughly onto his skin and using his other hand to press him into the wall by his hip, attempting to ignore him even when he pulled away and leaned up, searching to kiss him again. He wasn’t making a very good case for himself. Yeah, fuck you. The infuriating thing was, Brendon had no argument- Sure, he could say all he wanted that Ryan initiated, Ryan kissed him first, but he’d have so many more bragging rights if he had rejected his advances and pulled away. He just had to kiss him back, didn’t he? Good going, Brendon. He growled low in his throat again, clearly frustrated, and moved on to try and regain the power here.

So, he pulled Ryan in for what he decided would be their final, licentious kiss, moving a hand up to hold onto his jaw in a way that was almost normal, and Ryan’s hands fit around his hips easily as they pulled eachother close, and they fit in a way that was unexpected and strange. It was still charged, angry, desperate, but this was the most normal and comfortable kiss they had shared so far. Brendon intended it to be their parting kiss, and kissed him in until he needed air, at which point he pulled back without warning, out of his tight grasp, dropping his hand from the line of his jaw and stepping back all in one fluid motion. A smirk wavered along the curve of his mouth, swollen and reddened by vicious kisses, and he turned around and all but strutted away, feeling a sense of victory because Ryan had started it and now Brendon had finished it. This made Ryan look like the desperate one, the one that wanted this more than Brendon did. That was how he wanted this to go, and he carried on towards the bedroom until he was hanging around the doorway. To his surprise, he turned around, and Ryan was there, close again.

What the fuck. Brendon’s breath hitched as Ryan shoved him backwards and he hit the mattress hard, disorientated, not given much time to steady himself before Ryan was on him, over him, and Brendon’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. You think that’s it? He liked this. Brendon did. He enjoyed having the upper hand simply because he wanted to see Ryan squirm, but this- someone else being in control- he enjoyed it, but Ryan was the last person he wanted to give that sense of power to. He did it anyway. Brendon shook his head quickly in answer to his question. No, fuck you- you started this, too, so fucking finish. ”You started this, dickhead, you fucking-” Not even given chance to take in air again before Ryan tangled his hands in his hair once again and they crashed together to kiss, Brendon returned the kiss with an angry enthusiasm, moving himself further and fully onto the mattress and dragging Ryan with him by his shirt, then resting one in his hair and trailing the other from his hips up under his shirt, pulling the fabric up to his sternum, splaying his hand.

‘Happy birthday’, god, asshole. Brendon laughed breathlessly, almost more delusioned and nonsensical than out of mirth, and breathed out a reply- ”What, I’m just being nice, birthday boy,”- then tilted his head back and continued their biting kiss, his bottom lip starting to feel sore, but he didn’t care. Instead, he wrapped a leg loosely around Ryan’s waist, arched his body up from the mattress. At this point, all common sense had gone out of the window.

It was an unfortunate truth that maybe if they'd started off right, if Ryan hadn't aggressively jumped on Brendon just for his being in the band at all, maybe they'd be... a lot different. Given the way they looked at each other when they thought no one would catch them, or the way at least Ryan wished Brendon was around when he wasn't there, they'd probably have even ended up in some kind of romance. Maybe fleeting, sure, because Ryan didn't know enough about Brendon's usual personality (that is, not aggravated and provoked like he was used to) to determine whether or not they were actually compatible, but. He tried not to let himself think about it too much. Mostly because if anyone could read his mind, god forbid Brendon himself, it would be mortifying. He'd basically built up a facet of his personality, a part of his identity, over hating Brendon and being the absolute best at pissing him off. Kind of a way of life, now.

So he kept himself away from that derailing train of thought and instead focused on how romance wasn't ever in the question, how they weren't meant for that anyway, how all of this was only happening because... well. Ryan wasn't exactly welcoming of having any kind of attraction to Brendon, so obviously it was just a very bizarre outlet for all of the hateful energy between them. Obviously. And he was drunk. Even if he did remember tonight it'd be easy to pretend, everything would go back to normal, he'd never slip up again - and who was he kidding. They fit naturally even when usually they repelled each other, two like charges. This, in fact, felt more natural than anything when he didn't think too hard about how they usually were with each other, how if he was in a more sensible state he would have already stormed the hell out or even just not come in the first place, shun Brendon from the safety of his shitty birthday party. But this was how it was now: somehow every handhold he found seemed like a puzzle piece finding its match, and Brendon met every move he made with an equivalent energy and without hesitation, and he'd never felt quite that before. Ryan had no idea what to make of any of that.

He was trying to gain a point of advantage somehow, look less weak for giving in to what had apparently been a desire for some time now, and Brendon didn't appreciate it, obviously annoyed by his efforts to talk it off. He dragged Ryan down and Ryan went surprisingly easy, catching himself with his arms barred one around Brendon's waist, the other beneath Brendon's arm and hand wrapped over the other shoulder. It was almost an intimate picture, like a longing embrace, but Ryan was mocking him endlessly and was answered with Brendon lunging to latch onto his neck. Ryan tightened his hold on him more, knowing it was probably more reflective of their dynamic to pull away but letting his head drop to Brendon's shoulder anyway, exhaling sharply. It was painful, sure, but not enough for Ryan's drunk brain to register it as anything other than just another driving force, another thing to drive him crazy.

In an unexpected turn, they were kissing moments later, almost calmly by their standards until they weren't and Ryan could physically feel the loss. And, he decided, it wasn't Brendon's decision to make whether or not they were doing this, so he practically chased him, the irritation making him itch. Ryan went after him, closing the distance quickly after Brendon had made such a smug and self-satisfied exit, shoving him back and trapping him against the edge of his hotel bed. Really - he'd never crossed a line quite this far before, so there was an edge that wasn't just anger present, something more like anxiety or excitement or... something. Whatever it was, Ryan felt pretty invincible. In turn, Brendon made it easy, shaking his head rapidly when Ryan confronted him as if he was actually allowing him that authority. Ryan's natural scowl turned into a grin for a moment, almost amused by the shift in his countenance, exhilerated by the brief sense of control.

You started this, dickhead, you fucking- What, what, Ryan was sick of playing, sick of accusations, and he shut Brendon up anyway, dragging him in until heir lips met again and the natural fit was at work once more. Ryan was losing focus on keeping his balance, leaning dangerously over Brendon gradually, until Brendon was pushing back, bringing himself back up fully onto the mattress and pulling Ryan with him. Unquestioningly Ryan came with him, his shirt's fabric barely stretching from Brendon's urging until he climbed over him obediently. Brendon's hand slipped beneath his shirt and Ryan shivered at the touch, unexpected, meeting his gaze while his hand spread to explore his sternum and the other tangled through his hair. Ryan was a little ahead of him, there, to be fair; he'd been the intruder bursting into Brendon's room when he was already shirtless. Well. Lucky him. He'd already travelled about every inch of skin available on Brendon these past few minutes.

What, I’m just being nice, birthday boy. Ryan slowed down, losing his focus, and let his head be tilted back, catching Brendon when he arched up and keeping him close for a few moments before pressing him back down. He pressed a hand against Brendon's chest, almost pinning him except that he inadvertently let his touch be more firm than it was aggressive, and ran his fingers through Brendon's hair without letting his nails scratch. The angry energy was still there, just. He couldn't pull it out, was suddenly gentler, more grounding. He shut his eyes tight, almost speaking against Brendon's mouth. "If you wanted to be nice, you would have been there," he murmured, then felt the embarrassment strike. He may as well have cried about Brendon not going to his party, whatever, right to his face. Maybe he would have come if Keltie bothered inviting him and- Keltie. Ryan didn't exactly stop, still letting his body weight rest mostly on Brendon and his hands roam and his lips press wherever, but became more hesitant. He had a girlfriend, basically ex, but not quite. He nearly reminded Brendon.

Instead, though, he was gradually losing the angry passion with which he went into this, almost... 'affectionate' might be a stretch, but definitely almost neutral, almost like he was with someone he never loved to hate. Ryan's no-longer-biting kisses trailed off towards Brendon's ear, slowing down, and he finally paused, exhaled. "I still have a girlfriend," he said, deadly quiet, and wasn't sure what to do about it for a long moment before he pushed himself up a little, unable to take his hands off of Brendon regardless. "Barely. But."

Brendon had actually intended, after sating whatever embarrassing thirst that apparently could never be fully quenched and kissing Ryan until he couldn’t, to detach himself from Ryan, untangle their limbs and fingers from hair and his mouth from Ryan’s lips, or his skin, the faint bruise starting to form on Ryan’s neck- and for a moment after he stepped away, all smug like, it looked like he was going to succeed. Brendon wanted to be the winner, he wanted to seize control of this entire situation. He already had the advantage in that Ryan had literally flown across the country to his hotel room and kissed him with prompting so aggressive and vague it couldn’t possibly be excused as entrapment. Sauntering back across his hotel room after leaving Ryan standing there, grasping at nothing, anger and frustration stiffening his posture and creasing his face, Brendon was fully ready to turn in for the night and leave his guitarist standing there breathing pathetically hard- but apparently, everything aside from the common sense part of his brain wanted otherwise. He paused for only a split second in the doorway as he turned, and Ryan was there, shoving him back with considerable force considering how goddamn skinny he was and giving Ryan no time to react or resist.

He was trapped against the edge of the bed and the tension between them, however high it had been before, rocketed and Brendon found himself quickly dropping the smug, in-control countenance in favour for what was most likely his only entirely genuine reaction. His hasty nod was obedient, embarrassingly so, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to actually duck out of Ryan’s grasp or actually tell him to piss off, because he wanted him and suddenly Brendon’s evening had a goal. But then, Ryan was grinning, smug and ripe with mockery, and Brendon felt another surge of defiance, speaking out in his frustration but not getting very far because Ryan decided he’d heard enough and dragged him in to continue their one long, broken kiss, letting his eyes flutter shut acceptingly and resigning- no, warming up to- the idea that he maybe wouldn’t be sleeping alone. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself there, but something about the way they fit so ironically together and seemed so physically in tune despite the bad blood was intoxicating and Brendon could hear his own heart hammering in his chest as his brain switched off for a second and he relied entirely on instinct and heat to fist a hand into Ryan’s shirt and drag him with him as he moved fully back onto the bed.

He started to follow his impulses and not think about tactics or power play- and his first was to move a hand to the exposed skin between Ryan’s jeans and his shirt, trace his fingers along the area and then move his hand underneath his shirt and push it up towards his sternum, exploring the area like it was simultaneously the first and last time, and something told Brendon it would be. So he made the most of the opportunity as Ryan did the same, his hands leisurely and simultaneously urgently exploring Brendon’s sternum and his skin. There was an extended pause between their gradually less frantic string of kisses, though not much space was made between them. Ryan stayed close, speaking against Brendon’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered as Ryan’s hands ran with suspicious relative gentleness through his tousled hair. If you wanted to be nice, you would have been there. Laughing lightly against his bandmates mouth, he went to bite down again on his bottom lip in an attempt to rekindle the fire from moments earlier but Ryan was clearly slowing down. Suspicious, and definitely not yet willing to steady the pace, he made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, moving a hand to curl tightly around Ryan’s hip, digging his blunt nails in as he waited impatiently for Ryan to get over whatever small breakdown he was having so they could get back to what was really important.

Brendon had latched his mouth back over where the bruise was forming and he let his eyes fall half-shut as he waited for a few heartbeats for Ryan to get back into gear, but he didn’t. Frowning, he wet his lips and collapsed fully against the bed, his back pressed against the sheets. ”First of all, you hate my guts, why would I go,” He pointed out, still breathless, raising a judgemental eyebrow. ”Secondly, I wasn’t even invited. Neither was Jon. Jon. What the fuck has Keltie got against Jon? He turning you gay too?” Okay, so Brendon was attempting to goad and mock him into anger so they could start over and stop Ryan launching into some pity party. Unfortunately for Brendon, it seemed they were all past that point now; Ryan’s kisses had become more gentle, softer than what Brendon was comfortable with, kisses for a lover that he hated but they were the only kisses where he noted exactly what kissing him was like, how soft his lips were, what he tasted like. Quickly dispelling his fascination, he frowned as Ryan moved and kissed along the side of his mouth off towards the side of his face and half-heartedly cling onto Ryan’s hips.

I still have a girlfriend. Brendon closed his eyes. Maybe a few short minutes ago he’d have expected this from Ryan, but in the midst of angry passion, seemingly mindless intensity, it came as something of a shock. Ryan looked like he was just recalling his relationship status, and Brendon was, too, suddenly belatedly remembering that Ryan and Keltie were still together. Great. He said nothing as Ryan pushed himself up a little, just eyed him flatly, considering that he was actually pretty annoyed that Ryan’s thoughts were anything but about him in those particular moments. ”Uh-huh.” He looked sullen, and he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling and that sheen of sweat shining under the dim light. Barely. But. He bared his teeth in a sneer, suddenly vindictive and stupidly jealous because yeah, Ryan had a girlfriend, probably not for much longer at all but he still had one. Brendon had almost intended to kiss away her memory from his mouth, and he’d failed. Annoyed with himself, and with Ryan, he surged upwards suddenly and drew back away from Ryan to the other end of the bed, his chest still heaving as he wiped the back of his hand over his reddened mouth.

”You’re really something,” Brendon murmured, and he didn’t mean it as a compliment, just folded his arms loosely and almost defensively over his chest, trying not to stare at Ryan’s mouth and long too much and/or too obviously that he was kissing him again, Keltie wasn’t in the picture. ”You can’t go all righteous now. Not like you can take any of that away.” The words coming out of his mouth, the vindictiveness and selfishness- it wasn’t Brendon, not really. He just really, really wanted to keep kissing him, and at this point it was more than just an outlet for anger. It was an outlet for the lustful subtext they’d had going on basically since they met. ”Look, whatever. Go back to your girlfriend, play happy families with her for a bit.” A sullen pause, followed by a gradually appearing smirk as he lost the energy to sit up and rested back against the bed, leaning onto his elbows and looking equally nonchalant and seductive. ”Do you think she’s better than me, Ryan?” Anything for a reaction at this point, he thought, feeling his hands twitch because he wanted them back in Ryan’s hair and at the back of his neck and curled around his waist.

Something in Ryan was growing gentler, not fonder because he wouldn't allow himself to be that way but close to it - and the biggest downside to that was that the only way he could feasibly look was as if he held any real affection for Brendon. Which, he would argue 'til he died, he definitely did not. Maybe this was his mourning period. He hadn't actually had any soft, warm moments with Keltie for a while, and as much as he came off as an aggressive asshole that was what he generally went for - when they did come they were few and far between, since now his relationship had been so strained for so long. There: he wasn't, like, craving this kind of thing with Brendon or anything, fuck that notion. It was just that he hadn't experienced it in some time and the opportunity had presented itself. This, of course, didn't explain why his abrasive energy was dying out gradually, didn't explain why it didn't totally bother Ryan that Brendon had somehow become the target, but. Whatever. It wasn't anything real, couldn't be.

He had a moment of weakness, though, sounding embarrassingly needy about the party again. It's not that he wanted Brendon to be there, really, just. Wasn't he supposed to be there? Wasn't it, like, his obligation to show up - not just there but at any of Ryan's events? That should've been a band rule, right? Everyone always in the same place... but there went his head again, trying to find excuses for Brendon to be around as much as possible. He didn't even like the guy, and he was annoying, clearly trying to kickstart the heat they started all of this with and sounding bothered when it wasn't working. Resistant to any efforts to undo his wind-down work, Ryan ignored Brendon's digging nails and the pushing bites in his kisses, pressing him more firmly against the cushions with unwavering hands on either side of him to continue his own agenda. Any kind of rigidity he tried to show, though, would probably go unnoticed now, considering Brendon was never going to let him live down practically whining about him not coming to the birthday.

Brendon was back at his neck and Ryan almost thought he was in the clear after all - almost. When he all but collapsed against his mattress, boneless, Ryan's dumb drunken hands continued with a mind of their own, raking fingers through his hair carefully. First of all, you hate my guts, why would I go - funny he should say that, while Ryan was all sensitive touches but a fairly unfriendly gaze - secondly, I wasn’t even invited. Neither was Jon. Jon. What the fuck has Keltie got against Jon? Ryan pursed his lips. He was still pretty pissed about that, too. He certainly cared more about Jon than he did about the gaggle of random half-strangers she'd scrounged up seemingly off the street. Hell, a majority of the guests were her dancer friends that he didn't even know by name. It was bizarre. He turning you gay too? Ryan's anger redirected again from Keltie back to Brendon, and he scowled down at him - an odd juxtaposition when he was still framing his face tenderly with one hand. "You're real fucking bold, you know," he mumbled, but Brendon kind of had a right to claim responsibility. Never before had Ryan been quite this gay both in theory and practice, so.

Despite his distaste for Brendon's attitude he still kept on kissing him, uncontrolled by now, until he wasn't. He didn't actually have that strong of a moral compass that he really wanted to leave, anything like that; mostly he didn't know what he was doing here, had become confused by his own mindless actions. Brendon didn't look all that affected by his sudden change of heart. Uh-huh. Ryan avoided looking right at him, mortified for whatever reason, but it didn't matter - a few beats later Brendon was pushing himself up forcefully and Ryan shifted away from him with a little surprise, granting him the right of way without thinking. He didn't get enough time to register he really didn't want Brendon that far away and that may not be his decision anyhow but he'd already pushed him around plenty, what would it hurt another time - but. Too late, Ryan turned to watch Brendon move as far away as he could, pulled to attention when he drew the back of his hand over his mouth and feeling a vague sense of pride that he was to blame for that.

You’re really something. Their places changed so drastically, Ryan was closest to the headboard now, and he sat back against it, fixing his gaze anywhere but on Brendon. Yeah, yeah, he was difficult, he was an asshole, whatever, get on with it. You can’t go all righteous now. Not like you can take any of that away. Sober he probably would've pretended to feel bad, but sober him also would not have come, so. Ryan just looked somewhat blank, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, the sting so much different when it wasn't Brendon. Look, whatever. Go back to your girlfriend, play happy families with her for a bit. Well. He hadn't done that for a while. Ryan made a small, cynical sound, a half-laugh, and shook his head, turning his face to the ceiling and driving a hand through his hair. "Sounds like it bothered you even more than it bothered me," he commented dryly, then relaxed, returning his gaze to Brendon finally.

Not a good idea, because that's when Brendon chose to lean back, all angles and narrow when he caught himself by his elbows, smug. It was certainly an image to behold - but it also pissed Ryan way the hell off. Do you think she’s better than me, Ryan? Ryan froze up, blinking at him sort of flatly, caught off-guard. He knew it was mean-spirited, was supposed to set him off, but something in his chest was twisting that wasn't necessarily him getting aggravated. Ryan searched his face for a long moment, unreadable. "Yeah," he answered in a new voice, more solid and clear, then tilted his head back a bit. "I would've invited you." Two unrelated things, for the most part, but he was pretty sure he meant both. He forced himself not to think about the embarrassment, just maybe how it'd knock Brendon off his game too. Potentially. He tried digging a little deeper, meeting Brendon's eyes and looking casual as ever. "I think about you more than I've ever thought about her. That what you were looking for?"

Brendon wasn’t somebody to lose his temper often. He was fiery, and driven, and he was no pushover, but it never seemed to get the point with him where he reached his boiling point and bubbled over in some kind of loss of control due to rage. Any emotions he experienced tended to be strong and intense, but he wasn’t ruled by them, not usually. Specific people affected him in different ways- Spencer made him feel calm and supported and appreciated, Jon provided a groundedness and an honesty that made him feel respected. Ryan, though, the fourth member of the unit and in the pecking order in Brendon’s eyes, was one of the only people who could push him over the metaphorical age, take his prevalent but contained Aries sparks and ignite them into a roaring flame. He was the only person who could cause him to snap, and he hated it- the one person he wasn’t willing to be vulnerable around, the one person he wanted to back off from him and leave him alone, and Ryan knew what particular buttons to press if he wanted to get a rise out of Brendon. It was the same vice versa, so it was something of a mutually assured destruction, but the threat of his own embarrassment and the theoretical demise of his dignity was enough to keep him hesitant, at least, in an ideal world. In reality, when Ryan started to antagonise, and he was the one more likely to, it didn’t take long for Brendon’s composure to break.

Lucky for Brendon, he seemed to have one-upped him this time, but then he’d sort of triumphed as soon as Ryan left the party and bought a plane ticket, even if he didn’t know it. His second victory was when Ryan turned up at his hotel room door, the third was when Ryan opened slightly up to him about his and Keltie’s failing relationship, the fourth was when Brendon presented the opportunity and Ryan fell for the bait and leaned in to kiss him. Hook, line, sinker- his initial intention was just to see what he’d do, pull back and be done with it but hold it over his head forever, but there they were, Brendon with his back pressed against the mattress and Ryan holding himself slightly above, holding him down on the cushions, and they were still kissing, Brendon biting relentlessly because he didn’t really want Ryan to get anything out of this, he didn’t want to get anything out of this, then it would be too real. But it was probably too late for that, now. He paused briefly at Ryan’s neck and then let himself go limp against the sheets, catching his breath.

Ryan had a hand cradling his face and Brendon wondered whether he should move it away, because now it was just quiet, a breath of calm, even though the tension was crushing. He felt Ryan’s hands still tangling in his hair, but he didn’t feel his nails, it felt gentler, almost restrained. Brendon stared up at him, eyes still dark, breathing deep to recover after he had replied to Ryan’s bullshit declaration about how ‘if you wanted to be nice, you’d have been at my stupid party’. But, really- Brendon didn’t know what Ryan wanted him to do. If he had turned up, he’d hardly know or like anybody, not even the birthday boy himself. Ryan would have snidely commented about how his presence wasn’t welcome, why wasn’t he even here, and Keltie would make some venomous remark like ‘go pine after somebody else’s boyfriend’, or ‘funny how you claim to hate him and follow him around like a puppy’. Brendon hadn’t really been particularly inclined either way about Keltie in the beginning, she was just Ryan’s girlfriend, not her fault he was in a messy situation with Brendon. But she’d joined in. Now he couldn’t stand either of them. Going to that party would have been his own personal idea of hell, aside from the fact it was themed around basically mocking the man of the hour. Besides, Jon wasn’t even there. What was up with that?

You’re real fucking bold, you know. Still with slightly parted lips, Brendon turned up his mouth at the corner into a poorly concealed half-smirk. ”At least I’m not fucking boring.” They kisses for maybe a few moments after that, and Brendon had tuned out a little, only paying attention enough that he just about heard Ryan mention Keltie as he pulled back and lifted himself up a little. Honestly, he’d been expecting this- even if he was ruffled about how they’d been, what, making out for a while now and all he could think about was the basically-ex girlfriend he had decided to officially break up with at the soonest possible opportunity. Way to kill the mood- though maybe that was safe. Something in Ryan’s energy was becoming calmer, almost neutral instead of intense anger and friction, and Brendon was alarmed, though the hatred he had started this whole thing out with had simmered into remaining intensity combined with minimal anger that was continuing to burn out. After staring at Ryan for a moment, though, waiting for him to maybe denounce Keltie and get back to what they were doing, he inwardly rolled his eyes and sighed and physically drew himself away from Ryan, who mirrored his actions by leaning against the headboard.

Brendon feigned indifference and picked at the sheets on the bed, crossing one arm loosely across his chest. Sounds like it bothered you even more than it bothered me. For once, he had nothing to say- instead he tried to gain the upper hand in the other ways he knew as he thought of a comeback, leaning back on his elbows and tilting his head to the side, skin still carrying a sheen of sweat and chest rising and falling evenly with every deep breath. Yeah. ...Oh. Brendon blinked. It wasn’t like he didn’t know, but he didn’t expect Ryan to admit it with so little prompting. I would’ve invited you. That only earned him an eye roll. ”But you didn’t. You can say whatever shit you want, but if you don’t do it, you might as well be spinning bullshit.” Their eyes met for a half-second and Brendon wondered what he was thinking. I think about you more than I’ve ever thought about her.

Brendon’s increasingly tired eyes widened, and immediately he felt wide awake, first comprehension and then a sense of triumph surging through his entire body. Still lying back, propped up on his elbows, he tilted his head back fully and grinned at the ceiling, because this was all so funny. Slowly, he sat up, this time leaning back on both of his palms that were placed behind him against the mattress. That what you were looking for? ”I never thought you’d admit it,” He mused, sitting forwards and resting his hands on his lap, searching for Ryan’s gaze. He wished he had recorded that. ”But yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Well. Now he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d hit the jackpot- Ryan would never live this down. Setting out to almost seal the deal, he moved back in and moved onto his lap before he could protest, curling a fist in his shirt again and using it to tilt Ryan’s head back so he could lean down to kiss him and trail off to speak into his ear. ”What do you think about?”

Ryan's mission was sort of fruitless. Part of him really, really wanted to see Brendon warm up, too, see him slow down and approach Ryan more softly and- be normal, whatever. For whatever reason he was intrigued by that possibility, the totally alternate universe it would be if they were anything but biting remarks and hateful energy. But his venture in testing the waters was one-sided; every look Brendon gave him was suspicious, and he even seemed inclined to pull completely away. Ryan was close to getting frustrated, saying fuck it and just launching back into aggression again, but it was just his natural instinct to things not going smoothly with Brendon now. It wasn't what he actually wanted to do otherwise he'd have already done it, would have never stopped the more empassioned approach he started in the first place. Despite all his efforts being met with nothing he kept on, hands slow on Brendon when all he got in response was nails on skin, biting kisses, worse words. He just made up for it with equally abrasive responses verbally.

At least I’m not fucking boring. Typical 'I hate you, you hate me' banter that totaled up to nothing, so Ryan let that be, quirking an eyebrow dubiously. They didn't even last longer with the kisses, slowing down on his end as per usual, until Brendon was pulling away anyway, the fire he apparently needed so badly rendered irrelevant. He seemed to think he could knock Ryan off course, though, despite the fact that Ryan was so clearly veering away from his usual habits anyway, and sure Ryan was somewhat surprised by his question - more like the seductive way Brendon had presented it, but still - but he still responded earnestly, less driven by just the alcohol and more by a sickness of their routine. The back-and-forth that never ended, playing around instead of addressing anything directly, never feeling quite satisfied by any of the interactions anymore when in the beginning he'd felt a weight off his shoulders any time he took it out on the singer - all of it. He was sick of it. So he was honest.

Brendon looked speechless, but not really, and maybe a hint of annoyed. Nothing Ryan wasn't used to. But you didn’t. You can say whatever shit you want, but if you don’t do it, you might as well be spinning bullshit. He nearly argued that it was a surprise party, he would have if he'd known, but. He'd be kidding himself. He only wanted Brendon to be there when he'd gotten a few drinks in him, and even then, inviting Brendon had never crossed his mind as a possible thing to do. It just... was such a foreign concept, having him around for events where he didn't absolutely need to be there, and besides they had this image or whatever to uphold. For cameras it was to look like they at least existed peacefully alongside one another, but in places like that party, if they looked friendly, it would look weird as all hell. People didn't know him that well, sure, but you didn't have to know Brendon or Ryan well at all to know what their relationship actually was. He ended up not answering him, just continuing on his truth tangent.

Apparently it caught Brendon off guard, but in a way that made him apparently feel like he'd succeeded, amused him. Ryan watched him shift around again, rising up onto his palms rather than his elbows, but remained in place, his expression careful. Fuck it. Brendon could think this was funny all he wanted, could tease him, whatever - it'd piss him off, but he was sick of screwing around, was finally going to say shit he wanted to instead of skirt around it with mean comments and scowls cold enough to shut everyone up. He figured that was the real triumph: finally just being out with it. I never thought you’d admit it. Ryan raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug, holding his gaze steadily. He didn't think so either, but here they were. But yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear. Great. Maybe now he'd shut up. Which was weird to think when Ryan was the one invading his hotel room and the one who'd followed when he walked away, but he was nothing if not a hypocrite, so.

He knew what Brendon was most likely thinking, probably thought he had himself some good humiliation material, whatever, and it was true. Even better- it would probably work. As much as he just wanted everything clouding his head out of the way, it was also embarrassing, no doubt about it. But he could deal with that later, and at least now he could buy whatever alcohol he needed to cope. Fuck it. Brendon moved closer again, settling in Ryan's lap and pulling him in by his shirt. Ryan didn't protest, letting his head tilt back with Brendon's guidance easily, still maintaining his gaze until they were kissing and he let his eyes slip shut, almost peaceful until Brendon was murmuring into his ear. What do you think about? It would be funny if Ryan wasn't suddenly taking all of this so goddamn seriously. He ran a hand up Brendon's chest, along the side of his neck, and came to hold his jaw carefully, realigning their eyeline while his head was still kept tilted back. "Well," he started, thoughtful, "When I imagined us finally sleeping together it didn't involve a makeout session quite this long and complicated." But they spent years circling each other. He almost made some snide comment about that fact - 'no surprise you're into foreplay, then' - but didn't feel quite compelled enough.

Maybe making the implication that this was actually leading somewhere was more embarrassing than he'd already been. Still, fuck it. "But it crossed my mind a lot." He lost sleep. It was ridiculous. "I mean. Look at you." Ryan ran a thumb over the corner of Brendon's still-reddened mouth, gaze dropping from his eyes for the first time to become distracted. There was a start. In years he'd only ever sneered at the implication he might be checking Brendon out, but now that was sort of an admission to it. "Also," he continued, mouth curling in a slight smile, "I sort of figured you'd be the bottom. Fair?" Another opportunity to say something like 'because you're annoying,' and he totally passed it up. But now what was initially sort of daunting, embarrassing, was almost funny to talk about, and he was sure if he was sober it'd be the same. It was just a little... unbelievable to be saying out loud.

It was easy to think of hollow, outwardly barbed comments to make when he was so used to having an arsenal of insults ready for Ryan at all times, but now, when he said them, his heart wasn’t in it. In the past, when they had explosive arguments, the only way they’d calm down was to separate and get as far away from eachother as possible- now, when they’d crashed and collided in such a way that Brendon had initially thought this would just escalate the tension and anger, all of that bursting emotion seemed to be seeping away. It wasn’t like they were suddenly friends, suddenly on good terms- but both of them lost the will to pretend they hadn’t wanted this from the beginning, slowing down their kisses until Brendon pulled back, now demanding answers and not entirely satisfied with the ones that Ryan offered him. He didn’t believe for a second that, if it were up to Ryan, he would have been invited to his stupid birthday party- and though, yeah, Ryan had come here of all places from across the country, but it took him being drunk and depressed about his sort-of ex girlfriend. That, as much as he loathed to admit, hit a weak spot- that he might kid himself that Ryan was obsessed with him, but it took a lot of obvious prompting to get Ryan to this point. And now they were boneless on opposite sides of the bed, legs drawn in, almost pushed apart by some invisible force.

The fact Ryan didn’t comment when Brendon accused him of spouting bullshit about inviting him and wanting him at the party confirmed his suspicions that Ryan was just saying what he thought Brendon wanted to hear, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mad, he wasn’t even surprised. It would be difficult to just turn up at a celebration entirely for his nemesis. Nobody would believe for a second that they solved years of bad blood and toxicity and conflict just in miraculous time for Ryan’s shitty birthday. Brendon imagined a scenario as he tilted his head to the ceiling to process everything where he had been invited, he had turned up, how would that go? He wouldn’t even know what to get him for his birthday that he wouldn’t scoff at. Jon wasn’t even there, so that sucked. Spencer was, but he couldn’t just bother Spencer all night. Luckily, Brendon was something of a social butterfly to a certain extent (definitely more of an extent than Ryan), so he figured that even if he didn’t know many people, he’d fit in and calm down pretty quickly. He’d be able to ignore the loud, obnoxiously obvious whispers and comments about him, wondering why he was there, who invited him, had he and Ryan even spoken for a moment. Thinking about it, he came full circle, and he was again glad he hadn’t been invited by Keltie.

Keltie. Keltie had cockblocked him. Indirectly, but still, it sucked to be regaining his breath at the end of a slightly uncomfortable hotel bed when Ryan was leaning back against the headboard at the other end. He considered their situation for a moment, wondered what the time was, and rubbed his hands over his eyes, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and looking back at the ceiling to purse his lips. He could just- he could just accept the victory and ask Ryan to leave, awarding Brendon the hypothetical higher ground and more ammunition to hold over his heads he could do that. Didn’t mean he wanted to. Another course of action would be to just resume what they’d started, albeit with less outward hatred and fire, and honestly Brendon had picked that before he even thought about the first option. He looked back at Ryan and met his eyes for a moment before he shifted forwards with purpose, settling after getting easily comfortable in Ryan’s lap and clutching at the fabric of the front of his shirt, tilting Ryan’s head up smartly towards him. For a second, he hesitated, yet again torn between upping and leaving or not, and met his gaze.

It didn’t take another second after that for Brendon to lean down and kiss him. It wasn’t malicious, or aggressive, but it was charged, not exactly calm and comfortable but definitely having mellowed out considerably, when the alarming viciousness of their first kiss was taken into account. And that hadn’t been very long ago. Or had it? Brendon had lost track of time. He probably couldn’t go to sleep now if he wanted to. Brendon pulled back barely from the kiss and trailed over gradually to the side of his face, shivering noticeably when he felt Ryan’s hand exploring up from his chest and across to his jaw. Brendon felt crushingly apprehensive and still kind of hated Ryan for how much he affected him. Well. Oh no. When I imagined us finally sleeping together it didn’t involve a makeout session quite this long and complicated. Brendon’s stomach dropped, because, fuck, Ryan had actually imagined it? Ryan had spent time of his life thinking about that? Brendon had, of course, but to know they were both in the same boat- he exhaled, a shaky breath, and allowed himself a smirk. ”I like foreplay,” He offered, unaware he was basically a mindreader. ”And I’d like to know what you did imagine.”

But it crossed my mind a lot. This was getting better with every word that came out of Ryan’s mouth, or worse, depending on how Brendon looked at it. He decided on ‘better’. I mean. Look at you. Brendon said nothing and just met his eyes, closing them briefly when Ryan traced his thumb over the corner of his mouth. It was sore. He opened his eyes again. ”It takes a whole fuckload of alcohol and me making out with you for a good while for you to admit that you’re even attracted to me,” He breathed out in a cynical laugh, but he wasn’t really bothered. As long as he knew now. ”But, I’m flattered, an’ you’re hot.” He would have leaned in to kiss him, then, but apparently Ryan wasn’t going to shut up. What was knew? Also. Great, what now? He knew everything he needed to know. I sort of figured you’d be the bottom. Brendon immediately shoved his head into Ryan’s shoulder, actually embarassed, because was he that obvious? He sucked in a breath, half-amused, and lifted his head back up decidedly. ”How’d you figure that out?”