The initial moment where he had seen Ryan illuminated in purple on the stage had drugged Brendon with a confusing cocktail of emotions, recognition and heartache, shock and resounding fondness that apparently never went away. Maybe it’s because Ryan left him high and dry, no time to recondition themselves from romantic to platonic and repair their (needlessly, in Brendon’s opinion) fractured relationship. Ryan had just disappeared from his life leaving no sign he was ever there in the first place except the shattered state of Brendon’s heart and that damn engagement ring that he loathed with a passion but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of, so he kept it shoved and hidden at the bottom of a drawer and tried to keep it out of sight, out of mind and out of his heart. Now, when he set eyes on this apparently upgraded Ryan for the first time in a decade, his heart still fluttered like it did when he looked upon a lover, his chest tightened and his features, though initially the picture of surprise, softened for a few moments right until Ryan looked his way and suddenly he was out of the brief moments where he could pretend that ten years hadn’t passed, they were still engaged, Brendon was just watching his fiancé perform on stage.

Ryan looked at him, and that desperately hopeful mirage had fallen away to ashes, leaving Brendon winded, looking at the man who had broken his heart and never even seemed to care that much when he did. It was like the moment before a tsunami- the waves drew back and all Brendon saw was the sand, the long beach of affection and love they had once shown eachother. It blindsided him. Then, though, all the anguish and shock and grief of their sudden and unprecedented breakup swept him up in a crushing wave and he barely knew what to do with himself, struggling to breathe as the full force of the emotions he felt ten years ago when Ryan almost [i]nonchalantly[/i] told him that their engagement was off hit him with just as much power, like it was yesterday. Brendon felt sick, and as well as that he felt anxious when he realised he was being slowly recognised in a ripple of murmurs amongst the modest crowd, and his throat started to close up. He was moments away from bolting, but Jon’s steadfast presence beside him as well as how frozen he felt by Ryan’s gaze on him kept him in place, struggling to regulate his breathing and hearing his own pulse thumping. He’d just wait until this song was over, and then during the applause he could sneak out, maybe curse Jon out for leaving out a very important detail about this evening and never accept his invite anywhere ever again.

The song ended, though, a love song written by Ryan that wasn’t about him that made Brendon feel sick to his stomach and completely undesirable, and the man himself was walking through the crowd heading right towards him. Huh. This was his worst nightmare come alive. Brendon closed his eyes, counted to ten in his head and told himself it wasn’t a big deal, it’s been ten years, get over yourself, why are you intimidated by this guy. You’re successful, you’re talented, you’re Brendon. Stop freaking out. He’s just an old friend. Brendon opened his eyes and Ryan was before him, and his first thought, of-Fucking-[i]course,[/i] was that he was somehow prettier, the years had done him well, matured him, goddamn what a couple they’d be if they were still together. They’d have been married for ten years by now. Brendon clenched his jaw, after being initially relaxed by the familiar face. Except it wasn’t familiar. The eye contact Ryan made was surprising- he’d never been one for any kind of social situational confidence- and Brendon felt like he should be looking away, but he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on him, relaxing his shoulders and taking his time to drink in exactly what kind of man Ryan was now. How he presented himself. It was all different. Brendon shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling slightly, concealing that this was really too much for him.

And yet, he agreed, like a dumbass, to go backstage with him, and he couldn’t even think of a logical reason why he said yes. He thought about withdrawing his acceptance hastily, saving himself from some sort of panic attack. [i]Great, just...[/i] Well, too late now- and Jon was gone, so he couldn’t plead silently with him to make him up an excuse on the spot. Brendon just nodded curtly, looked towards where Ryan had come from, backstage, and almost jumped a mile when he felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand he knew was Ryan’s but wasn’t willing to look for himself to confirm. Brendon felt bitter, stiffened at his touch though his body was willing him to relax because of how familiar it was and what the connotations were. He was still tuned into devoted fiancé mode, and he tried stubbornly to suppress it. Instead of, like, jerking away, he let Ryan guide him, unsure he’d be able to walk himself without doubling back and bolting before Ryan even noticed. [i]Looks like a lot of your fans are here tonight, huh? [/i]Brendon blinked, looked around, barely listening, smiling distractedly to appease the people he assumed were the fans Ryan was talking about and internally wincing whenever he heard a camera or saw the flash. He’d never get away from this. He didn’t- couldn’t- have the kind of secluded life that Ryan did. [i]I guess that’s probably the norm by now, though.[/i]

[b]”Yes, I’m very successful, let’s all blow steam up my ass,”[/b] He muttered dryly, mostly to himself, hoping Ryan didn’t, like, hear that. He [i]was[/i] proud of how far he’d come, and here was Ryan, a reminder that it all started with four of them and now he was alone. It hadn’t bothered him, but there he was trying to forget the past, and here was Ryan, hand on his goddamn shoulder, ready to ruin it all. They were backstage, finally, and Brendon took a step back from him, dragging his hands through his hair and down his face, nervously chewing on his lip for a moment before he told himself yet again that he needed to get a grip. Brendon tilted his chin up slightly and met Ryan’s eyes with some newfound, mostly fabricated confidence, attempting a fake-it-til-you-make-it type tactic. It seemed to work, but most of that bravado was borne of bitterness. [i]How have you been, anyway?[/i] Brendon crossed his arms loosely across his chest, subconsciously defensive. [b]”Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month.”[/b] He wondered if Ryan had listened to any of it. 

[i]You look so [/i]different. [i]Like someone else.[/i] And how the fuck would he even know? Lots of people told him he didn’t look the same. But those people had known him maybe a couple of years. They had no idea the kind of change that Brendon had made from his youth to adulthood. Maybe he had changed a lot recently, but when he looked in the mirror, sometimes he saw the same anxious, hyperactive kid that was in same band he was in ten years ago, except now he was alone. His mind drifted momentarily to his last relationship, the shadow over this new album release, an album with songs dedicated to that person. Brendon sucked in a breath. [b]”A decade does that to a person.”[/b] He said finally, not concealing the dryness of his tone, shrugging his shoulders. [b]”You look different too. How’ve you been?”[/b]