It made sense that the only way Ryan could see him even still was as a friend - best friend, even, despite the fact that Ryan had a whole new circle of people. His brain just automatically registered his face as comforting, nostalgic, evidently barely focusing on the heartbreak that was undoubtedly and entirely his own fault. It's not like he had any reason to harbor resentment for Brendon. Brendon hadn't been the one to run away, virtually out of nowhere, and he hadn't been the one who did it with such a disconnection to the situation that he barely talked to any of their mutual friends afterward, regardless of their level of involvement. Brendon had been something of a victim there, dictionary definition of unfair. All because Ryan didn't want to risk getting hurt first. If he was still prone to dwelling on the past, he'd beat the hell out of that idiot from ten years ago (and, he of course still dwelled on everything and anything, but it sounded better to claim not to).

Ryan had developed the ability to look people in the eye, sure, and meeting Brendon's was a trouble that stemmed not from any kind of social anxiety, but from guilt. Looking straight at him, even though he now wore this resigned expression, then something like feigned confidence - Ryan had drifted too far to catch up on recent changes, but the pretend-confidence was clear and far away from Brendon's natural security - and was struck by the memory of how he'd looked when they split. Very rarely had he ever seen Brendon cry, or look so dumbstruck, so caught off his guard - and even less rarely, in fact never before, had he witnessed it all happening because of him. He knew that much. As much as he dodged recognition like a pro and slunk away from real, raw emotion enough to pretend it wasn't happening, he could just as easily act as if he had never been there that day, had done so plenty of times for years. It was generally the one with the worse end of the deal who completely dissociated themself from the situation, but Ryan was stuck with resounding guilt about it all (predictably), worry for what had happened to Brendon after he left (and yet the guilt kept him from checking in), and, amongst other things, a [i]lot[/i] of isolating. Turns out any reminder of their relationship or even just Brendon afterward made him feel everything he tried to ignore.

He never allowed himself a moment to wish for anything else, to imagine what they could have been or what they would have ended up making of themselves or if they were supposed to grow old together and Ryan just fucked up the balance of the universe, or whatever, all 'cause of his petty rejection issues. It was easier to deprive himself of those kinds of thoughts when Brendon wasn't around, though - when he was separated from the Brendon left in Ryan's head and instead just a guy in tabloids always picture-perfect and unreal. Looking at him now, even from the distance between him on stage and Brendon stuck in the crowd, Ryan felt the danger of those wistful thoughts immediately. He reasoned that it was only natural - it's not like they spent enough time around one another after the breakup to really come to terms with it and maybe let the romance die out. Usually for relationships that ended like theirs had, the love is gone before they finally make the cut. Brendon and Ryan had no such luck. 

It was basic instinct that led him off stage and towards Brendon, but Ryan knew his intuition was [i]definitely[/i] not to be trusted, so it wasn't a venture that came with no wariness - in any case he couldn't stop himself, already halfway there before he even registered that he'd moved so comparatively fast. His initial resolution to just [i]fix[/i] things, get on at least a level ground, was dissipating. The more this montage of their dedication to one another played in his head, juxtaposed with his rambling, semi-controlled speech about how it wasn't working out (it was, definitely was, they were going to get [i]married[/i]), the more he wanted to know Brendon again - not just fix the bad blood but explain himself entirely and catch up with his oldest, closest friend, make sure he knew it was never about him. Actually, on the contrary, Brendon had given him too many reasons to count, to stay. It just wasn't enough, matched up to all his childish fears, to stop his impulsive plans in their tracks and rein all the crazy in. Of course, that probably wasn't going to happen. Ryan burned a fuckton of bridges. He didn't expect anything from Brendon, now, when nothing was owed to him.

Ryan's mind drifted, against the personal rules he'd set for himself, to the fact that he might have seen Brendon change in all the ways that he had if it'd never happened. It was easy to guess that, yes, they would have lasted; they would have gotten married, and maybe Ryan would talk about his fears only to eventually laugh them off, and they would probably be so much happier than they were individually. All speculation, all wishful thinking. Ryan comforted himself in believing that maybe Brendon wouldn't have found as much success with Ryan weighing him down, or something; anything to veer away from the destructive train of thoughts of marriage he was already riding. When they were right before one another, that natural, worrying thought process lasted maybe ten seconds; then Ryan snapped himself out of it and promptly tried not to look like he was staring as much as he was just making friendly eye contact. He convinced himself, in the back of his mind, that he hadn't noticed Brendon shaking at all.

With inane distractions about fans, whatever, Ryan had led him to smile at those around him like it was second nature, and Ryan observed with something like fondness at how it was still the same. He was less boyish-excited than he was ten years ago whenever someone recognized him; now he was simple and sweet but still radiant as all hell somehow, despite the circumstances. Ryan supposed he was used to playing it cool for paparazzi, anyway. That was on his mind when, only vaguely, he caught onto bits and pieces of Brendon saying something back, very nearly asking him to repeat himself until he recognized Brendon's dry tone as a familiar one. Whatever he'd said wasn't necessarily for Ryan to hear. Instead of replying Ryan glanced at him tentatively, wondering if this was what it would be - Brendon's indignance, his own uncertainty - and again considered the easy way out by not talking at all. It wasn't as simple as that, though, and he thought his feet probably wouldn't carry him anyway.

When they were back, Brendon moved noticeably away, and Ryan said nothing again - just observed with concern heavy in the back of his mind. If he was fine enough to regard Ryan like he was now, all pride and vague but contained bitterness, then there was nothing to worry about except maybe getting burned by what'd clearly been an ignited, angry ten-year-long flame. Regardless, Ryan still asked questions, still wanted to know Brendon Remodelled. [i]Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month.[/i] Ryan's lips parted, natural reflex to tell him he [i]had[/i] heard some of it and he liked it and Brendon had grown so much musically - then he remembered where they stood again. Instead, he nodded, looking glad nevertheless that Brendon had good news to deliver. [b]"I'm happy to hear it,"[/b] he said in a gentler voice, keeping the distance between them but bowing his chin somewhat in counterpoint to Brendon's stance.

Anyway. He barely recognized him, blah blah, usual shock. [i]A decade does that to a person.[/i] Ryan would've looked sheepish if he hasn't been expecting that tone of voice anyway, that kind of inflection. He took it as politely as he could, quirking one side of his mouth like it was a joke. [i]You look different too.[/i] But did he? Ryan knew he was less flimsy and breakable looking compared to ten years ago, but a little muscle didn't do much in his eyes. He certainly hadn't grown out of the cherubic features into something far more adult, or at least not by much. On the flipside he as catching so many tiny details off about Brendon, how his expressions were more practiced, the lines of his face sharper but not severe, the way he held himself even under pressure that would've sent decade-ago Brendon running. [i]How’ve you been?[/i] [b]"Fine,"[/b] Ryan answered reflexively, used to either lying or giving as little info as possible. For this, he wasn't sure which it was. [b]"Not 'new-album-and-tour' level, but. I don't think I was cut out for that anyway. You've always been the braver one."[/b] he punctuated it with a semi-amused smile, so out of his element but so determined to say something - anything. Even if that last part was kind of hitting too close. 

[b]"Remember, we used to play shows like this?"[/b] he continued after a moment, mostly just trying to find comfort in their conversations again. It was already sort of easy; he knew he should be on edge, really, but all forces in him still registered Brendon as familiar, safe. Anyway - reminiscing on the tiny shows they cramped in to play together wasn't helping his case, even if he felt the briefest flood of warmth through himself. He folded in on himself a little, gaze dropping momentarily from Brendon's face while he drew his shoulders in, almost defending. Ryan started-stopped again, nearly on a ‘remember when’ tangent, then bit his tongue.