When placed perpendicular to everything Brendon had got up to and achieved in the past few years, Ryan’s life seemed much more lowkey, infinitely less pronounced, and could be perceived as a failure (due to his small but dedicated remaining fanbase, whittled down when Brendon suggested they split the band for the good of every member)- but Brendon knew that Ryan measured his own success as to what he was happy with, not that he had hundreds of thousands of fans or earned as much money as, say, Brendon did. Which almost made it more difficult- Ryan was an overly self-critical cynic who found difficulty being proud of any of his work. It wasn’t like he was risking financial stability by being complacent with his subtle lifestyle- Brendon and Ryan were [i]married,[/i] coming up to maybe their second anniversary, and as far as Brendon was concerned, Ryan deserved to be paid and revered for his original role in getting panic off the ground and into the headlines- beyond that, he treated his paycheck as both of theirs. They had individual careers at varying levels of commercial success, but they were one, and that’s all that mattered. There was no jealousy or haughtiness, and although the initial split had been difficult (Ryan had vehemently rejected the proposal, feeling as if he was being kicked out of his own band, and was even more pissed when Brendon told him they were going to keep the name), they were mature and reconciled and quickly fell into this new routine, none the less close because of it.

It was strange at first, when Brendon called in people to their own home to interview them to take Ryan’s place as guitarist and Jon’s place as bassist, and Ryan had been testy and short with them, his back raised as if he had to defend himself, his integrity. Every time Ryan (who had built up a considerable amount of muscle over the last few years, and was now geniunely somewhat physically imposing) scared a potential touring band member away with his bad attitude, Brendon had been patient with him, though he honestly just wanted to kick him out of the house. It probably wasn’t a nice feeling. All throughout the process, Brendon had constantly told him it wasn’t about his guitar playing- he was effortlessly good at it, Brendon envied how naturally his (gorgeous) hands fell into position every time with no thought or effort- or his lyrics- exceptional, enchanting, consistently more ethereal and complex than anything Brendon could ever hope to write- it was just a matter of conflicting musical taste and desired direction for the band. Brendon desired something like a polished, pop style, while Ryan cling on stubbornly to rock n’ roll and the abstract sound of their first records. Every session tended to end in an argument, and if it didn’t, it was usually because Brendon and Ryan, ever the lovebirds, couldn’t take their eyes off eachother long enough to concentrate and formulate a coherent, relevant thought.

They hadn’t been getting anything done. Brendon and Spencer, who had similarly aligned views about band direction, sat down together to talk about it, and it was Brendon who suggested splitting off down the middle. Spencer had agreed, but was also apprehensive- [i]’what about you and Ryan, how will that work?’[/i]- and that was the first time that even came to Brendon’s mind. It didn’t worry him much, though- they were in love, whether in the same band or not, nothing would change between them. Even so. He dressed initially telling him. Spencer had tasked him with breaking the news that he wanted to break up the band (using the reasonable excuse that it was Brendon’s idea) and when he approached it, one afternoon while they were lying side by side in bed, legs tangled comfortably together, it felt like he was about to break up with Ryan for real, or something- so he was nervous, and as expected, Ryan had something of an outburst, expressing his frustration and how he felt neglected by the band he had been the primary creative force behind for a very long time. Brendon tried to keep it civil, but he fed off of Ryan’s passion about it and said some things he didn’t mean about Ryan’s contribution towards the band. It was a sour argument and for a while Brendon felt awful- but they reconciled pretty soon, never able to remain angry at eachother.

It was normal, now. Brendon hired some new strictly tour musicians, continued playing with Spencer for a while until he backed out for his own reasons. Brendon felt the loss- just like he’d felt so lonely on stage without Ryan just a glance to the right away- but he also felt the freedom of taking the reins by himself, not having to compromise, doing everything by himself and in his own way. Brendon now prided himself in his independence and Ryan was equally proud of all he had achieved, content with watching fondly from the sidelines as Brendon’s successes piled up and he gracefully met his every personal goal. They were now officialy separate as far as careers went, but nothing really changed offstage. Brendon still went to his husband for his opinion on lyrics and tabs, they still made music for themselves in their free time, they still texted eachother lyrics and scribbled them on sticky notes for the other to see. There were obvious downsides- Brendon had to go on tour and it was torture for them both to be apart for so long. Even the odd visit from Ryan when time and place would allow, constant messaging and regular FaceTimes weren’t enough for them both. Every time he went to bed, either on the tour bus or a hotel, he was unfairly aware that Ryan wasn’t beside him, trying to annoyingly cuddle him like he always did, no matter how much Brendon protested.

Point was, they adapted, because everything paled into insignificance behind their strong, unshakeable love for eachother. Brendon loved the lines of Ryan’s face when he smiled with his teeth, his sweet, sincere nature, his rough, somehow gentle and calming voice, how his hair curled at the ends when it grew past a certain point (even though Ryan’s hairstyle was currently more modern and swept over), the familiar callouses of his hands, his arms that had grown stronger with time, and were Brendon’s favourite place in the world. When Ryan held him, he felt safe and loved and secure. Brendon could go on forever about the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed curve of his mouth, his unhealthy obsessions with leather jackets, the way he came up behind Brendon and wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close and swaying them just so. And- his [i]eyes.[/i] Brendon was a broken record, always going on about his honeycomb eyes, pale honey gold in bright light and a deeper, richer colour otherwise, but every time brendon looked for too long he was charmed. The effect hadn’t faded with time.

Brendon firmly believed that Ryan was both breathtaking and harbouring an annoying amount of unused potential. He never said anything directly- it would be hypocritical of him, since he took Ryan’s main medium for creative output away- but he always encouraged Ryan to pick up a guitar, sit at the piano, even sing when he was particularly convincing, usually using a bribe of some kind. He had talent that needed some kind of better outlet, because as sweet and romantic as it was, scrawling tiny love letters onto fluorescent post-its wasn’t exactly an overly productive way of using his time and skills. He figured that after the band he had with Jon didn’t do as well as they’d hoped, Ryan had lost heart, confidence and motivation to carry on, writing and leaking only unfinished solo songs. And Ryan had never been overly sure of himself anyway. Brendon knew how captivating his singing voice was- it deserved an audience again. Brendon considered inviting him to come back and play with panic, but figured he deserved something better than very unequally sharing the spotlight with Brendon for the thousandth time.

Enter stage right, Z. More Ryan’s friend than Brendon’s- they had developed distinct circles with few overlaps since the split of the band- Z was arguably Ryan’s best friend, besides maybe Spencer, and they’d only recently become close again. She was a talented musician herself and Brendon respected her for that- they could talk about such things for hours- and importantly, she put on shows starring herself and her many musician friends. Brendon hatched a plan with her and asked her to proposition Ryan about performing there (Ryan was a sucker for Z and could never say no), and it had worked. Ryan accepted, and turned up at the event in all his glory with Brendon watching adoringly from the sidelines as his husband took the stage for the first time in forever and absolutely killed it. Once he knew Ryan was open to the idea of playing live for audiences again, Brendon almost instantly asked Z if she was planning on holding another event and, heaven above, she was. Typically, Ryan only found out maybe a week in advance, and was subtly stressing about it (Brendon could tell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it). By Sunday, though, he had more or less geared himself up.

Brendon was waiting in the living room, sprawled out carelessly across the couch, dressed simply in jeans and what was definitely one of Ryan’s jerseys. He was flicking through channels with the remote in one hand, and his other was taking turns stroking Penny, Bogart and Dottie, who were all curled on or around his lap. Ryan, surprisingly, was taking forever to get ready. Usually he just threw on the first thing he pulled out and refused to put in any more effort than that. Brendon fondly remembered his fashion sense (or lack thereof) back in the early days of the band, and smiled to himself as he flicked to the next channel, some game show. Nah. The next channel. Friends. Satisfied, he put the remote down and shifted to settle, disturbing a very sleepy Dottie in the process and irritating a comfortable Bogart and Penny, who fully stood up to shift around and lie down again. He murmured an apology and scratched Dottie’s ear, before he heard Ryan approaching from behind the couch and turned his head to look around.

Immediately, embarrassingly, his jaw dropped a little until he had to consciously close it. Swallowing, a slow smile crept up to his mouth and he focused his attention on the dogs again for a few seconds just to shift them aside before he stood up and weaved between the coffee table and the couch to stand and regard his husband properly. [i]Fuck.[/i] [b]”Fuck,”[/b] Brendon repeated out loud, but it was extended as an appreciative sigh. [b]”Oh man, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.”[/b] He bit his lip to suppress his dumb affectionate smile and closed the space between them, reaching to wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders and extending himself upwards to meet Ryan in what was barely a kiss and more a faint brush of the lips. [b]”You look so good,”[/b] He admitted, moving one of his hands to comb through Ryan’s hair and the other to cradle his jaw briefly. [b]”We’re running late, but...”[/b] Brendon clicked his tongue. [b]”I’d say let’s jusy stay home, but I want to hear and see you be wonderful. [i]God,[/i] you’re so handsome.”[/b]