When he was younger, Ryan would never have anticipated what his life had come to now. Of course when he first picked up some hand-me-down guitar from his uncle at age thirteen he'd had passing moments where he thought it might be nice to play in front of people, but he'd never had the self-confidence to even dream or believe that maybe he'd be selling to millions ten years later. When he posted demos to LiveJournal, it was a storage system for himself; when he woke up to 1,000 replays weeks later it was just a nice milestone to have made. At the time he'd figured that was probably it, that was the peak. Music was never going to be a career that he could live off of. He'd get a law degree like his dad wanted, maybe, or join his dad's business if that didn't work out, or if he could completely separate himself from family wishes, maybe get an English degree. That was actually the dream he had, the achievable one. But he never thought music was an option. A hobby at best, not something he was good enough at to be profitable.

Fast forward to now and he [i]knew[/i] he was good, had proven to himself time and time again that he could play whatever song he wanted with ease; maybe singing wasn't as much of a strong point but he got around that by making his own songs to work with. He didn't necessarily flaunt the success quite yet because - well. There was no point. He lived alone, didn't necessarily need a mansion with staff and ten cars. Actually, all Ryan [i]needed[/i] was a spare studio room and enough space to make noise where it wouldn't disturb other people, some security to make sure no one hung around outside his house in wait to hand over fanmail personally or grab photos that wouldn't even sell as scandalous (considering all he ever did at home was hide inside and binge-watch lame shows from the eighties). So he lived well below his means, still not totally attuned to the lifestyle that he could reasonably have, in a half-luxurious house with mostly thrifted furniture and all of his old recycled childhood belongings. All in all, his personality and outlook had caught up with him in this new life, but maybe not his habits and behaviors.

It's not that he didn't try getting here, but it surprised him that any of his efforts worked. Really, his personal childhood hero probably got hundreds of people reaching out to him on a daily basis, trying to show him their work; Ryan just got lucky that Pete had the time for him. He had the talent to grab attention, sure, but so many others did, too, if only they knew the right place to go. Ryan was ambitious enough, posting demos anywhere he possibly could, advertising locally and faking his age so that clubs might hire his band to play (which definitely did not work fifty percent of the time), and that period of time most musicians suffered through as a 'starving artist' living in their parents' basement subsisting off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles was just far shorter for him. He, Spencer, Jon, and Brent definitely had rough times in the beginning, but their deal was so much sweeter than what other people went through just because they picked up in popularity faster, had too many gifts to ignore.

Ryan was the endlessly praised lyricist, the perfectionist who made no mistakes, and it translated to his guitar playing. His voice may not be clean-cut and bold but it worked for their music, had an edge that made people keep coming back and that he'd grown into over time. Spencer had picked up drums around the time he got his hands on a guitar and had such a precise rhythm that Ryan never doubted his place in the band, knew he was going to be there from start to finish. Jon joined a little later but still had half the hand Ryan did with lyrics and was fantastic at it - clearly this was his dream forever, he wanted to make it as much, if not more, than Ryan did, and honestly he often shared the spotlight as frontman, a dynamic duo. Brent was... Brent. Didn't really need him, but as much as he was argumentative and difficult to work with, he still fucking killed rhythm guitar, so. They had their faults but they'd earned their place on the top hits list, every time. Their relevance wasn't unfounded at all.

Hopefully they were relevant to a very far-reaching crowd, because, honestly, Ryan wasn't as confident in his personality or interestingness in general as much as he was in his ability to make good music. It made, uh, hitting on people much more difficult. So he had to rely on his talents to be obvious for him. There was no glimmer of recognition when his new bar friend looked at him, though, so that was somewhat disappointing - maybe it'd come to him later, or Ryan would have to make the allusion himself. [i]Absolutely.[/i] Only after he'd been looked up and down. That was a good sign. At least he must look somewhat appealing, then. [i]I’m Brendon. I’d usually prefer dinner, but y’know, for you I’ll make an exception.[/i] Ryan's smile became a little more genuine, amused, and he pulled up the nearest barstool, silently flagging the bartender and gesturing to Brendon's drink for two of the same. [b]"We could do that, too, sometime,"[/b] Ryan said, definitely getting ahead of himself but selling it with a tiny, charming tilt of his head.

[i]I recognise you from somewhere.[/i] Thank fucking god. Finally some leverage. Ryan propped himself up against the bar on his elbow, looking almost sheepish despite having hoped for this. Was this the day to finally be cocky about it like he'd always joked, say something like 'yeah, 'cause I'm a huge fucking deal'? Maybe not. Wouldn't sound so funny in a real conversation. [b]"I'm a musician, might be it. I lead The Young Veins. Heard of us?"[/b] And wouldn't it be magical if the bar's sound system started playing one of their hits? He'd probably run out of luck for that, whatever. Their drinks were pushed toward them and Ryan tested a little, keeping his body facing Brendon, elbow planted on the wood still.