[i]I didn’t think you’d be easy.[/i] You’d think so, wouldn’t you, you really would- but Brendon, after telling himself that he’d politely reject any further flirting, was sitting there uselessly, trying not to stare uselessly because he was so, [i]so[/i] pretty, and it wasn’t like Brendon hadn’t seen his face before (he was just [i]that[/i] famous, his and his band’s likeness online all the time and plastered everywhere to advertise an upcoming tour, or album, or something), but he’d never really noticed, even though he really was and always had been Brendon’s exact type- tall, dark, handsome, well-spoken, obviously intelligent, he was even extremely talented. Here, now he was sat right beside him, obviously into him, Brendon tried not to let it go to his head. He wasn’t even particularly starstruck, he just had an ego that, though frequently stroked, was always looking for new ways to be inflated. And here was Ryan, all flattery and charm he didn’t expect from someone that was so humble and quite mild from what he’d seen, and Brendon couldn’t bring himself to tell him that he had to go. Because he didn’t. He just knew that there was a point of no return with guys like this and Brendon was edging dangerously close already, and he’d only bought him one drink.

He realised he hadn’t spoken, and snapped out of his lapse in focus, regaining his easy smile and meeting Ryan’s eyes. [b]”You’d be surprised.”[/b] His voice was earnest as he tightened his grip on his glass and lifted it to take a sip, mostly trying to convince himself that after this one drink, he’d make his excuses and leave. He wouldn’t, obviously, but it was fun to fool himself. [i]Hey, I can do all of that. And parents love me. [/i]Brendon smiled cynically, because it could be anyone, and he knew his parents wouldn’t like the guy he brought home. He said nothing, just cleared his throat and placed his glass back down on the wood. [i]I'm sure I have a Bible, like... somewhere in Hoarder Hell.[/i] Hoarder hell, did he say? Unable to relate, the corner of Brendon’s mouth twitched and his eyebrow quirked in acknowledgement- Brendon thought about how though he was a messy and disorganised person in general, he didn’t have enough stuff to hoard. He imagined Ryan’s house was huge and he had more money than he’d ever know what to do with- and wondered whether or not he was feeling particularly generous. [b]”Any chance you’ve got a Book of Mormon kicking about anywhere? Are you god-fearing, Ryan?”[/b] Light and charming, Brendon’s tone had a teasing lilt, and he was even able to imitate the voice of his parents that he remembered so vividly when he was young. Ryan’s name rolled off his tongue like some kind of revelation, and he leaned forward slightly when he said it, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge.

[i]That’s good advice.[/i] Was it? If it was, it was a rare occurrence to hear good advice coming from Brendon’s mouth. [i]All the more reason we should hang out more often.[/i] He was [i]so[/i] hard to refuse. Brendon answered with a faint nod, unable to really think sensibly. During his silence, he was trying desperately to formulate a reply, not usually this stuck in social situations- god, he wasn’t that pretty (he was), get a grip of yourself, Brendon- but Ryan saved him and kept talking. He blinked gratefully as he did so, and then his uncertain half-smile spread into a blinding, geniune grin, ear to ear, eyes scrunching up. It wasn’t a rare sight; for all of Brendon’s hardships, he was an admirably cheerful person, with an easy sense of humour and an approachable nature that made him a hit with clients where he worked. Well, there was that, and. [i]Just you and me, unless that poses an issue for you?[/i] Like hell it did, Brendon was past the point of no return, even if he displayed remarkable willpower and went home now he’d still be thinking about Ryan for weeks and how he’d maybe missed the love of his life, or something, or at least a very enjoyable fling of sorts. He figured Ryan, the famous musician, was more a guy to engage in the latter.

[b]”I bet nobody’s turned down that offer before,”[/b] He remarked, smirking, tilting his head minutely to the side and willing his eyes to remain making contact, not drifting down to Ryan’s mouth like they had started to naturally do. It wasn’t helping with the upkeep of the image of being not easy. He allowed a pause for effect, for anticipation. [b]”And, darlin’, I’m not about to be the first.”[/b] Maybe the pet name was overkill, but it wasn’t like he was using it especially for Ryan. It was his go-to general term of endearment, even if in this instance, if wasn’t exactly wholly innocent. Back at the salon, though, he referred to the more pleasant clients as ‘darlin’, which, looking back it it now, probably wasn’t helping with the whole issue of being flirted with while he was trying to work. Now, Brendon was a natural, but he was easily distracted, and not only was this behaviour exhibited from clients inappropriate, it was immensely distracted. After a while, he’d stopped telling them to stop looking at him in the mirror. If the haircut turned out shitty, it was their fault, not his.

Speaking of the salon. Ryan wanted to know about his job. Brendon didn’t know how to tell them that he was crushingly unsatisfied with and overqualified for his work, so he kept it neutral, lightening it with a joke. Ryan, who he wrongly and bitterly assumed would look down on such things, seemed geniunely interested. [i]’All right’ is an understatement.[/i] Flattery. Brendon felt himself flush and then felt wholly mortified. He wasn’t some useless teenager, and here he was, blushing after one little direct compliment. [i]I need you. Look at me.[/i] [b]”What do you think I’ve been doing,”[/b] Brendon instantly replied, but he laughed and looked him over anyway, looking from his eyes to his hair and back down again, extending an arm and hand towards Ryan’s hair and searching his face, asking for silent permission. Brendon was an impatient man and didn’t bother waiting for a response, just ran his fingers hesitantly through Ryan’s hair. It was soft, was clean, he obviously took care of it in that respect, but. It was too long, did him no favours. Brendon curled a finger around a lock and dropped his hand down to his lap. [i]I don’t know how to dress myself or anything.[/i] [b]”What you’re doing works for me.”[/b] Brendon nodded to his general person. [i]I've had this same jacket since I was seventeen.[/i] That was a step too far. Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, and that said more than any words could.