Though he could’ve probably fooled people with his behaviour at that moment, Brendon, too, wasn’t one for hookups or casual flings- maybe when he was younger, when he had a little more life in him (it wasn’t like he was old by any stretch of the imagination, but his series of bad hands drawn from the decks of life has seemed to dull him, so he was a rough diamond, or a blunt knife), but now, the idea was- kind of exhausting. Even if it was supposed to be the opposite, the prospect of sleeping with a stranger then having to a) uncomfortably excuse himself and leave or b) ask awkwardly for somebody to get out of his house was mortifying, and again, Brendon wasn’t easily embarrassed, but he drew lines, and there was less he could cope with these days. Ryan, however- no, he didn’t want to say however, that sounded like some kind of promise, but the more Brendon looked at him the more drawn to him he became. He wondered, absently, whether it was because he had found out the guy was famous- like, super famous- and his ego had just been stroked because his gorgeous rockstar had decided he was worth approaching. Compliments weren’t scarce for Brendon, but he supposed it meant more coming from Ryan, for some reason. Which was ridiculous. He was just a man, at the end of the day- who happened to be tall, pretty, and charming. Who was Brendon Kidding?

[i]I see what you mean.[/i] And he was playing along with the religious parents joke, but asked no questions. It was usually Brendon’s go-to first reveal to strangers, or new acquaintances- which was odd, and nobody ever expected somebody like Brendon to have ever been to church in his life. He had left it all behind, now, but it was a big part in shaping him, for better and for worse- mostly for worse, though, he often thought bitterly, remembering barely veiled homophobia and parents pushing him away from what he loved and into something more ‘reliable’. Here he was, working backbreaking shifts at a salon, and all the worse for it. Brendon did keep some contact with his family, mostly to try and guilt trip them- he expected an apology for their bullshit behaviour, but his family seemed to be experts at brushing problems under the rug and not dragging up the past in what they said was ‘healing’. Whenever he called his mom, she tried to convince him to come visit, said ‘honey, we miss you’; his dad would be blunt and civil but not warm, clearly still holding something against Brendon (wonder what that could be); his siblings were all surface-level nice to him but he knew he was something of an outcast, the youngest and the most deviant. It was a pretty rough thing to bring up all the time, but Brendon embraced his history no matter what. Even if he did sometimes wish it had been different.

[i]I could get one. And, as I assume is necessary, wear a button-down shirt and khakis or whatever so that I look like your straight friend. See, I'm good.[/i] Brendon laughed warmly, glad he was catching on. [b]”Does that come naturally to you?”[/b] He asked, quirking an eyebrow and pausing, a playful smile still on his face and his eyes lit up with good humour. [b]”Something tells me it doesn’t. And, uh, you’re gonna need a little more than some khakis to convince [i]anyone[/i] that you’re straight.”[/b] No harm in a little passive critique, Brendon thought, looking Ryan up and down again, but this time more from a professional perspective rather than ‘damn, okay, he’s fine’. He was about to speak again but he stopped, restarted, his eyebrows raising sympathetically. [b]”You poor thing,”[/b] Brendon sighed, tapping his fingers against his glass steadily, his lips pursed for a moment. [b]”You’re in the music industry, and- well. Is it a nightmare?”[/b] Or maybe Brendon was being cynical. He was something of a stereotype himself, in that he was a hairstylist, he supposed- but being in the public eye like that, being scrutinised completely no matter what you did- he wondered how Ryan coped, especially when the whole world was so critical.

With that out of the way, he could go back to thinking damn, okay, he’s fine, and he started rethinking his whole ‘buy me dinner first’ schtick, watching Ryan’s mouth as he talked and sucking in a breath embarassingly when Ryan bit his lip. He wasn’t usually this easy, he swore- he blamed it reliably on the fact that Ryan was famous. Nothing more, nothing less. Damn, was he really that shallow? [i]I’ll hold you to that.[/i] [b]”You can hold me against anything you want,”[/b] He burst out immediately in response, then pled, because even for him, that was bad. Brendon, luckily, recovered quickly with a laugh, able to laugh at his own expense. Internally, though, he was cringing at his own impulsivity. Shaking his head, he outstretched a hand as if offering it for a handshake. [b]”Hi, I’m Brendon Blake,”[/b] He began, still giggling. [b]”And I have no brain-to-mouth-filter. Can we, uh, start over?”[/b] Fuck his [i]life.[/i] Brendon, Though endlessly mortified, regained composure, hoping they could pretend that never happened- and, in order to move on quickly, he switched back to professional, where he wouldn’t run his mouth and embarrass himself. Well. Silencing his own doubts, he reached out towards Ryan’s hair, noting his nod of consent and then running his fingers through, keeping his eyes trained there and not to Ryan’s face now that his eyes were closed. He withdrew his hand after a few beats, then his jaw dropped slightly in horror at the mention of a decade old jacket. 

[i]Wait, no, go back to a second ago when you still liked me, pretend you didn't hear about the jacket.[/i] Brendon’s face lit up with laughter, not because of the jacket thing, but because of the casual squeeze of his arm- he was grateful Ryan would even touch him after he was so fucking weird. [b]”I’m surprised it still fits you. Well- actually- it doesn’t.”[/b] [i]So, hypothetically, if I were to schedule an appointment with you sometime, you'd make me look like a functioning person? Tell me your professional opinion, what would you do to fix this.[/i] Hypothetically, sure. Brendon imagined bringing this guy to the place he worked, the looks he’d get, the jaws that would drop. [b]”I mean, only if you’re a paying customer. I’m not cheap, y’know.”[/b] He said finally, and then he withdrew backwards slightly as if to get the full picture, then back in, dragging his stool close enough together with Ryan’s so that Brendon had one knee between Ryan’s legs and the other was skewed off slightly to the side. Comfortable, brought a hand up at the side of Ryan’s jaw, turned his head to the left, then the right, gently. [b]”Well,”[/b] He began, biting his lip, [b]”Your curls are cute, but like, five years younger cute. You need it shorter, but styled so that- if weight is taken away, it won’t just curl even more. Which means you’ll have to take care of it, style it every day, and have regular upkeep.”[/b] He lifted an eyebrow. [b]”Think y’could handle that?”[/b]