As the corners of Ryan’s mouth curled up into a helpless smile, Brendon’s own trademark grin only grew wider. It wasn’t a rare sight, Ryan would be glad to know, and it was often near-constant when he was working and tried to keep customers occupied and comfortable. He was a social butterfly of sorts, warm and friendly and sweet, able to get along with nearly everyone- though he both suffered from sometimes intense anxiety and had very, very little patience for idiocy. He was never intentionally avoidant of company, which is why he never rejected the offer of a drink being bought for him- that, and the fact that he was broke enough to always want another drink he couldn’t afford. Ryan, it seemed- he had mentioned it already, plus Brendon knew anyway that he was rich and famous- could afford anything he wanted. Could probably buy the bar if he wanted to, he mused silently with a quirk of the eyebrow. Brendon tried to convince himself he was unimpressed, but really, it was envy that occupied the back of his mind- the yearning desire to be in Ryan’s shoes, even for a day. Have crowds sing your songs back to you, shout your name, cheer deafeningly for an encore. Brendon was so caught up fantasising that he took a few seconds to process Ryan’s words. [i]You underestimate me.[/i]

Brendon rested an elbow against the counter and snickered shortly at Ryan’s faux defiance, derived from his previous geniune, animated laughter. [b]”Oh, please,”[/b] He tilted his head in counterpoint, and as he did, longer whisps of hair tipped over from one side of his head to the next, falling over his face and giving the appearance of an enthusiastic puppy. [b]”Let’s be realistic.”[/b] Leaving that open-ended, he drew his fingers through his hair at the roots, pushing it back and out of it eyes. Of course, strands rebelled and collected, falling over the front and just brushing his forehead in the form of a thin curl. For a hairstylist, he really had trouble in keeping his hair tidy- it had a mind of its own, and unless he used a questionable amount of gel or hairspray, it was inevitable that something would fall out of place. From this problem arose the habit of constantly touching and playing with his own hair- a hypocrite in the making, really, since he always advices clients to leave their hair alone as much as possible once it had been styled, for fear of making it greasy or messing it up. As he regarded Ryan, not upholding eye contact for fear of seeming a little creepy (what, Brendon, he approached [i]you[/i]), he entertained the idea of playing with his clearly unkempt curls and taming them into something that screamed ‘rockstar’ and not ‘twelve year old’. He almost looked wistful, drumming his fingers agitatedly against the table. 

As someone who had desperately wanted to break into the music industry when he was younger (his dream had been trampled and crushed so many times it had kind of killed his hope, though some always remained, he was a natural optimist), how Ryan coped with his personal life being the public’s business. That was something he wasn’t sure he’d be happy with at all- saying that, he didn’t imagine anybody was ever happy about being public property. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d get much more elaboration than a neutral shrug. [i]Yes.[/i] Brendon pursed his lips, nodded understandingly, relating in a way but also unable to imagine what it would be like, really. [i]Yeah, it is. I mean- I date girls, too, it’s not so bad.[/i] Brendon felt something faintly akin to surprise, though he wasn’t sure why- he’d seen the tabloids, and by ‘seen’ he meant briefly glanced at a paparazzi photograph of Ryan and an apparent ladyfriend. Jesus, the guy couldn’t go on a casual date without people speculating as to whether he’d met the love of his life. Brendon nodded after a moment, still strangely surprised. [i]But if I'm ever interested in a guy, you know.[/i] He did, but he also didn’t, so he just sort of nodded to show he was listening, figuring it wasn’t exactly fun for him to talk about. So he dropped it, but stored it away to mull over later.

Settling back into comfortably flirting was easy, and Brendon felt like he was speaking to an old friend, that they went years back and were only just realising feelings for eachother, or something cringey like that. Either way, he felt a definite spark that he hadn’t anticipated when a handsome stranger offered to buy him a drink (because, Brendon wasn’t trying to brag, but that happened a lot). They were keeping it relatively tame, though, until Brendon has to go and run his mouth and say something stupid and impulsive and- oh, Ryan didn’t seem to mind that much, but Brendon was already in the middle of being flustered and attempting to start over to backtrack yet again. Ryan was smiling and Brendon was tentative, grinning but flushed with mortification at how desperate he sounded. Hand offered out towards him, Ryan took it and they shook once, firm, mostly as a joke, partially so Brendon could salvage his first impression out of the ashes of his thirsty, impulsive comment. He wished he could say it was a rare occurrence. [i]Sure. Hi, Brendon, I’m Ryan.[/i] God bless him, at least Brendon wasn’t being teased about it. He was pretty sure he’d just crawl underneath the bar stool and stay there until he died. He was ready to withdraw his hand once his heartrate had calmed down, but then he was being pulled forwards with considerable but gentle force. Brendon looked down, confused, at their joined hands, then his eyes flickered up to meet Ryan’s, unexpectedly close to his, and he drew in a breath. 

[i]I’m just glad we’re on the same page.[/i] Are we? Brendon’s heartrate spiked again, his mind whirring, his temperature high. [b]”Are we?”[/b] He eachoed his own thoughts, wondering whether had actually heard what he said. Admittedly, he knew little about Ryan Ready, but never took him as someone so receptive to forwardness or this kind of heavy flirting with barely any subtext whatsoever. It was all surface level for Brendon. Brendon searched for a reply, but could only achieve sharing dumbly at his mouth while Ryan let go of his hand. Retiring it to his lap, he shifted on his stool, still recovering when Ryan started to tug on the short, tight sleeves of his ancient jacket. Everything- the hair, the old jacket, was pointing towards Ryan not having fully grown up on the outside yet. On the inside, maturity wise, of course. It just wasn’t reflected in how he presented himself and Brendon saw him as a kind of blank canvas. [i]Of course I’d pay![/i] Yeah, you’ll pay extra, Brendon muttered to himself, and he was smirking. He could afford it, after all. [i]I'll pay you to follow me around and correct all my mistakes, matter of fact.[/i] If only. Brendon bit his lip to withhold a teasing smirk. [b]”It’d take more than me, darlin’, I’m sorry to say.”[/b]

Once Brendon had fulfilled his impulses to touch Ryan’s hair (not quite play with because that really would be weird, even though he wanted to), and they were close, slotted together, he started distantly considering exactly what could come of this. A client, apparently. [i]Hmm.[/i] Forever and always receptive to touch, when Brendon was prompted to lift his chin, he did so obediently, brushing his fingers casually against Ryan’s knee. [i]Could you handle it for me?[/i] Brendon laughed distractedly, keeping his eyes trained down at his own hands, occasionally studying Ryan’s, eyeing them with interest as he curled his long fingers around his whiskey glass. [b]”I’ll style it for you initially, I don’t think you’re too helpless to style your own hair every morning. Takes five minutes, tops. Maybe.”[/b]