So maybe wanting Brendon around for practice was a little bit selfish. Jon and Spencer were easygoing enough to deal with during their daily lives, but as bandmates, they totally didn't respect Ryan's control freak, perfectionist tendencies. Spencer would stare him down whenever he subtly tried to change chords that either of them had settled on (usually by playing his own way and waiting for someone to notice and question him about it, which only happened nine out of ten times), or tell him to get out and stop looking at words when he'd taken too much time staring at one particular lyric figuring out the best alternative to it, or put him in instrumental time-out when his playing became particularly discordant whenever he was frustrated. That kind of thing. Jon looked like the child of two fighting parents whenever that sort of stuff went on, looking between them with his hands paused on his bass and wondering what their stupid silent best friend language meant. It was never [i]arguing,[/i] but Ryan could be difficult and annoying at times, and he knew it.

Brendon, though, was the fourth part of this equation, an essential piece that made them all work together. Whereas Spencer was his unrelenting, honest second half, and Jon was their patient observer, Brendon was the one who could always lighten the mood and find a compromise. It was a little surprising considering, in their daily lives, he was the sort of childish one, immature and sweet on the surface, but really after so much time with him they'd all realized he was a lot more than what he seemed. When Ryan replayed-replayed-replayed one tiny snippet of a song, wondering how to perfect it, Brendon pulled him away from the obsession and found a way to fix it in himself in impossible time - not just that, but he fixed it so that Ryan liked it, too, stopped searching for an answer and torturing himself. When Spencer was close to snapping at Ryan for that kind of behavior, Brendon could detect the oncoming storm, made something lighthearted out of the circumstances and pulled them all away from the stress without even lifting a finger. And, well. Jon was just prone to secondhand stress, mostly, but Brendon knew to stay near him, made him feel less alone when the two who'd been friends for probably too long were being negligent.

Things were good so far, because Ryan hadn't been too bothersome yet - not that he'd really had a bad obsessive episode since Brendon even joined the band; the worst he'd been was worryingly quiet and self-destructive, staying awake for hours to piece together solutions, but that was enough to bother his bandmates - and Spencer hadn't called him on being self-isolating, dealing with things alone when they were in this together, or something, and Jon hadn't resorted to lighting up to mentally escape the two of them, but it was only a matter of time before the semi-relaxed air was no longer that. So. Brendon had to get up, as much as Ryan wanted to leave him alone. He had a hard job as both the peacemaker and the frontman, so he kind of deserved the rest, but maybe Spencer was right - sleeping 'til noon might be enough, even if he'd stayed up concerningly late as per usual. And Ryan wasn't going to tell Spencer that he sometimes encouraged that habit by staying up with him, not ever.

When he came in, though, Brendon seemed to know what was happening, pulling a pillow over his head in silent irritation. Ryan mentally rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. When the pillow was thrust off the bed fairly aggressively Ryan watched it, trying not to smirk lest Brendon's eyes open and he see Ryan laughing at his theatrics. [i]Go away.[/i] That pout, big brown puppy-dog eyes, and he could get away with murder. Ryan pursed his lips desperately, but when Brendon's eyes shut again he allowed himself to smile, overly amused. [i]I really hate you right now.[/i] Ryan's fingers started carding through the hair by his temple, maybe messing with him. [b]"No, you don't,"[/b] he said, almost sing-song, and then Brendon batted him away before turning away completely. Ryan took his hand back and leaned over the edge of the mattress, staring at the back of his head. [b]"Oh. Maybe you do."[/b] He hummed to himself, knew Brendon wasn't totally serious but would be irritated by him for the rest of the day at least, and that sucked. Ryan could barely handle thinking he wasn't in Brendon's good favor for, like, a minute, even. Fucking Spencer, really. Should've come here himself. 

Speak of the devil. At the mention of the drummer's name Ryan heard his long-suffering sigh and was met with Brendon's gaze again, which would be fantastic if he didn't look annoyed. Brendon really didn't look like that often - Ryan wasn't used to it. He sat back on his heels, hands freed of the muffin, and put on his best innocent face, willing Brendon to forgive him for this terrible crime. [i]You’re dead to me.[/i] Ryan looked down, running a finger over the hardwood almost guiltily. [b]"I'll be dead for real if we're not back in ten. So get over it,"[/b] he returned bravely, trying to match Brendon's ruthless just-awoken attitude. [i]You're like, Spencer’s little lackey.[/i] Ryan stood up, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, shrugging helplessly. [b]"I got you an hour and a half more of sleep, you know. I was supposed to wake you earlier. Where's my thanks?"[/b] He was smiling gently, though, clearly having lost his resolve to be bold in facing a cranky Brendon. He pushed at his shoulder softly, gesturing at his breakfast. [b]"Eat your muffin, drink your water, be nice to me. I'm your favorite."[/b] Ryan raised his eyebrows, amused, daring Brendon to tell him otherwise.