Back in downtown New York, where Brendon lived, he never saw the stars. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that the sea of street lamps and artificial lights was just another expense of the sky close to the ground, more celestial than industrial. But even if he managed to free himself enough to carry himself away in that daydream, sit by the window and gaze out into the dark, he could never keep it up for long. Brendon always had work to go to, and if he wasn’t working, he tended to be drinking, and if he wasn’t drinking he didn’t have the energy to do anything else and passed out early, disillusioned with the ocean of fake stars. Here, though, at Ryan’s ridiculously large house that he absolutely didn’t need (in fact he’d probably be just as at home back at Brendon’s tiny apartment, and Brendon knew that now since he’d learned much more about Ryan’s past), there was little to no light pollution and though Brendon had seen the full, clear, vast night sky the first evening he ever spent here, it stole his breath away anew every time. It wasn’t like he’d ever been much of an astronomer- the fact he knew and preached about his star sign was semi-egotistical, mostly to let everyone know he was flaming- but he was enchanted by them, and the authenticity of the night out here took away any homesickness he might have felt. Which, surprisingly, was a little more than he expected- when he left downtown New York he couldn’t be happier to see it behind him, but now he’d been here so long, he still felt out of his element, and he sorely missed his friends. Luckily, Ryan was good company (though he hadn’t been at first). One exchanged, affectionate glance at him and any longing he felt for his far from perfect home was quelled. It wasn’t like he had much back there other than friends, and from what he heard from Jon, Spencer was doing much better, which, though Brendon was immensely relieved, ate away at his conscience and left guilt in its wake. What if Spencer had been getting worse because Brendon tried to interfere so much? Or didn’t interfere enough? Back right before Brendon left in the hope of snatching up this fairytale, fake-sounding job hours away, he and Spencer hadn’t been on the best terms due to tensions, with Spencer too sick to work and Brendon dutifully but reluctantly paying his rent when he could already barely afford his own. That kind of desperate life was long behind him, he hoped- Ryan payed him a decent amount, even more than he’d hoped for, and with the money he’d been saving up, he even hoped he’d be able to afford a new, slightly bigger and slightly less dingy apartment when he finally made the expensive taxi journey back home. Though- the idea of leaving wasn’t a fond one. At first, his goal had been to see Ryan through to the end of this book, make shit up about New York that sounded interesting so maybe he’d get a generous tip or something, then go back home, find a new, better-paying job and regain his autonomy. He hadn’t liked relying on one person to pay his bills, still didn’t. But Brendon and Ryan’s relationship now was much more fond than that of an employee and an employer. The biggest reason Brendon hadn’t packed up and left yet was because of Ryan. Technically, he’d given Ryan all he asked for- the book was finished. At first, Brendon had suggested he stay until it was published; that milestone passed and he still didn’t feel entirely ready to leave. And so Brendon kept coming up with excuses to extend his stay, until he was worried he was finallyoverstaying his welcome and mentioned quietly one day that he should probably get going soon. Ryan, to his surprise, seemed just as reluctant to let him leave, stumbling awkwardly over his words, though Brendon got the gist of what he was saying. He wanted to start a new book series as soon as possible, he didn’t like the time between writing where he had absolutely nothing to do save chainsmoke in his bedroom, or something. Brendon had, embarrassingly, immediately agreed that he’d stay, not even needing to be won over by Ryan’s flattery, which consisted of ‘I write better with you around’ and ‘you make living in his stupid house a little more bearable’ and ‘I like myself better when you’re here’. However, Brendon was extremely homesick at that point, moreso than ever, and Ryan seemed to catch on. He offered to pay for a trip back home for, say, a week- Brendon, over the moon, had invited him along, but Ryan politely declined. He knew why. Ryan, Spencer and Jon still hadn’t resolved whatever had happened. Brendon had given up asking at that point, but he had a strong idea of what could have taken place. It was only for a week, and all Brendon did was go back to his apartment to check it hadn’t been broken into or something, then visited Spencer and Jon and spent the whole time with them, using his saved money to take them out places, a silent apology to Spencer and a silent thanks to Jon. It was a [i]sorry I left you, thanks for being so great[/i] kind of trip- and the whole time, he and Ryan messaged back and forth, mostly Ryan sending him ideas about his new book series and Brendon giving his severely underqualified but apparently highly valued two cents. Then, suddenly, he was back with Ryan, and he felt satisfied with where he was. Even if the future was still completely uncertain, he felt confident that with this new series (even though he was sure it wasn’t even set in New York, Brendon would be of no practical use) he would be allowed to remain without it being awkward for another hopefully long stretch of time. But then, after that- Brendon knew there was this unspoken subtext between them, and it was difficult to navigate because Ryan was still so closed off. The only time Brendon had alluded to this was when he was wasted and Ryan had been mad at him for, like, infiltrating his study. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said and he was glad for it. Brendon didn’t embarrass easily, but he couldn’t quite handle that kind of mortification. He’d been back at Ryan’s for about a week and a half- when he first arrived back Ryan had been, typically, smoking on his back porch. Brendon had offered him a fond grin and referenced their first meeting, apologising for being on his back porch at eleven in the morning. It wasn’t quite eleven, but, still. It made Ryan laugh. They stood there somewhat unsurely for a few moments, hovering, when Brendon stopped hesitating and moved in to catch him in an embrace, inhaling against the fabric of his shirt and telling him softly that he’d missed him. Ryan said nothing, but at this point he didn’t need to. They’d walked inside and Brendon had asked him how things were going, book-wise. Ryan admitted sheepishly that things hadn’t been going at all. A week and a half later, and it seemed he still had writer’s block- Brendon tried to stay away as much as possible as to not distract him, but it was difficult because there was only so much backstroke he could do in Ryan’s pool before he exhausted that form of entertainment for the month. There were a few days where they just played around in Ryan’s studio, and Brendon had finally sang for Ryan, like he promised he would but never actually followed through with until then. Everything was kind of serene, time felt thick and slow, and Brendon swore he could stay in this peaceful limbo with Ryan forever, even if what he really wanted- whatever that may be- was just out of his reach, tortuously close but he didn’t know how to close the final gap. Such things were evident when Brendon was sat on the steps of Ryan’s back porch in the evening, drinking in the sky, still as disarming as when he’d first seen it like this. Beside him, Ryan was sat, just out of reach. They’d been quite for a while- previously, Ryan had been writing something, but the notebook had been closed and settled on the wood between them. Brendon’s eyes fixed on it for a few moments and then he looked over at Ryan. [b]”Any luck, then?”[/b] He murmured, as if to not disturb the comfortable atmosphere too much. But his voice sounded too rough and loud and he cringed at himself, picking at his sleeve. [b]”With writing, I mean. I see you writing constantly but you never seem to actually get anywhere, y’know?”[/b]