Brendon did have a writing team now, and he surrounded himself by people who were talented at that sort of thing, professionals, who would help him write in a more contemporary way than what he was used to- panic’s writing style was almost entirely the product of Ryan’s vision, and Brendon frequently had to figuratively wrestle with him for the permission to pen down some lyrics that would actually be used, not just sneered at by Ryan and cast aside, forgotten. That had, he supposed, knocked his confidence- Brendon was a talented guy, he was more than comfortable with his musical abilities, like singing and playing instruments and writing music, but when it came to the more intellectual (he supposed, or maybe Ryan had just wanted him to think that) task of writing down words with meaning so the song was more than just a guitar rhythm over a beat, Brendon was more unsure, and though he desperately wanted to do something he could call entirely his own- like the couple of short songs from panic’s second album- he gave Spencer, Dallon and Ian more slack on their leash, willing to listen to suggestions (though not always use them, even more rarely agree with them). However, with the help of his bandmates, and several third party collaborative songwriters, he managed to create an album he was proud of, confident in, musically and lyrically.

Though not all of the words were his own, there were lines and concepts that were unmistakeably his own, and he was almost 100% regretting wearing his heart on his sleeve like that, his emotions just [i]there[/i] for everyone to plainly hear, and not just anybody, particular people, like the one standing right in front of him, Ryan, who had undoubtedly heard the whole record. He was sentimental like that. Brendon felt worse for it- Ryan had most likely heard the whole thing, start to finish, maybe even more than once- and Brendon was weak, he couldn’t even get through three whole songs from Ryan and Jon’s album. He couldn’t bear it- and he never saw himself as that sentimental; nonetheless, looking at him now, he felt guilt and shame and embarrassment  as he thought about all the self-incriminating lyrics in those damn songs. [i]Fix me or conflict me, I’ll take anything.[/i] Desperate. [i]Cold and alone, it suits you well.[/i] Well, that whole song was spiteful and pointed- self-confident and cocky and assured. It was Brendon’s favourite to perform but now he wa staring in the face of the person the harsh lyrics were directed to... [i]An obsession called while you were out[/i] was about mutual less-than pining, [i]at night your body is a symphony and I’m conducting you [/i]spoke for itself. [i]Should have known right from the start you can't predict the end.[/i] Yeah, Brendon was more of a literal writer- he didn’t use metaphors and such to hide what he was feeling. Cold hearts apparently really did brew colder songs, and when the split happened, Brendon’s was solid ice.

As cliche as it was, since Ryan had invited himself into his dressing room and stood there, all stupid honey eyes and pretty hands and the sheepish smile and familiar, rough voice that he couldn’t get out of his head, Brendon’s hardened heart seemed to let up, allow him to be vulnerable; even if it was just a little, Ryan disarmed him like that. He hated it- but he wanted more. He was staring now, god. Brendon, get a hold of yourself. [i]Compared to other bands, sure. [/i]What bands? They were the only major split happening at the time. Brendon furrowed his brows slightly. [i]Hey, no one went off on a drug binge-[/i] Well, Brendon was pretty sure certain members had gotten close- [i]None of us have any sex scandals-[/i] [b]”Hey, I’m pretty sure we counted,”[/b] Brendon interrupted, grinning lopsidedly and lifting an eyebrow suggestively. [i]Everyone’s excites to see each other...[/i] That, Brendon couldn’t deny, and he smiled earnestly, because he was excited to get the gang back together at some point, just the four of them hanging out like he sorely missed. Funny- if somebody had told Brendon a couple of years ago that he would [i]miss[/i] Ryan... [i]I’d say we’re doing pretty good.[/i] Brendon nodded, biting his lip briefly. [b]”Yeah, okay, you’re right.”[/b] They were doing well. Compared to these mystery other bands, apparently.

Brendon knew he wouldn’t be able to resist him the second he walked in, but he at least thought he’d last longer than, like, ten minutes. They’d barely greeted eachother properly, not even caught up, and there was Brendon, giving permission for Ryan to make him his. Asking him. Somehow he knew he’d be mortified later, but in Ryan’s arms he couldn’t even register that maybe he’d regret this in some time. It was annoyingly intoxicating, so much so that after their brief, long-awaited kiss, Brendon had trouble collecting his thoughts and translating them into speech. To try and ground himself, he focused on working through Ryan’s shirt buttons one by one, but then he realised that would just speed things along to- wherever this was going- and it had the opposite effect. He felt his pulse quicken and he had the sudden urge, once he had exposed it, to attach his mouth to Ryan’s collarbone. Miraculously, he managed to demonstrate extraordinary willpower and instead wondered why Ryan wasn’t helping. Maybe he was reluctant. Maybe he didn’t want this. Brendon slowed, uncertain, looked up to meet his eyes. [b]”This is what you meant, right?”[/b] When he said that he wanted him.

Finally, he managed to start his piece about them and how an official ‘them’ never was, and still wasn’t, a good idea. It wouldn’t work, Brendon didn’t have to tell Ryan why- but he did notice that quirk of his mouth (Brendon’s eyes had barely strayed from there since they’d kissed), and felt a little unsettled. What was Ryan thinking? He was too afraid to ask. There was a silence suspended in the air for a few beats- then, upon Ryan’s slow nod, a soft, relieved exhale, that in turn hitched when Ryan’s shirt was shrugged from his shoulders. [i]Sure.[/i] Brendon was perturbed by the lack of discernible reaction, but said nothing, because Ryan’s shirt had fallen to the floor and he lifted his hands to flatten his palms against his sternum and trail them down, his eyes following, fascinated. Ryan looked stronger, there was a noticeable increase of muscle. Brendon’s eyes went dark suddenly as he twitched away from Ryan’s fingers brushing against the skin of his waist, before relaxing, letting Ryan do as he please, and allowing his eyes to fall shut with a satisfied sigh. [i]Any more of these ground rules?[/i] He huffed out a breath and thought for a few moments, mostly stalling so he could search Ryan’s face admiringly. [b]”Yeah,”[/b] He muttered decidedly, lifting his arms and throwing them around Ryan’s neck, drawing their bodies closer together and speaking almost against his lips. [b]”Nobody can know.”[/b] A pause. Brendon tilted his head and let his eyes flutter shut as he met him in gentle kiss, only pausing to speaks again against his mouth. [b]”And y’gotta let me top you.”[/b] So the last one was maybe mostly a joke. Just to see how far ryan would bend over backwards for him. If you caught his meaning.