Ryan was getting a whole lot of shit about how he treated his new stylist. He'd arranged for Brendon to make at least five grand every tour day that he worked, and that was just for making up Ryan's crew - if another band that might accompany their show needed him, or a dance crew didn't come prepared, they were a whole other cheque to deposit. And his label did not like that. At least, not until they saw what a good job he'd done, mostly in ensuring that Ryan was actually presentable to the public eye and no longer looked like a homeless little newsboy, forever young and jaunty and awkward. Now he matched somewhat more to his personality; Brendon assembled him a wardrobe of leather and more casualwear and the occasional homage to his old, offbeat style, with the old-fashioned coats and often bizarre footwear. He'd changed his hair, too, made it less boyish and helped reduce the endless youthfulness of his face, added an edge that he didn't quite have before. And the dumb (but, at the time, very popular) makeup he used to do on himself was fully out of the question, whereas he'd only been sort of weened out of the habit when Brendon came into the picture. 

So the pay was special treatment, sure, but Ryan was a bit too inappropriate. He couldn't help it - they met at a bar, and if Ryan hadn't learned first of Brendon's work and wanted to throw him a bone so badly, he might've asked him to be his forever rather than work as his stylist. It didn't matter much; Ryan figured eventually he could have both. But Brendon was special, in his eyes, required a lot of charming and attention that he was more than willing to give. Ryan still flirted with him when he could get away with it, cast careful glances at him in his reflection when he was sat backstage being made into a whole new person, left him little personified lyrics all about how much of an effect he had on Ryan and how stunning he was, made fleeting touches that looked overly fond. He'd been playing this game for a strong three months, never outright trying to ask Brendon for any commitment or put a label on them just because he'd never been given any surefire, definite signs that his interest was as strongly returned. He was dumb, but not dumb enough to start something where he'd be unbelievably more invested. And also it was probably not best to start a relationship while on tour, so. He waited.

Ryan promptly ignored all of his label's complaints or otherwise deflected them - '[i]you can't give your boyfriend more money than the rest of the crew, Ryan,[/i]'; he's not my boyfriend, he's a highly qualified stylist, so fuck you, he'll make what he earns - and continued on with his reckless behavior, because whatever, he was a goddamn rockstar, had been since he was a teenager, and he could do what he wanted. Yeah, that totally justified it. That and the fact that he really was awed by Brendon. He could tell even people who might otherwise be put off by the fact that Ryan was treating him differently didn't mind much, all because they eventually met Brendon and realized that, yeah, it made sense. Yeah, we'd probably give him special treatment too. Ryan was glad for that, but of course ensured people kept at a distance. Not to be a cockblock or anything, but none of these assholes were good enough for his maybe saved future boyfriend. Bookmarked, if you will. Maybe he was being a little too ambitious... but that was his entire career, he knew no other way to approach things, and if Brendon minded, he hadn't seen any evidence.

In fact, Ryan was more forward and enthusiastic about it all in his head than he really was in person. He knew if he was coming on [i]too[/i] strong he'd scare off not only an employee but also someone he considered a good friend, so. Ryan spared him very honest compliments, cast flirty glances, sang him songs, but he never overstepped boundaries or tried anything particularly scandalous. He was sweet. If he freaked Brendon out he'd feel guilty about it for life. Anyway, he was realizing what kind of thing Brendon liked most, if only to score some more brownie points with him - and he happened to be very easy to please. For Ryan, anyway. Anyone else might go bankrupt. Typical to his job, Brendon was very into fashion, or at least into getting fashion onto [i]himself[/i]; he was somewhat hedonistic, maybe not entirely [i]materialistic[/i] but he appreciated a shopping spree. And Ryan could totally do that, hell yeah.

They were coming off of their brief tour, finally, after those couple of months, and in wide open New York City, where any store was available to him. He'd been waiting for a big city. They'd been to a handful, but this was the jackpot. Ryan stopped into Prada for a few jackets, some shoes, all things he'd seen similar styles to on Brendon's Instagram feed, and he definitely didn't know his size for [i]certain[/i] but his best guess was based on the fact that he was little. Adorable, really. And, 'cause it sounded vaguely like a place he thought he'd heard rich people shopped at, Ryan popped by Dolce & Gabbana, grabbed some sunglasses for him, too. Tom Ford, more jackets, some suits. Chanel, though he'd honestly never, ever heard Brendon say anything about cologne or anything - he picked up something in far too decorative a bottle, vanilla-scented purely for the in-joke. More suits from Armani, bullshit from Gucci that looked like it appealed more to a very rich teenager, and, well. This wasn't high-end clothing, but he knew Brendon fairly well, so he grabbed candy and a couple of video games he knew absolutely nothing about, too. Maybe he was going a little far here. Whatever. Brendon's first tour coming to a close, he deserved a gift or fifty.

In his early days, Ryan's band couldn't even afford one room for all of them, but now everyone did whatever the hell they wanted - if you didn't want to bunk together, then you didn't have to, get your own room. He'd, quite literally, pestered Brendon about sharing a room, not totally out of any lustful intentions but because he did enjoy his company anyway. Lucky for him, Brendon was patient. With arms stacked with all of these shopping bags, some bizarre rainbow of wealthy brandnames (and a nondescript thankyouthankyouthankyou for shopping with us one from the corner store candy distributor), Ryan trekked up to their room, bursting through the door and opening his arms. [b]"Happy almost-end-of-tour!"[/b] he proclaimed to what appeared to be an empty living room, pausing when he realized Brendon had probably trailed off to a kitchen or bedroom or something. Well. Did not go as planned. He gingerly started arranging the bags on the nearest couch so they wouldn't fall off and figured Brendon would come to the sound of Ryan raising hell, didn't go looking. [b]"I bring gifts! And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them."[/b] Ryan collapsed on a separate chair, splaying out all his lankiness lazily.