Brendon was getting a lot of shit for how he was being treated by his boss. Ryan had arranged for him to make five grand- at least- every tour day that he worked, and that, he learned soon, was just for making up Ryan’s cohort; if an opening band needed Brendon’s expertise, or some dancers came poorly prepared, more was just added on top. Brendon reminded Ryan, when he was being told all of this, that he’d only promised to double what he made at his old job, not- not triple, quadruple, or whatever it was that made up the ridiculous amount he made now. Although, it wasn’t like Brendon was adamantly opposed, and Ryan was determined to pay him an exuberant amount- who was he to refuse? When he accepted the job offer and got to work rooting through Ryan’s sad, outdated wardrobe and the vaguely matching, equally sad wardrobes of the rest of the band, he realised there was more work to do than he had expected, and decided he earned every penny he made. Most of that hard work was convincing Ryan to part with things he’d had since he was seventeen, eighteen- once he’d assembled a casual wardrobe that was both different but still essentially screamed ‘Ryan’, he got to work on his hair, sitting him in front of the mirror and cutting it much shorter at the sides but retaining the length, styling it just so and teaching Ryan exactly how to keep it looking like that. Brendon even managed to convince him to maintain a little facial hair, which he could grow, he just apparently liked looking twelve.

When he had finished his little pet project (Ryan), he realised belatedly that he’d sort of just turned him into even more of his own type, and Brendon loved it because he was immensely attracted to it and hated it because- well, he was immensely attracted to it. When Ryan had first approached him in that shitty bar, he’d expected maybe a hookup, a few dates at most- now he was working for him and that kind of relationship was off the table, unprofessional. He almost regretted taking the job- almost. Brendon really had been struggling to even pay his rent recently, never mind have any disposable income to buy things that made his life drag a little bit less- he literally couldn’t afford to pass it up, as much as he wished that maybe their encounter had gone one way first and maybe turn professional afterwards. Oh well. Brendon surprised himself by quickly settling into his new role- and the lifestyle that came with it. Before, he’d had no money and no hope at all or even taking a week’s vacation; now he was travelling the world over the course of a few months and it all happened so fast but Brendon was nothing if not adaptable- and an efficient worker. Even if, okay, he [i]might[/i] sometimes pay a little extra attention to getting Ryan ready, spend a little extra time perfecting his look- that was because, Brendon argued, he was the frontman. Everybody’s eyes would be on him, whether the others admitted it or not.

Brendon’s eyes certainly were. And it wasn’t subtle. This, coupled with the favouritism both Ryan and Brendon displayed towards eachother, had people making comments- passive aggressively talking about how Brendon wasn’t efficient, sarcastically asking him to spend more time on Ryan, you’re neglecting him, asking Ryan to pay Brendon a little extra, he isn’t earning enough. They even got the odd ‘your boyfriend’ joke and Brendon always laughed it off, Ryan protested- but not as vehemently and firmly as someone who wasn’t romantically interested in the person they were being paired with might. All the subtext aside, they quickly became very good friends, spending the majority of their free time on tour together, exploring cities, finding bars and jokingly recreating their meeting, Ryan saying [i]can I buy you a drink[/i], Brendon haughtily retorting that he could buy him dinner instead. And Ryan always did. He took Brendon wherever he felt like going on each particular day without a second thought. They became so close that, when Ryan begged him to share a room with him, Brendon didn’t allow him to try and convince him because he needed convincing- he let him because it was endearing. It was towards the end of tour when Ryan first asked, and they were in New York City preceding their final few shows.

Unfortunately, today wasn’t going to be a day where they’d go out exploring- Ryan had to do shitty interviews for the best part of the morning and early/midafternoon, and as much as Brendon complained, and Ryan tried to convince everyone to let Brendon tag along, his only option was to be confined to the hotel room for the whole day and find ways to entertain himself until Ryan got back and they could talk shit about the worst interviewers, Brendon agreeing with everything Ryan said even though he hadn’t even been there and he knew Ryan was biased anyway, because he hated interviews. Sigh. Brendon stopped whining when he figured it would be worth the wait, but he did try and stall Ryan, all the way up til he’d stepped out of the doorway and Brendon blurted out that he didn’t know how to use a kettle, Ryan, will you teach me. Ryan saw through his lie and left, not without a fond goodbye- and then the door shut and Brendon was left alone to his own devices, a whole luxury hotel room to himself.

First, after making himself some coffee with the kettle he definitely didn’t know how to use, he had a forty five minute shower, experimenting with the hotel shampoo and conditioner instead of the professional recommendation he’d made to himself and using half a bottle of coconut and vanilla shower gel. Wasn’t like he was paying for it- the label could suck his dick. Brendon then wrapped himself in a fluffy towel and lay down on his bed, scrolling through his phone for about an hour and texting Ryan who was already in his first interview. Brendon could only imagine how rude he looked and laughed to himself at how Ryan was starting to cement his image as the typical asshole rockstar. Feeling a little bad, he stopped texting back and rose to wander around some more, ordering the most expensive things from the hotel room service menu and rooting through the minifridge which, to his disappointment, had no good snacks in it whatsoever. In anticipation for room service to arrive he finally got dressed, but it took him a while to decide what to wear. He had picked out his favourite, well-worn pair of jeans, and after a moment of hesitation he found one of Ryan’s hoodies and pulled that over his head without bothering to find a t-shirt to wear underneath. Brendon styled his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror, liking the way Ryan’s hoodie looked on him and not delving deep enough within himself to find out way. 

Room service arrived and brought the shitty expensive food which Brendon tried and immediately hated, discarding it on the coffee table and ordering a pizza instead. At this point he again started texting a very bored Ryan until duty called in the form of a knock at the door and he fished through Ryan’s wallet (he’d forgotten to take it with him) for money because he couldn’t find his own, paying the delivery girl and tipping them exuberantly because he could. Carrying the unnecessarily large pizza plus garlic bread and chicken wings was a difficult task in itself and he set it all on the coffee table after a brief struggle, throwing the fancy hotel stuff in the trash. Brendon proceeded to eat everything by himself and couldn’t text because his hands were so damn greasy. After he’d finished and looked slightly remorsefully at the empty boxes before him, he threw all of that in the trash apart from the box that still had a single chicken wing inside. A gift for Ryan, he decided, heading to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face so he wasn’t covered in sauce. Brendon was bored at this point and called Dallon- a friend and old coworker at the salon he used to work at- and rather insensitively gushed about his new lifestyle and how great things were going. Dallon was sweet and patient, so he listened, but Brendon wasn’t an idiot. When he said goodbye and hung up, just as he put his phone in his pocket, he heard the door open.

[i]Happy almost-end-of-tour![/i] Breaking out into a huge grin as soon as he heard Ryan’s voice, Brendon clambered off his bed and stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets and hesitating for a moment before he entered the living room because he was still wearing Ryan’s hoodie. Oh well. [b]”Uh, thanks?”[/b] He laughed, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the great number and variety of shopping bags Ryan had arranged onto one of the sofas. [b]”Somebody’s been on a splurge.”[/b] Funny, he never saw Ryan as someone who actually enjoyed shopping. He stood at the far end of the room, studying with faint amusement how Ryan collapsed, all legs and arms, into the chair, before he moved closer. [i]I bring gifts![/i] His brow furrowed in confusion. Gifts? For who? [i]And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them.[/i] Brendon looked to the bags, to Ryan, then to the bags again, and his eyes lit up. [b]”Are you serious?”[/b] He approached the pile and rooted through a little, picking up on some of the brand names, eyes widening. [b]”There’s [i]gucci[/i] here, Ryan,”[/b] Came his stunned voice, matter-of-fact as if Ryan hadn’t, like, bought them himself. [b]”Jesus, okay.”[/b] His laugh was disbelieving and he stared at Ryan again, adoring. [b]”Am i your sugar baby now? God, I almost don’t wanna look at anything, it’s above my pay grade.”[/b]