A lot had been going on in Brendon’s life over the past few months alone- no, the last few years, in fact, much more than Brendon could realistically juggle and a lot less than the ambitious side of him wanted to take on. He was successful, nobody could doubt that; he sold out shows around the world, people loved him, people who had never even met him, they figured that they knew so much about him that they were in love. Brendon adored them all right back, honestly, even though there were thousands that were nameless and faceless to him, as much as he wished he could meet and remember every single one. Most of the fans he did meet were sweet, adorable shy and nervous, sometimes they were hyperactive and giggly, sometimes frozen by anxiety (Brendon could relate and usually suggested a hug to calm them down), and some even cried, that overwhelmed by emotion that they couldn’t handle it anymore. Brendon wasn’t sure why, even to this day, ten plus years into his music career. The landscape had changed drastically in the business, his music was almost unrecognisable save his distinctive, powerful voice, and yet here were all this fans, the diehard fans that were around back for the first album and the new ones that were attracted by his handsome face and his refined, yet bunny and hyperactive personality.

Brendon understood why people liked him, appreciated his music, but some were so obsessed that he felt the need to remind them that it was okay, he wasn’t, like, some kind of God, some mystical deity too far above anyone else to approach. At the end of the day, he was just a man, only human, who was talented enough to climb the difficult rungs of the ladder that was the music industry and almost ensnare legions of new fans with every new album. Well, there was his own talent, then there was luck, then there was the input of past members, especially the original four. Brendon was the only one remaining. It wasn’t a very consistent musical venture, really, so he was grateful he had such consistent fans; new lineups almost every record (Brendon was now used to being virtually alone, it was more liberating for him, and that was worth the loneliness), completely divergent sounds and content with every new song. His latest record wasn’t his best, in the eyes of many, but Brendon tended to rank his work by how recent it was, as he believed that reflected his growth. And some of those old records bore painful memories. Not that he wasn’t still projecting those into his work- they just hurt less, stung but in a dull way and less in a sharp, violent way. Still, the ones that were more raw and emotional, from the first two records in particular, he avoided like the plague. Some things felt too personal now to share with the world, which was a strange way of thinking, because everything was on the internet anyway. It was just his way of staying mentally healthy.

That had been difficult, recently. He has broken up with his last serious relationship over a year ago, and though he was more or less over it now, numb to the once-fresh pain, the split had been jarring and it wasn’t the first difficult breakup he’d been through in his life. Brendon’s love life just couldn’t catch a break, it seemed, but time was a healer, and he moved on, shut it out, like clockwork. Embraced his past, held it near, but not close enough to hurt him. Just close enough to remember. Even if he did try to forget about it completely, it would be more or less impossible; the songs on his new record had been greatly inspired by the love of the last few years of his life, written at a time he thought this was it, they were going to be together forever. That didn’t happen. Other songs were inspired by former loves- people he’d known before, long before, ghosts of his past that he couldn’t shake- he took the skeletons out of his closet, dressed them up almost beyond recognition, and put them into songs, his heart on his sleeve but so small it couldn’t even be seen unless somebody was looking.

So, the new record was a bittersweet thing, but he liked to think it was mostly sweet. He’d built a line up now he was confident with, that he felt almost like a family with, and it looked like nobody was planning on leaving anytime soon. He was happy with that. The album was successful- maybe not as much as the last one as far as sales went, but his last album had been clear about what it wanted to be. This new one wasn’t for everyone- not exactly polarising, but it wasn’t universally adored, either. Brendon was okay with that. He was proud of his work, it wasn’t his choice if people enjoyed listening to it as much as he enjoyed writing and recording it. Aside from his career, his personal life- well, it resolved around the band, really. He was living on his own in a house in LA, but he wasn’t really lonely. Brendon has plenty of friends, plenty of dogs, he was outgoing enough to make connections with people he’d only just met. Nothing was falling apart. He’d grown over the past decade, and he liked to think he was a much better person than he was back then- sure, some cracks were visible, there was emotional wear and tear and some heartbreaks had been so devastating that he still hadn’t fully healed or let go, but he was happy. Even if he wasn’t entirely whole.

He’d just finished the first leg of the American tour, and he was back in LA- he intended to spend it relaxing, recalibrating, but apparently some old friends that contacted him out of the blue had other ideas. Their messages took him by surprise, but it was a good surprise; he was still fond of them, wondered how they were doing, checked out how they were doing when they came to his mind. And now Jon was contacting him- Jon, one of his original bandmates, was inviting him to some prom night event where he and ‘some other friends’ would be performing. Initially a little doubtful of dropping himself amongst all the ‘other friends’ (that was too vague for him) right away, Brendon’s outgoing nature triumphed over his anxiousness, and he agreed to go when Jon gave him the date, time and location. He hadn’t read up on the event, checked out who was going, even if he’d told himself to a million times- adhd did that to a guy. So, Brendon went, but he was completely in the dark about what it would even be about. He assured himself it would be fun- Jon would be there, of course it would. Jon was the best.

His first thought upon arriving was, wow, this is a small venue, but maybe the stadium tour had gotten to his head. His second thought was, wow, this is pretty- the whole room was flowing purple, strings of lights pinned along the wall and hanging at the back of the stage. The stage itself was smallish, two mics set up near the centre, various other instruments propped up against amps all over the stage. It looked sort of cluttered, but the whole place was homely, sort of ethereal, little silver stars glinting as the deep purple neon glow bathed the audience in light. Brendon had arrived a little later than the start time, so he wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. He stood close to the back, and luckily, everyone was entranced by the person on stage- someone he didn’t recognise. She was dressed in white and gorgeous in an otherworldly way, and Brendon was somewhat entranced by her manner of moving and speaking. She was talking into the mic- he wasn’t really listening, he was now looking out for Jon- and after a moment, she strummed on the guitar as the rest of the band assembled and she started singing.

Jon was nowhere in sight, and Brendon had been searching with his eyes for a good thirty seconds (the length of Brendon’s attention span, usually), so he gave up and turned his attention to the girl singing on stage. He didn’t know her, that’s for sure, but she was definitely talented, with a strong stage presence even though she looked so angelic and gentle. Her voice was smooth and light and Brendon found himself working out how they could harmonise in his head. Brendon clicked his tongue and looked the the row of heads before him, the last row of the audience. He quickly tried to figure out which was least likely to know who he was, and tapped them on the shoulder, looking apologetic when they turned around. And then he instantly regretted it, because immediate shock and recognition crossed their face and Brendon couldn’t help but smile as they struggled to find words. He was used to it, but it was still endearing. ”Hi, darling, shh, sorry, I’m interrupting the show here,” He whispered quickly, then indicated towards the stage. ”I know this is a stupid question, but who is that?”

The audience member looked at him with a combination of adoration, shock and fear, and they were still smiling stupidly when they spoke. ”Elizabeth, Z Berg. This is her event, Brendon.” Brendon nodded, thanked them quickly, didn’t notice their eyes widening again. ”Wait, did you come to see-” They were interrupted when Brendon was tapped on the shoulder and he spun around to see Jon, who he immediately embraced, grinning his winning smile. ”Hey, man,” He muttered, and Jon smiled back, but nudged him, as if to tell him to pay attention. Brendon pressed his shoulder against Jon’s, trying to listen to Z sing, but too many questions were running through his mind. How was Jon? How were his wife and his daughter? Was his solo music project up and running yet? Did he still speak to Spencer? Was he still working on music with Vicky? His mind was racing, but in a good way. He felt the joy in his heart increasingly swell the more he thought about his old friend. There was no bad blood there, there never really had been between him and Jon.

Eventually, he managed to focus on the performance, but unfortunately she was finishing as soon as he turned his attention back to the song. Thank you, everyone, Z said into the mic, strumming again on the guitar and glancing off to the side of the stage as if waiting for someone. Brendon followed her eyes, and from the side of the stage, like some kind of fucking ghost, walked the darkest fucking shadow from Brendon’s past, the one who had once been his light. He was stunned, speechless, and then he was angry at Jon for not telling him, and then he was delighted with Jon for not telling him because if he’d known beforehand he wouldn’t have turned up. He should have suspected it, really. Anyway- god, he looked good, his hair was shorter than he remembered but styled, he was dressed in some typically quirky, tight-fitting blue suit with red trimmings. Brendon forgot how to breathe, because there was a former lover, the former lover, Brendon’s heartbreaker, stood up there and greeted by an eruption of cheers and hysteria. He heard one person shout his name, tell Ryan and Z how beautiful they were. Brendon couldn’t even think straight.

So, this is Ryan, I’m sure you all know,” Z said into the mic, and Ryan just strummed at his guitar. Brendon’s eyes were drawn to his hands. They were adorned with rings. And we’re going to play a song from The Young Veins record. Brendon looked at Jon, who looked a little sheepish, but was smiling all the same. Brendon just stared dumbly back at him, not sure whether to yell or cry or ask him why he wasn’t on stage singing that Young Veins song. He didn’t have chance to decide. The Young Veins, formed by Ryan here and a certain Jon Walker... who is... there! Over there. Z indicated with the neck of her guitar and all eyes were suddenly on Brendon and Jon. Including Ryan’s. Brendon seriously forgot how to breathe, and shrank a little. This was not what he had expected when Jon had said ‘and some other friends’. He bowed his head, heard some excited and confused shouts of ‘Brendon’ and ‘oh my god, it’s brendon’, and tried to disappear.

For the past ten years Ryan's life had become thousands times more comfortable for him, easier and less stressful on a day to day basis. When he left high school and found himself signed to a record deal and being recognized on the street almost instantly it was intimidating. He was already the kind of person who couldn't say hi to people without staring primarily at the ground, couldn't approach customer service workers unless he had a good ten minutes to warm up, couldn't talk about himself without feeling like he'd been doing so for too long, so on. Then, without preparation, entering into a life where he'd have to talk to collaborators constantly and deal with their criticism that he already enforced so strictly upon himself and meet deadlines without any failure whatsoever and - everything, it was a lot. Nothing he hadn't been striving for since he first picked up the guitar, really, because he knew he wanted to be a musician, he just hadn't anticipated the band picking up so quickly, and then the pace was so rapid that he thought he got motion sickness.

And then the split. They'd seen it coming for some time and not discussed it. Fans couldn't tell because luckily the first two albums were cohesive enough individually, but the four guys were the ones trapped in every tense recording room, they were the ones who exchanged lyrical ideas and instrumental tracks, and they could tell that each offering was gradually clashing more and more with one another. None of them coud choose a set direction for the third record, and the creative differences were getting in the way of them making anything at all, even turning them on each other occasionally when someone was so adamant about their idea being made into a reality. Ryan hadn't anticipated them falling apart this early on in their career, or relatively early anyway, and yet here they were, drifting. After months of struggling with each other or otherwise being avoidant, they called a time of death, and went their separate ways.

The 'separate ways' were determined by creative direction, because it made sense; Jon and Ryan had the same folk-ish indie easygoing sound, Brendon and Spencer were still more pop-punk, more relevant to what the general population would buy. Maybe that's why they got to keep the name - the band's background fit more with what they wanted to continue to do. Anyway, it did make sense, the way they doled out band members, but the confusing part was Brendon and Ryan. They'd been together for a while by then, and had even been engaged, and then the split put strain on something Ryan had already been reconsidering. It wasn't Brendon's fault at all. As young as he was, though, Ryan had only ever experienced shitty relationships that came to screeching halts or explosive dissolves, and he honestly was not prepared to see Brendon go that way. These four friends were the only people he could keep consistent in his life, thus far; everyone else he'd fallen out with or something along the same lines.

It was unreasonable, really, but at the time that didn't occur to Ryan - and he still sort of stood by his decision as much as he regretted it ninety-nine percent of the time. Self-doubt had chased him from the initial proposal, even. He thought about his parents, mom leaving at such an early age, dad not bothering to stay functioning enough to keep his only kid more than just 'alive and existing.' He thought about all the girlfriends who turned out to not care that much for him, who cheated or who didn't see him or who wanted to change him. He thought about every friend who decided he wasn't a priority and dropped out of his life, or who once visited him daily only to eventually forget to call. He thought about the fact that the only person he could say he'd known for years for a reason other than their career was Spencer, and even Spencer didn't seem that interested all the time - though he could be fooling himself. So, a famed self-saboteur, Ryan pushed Brendon away before Brendon could hurt him first. He broke off the engagement, made a shoddy excuse about how it would be hard to keep up when they were in two separate bands, and promptly disappeared from his life.

That was before. The tragic backstory, and everything. In ten years Ryan had successfully pretended his engagement didn't exist, not out of malice or coldness, but to keep his sanity. That was his closest confidant in the world, the person who changed his life, and he'd broken them up in a split second, so now he had to exist in a world where that didn't happen. It was the only way he could feasibly go on, really. Ryan started on a roll of basically back-to-back girlfriends; he didn't intend on any of them being long-term, especially didn't plan any engagements, and there was a mutual understanding about that in every scenario. He kept surrounding himself with pets, sticking by Dottie primarily, kept holing himself up in a strangely decorated and otherworldly home in Los Angeles just to keep writing songs he never showed anyone. Occasionally he'd make a public appearance on someone's Snapchat, or someone's Instagram, or in a grocery store where a fan would catch him and post it on YouTube, or at a Halloween party, et cetera. Basically, it was a yearly event that he would be caught in the public eye. His fans - though he doubted it was right to call them that by now, since he barely released anything to be a fan of - would not quit badgering him about it on social media.

Anyway. Ten years of reclusivity, basically. His friends were ones he kept particularly close and didn't reach out far beyond that. All of the old ones had grown distant from him, he supposed with time, or maybe they despised him for what had happened with him and his ex-fiance - he couldn't blame them, and he knew it was a small friend group so there really was no way to not take it personally, but honestly, couldn't they mind their business? Go between the two of them like divorced parents? Whatever - now he kept up with another ex-girlfriend, Elizabeth, and she was his best friend. She made sure he was alive when he was particularly awful at keeping in contact, let the world know he was alive once she did. Others, Alex, Daniel, Langley, Jeremy, Allison - all of them were close, too, but he still only really saw them when he was forced out of his solitary shell of a home. Maybe that lifestyle wasn't really good for him. Whatever the case, he'd become accustomed to it, even comfortable, and it was much happier and simpler than the times when he woke up panicking about being late for a show or spent hours trying to find the exact right word for a song he figured people would probably forget about anyway. Ryan was meant to be a musician, sure, and that's what he was; he just wasn't cut out for any kind of superstardom.

This was one of the times where he was invited from his isolation zone, and because it was Z, Ryan was glad to accept. It wasn't just any party, though; she was inviting him to perform. On stage. In front of people. Who would be there, by the way, expecting him, because once he accepted, that's when posters started getting made - that's how she trapped him in it even after he found out about the performance. Special guest: him. Fuck. Anyway, Z promised it'd be better than his high school prom, so he tentatively continued, practicing with her for a few weeks before it became time to actually go, and suddenly he was picking out a suit that made him look like he was graduating some sort of Navy training with Z, who looked naturally like his white-dressed, lost-at-sea wife. They tended to be like that, anyway.

The event itself was packed, and luckily Ryan was able to hide backstage and pretend he was still setting up the entire time the venue was filling with a crowd. He could hear his name at least once every thirty minutes in passing conversation by the stage door and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Here was Ryan, virtually off the radar for ten years straight, and people were still excited to see him. It made his heart soar, his chest warm - what about him, ten years ago, freshly dropped out of college and not knowing what the hell he was doing, endeared him to people he never met for this long? What made him so important to them? He supposed it was just validation that he'd reached his ultimate goal, for his lyrics to mean something to someone, and evidently they did enough that people hung on to the idea of him for this long without anything to sate any appetite for more content. He appreciated it, genuinely and truly, and made sure to keep in mind to hang out after playing, try to show that appreciation somehow although he had no idea how to express the amount of gratitude he felt.

Ryan listened to Z play with that on his mind, a small smile on his lips like there always was when he heard her. She just had that innate talent; there was something otherworldly about her voice, her music, that drew you in, even if you weren't a fan of the softer sound she tended towards. The audience seemed to agree, judging by the hush that fell over them and the low hum of people who knew the lyrics singing along softly, then the onslaught of applause immediately following, cheers of her name and 'I love you's, so on. She smiled modestly, as per usual, and turned her head towards Ryan hidden offstage, and he took his cue to step forward from the darkness, slinging a guitar over his shoulder once he'd stepped into the glow of the stage lights. Ryan took a moment to look all around him first, too nervous-excited to face the crowd that was clapping again or listen to Z's undoubtedly generous introduction, and the fairy lights and gentle mood light seemed to settle him a bit. He finally looked back, waving at one side of the audience, taking in the faces, dropping his hand to strum at his instrument whilst he smiled at the rest of them.

Z's acoustic pointed to Jon and Ryan tried to follow the direction, excited to see a friend he only got to see once in a blue moon as of late (though he'd fallen out with him probably the least of everyone), just to find that it wasn't just Jon. The friendly smile on his face disappeared, and instead of showing the guilt/fear/surprise that he instantly felt in his expression, Ryan let it go completely blank, save for maybe a distressed quirk in his brow. Brendon was here. Somehow. He must not have followed any ads, because Ryan's name was plastered on all of them in big, bold lettering, so... Jon invited him. Was he up to something, here? Surely he didn't know that Brendon probably hated him for what he did, even after a decade, because if he did he'd be considerate enough to let them continue existing in completely separate worlds where it was safe. Somehow, Ryan remained relatively calm, ignoring the rapid beat of his heart and blinking slowly at Brendon, fixated on him alone now despite the fact that Z was moving on (a good idea, considering people were realizing their surprise visitor was here). It felt like an eternity that he just looked at him, and he was beautiful even when he was clearly shying away from the view of other guests, and for a moment Ryan felt like he did whenever he looked at him while they were engaged.

But Ryan kept breathing, recuperated, kept strumming his guitar; he offered the tiniest smile to Brendon from afar, reverent, and then curled his hand over his mic, hanging off the stand timidly. He ignored the faint sense of dread all through his body, instead focusing on keeping up a smile that he gave to everyone, until finally it was Z and his time to sing. "Since we met I sit around and want you..." Unfortunately, their song choice was now hilariously inappropriate. "I don't do the things I oughta do; I'm so in love I let the world go by me." He'd been swaying vaguely, but Ryan's gaze landed briefly, uncomfortably, on Brendon again, and he started the first note of the next line that way before thinking better of it and looking away. "Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but you..." The song was something he'd definitely write when they were together, or maybe even in a fit of irrationality while he was trying desperately to forget about their romance and failed; it hurt all the more to sing in front of him, attention landing on him occasionally until he could feel the ache in his chest and had to turn again.

That's all you get for now, Z teased once they'd finished, trailing off the last note sweetly and serenely, and Ryan laughed easy, quickly made his exit after waving and removing his guitar. He'd have to come back onstage later, but now - what was he supposed to do? Hide back here and pretend Brendon wasn't at the event? It's not like he didn't want to talk to him. Maybe if it was a few years ago, he'd still be wary about talking to him, but a decade had passed. Nothing could happen anymore. Besides, if he wanted to fix any anger Brendon might still have at him, now was the time. Ryan took advantage of the stage adrenaline leftover and braved it, weaving through the chattering, distracted audience while Z set up for the next song to play, giving brief 'hello's and friendly smiles and a hug or two when prompted. He got to Jon and Brendon surprisingly fast but they seemed focused on one another, and Ryan intercepted the circle of onlookers that had grown around Brendon to brush his arm feather-light, loosely attempting to turn him. "Brendon," he said enthusiastically, a nervous smile back on his face. He had to actually remind himself to finish his name, not just say 'Bren' - weird how that habit hadn't died out. "It's great to see you, man, I would've never thought I'd see you here. Thank god for Jon Walker, right?" Jon, who seemed to have mysteriously moved away despite them standing still. Ryan glanced around briefly, where it seemed, thankfully, like only a few people had caught them, then back at Brendon. May as well take advantage of the relative privacy to sneak off. "Hey, listen, do you want to come backstage?"

Brendon had, in a sense, always known that he would be successful in some way. It was just a feeling he had, a vitality- not in that he ever particularly wanted to be famous, but he knew he was going to be someone, do something worthwhile, that would be remembered. It had been difficult to convince himself at first, while he was en route to becoming a cosmetologist and working at smoothie bars and balancing his relationship with his Mormon family and his lust for an alternative lifestyle, but everything changed when he was invited into some juvenile band amongst three other kids his age, all of them in it for different reasons. Spencer, he just went along because he enjoyed playing the drums almost as much as he enjoyed spending time with his best friend; Brendon had been invited along and he’d always had a talent for anything and everything to do with music, having self-taught himself how to play several instruments already, so he was on board before he was even affirmed into the band; Brent was there because he had nothing better to do with his time and Ryan, well, Ryan just needed an outlet for everything he had to say but couldn’t say aloud. It shouldn’t have worked- Spencer and Ryan were childhood friends, sure, but Brent and Brendon turned up almost out of the blue. Brendon just happened to have the skills on hand to step into Ryan’s unsteady, uncomfortable shoes (he was never meant to he some kind of charismatic frontman).

After some drama with Brent, Jon turned up- Jon, the chillest guy that Brendon had ever met (Ryan was too high-strung, and Spencer had some kind of quiet unrest about him), and to that day the only one who really ever talked about the existence of the two albums they made together in their youth. Brendon did sometimes yearn to get back into contact with Jon- Spencer remained a close friend throughout the years, Ryan was a complete no-go- and it turned out he was given this opportunity sooner than he thought, though maybe ten years down the line from the split wasn’t exactly soon. Brendon had just been under the impression that he’d never see him again, because of how busy Brendon was, and they’d just. Drifted. It was difficult to connect after so long a silence- but Jon managed, god bless Jon Walker, he convinced Brendon to come down and see him and though at first he was doubtful and fully convinced that this would all be an awful idea; it would be too awkward and uncomfortable, there would be some kind of bitterness between them over the staggering differences in success, but then, Brendon realised. It was Jon, the easy-going one, Jon only had well wishes for Brendon. More than he could say for other ex-band members.

Though maybe Brendon would be eating his words, because he arrived at the venue, which was all purple and silver and splashed with stars, small and cluttered and homely but also fascinatingly ethereal and otherworldly, Jon was nowhere to be found and Brendon had to hang at the back awkwardly as he searched the crowd for a familiar face. Or unfamiliar. Though he couldn’t imagine that Jon would have changed much- a decade was a long time, sure, but they’d run into eachother a good few times earlier on, and as long as he had known and loved Jon Walker the only recurring difference was the cycle of beard/no beard. Other than that, he was instantly recognisable and comfortingly familiar. Or, he would be- if Brendon could fucking find him. It didn’t help that Brendon was a less than average 5’9; he couldn’t even see over some of the kid’s heads and he wasn’t willing to stand on his tiptoes and lose any dignity just to find his bastard of a supposed friend who had decided to drag him all the way here and not even turn up to greet him. Despite himself, he was smiling almost affectionately.

Luckily for Brendon, Jon did eventually make an appearance by his side, not saying a word but smiling at him almost knowingly and bumping their shoulders together, turning Brendon’s body with his as if trying to direct his attention to the stage. Reluctant, Brendon blinked at him- as much as Z or whatever was killing it up there, he’d much rather catch up with an old friend than stand around listening to love songs he didn’t relate to. He almost spoke up, but Jon wasn’t having it, and anyway, there were people in the crowd murmuring, and he caught fractures of sentences, mostly excited utterings of his name under excited breaths, and Brendon realised he was being recognised. It was astonishing- there probably wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t know who he was. Maybe it was something to do with Jon, who had been tagged on to Brendon’s life for over a decade and still didn’t seem to mind. Either way, Brendon shrunk away from the growing attention, shy in a place where he felt very alone aside from Jon’s reassuring presence beside him. He clicked his tongue and looked up to the stage, deciding that this probably wasn’t going to be a particularly long show and he and Jon could talk properly afterwards.

He wished he’d gone with his gut and left the venue before fan attention became too much to control, because when he looked up, staring right at him was a certain Ryan Ready, and Brendon felt his throat start to close up, anxiety start to set in, a cocktail of emotions like recognition and anger and sadness and shock swimming around his head and crossing his face in seconds. He wondered whether Ryan could see his reaction in the dim mood lighting- he hoped to god that he didn’t, Brendon didn’t want him to see him vulnerable, he needed to control his emotions before this became too much. It wasn’t even that big a deal, it’s just Ryan, just an old bandmate, just like Jon except this one had broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces without pausing to give a proper goodbye, this one was beautiful and boyish and Brendon felt his heart ache with a unfamiliar yet nostalgic agony, like a mixture of the anguish he felt when Ryan attempted a very messy version of a ‘clean break’ and the moment when Ryan proposed, earnest and nervous and gorgeous and Brendon was there, his breath knocked out of him. This sensation was bittersweet- there was his ex-lover, the bastard who brought him all the way up then let him crash and burn all the way down, he ought to storm out, yell at Jon, never look at Ryan’s face again; but there was his ex-lover, his ex-fiance, and he looked so beautiful in the light and Brendon was transfixed, a deer caught in headlights, though he was shrinking again from all the attention.

Brendon finally remembered to breathe, exhaling an unsteady breath, and he closed and opened his eyes just in time to catch Ryan’s tentative smile, and how dare he, fuck him, Brendon wanted out. But, again, he couldn’t motivate himself to get the fuck out of there, so he just stood, tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, right next to Jon, and watched as Ryan and Z started to play. It was a familiar sight, and a familiar voice- but Brendon was shocked by how much more refined it was, how smooth and gentle compared to a rougher tone that Brendon grew to know all those years ago. For a moment, he was so astounded by his vocal performance that he barely heard the lyrics until he actively listened. It sounded like a love song. Since we met I sit around and want you... It was a love song, from the Young Veins record, Brendon recognised it because he had listened to Ryan’s music when nobody else could see, tried to dissect them and find secret messages to him in the words. But these words were clearly meant for somebody else.

I don’t do the things I oughta do; I’m so in love I let the world go by me. It was a love letter to someone else. And yet, Ryan kept looking at him, and Brendon lowered his gaze every time, before it was inevitably drawn back. Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but you... Brendon looked down at his hands for the rest of the song, didn’t see Ryan leave the stage, didn’t notice Jon mysteriously leave his side like some kind of omniscient phantom, he just wrung his hands together, terse and anxious and he needed to leave and get drunk or do something to make him forget tonight. He stayed still for a few more beats before he moved to turn around, but then he felt a light brush at the back of his arm. Expecting a fan, he composed himself as much as possible and turned around with as bright a smile as he could muster, one that immediately faltered when he realised that the one trying to get his attention was Ryan. He really thought Brendon wanted to talk to him, even after all this time? Brendon. Okay, yeah, he did. Brendon met Ryan’s eyes searchingly but said nothing. It’s great to see you, man. I would’ve never thought I’d see you here. Sneering internally, the muscles of his jaw stiffened- was it really great to see him, Brendon thought that was a lie- and he forced a small smile. ”I didn’t know you’d be here either.”

Thank God for Jon Walker, right? Offering only a shrug, he turned mechanically to search for Jon to save him from this situation, but that fucker had upped and left and Brendon was now alone with the one person he wanted to kill and embrace with equal ferocity. ”I’d say he’s a bit of a liar, really,” He muttered, biting his lip, a nervous habit, and tentatively looked Ryan up and down if only to survey if anything had changed. He seemed taller, but he probably wasn’t. He certainly looked handsome, less in a boyish way after all these years. He didn’t look like a liar- but he was, and Brendon didn’t trust his nervous smile. Hey, listen, do you want to come backstage? Alarm bells went off in Brendon’s head and he ran a hand shakily through his hair. What was he supposed to say to this? He was conflicted before he even thought about it; here was an opportunity, to talk to one of his oldest and formerly best friends, to repair a broken relationship- or to go off the rails at him and tell him about every agony he had put Brendon through, detailing every individual piece of his shattered heart. The latter looked much more appealing during the initial stages of anger and shock, but he allowed himself some time. Get over yourself, Brendon. It’s been a decade. Don’t ruin it.

Brendon blinked, relaxed his jaw and his hands and his shoulders with a steady exhale, and offered Ryan the smallest of side-smiles, the corner of his mouth curving up and wavering. ”Uh, yeah, sure.”

For Ryan, 'time heals all things' was a bullshit sentiment. He was dealt shitty cards in the first place, let himself break down over time, become less whole and more crumbly at the edges; it reached other people, too, though, and that was the problem. He had an extensive history of letting his own mess run out of control, hurting other people without really meaning to. Anyone he dated in his teen years became his codependent without question, despite him remaining completely invulnerable - he just strung people along, anyway. With friends he only valued the best of the best, which happened to be Spencer for the majority of his life. The rest he let sit in the sidelines, paying little attention to them unless they approached first, and with Spencer he was hardly as considerate as he should be half the time. In fact, because he was self-conscious in at least some respects, he sometimes doubted Spencer saw him as a best friend the way Ryan did him just because he tended to be that bad.

His worst crime was more in his twenties, though. Brendon had become the one he considered his best friend, his closest confidant, the love of his life, actually - and then he got scared, selfishly so, didn't even tell Brendon before abruptly breaking off the engagement. A lifetime of hurting people in little ways that added up thinking he was the victim because occasionally things didn't work out - a lifetime of immaturity - led him to be distrustful of the only genuine, functional romantic relationship he'd ever been in. At that point he could read Brendon so well, knew what mood he was in and when, knew what to say or do to help when it wasn't anything good, so on. And yet he didn't stop to consider exactly how badly this would mess him up in the long run. Sure, Ryan was affected, too; that was when he decided he wouldn't do anything as serious and long-term again, when he figured that he just wasn't cut out for it, when he broke even his own heart but pretended it was being protected.

Brendon, though. Who would he trust again? It's not like Ryan gave a particularly good or believable reason. At best, saying that the band separation would make it too hard on them, that Brendon would tour too long and they'd be apart or Ryan would be recording too often and they'd be distant, maybe all of that could be passed off as believable. Given some time, though, surely Brendon caught on to it all being bullshit if he didn't at first. And, horrifyingly, probably attributed some blame to himself. In fact none of it was about Brendon. Ryan's doubts about breaking off the engagement stemmed purely from the fact that he trusted Brendon more than anyone, that he knew Brendon better and more intimately than anyone else he'd ever met. When he shared as much of his life, been through the same unique experiences as Brendon as he had, it became hard to consistently believe he was capable of ever hurting Ryan 'first' - but his record streak was scary enough, at the time.

That was the key. At the time. The aforementioned sentiment of 'time healing all things,' yeah, it sort of healed the wound of that whole mistake, breaking up what could have been the rest of a happy life with his soulmate. It sort of matured him as a person, made him realize that having a victim complex over every slight misfortune that happened upon him wasn't the right way to live, wasn't something that made him a very agreeable person. It sort of made him into someone calmer, who didn't worry and self-destruct over every tiny mistake and flaw, who wasn't so self-critical (and oftentimes outwardly critical) that it kept him up at night. He had his moments where he struggled with nerves, the brief chokehold of anxiety that he was oh-so-used to, but. These days, he was getting better. He'd had enough of a recovery period from the more hectic stage life, found himself a group of friends and a couple close ones, kept himself grounded with bizarre hobbies and mystical, secret music. And, most importantly, he tried to forgive himself for all the fucking up he did the rest of his life, tried not to forget everything about the band and his relationship (and every other thing he used to distance himself from for that matter) but hold it close to his heart, try to undo every wrong he'd done now rather than dwell.

After all, it seemed like he was never going to see Brendon again to tell him how he felt about everything that had happened. There was no real revolution, in all honesty - he'd not dated anyone for as long since then, hadn't even desired a real relationship like it except for a few wandering moments. So it's not like he'd proven his initial engagement worries wrong. Still, he didn't exactly stand by the way he'd gone about it all, practically abandoning the person he claimed to love so much - and the worst part was that he did, he truly, genuinely did, just. Didn't have the foresight to understand how deeply that would affect Brendon. For Ryan breakups were things that hurt the other person for maybe a month before he saw them with someone else. As young as he'd been, he figured Brendon would bounce back the same way. After all, time and dedication had nothing to do with it so long as Ryan was the common denominator. Yeah, some change had definitely been in order for his character. None of that was particularly rational.

Apparently, though, he was wrong. Ryan wasn't entirely, like, cornered, the way Brendon was, so maybe he was lucky to be the one looking out at the crowd at Brendon, surrounded by people gradually catching on to his presence and becoming more excited about him than the scheduled artists. After all, as much as that spotlight was on him and illuminating the cocktail of surprise and nostalgia and vague heartache, no one was looking at him when they could instead be directing their attention to the top hit, the one-man band, the jack of all musical trades. After so much time they'd certainly changed but at least one thing hadn't, and Ryan could instantly tell when anxiety set in for Brendon. His instinct, even still, was to help, to come offstage and wrap an arm around his shoulder and take him outside, away from everything that was too much and too overwhelming, to breathe fresh air like he used to. But they weren't that anymore. It was his decision, anyway. Ryan instead stood there with his hands wrapped tightly around his micstand then the neck of his guitar, watching someone who his brain still registered as 'best friend' suffer, unable to do much about it.

He decided to fool himself into believing he was mistaken, he was misreading him because of the light, and if he wasn't, well. Jon was there. Ryan was grateful for his presence, really, because he cushioned the blow at the very least (even though he'd been the instigator, fucking mastermind of mediating things like this since always). As much as the still-teenage, still-early-twenties part of him reacted characteristically, the thick blanket of dread falling over him and fleeting reattraction gracing his mind, Ryan was different now. He'd pushed himself to recover from it all and wanted so desperately to fix things to an amicable state of friendship that he gave Brendon a tiny smile, something revered; and Brendon clearly didn't feel the same. Ryan tried to forget about it fast, they could talk later. He focused on the song, trying not to think how it could have easily been about Brendon when really he couldn't even remember the girl's eye color now.

When he did try to talk to him, he was, unsurprisingly, not so well received. Truthfully, Ryan couldn't blame him. He kept on smiling, though, trying to be friendly, even when... I didn’t know you’d be here either. Point taken. Ryan didn't play oblivious, necessarily, just not affected, nodding a little uncertainly while he continued on with the Jon buffer (really, thank fucking God for Jon Walker). Ryan had seen the guy walk away himself, backing off quietly and disappearing into a small sea of softly excitable fans, but only when Brendon's back had turned, and Brendon turned seconds later to look for his shield to be welcomed by nothing. Ryan felt a little bad, really. Maybe leaving Brendon be would be a little more painless - but that was another escapist kid route. He'd grown, honest. I’d say he’s a bit of a liar, really. Clearly angry, but curious, looking Ryan up and down like that. Ryan was wondering the same but he didn't even have to look very hard; Brendon was more lean muscle than he was tiny and unassuming now, his hair had taken quite a few upgrades, looked more comfortable with himself, less wide-eyed and naïve. It was kind of unsettling, really; where was the bouncy and erratic kid he knew before? This was someone else almost entirely, except for the tiny familiar habits and features he could pick up on.

The point was, he needed to... do something, to make up for what'd happened. It probably wasn't appropriate to try and lay everything out on the table now and apologise, not with so many people around and a song coming up later and - just, all of the circumstances, but. If it came to it, he was going to say something, maybe not initiate off the bat lest he freak Brendon out. The guy was clearly pissed, he wasn't going to be receptive to anything Ryan said unless he broke the ten year thick ice a little. He watched Brendon visibly relax a moment after inviting him backstage and knew it was probably forced, but he still appreciated it, his smile becoming less unsure of itself and more hopeful by the second. Uh, yeah, sure. "Great, just..." Ryan surveyed the room, preparing to lead the way. Looked like Brendon's fans weren't exactly closing in but hovering nearby, waiting for a way in to meet with him, probably. Well. They could do that outside. Ryan raised his hand, floating hesitantly in the air for a moment before resting on Brendon's shoulder, trying to guide him off to the stage door so he wouldn't get pulled away by anyone particularly ambitious. "Looks like a lot of your fans are here tonight, huh? I guess that's probably the norm by now, though."

As much as he distanced himself from Brendon's life - which took much less effort over time - he did know how popular and successful he'd gotten, was actually endlessly proud thanks to that residual part of him that hung on to the time that Brendon was his best friend. So his quiet observation was given with a little half-smile, glad for Brendon's sake, until he remembered how Brendon looked from the stage when he first saw him and lost the nerve to look so content. Ryan glanced away, letting his face fall slightly, until finally he was getting them through the door and they were in the dim light of the backstage area, surrounded by people working with equipment and hauling instruments and looking despondent on their phones. Basically, much less threatening than the crowd. He turned to Brendon, shoving his hands in his pockets and searching his face, a little unsettled when he remembered how he'd never been able to easily meet anyone's eyeline when he knew him - and now here he was, actually examining him to catch every difference, wondering whether his eyes had gotten this much darker or if it was just the light. Well. Either way. It was like they were two different people meeting for the first time, or it would be if he didn't feel the unhappy energy from Brendon that no doubt resounded from their history.

He couldn't undo that, of course, but he could talk through it. After a moment Ryan raised one shoulder, turning it towards Brendon as if he were on his way to nudge him but remaining a safe distance apart. "How have you been, anyway? You look so different. Like someone else." He meant this a little deeper than surface level appearances, but didn't bother saying so. In ten years he couldn't recognize the new Brendon's changing emotions, or see exactly what he was thinking, or predict what he was going to say next, all of which he could do with ease before. That was all different to him, made him feel like he wasn't talking to Brendon. Maybe a twin, who he had to relearn all about. Bizarre.

The initial moment where he had seen Ryan illuminated in purple on the stage had drugged Brendon with a confusing cocktail of emotions, recognition and heartache, shock and resounding fondness that apparently never went away. Maybe it’s because Ryan left him high and dry, no time to recondition themselves from romantic to platonic and repair their (needlessly, in Brendon’s opinion) fractured relationship. Ryan had just disappeared from his life leaving no sign he was ever there in the first place except the shattered state of Brendon’s heart and that damn engagement ring that he loathed with a passion but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of, so he kept it shoved and hidden at the bottom of a drawer and tried to keep it out of sight, out of mind and out of his heart. Now, when he set eyes on this apparently upgraded Ryan for the first time in a decade, his heart still fluttered like it did when he looked upon a lover, his chest tightened and his features, though initially the picture of surprise, softened for a few moments right until Ryan looked his way and suddenly he was out of the brief moments where he could pretend that ten years hadn’t passed, they were still engaged, Brendon was just watching his fiancé perform on stage.

Ryan looked at him, and that desperately hopeful mirage had fallen away to ashes, leaving Brendon winded, looking at the man who had broken his heart and never even seemed to care that much when he did. It was like the moment before a tsunami- the waves drew back and all Brendon saw was the sand, the long beach of affection and love they had once shown eachother. It blindsided him. Then, though, all the anguish and shock and grief of their sudden and unprecedented breakup swept him up in a crushing wave and he barely knew what to do with himself, struggling to breathe as the full force of the emotions he felt ten years ago when Ryan almost nonchalantly told him that their engagement was off hit him with just as much power, like it was yesterday. Brendon felt sick, and as well as that he felt anxious when he realised he was being slowly recognised in a ripple of murmurs amongst the modest crowd, and his throat started to close up. He was moments away from bolting, but Jon’s steadfast presence beside him as well as how frozen he felt by Ryan’s gaze on him kept him in place, struggling to regulate his breathing and hearing his own pulse thumping. He’d just wait until this song was over, and then during the applause he could sneak out, maybe curse Jon out for leaving out a very important detail about this evening and never accept his invite anywhere ever again.

The song ended, though, a love song written by Ryan that wasn’t about him that made Brendon feel sick to his stomach and completely undesirable, and the man himself was walking through the crowd heading right towards him. Huh. This was his worst nightmare come alive. Brendon closed his eyes, counted to ten in his head and told himself it wasn’t a big deal, it’s been ten years, get over yourself, why are you intimidated by this guy. You’re successful, you’re talented, you’re Brendon. Stop freaking out. He’s just an old friend. Brendon opened his eyes and Ryan was before him, and his first thought, of-Fucking-course, was that he was somehow prettier, the years had done him well, matured him, goddamn what a couple they’d be if they were still together. They’d have been married for ten years by now. Brendon clenched his jaw, after being initially relaxed by the familiar face. Except it wasn’t familiar. The eye contact Ryan made was surprising- he’d never been one for any kind of social situational confidence- and Brendon felt like he should be looking away, but he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on him, relaxing his shoulders and taking his time to drink in exactly what kind of man Ryan was now. How he presented himself. It was all different. Brendon shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling slightly, concealing that this was really too much for him.

And yet, he agreed, like a dumbass, to go backstage with him, and he couldn’t even think of a logical reason why he said yes. He thought about withdrawing his acceptance hastily, saving himself from some sort of panic attack. Great, just... Well, too late now- and Jon was gone, so he couldn’t plead silently with him to make him up an excuse on the spot. Brendon just nodded curtly, looked towards where Ryan had come from, backstage, and almost jumped a mile when he felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand he knew was Ryan’s but wasn’t willing to look for himself to confirm. Brendon felt bitter, stiffened at his touch though his body was willing him to relax because of how familiar it was and what the connotations were. He was still tuned into devoted fiancé mode, and he tried stubbornly to suppress it. Instead of, like, jerking away, he let Ryan guide him, unsure he’d be able to walk himself without doubling back and bolting before Ryan even noticed. Looks like a lot of your fans are here tonight, huh? Brendon blinked, looked around, barely listening, smiling distractedly to appease the people he assumed were the fans Ryan was talking about and internally wincing whenever he heard a camera or saw the flash. He’d never get away from this. He didn’t- couldn’t- have the kind of secluded life that Ryan did. I guess that’s probably the norm by now, though.

”Yes, I’m very successful, let’s all blow steam up my ass,” He muttered dryly, mostly to himself, hoping Ryan didn’t, like, hear that. He was proud of how far he’d come, and here was Ryan, a reminder that it all started with four of them and now he was alone. It hadn’t bothered him, but there he was trying to forget the past, and here was Ryan, hand on his goddamn shoulder, ready to ruin it all. They were backstage, finally, and Brendon took a step back from him, dragging his hands through his hair and down his face, nervously chewing on his lip for a moment before he told himself yet again that he needed to get a grip. Brendon tilted his chin up slightly and met Ryan’s eyes with some newfound, mostly fabricated confidence, attempting a fake-it-til-you-make-it type tactic. It seemed to work, but most of that bravado was borne of bitterness. How have you been, anyway? Brendon crossed his arms loosely across his chest, subconsciously defensive. ”Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month.” He wondered if Ryan had listened to any of it.

You look so different. Like someone else. And how the fuck would he even know? Lots of people told him he didn’t look the same. But those people had known him maybe a couple of years. They had no idea the kind of change that Brendon had made from his youth to adulthood. Maybe he had changed a lot recently, but when he looked in the mirror, sometimes he saw the same anxious, hyperactive kid that was in same band he was in ten years ago, except now he was alone. His mind drifted momentarily to his last relationship, the shadow over this new album release, an album with songs dedicated to that person. Brendon sucked in a breath. ”A decade does that to a person.” He said finally, not concealing the dryness of his tone, shrugging his shoulders. ”You look different too. How’ve you been?”

It made sense that the only way Ryan could see him even still was as a friend - best friend, even, despite the fact that Ryan had a whole new circle of people. His brain just automatically registered his face as comforting, nostalgic, evidently barely focusing on the heartbreak that was undoubtedly and entirely his own fault. It's not like he had any reason to harbor resentment for Brendon. Brendon hadn't been the one to run away, virtually out of nowhere, and he hadn't been the one who did it with such a disconnection to the situation that he barely talked to any of their mutual friends afterward, regardless of their level of involvement. Brendon had been something of a victim there, dictionary definition of unfair. All because Ryan didn't want to risk getting hurt first. If he was still prone to dwelling on the past, he'd beat the hell out of that idiot from ten years ago (and, he of course still dwelled on everything and anything, but it sounded better to claim not to).

Ryan had developed the ability to look people in the eye, sure, and meeting Brendon's was a trouble that stemmed not from any kind of social anxiety, but from guilt. Looking straight at him, even though he now wore this resigned expression, then something like feigned confidence - Ryan had drifted too far to catch up on recent changes, but the pretend-confidence was clear and far away from Brendon's natural security - and was struck by the memory of how he'd looked when they split. Very rarely had he ever seen Brendon cry, or look so dumbstruck, so caught off his guard - and even less rarely, in fact never before, had he witnessed it all happening because of him. He knew that much. As much as he dodged recognition like a pro and slunk away from real, raw emotion enough to pretend it wasn't happening, he could just as easily act as if he had never been there that day, had done so plenty of times for years. It was generally the one with the worse end of the deal who completely dissociated themself from the situation, but Ryan was stuck with resounding guilt about it all (predictably), worry for what had happened to Brendon after he left (and yet the guilt kept him from checking in), and, amongst other things, a lot of isolating. Turns out any reminder of their relationship or even just Brendon afterward made him feel everything he tried to ignore.

He never allowed himself a moment to wish for anything else, to imagine what they could have been or what they would have ended up making of themselves or if they were supposed to grow old together and Ryan just fucked up the balance of the universe, or whatever, all 'cause of his petty rejection issues. It was easier to deprive himself of those kinds of thoughts when Brendon wasn't around, though - when he was separated from the Brendon left in Ryan's head and instead just a guy in tabloids always picture-perfect and unreal. Looking at him now, even from the distance between him on stage and Brendon stuck in the crowd, Ryan felt the danger of those wistful thoughts immediately. He reasoned that it was only natural - it's not like they spent enough time around one another after the breakup to really come to terms with it and maybe let the romance die out. Usually for relationships that ended like theirs had, the love is gone before they finally make the cut. Brendon and Ryan had no such luck.

It was basic instinct that led him off stage and towards Brendon, but Ryan knew his intuition was definitely not to be trusted, so it wasn't a venture that came with no wariness - in any case he couldn't stop himself, already halfway there before he even registered that he'd moved so comparatively fast. His initial resolution to just fix things, get on at least a level ground, was dissipating. The more this montage of their dedication to one another played in his head, juxtaposed with his rambling, semi-controlled speech about how it wasn't working out (it was, definitely was, they were going to get married), the more he wanted to know Brendon again - not just fix the bad blood but explain himself entirely and catch up with his oldest, closest friend, make sure he knew it was never about him. Actually, on the contrary, Brendon had given him too many reasons to count, to stay. It just wasn't enough, matched up to all his childish fears, to stop his impulsive plans in their tracks and rein all the crazy in. Of course, that probably wasn't going to happen. Ryan burned a fuckton of bridges. He didn't expect anything from Brendon, now, when nothing was owed to him.

Ryan's mind drifted, against the personal rules he'd set for himself, to the fact that he might have seen Brendon change in all the ways that he had if it'd never happened. It was easy to guess that, yes, they would have lasted; they would have gotten married, and maybe Ryan would talk about his fears only to eventually laugh them off, and they would probably be so much happier than they were individually. All speculation, all wishful thinking. Ryan comforted himself in believing that maybe Brendon wouldn't have found as much success with Ryan weighing him down, or something; anything to veer away from the destructive train of thoughts of marriage he was already riding. When they were right before one another, that natural, worrying thought process lasted maybe ten seconds; then Ryan snapped himself out of it and promptly tried not to look like he was staring as much as he was just making friendly eye contact. He convinced himself, in the back of his mind, that he hadn't noticed Brendon shaking at all.

With inane distractions about fans, whatever, Ryan had led him to smile at those around him like it was second nature, and Ryan observed with something like fondness at how it was still the same. He was less boyish-excited than he was ten years ago whenever someone recognized him; now he was simple and sweet but still radiant as all hell somehow, despite the circumstances. Ryan supposed he was used to playing it cool for paparazzi, anyway. That was on his mind when, only vaguely, he caught onto bits and pieces of Brendon saying something back, very nearly asking him to repeat himself until he recognized Brendon's dry tone as a familiar one. Whatever he'd said wasn't necessarily for Ryan to hear. Instead of replying Ryan glanced at him tentatively, wondering if this was what it would be - Brendon's indignance, his own uncertainty - and again considered the easy way out by not talking at all. It wasn't as simple as that, though, and he thought his feet probably wouldn't carry him anyway.

When they were back, Brendon moved noticeably away, and Ryan said nothing again - just observed with concern heavy in the back of his mind. If he was fine enough to regard Ryan like he was now, all pride and vague but contained bitterness, then there was nothing to worry about except maybe getting burned by what'd clearly been an ignited, angry ten-year-long flame. Regardless, Ryan still asked questions, still wanted to know Brendon Remodelled. Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month. Ryan's lips parted, natural reflex to tell him he had heard some of it and he liked it and Brendon had grown so much musically - then he remembered where they stood again. Instead, he nodded, looking glad nevertheless that Brendon had good news to deliver. "I'm happy to hear it," he said in a gentler voice, keeping the distance between them but bowing his chin somewhat in counterpoint to Brendon's stance.

Anyway. He barely recognized him, blah blah, usual shock. A decade does that to a person. Ryan would've looked sheepish if he hasn't been expecting that tone of voice anyway, that kind of inflection. He took it as politely as he could, quirking one side of his mouth like it was a joke. You look different too. But did he? Ryan knew he was less flimsy and breakable looking compared to ten years ago, but a little muscle didn't do much in his eyes. He certainly hadn't grown out of the cherubic features into something far more adult, or at least not by much. On the flipside he as catching so many tiny details off about Brendon, how his expressions were more practiced, the lines of his face sharper but not severe, the way he held himself even under pressure that would've sent decade-ago Brendon running. How’ve you been? "Fine," Ryan answered reflexively, used to either lying or giving as little info as possible. For this, he wasn't sure which it was. "Not 'new-album-and-tour' level, but. I don't think I was cut out for that anyway. You've always been the braver one." he punctuated it with a semi-amused smile, so out of his element but so determined to say something - anything. Even if that last part was kind of hitting too close.

"Remember, we used to play shows like this?" he continued after a moment, mostly just trying to find comfort in their conversations again. It was already sort of easy; he knew he should be on edge, really, but all forces in him still registered Brendon as familiar, safe. Anyway - reminiscing on the tiny shows they cramped in to play together wasn't helping his case, even if he felt the briefest flood of warmth through himself. He folded in on himself a little, gaze dropping momentarily from Brendon's face while he drew his shoulders in, almost defending. Ryan started-stopped again, nearly on a ‘remember when’ tangent, then bit his tongue.

/