Part of Brendon's allure - and he had a [i]lot[/i] of it, make no mistake - was that he had taken up a dream of sorts that Ryan himself vied after for a long time. He wasn't going to drop everything to chase it now, not when he was making so much money and had a good reputation already with his new business and the life of a star began with nothing but pennies and struggles, but Ryan had previously entertained the idea of being a musician himself. All he had been was a pianist in a shitty bar, occasionally flexible enough to visit other places if they scraped up enough money to convince him to make the trip, but he'd looked up to people like Hank Williams or Little Richard or Texas Alexander. He'd never anticipated being, like, Brendon-level famous, but as long as people were listening to his original music, all would be well. He had a lot of that sitting around, as a matter of fact. There were journals of lyrics lying around his apartment, entire music sheets scribbled down, tucked away within the presets folder he used to have in front of him while he played.

He supposed he wasn't much of a singer, anyway. It wasn't a loss to the world that he didn't pursue these vague fantasies, and besides, he never made much of a move to do so before this, anyway. He was just waiting to be 'discovered' for his talents at the bar - a passing daydream where some professional would buy a drink, watch his playing at a distance, care more about the instrumental notes than they did about whichever singer had taken the stage that night. Then they'd approach all mysteriously, drop change into his tip jar, ask whether he had representation already and would he like any? Though ambitious, Ryan generally expected things to be handed to him on a silver platter. The only thing he'd ever truly taken initiative in doing was this, and that was because he had a good-sized, unused bathtub in his shoddy place that could carry a metric fuckton of homemade liquor. So. This was easier.

While Ryan spoke to him, Brendon touched a finger to his lips, almost like a direction, and Ryan's gaze passed over them a couple of times wistfully. No problem being a little obvious when you've got a lot of power in your hands, it seemed. He pulled away slightly, though, at Ryan's touch, and Ryan drew back himself, straightening his back and allowing his own soft smile to grace his features. [i]That’s [/i]sir, [i]to you, Mr. Rowe.[/i] Ryan sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as if it would help at all to suppress his widening smile. Alas, it didn't do him any favors. [b]"Almost didn't recognise you, [i]sir,[/i]"[/b] Ryan repeated, his voice dropping an octave, winking with as much subtlety as he could muster. Well. After this conversation he'd be able to recognise him in any lineup, mask or not. His attention just kept dropping to his mouth, jawline, everything distinctive.

[i]And, frankly, I’m offended, old sport, I really am. Here I was thinking I was... well... [/i]unmistakeable. No question about it. He was. Even Ryan was upset that it took him a minute. Hey, he hadn't been able to really look at Brendon, what with him disappearing into the depths of his enormous home all night. [i]I recognised you. Some faces are difficult to forget.[/i] 'Tell me about it' passed through Ryan's mind. He was sure the fact that he was the only one here who looked like an overgrown preteen helped the situation, but he wasn't about to sabotage the apparent good impression he was making. [b]"I'm flattered,"[/b] he said simply, charmed. His gaze followed Brendon's glass in mini-toast, looking fonder by the second. [i]I try, Mr. Rowe.[/i] 'That's sir to you' replays in Ryan's head, and for a moment he considers imitating Brendon, but he probably can't pull it off. Odd. Seems like the presence of someone pretty much unimagineable has struck into his confidence. [b]"You succeed."[/b]

[i]Did you know that [/i]he -[/i] Ryan's gaze follows his gesture. He openly stares at the inattentive Dallon, wondering if maybe he [i]notices[/i] the look, he'll eventually spill all the details about Brendon. No luck. [i]- is invited. He just thinks he’s too good for me.[/i] Ryan smiled brazenly. [b]"I wouldn't worry too much about his attendance. He [i]is[/i] known for being the 'discounted' bar in town, after all."[/b] Ryan cast another pointed look Dallon's way. Please spill, idiot. Nothing. Brendon shifted closer and Ryan, in turn, naturally matched his movements, dipping his head and regarding him more closely. [i]I’m thinkin’ of keeping you, alright.[/i] Ryan inhaled slowly, his expression flat, eyes basically all but exposing him. Really he shouldn't be messing around with a famous musician. But also, fuck it. [i]I like the way you operate.[/i] Brendon's attention was surrounding him, Ryan only, and he could feel small if it wasn't so complimentary. He moved slightly closer again, thinking maybe he could offer 'discounted' drinks, too, fuck. He'd change his policy for this guy any day. He looked playful for a moment, sucking in a breath before speaking nonchalantly. [b]"Appreciate it, sir."[/b]

[i]We’ll have to get better acquainted sometime, though.[/i] Ryan paused, thoughtful. He invaded Brendon's space a little, perching his foot over the bottom rung of Brendon's barstool, knee nearly braced against his. [b]"I've got all night, Mr. Blake, I don't intend on spending it alone. You don't have any plans yourself, do you? You seem like a busy man."[/b] Please don't have any goddamn plans. Ryan was familiar with this building. Clean enough for some stupid escapade.