Ryan had made a grave mistake.

In truth, it wasn't [i]really[/i] a mistake, because this idea had lingered in the back of his mind for some time now. Actually, like three days after he and Brendon had met. Just, he had a few different plans for how it would go, and a lot of them were classier and more well thought out and more considerate of what the rest of their time together would be like as a result of how it went, so on. Also, it wouldn't happen in the middle of, uh, fornication. Granted, they were pretty good at that, but still. Things like this had to be a whole [i]occasion[/i], as far as Ryan was aware.

Basically, he'd proposed.

If you could call it that, anyway. The words 'will you marry me' just sort of [i]came out[/i] in the heat of the moment, y'know, and at the time he didn't even fully register the scale of that fuckup, and maybe Brendon wasn't responding to that question specifically but Ryan definitely heard a 'yes,' and it wasn't until afterward, recovering, that he realised the depth of the situation. That afterglow quickly became the very opposite of the familiar warmfuzzy feeling. On one hand, there was still the chance that Brendon had accepted, and that meant he really did like him enough for [i]that[/i]; on the other, even if he had accepted, it could be that he, too, was just fired up at the moment, and hadn't meant it at all, and then they'd have to have the most uncomfortable conversation of all time. [i]Ugh.[/i] He had no idea why Brendon stuck around with his complicated ass.

But he couldn't leave it for too long or else they'd have a much longer awkward period. Brendon's head was against his chest, arm thrown across his waist, and Ryan's hand was rested against his back, the other folded behind his head against the pillow. He'd been staring up at the ceiling for maybe five minutes, just letting his breathing even out, pretty sure Brendon was dozing off but not totally sure because he [i]could not[/i] look at him, beyond embarrassed. Seriously, if he left this, it'd just get worse. Or maybe he could wait until Brendon said something... which he wouldn't. Brendon only ever made a fuss about petty shit and this was [i]so real.[/i] So. There was another option, to just never, ever talk about it, but then maybe in, like, a few years, when he tried to propose again, Brendon might bring it up. And then he'd be embarrassed all the fuck over again. (And maybe Brendon even fucking forgot. But he wasn't going to risk it.)

[b]"Hey, Bren,"[/b] Ryan said tentatively into the quiet, his hand sliding from Brendon's back to curl through his hair, trying to get his attention. [b]"So."[/b] Pause. Holy shit. He didn't plan this conversation either. Ryan sucked in an audible breath, searching the ceiling like there were lines written there for him. [b]"So, uh, what I said -"[/b] Another pause, and Ryan seriously thought he was going to die. He'd rather do that than talk about this, anyway. [b]"Some... things were said. Did you... Did you mean. That?"[/b] Ryan cradled his head a little, shifting up until he wasn't lying totally horizontal, just his head propped up somewhat, and he could look at Brendon uncomfortably. [b]"'Yes'?"[/b] Actually, it was less of a [i]yes[/i] and more like a [i]yeah, totally,[/i] or something along those excitable lines, but still.