The weirdness turning into a fond familiarity did, in fact, ring true. Yeah, maybe they were a weird pairing, all things considered - their history of strife, of lust, of everything in between, definitely not a lot of friendliness except spottily, infrequently until now - but that didn't mean anything to Ryan. He gradually gave less of a fuck what anyone would have to say, should they come out about all of this, or just start being open about what was going on. He saw Brendon across a room of people, and it was no longer 'avoid [i]that[/i] trouble,' more something affectionate, magnetic, like Brendon was a buoy, the only light he knew in a sea of nobodies. Cruel, sure, but in comparison, he really didn't bother talking to other people now (save their immediate circle, 'cause they all had aspects of him, too, thank god). It was definite - none of this was scary save for the newness, should they jump into anything with... labels. An idea they fervently avoided, usually. But anyway. Ryan got scared of most anything if he was unsure of himself enough. This wasn't anything to worry about. 

Still, this all seemed so distant when Brendon was acting the way he was, like he honestly couldn't care less whether or not Ryan was in his life. Which, y'know, Ryan might be able to let go had he not dug himself this deep and now he [i]definitely[/i] needed Brendon around. They weren't codependent, not quite, but Ryan knew he'd subconsciously labelled Brendon one of his closest friends by now, something beyond the obvious default 'close friend' criteria Brendon had fallen into just by being in his old band. If all of this came crashing down, he'd at least be depressed about it, and that was a hefty understatement. He thought all of this, but here Brendon stood, completely casual after a few weeks of bare minimum contact - or that much, by Ryan's sort of (sort of? very) needy standards. Actually, he looked somewhat amused. Ryan felt the blood rush to his face, not anger but embarrassment, a rosy color settling over his cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose. He almost looked away, but the staredown seemed to make better points with Brendon. 

[i]You need to like, catch up on a lot of shit.[/i] Ryan screwed up his face a little, not quite offended but confused by the redirection. Okay, this totally wasn't the plan, but sure. [i]By asking me, your secret ‘lover’, let’s say[/i] - we could say something else, really, but Ryan pursed his lips and shut up, with some effort - [i]to watch Netflix with you, alone, you’re implying- you know what, nevermind.[/i] Ryan shook his head, rolled his eyes, he got the gist. Seriously, what a useless phrase. Why was he so [i]into[/i] Brendon if he knew about this stuff, actively used it enough to have to explain it - whatever. Ryan mustered up the intensity enough to almost back Brendon into a corner, almost interrogate him about what the hell was going on, and then he felt defeated. Worse, he couldn't tell whether it was because of Brendon's insistence on staying away from him, or if he had worn himself too thin trying to cover both of their allotted spaces for a willingness to continue whatever was going on between them. 

Brendon pressed further away from him, closer to the cold metal behind him, and Ryan seriously was sick of pursuing nothing. He considered walking away completely, let this conversation stay incomplete 'til he wasn't so stupidly affected by everything.[i] I’m not stringing you along. Sometimes, I just don’t wanna fuck. Is that too difficult for you to believe?[/i] Ryan lifted his head and stared at him incredulously. Seriously? Brendon was the one who brought up fucking. Ryan had wanted to [i]watch a movie.[/i] In fairness, that was a miscommunication, but when would Ryan ever use slang that wasn't years out of date? Either way. He couldn't believe what Brendon took him for. [b]"Sometimes I don't, either, Brendon. I didn't think it went against your precious fucking [i]rules[/i] to want to be your friend."[/b] Ryan paused, chewing the inside of his cheek, realizing that was sort of stupid to say out loud. They rarely called each other friends, as much as it happened in Ryan's head - maybe it was somewhat unfair to expect Brendon to participate in all of that.

Brendon worked himself up into the offensive, straightening up and crossing his arms, and, shockingly, none of the '[i]I'm over being angry because he's so dropdead gorgeous[/i]' passed through his head. No, Ryan was actually bitter, actually hurt though he wasn't certain he was anything close to a 'victim' here. In truth, he wasn't sure what the hell was going on anymore, whether they were anything anymore. [i]Nothing. Just wanted you to be a little riled up for next time, that’s all.[/i] Ryan's messy thoughts stopped circling like a storm and he stared at Brendon, at a loss for words. Riled up for next time. Brendon shunned him on the off-chance their 'next time' might be a little more intense. Right, pin accusations at Ryan with 'sometimes I just don't wanna fuck.' Right. He shook his head after a few moments, blinking at Brendon. Walking away, once again, sounded like a great option.

Instead Ryan was moving closer, intent on messing with Brendon's head the same way he'd been messed with, because evidently their competitive streak never died. He angled himself until he could work his minimal height over Brendon again, push at his elbow until he could uncross his arms for him and hold him against the side of the bus. [b]"Which is it, Brendon, '[i]sometimes I just don't wanna fuck[/i],' or you want me to fuck you harder? We've got a hotel right behind us, and go fucking figure, your genius plan worked. I'm pissed at you."[/b] Ryan lifted his hand to brush against his jaw, featherlight, and from a third party, it certainly looked like a tender, intimate moment. Funny, that. He paused, inhaled, searching Brendon's face intently. [b]"So pick."[/b]