Right, maybe this was a complete one-eighty - Ryan had immediately flounced along to wait for Brendon outside of his bus as soon as they reached their destination, and then he'd been all 'boyfriend I missed you please miss me back,' whatever, the first words out of his mouth. The impatience took a minute to actually kick in. He had some leverage now, a touch of an upper hand, and he'd never seen himself as much the type to let power get to his head but he was actually mad at Brendon for putting distance between them (rather than what used to make him angry: the exact opposite). So. He wasn't going to give Brendon what he wanted, even if he was so painfully cute that it was almost convincing enough to make him forget why he was irritated with him in the first place. Ryan could be world renowned for his fragile ego, truthfully, and what hurt his ego more than anything else right now was the idea that he might be more interested in Brendon than Brendon was in him. Not physically, not sexually, nothing surface level as that; he'd developed this connection with him that couldn't quite be explained. Or, well. Maybe it wasn't a connection if it was beginning to seem a bit one sided.

They were immature, though, so his natural comeback was to bruise Brendon's ego right back. An apology. It almost sounded sincere - except Ryan wasn't used to that, couldn't discern whether he was making up the genuine tone in Brendon's voice or maybe it was the most bullshit apology of all time and he just [i]wanted[/i] to, for lack of any phrase more accurate to them, kiss and make up. Luckily, Ryan had grown adept at knowing Brendon's facial expressions - he'd run him through enough emotions to know which ones were true and which ones were like his stage act, fabricated, overdramatized. The hopeful look on his features, almost reassuring, encouraging, his baited breath; that was all real. And Ryan liked him [i]so[/i] much, even in that moment, even when he had a laugh on the tip of his tongue because apologies were just so bizarre between them, rarely true and often sarcastic. That's why, he supposed, he couldn't let him off the hook this time. If they were ever going to work, then...

Well. He was getting ahead of himself. To his knowledge, Ryan was the only one who wanted anything to 'work' between them. There were rules, and he remembered them distinctly, just didn't care much to follow them. Instead of letting his tangential, affectionate thoughts become known, Ryan was playful, backing away but pulling Brendon with him. [i]What?[/i] He felt Brendon tug against his grip, and didn't even have to look behind him to know that, yes, they looked like mother and misbehaving child in the middle of a shopping mall, kid wants a $12.99 toy and mom desperately wants to get to the car. Ryan grinned to himself, not even bothering to hold tighter, 'cause clearly even his slack vice was enough to keep Brendon in line. [i]But- I wanna suck your [/i]dick. Ryan actually did glance back that time, an eyebrow raised, because really, did Brendon not give a fuck about his ego anymore? [i]You’re a lying bastard.[/i] Maybe a little. [b]"You're the douche who wouldn't talk to me. We're even."[/b] On the surface, those were some biting words, but he sounded fairly content with the situation nonetheless.

[i]I haven’t fucking read the book, anyway, shithead.[/i] Ryan put his back to the door to push it open, facing Brendon and looking almost soft, like they weren't berating each other back-and-forth. [b]"I'll read it to you sometime,"[/b] he offered, nonchalant, and a moment longer of looking at him felt meaningful, somehow. Maybe he missed him more than he realized. Even when he was being an annoying bastard. Brendon tugged free in the lobby, and Ryan didn't protest, knowing one of their rules was to stay hush-hush and him dragging Brendon along with a stupid smile on his face probably wasn't the picture of secrecy he was aiming for. He pursed his lips, set his expression, let his hands slip into his pockets while Brendon crossed his arms, obviously upset. Since the seven year old rockstar appeared to be occupied with his temper tantrum, Ryan took their keycards from the counter and guided them to the elevators, letting Brendon call it down and watching him from the corner of his eye just to see how long he could keep up the dramatics.

Things didn't look promising, but then the elevator arrived, and as soon as Ryan stepped on he was pressed against the bars running alongside the three walls of the elevator, blindsided by Brendon's intensity. Ryan didn't quite respond - though he probably should have expected this - for a good three seconds, hands frozen in the air around him before finally resting against Brendon's back, fingertips pressing down securely, tilting his own head and shutting his eyes until they were properly slotted together like they were so used to. It occurred to him that after his huge effort to make a point, maybe this wasn't the best follow-up, but. Fuck it. This was reflex, natural instinct. When Brendon pulled back he let his head thump against the wall, looking down through his eyelashes, lips parted. [i]Please. I’ll be good for you.[/i] Ryan was silent, feeling, like, butterflies in his chest even though this was the stupidest invocation for such a thing, and he was [i]so[/i] teetering on the edge of saying something stupid like [i]yeah, sure, okay, sure.[/i] Or another equally nonsensical, counterproductive response.

But there was a [i]ding[/i], and Ryan panicked, because surely it hadn't been long enough for them to get to their floor and thus someone was about to walk into [i]this[/i] mess, so he pulled Brendon forward with him, letting go when he could lean against the railing too and they almost looked innocuous - except for the fact that Ryan's hair was everywhere and he looked white as a ghost, leave for a very flustered blush. He was holding his breath when he looked up at the level, realizing that, yes, they were actually at their floor and he was just [i]that[/i] caught up in the moment, and the doors slid open to reveal fucking no one. At all. Ryan let go a long exhale, embarrassed, sparing a sideways glance at Brendon. [b]"You [i]didn't[/i] convince me,"[/b] he argued uncertainly, beating Brendon to the chase before he could celebrate the victory of making Ryan almost agree with him. Almost.

Ryan stepped out, blocking the door from closing until Brendon came along, too, and headed towards the room that matched their keycard, fussing with his hair to get it back into place the whole way through. [b]"I'm trying to be [i]mad[/i] at you, here,"[/b] he said, though with both arms raised, sifting through his hair, and his almost good-humoured tone, it didn't seem all that weighted. He gave up and dropped his arms at the door, curls falling loosely, and swiped their keycard mechanically to let them in. [b]"So stay five feet away at all times. Demon."[/b] Ryan swung around in the middle of the room, raising his eyebrows and using both index fingers to make a cross. He dropped his hands and practically collapsed into an armchair, face turned to the ceiling, sighing long-sufferingly.