Brendon's interview was the first time someone really cared enough to do a background check and look into who he was, what he'd accomplished. When he won an award in the past and someone wanted to do a tiny, paragraph-long feature about it, the only thing they wanted to know was what exactly he did to win it (and he never knew how to respond, by the way - just 'be a good player?' - what did they ever expect). He was generally not known enough for people to be interested in his personal life, and therefore he wasn't marketable; that wasn't an insult, either. That's just how it was for athletes. If you weren't recognized by a massive organization or in a well-respected league, you weren't really anyone at all, nor were you bringing in a very impressive paycheck.

Anyway, Brendon cared. He wanted to know how Ryan got his start, let Ryan offer brief, uncertain commentary on the dumb community center team he was on when he was a kid, asked about his strategy - and actually appeared to have observed some parts of it through his research. [i]Research.[/i] It was bizarre to think someone put the time into that, especially when there was barely anything about him out there. Ryan was a normal person, after all; there was, naturally, close to no information about him, leave for some minor profiles done after he'd won an award or when he was a teenager and scored a spot in the local paper. When Brendon brought up something himself without Ryan making any mention of it, he felt that buzz of celebrity, like his fifteen minutes of fame was starting, except this time it'd last way longer than fifteen minutes. Hopefully. It was flattering, basically, and especially so when the painstaking effort was coming from someone like Brendon. Who, y'know. Was beyond pretty, and whose personality somehow shone through questions that would otherwise have been dull and pointless. 

That was, unfortunately, bad news for Ryan's nerves - which was far from normal for him. Generally nothing could shake him. Even against the most daunting of opposing teams, he could be seen with a surgeon's composure, completely steady, no mistakes. Given compliments, his response was 'I know.' Shit-talking from the offensive players, easy to throw right back - and in fact he was, oftentimes, the one who might start a scuffle in the middle of the rink. (Only about half the time did a referee call him out on it, but Ryan may or may not have aimed a puck at a player rather than a goal net.) So he wasn't timid, or anxious, or by any means shy, except for around a particularly charming interviewer. It could be the fact that this was his first legitimate, professional foray into journalism, but his most accurate suspicion was that Brendon was exactly his type. Worringly so.

When he saw Brendon walk through the restaurant doors, it was almost funny to him how mismatched they were, Brendon in his plain tee and statement red pants, Ryan going with his version of 'all out.' Almost brought the guy down to earth - but not quite. Even so, red wine had taken its toll already, and their hug was almost prolonged, every single thought focused primarily on controlling the impulse to move a hand upward to Brendon's hair, or something. Like a lover. They'd literally known each other for a total of maybe two, three hours, and here he was, truly curious as to how soft Brendon's hair might feel. Anyway. He stayed normal, almost, holding out as long as Brendon would let him, arms secured over his back, and he was [i]so[/i] little. Ryan spent his days around people his size or much larger, and Brendon was about half any of that, not just height-wise. Seriously mismatched.

[i]What are you talking about? You look great. Real classy.[/i] Ryan grinned, and he didn't do that a lot, at least not super genuinely and bashfully. It was almost alien. [i]You’d almost not expect you to be a hockey player, but- the scar.[/i] Suddenly conscious of it, Ryan skimmed his teeth over the bust, too used to seeing some kind of visible wound on himself that he'd forgotten it wasn't normal. Hey, he played aggressively. [b]"It's an accessory."[/b] Almost his typical personality again... but not completely. He followed Brendon's gaze to his drink, putting the pieces together. [b]"I didn't know whether you drank. Split a bottle?"[/b] He smirked, almost knowingly, because as [i]if[/i] it would be an equal split. Ryan went overboard most every time he got the chance to drink without worrying about the next game, and whatever they split would probably end up being his three-quarters.

[i]Thank you. You too.[/i] Cool, cool, gentleman gestures impressed him, the bar was low. Ryan tipped up a question about the interview, at a loss for conversation topics as if he hadn't been thinking about this since he'd asked Brendon out, but he was also genuinely curious. Thankfully, Brendon looked encouraging. [i]Just a little, but you sounded great. Everyone loves you, now, y’know? You could do no wrong.[/i] Ryan paused. 'Everyone.' Did he mean the crew, or something along those lines, or was there an 'everyone' to speak of now? Sure, people had been interested in him before, but not enough to like him for who he was rather than what he did. This was new. Nerves fading, Ryan's natural confidence was almost back, and he leaned in his chair casually. [b]"Well. I knew that part, I'm always right."[/b] He was kidding, raising his eyebrows to dismiss any sign that it might've been real arrogance. [i]And, I’m great. How are you doing, Ryan?[/i]

You could almost tell his profession, the way he addressed him by name, and for a moment, Ryan smiled fondly at it. He pulled his lip between his teeth again, thoughtfully, the cut metallic, a beat passing before he answered. [b]"A little shell-shocked. First in the draft... I'm good, I didn't know I was that... y'know. It's crazy - but I'm great, too, obviously."[/b] He smiled, shaking his head slightly and finishing his glass. [b]"You were my first interview. First one well thought out, and everything. Do you always do that much studying, or is it just this particular story? I wasn't expecting that."[/b] Really. Brendon was more prepared for that than Ryan was for anything, ever. The server slipped by, topping him off with a small beckoning gesture, adding to Brendon's glass with another, and Ryan nodded in thanks before he went off again.