In contrast to his new and possibly most significant partner thus far in his life, Ryan did not come from privilege. He wasn’t poor, either; he was the classmate who had to move house in 2008 and maybe had to subsist off of a free lunch once in a while when Dad forgot to stock up his lunch account. He was the kid who wore already-dirty cleats in the beginning of the season, but they were perfectly functioning regardless. He came home to frozen meals and sometimes takeout, went to bed with a full stomach, never had to wonder whether he was going to go hungry - because even if his father was passed out at five in the evening, there was at least something microwaveable. So, he was middle class, and the middle class wasn’t all about financial income; there were also values that went with his upbringing, which, even if they weren’t quite delivered via family, he picked up on them some way, somehow.

It wasn’t anything perfect. He could be spoiled, and callous and hateful and too full of himself, you name it - but he was realistic at most times. He was humble, knew that when there was a crowd, he was part of it, not the leader or anyone special to stand out. It was funny; Brendon didn’t receive any attention when he was younger, and neither did Ryan, not quite. In Brendon, it fueled a destructive streak, hurting himself without calling it what it was, making people wonder about him and fret or watch in wonderment as he wrecked himself and his life. It fueled a neverending chase after contentment, after things that only made him happy for the briefest of moments. In Ryan, it left him uninspired to find anything beyond not getting attention - he didn’t want to explore the possibilities, never hungered after more unless things got very desperate and he became self-victimizing. His ‘destructive habits’ were curiosities explored occasionally, most things in moderation except for a reclusive streak. 

If Ryan was more self-aware, thought about his side of the story, he’d wonder where that difference came in, wonder what separated them when they could potentially be so similar. But he wasn’t totally insightful, and he tried not to overanalyze Brendon’s upbringing anymore when he realized he turned [i]so[/i] dreadfully patronizing after a minute of it. So, it got left alone. 

Questioning it, though, might guarantee an answer to [i]why[/i] Brendon was fighting him so much right now, why he thought he was so starkly in the right, here. Still, Ryan stuck to not delving. He had to dumb it down to ‘Brendon’s being a fucking asshole’ to avoid turning into more of an asshole himself (though maybe he was being part of the problem, too, by simply accepting things the way they were). [i]You sure as hell implied it.[/i] [b]”Then let me be clear. You’re not an alcoholic, and I’m not stupid enough to think so.”[/b] He was probably being too stern, but Ryan’s probable worst fear was looking anything close to [i]unintelligent[/i], so. He had to argue. Stupidly. [i]You’re a hypocrite, dude.[/i] Ryan looked at him critically, challengingly. [b]”Explain to me how. Do I chainsmoke, binge drink, do a line every night? Tell me what [i]I[/i] don’t do in moderation.”[/b] Arguing again. Yeah, Ryan had never had to approach this before... ironically.

[i]Don’t fucking [/i]baby [i]me, you manipulative freak.[/i] This is the point at which Ryan quieted, now on unsteady ground when he realized exactly how unreasonable Brendon could be - apparently, when he particularly wanted to be. [b]”Manipulative,”[/b] Ryan repeated, his voice low, kind of smirking at Brendon disbelievingly. Okay, maybe in another situation he could be construed as manipulative, in an unintentional way. He had a habit of being like that, obviously never meaning to. But right now, it definitely didn’t apply. He stared at Brendon, waiting for him to take it back, or something, and then he didn’t. Didn’t even look like he wanted to undo what he was saying. Ryan looked away, his lips pursed and his jaw tight.

It could get worse, though, and it did. Ryan gave him another chance to fix it, comparing him to [i]Shane[/i] of all things, and he still wouldn’t change a word. [i]I’m good.[/i] Brendon’s heated gaze met his, cold and resigned, and somehow nothing catastrophic happened between them despite the differences and how [i]pissed[/i] Ryan was. He watched Brendon’s hands trail down his face then creep into his hair, almost vicious with his frustration, and usually Ryan would be sympathetic to how he felt, really, but right now he couldn’t muster up anything. It served him right. [i]My health is my fucking business. Not yours. You’re so [/i]entitled [i]to me.[/i] [b]”I’m allowed to show concern for you without it being entitlement. Recognise the difference.”[/b] He shook his head, looking down at the counter tiredly, rubbing his fingers over his forehead. Ryan didn’t know how else to get the point across how serious he was: he gave him an ultimatum.

[i]Get the fuck out, then. You know where the door is.[/i] Ryan stared at him again, incredulous, before it became apparent that he wasn’t kidding. Ryan stood abruptly, unfolding to his full height and circling the counter to come close to Brendon, careful not to touch him but placing a hand on the surface closest to him, a warning. [b]”Just let me get my things so I don’t have to come back.”[/b] He wasn’t going to be the one to compromise this time, like he always tended to bend over backwards to do. Ryan stepped away, holding his gaze steadily, almost calm, before he turned, headed directly to all the files keeping Brendon’s life together sitting on his coffee table, stooping to gather them without any concern for organization. [i]Clearly[/i] he wasn’t good enough for him if he was [i]just like Shane[/i] but mostly he wanted an apology, and Brendon wasn’t an idiot, so this was how to get one, he figured. Ryan tucked his paperwork under his arm and made a confident path to Brendon’s room, picking up every random hoodie he’d left behind, a toothbrush he’d bought just to keep here.