We have so much history and yet here I am, talking to him like we’re only [i]sort of[/i] friends, the kind that can talk pretty easily but never actively organise to do anything together. He was my best friend- we were polar energies who fulfilled the cliche of ‘opposites attract’; I was always more extroverted, energetic, boundless- he was more withdrawn, though not without his moments of confidence and stubbornness. Oh, and we both hate crowds. Two, in my humble opinion, is not a crowd- and it wasn’t for me back then, either, as I recalled him crawling into wherever I was designated to sleep and wrapping his arms around me for some sort of comfort and I obliged him by not shoving him away as I often playfully did otherwise. I could tell at those times that he needed me to just [i]be[/i] and though I overhear very fast and find it very hard to stay still, I always stayed with him.

We went through a lot as eachother’s anchor- when Ryan lost his dad, I made it my personal mission to always be available in case he needed to talk about it. Even then, when he knew full well he could trust me to listen, he barely talked about his father. I knew their relationship had been complicated, and he often tried to pretend it didn’t affect him as much as it did, but. I was there in that interview where he was getting texts about his dad’s deteriorating condition, the interview where his phone was subsequently confiscated and I offered my hand to him to hold just so he had something solid to focus on, to calm down. And afterwards- none of his went with him to the hospital (I offered but he refused and I didn’t want to argue with him)- I waited outside, anxiously waiting to pick him up. I vividly remember that he walked straight past me and into the bus and he didn’t say a word to any of us the entire evening- but that night, probably around midnight, once we had all retired to our hotel rooms for the breaks between shows, he knocked at my door and I let him in and I just. Held him.

Because what else was I there for? We were one another’s shoulder to cry on, partner in crime, and. All of this flashed through my head in seconds and I have to remind myself, yet again, that we were never more than friends. Anything we did or said in the moment where we were just being thirsty assholes didn’t mean anything, there was no substance to that side of things. It happened, we didn’t talk about it. We kissed, usually only in premise to other things, but- there were times that he just kissed me and that was all I needed.

Of course, we never spoke about it. To be honest, none of us in the band ever really spoke in depth about emotions or anything like that- we were under the heterosexual and frighteningly masculine impression that talking about feelings and worries and whatnot was reserved for romantic partners only. I smile cruelly to myself as I meet Ryan’s eyes, scorning my own wistful thoughts. [i]Romantic partners.[/i] What if.. [i]Oh, shut up, Brendon.[/i] Well, I [i]did[/i] pregame. It’s just the alcohol talking, I convince myself, and blink furiously as if trying to physical dispel the thoughts away.

I don’t feel any shame any more, like I used to, because I came to accept my own sexuality years ago- a few years too late, I think, staring at him; He’s so tall, tall enough that the top of my head reaches his shoulders, just, his hair is thick and dark and swept back somewhat and I desperately want to touch it, he’s smiling, god I missed that smile, and now I am here I start to realise exactly how bad of an idea it was to not just brush past him and pretend I didn’t see him. [i]Thank you.[/i] [b]”It’s exactly the car I pictured you to have.”[/b] Oh, fuck, that makes it sound like I think about him a lot, and that’s mortifying, but I do, and oh, god, what if he does? I’d like that. I find myself hoping desperately that he thinks of me half as much as I think of him.

[i]Careful. He can hear mocking from a mile away.[/i] Ryan and I always tended to keep the same company and even now we have many of the same connections,  though the band itself seemed to have split down the middle, Ryan and Jon on one side and Spencer and I on the other. Gabe is one such person that we both remained relatively close to- but then again, that’s just Gabe. [b]”I don’t doubt it, man.”[/b]

Speaking of. It’s typical of him to be absent at his own party, but suddenly I am uncomfortably aware that this is Ryan Rowe I am talking to and maybe I should escape elsewhere. [i]I didn’t see him- I was about to text him when I ran into you, actually.[/i] I feel him looking at me and feel small. [b]”Hey, don’t stop on my account.”[/b]

[i]I’m glad you came. I thought I might see you.[/i] Now, I’m not usually one lost for words, but it makes me unspeakably nervous and ecstatic that he tells me, to my face, that he is glad I came. And, by consequence, glad that he ran into me. So, instead of saying something smart or humorous or intelligent to deflect the weight of that confession, I just make some kind of choked noise in my throat and feel suddenly like a teenager again with a stupid crush that I can’t wait to tell my best friend about. Only this time, Ryan is the crush, not the best friend. [b]”Nice to hear,”[/b] I manage, only because I cannot manage anything else. [i]Can I get you a drink? The bar’s just inside.[/i] No, I’ve spent too long with you already. [b]”Sure.”[/b] Fucking idiot.