I’m sure Ryan and I remember the months before and after his dad’s death very differently, for obvious reasons. It was during the height of our sudden explosion in success and we were a significant part of the mainstream non-mainstream music scene. It was crazy, and we were all so young, and often Ryan was so swept up by the popularity and unexpected good fortune that it took his mind off his dad’s health issues for significant amounts of time. Though- I can’t speak for him. I could read him very well but he refused to talk about it- probably because he didn’t want pity or anyone to have their happiness ruined by his difficult family life. Plus, I don’t think he believed that anybody cared- not because of the fault of others, who obviously did care, but because he went through a phase of hating the world about it all and refusing to accept help. Looking back, I think I was the only one who he properly let in, who he actively sought when he was struggling, and I was always there to help- otherwise, what were friends for? Even if I couldn’t [i]do[/i] anything, I’d just. Hold him. And hope he even felt a little better.

That said, I didn’t enjoy it- who enjoyed seeing their favourite person break down and cry? And it was Ryan, who never cried, at least in front of anyone, so it was even more jarring. But it was never about I was affected, I was there, just like always was for me. No, I didn’t enjoy it, I instead enjoyed things more along the lines of having secret inside jokes and the same sense of humour, therefore laughing until our sides hurt; performing together on stage (particularly when we harmonized, which we did so well) and writing music together (though admittedly this was one of things I missed the least as we often butted heads and couldn’t compromise creatively- not having to compromise was one of the major pluses of running this whole thing by myself).

Then there was- well, the other side of our relationship... It wasn’t an [i]arrangement[/i], we didn’t [i]plan[/i] anything- like, I didn’t saunter up to Ryan and go ‘Hey, when Jon and Spence go out later, do you wanna fuck’, it all just kind of happened when we were alone. Not all the time- but a lot of the time. Though I try desperately not to let it happen, sometimes memories of what we used to get up to on our lonesome emerge in my brain and to this day it makes me all hot and flustered like some dumb teenager, because I suppose our relationship never matured beyond the point of adolescence, really. Even in our early twenties we were still just kids, to be honest. [i]Is it still me that makes you sweat.[/i] Looking at him now, maybe he is. God, he’s gorgeous. I thank the fact we are in public and therefore I am kept from saying something fucking stupid.

Public. I’m nervous, I look around, god knows what people would think if they saw us conversing like this when everyone knows we haven’t spoken in years. There were rumours back in the day already, for fuck’s sake. I steady myself and look back at him, and he’s smiling. So I smile. It’s really that simple. [i]You pictured what kind of car I’d have?[/i] Usually I’m very quick on the draw with retorts to provocative comments like that, from anyone, but suddenly I feel a wave of embarrassment because I’ve just exposed that I think about him. In enough depth that I imagined the type of vehicle he’d own. There’s no escaping that kind of shame, so I just shrug and grin sheepishly and stutter through an excuse, [b]”I mean, you’re predictable, that’s all. Don’t flatter yourself.”[/b] Deflective, but lighthearted. The best I can do. [i]I’ll take you on a tour sometime.[/i]

I’ll take you on a... Holy [i]shit,[/i] is he hitting on me? Unsure, I meet his eyes and gauge his expression, and suddenly I’m very interested in this apparent tour, even though I know I shouldn’t be entertaining him and playing along will not end well. However, since I’m a stupid slut, I play along. [b]”Oh yeah?”[/b] I murmur, raising my eyebrows, [b]”Show me the leather seats?”[/b]

[i]I think about you, too.[/i] I choke, on absolutely nothing, because even if I had a suspicion it has floored me to hear Ryan say that he thinks about me. Not past tense. Thinks. As in, regularly at least, for a decade. We’re fucking stupid. Why did I ever let him go, again? I rack my brain searching for answers but nothing relevant is being dragged up, Just career things, lame shots in the dark at shit like ‘people grow apart’ and ‘it just wasn’t meant to be’. In my eyes, that’s giving up. 

When did I become such a believer in that?

[b]”That’s sweet.”[/b]

[i]And the Tesla that’s probably in your high-security garage.[/i] I don’t know if he’s a stalker or a mind reader or he just knows me that well, but... [b]”Oh my god, no fucking kidding, dude, I have a Tesla. That’s super creepy, man.”[/b] I pause as I start following Ryan to where the bar apparently is, ignoring the common sense part of me that’s telling me to stop being such a sentimental thot. [b]”D’ya wanna trade cars? Yours is actually cooler.”[/b]

We’re at the bar, and he’s pouring himself a drink, honey whiskey, I don’t want that because the taste will just bring back so many associated memories, Ryan’s 21st a big one on that list. That said, with Ryan right by me, there’s no use in attempting to forget. So I give in and I tell him ‘same as you’ before he can even finish asking me what I want. He’s right, world tours have changed my tastes, but I’ve always been and always will be a bourbon man. An Old Fashioned, on the rocks- that’s my poison. I settle for straight whiskey, though, so to not be complicated. [i]I guess I haven’t changed much.[/i] [b]”You may not believe it, but me neither.”[/b]