Feelings were a phenomenon Ryan wrote about, not experienced. That may sound impossible to anyone else, but it is, for all intents and purposes, true; he read so many things before he could ever possibly live out normal events in his ‘real’ life that nothing was new. Hell, he saw words on paper first, ended up pronouncing them way wrong when the time came to speak out loud. Anyway, the gist was as follows: someone would piss him off, or depress him, or make him unbelievably happy, and it became something to narrate in his head, a complete third-person observation of his own life. Instead of being in the moment, everything was depicted in an intricate painting of words, sometimes transferred to paper if he had the opportunity, otherwise written in disappearing ink in his mind. Nothing was personal, or moving, or even captured his attention beyond the time it took him to comprehend it enough to verbalize. Everything was material, nothing more. 

With Brendon, his likeness appeared so often in Ryan’s personal entries, in his professional and published writings, that it seemed there was hardly anything left of him to stay in Ryan’s head, just as with everything else. Just the opposite was true - he was so endlessly fascinating that he found his way back to the forefront regularly. He didn’t necessarily have to be around, Ryan didn’t even have to see him. Music would be playing, and he’d hear a tune he knew Brendon might like, and that thought would lead into wondering what he might be playing if he was in charge of the station, and that would lead into wondering what music he’d made in the past, so forth. He’d take steps two at a time in his house for the first time ever and realize some hours later that he’d been imitating Brendon. He’d start waking up late into the night if he wasn’t up already just for the chance to see Brendon at the same odd hour, even if he didn’t consciously make that choice. 

No one, not even his old best friends, had managed to capture Ryan’s attention like that. And if he put forth the effort to understand the emotional underlay for all of these thoughts, passing or otherwise, he’d realize that Brendon had instilled actual feeling, too, for once. But Brendon and Ryan were very different people. Whereas Brendon had taken the time to come to terms with how he felt about his new housemate and what their friendship had blossomed into, Ryan understood, simply, that he enjoyed Brendon’s presence. If he were any sensible person, he’d know that that wasn’t quite an answer for what they were, and it was a pale explanation for everything he’d ever written or thought of Brendon. So maybe the idea of change was a little scary for him, and he knew if he really addressed The Brendon Problem, change would definitely come.

Now, though. Change was already in the works. Brendon wasn’t the type to act like nothing had happened... and even if he was, Ryan wasn’t so sure he’d be able to go about doing the same, even if he was definitely the type. Because it was Brendon. Thus far, he threw Ryan for a loop in pretty much every aspect of life.

So he had no choice but to actually not be avoidant, for once.

He was surprised Brendon even opened the door, but. The way he couldn’t even look up. Ryan knew he cared about him, but the amount of secondhand hurt the sight of Brendon brought him was unexpected; he’d do anything to make him feel better, he couldn’t bear to see it. The image of Ryan lifting Brendon’s chin until their gazes met, holding him close, hand cradling his head - it all passed behind his eyes in a split second, and Ryan was a little unnerved by his own hasty thought process. [i]No[/i] was Brendon’s tiny response, and, well - at least he was honest. Ryan sat with the fact that his current state was his fault alone for a moment, feeling absolutely dreadful, and living out the emotion in first person. It was a bizarre feeling. He was here, not the narrator. It was the two of them, not two characters. 

Brendon looked up to meet his gaze, and though that’d been what he wanted, Ryan almost backed out and looked away himself. He braved it, listened to him instead, expression almost pained. [i]No.[/i] Ryan doubted it. [i]No. I’m angry at myself. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry for ruining things.[/i] He could literally feel his heart drop. Ryan was already shaking his head in protest, at a loss for words, not knowing how to express himself or if wanting to embrace him so badly was too little too late or - if he’d missed his opportunity to do [i]anything[/i] already. [i]I think I’m going to leave.[/i] Ryan spoke up immediately, in a tone that surprised even himself, it was that unfamiliar. [b]”No, please–“[/b] He stopped, pursing his lips, beyond anxious. [b]”Please don’t leave.”[/b] Not just for the first time since he’d known Brendon, but for the first time ever, he felt stupidly, incredibly vulnerable, and he was hardly sure his voice was his own. It was all so alien to him.

The way it felt picturing life without Brendon suddenly... maybe he was in love with him. He was silent for a few moments, letting that realization dawn and settle in, and. ‘Maybe’ was becoming much more ‘definitely’ by the second. But, at the moments where it mattered most, Ryan was not a wordsmith. [b]”You didn’t ruin anything. You... you make my life better every day. I need you around.”[/b] He wanted to say it, really. He did. But it was becoming apparent that confessing was scary as hell, even though Brendon had [i]already done it[/i], and obviously Brendon was the bravest motherfucker alive, and. Now that he realized where he was... knowing that Brendon felt the same was a million times more wonderful. Ryan wasn’t used to this compulsion, but he wanted so desperately to grab him, kiss him breathless. [b]”I’m glad you told me. Please- you’re not going to leave, are you?”[/b]