Three and a half months ago, Brendon lapsed into another bout of drinking. Three and a half months ago, Ryan was completely ready to help him through it again, all energy and clinical knowledge for how to avoid the cold turkey symptoms. Two and a half months ago, he still cared, but let himself fall victim to his own exhaustion and lack of self confidence to help beat a disease that had already taken someone from him. A month and a half ago, Brendon left. It was probably for the best, or at least he'd thought so at the time.

Ryan's logic was that, if the two people most important to him, the two most substantial people in his life, suffered from similar degrees of the same disease, he was the common denominator. Then if one died and the other couldn't get out of it, kept edging closer to the same fate, Ryan was the one who couldn't help. In fact he let himself believe that all he did was make matters worse. In the beginning he could see that Brendon fed off of being given the constant care and attention, but the thing was, it never lasted; eventually Brendon found ways to get out of the house and escape his oversight. It wasn't his own conscious wish to do that - if Brendon wasn't ill he wouldn't be doing any of it, as a matter of fact. He'd have chosen to never hurt himself in the first place, Ryan suspected. But as it all occurred... Ryan couldn't stop anything. and it all got seemingly worse right under his nose, and so maybe he wasn't the best person to have around during these relapses.

When he tried to communicate that, though, it did not go across at all how he wanted, and his timing was god-awful - even if Brendon could somehow read into his inability to say exactly what he meant, he was drunk, simply because Ryan couldn't wait until later to say his part. He tried to suggest they take a break from one another, that Brendon find another, more helpful place to stay while it all played out; it came off as him wanting to break things off entirely. In retrospect even his original intent was probably not good, but it was a time of low thinking, high stress. No excuse, though, because no matter how bad he felt, it still concluded with Brendon leaving. Messily. Ryan wasn't even sure that they were broken up; it was just such an unnatural and unfamiliar idea that part of him still hung on to the belief that they were "kind of" together. Still committed, to some degree. Whatever the case was, Ryan wasn't looking for any replacement and had no intention to; all he was waiting for was the next time he could see Brendon.

They hadn't even spoken. He had no idea how things were going for Brendon. After he'd slept off most of the alcohol in his system he shoved some things in a bag and Joey was already waiting outside to take him over; they'd barely discussed the split, and the only real comfort Ryan could take from it all was the fact that the end sounded more like a compromise than them in a screaming match. Still, it wasn't necessarily on great terms - he had no doubt that Brendon was probably confused by his back-and-forths, his trouble trying to explain exactly why he thought he shouldn't be around, and Ryan himself was just endlessly frustrated and terrified that this would actually be the end. If it was, it all boiled down to his own cowardice. He feared not being able to help so much, feared making it all worse somehow, that he was willing to step away altogether. Ryan didn't intend for that to mean forever, certainly, but then if things didn't improve for Brendon then 'an indefinite amount of time' could turn into forever. He just didn't think all of that through before, stupidly enough, and now it was too late to completely recover from that mistake.

At a loss, Ryan was basically completely still for a while, glued to the frame of a windowsill and waiting to see if the car ever came back. And then he got to cleaning out the glass forest of bottles, empty to half-empty to full and waiting, to fixing the dishevelment of all the quarters that Brendon frequented more often, to turning all the picture frames around so he didn't upset himself. Turned out none of it made him feel better, because he didn't want Brendon to disappear, and half the reminders being gone just hurt more. The rest of the day was spent with Dottie under five layers of blankets, and it seemed like she knew what happened, completely unexcitable. There was a month and a half, then, of basically this in a cycle. Sometimes he'd keep up with work, e-mailing producers or artists or collaborators, researching equipment and keeping up-to-date with whatever was going on in music, but that was a rarity. Probably the least smart decision was not talking to anyone at all. Z stopped by once 'cause she thought he was dead before realising the smartest way to navigate this was to leave him alone - not like he was communicative in the first place, anyway. He did try to reach out to Joey once or twice just to know how things were, but Joey hated his guts, so. No response.

Ryan eventually got so sick of worrying that he worked up the courage to confront the situation directly, pacing around the apartment for at least an hour until he could actually leave to go to Joey's. He saw his reflection for the first time in a long time in the rearview mirror and almost turned back; he looked like a dead man walking. Felt like it, too, though, so there was probably no fixing that. He ended up going and was hovering outside the door, having not knocked, when Joey answered. Apparently his stupid pacing was audible. He sensed that Joey probably would have refused him if only he didn't look like he was going to be sick on him at any second, but considering he very much did look like that and probably was going to be, Ryan got free entry soon enough. He made a beeline for the living room, finding Brendon in a position fairly similar to the one he was in not an hour ago.

His first instinct was to hold him, fix it all as quickly as he could with touch and closeness, but that was kind of a reach given the extent of all that'd happened. And he didn't know their boundaries anymore. So he stood, just staring dumbfounded for a few moments, and then tried to speak without a dead voice. "We need to talk," he said in barely a whisper, and then stepped slightly closer without thinking about it, losing his composure. "I'm so sorry, Bren." It was hard to keep his gaze level at that - he dropped his face to the floor, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead roughly. "I'm so sorry, I got so fucking scared, and then. It just - that's not what I should have done, no one should do that, I didn't think it through, shouldn't have left you alone like that -" Ryan realised he was stammering and shook his head to clear it, then another realisation: he had barely given Brendon room to talk. He shut up for a second despite not even a third of all he wanted to say getting out, keeping his gaze downcast.

Three and a half months ago, Brendon had relapsed- again. He was starting to doubt himself, and wonder whether this was just how his life was supposed to pan out- drinking himself blind and destroying ever bridge he ever built in his brief periods of soberity. The irony of some of his (or rather Ryan’s) old songs left a bitter taste in his mouth- sit back, relapse again. He tried not to think about it too much. Two and a half months ago, he had gotten worse, and Ryan wasn’t exactly doing great either, though he granted himself the privilege of not particularly caring, or rather subduing that quality with more alcohol. One month a half ago, they had an argument- a bit quite explosive, but a crushing, desperate one, where Brendon, in self defence, had shut himself off completely from Ryan and decided to leave before Ryan could properly tell him to. He felt slightly better knowing he hadn’t technically been told to fuck off.

With a month a half to reflect on, Brendon was still uneasy about whether breaking it off (officially? kind of? Brendon didn’t know and was too afraid to ask) was the right thing to do for both of them. The first few weeks, he’d been a mess- since the next day he’d moved to Joey’s with barely a backwards glance, he spent most of his time curled up in a chair, sometimes nursing a bottle of whatever Joey reluctantly let him have, Bogart close to his chest and his brown eyes colder, darker, almost hollow. It had gotten easier- Joey told him he was getting better, he was in the process of being weaned off, but the success of this didn’t rub off on him when he was busy trying to offset shakes and steady his hand. Joey had been a saint through all of this, and the guilt did kick in sometimes that this definitely wasn’t easy for him on multiple levels. Brendon knew he could be selfish, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t even thanked him, but for some reason, the words felt wrong and muddled and his usually talkative self couldn’t quite formulate one sincere enough.

Now, Brendon was doing significantly better, but something inside of him was void- it became prevalent when he felt the ghost of a hand intertwined with his own, the sound of a voice played on repeat in his head, the missing warmth at night while he lay awake staring at the empty space beside him. It was all kind of cliche and he was sick to death of himself to the point he wondered whether it was better to break things off for good rather than just leaving himself to speculate and agonise over uncertainties. He just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. He wasn’t sure where he and Ryan stood. Was Ryan doing better without him? He hoped so, but also selfishly hoped that Ryan missed him just as much. To fill his time, Brendon mostly turned to Joey, or Bogart, or whatever bullshit he could find on the TV. He stayed away from music because a certain song had started to play on shuffle once and he’d grown angry instead of sad and almost thrown his phone across the room.

That particular day, though, Brendon was feeling better than he had in a long time. Bogart was curled up in his lap, his hair was actually falling right, his eyes looked a little brighter and the crinkles returned when he smiled whenever Joey said something to make him laugh. Ryan was, astoundingly, the last thing on his mind, and since he had kind of forced Joey to play some Sinatra on the sound system, he was singing enthusiastically along to that and having a good enough time that he could skim over the tremors in his hands for once. He was getting better. Brendon was in the middle of ‘My Way’ when he heard the front door open, and he only stopped momentarily to listen and pat Bogart reassuringly. Probably Wade come back from work, about to walk in and demand a meal from one of three good groups- pasta, a different pasta or any variation of Mexican food. When Ryan walked in, he was kind of taken aback, and his voice faltered and stopped.

Unable to stop his eyebrows from raising, he felt Bogart sit up, alert and nervously excited. Brendon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Ryan beat him to it by a mile anyway. We need to talk. He said nothing, and only wondered why Ryan couldn’t just drop him a warning text first so he could look a little sexier. Jesus, what was he thinking? This was still his husband. Not his ex. This in mind, he tilted his head, as if to tell him to continue. I’m so sorry, Bren. For what? All but unloading everything on him while he’d been piss-drunk and incredibly vulnerable? Brendon held his tongue. I’m so sorry, I got so fucking scared, and then. It just- that’s not what I should’ve done, no one should do that, I didn’t think it through, shouldn’t have left you alone like that- ”Ryan, stop.” He cut in finally, kind of annoyed that a downer had been put on his day but also feeling a stab of pain in his chest and an ache in his heart he’d tried to drink away resurfacing.

“Don’t apologise. What else were you supposed to do? Stay with me in sickness and in health like you promised at our wedding? That would be asking too much. Anyway, I wasn’t alone. I got Joey.” Joey, who he specifically told to not let Ryan in. Brendon grimaced for a second, then shook his head and broke into a relatively easy smile. ”Anyway, how are you? Doing okay?” He was trying not to seem too passive aggressive, but when Bogart jumped down from his lap and bounded towards Ryan excitedly, he couldn’t help but accidentally exclaim ‘Traitor’. He rested his head against the couch cushion. “How’s Dot?”

While it was kind of shocking to see Brendon mostly upright and contentedly singing along to his favorite artist, it wasn't the first emotion Ryan felt upon seeing him - actually, it was regret. He seemed like he was in a much better state than he left in, and, in fact, a much better state than Ryan had seen him in in a long time. He'd certainly seen him more energetic in said time, but that was when he was drunk, and judging by the clarity in Brendon's features, he was sober. Or just relatively sober. Sometimes the lines got blurred to Ryan. Besides, Joey probably had a watchful eye over him, so Ryan figured there was nothing in the way of relapse to worry about, and maybe Brendon's hosts had been gracious enough to help balance his mood, too. Seemed that way from first glance.

So, Ryan regretted coming instantly. Maybe if he'd stayed away a little while longer Brendon might have actually made a full recovery. Maybe he'd have come to the conclusion that he was, in fact, better off without Ryan around, and then all of Ryan's self-critical theories would have been proved. There was part of him that argued it was best that he got here now before he lost his chance to come over at all (or his courage, which took painfully long to gather up), but that was the most selfish part. He might've turned around, even, wussed out and gotten into his car and driven home, if Bogart didn't immediately light up in response to his presence. If they spent more time apart than they already had, it'd be detrimental to more people than just the two of them (or, well, from the looks of things, just Ryan). The dogs would suffer further, their mutual friends, everyone they worked with. Ryan didn't realise just how much his circle was shared with Brendon until this, truthfully.

When he started talking, Brendon looked oddly prepared for it, resigned already. And then when Ryan heard himself sounding more and more like a monotonous, generic break-up card, Brendon thankfully saved him from continuing. Ryan, stop. He did. See, this was why he needed Brendon around, otherwise he'd have no other cue to shut the hell up. It was hard to ignore the shortness of his tone, though, the barely detectable hint of annoyance, and Ryan instantly straightened a little like a cadet being scolded. A poorly-trained one, but still. He wasn't particularly comfortable with continuing to make a fool of himself, realising how dumb he was acting in real-time. He had been given time to think it all over and still no improvements had been actively made despite him dwelling on it all constantly. Knowing the mistakes and what he wanted to do to correct everything was different from putting it all into action - he just had to think beforehand, calculate it all like he did with everyone but Brendon, but find a middleground where he didn't put a guard up at the same time.

Don’t apologise. What else were you supposed to do? Stay with me in sickness and in health like you promised at our wedding? That would be asking too much. Ryan stared at him and would probably have his mouth hanging open stupidly if only he wasn't deliberately trying to avoid that. As it were, he kind of deserved that; no point arguing it. Like he'd already realised - his logic had been flawed all along. Even if he believed he was making said 'sickness' from their vows even worse by sticking around, he had to have put a plan in place that would settle as a better substitute for his presence. A month and a half ago, though, all he'd been thinking about was how to get the hell out of Brendon's way as quickly as possible because he was afraid. Anyway, I wasn’t alone. I got Joey. Ryan was torn between thinking that that was good and kind of loathing Joey for his crucial role in Brendon's life, but either way he could tell Joey overheard everything thus far and was quickly making an escape at the mention of his name, judging by the sound of a door swivelling closed. Evidently, Joey was in trouble, and Ryan was not supposed to be here.

Brendon's subsequent smile actually hurt. Ryan knew the difference between fake an genuine smiles from him; this one was unclockable in all its ease. He tried to match Brendon's nonchalance, lifting his head like it wasn't weighing him down anymore and counting his breaths carefully. Anyway, how are you? Doing okay? Ryan opened his mouth, unsure whether to reply truthfully or lie and say he was fine or anywhere along the lines of fine, but he was saved from answering right away by Bogart finally running towards him after all this time of containing himself. Still pale and clammy, he couldn't bring himself to naturally smile or bend down to give him attention as quickly as he usually would. How's Dot? Ryan kept his gaze steady on Brendon, trying not to let his face betray his feelings, and finally dropped into a cross-legged position on the floor to shower Bogart with attention. "We're all right," he said carefully, lifting his chin when Bogart wouldn't stop licking his face. He hugged the terrier to his chest, distracting him by toying with his paws. "She misses you." Ryan wasn't looking directly at Brendon, but by the glance he tried to discreetly throw his way, he more accurately meant 'I miss you.' That was a little harder to say out loud, though.

Ryan sucked in a breath, sounding a little difficult, and then let Bogart go, clasping his hands in his lap even when Bogart circled him in search of more of his time. "You look good," he said to Brendon after a pause, definitely meaning more 'you look like you're getting over it' than 'you look handsome' or any real compliment. "Listen, if... if that means you're doing better here, then I just - I want you to stay as long as you need to. Okay? Even if that means you won't be back for a while, or." Ryan hesitated, not sure he could say the word 'forever,' but the heavy implication did it for him anyway. Instead, he sighed heavily, running a hand over his face and hoping he wasn't making too big an ass of himself. Saying anything like 'I love you' or 'I miss you' or anything guilt-trippy would just make any sort of reunion feel wrong, like he forced Brendon into it, so he tried to stay away from it. "Anywhere where it's easier for you to get better. I understand if it's not with me - I mean, I know I'm kind of shit at this." He tried a wry smile, which sort of got across, but couldn't keep it up for longer than a moment. He quickly reverted back to the half-carefully flat expression, half-worried one he'd adopted.

"You're my priority, Bren. I never wanted to... to desert you, the way I made it seem. I just want you to be whereever you're happiest, and, and... well, based on how I handled things, I don't think that with me was the happiest place to be," he said, half a smile touching his face, purely cynical. He supposed that he also should have considered, at the time, that a clinical detox was necessary, and the power of true love or whatever wasn't going to cure Brendon. But of course he only caught on to the alternative months on. Since this was pretty clear to both of them now he didn't bother bringing it up. "Sorry, I know I won't shut up, just. What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry for being so unhelpful through all of this, and I want you to take as long as you need, okay?" Ryan pursed his lips, then finally scratched under Bogart's ear if only to have another place to look than at Brendon. None of this was coming out exactly how he wanted - maybe he should've written it down first and read it off some fucking index cards, or something. At least the gist was getting across. "I just wanted you to hear that. I know it doesn't fix anything, but... and I guess I- wanted to see you. I'm so glad you look better."

We’re alright. Ryan was clearly lying, and Brendon was almost angry at him for it- but then again, why would he tell the truth? Of course he wasn’t okay. Neither of them were, really. They were two people in love that for whatever reasons hadn’t seen or even spoken to eachother in almost two months. Yes, in love. Regardless of the bitterness Brendon felt towards Ryan, seeing him after such a long period of time was like standing on the seashore and being hit with a huge wave- sharp, cold and shocking, and powerful enough that he just let himself be swept away helplessly. The bittersweetness of it was an irony not lost on him. So, finding it in himself to be understanding of Ryan’s blatant lie, he just looked exasperated. ”Good.” He watched with a guarded expression as Ryan sat down on the carpet and played with a very excited Bogart, who was pretty much a living metaphor for Brendon’s heart right now, rapid and energetic and overwhelmed- adoring, even. Because this was his husband. He was so handsome. That said, there were clear signs in his appearance that he’d been having a rough month or so. Brendon was secretly glad it wasn’t just him suffering because of their ‘space’.

In his head, though, he had this idea of Ryan having just finally reached his limit and no longer being willing to put up with Brendon’s issues, deciding it was too much work for too little reward. The picture of a defeated and timid Ryan in front of him directly contradicted that, but- it was hard. The moment Ryan had suggested they took time apart was both terrifyingly vivid and disguised by a drunken blur- he remembered, accurately or not, Ryan breaking up with him, citing his illness as the reason. The memory made Brendon shiver. That version of the story was what he told to Joey, as it was what he fully believed happened- and that explained why Joey hated Ryan so much. It was personal for him too. Joey understood much more than Ryan did in the sense that he could relate and knew how to deal with it, however heartbreaking that was for Joey himself, but what Joey didn’t understand was why Brendon got so upset sometimes, missed Ryan so much. More than he was angry, he was hurt. And jarred. If Ryan wasn’t able to cope with Brendon’s fluctuating and unpredictable health, well. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do- or didn’t want to face it.

She misses you. A euphemism. “I miss her, too,” He murmured, smiling fondly. It was a shame the two dogs were separated but they both needed their individual companions, he supposed, or they’d go crazy with the loneliness. “I think Bogart does, as well. He clearly misses you.” A pause. He was moments away from saying that he missed him too, but decided against it in case this was a visit meant to seal the deal and break up for good, or something. You look good. This was immediately met with raised eyebrows- Brendon had seen himself in the mirror, and though he definitely looked better, he was far from looking good. “You too. I love your hair being that long.” His voice was low, genuine, wavering, and trailed off with embarrassment towards the end of his sentence. He was being honest, though- clearly it was the result of Ryan neglecting himself, but it was still cute. Fucking hell, he was useless.

Listen, if... if that means you're doing better here, then I just - I want you to stay as long as you need to. Okay? Even if that means you won't be back for a while, or. Or what? Brendon blinked, not sure how to feel about Ryan pretty much saying he’d be fine with them breaking up permanently. It was from good intentions but there was nothing Brendon hated the idea of more. This time apart had been good for them- he thought so anyway, as he’d gained a lot of perspective on their relationship and knew exactly what had to change- in both of them. That sounded too certain, though. Five minutes ago Brendon hadn’t even believed that Ryan would make an attempt to visit him first. Anywhere where it's easier for you to get better. I understand if it's not with me - I mean, I know I'm kind of shit at this. Brendon returned his smile. He really was, but saying it proved that- and this was Ryan’s problem- he was self centred in a strangely selfless way; he thought everything came back to him and felt that his behaviour entirely dictated how Brendon coped with his illness. Unwilling to interrupt him, though, He stayed quiet.

You're my priority, Bren. I never wanted to... to desert you, the way I made it seem. I just want you to be whereever you're happiest, and, and... well, based on how I handled things, I don't think that with me was the happiest place to be. “You are my husband.” Brendon said, hesitating, because- no, they were still married. Of course. Unless Ryan had brought along divorce papers of some kind. “You are my happy place. But Ryan- you are not a doctor. It isn’t within your ability to- cure me. You being here or not makes very little impact on my illness and I hope you understand that- being willing to take the blame for this doesn’t equate to apologising for- for leaving me.” He paused. “And I haven’t forgiven you for that. You left me while I needed that kind of love and support the most.” Brendon smiled, sadly, because he didn’t really know what else to say.

This was endlessly cathartic. Brendon, in probably the clearest state of mind he’d been in for months, felt capable of at least explaining himself to Ryan on a basic level, and with all of this lifting from his chest, he felt light and free and almost happy because above all he was ecstatic he was seeing his husband again, as much as he tried to suppress it. Sorry, I know I won't shut up, just. What I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry for being so unhelpful through all of this, and I want you to take as long as you need, okay? There was a lot more Brendon had to explain to Ryan. And maybe it was on him for not making his role in all of this clear earlier on, but he stayed quiet because he was sick of the sound of his own voice and more than anything he just wanted a fucking hug, so he stared, hoping Ryan would get the hint; they tended to communicate somewhat telepathically anyway.

I’m so glad you look better. Brendon smiled, softly, losing all the snappiness and biting sarcasm- seeing Ryan look so small and vulnerable, mumbling more to Bogart than to him, was adorable. Brendon loved him so much, but- he felt so awkward when he thought about telling him, not sure if that was acceptable yet. He wondered if they should go somewhere else so this felt more like a a conversation between lovers who’d been apart from some time rather than an ex coming over to collect belongings. A restaurant, or something. He smiled at the idea of them going on a date as if they had only just met, politeness and gentlemanly gestures that Ryan would no doubt go overboard on to make up for his absence. He wasn’t sure if his confidence in being in places like that was quite there, yet, though- he hadn’t left the house in a long time, and never really without Joey. He let his fantasy come to a stop. “I feel better, too, but. I feel like this is some kind of hospice visit. Or you’re coming to finalise a divorce.” His eyes were glittering and he flashed Ryan a grin- but he was only kind of joking.