When they first met- Brendon didn’t really have anything to lose. Becoming this pretentious author guy’s ‘fact check’ or whatever was a job he’d put the remainder of his money into, he was that desperate. A friend who knew Ryan had told him about it and he spent [i]all[/i] of his money on the trip out of New York City to the fucking middle of nowhere mansion that this guy had, and by the end of the journey he was exhausted, broke, irritated, needing a cigarette- and there was this guy, this stupid fucking guy, ridiculously tall and lanky, dressed in all black like some kind of social reject, messy hair, smoking on his porch at like 11 o’clock in the morning. He looked pretentious and tired and when they spoke, he came across as arrogant, irritable, and Brendon wasn’t much better. They butted heads a little but Brendon decided for the both of them that he got the job. Ryan didn’t seem to mind that much, and they quickly warmed up a little bit more. He got his own room. This one. Lavender and cream, neutral and fresh, larger than his entire apartment back in the city. 

It was funny. Brendon thought back to his old place, the one Spencer had long vacated since getting clean and getting a job, at first supported by Brendon’s very generous paycheck from this job that was barely a job, and it was all fuzzy, like a dream, indistinguishable, barely reality. He’d been living with Ryan for coming up on a whole year, and this now felt like home. His host- or rather, his housemate, had long since finished the book he’d been working on that was set in his home City. It was being published very soon. He’d moved onto another- too soon, Brendon thought, but. It seemed he had inspiration; and thought Brendon didn’t credit himself much, he liked to think a conversation they had about Ryan’s writing kind of helped.

[i]I feel like writing about this heavy shit ain’t helping you anymore, you know?[/i] He’d said quietly, reading through a particularly dark passage that Ryan had very tentatively given him to read.[i] It’s just what’s expected off you. You’re just reliving things through showing other people your pain and not actually- tackling it.[/i] He’d paused as Ryan looked at him, expression carefully blank. [i]Just write what makes you happy. God fuckin’ knows you don’t need any more money.[/i]

The pages he was presented with nowadays were happier. Rich and vibrant, flush with different colours and textures hidden within ink and paper, natural greens and warm oranges and earthy reds, filled with life, as it seemed that the flowers that wrapped around Ryan’s house greedily finally found a way into his head. It was so fascinating to watch him lift out of dwelling on darkness because that was what sold well, write about things he’d never touched on before, like love and romance. 

And that brought Brendon back out of his own thoughts. His impact was tangible but he hadn’t gotten even close to how far into Ryan’s heart he really wanted to reach, and understand him. Everything new he learned, he adored. What started as some stupid crush, helplessly attracted to this tall, dark and handsome stereotype and his 100 or whatever fuckin’ cigarettes a day bad habit, has blossomed into a genuine affection, love for his closest friend, and then finally Brendon realised he was in love with Ryan after he accepted him into a hug after a trip back to NYC and standing so close to him, breathing in against his chest, made his heart swell up and his chest tighten. The strength of the feeling led him to believe there was no way it couldn’t be returned with equal intensity. He did try to convince himself otherwise, he did, and the evidence wasn’t hard to find- Ryan not returning sentiments like ‘I miss you’. His blunt attitude and way of talking that hadn’t really softened that much. His completely stony expression whenever Brendon even jokingly flirted with him. But the wishful part of his head brushed it all aside- said that he knew Ryan missed him; that was just his personality; he was sheepish, that was just how he [i]was.[/i] Brendon was in denial and that’s what lead him to this impulsive confession as they sat side by side, ruining everything with just a few simple, stupid words.

Because words were just words, at the end of the day. As much as Ryan made entire worlds come alive with just words, simply saying something didn’t make it so or guarantee any reciprocation. Brendon sat on his bed, damp, a towel around his waist, and shivered, feeling the overwhelming sense of mortification of being rejected. And Ryan was at the door. He counted to ten in his head, wiped his face with his hands and stood up, heading over to the door and opening it, holding his breath. Ryan asked him if he was mad at him, and really, he wasn’t. It wasn’t Ryan’s fault. He just felt like his heart had been ripped open, so- he told Ryan he’d be leaving, because he wasn’t sure if he could cope with this. 

[i]No, please-[/i] Startled by his urgency, Brendon looked up to meet his eyes. [i]Please don’t leave.[/i] Unable to believe what he was hearing, Brendon blinked, confused. Ryan was asking him to stay, and he sounded so vulnerable, his voice so raw and careful. Brendon’s eyes widened, having never seen him like that before, so tentative and nervous. [i]You didn’t ruin anything.[/i] Except maybe an entire friendship. Brendon stepped backwards, his heart sinking. [i]You... you make my life better every day.[/i] Looking at his feet, he smiled cynically, because the bar wasn’t too high. Ryan was just lonely, that’s all. It wasn’t about Brendon himself. He just feared being by himself after so long, that’s what it was, he convinced himself. It was safer to believe that. [i]I need you around.[/i] [b]“Why?”[/b] He asked suddenly. [b]“Are you sure? Or do you just need- someone. Because I only need you.”[/b]

[i]I’m glad you told me. Please- you’re not going to leave, are you?[/i] He sounded desperate, but Brendon was in full defence mode, shielding himself from further pain. [b]“I wish I didn’t. I wish I just- lived not knowing rather than finding out you don’t feel the same. I can’t stay, it’s too- it’s too much.”[/b] He turned away, unable to look at him, making sure his towel was still secure briefly before reaching up to run his hands restlessly through his hair, swallowing the lump in his throat. He turned around again, then sat on his bed. [b]“I’m leaving. As soon as- as soon as I’m ready.”[/b]