It had been little over a month since Brendon and Ryan had mutually, albeit drunkenly, broke the metaphorical ice about the intensity between them that had they never directly addressed or dicussed. The evening had started with a melancholy, confused Ryan, struggling with the remnants of a critically failing relationship, staggering into Brendon’s hotel room in Seattle after flying from NYC from his own birthday party. Somehow, from Brendon’s own living nightmare, they ended up kissing, then they were on the bed, still kissing, and Ryan confessed all of this shit that Brendon definitely wasn’t planning on using against him at a later date. Then, somehow, they had slept together (Brendon had liked to pretend he didn’t remember in the days afterwards, even though he limped everywhere for days afterwards, winded when he sat down, and looked away, flushing furiously when Ryan smirked at him and tried so desperately not laugh). Brendon intended it to be a one-time thing- at first, he hadn’t intended for it to be a thing at all- but, after Ryan found the guts to officially break up with Keltie, they were both single and both on the same page. So one time turned into two, then three, then four, and so on. They went at it like- for lack of a better phrase- rabbits. Well, it couldn’t exactly be described as making love.

They were friends, no, enemies with benefits, or whatever, and surprisingly, it worked out pretty well. Now, to defuse the situation after an argument and preventing themselves from throttling eachother, they beelined for the most simple and enjoyable solution they knew of. They argued noticeably less, and Jon and Spencer noticed that, but they had absolutely no idea why. And Brendon and Ryan had an unspoken oath to never tell anybody, especially not those two. That would ruin everything, the whole setup they had going on. Spencer would disapprove and look disappointed but not angry, Jon would clearly be surprised but probably wouldn’t have much to say other than maybe, ‘it’s better than them trying to kill eachother’. And then it would all be really awkward, and shake up the whole dynamic, and none of them wanted that. They’d become comfortable with a familiar routine- arguments between the frontman and the guitarist, tense and temporary truces between the frontman and the guitarist, pretending to get along on camera and on stage. It had worked so far- why fix something that wasn’t even broken? Oh, and, they hadn’t really tried to become friends, or tolerate eachother on any personal level. Both of them had he fleeting idea of what it would be like- but individually decided it was impossible. That was fine. Brendon couldn’t mourn a friendship that never existed.

It had only barely been a month, and Brendon came to notice quickly that Ryan was surprisingly possessive. It had originally been Ryan using scarves to hide his hickeys, but now, Brendon had to cover his neck in makeup to try and conceal the marks that Ryan had intentionally left too high to cover with anything else. And no way in hell was he using a scarf. It was great, really, but everything was becoming a little too real for Brendon, who was worried the next step was being exclusive or something, or even attempting some kind of friendship. They weren’t technically exclusive, neither of them had brought it up or even really thought about it, but neither of them ever saw someone else, be it from lack of opportunity or lack of desire to do so. They fell into a semi-comfortable routine very quickly, and everything was great apart from the fact that Brendon was bruised, stiff, and aching all the time. On stage, he struggled between not visibly wincing and trying to use up as much energy as possibly, feeding off the adrenaline. Ryan noticed, of course he did, he sent him glances across the stage and Brendon could barely look at him. It was all so messy, they were so obvious, what were they doing?

Brendon didn’t have any regrets about the whole thing, but he was scared it was all starting to become much too real for him to be comfortable with it all- because it was Ryan. What if they both got too attached in an unhealthy relationship based on equally strong amounts of hatred and wanton attraction? That wouldn’t work. So, in an effort to evade that happening, Brendon decided he was going to take Ryan’s advice from forever ago and start actually dating. He didn’t say anything to Ryan, obviously. It would not go down well. So, he started rejecting Ryan’s offers to hang out or whatever excuse he had this time, and went out, met people, specifically this one guy Ian who was cute, tall, curly brown hair... fuck. Oh well. They hit it off well, and, after no time at all, they were ‘boyfriends’. He used the term lightly. They were the same as Brendon and Ryan had been, except they actually enjoyed eachothers company when they weren’t undressed or intending to undress. Neither of them had told anyone, Brendon didn’t feel the need to- the guys would just all meet Ian, Brendon would say ‘hey, this is my boyfriend’, Jon and Spencer would greet him graciously, Ryan would- huh. What would ryan do?

He hadn’t spoken to Ryan about Ian even existing. But he’d started actively rejecting every advance with lame excuses. Luckily, Ryan was out a lot, and one evening Brendon decided to take Ian on board the tour bus to introduce him, all casual-like. Lucky them, nobody was on the bus, they settled on the couch and Brendon, ever the romantic, moved after mere minutes into Ian’s lap and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, kissing him lazily and carelessly because he kind of forgot they were in the main area of a bus shared between four guys. Well, Brendon didn’t forget. He just didn’t care. ”Baby, I don’t know if we have time for this,” He murmured into his ear, and just as he spoke, he heard the door open and internally groaned. They should goddamn knock. Maybe invent a system. Brendon punctuated it by giving Ian a firm kiss before turning his head around, breath immediately hitching. Fuck. Well. At least Brendon didn’t have to tell Ryan anything. ”Oh, hey, buddy,” He grinned, shifting half-out of a very confused Ian’s lap but not fully committing, half expecting Ryan to leave. ”B, maybe you should-“ ”Can we help you?”

This whole situation with Brendon, the Dilemma that deserved a capital D, was entirely too confusing for Ryan to grasp. He had no idea how it started, and he'd even arguably been the initiator. He was drunk enough for half of it to be a distant, inaccessible memory, and the other half he could recall almost completely except for the fact that it was, how you say, mortifying. All right, the latter half of the night wasn't - actually, Ryan was pretty sure they were on equal terms there, nothing to attack without getting a comeback right quick - but he knew he'd said some things he couldn't take back. He'd talked about Keltie truthfully for once, whereas before he'd always lied about the state of their relationship, and then he was basically complimenting Brendon (as close as it could get to that for them anyway), not to mention all of the kind-of-confessions. Luckily for him, Brendon was surprisingly patient about it all. He'd only snapped at Ryan, like, twice.

He remembered the kissing, too. The angry blur of them at first, no clue where one ended and the other began, and then Ryan had slowed down, easing it slightly even when Brendon was still fighting to keep the flames ignited. On the surface he felt kind of sick thinking about how he'd acted, because that wasn't what they were, they weren't soft or gentle and it was agreed upon silently, and he'd disrupted the balance for a good few minutes before they did end up sleeping together. Anyway it was all just more factors to the big Dilemma Ryan still hadn't worked out how to resolve (and was just making matters worse by continuing the affair). Every time he thought about the period between the beginning of that night and the end, the least hazy section where he'd slowed down and admitted all of those things to Brendon - and received somewhat positive responses, surprisingly - he felt a dangerous warmth in his chest, something he probably felt for Keltie or anyone from his list of ex-lovers when they were at their 'best,' but not really. This was different, somewhat more profound despite how far from accurate that word could be to describe his and Brendon's relationship.

Ryan tried not to think about how clear the solution of breaking up with his, somewhat longterm but definitely incompatible, girlfriend became after everything with Brendon had started. He tried not to think about how he felt about their new dynamic, pretended that every time they caught the other thinking about the same thing at the exact same moment and made faces at each other didn't make his stomach twist. It was probably just the newness about sharing this, uh, mutually beneficial agreement with someone, that got to him. But it was Brendon. Every time he caught himself grinning knowingly at him, or making some pass at him under his breath, he remembered that they were supposed to hate one another. That's how it'd all started, and that's how it would always be, because they didn't get along and they never would. The more he dwelled on it, though, when he got too involved and couldn't stop himself, the more he thought that they kind of worked now; something had clicked and he no longer scowled at the sound of Brendon's name or got worked up at his suggestions, etc. He wasn't exactly pleased at those things, either, but there'd been an improvement of sorts.

He comforted himself with the knowledge that just tolerating Brendon maybe thirty percent of the time was nothing to be worried about. Arguments, though fewer and comparatively farther between, still happened with as much viciousness as before when the situation called for it. If he thought Brendon's ideas were stupid or he'd messed up at all, he would still comment on it, all bite and no softness even despite the fact that sometimes his brain mixed that up and made him feel remorse about it. And, sometimes, if he was having a particularly shitty day, he still took it out on Brendon; whether it was as they normally would through verbal confrontation and frustrated glares or through one of their 'sessions,' it didn't particularly matter. This was all just enough to keep him from driving himself insane with paranoia, worried that the one relationship he was sure he knew all about, the one he was confident in his feelings even if they were hateful and negative, had taken a complete 180. For now, when they still had their bad days, he was comfortable enough.

Regardless, Ryan found himself to be surprisingly possessive - that didn't even happen before, when he was actually dating. People of course sent interested looks in Brendon's direction, sometimes had the confidence to actually flirt with him outright, or they even made it seem like they had some kind of attraction and Ryan was pissed. He refused to use the word 'jealous,' and they weren't even exclusive, but the thought of Brendon moving on or even staying with this dynamic plus another person on the side, it was all awful. He left as many marks as he could, like a reminder for Brendon or some claim to him for other people, even though he knew Brendon used makeup to hide the bruising kisses and was discreet as often as possible. It was a little dangerous, really, when someone even made it clear they were thinking of approaching Brendon, and Ryan sent them the most abrasive look of all time. In any case, he successfully hid at least half of that from Brendon, or he thought so.

Ryan noticed Brendon's gradually more distant behavior and, at first, was vaguely suspicious but refused to openly care about it, then began to actually get annoyed by every rejection. It's not like they were... promised, to one another, whatever, just. Ryan didn't know what was going on, really, but he was too proud to show any sign of upset about any of it, instead opting to start getting the hell away from the bus, from the band in general, more often than he usually would. This tended to mean stealing Wi-Fi from cafés and that was about it, but still. It was away. Anyway - he didn't usually leave for entire nights unless he was being a particularly big baby about the matter, so he had to return eventually, slumping past the rest of the band on his way to go sulk in his bunk or curl up in the lounge facing away from everyone while he tried to eke out some kind of writing or tabs.

This time he was back by about eight, vaguely suprised about the lights being on from what he could see through the tinted windows; he knew Jon and Spencer were out together, on one of their city exploring ventures they tended to go on whenever tour provided them with particularly interesting places (and he usually joined them, except when he was denied that right by an annoyed drummer and bassist who were sick of his wallowing). The driver was definitely gone; no one was up front. And... he didn't actually know whether Brendon went out. Shit. This could mean they'd end up either fighting or fucking, and, well. Ryan had no idea what terms they were on lately. Maybe neither would happen, something new. Either way, he stepped up onto the bus, hands twisted in his coat pockets apprehensively - and then he turned towards the lounge, all tentative energy instantly gone and replaced by instant, angry alarm bells going off in his head. He wasn't sure how he'd have felt seeing Brendon in this position, on some other guy's lap, wrapped around him and kissing, when they were only enemies-with-no-benefits, but right now he was definitely beyond pissed, and still would outright deny the term 'jealous.'

In any case he froze up, at a loss for what to do with all the sudden vicious feeling he'd adopted, and just stared. Oh, hey, buddy. Ryan tabled that for a second. He could address the overtly annoying use of 'buddy' and all of Brendon's casualness in a moment. For the time being, despite all his reason and sense (and therefore any chance he could think of something other than 'Brendon is with someone else) thrown out the window, he realized that the guy, once Brendon had half-shifted off, bore a vague resemblance to him. Clearly Brendon had a type - or he'd introduced Brendon's type to him. Ryan was almost smug about it, except he couldn't maintain a thought other than, like, 'fuck this' or something akin to that, for longer than a few seconds. It was probably lucky for the guy that Brendon cut him off before the sound of his voice, whatever, sent Ryan spiralling. Can we help you? Though a second ago he'd been completely speechless and caught off-guard, Ryan's response was immediate. "Yeah, you fucking can," he returned, all confrontation with not even a warning stage.

Ryan moved closer but not totally - he had the impulse to pull Brendon off and away, or something, but that was kind of fucking crazy and he didn't care what the guy thought about that, necessarily, but Brendon would definitely call him on how stupidly possessive he was. Instead he kept his hands safely in his pockets, probably digging holes through the fabric. Better than hurting someone, probably. "Who is this?" Ryan decided he wasn't gonna yell at some stranger, so. He directed all questions to Brendon instead. "It's generally agreed upon that we being our cheap fucks to hotels. It's just more considerate that way, yeah?" Actually, screw it, he was definitely gonna yell at some guy. He directed his glare to Brendon's new friend, stepping closer again, confrontational. "Feel free to get the hell out. Brendon, we need to talk."

Brendon would have never in a million years pinned Ryan as being possessive in anyway. He tried not to care or notice, but he was unfortunately around his guitarist and several of his admittedly long string of girlfriends enough to know that, in a typical relationship, Ryan didn’t have a possessive bone in his body, he was relatively relaxed about it. Brendon often thought back to their conversation on the night of Ryan’s birthday party- how Keltie looked at him more like a rare caged bird than a human, and how the awe that she and other girlfriends regarded him with made him feel better about himself. Brendon, on the other hand, saw him for what he was- when he’d hated Ryan the entire time he’d known him, it was hard to look at him through the rose-coloured glasses that everyone else seemed to. He was childish, selfish, insecure and yet somehow had an ego more than capable of being bruised, and he was spiteful, having been the one who had started this whole mutual hatred thing in the first place. Ryan was human, not some fascinating zoo animal, and maybe because Ryan knew that Brendon wasn’t completely smitten with him was why he was so possessive and intense.

Ryan thought he didn’t notice- he did. But it wasn’t like he really minded. The bruises pressed and bitten across his collarbones, neck and throat could be covered with makeup- luckily they always had it on hand for shows- and as for Ryan leering at anyone who even dared look Brendon’s way, clearly interested, Brendon shrugged that off, to. For the better part of a month, he’d been fine with their- unspoken arrangement, whatever. Everything was the same- they still argued viciously, albeit a little less; they just had another way of resolving any issues that arose. He had no desire or intention to be with anyone else in that way. What he and Ryan had going on- he liked to put it down to convenient opportunism, paired with the fact that they were both tragically atttacted to eachother and had been pretty much since they met, even considering the immediate conflict that arose between them. Two relationships existed in parallel- the dominant one, fuelled by mutual hatred, and then a subtextual one they’d only managed to address a month ago, with the failing of Ryan’s relationship with Keltie. Brendon wondered whether Ryan regretted it, wished he’d tried to make it work with Keltie- then he decided he didn’t care.

Eventually, though, he stopped being so readily available, started actively dodging and rejecting any passes that Ryan made at him, at first pretending he didn’t notice and later straight-up denying any propositions Ryan offered his way. It was amusing, really- he tried so hard to seem above it all, shrug it off like it was Brendon’s loss, and yet he tended to disappear more often, sulking somewhere Brendon couldn’t see. He couldn’t see, but he knew. And Ryan couldn’t stay out forever- Brendon, Spencer and Jon would be chilling on the bus and Ryan would walk on, Brendon would look innocently his way as Ryan avoided looking at him, Jon would invite Ryan to hang with them but he’d manage out a sullen ‘okay’ and sit at the edge of the couch as far away from Brendon as possible. Other days, he’d reject the invite entirely and retreat to his bunk at, like, eight pm. Brendon tried desperately not to laugh. The inner arch enemy in him found satisfaction in keeping him hanging like that, clearly bothered and too proud to admit it. At this point, too, he had met someone else one night that the three of them (Ryan naturally not included) had gone out, this guitarist called Ian, and Brendon had been talking about him loudly when they got back to the bus, hoping Ryan was still awake to heat him gush about some other guy.

Soon, though, if was less about making Ryan jealous, more that he actually liked this Ian guy, they hit it off really well, Ian didn’t instantly hate his guts. They weren’t official yet, per say, since it had been such a brief time, but Brendon felt strongly enough to want to bring him back to the tour bus to kind of solidify his presence among them for the time being. They’d picked a bad time, though, apparently, and the bus was empty. Brendon paused in the doorway, and then suggested to Ian that they stay anyway, wait for them to get back. Fast forward again, and they were passing the time as well as the situation allowed. Brendon kind of forgot about Ryan, and the fact that maybe he wouldn’t have gone out with Spencer and Jon, he’d instead be sulking at some cafe and stealing their wifi for as much time as possible before he had to go back. Brendon had no idea what the time was when he heard the tour bus door open, but he registered immediately that it definitely wasn’t going to be Spencer or Jon, it couldn’t be that late and they usually didn’t come back til early morning. The driver had probably gone too, so- it was Ryan. Sighing inwardly, he half-shifted off Ian’s lap and turned, meeting his eyes, a little alarmed even though he knew it was going to be Ryan standing there.

He did not look happy. Brendon bit his lip to hold back a smirk, and to stop himself saying something unwise. Yeah, you fucking can. Brendon sucked in a breath, a little taken aback by his immediate aggression, and he shifted fully off Ian to sit beside him, one arm wrapped around the back of the couch, hand resting on Ian’s far shoulder, and the other raising to absently stroke through his own hair. ”Calm down, Princess,” He said, mock-soothingly, retracting both his arms to fold loosely across his chest, all relaxed and innocent. He did tense a little when Ryan stepped forwards, kind of apprehensive of how exactly Ryan’s anger would unfold, but quickly relaxed again, keeping an eye on where his hands were buried in his pockets. He glanced at Ian quickly- Ian, who looked incredibly confused and wary, having shifted and moved quickly to fix his disheveled appearance. Ian turned his head and met Brendon’s gaze. Brendon offered him a relaxed shrug, as if to say, it’s okay. I’ll handle this, it’s fine. He’d mentioned Ryan before, but he felt obliged to do introductions- he opened his mouth, but Ryan interrupted before he could speak.

Who is this? Funny he should ask. Brendon cleared his throat. ”Ryan, this is Ian. Ian- this is Ryan.” Reminiscent of Brendon’s first meeting with Keltie. Brendon caught Ryan’s eye, hoped he got the reference. Ian seemed to recognise Brendon’s tone of voice and looked at Ryan, openly judgemental, and with recognition. Brendon stood up and took a step closer to Ryan, challenging. He saw Ian stand up too in his peripheral, a pressing his shoulder against Brendon’s from just behind him. It's generally agreed upon that we being our cheap fucks to hotels. It's just more considerate that way, yeah? Offering only a shrug, Brendon turned his head to look at Ian, who had wrapped an arm around his waist innocently. ”Who said anything about cheap?” He remarked, quirking an eyebrow at Ryan and flashing him a grin. This only earned him Ryan stepping closer again, this time directing veiled threats in Ian’s direction. Feel free to get the hell out. Brendon, we need to talk.

Feeling Ian’s grip loosen at his waist, Brendon clicked his tongue, wondering whether he really wanted to have to deal with Ryan being all pissy at him by himself- but what he did know was that their night was ruined anyway, and he didn’t want Ian to be dragged into their messy feud. B, I’ll leave, if- Brendon looked from Ryan to Ian and then back to Ryan, and then he nodded reluctantly. ”Okay, babe, call me.” He said finally, turning his back smartly towards Ryan as he leaned up to kiss Ian, finding and squeezing his hand apologetically before he stepped back and regarded Ryan, exasperated and apprehensive. Great, now he’d have to deal with this jealous idiot by himself. Ian weaved cautiously past Ryan, not saying a word, and both of them were silent until the door shut on Ian’s way out. Brendon dragged his hands through his messy hair before he stepped back, lifted the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face and then folded his arms across his chest, defensive. ”What’s your fuckin’ problem, huh? Can’t stand missing out?”

Unfortunately, Brendon did see the humiliating truth behind Ryan's personality. It's not that he necessarily lied about who he really was or had some kind of façade up - it's just that he never had any reason to show how vindictive and critical and mean-spirited he could be, not to anyone outside of his immediate circle who were conveniently there whenever it shone through. Well. 'Conveniently' might even be the wrong term. The only convenience was that Brendon was also present, and bothersome enough that he could dig and dig and dig all the way under Ryan's skin, all the way under his surface of sweetness and timidness and gentleness. In fairness, those were all kind of true as long as he was a safe twenty-foot distance away from his lead singer and otherwise had no reminders of him within sight. Whatever the case may be, it annoyed Ryan to no end that Brendon had that special privilege of seeing past him, and it was especially annoying that, as a result, Brendon saw no reason to give Ryan any kind of special treatment.

Since he'd found fame, all people wanted to do was protect and care for him, this dainty and boyish thing that got too big too quickly and looked doe-eyed and lost in the limelight. Brendon was not one of those people. To be as eloquent as possible, they'd fought and fucked and flirted and fussed, and now Brendon knew just about everything he needed to know to hold a constant upper hand over Ryan's head. Not even Spencer had come that close and they'd known each other longest. Their new situation was difficult and complex, sure, but it was something of a relief to know Brendon more intimately; now they had a secret to share that kept them from the edge of totally snapping and betraying the other, and Ryan didn't have to watch himself so much. Coincidentally there wasn't a whole lot to 'watch' anymore, either, considering their massive fights had dwindled into petty bickering, and when Ryan was annoyed with him he no longer put it on massive display for anyone else around - just approached Brendon to kiss him quiet when no one was looking. It was still messy, yeah, just not as bloody.

This incident, though, might end up saying otherwise. In the right, rational part of his mind, Ryan knew he was overreacting, he looked stupid and protective and too damn affected, but he couldn't stop himself. They hadn't even agreed to... not see other people, god, and that made it sound like they were seeing each other, and Ryan couldn't even think of any terminology he'd feel comfortable applying to their situation. They were nowhere near 'boyfriends,' that's for sure, but that's how Ryan was acting. He hated himself for it. More than that, he hated Brendon and his new toy, watching Brendon move off his lap but let one arm remain thrown over the line of his shoulders. Calm down, princess. Ryan's shoulders tensed even more, expecting him to be that irritating, of course, but without any comeback prepared. Funny- he was almost certain he'd used that nickname for Brendon under very specific circumstances.

He felt a bizarre sort of power in the way Brendon appeared to recoil at him moving closer, eyes trained carefully on his hands even when he made himself relax - clearly Ryan was successfully making his point. Ryan, this is Ian. Ian- this is Ryan. Ryan paused, thinking nothing of it until Brendon caught his eye and he realized there was an underlying message there. Keltie. When was that relationship going to quit fucking haunting him. If he'd have started with someone better - if he'd have gotten off on the right foot with Brendon... whoa. Ryan crashed that train of thought before it could spiral out of control. He scowled, catching the way Ian looked at him and instantly deciding he hated the guy worlds more than he'd thought possible. Yeah, whatever, he only picked you because you look like me. They both stood and approached and Ryan held his ground, taking his hands from his pockets and turning his chin up challengingly. Odd, he hadn't had this sort of fight with Brendon in a minute, the kind where the air was so thick it felt hard to breathe. He wasn't sure that he'd missed it - but it's not like he could resolve it in their new way with Ryan 2.0 here.

He felt another flare of possessiveness at the sight of Ian's arm around Brendon's waist, and it's not even like Ryan had ever shown that kind of gesture to him. In terms of sweetness or any kind of romance, they'd only ever skimmed the surface and quickly jumped away as if they'd been burned. Who said anything about cheap? Ryan glared while he looked more smug, amused, and hated how easygoing Brendon could be in the face of him being genuinely pissed now. In the beginning Brendon couldn't hold his ground nearly as well. Ian looked like he was listening, though, and Brendon let him off the hook. Okay, babe, call me. Or don't. Ryan looked triumphant for half a second before Brendon was turning and leaning up and - he was turning himself before he could see them kiss, pushing his hand through his hair and facing the wall tiredly. He kept his gaze carefully away until Ian came through his line of sight, walking through the door and letting the door fall shut behind him. Ryan didn't relax, just turned to Brendon again resignedly, feeling his fingers itch.

Brendon looked about as sick of him. Ryan watched him wipe his face, fold his arms, and it had been so quiet for a few moments that the exact extent of how ridiculous he'd been settled over him. He refused to feel bad about it. What's your fuckin’ problem, huh? Can’t stand missing out? Ryan let out a short, mean laugh, disbelieving. "My fucking problem is that anyone could have walked in. You're being an inconsiderate asshole." Even he knew that was weak. Ryan paused for a second, trying to choose his words carefully but unable to think straight. "What, everytime you reject me lately you're going to that asshole? What is it? Enlighten me."

Brendon remembered the morning after they’d first slept together as well as the night itself- he remembered waking up to a room bathed in light slicing in through the open blinds, pressing himself flush against Ryan’s warm, scratched-up skin, wrapping his arms comfortably around him and trailing kisses wherever he could reach. He remembered watching as Ryan called Keltie, remembered blinking up at him, amused, as he tried to break up with her over the phone as Brendon was being as distracting as humanly possible. He remembered them both trying and failing to shift and stand up- Ryan’s hips were sore and his back was stinging, Brendon was aching all over and even sitting made his body protest. He remembered spending the entire subsequent day curled up together in bed, all hatred somehow dilapidated for those brief, sunshine-y hours, a tantalising glimpse into what could have been if they’d just tried a little harder to make it work. But no- after the famed show that night in Seattle, they got into an argument about guitar straps and regressed back to their usual antagonistic relationship. The difference this time was that, instead of settling it with a shouting match and then trying to ignore eachother for the next 24 hours, they slept together, funnelling the angry energy into some kind of remaining wanton. Brendon had been sure that one night was all he needed, then he could stop thinking about it. Apparently not.

And so they settled into that routine again, all thoughts of soft kisses and touches and gentle caresses in a bed that wasn’t theirs forgotten, left discarded and shut away in a bed in a three star hotel somewhere in Seattle. Nothing of that remained- their subsequent frequent sexual encounters were coarse and tense and mindless, and they remained that way for most of a month, until their ‘sessions’ almost dropped out of fashion in a way and Brendon was ignoring every pass that Ryan made, almost in an effort to fix himself from feeling so- well, expendable. Ryan might have been possessive, the bruises and the bites were evidence of that, but that didn’t mean Brendon felt desired. He felt like Ryan’s dirty little secret- maybe the feeling was mutual, who knew, but he found eventually that he didn’t like it, he wanted their kind of physical and intimate connection along with an emotional one, an actual caring relationship, someone he could call a lover, not someone who wasn’t even his friend. They were enemies with benefits, rivals who regularly fucked to relieve tension, satisfy, whatever; nothing more. That could be different. But it wasn’t. So when Brendon met Ian and they hit it off and by the end of the night they were kissing, and it felt good, not just in a physical way, but it was actually nice, Brendon didn’t think of Ryan at all.

He felt no guilt when he faced Ryan then, either, just exasperation. He was wary, sure- Brendon knew from experience that Ryan was more than capable of physically moving or overpowering him, and there was a chance that would happen if he or Ian made the wrong move or said the wrong thing- but overall, he just wished that maybe Ryan had gone out with Spencer and Jon, or maybe stayed wherever he was, probably at some hipster cafe somewhere, drinking coffee alone and stealing the wifi so he could passive aggressively tweet and write down little snippets of lyric ideas that he came up with on the spot. Brendon was surprised with himself for a moment, how he conjured up that perfectly accurate picture without even thinking about it too hard. Brendon defiantly met Ryan’s glare for as long as it took for Ian to move and wind an arm around him comfortably, and then his attention shifted to his favoured companion, as they agreed that maybe him being there wasn’t exactly the best thing for any of them right now. Ryan looked smug as he left- Brendon wanted to wipe it off his face. Maybe Ryan won the battle, but Brendon knew he would win the war.

There was a brief, tense period of silence between them, and Brendon knew what they’d be doing usually, but somehow he felt that wasn’t going to happen in this situation, if Ryan really was as pissed as he seemed. A shame, really- Ryan had ruined his chances for the night elsewhere. Brendon blinked and raised his eyebrows as Ryan laughed, a harsh, short sound. My fucking problem is that anyone could have walked in. He rolled his eyes, thinking back to all of the times that they had done exactly the same on the bus, and how Ryan had no such concerns then, when it was him with Brendon in his lap and Brendon’s mouth on his. ”Oh, please,” He replied scornfully, ”Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have enjoyed the show.” Quirking an eyebrow slightly, trying to regain some footing in a situation that was quickly slipping out of Ryan’s control. Ryan, who seemed less sure of his own reaction with every passing second. ”Besides, we weren’t even doing anything. Just kissing. You got a problem with me kissing other men, Ryan?” Of course he did, that was a rhetorical question. Brendon’s mouth was parted, he was still trying to repay the oxygen debt from when he’d been, admittedly, kissing Ian breathless.

You’re being an inconsiderate asshole. ”And you’re being a cockblock, what gives?” Brendon turned, evidently bored of him, and glanced at the couch where Ian had shrugged off his jacket. He’d left it there, evidently forgotten in his rush to get away from this awkward situation. Brendon moved over and bent to pick it up, folding it over his arm and then crossing the floor towards a crookedly fixed mirror so he could examine his reflection, fix his appearance, run a hand through his dishevelled hair, study his growing number of visible hickeys and consider his own reddened lips. He tried to imagine exactly how Ryan was feeling, how it had been someone else to do this instead of him. What, everytime you reject me lately you’re going to that asshole? What is it? Enlighten me. Brendon huffed, turned around. ”Yeah. I have. If you have a problem with that, please, by all means, let me know. But I have been going to him. He’s good. And- give him a break, you don’t even know the guy.”

Was it Seattle that held some kind of magic within it that made Brendon and Ryan change like that? Was it really just down to alcohol? Did another year older somehow change his entire mentality? Ryan had no idea why he'd so quickly gone from berating Brendon at every chance he got, attacking any tiny flaw or sign of weakness, to waking up next to him and holding him close, covering every convenient inch of his skin in wisps of kisses and wanting more. And, at the same time, he'd discovered which he preferred - the latter. It sounded obvious, really, because who wanted to hate and lash out on the constant, but that had become such a comfortable routine between himself and Brendon that he'd never expected anything else to seem appealling. When he learned how Brendon looked after he'd been kissed breathless, suddenly that was so much more beautiful than him looking caught off-guard or frustrated following a comeback. When he learned how he sounded in pleasure rather than in irritation, yeah, the answer was pretty obvious. Ryan knew the kind of turn he'd like their relationship to take, just had no clue how to initiate it or admit it to himself.

So he didn't, on either account. Sometimes he had to force a fight when really he was just frustrated with himself for wanting to land a kiss or something in front of everyone. And then he denied every thought that came into his head - pretended every impulse to call him a pet name came not from a place of innocence but out of some dumb lust, or any time he caught himself thinking of how stunning Brendon looked he convinced himself it was no-romance, pure wanton. Keeping things mindless, terse, passionate and without explanation or dwelling, was crucial for his sanity - and probably to keep Brendon from never letting him live it down. He had no idea whether they were even close to feeling mutual, actually. If he had to guess, he supposed Brendon was just being strung along at this point. He knew Ryan better than anyone, shockingly enough, and with that in mind, if he had any sort of choice, he wouldn't be participating. Not to get self-deprecating, or anything; Ryan just couldn't come up with any reasonable explanation for the situation they were in.

Oh, please. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have enjoyed the show. Ryan looked genuinely disgusted, scowling and recoiling. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively, shaking his head with disinterest after a moment of recovery from the image that popped forcefully into his head. Yeah, he really would not have. "I'd rather die, thanks." Besides, we weren’t even doing anything. Just kissing. You got a problem with me kissing other men, Ryan? Ryan gazed at him for an extended moment, the heat in his features fading minutely, because he supposed he sort of did have a problem with it and. It wasn't just jealousy out of some sexual possessiveness, whatever. He couldn't handle Brendon potentially starting something... real, with someone else. Granted, with all that he didn't tell Brendon and vowed not to ever, they weren't very real themselves, but still. His imagination ran wild behind the scenes, and someone else stepping into the picture made it harder to pretend, made it harder to see what they could be. Brendon's lips were parted and he knew it wasn't intentionally supposed to affect him, or anything, but Ryan's attention still dropped there, weak.

'No' was the obvious answer, the higher ground. And Ryan meant to dodge the question by saying that, he really did, but he didn't. "Yeah," he said in a more controlled voice, visibly losing tension. "Yeah, I do." Because he didn't want to look like he was giving in, though, Ryan cocked his head to the side defiantly as an afterthought, shrugging his shoulders in some sort of 'and what are you gonna do about it?' He was confused with even himself, honestly. And you’re being a cockblock, what gives? Ryan frowned at Brendon's ever colorful vocabulary, shutting his eyes in an effort to maintain what little patience he had on reserve. Brendon was turning already, losing interest, even when Ryan's anger-hurt-whatever was peaking. "What makes you so sure he was gonna put out? Again, it's not like you picked the best venue." At this point he was picking at crumbs to try and get back at Brendon. He watched him move, studying him at the same time he examined himself in the mirror. Ryan wasn't used to seeing him in this unkempt post-kissing state when he hadn't been the cause- he hated the feeling. He had to glance away, chew his lip while he redirected his attention to the floor.

Yeah. I have. If you have a problem with that, please, by all means, let me know. Ryan was pretty sure he'd been throwing enough of a hissy fit already, but sure, he could do more. But I have been going to him. He’s good. And- give him a break, you don’t even know the guy. Ryan scoffed, short and cruel again, shaking his head. "I don't need to know him. I don't need to know anyone to know that they're -" Not good enough for you? What, like he was? And since when was he allowed to care? Ryan broke off for a second, trying to rephrase. "...not supposed to be with you. What happened to us? Am I boring you, or something?" He sounded downright jealous at this point, couldn't help himself anymore. He'd stupidly concluded that they were exclusive, and didn't even clue Brendon in on it. No taking it back now, though.

At Ryan’s immediate recoil and disdainful, almost sickened scowl, Brendon came to the conclusion that Ryan would really not enjoy the show. Brendon tilted his head and tried to follow his thought process- he had assumed that Ryan was just had a perpetually high sex drive (definitely not a quality he would have pinned on him before their relationship turned this way), but if he didn’t just want to be a part of it, that meant the common denominator here between his jealousy and his anger was that he wanted Brendon, no one else, and he didn’t want anybody else to have Brendon, either. Curious, and somewhat smug, he watched as Ryan stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t fooling Brendon, who knew he had the advantage here. Ryan was the jealous one. I’d rather die, thanks. ”Hey, your loss,” Came Brendon’s reply, and he mockingly mirrored Ryan’s defensive stance. ”He looks great naked.” Okay, unnecessary. But the spitefulness that they hadn’t managed to eradicate between them was still a strong driving force, and admittedly, he enjoyed it when Ryan was so frustrated like this. And Brendon could resolve that or make it worse at his own will.

Their relationship had been a rocky one since they met- first very negative for years, with an undercurrent of something else, then that surfaced for the first time properly, like, a month ago and from that, something they didn’t even know existed reared its head, a softness and a gentleness they would have never anticipated feeling for eachother in a million years. What happened between then, with them calling eachother baby and curling hands around hips and arms around waists and kissing not to start something but just because kissing was nice and the enjoyed being that close to eachother, without all the heat and anger. Brendon imagined that sleeping with Ryan would be angry, some kind of bitter release, and that when they woke up it would be dispassionate and all the want and desire they ever felt for eachother would be fulfilled, and they’d never have to speak of it again. But no. They felt fulfilled, yes, not only physically but emotionally- Brendon’s relaxation that morning and Ryan’s receptiveness to such tender treatment was alien, unexpected, but welcomed with literal and metaphorical open arms. Brendon had been under the impression that maybe, just maybe, their relationship could grow from this mutual vulnerability into something more stable- what had happened? Brendon supposed old habits died hard, because they were back to fighting over stupid shit the same evening after a show.

Now driven again by the bitterness and spite that had been his main driving factor in his relationship with Ryan before all this, Brendon made a stab at him by accusing him of jealousy, possessiveness. He expected a blatant rejection. Yeah. He did not expect that, and his mouth quirked, confused more than anything. Yeah, I do. There was honesty in his tone, and Brendon believed him. He just cynically smiled, not believing that Ryan’s problem was derived from anything but lust and a stupid sense of ownership. ”Would you mind telling me why?” Brendon asked faux-delicately, though it was less of a request and more of a demand in a misleadingly soft, gentle voice. They could have got somewhere, then, but Brendon had to run his big mouth and be all typically vulgar and childish. Ryan wasn’t impressed- he never was. Brendon had given up trying. What makes you so sure he was gonna put out? A pause, and a smirk slowly crept up at the corner of his mouth as he let out a breathy, almost exasperated but pleased exhale, turning around to station himself in front of a mirror and fix his reflection.

His eyes fixed the reflection of Ryan’s in the mirror as he moved his fingers deftly to fix his collar and then straighten himself out fully. ”Have you seen me?” He inquired, cockily raising an eyebrow, and turning around to face Ryan himself rather than his reflection. It was almost alarming to see the cocktail of anger and hurt and jealousy staring him back in person, but if Brendon felt nervous or apprehensive, he didn’t show it. ”Anyway, who said anything about putting out in the first place? You put those words in my mouth. You don’t know what we were going to do. Maybe I’m allowed to make out with people, and it not be a prelude to anything else.” His words were delicate but pointed, and he watched Ryan’s gaze move to the floor. Again, it’s not like you picked the best venue. That only earned him an eye roll- hypocrite. ”I think you’ll recall a few times that we have, Ryan,” He pointed out, exasperated, disappointed but not surprised, ”But, you know, you probably forget. All blends together for you.” Maybe he was showing too much face here, revealing too much about his own problems. So far, most comebacks had been thinly veiled jabs at their own messed-up relationship. If it could be called that at all.

Brendon was tired of Ryan’s judgement, and him acting like he owned the rights to him for some reason, when all he’d done was hate his guts and berate him, but not enough so that an encounter afterwards couldn’t fix that bad blood. He was almost surgical about it. I don’t need to know him. Probably better that way, really. I don’t need to know anyone to know that they’re- Eyes narrowing dangerously, warningly, Brendon dared him to finish that sentence. ...Not supposed to be with you. His fists clenched in frustration and disbelief at his sides, and he turned his eyes skywards to fix on the roof. He held his tongue, though, because Ryan wasn’t finished. Better let him finish before he ripped into him like he wanted to. What happened to us? Am I boring you, or something? Fixing his eyes on Ryan again, he considered his guitarist for a moment, in all his jealousy and entitlement. It could have been so different, yet, here they were.

”There is no us,” He started suddenly, scathingly, ”There is me and there is you and sometimes, we fuck. And, yeah, it’s good. That doesn’t mean there is an us. Nor does it mean that we are exclusive,“ -Brendon glanced towards Ian’s jacket, that he had put back on the couch- ”Or that I am here to relieve your permanent boner whenever you feel like it. I’m a human being, you know, and I know you’re capable of treating me like one.” A pause. The hurt in his voice was starting to show through stronger, the anger and fire slowly draining away. ”You just- you just won’t.” Brendon sighed, looking at his feet. ”You fooled me in Seattle for just a second that you cared about me.”

Brendon could see right through him. Ryan knew it. And yet he couldn't figure out how to make himself less transparent how to be less obvious about everything. He'd thought that morning when they woke up together that he'd been clear enough about how he felt (although he hated how he felt, so maybe that came across, too), and now Brendon didn't have anything else to learn, but apparently such a long time of him sending the wrong signals, only entangling them further in a web of misdirected hatred and misguided antagonism, had made it impossible to turn back the clock and redeem himself. If he ever wanted his true thoughts and feelings to be anything but 'ammunition' then he had to completely, entirely change his and Brendon's relationship, one that he himself had forced to start out not just on a bad foot, but on a horrendous one. It wasn't really anyone's fault but his own, that in mind. Mostly Brendon had been defending himself all along.

Hey, your loss. He looks great naked. Ryan hated how casual he was being. Here he was, genuinely fuming, and Brendon thought it was all a goddamn joke. Forget that morning - that had been some kind of fallacy. Something he made up, probably, something he was misremembering. Surely he hadn't felt that kind of softness towards Brendon of all people, not the Brendon he was standing before now, where all he wanted to do was find weak spots and attack (which didn't really make sense. He was mad out of jealousy - why try to convince himself he didn't like Brendon at all if that fancy was the driving force behind all of this?). Anyway. He scowled even further, if it was possible, and rolled his eyes, not even bothering to let a picture enter his mind that would ruin his day even more. Silently, he begged Brendon to take him seriously, despite the fact that that would probably just spell a more intricate fight.

He supposed they weren't getting anywhere with him acting like a child, though. Ryan sucked it up, came out with some honesty for once (maybe not for the best - last time he was 100% honest about what was on his mind, it started this whole ordeal). Brendon looked almost confused but maybe like he believed him, until a cynical smile formed, and Ryan was instantly exasperated, turning his face to the ceiling while he anticipated this being stretched out even further. Would you mind telling me why? Ryan gazed at him for a moment, thinking this through, trying to consider what the outcome would be of actually continuing his truthful streak, but. He was also kind of very fucking irritated by Brendon's tone, so. He let it be. Tabled the discussion for the time being. It's not like it really mattered, because Brendon clearly already knew that the reason he cared when Brendon kissed anyone who wasn't him was because he was jealous as all hell, and the reason he was so unbelievably jealous was because he had these indescribable feelings that he didn't want to put a name to. Affection? Surely he couldn't be this pissed and irritated with someone he felt any kind of affection for. But there was no accurate word for them.

Ryan humoured him being childish, kind of, and Brendon seemed unperturbed, just slowly smirking and almost-sighing, turning away to study himself in vain. Ryan glared back at him in the reflection, for once too busy being spiteful to even think about petty distractions fueled by lust. This time all he saw was his replacement - or maybe that's what he told himself, anyway. Have you seen me? Funny he should say that. Ryan laughed again, the short, cruel one, and raised his eyebrows, sickened. "Yeah, getting sick of it, too." When he turned he thought he saw an edge of Brendon being unsettled, maybe by how Ryan himself looked in response to him, but. Probably his imagination. Not like anything took Brendon off guard. Anyway, who said anything about putting out in the first place? You put those words in my mouth. You don’t know what we were going to do. Maybe I’m allowed to make out with people, and it not be a prelude to anything else. Ryan opened his mouth to argue without thinking, but he was pretty much right. Great. Ryan stopped, narrowed his eyes, tried a few different angles to this. Maybe 'sure, let me show you, I can make out without doing anything else.' But he didn't have anything solid. So... "Shut up," he said, with dwindling confidence.

I think you’ll recall a few times that we have, Ryan. But, you know, you probably forget. All blends together for you. "That's different, it's not like we have anywhere else-" Ryan paused, reconsidered what he'd said, the implications behind him. All blends together? Why would he forget? Did Brendon think he was taking this all for granted, that he didn't give a fuck about any of it? It must seem that way - Ryan could understand the misconception, honestly. It's not like he was always very kind, at all. And... he fet sort of bad about it. If Brendon was thinking that, then he had valid reasons to, and therefore Ryan wasn't doing his part to show that he did care, he did place value in this, in them. Whatever 'them' was, if it even... was. It killed him to think that, really, even when he was unendingly irritated with Brendon at the moment. He must've thought he was getting screwed around, used and thrown away. And it's not like Ryan gave him reason to believe otherwise. It made sense. Fuck. Ryan's expression fell somewhat, giving in to the remorse that settled over his bones, that wouldn't leave. He forgot to find something else to say, too scared he'd reveal himself, too.

Too late to worry about that, though, because moments later Ryan was being typically possessive, accidentally going too far. He knew he was in trouble the instant Brendon's expression shifted, a warning. There is no us. There could be. There was in Ryan's head. It's like- they were meant to, so... but that was too much. There is me and there is you and sometimes, we fuck. And, yeah, it’s good. That doesn’t mean there is an us. Ryan felt something weak tug at his chest, and suddenly he wanted to sit down, to leave all of this alone before Brendon said more - or, God forbid, before Ryan said more and regretted his own callousness. It's not like Brendon was being cruel, compared to his own treatment in the past and present. Nor does it mean that we are exclusive or that I am here to relieve your permanent boner whenever you feel like it. Ryan's eyes followed his gesture then rolled dramatically, turning aside at Brendon's accusations and wishing he wouldn't make it sound so. Cheap. But then Ryan had never done anything differently himself. And here he was, finally considering his hypocrisy.

I’m a human being, you know, and I know you’re capable of treating me like one. Ryan stilled, blinking slowly and looking back at Brendon again, meeting his gaze carefully. Did he really think...? Yeah, again. No reason to believe otherwise. This was on Ryan - he'd never done his part. And it's not like Brendon had to much. He wasn't the one who, 90% of the time, was the first to shun the other once they were out of their soft 'modes.' Ryan just got way too overly defensive, with little regard to Brendon's feelings except for when he thought too much about him. You just- you just won’t. Brendon's gaze dropped and Ryan was stuck staring at the dejected line of his shoulders. You fooled me in Seattle for just a second that you cared about me. It was too much, and Ryan spoke up instantly, his voice a completely different, more controlled tone. "I do care about you," he said, feeling the prickles of embarrassment naturally, reflex, but pushed on. He moved closer, not trying to touch yet, felt like Brendon would just flinch away.

"I have a problem when you're with other guys because I care. I want there to be..." Ryan froze up on the word 'us,' tried to navigate around it, desperately didn't want to be rejected if that sounded too much like a proposal. "I don't want there to be anyone else. I do care about you. This isn't just... fucking, okay? It's not that. I get freaked out and I make it seem like I think that, whatever, but I don't, that's not what this is to me." He stopped and let his voice soften a little, quelled his instinctively slightly aggressive approach to addressing this to revert back to honesty. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily, considering, then dipped his head finally to speak where it was less difficult. "When you let me stay, that night. That morning, even. That meant everything. I'm never going to- not care." His voice had been gentle, but after another pause it picked up a roughness, suddenly with conviction again. "So don't say I don't care about you, or any of this bullshit about it all blending together, because you're wrong."

Brendon had been cocky, mostly just to rile Ryan up further- but when all he heard was a geniunely harsh laugh, like the idea of Brendon being attractive, as he was implying, was a joke, Brendon’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Ryan’s reflection in the mirror, wondering how the hell he hoped to pass off this feigned disdain as genuine when moments ago he’d been fuming because Brendon was with some other guy. He was unbelievable, and Brendon was beginning to recall all the reasons he stopped being so up for getting into bed with Ryan at a moment’s notice. Yeah, getting sick of it, too. Though he was expecting some kind of offhand, dismissive comment, that was a little too far for Brendon’s liking, and it was his turn to laugh, confident after the briefest scowl took over his surprisingly placid expression. He turned around, and when he did, his face was written with distaste and vague amusement at how bad a liar Ryan was. ”Oh, really?” He challenged, one eyebrow arching. ”Can I ask, Ryan, what were your plans, assuming you and I would be alone on the bus?”

Shut up. Brendon did, not out of submissiveness or giving in, more because Ryan was exhausting him by now, his endless, fucked up game where sometimes he’d brush past Brendon a little too gently and then go white as a sheet, he’d curl a hand around his jaw and trace the corner of his mouth with his thumb delicately and then flinch away as if he’d been burnt, looking guilty, as if he’d done something wrong, disgusting. Their relationship consisted solely of fights and then sleeping together not to resolve those fights, but to spend the angry energy and convert it into something else. It meant they didn’t throttle eachother, but- even beforehand, they didn’t. They could have gone on just fine and released that tension by getting into shouting matches, but no, neither of them could help themselves, and so here they were, still spiteful towards eachother only now they knew what the other looked like naked. Funny how that changed their relationship completely and yet somehow, it was exactly the same. Brendon was sick and tired of feeling sub-par, like he was there for Ryan’s convenience and pleasure only while it mattered to him and afterwards, Ryan would remember that, wait, we hate eachother, and get up and leave. To be fair, Brendon never protested, in fact, turned to offence to defend his own fragile reaction to such abandonments by spitting out venemous parting comments. Upon reflection, Brendon decided that things had gotten worse.

Brendon would’ve even retired to his own bunk, or something, shut Ryan out until he stopped having a tantrum, like a toddler who didn’t want to share a toy- but he knew Ryan probably wouldn’t leave him alone. That’s different, it’s not like we have anywhere else- Brendon snorted, as if to try and cut him off, but Ryan was trailing off anyway, as if struck by a sudden thought that made his comment less important. He noted the present tense that Ryan used- ‘its not like we have anywhere else- and
pursed his lips cynically, tipping his hand back slightly and drawing his hands from the top of his head through his hair and down his face, before crossing his arms tightly across his chest- he didn’t know what else to do with them, feeling awkward and under scrutiny even if he knew that it was Ryan being the child, being unreasonable, making a scene because he didn’t get what he wanted. His thoughts drifted to Ian- who was a nice guy, genuine, sweet, funny, didn’t hate his guts and put him down at every opportunity. Ian, who Ryan had ordered out, probably waiting for a message from Brendon to check he was still living. With purposeful brazenness, he pulled his phone out of his jean pockets and checked his notifications- yeah, a text from Ian; Have you defeated the evil? Brendon smiled, made a mental note to reply when he actually had defeated the evil, and shoved his phone back out of sight.

When he looked up, Ryan looked compelled by something, and this was after Brendon had let himself be vulnerable for a few fleeting moments by expressing visible disappointment from the idea that Ryan didn’t care about him. Instantly he regretted saying anything- Ryan wouldn’t feel any sympathy or compassion. If anything, it would be pity, and it wouldn’t even be geniune. Brendon started dejectedly back at the ground, wishing he’d gone out with Spencer and Jon. He knew he’d be having this conversation with Ryan anyway, but- he was big on procrastination. I do care about you. Brendon looked up, betraying vague surprise that instantly morphed into visible cynicism in real time. Yeah, right. Brendon was staring at Ryan’s feet when he saw him move forward, and then he looked up warily, though surprised himself by not moving back. I have a problem when you’re with other guys because I care. Well, forgive Brendon for finding that hard to believe. ”You sure you’re not just worried they won’t save a piece for you?” He retorted, his tone bitter and barbed and undercut with vulnerability he desperately tried to hide.

I want there to be... I don’t want there to be anyone else. All very sweet, whatever, but Brendon really was having a hard time not thinking that every word that passed his lips was a malicious lie. ”Funny how it took you seeing me making out with some other guy to even say that to me,” Brendon murmured, looking past Ryan and at the wall, zoning out for a second. He was tired. Suddenly, his bunk seemed very inviting again. ”You’ve actually met Ian before. I introduced him. I hung off his arm and he touched my waist and you didn’t even notice because you don’t fucking care if there’s anything emotional going on, as long he doesn’t take your fucking fuck buddy away from you, it’s fine.” His tone was cold and pained, because honestly that’s what he felt like- disposable, throw-away entertainment, just Ryan passing the time before he found the next girlfriend who idolised him like some kind of minor diety. Brendon knew better than they did, knew they Ryan was human and made of blood and bone and bad decisions. Lots of them. I do care about you. Yeah, Brendon thought. You said.

This isn’t just... fucking, okay? It’s not that. What was it, then? it certainly wasn’t affection or fondness. The angry bruises on Brendon’s neck and collarbones got that message across clear enough for him. ”Yes, it is,” Brendon corrected after a pause, wondering what the hell Ryan’s thought process even was at this point. ”Because we don’t do anything else but that.” I get freaked out and I make it seem like I think that, whatever, but I don’t, that’s not what this is to me. Understatement of the century. Brendon decided to voice his thoughts from earlier. ”What is it to you, then, Ryan? I’m all ears. Got all night. You ruined my original plans.” he backed up where he stood and collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted, though he was still watching Ryan attentively. When you let me stay, that night. That morning, even. That meant everything. I'm never going to- not care.

Brendon said nothing, was just inwardly bitter about how Ryan expected him to believe all this bullshit when his behaviour spoke so much loudly than this half-assed attempt at keeping hold of his favourite fuck. He glared at him from under his eyelashes, almost unwilling to look at him unobscured. So don't say I don't care about you, or any of this bullshit about it all blending together, because you're wrong. What a compelling speech. Brendon’s skin was itching and he was still convinced that this was all some manipulative ploy to convince Brendon to crawl back into bed with him. He was fed up of being lead on. ”Moving fucking speech, but forgive me for not believing you. Why the fuck should I not think you’re just doing this to do your permanent hard-on a favour? Speaking of which, will you leave me alone in return for me sucking your dick? ‘Cause that’s clearly all you want.” He tried to sound scornful, but there was no bite. He’d lost the energy to put up a real fight.

One thing about this new dynamic between them: Ryan no longer had Brendon figured out. He probably didn't before, but then he didn't put much thought into the matter - it was simpler when he was safe in believing that all he could do was hate him, that that was the only capacity in him (except those times he had to ignore every lusting thought or momentary affection, which tended to complicate things until he could push it all to the back of his mind and go on hating). Now he knew there was more to it, and in turn, more at stake, and suddenly it was much less clear to him how to go about talking to Brendon, how to win an upper hand or how to even stay balanced. At this point, Brendon tended to get to him at every turn, was far better at this than him. Ryan presumed it just meant none of this affected him as heavily at first, but in all honesty he was just more of a character than Ryan. If they were on the same page, Brendon would handle it all ten times better.

And he was definitely more stable than Ryan. Surprisingly. Brendon, who regularly threw fits in their tiny, cramped bus because he'd lost a hoodie or something, was less snippy and sulky about their newfound issues for God knows what reason. It's like they'd switched roles, and Ryan hated it. Even now he was being more rational than Ryan, could practically read his mind. Oh, really? Ryan stiffened defensively at the challenging tone, knowing he couldn't dispute it without being entirely transparent. He was a horrific liar, yeah, whatever. Can I ask, Ryan, what were your plans, assuming you and I would be alone on the bus? Ryan glared at him, and the truth was that he'd been expecting the bus to be fully empty when he got here, but really. When he saw the light on from outside and known it was Brendon, his mind jumped to predictable places and he'd felt that now-familiar twist in his chest, and somehow Brendon knew that. Transparent. Ryan ran his bottom lip between his teeth after a moment, closing his eyes for a beat and looking sick of this already. He figured it was easier not to answer at all.

But his avoiding like that was only making matters worse. When he got scared of what they could potentially have, when he saw them getting closer to it, he stepped away, put a space between them and made it look like he wanted to. He absolutely didn't. If Ryan wasn't so terrified of what could come of him giving in to what every natural instinct had turned into around Brendon, of letting their entire relationship do a complete one-eighty, he'd be letting him in to every thought that crossed his mind and opening himself up to being beside him constantly. It'd be Seattle everyday, basically. But to stay safe and comfortable, he had to look like he had nothing invested in this, like nothing mattered. He may not be the better actor between them, but he was still fairly sure his point was getting across, that he was vaguely convincing. Brendon seemed to believe it, and was actually looking more defeated by the dynamic by the minute- kind of worrying. If he was already done enough to start finding a boyfriend or whatever Ian was, then surely something Ryan was doing was wrong, despite figuring originally that it was in Brendon's best interest to hide this, too.

After having to look away to avoid seeing Brendon visibly go through the motions of defeat, Ryan caught him checking his phone, right now of all times. Probably that Ian guy. Ryan practically felt his chest sink and his temperature rise at the thought, ridiculously. But that was all temporary; moments later he was learning how Brendon genuinely didn't believe he cared about him, and sure that was believable but Ryan had never thought that it was necessary to express it. If he thought about it he realized he'd never really even thought about whether Brendon cared about him, but that was only because he never had any reason to believe that he did or didn't, and if Brendon was having doubts now then it must be that Ryan was big enough of an asshole to convince him that he wouldn't mind whether he was around or not. In reality, Brendon took up about ninety percent of his thoughts, consumed probably as much of his free time be it with him physically or writing about him or trying to see him, etc. He would care if something happened to him, and he cared about what he thought and what he opined, and generally he just gave a fuck - couldn't express it, though, lest both of them undergo a huge change. Or maybe he was just a coward in his own right.

In these rare moments where he dragged up the courage to do it, though, like that entire honest time in Seattle, he knew he was hard to believe no matter how genuine he was. Brendon definitely looked unconvinced. You sure you’re not just worried they won’t save a piece for you? Ryan shut his eyes again, shaking his head less in annoyance and now just disappointed in himself for leading Brendon this far astray from the truth. All because he was scared of change. Funny how it took you seeing me making out with some other guy to even say that to me. Ryan's original abrasive composure had broken, now apologetic and trying hard to keep it under wraps; it'd likely just make Brendon more cynical if he saw the remorse on his face and couldn't discern whether it was real or not. You’ve actually met Ian before. I introduced him. I hung off his arm and he touched my waist and you didn’t even notice because you don’t fucking care if there’s anything emotional going on, as long he doesn’t take your fucking fuck buddy away from you, it’s fine. Ryan regarded him more carefully, recognizing how hurt he felt with ease and feeling it hard, reflected back. He couldn't help, couldn't fix it, and he was the cause. It was hell.

"Don't make assumptions if you're going to be that far off the mark," he said, quieter, shifting his gaze away uncomfortably. Clearly he'd dodged touch too much, climbed away too quickly when they woke up together, because Brendon knew a person who was completely not him, not someone anyone who'd ever known Ryan had met. He was deathly sorry that Brendon was apparently the first to see that side of him, the first to be presented with that impostor. Yes, it is, because we don’t do anything else but that. True. Ryan almost argued that if he was given the choice Brendon probably wouldn't want to go out on some date night, either, but. It wasn't him being unfair - it was the circumstances in general. What is it to you, then, Ryan? I’m all ears. Got all night. You ruined my original plans. Ryan watched him back towards the couch and collapse onto it, the conversation (confrontation) clearly breaking his spirit, and wished he had an answer.

In his head he had some monologue going. 'Maybe I want to be boyfriends,' 'maybe I wish it could be more,' so forth. He nearly argued that Brendon had never shown any sign of it being something more to him - but then he was the one finding an Ian. He wasn't the one throwing a fit about no exclusivity, he wasn't the one calling them something they weren't, wasn't the one making claims. Brendon, in fact, looked like he hated him, a look he was very used to but somehow now he felt it in his core. Moving fucking speech, but forgive me for not believing you. Ryan instantly blushed, embarrassed when he'd been truthful and it didn't go over well. He hadn't been expecting open arms, or anything, but still hadn't prepard himself for mortification. Why the fuck should I not think you’re just doing this to do your permanent hard-on a favour? Ryan shoved his face in his hands, bewildered by how far astray Brendon had been led from knowing what kind of person he really was, how he really wasn't like that but somehow had put on a convincing enough show to seem like it. All to save them from exposure. Somehow it didn't seem worth it anymore.

Speaking of which, will you leave me alone in return for me sucking your dick? ‘Cause that’s clearly all you want. Ryan took his face from his hands and dropped them at his sides, looking at Brendon disbelievingly. "I didn't know," he said, then paused, shutting his eyes and steadying his voice. He wasn't angry at Brendon, he reminded himself - he was angry with himself for screwing up his chances this bad, for fucking up Brendon's perception of him so much. "I didn't know how badly I misled you. If you really think I'm like that, then I fucked up beyond belief, Brendon, and I'm sorry. I thought- I thought I was being convincing for other people, I didn't think it was- I didn't mean to hurt you." He dropped his gaze to the floor, toying with his hands anxiously, his brow furrowed with distress. "I'm sorry about Ian."

As far as Brendon was concerned, Ryan could lie, lie, lie all he wanted about his intentions- be it tonight, given the bus had been empty and they’d had the night to themselves, or in general- as Brendon could effectively see straight through him. He was transparent. When he straight-up accused him of initially having very specific intentions, Brendon knew he could be accused of being unfair. After all, there had been times where Brendon had done the same, he’d intitiated, not Ryan; say, they were practicing, Ryan would be sat playing guitar, for once concentrated, and Brendon would watch him in silence, hoping that when Ryan looked up the expression on his face would be enough. That’s how they communicated now- it was safer and somehow less real than actual flirting. When they did that, Brendon could treat it like it was nothing to him. He had also come to believe that Ryan didn’t have to. Anyway, he wasn’t a hypocrite, not really, only kind of, because as of recently Brendon had been frequently and reliably rejecting any of Ryan’s advances- at first he had pretended he didn’t notice when Ryan tried to catch his eye, then he’d make sure ryan knew he had blatantly refused, by shaking his head or arching a judgemental eyebrow or smirking mockingly in his direction. This, apparently, wasn’t enough for Ryan to get the message, and he was nothing if not persistent and stubborn about it, which was unusual because Ryan had always been someone less inclined to chase, more inclined to settle and give up. That’s what Brendon thought, anyway.

Brendon thought a lot of things about Ryan- some things had he felt sick to even entertain now- and currently, colourful expletives cursed him in his head as he stared at his dumb, gorgeous face. Frowning at that thought, he looked down stonily as he felt Ryan’s eyes on him, careful and searching and remorseful and Brendon didn’t want Ryan to be sorry, he just wanted him to fuck off permenantly so they could go back to the way they were- high-strung, confrontational, all the anger but none of the unbearable subtext. That would be much less complicated and much safer, and it wouldn’t lead to Brendon whining about Ryan not caring about him emotionally. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? Why did Brendon ever, even subconsciously, expect that from him? And even if he did miraculously care about Ryan, why would he ever admit it, when every occasion that Ryan had ever been minutely personal (say, about his dad, or his deteriorating relationship with Keltie) Brendon had been harsh and critical, not cruel, per say, but not exactly willing to sympathise. Brendon looked back up, and Ryan glanced away. Brendon felt a sick sense of triumph. Don’t make assumptions if you’re going to be that far off the mark. That’s funny, Brendon thought, as he curled his hands into fists. He thought all the intitial anger and fire had drained out of him.

”Sorry, yeah, I didn’t realise you had feelings for me, I can’t believe I didn’t get that message through all the yelling, that’s insane,” Brendon spat, closing his eyes tightly and watching scenes flash through his head that made anger surge into him again- not just anger, but dejection. He thought back to that one time where Brendon’s room had been on a different floor to the rest of the band’s by mistake, and they’d taken advantage of the time and been together effectively til the sun came up, after which Ryan abruptly excused himself, getting dressed half with his clothes, half with Brendon’s, which was funny, Brendon’s mouth twisted as his own tight blue v-neck rode halfway up Ryan’s back- there hasn’t even been a ‘goodbye’ or anything, just a cleared throat and a ‘be there for soundcheck’. Another memory was of before that soundcheck, alone in a hallway backstage and they’d been laughing, talking, uneasily easy with eachother, and Brendon, in this rare harmony, had tried his chances to lean in for a kiss. Ryan had cut it all off short and pulled back, looking panicked, rambling excuses and backing away down the corridor, back the way they’d come. Brendon felt that sting of shame now. He recalled every time, feeling cheap. He didn’t want that anymore.

I didn’t know. His voice was unsteady, and Brendon felt another twisted sensation of victory from having reduced Ryan to that, minutes after the motherfucker had been vehemently jealous and in denial about his own jealousy. Brendon’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his legs, the picture of composure even though he still felt the sting of Ryan’s callous actions to his core. I didn’t know how badly I misled you. Misled- what? Brendon’s brow furrowed, and he wondered what the hell Ryan had intended to lead him believe. Because if everything was just Ryan pretending to be a dickhead, it was extremely convincing and realistic and somehow even worse than if he just hated Brendon’s guts. If you really think I'm like that, then I fucked up beyond belief, Brendon, and I'm sorry. An apology, then. Brendon wanted to be bitter, snap at him to keep his name out of his mouth, but he just sat, uncharacteristically quiet, wondering again what the hell Ryan thought his shitty behaviour would achieve as far as Brendon’s good graces went. If he had some ulterior motive, Ryan didn’t know about it.

I thought- I thought I was being convincing for other people, I didn't think it was- I didn't mean to hurt you. Brendon glared at Ryan, sullen. He found it hard to believe any word that left his lips, even if he knew what Ryan looked like when he was lying, and there were flashes of geniuity in his somber, remorseful expression. Brendon, stubbornly, tried not to notice, just pursed his lips. ”Why do you have to be a dick to me in private to convince other people that you hate my guts? Everyone already knows you do,” Brendon murmured, and he cringed at how pathetic he sounded, how vulnerable, as his voice faltered and broke towards the end. He looked down, subdued, as Ryan did the same. I’m sorry about Ian. Brendon’s eyes flicked back up to Ryan’s face, and he leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in one hand. ”What’re you sorry for? Being a dick to him, or being a dick to me because of him? And- are we done here, can I ask him back over,” Brendon mumbled, leaning back and reaching into his pocket for his phone, wiping his face by lifting up his shirt, pretending his eyes hadn’t welled up.

As a matter of fact, Ryan wasn't the type to chase - that was just one of Brendon's preconceptions that'd been correct. If something was failing, he let it, and rarely was the first to admit to the failure. Why else would he have let him and Keltie go on so long the way they were? It was a character fault that came from a multitude of different reasons. Sometimes he just didn't want to be the one to blame, and letting something fall flat by itself rather than address it gave him a less active role (which totally made sense in his head). Other times he was afraid that even if he did try, his efforts would be for naught, nothing would get better and he'd be stuck worse off than before. Usually, though, he settled and watched things happen just because someone else tended to handle the chase. Sticking to the same example, Keltie had been the one in pursuit after he initially approached her - once he laid on the charm originally it was enough, apparently, and she was drawn to her new pet project naturally. As long as he wasn't making changes, she kept on coming.

Now, though. It was dramatic to say, he knew it, but Brendon made a lot of things different. There was the obvious: he'd made Ryan not hate him with the snap of a finger, had unexpectedly dug his way out of the cynical side of Ryan and instead made himself the forefront of Ryan's mind at a constant. He just had so many qualities Ryan had overlooked before while he was busy being angry about everything between them, everything Brendon had bested him at and replaced him doing, and now... the chase seemed worth it. Not that Ryan was all that exceptional at 'chasing.' For one, he was too scared of looking like he wanted him, looking like anything had changed between them when literally everything had changed already, looking like he was the weak one. 'Weak.' Ryan still wasn't sure why wanting so desperately for them to become something more was a 'weak' wish to have, but it seemed like he was betraying his younger self, who'd been so angry that his place had been taken so expertly and with reason. Something like that. It was hard to 'chase' the way he wanted, to allow himself to wish, when all of that kept weighing him down.

He'd done such an awful job of it, in fact, that Brendon had been led to believe that Ryan didn't care about him at all. Even in the first place, their sexual relationship hadn't been his only drive, but somehow that belief had planted itself firmly in Brendon's head. Ryan couldn't blame him. The only way he could justify spending extended periods of time with him, close to him, was with that, where both of them were at least getting something. After all - as much as he liked Brendon now for all of these newly discovered traits and habits and general uniqueness, he couldn't guarantee he had anything in return for Brendon. So spending time together was sort of out of the question. So he thought. Sorry, yeah, I didn’t realise you had feelings for me, I can’t believe I didn’t get that message through all the yelling, that’s insane. Ryan didn't remember saying that, but yeah, yeah, he really did, he had feelings for him, and they were so intense and unfamiliar that he didn't know what to do with them, so strong he wished he could find some fucking eraser to undo all the time before. 'All the yelling,' he sounded like a monster, and it wasn't even far off the mark.

'I do,' something sure and unquestionable and solid, was on the tip of his tongue, but Ryan just stared back, feeling terrified and looking only a fraction of it. He couldn't say anything to fix this now. Hell, he probably couldn't say anything that would ensure that the end of this conversation was on a good note or even a vaguely okay note - Brendon was, most likely, going to get off the bus or watch Ryan get off the bus, still fuming about it all. Or, y'know, Ian would come back and he'd have someplace to channel it. Ryan sort of felt sick thinking about the hopelessness of the situation. Maybe there really was no chase here at all. If this was so hard, so impossible to get through, then maybe they weren't meant to be anyway, and this was the line. He'd dug himself too deep of a grave, and now he couldn't climb out no matter how hard he'd try to fix it; there would always be the time where they screamed at each other, and, more importantly, the time where Ryan had usually been the one to pick the fight or dodge the moment of vulnerability. Really, he did want to try, but when a future seemed so bleak, he probably shouldn't subject Brendon to it.

He wasn't expecting Brendon to believe him and go along happily and easily just because of a few apologetic words. He'd rather lay it all out here and now, actually, as much as it fucking sucked. Still. He couldn't have braced himself no matter what Brendon responded with. Why do you have to be a dick to me in private to convince other people that you hate my guts? Everyone already knows you do. Ryan was on edge again for a moment, thinking about how if everyone knew how much of a 180 he'd taken towards Brendon then they'd think the same vice versa and Brendon would most definitely be embarrassed to be associated with him in that way - hey, in that sense this was an inadvertent protective measure, wasn't it - but the fire died out fast, rethinking what note Brendon had ended that thought on. He sounded almost sad, his voice breaking on him, and Ryan felt this ache in his chest, wanted to hold him close like people who weren't them would have with one another. "They think I do," he corrected him in a small voice, lowering his head to level with Brendon when he looked down. And fuck them, too. After this conversation he was hating that dynamic more and more, cared less what other people thought, valued more that Brendon might be able to see the truth for himself.

The vulnerability faded quick, Ryan's mentioning Ian evidently enough to bring Brendon back. What’re you sorry for? Being a dick to him, or being a dick to me because of him? "I'm -" Ryan was, again, minutely frustrated, drawing a hand quickly over his face before he spoke. "Both. Okay? Both." He was certainly not twelve, but he was acting like it, unable to even repeat his options. And- are we done here, can I ask him back over. Ryan watched him, speechless, until he realized what Brendon was doing, wiping his face - namely, his eyes. Ryan's lips parted, his only possible deviation from his jaw actually dropping, and reached out to Brendon for half a second before drawing his hand back to himself, resting his fingers over his jaw in distress instead. He was pretty sure any attempts at comforting weren't welcome, anyway. "I... I wish you wouldn't, Brendon. I know it's not fucking- fair of me, or whatever, we never made promises or anything, but." Ryan looked away, reserved, totally unused to these types of conversations. He honestly didn't know how to have them without circling subjects incoherently. "But I do have feelings for you. I do, and I don't even know if it's okay - I can't tell whether you hate me or not, either, I just assume you do."

After this, it made sense that he did, and Ryan wore that understanding on his face pretty clearly. He looked frustrated by it for a second before trying to finish his thought. "So... you're the only one. For me. If you're going to be with him, I'm sorry, I can't just... I can't do it." Ryan paused, thought again about how stupidly difficult this was, the position he was putting Brendon in without really meaning to. He just knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it and storming out without explanation, or something, seemed like the worse option. "Ask him back if you want, just tell me if I should get over you now, okay?" Ryan hadn't made eye contact longer than a few seconds for some time now and he was definitely looking away as he finished off, feeling stupid and exposed.

/

As much as Ryan’s explosive response to what could be apparently seen as Brendon’s marital infidelity, given the strength of Ryan’s reaction, had died down, Brendon was not buying this new act. It seemed to be an almost resignation to his ridiculous behaviour- but he had stepped over a mark, taken entitlement that Brendon already suspected to a whole new level, like they were exclusive, or committed, or anything beyond two people who sort of barely tolerated eachother who somehow also maintained a sexual relationship on the side. That was all they were, after all, and Brendon apparently hadn’t made that clear until just now; he didn’t think the clarification necessary, partly because there was nothing romantic or dedicated about their physical interactions, partly because he was so sure that Ryan disliked him as a person that he’d never want anything more from him. When Brendon looked back at it, though, it wasn’t even Ryan’s fault. After their night in Brendon’s hotel room, the morning had been another world, like they were two different people, a dynamic with potential. Brendon had been too defensive and too prideful to open his arms out to that, and on that night, he had kicked back into gear, aggravating Ryan on purpose, telling himself that nothing that the two of them had said in the morning was true.

In reality, it wasn’t the madness of two after a spontaneous night together. It was the culmination of feelings neither of them had addressed, neither aloud to eachother or within themselves. Brendon was in complete denial about how much he just wanted Ryan to like him. This was why, when he started avoiding him in a sort of defensive mechanism, he’d felt yearning, an emptiness, loneliness but in a very specific way, lonely for Ryan only. This stayed, naturally, buried deep within his mind, in the part of his brain that whatever sexual encounter they had could not truly unlock. But that was how they communicated- Brendon felt less vulnerable with Ryan while they were being physically intimate than during the rare occasions that they had some sort of brief, meaningful conversation. When the initial spark of aggression or hatred or frustration had melted away, it didn’t go unnoticed. Brendon began to get scared when the initial excitement and pent-up energy of being with Ryan faded away, and passion and anticipation still lingered, the desire to be close to him when the novelty of fucking your arch-enemy was gone.

It was absolutely terrifying, so Brendon tried to move on- to someone different. Not as a rebound, he said in his head, they weren’t exes, he wasn’t even properly breaking whatever they had ‘off’. Ian was kind and funny and handsome, not that Ryan was cruel anymore. Brendon knew cruel- any confrontation they had now lacked spirit, lacked the iciness that he knew Ryan could possess. When he wanted to be, he was fucking ruthless, cold, vindictive, knew just what buttons to press. No longer, though- and it made it even more difficult for Brendon to deal with, because the anger had faded away from him, too. Regardless, Ian- they’d known eachother for a while, only really passing over into non-platonic territory recently, since which Brendon had introduced him to the rest of the band and Ryan had barely lifted his head. Maybe he was just that arrogant. He didn’t look so high and mighty any more- even though Brendon was the one sat down on the lounge sofa, head down, physically vulnerable, Ryan’s energy was of someone exposed, uncomfortable with their previous behaviour. Brendon felt no advantage, though.

They think I do- made no fucking sense; if everyone thought it, if thats the energy that Ryan gave in his regard, it might as well be fucking true. Brendon wasn’t interested in hypotheticals or ‘in theory’s. Sounding soft, though, almost small, Ryan’s voice had a certain level of authenticity to it that was unnerving. Brendon looked at him, held his gaze for a few beats, his eyebrows raised slightly with tension, and for a moment he was almost convinced to be a little sympathetic, audibly address that the mess they had made of this was a mutual effort- but the reason in him faded, defiant of his apology because there was so much he’d done that ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t really cover it adequately. I’m- Brendon didn’t look away as Ryan seemed to fumble with his hands, cover his face briefly. Both. Okay? Both. That frustration... Textbook Ryan, he thought, swallowing, looking down at his hands, again sort of overcome by his internal struggle between defiance and desire for approval, for affection, from this ridiculous man who was supposed to be good with words. On paper, anyway. It had never really transferred into real life.

Sort of completely sick of feeling so vulnerable and unfulfilled by Ryan’s half-assed confessions, Brendon pressed his fingertips hard into his eyes, felt the sting of tears ready to betray his already weak display of indifference, feeling like a fucking idiot. He made a very unconvincing comment about inviting Ian back over- he didn’t want that, he just felt like utter shit. He dragged his hands down his face, over his cheekbones until he held onto his own jaw, teeth clenched, shoulders tight, back stiff, all stress and tension. I... I wish you wouldn’t, Brendon, I know it’s not fucking- fair of me or whatever, we never made promises or anything, but. But what? “And what if I do, huh?” Brendon said, dropping his arms and holding onto his knees tightly as he looked up to meet Ryan’s eyes again, his own wide and demanding, the defiance undermined by the spikes of his eyelashes, stuck together by the tears he told himself he shouldn’t be shedding over this stupid man. “You gonna put some kind of claim on me before I go? Leave a good fucking mark so everyone knows you’ve got me?”

But I do have feelings for you. I do, and I don't even know if it's okay - I can't tell whether you hate me or not, either, I just assume you do. When he’d said that, that Ryan had feelings for him, it was on impulse. Brendon expected to be embarrassed by a loud laugh, or a scoff of indignation. How could Ryan feel anything of substance for him besides any level of dislike? Hearing him say it, though, prove him wrong- it was surreal. His knuckles were white has he clutched onto his own thighs, grounding himself somehow, inspired despite his disbelief by Ryan’s apparent honesty to speak his own piece, maybe in a way that wasn’t as grovelling as he had been in the last half an hour. “I haven’t hated you in a long time,” He murmured, searching for Ryan’s eyes. “I can’t even convincingly fake it. S’why I- stay away.” So... you’re the only one. For me. The useless romantic within him melted a little and he was suddenly overcome with the desire to be held, kissed, proved wrong of all his doubts and suspicions because being so guarded was so exhausting. It wasn’t Brendon. He was meant to love loudly and be loved with just as much noise and attention. If you're going to be with him, I'm sorry, I can't just... I can't do it.

There was the proof he had been looking for, he supposed- that Ryan cared about him as a person, as an individual, not just a ‘cheap fuck’ like the role Ryan had assigned Ian very quickly. Brendon didn’t quite know what to say. Ask him back if you want, just tell me if I should get over you now, okay?

A brief silence followed before Brendon extended his arm out, closed his hand gently around Ryan’s wrist and rugged slightly. “Will you sit with me?” He asked, in a low voice, a little raw. “I don’t want to ask him back. I- there’s more we need to talk about, I think, uh. It’s really- I’ve spent so long thinking you just wanted me for-“ Brendon looked down at his feet again, simultaneously very timidly searching for Ryan’s hand after he sat down beside him and holding on, tight, scared he’d just pull away. “Wanted me for, you know.”