jakob

smile even though you're sad || b&r

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

anytime soon || b&r

For once Brendon was the one who'd said the wrong thing, said what he didn't mean, and Ryan meant to keep that upper hand - he really did - but that resolve quickly failed. Of course he knew and believed Brendon loved him, had all along. He wasn't the type to just sit around if he was wasting his time; he was fairly direct when he needed to be, especially when it concerned him being bored of a situation. And it'd qualify as wasting his time if he was just lying through his teeth for years, to make Ryan feel better or to avoid awkwardness or something. So, yeah, Ryan had pretty clear-cut knowledge on Brendon's feelings towards him: strong enough to keep him from running whenever they cuddled close for hours straight, so firm that even when Ryan was a total idiot (like now, actually) he stuck around, so blind that he could ignore all the qualities that normally drove people away. He didn't have any doubt in Brendon's affections at all, but he was looking for any chink in the armor at all to stab at. That one was pretty much off-limits, though, he quickly realized.

What the f- Ryan took that moment's pause to register panic. His indignant countenance disappeared, guard coming down as he prepared to take it all back. What the fuck did you just say? His stance loosened and he looked to the floor, nervous. "All right, low blow," he admitted of himself, not even totally audible to himself. He gripped either arm in a cross over his chest, suddenly very conscious of his lankiness and general physical existence, and he kind of wanted to disappear. He didn't have the energy to continue arguments for this long. The tension from their conflicts lasted a long time but they usually only exchanged a few stupid short-sighted words. This had already reached the usual limit and now was beginning to exceed it - as a matter of fact, Ryan was kind of worried that his impulse reaction had kind of fucked them up for a long time coming. "Worried" may even be an understatement in itsel

Brendon recoiled and Ryan stepped back too, as if Brendon had actually asked for some space. Jesus Christ. Fuck off. Still aggressive despite definitely not actively wanting to be anymore, Ryan threw out a last attack, then it was all gone. He wanted it to be over. Brendon could probably say anything and he wouldn't get any more angry than he had been, like the peak had been reached and it was all downhill from here. Actually, all he could think about was his certainty for how Brendon felt about him now. It was his own fault for trying that weak attack earlier, accusing Brendon of not loving him on the same level he did Brendon just because of a simple jab at his writing, and now he was totally on a different page. Not to mention inappropriate. Here he was thinking about how in love they were while 1. they discussed splitting up from their lover-led band and 2. they got gradually more pissed at each other talking about the reasons for/against said split. Ryan felt like the biggest dumbass in the world. Probably true.

Fuck off, Ryan. You can’t just say that to me and expect me to forget it. We’re fucking adults now, we’re not in high school anymore. Ryan pursed his lips, staring across the room, still feeling stringy and uncomfortable and intrusive. He tried to stay still, knowing full well his body language was painfully transparent even when the rest of him was so unlike that. "Okay," he said simply, and his voice was completely different, like the fight was over. It wasn't, he was pretty sure of that, or it wasn't unless Brendon was suddenly okay with Ryan saying 1,000 shitty things in the span of one minutes. He was supposed to be saying sorry, but his mind was still in seven different places, and the most important happened to be something Brendon had said just a few moments ago - definitely nowhere near an apology yet. His voice was quiet when he continued, not confrontational but more curiousity, concern. "You can't say the songs about you getting fucked up are happy for a reason and expect me to forget it, either." He wasn't expecting a response. He just didn't want those words to float in the air anymore - addressing them seemed to send them not quite out of mind, but to the back of his busy head.

Ryan stood there stupidly another couple of seconds before going on, reserved. "Is that part of it? Part of why you want to split up, I mean. So you can write that, without..." He trailed off, unsure how to put it. Well, he knew exactly how, and he could probably write the real question on a sticky note - so you can write those songs without people who care being there watching you - but out loud was a different, more hurtful story. "...without us caring, I guess." He was pretty sure it probably wasn't a huge part of the breakup at all, or maybe it was, whatever. Either way he needed Brendon to know he'd likely always get a little emotional over those kinds of songs. "Whether I'm in the creation process with you or not, I'm gonna care, you know. When the lyrics about clubbing and drinking still sound wistful... I mean... nothing's going to change." This was all he could really give input about. Them 'going in different creative directions' - that was something he had no control over.

smile even though you're sad || b&r

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

anytime soon || b&r

It wasn't easy to hear the subject matter of Brendon's work, even if it did show his immense talent for writing and composition. Ryan was critical of everything no matter who produced what work, so of course he'd had much practice with scrutinizing Brendon's work in the past - not intentionally as direct as he happened to be, truthfully, but he was just awful at any kind of candid communication - and these days he couldn't give anything. Brendon knew how to lay out his thoughts now, and do so in a manner that wasn't really uber-poetic and pretentious (which was more Ryan's approach) but in a new way, where you could tell the distinctions between his songs and their older releases, where you could hear his clear-cut personality just through the diction alone. The one thing Ryan ever really wanted to criticize was what Brendon was singing about, but of course it wasn't plausible that Brendon would leave out the truth, the core of his work. Plus he would have no alternatives to offer up; what else would Brendon write about? He had plenty of hardship if that was what he wanted to sing about, but one of his biggest issues if not the shouldn't be ignored just 'cause Ryan wasn't comfortable hearing it.

Admittedly, that in itself was the most unfair part of it all. Worse than Brendon barring most outside contribution, worse than Brendon wanting change... Ryan had never grown to just accept that he could openly talk about what he went through. He semi-understood, because - the fact played like a broken record - he grew up with the struggles of alcoholism. He could hear about it occasionally when it was acceptable for him to vehemently try to comfort Brendon on the subject right after/during. He could even respond and have a full conversation, if no one else was around and if Brendon sort of walked on eggshells with the details of it all (not just because he hated to hear about Brendon's pain that he couldn't fix, but also because it brought a new level of insight as to what his father had been going through, what he'd been blind to). So, when they were on stage and he had to endure three minute songs about all of it back to back, sometimes cheery-sounding like Brendon was willing to dive back in to all the hurt he was left with, it was just hard to deal. Ryan wasn't built to put up with even momentary discomfort, evidently. None of it was about him, though; he just never considered his selfishness until after he'd made a mountain out of a molehill every. Single. Night.

He was sort of a hypocrite for it, too. Ryan's own music often dwelled too much on him and Brendon, sometimes he focused on his father but in a way that turned tragedy into something marketable. Other times he made up feelings and stories he couldn't personally relate to, or wrote about beautiful things that he couldn't fully understand himself, or made metaphors so convoluted that no one would fully grasp other than himself; all things considered, he didn't fit with Brendon creatively anymore. The resolve made sense. Brendon was writing stuff that was actually good, for one thing, stayed genuine even if it hurt, and Ryan kept losing sight of that. It's like if they were to actually split up, Brendon would be losing dead weight anyway, but of course Ryan was beside himself. Why play anything if they weren't playing together? Why try anything new when they could do what they'd always done? The answer to that was simple; they'd both changed so much over time that they weren't doing the same thing anymore anyway. They'd basically split the band without making a formal statement about it. This was just addressing the elephant in the room.

Sorry, which album has performed the best? The one you wrote, ten years ago, or the one I wrote last year? Fuck. He had a point. Kind of. Brendon was sort of insulting himself by comparing his own work to basically a high schooler, very much degrading his own skill level, but Ryan got the point nevertheless. He was indeed far more successful (though Ryan knew said "high schooler"'s achievements were fair enough, too, so this wasn't a huge blow to his pride). Ryan was off towards the door anyway, no argument on his tongue for that point in particular just because he really couldn't compete with the facts, trying desperately not to look too struck by defeat. It felt weird, wrong that they were saying these kinds of things to each other with the intent to win something or whatever - he wasn't used to it. They argued plenty, bickered more, but it was all small stuff usually. Even if it wasn't, they were over the conflict quickly, and nothing truly harmful was ever exchanged with full knowledge of what they were saying. This was a little different. Ryan, personally, was kind of out for blood because he sensed danger in the prospect of being booted from his own band.

Just as he got to the doorway, though, Brendon upgraded to a new level of angry, and Ryan didn't quite come to a full stop but he tossed a flippant look over his shoulder. You can’t say that as someone who’s written about the same fucking person for over ten years. That’s pathetic. That, Ryan stopped at. His expression softened marginally and his anger shifted to something slightly more unnerved, not so sure how to feel about what Brendon was saying, but he was definitely unsettled. And, ‘personal tragedy’? You know there’s a reason those songs are happy, right? Ryan's fingertips were hanging lightly on to the doorframe, almost bracing himself but timidly. Yeah, he did know, unfortunately, or at least he kind of did. More accurately, he'd entertained the possibility that Brendon wanted his old lifestyle back, or just a part of him did that was powerful enough to sway the rest. Ryan had turned so only his profile was facing Brendon at this point and he couldn't actually bear to look all the way round again, for fear of seeing what his features read to accompany his final question, but he just sort of shook his head dismissively. Decidedly, they weren't going to discuss 'those songs' any further.

"I didn't realize you had such a problem with me writing about you," he said slowly, voice quieter but still on edge. "I mean. I guess it is kind of pathetic. Being in love with someone, composing nearly whole albums about them... I figured if the feeling was mutual it wasn't too pathetic, but maybe that was stupid thinking." Ryan wasn't quite that dramatic, though, and he wasn't going to disregard a lifetime's worth of commitment to one another just to get hurt by Brendon saying one dumb thing. He knew Brendon loved him, too. This all just felt... cold. Not like them. And while the less aggressive part of him wanted to ask what was going on with them, the other just wanted to lay the blame somewhere. The obvious choice was Brendon. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Very broad question, but he threw an arm out swiftly to indicate he meant more 'right now' than in general.

anytime soon || b&r

It did make sense, really, to split up after such a long time of being in different mindsets but working on the same projects. Ryan, however, rarely cared about the sensible side of things if he could help it. Particularly when it had to do with Brendon. In that case, he cared more about whims of the heart, all manifesting through things like him giving flippant 'ok go's on songs Brendon would write that purely centered around drinking/partying/clubbing/etc. Pretty simple to pretend like he hadn't written it from personal experience and it was just a description of any random made-up scenario. The downside to that was actually listening to Brendon singing it, over and over again, more feeling each time as if it affected him too. That was particularly worrying. So it wasn't just that the music was taking a different direction - it was the fact that sometimes it seemed like Brendon was delving into his personal struggles without letting anyone else in on it, maybe hurting himself in the process. But Ryan tended to overthink, and this was probably-definitely one of those cases.

His contribution, then, when he wasn't writing lyrics, was accomodating Brendon's words with his own attempt at composing, writing the tabs out and asking for the okay when they were done and usually getting it on at least a handful of verses. Choruses he rarely got the go ahead on. Still he used the permission he got to try and musically depict the real-life experience; if Brendon was going to write what happened, Ryan would play a sound that translated how it hurt. Of course there were overlays of something happier that made it all easier to listen to, more like something you'd play with a group of friends than something you'd listen to alone in your room, but still. Close attention got the message across, sometimes. This way Ryan wasn't ever too left out of the creative process, just very much separate, and taking forever to figure out just the right tune helped him to forget the solitary work.

So when Brendon sprung this on him he didn't really have a response prepared, even though it completely made sense. He'd just been accepting the nonsensical organization of their band for so long that now it was normal to him. It’s not always about where you start, Ryan. He hadn't even finished making his point and already Ryan was trying desperately not to straight-out say "shut up" to him. He felt thirteen again like when they were trying to pick a band name, for fuck's sake. It’s the fact that you don’t do anything in the band anymore. Nothing would even change. Little too far to turn back and pretend he wasn't angry already, so Ryan just let himself get more pissed at that, fingernails pressing crescents into his palms. "Bullshit. More like you're not letting any of us do anything. Consider the possibility that your 'creative direction' isn't - isn't the best one to take." He had a second to hate himself for stumbling over his words, hesitating on them, before they were rolling past that. Stupidly, he apologised, quickly wanted to take it back.

What’s the difference? I’m the lead singer, I make the band. Ryan's brow lowered for the first time, genuinely taken aback by Brendon's words. He knew Brendon could get like that, but not... this bad. Like, genuinely arrogant, not just self-confident. He watched him, still angry but now a little curious, wondering exactly what the change stemmed from. Maybe he was just disappointed that something he'd clearly been stewing over hadn't gone over as smoothly as he wanted, whatever. Ryan reminded himself that he was totally supposed to be mad at Brendon, not worried about him, shook his head to clear it. Have for a while, actually. The last album- I wrote literally everything. You guys still played. What difference does it make? Ryan didn't speak for a second, wondering what 'a while' meant. He imagined Brendon on stage, thinking about it between songs, noticing everything he was unhappy with about the band and adding it onto whatever mental list of reasons he had to break them up. He imagined Brendon writing, already knowing when he brought it to the rest of them they'd be opposed or conflicted somehow. It probably wasn't that active, but Ryan felt a little silly for not beating him to bringing it up.

He supposed he couldn't argue about the lead singer thing. Even when Ryan was the main writer, people were asking Brendon about the lyrics just because he was singing them, asking what they meant to him and why he wrote them. And as much as he wanted to say something genuinely hurtful, like 'the difference is that you can't make it on your own' or whatever, he didn't want to actually make Brendon feel bad. He sucked in a heavy breath, considering, before standing up abruptly and holding his arms out dramatically. "Sure. You think you're better off flying solo, go ahead. You'll run out of material eventually; can't write about your own personal tragedy like it was a party forever. I'm out." Ryan pushed the door with his back and then circled around, meandering into the living room and shaking his head disbelievingly. It was a long time coming, really, but given such a long time, he thought Brendon would find a smarter way to go about doing this. And he'd kind of broken his resolve to try not to be hurtful.

anytime soon || b&r

The first time Ryan picked up a guitar, he knew what he wanted to do with himself. Before, he'd really just been listening to his dad's country radio and Blink-182 and miscellaneous punk bands - but a hundred-dollar guitar-and-amp set really actualized his dreams. He showed Brendon that he could sort of play, and it was settled; Brendon was already basically a musical prodigy, had everything they needed to eventually be successful. It was just the two of them for a long time, and Ryan liked to control the singing aspect occasionally in the beginning in that he'd at least try to be the lead on every song unless it was proven that Brendon's voice fit the lyrics better (they usually did - Ryan didn't deliberately try to write as anything but confident, and that's all that Brendon embodied). Mostly, though, they worked together with ease, no real conflicts because both of them were new enough that they didn't have any pre-planned concepts anyway.

Other people bunched themselves in over time, or they naturally separated and rejoined each other; basically the band's history was a mess and not easy to follow at all. Ryan couldn't even tell the full story of their lineup or their existence in general without getting mixed up. Somewhere between all of it, everyone took their own creative direction, and everyone but Brendon managed to stay on at least a similar path. To be fair, Ryan saw it happening; he just didn't have the guts to step in and ask Brendon to try and incorporate his new sound into theirs rather than separate entirely. Because of his own shyness it eventually came between all of them. Spencer was more on his 'side,' for obvious reasons, and Dallon could kind of blend between the two of them but he never just accepted the changes. It didn't draw a noticeable divide, lucky enough, but the difference was palpable whenever they tried to come together to actually make the music.

In an effort not to mess things up entirely, Ryan never said anything. The pop-punk/emo/baroque sound of his earliest songs were in the past completely, but he was still stuck in his gentle indie sound phase - all of these genres, however, he left out of their writing sessions, figuring if he suggested his own writing or composing these days it'd get knocked out. And besides, it's not like he didn't like what they were coming up with (rather, what Brendon was coming up with, alongside few suggestions for improvement). He just wasn't great at playing any of it, and his backing vocals didn't match well anymore. He kept his hopes up, nevertheless, because maybe in the future they'd move on to a new concept that he could go along with again, and all their tastes would be realigned. Or they'd all be able to compromise on ideas. That sounded a little monotonous, though. Ryan tried not to focus on how impossible the band seemed to be these days.

Ryan? In fact, he wasn't thinking about it right then, 'cause everything at home with him and Brendon was fine. They could curl together all day like this any time with no issue (kind of - sometimes someone got a dead leg or whatever) so whatever was happening with the band that seemed like the end of the world suddenly didn't matter so much. Feeling Brendon rise, though, Ryan turned to look at him more closely, registering the vague apprehension in his face and knowing that this was probably not going to be good. I need to talk to you. Definitely not. Ryan's mind jumped to the worst places first, as per usual, and he started sitting up more, too, giving Brendon his full attention - admittedly not much of a change from before, but still.

I’ve been thinking recently, how.. How it’s mostly me, writing music and singing and shit, and... Ryan kind of anticipated this in the back of his mind all the time, but still. He didn't think the conversation would ever happen. As he realised what Brendon was bringing to light he let the elbow propping him up go out, resting against the cushions again. I was just thinking, it would make it easier if you were like, officially removed from the process? Ryan wondered how he got the words out, mostly. Wouldn't have been able to himself. 'Cause like... I don’t know, you don’t really make a- Ryan sort of bristled, watching Brendon catch himself and thinking that it was best he stopped there. Not to mention the fact that he was deliberately not looking at Ryan. That was probably for the best, too. He was very good at putting on a blank expression and was doing that now, but for Brendon, that was probably the same as Ryan looking outright pissed. Not just you. Dallon and Spencer, too. You could still, like, play live and all that. Touring members.

Ryan paused for a long time, staring at Brendon like he was waiting for the punchline, then rolled to the side so that no part of their bodies were touching anymore. "That's great," he said to the ceiling. "That's really good. You know, I have always wanted to be a touring member for the band I started." He realised he sounded kind of childish responding like that when Brendon was making an honest proposition and looked over again, his lips pursed somewhat apologetically. He dropped his voice to a softer level momentarily. "I'm sorry." He sighed to himself, shaking his head disbelievingly, but not really. This wasn't a shock or anything - he just thought the end would come more naturally, definitely not by Brendon himself. "You're not going to, like - try to compromise or anything? Or go solo rather than kicking everyone else out? Have you even thought this through?"

downtown storm || b&r

While everyone else was relatively productive, more specifically the crew than people like Brendon, Ryan was hunting down a place to isolate himself and/or fall asleep before the show. He never had coffee or energy drinks beforehand for this exact reason - he totally preferred passing out in a jumble amongst stage clothes and unused amps. It didn't happen all the time, especially not in the beginning of their career. Back then he couldn't even speak to anyone; he was busy roaming about making sure everyone else's job was done perfectly just because he had this compulsive need to ensure his New Shiny Band would make it without any messy stage shows. It was worth it 'cause his efforts were never for naught, but still, a little ridiculous. Over time he realised it was an annoying habit that probably made him seem super condescending, so he started to only obsess over his own preparedness, then gradually scaled it down to not obsessing so much, and these days his main goal was avoiding the panic attack that, before, would happen every other time. Locking himself up in the bus or the van bathroom rather than the venue to avoid everyone while his brain calmed down had never been a particularly fun experience.

It didn't really make sense to get so nervous when he didn't feel really uncomfortable playing, and in fact was confident with his abilities when it involved nothing but playing guitar (these days he didn't have to do so much backing vocals, anyway). Still, thinking about dropping every single spare pick lined up on his mic stand, or strings breaking and crew not bringing out a second instrument fast enough, or some much more fatal disaster happening was bound to destroy his confidence at any given time; then when he got on stage and actually faced the sheer amount of people there it was worse. For whatever reason, Ryan had issues looking even individual people in the face, couldn't look directly at interviewers unless he had a double dose of Valium or something in his system. Generally, though, when he was trying to stray from the prescriptions, he could look to his left and see the person he was most comfortable with in the world, and usually it was easy to pretend everything else wasn't there, just background noise in the distance. Nevermind the fact that Brendon was talking to them, always appealing to them; somehow his incredibly sensitive internal panic button didn't react to that.

On shows like this one, where the venue was an arena and not a little club or converted bar, Brendon somehow sensed that he had to come deal with Ryan. Which, y'know, incredibly fucking sweet and thoughtful, but mostly Ryan wished he didn't have to do that, wished he could enjoy the little downtime they got beforehand. So he just acted like nothing was wrong. Ryan prepared himself for Brendon's eventual approach by very faux-calmly going through the motions of dressing for the show, something not quite the frontman's look but close enough to look like his sidekick as the rest of the band was wearing, which ended up just being black pants and a black button-up, all in such smooth material that you could almost fool yourself into believing it was silk and most importantly not leather. Very much Brendon's trademark, that was. Ryan struggled with his hair in the mirror for a while, wondered at the heaps of makeup that were in front of the mirror and decided that trying anything for his skin would just look shitty by the end of the night and any of the old eye makeup would be too cringey by now. Finally he settled on a corner to hide in, his guitar almost concealing his body if only he weren't so damn long, phone in his hand with his tuner open.

Brendon did eventually find him, moving so quickly over that Ryan didn't look up before he was an inch away with a finger under his chin. A little taken aback but not about to deny the approach, Ryan tilted up in counterpoint, trying his hardest to give back as good as he got but only managing the faintest of kisses. To compensate he just grinned back up at him reassuringly - more of a "I'm fine you don't need to worry" than anything else - and ran his knuckles over the material on Brendon's thigh, rolling his eyes at the consistent choice of leather. He had no idea how Brendon, the god of overheating, hadn't died yet in that stage outfit. Excited, baby? Finding that his throat felt tight, but Brendon was probably not really asking anyway, Ryan just nodded shortly, his smile still going strong. I’m so fuckin’ ready. How long do we have? We have, like, twenty minutes. Ryan didn't bother that time, instead just gazed up at him wonderingly. Odd how his mind worked that fast without it taking a turn for the negative. Again, he was stuck in this loop of admiring Brendon; he just never got old, was the thing.

He was expecting the bursts of energy to carry Brendon off anyway so wasn't too shocked when he disappeared off somewhere; instead he tuned his guitar for the sixth time, stood around with the smokers outside without actually taking any offers, then hung around at side stage where he could see the front few rows of the audience holding on to the barrier impatiently. They must have been there for a while - there were already rows, still people filing into place, and the security roaming between the barrier and the stage actually had a job to do already. Not usually the case. Ryan was spotted but his all-black attire wasn't an immediate giveaway, his face blended in with the crew around him. He waved at those who looked over anyway, though, listening to people already calling requests despite none of them being onstage except for roadies putting out his stand and testing the gear last-minute, taking some into consideration. Interesting how pretty much all of said requests were old stuff. Personally, Ryan was almost past that point; it was all a little too personal, a little too nostalgic.

Ryan barely heard his cue when it was called but bounded over right on time, hanging on to one of Brendon's belt loops for a moment so he knew he was there before letting go and travelling further to the right of the stage. He forgot to smile, just kept his head down for the first breaths of them being on stage, then while lugging a guitar over his shoulder handed to him by crew he chanced a glance towards Brendon, who was wearing the easiest grin of all time. It was enough for him to reflect the exact same one on a relative scale, although his own was directed mostly towards Brendon, maybe the front row if he angled just right for a second. It happened every time but still never failed to amaze him - Brendon travelled over to his side of the stage, pulled him in to a kiss usually reserved for late nights or passing incredible moments, and everything else went silent. It's like he did it on purpose so Ryan forgot every fear sensation, every pinprick of anxiety that still got to him after all this time. Call it fanfare or what you will, he was pretty grateful for the comfort, even if it was a little public. He mouthed 'I love you' at the same time Brendon did, fingers drifting over the strings inadvertently to play a long, contented note.

Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, he just looks so gorgeous tonight, doesn’t he? Ryan turned meekly away, instantly looking taken aback. His support mic was quieter so he waited a beat for the approving coos to almost cease before turning back to his stand and responding, angling towards Brendon. "All right, but Brendon's our frontman for a reason, no? Always beautiful," he said in a playful tone, grinning when he heard another upheaval of agreement. Their bandmates just looked a little sick of them. Ryan gathered himself enough to actually look at the faces in the crowd, tried to recognise who'd been to shows before and who was chasing every date they could. Actually, there were a few - Ryan tried to catch their eye and smile knowingly, try to ignore the warmth in his chest that remained from Brendon addressing him. Anyway, what’s up, fuckers? Love y’all. This first song’s called LA Devotee.

He and Dallon, naturally, had some weird fucking mind meld, didn't even need the cue in their ears to be virtually right on beat with Brendon. You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, o-oh- This song was easy, fast-paced but rhythmic enough and without too much conflicting sounds that Ryan wasn't on edge the whole way through. This way, he could veer towards his husband, play towards him and just add to everything that pointed to the main attraction. Oh, the neon coast was your sign, and the Midwest wind with Virgo rising, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no-o. Ryan had, like, a skipped heartbeat when he thought Brendon actually messed up, then he pieced together the joke and rolled his eyes as emphatically as possible, turning away to give up on playing to him although it really was the cutest thing ever. When he glanced back Brendon was waiting for him to look and so Ryan obliged, eyeing him and starting to help close the gap bryween them until he realised Brendon was just de-clothing again. Ryan tilted his chin up in an 'oh really' sort of motion, grinning modestly, then shook his head at Brendon.

Static palms melt your vibe, midnight whisperings... Shirt came off, people lost it, of course, and Ryan had naturally been nearing Brendon as he prepared to launch into the chorus, ending up just a handful of feet away when he got there. He was wary - whenever he got too close Brendon found a fitting point in whatever song was on to hold the mic between them and share their voices - but he figured if Brendon really did want a reaction he'd get it anyway, and here he was showing ample interest, letting his gaze roam over him calmly as if the song hadn't just entered the fastest pace it could.

fuck a silver lining || brendon & ryan

It was true that Brendon always corrected his self-conscious putdowns, should they occur, but Ryan continued to believe he had the personality of a slab of concrete. Pretty lucky that he ended up with all the personality in the world, in that case. Actually, all jokes aside, Ryan was fairly certain that Brendon contributed to, like, eighty percent of his character - the other twenty was provided by, on the negative side, whatever childhood trauma he experienced that made him so generally clumsy, and on the positive side, all of his interests and hobbies. The fact was that he grew up with Brendon (and Dallon and Spencer and Z and everyone else that had a notable influence) and reflected some of his qualities, or at least tried to emulate the ones he admired. When he learned that Brendon played piano, he tried to pick it up, too, for instance. Or when he learned that Brendon was a film geek, particularly Disney at the time, he picked that interest up, too, then Sinatra, then theatre, and he stopped hating video games the first time he saw that Brendon was an Xbox fanboy. Really, Ryan was the Cady Heron to Brendon's Regina George, except he never ended up hating him or watching him get hit by a bus, or anything like that.

Sometimes Ryan forgot that he somehow had the same effect on Brendon as Brendon had on him, and remembered when he cracked his eyes open finally and saw the smile appear on his face. Brendon had told him before exactly how he felt about his supposedly 'honey-coloured' eyes - "doubtful" was Ryan's instinct response, and he was flattered, but also way too shy to accept that kindness. He quickly looked away with his entire head when he let Brendon up, rolling his eyes and shoving his face against a pillow for a second. Feeling eyes on him still he turned back, realising he'd begun talking too quickly for Brendon to fit in another kiss. He grinned conspiratorially, watching his expression change and waiting for a response that never came. Instead Brendon returned his affections stronger, more boldly, and Ryan wrapped his arms around him easily when he moved closer.

He had the briefest moment where he wanted to knock out the arm Brendon had holding him up if only to actually cuddle, but that seemed kind of evil and besides he liked the slower pace. As it were, he let himself lean against Brendon's hand, more being kissed than he was kissing back, only really responding actively with an encouraging hand stroking through Brendon's hair. What do you say we just don’t go anywhere? Forget everything I just said. Ryan sucked his teeth audibly, very obviously holding on to the nape of Brendon's neck as if their lips were still connected. "We do this every time. Don't know if you noticed." He definitely had, and Ryan knew that, so he leaned up again for a split second to very quickly plant another small kiss on the corner of Brendon's mouth. "But... agreed. Thinking about walking in a public area makes my blood pressure spike." He was kidding. Kind of.

Still, it was laughable how often they just gave up on their plans, even the impulsive ones, in favour of situations just like this one. They ended up wrapped around each other, or with some part of their bodies touching at least, no matter whether they were actually interacting with each other or not. Really they could just be scrolling mindlessly through their phones and have their legs tangled together, heads on opposite cushions, probably subtweeting the other occasionally. Ryan attributed it to laziness (although the truth was that he just preferred Brendon's company over anything else, including any very-necessary errands they potentially needed to run). "Safe to say our day's over, then?" he asked innocuously, stretching out as languidly as he could with Brendon pretty much on top of him. He let one hand rise high enough that it was above the couch back and in range of the sunlight pouring through their window, watching his fingers move through the rays and dust motes, then moved his gaze back to Brendon, thinking. "Maybe we're so pale-white 'cause we end up doing this instead of going out."

fuck a silver lining || brendon & ryan

Ryan was a little more blank than the person he'd chosen to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't his fault, necessarily, and it wasn't Brendon's fault that his excitable demeanor made Ryan look like a depressed little shit in comparison, but that was a lot easier to place the blame on rather than circle back to whatever early-life influences made him so keen to remain invulnerable. Either way, he appreciated Brendon's "passion," the fire in his heart that never really went out (although he'd unfortunately seen the dark times in Brendon, too, and it affected the world around him, as if all nature stopped blooming and all colors turned greyscale). He was talkative enough for the both of them, charming enough to make Ryan seem interesting by extension, a main attraction that fortunately drew the attention away from Ryan, who was easily overwhelmed by it. Not that Ryan usually said any of this to him, of course. Instead he teased Brendon about the 'Aries flame,' or played annoyed when he wasn't entirely bothered. Part of it was just because he stuttered and stumbled over his words or couldn't wear the proper inflection, so if he was set on complimenting Brendon, it'd sound monotone and ultra-quiet. That didn't come off very genuine, even if he meant it with his whole heart.

The other part of it was just the fact that he was very obvious about how he felt, at least around Brendon. Catch him anywhere else and he was a pro at keeping his face unreadable, controlling any emotion so it didn't translate into his expression; with his husband he lost his guard and it was a little ridiculous. He'd be watching Brendon perform and forget he was meant to be an entertainer himself, or if he was in the audience he'd forget he was in a crowded room. He'd be listening to him talk, anything casual, and forget that he was supposed to respond to him rather than simply enjoy his voice or his ideas or the way his expression changed with every topic. Or his mouth. That was a problem too. He'd probably do whatever Brendon told him to, fuckin' rob a bank, if he was simply smiling at the same time. So, Ryan wasn't easily charmed, necessarily; he'd just ended up with the embodiment of charisma.

Their puzzle-piece fit together was often their downfall, despite all the good things that came with it. In particular: getting work done. It used to be that they'd go to separate rooms, meet up with a third party present to ensure they actually came up with a finished product; since they started living together full-time and were married, things took ten times longer to get through the completion process. It started with Ryan being unable to write coherently and Brendon being unable to tab anything useful out, then they both pretended like they weren't getting all green on their tuners just to restart (Ryan personally must have undone five strings in his effort to avoid productivity), then Ryan's hands were sifting through Brendon's hair in his lap. He had no idea of how they got there, no memory of abandoning their guitars to escape to the living room, but decided this was more comfortable anyway.

His thin V-neck was not providing much warmth at all and he wondered where his second layer went before peeking through one eye and remembering Brendon had taken it for himself. He looked better in it anyway. Not wanting to disturb the peace, he quickly shut his eyes again, pretending he hadn't seen Brendon sitting up for the first time in a while. Hearing the shifts in audio from the television, changes in language or inflection or music, he realised Brendon was probably bored as hell without ten types of stimulation at once and consequently searching for the entertainment from TV. He definitely didn't have the attention span for it. Baby, came the second sign of his utter boredom, and Ryan really could have cried when he felt Brendon's fingers lace through his, the gentle kiss on the back of his hand. Tears of joy - it just wasn't incredibly often Brendon presented this kind of calm. He suppressed a smile, letting the moment live a little longer. You alive?

Ryan's breath hitched by a fraction when Brendon's fingers drifted through his hair, once again charmed. Are you broken? He felt Brendon rise first, then the weight of his hand disappear, and risked cracking his eyes open to watch him stretch out the stiffness like a cat. He was wearing this tiny smile, the kind that literally put Ryan in the palm of Brendon's hand, and again Ryan lost all his will to speak and break the serenity. Instead he just watched through barely-open eyes, his overgrown fringe helping to hide that he was awake and had been ever since his body deemed the room too cold. Ryan, baby. Ryan held on, touch feather-light, to one hanging side of Brendon's shirt, but kept his eyes 'closed.' I know you’re awake. But I think I just had the greatest song idea. Plus the dogs need to be walked. Plus I think we should go out for lunch. Can’t do that while you’re ‘asleep’. Lots of 'plus'es. And his scheme was foiled. Ryan gave in and just opened his eyes minutely, searching Brendon's features, familiarizing himself with the light again.

"You're sweet," he said quietly, promptly ignoring everything Brendon had tried bribing him awake with to instead mirror his actions from earlier, drawing his hand up to kiss and then lacing their fingers together where he could see them in the light. Then he let their hands drop to his chest, pulling Brendon down by a buttonhole on his shirt simultaneously. He kissed him, but barely - like he was afraid of breaking the pattern of softness. Ryan looked at him a little while longer then decided he was really bad with words. Why he was even a writer, he'd never know. "What's this song idea? And I vote we sit outside, wherever we go."

i was a bird/you were a map

Few good things came out of high school, in Ryan's case. There was a small amount of education, sure, particularly in English class when he learned to organize his generally god-awful writing sometime, or in the A/V club where he got to get out of class thirty percent of the time just to take pictures of other people actually being productive. To be fair, he did actually learn a lot about cameras and equipment and building a piece like the yearbook, but it was still mostly a waste of his time, something to put on a college application or a resume. He wasn't particularly sporty, either, although he did occasionally join in on games outside of P.E. class just to avoid going home (and he wasn't that great). Mostly, though, he attributed his survival to one person rather than any club or extracurricular, and that was Brendon.

Ryan wasn't totally reliant on other people, and in fact tried to stay away half the time, so his first three years of high school were spent going between friend groups or dodging calls from whatever individual was trying to befriend him that quarter. He wasn't anti-social, not necessarily. It's just that he generally didn't have the patience, and sometimes he was sure people had no idea what they were getting themselves into; his home life was chaotic, his identity was pretty against-the-grain in all aspects, and he was usually apathetic to what was going on in other peoples' lives. None of these were particularly good makings of a friend. When he was in his senior year, however, and the best candid he'd ever taken was conveniently starring Brendon, he kind of clocked all their similarities instantaneously.

Not that Brendon was obvious about himself, necessarily. Ryan wore tiny gauges, for fuck's sake, he knew what obvious looked like, but Brendon was the sort of confused that he felt kind of bad for, and he eventually almost forcibly began to associate with him. Accidentally ending up walking alongside him in the halls, taking photos for the yearbook constantly, et cetera. He did eventually just straight up ask to be friends, which worked out pretty well in the end, 'cause Ryan's tiny crush came to fruition and they managed to start dating before graduation where everything would just get harder. They lasted through that, too, though, luckily enough. Sometimes Ryan let himself get carried away in the belief that they'd be legitimately long-term - not just a couple months, like most people, but they could last until a real anniversary, or something.

As much as he liked to think about that, it was probably unlikely or at least a very difficult goal to reach, all things considered. Something made them both incredibly awkward around one another. Ryan had always thought himself to be comfortable with his own identity, but putting it all into practice with another person proved much more difficult than he expected; Brendon seemed to be the same, though Ryan wasn't sure he'd ever been comfortable with it. Actually, he didn't know a lot about how Brendon felt. He wasn't closed off at all, but it was just a subject they'd subconsciously decided not to discuss, or something. Anyway, that was the beginning; it was getting much better lately, particularly since graduation. Neither one of them had to force initiation anymore. Their kisses weren't so offset and short-lived. Ryan could actually look at him when they were talking about anything romantic, so on and so forth.

With that in mind, when he got a Snapchat from Brendon just saying 'meet me,' his thoughts didn't immediately jump to negatives. Flipping through his story while on the way over, though, pretty lackluster compared to usual and without any cheery captions, he started to worry. Ryan practically smelled Desert Shores before he saw the lakes at all and wished they lived anywhere but Nevada so that they had a little more variety, but alas. The docks along Lake Jacqueline were about all that sufficed in reasonable driving distance. He checked his phone again and opened the new notification from Brendon, his lips twitching up knowingly at the picture of the water, and he wandered on over to Brendon's part of the docks. The place was eerily quiet around now and the sky, indigo-purple and just as lonely feeling, barely illuminated his boyfriend; nevertheless Ryan didn't have to search much for him at all. In fact, in an effort to be super ultra funny, Ryan took a picture of Brendon from a distance and sent it to him.

Ryan dropped down into a pretzel just beside the water, barely acknowledging Brendon at first while he batted at it a little. He thought better of touching some probably bacteria-infested waters real quick, instead wondering how to ask if something was wrong without sounding annoying. He didn't bother. "Hey, Bren," he said, trying to keep his voice soft for the sake of blending with the environment around them. "Everything okay?"