jakob

meet the press || b&r

Press was not something Ryan bode well with. They certainly liked him - he was friendly enough, apparently intriguing, and occasionally an interviewer would have the talent to make him a little more comfortable so he wasn't entirely boring or awkward. Ryan, though, despite never showing it in any way, hated when the spotlight was directly on him or he had to talk for too long or a camera was capturing him. He could deal with being in the sidelines or writing in answers, like when magazines talked to them over e-mail or something. Unfortunately when the band was all sat down or caught off guard by an interviewer and a camera crew they targeted the singer and the lyricist, and Ryan sort of had to nudge Spencer and Jon ahead to answer for him eventually or deliberately give as little information as possible so that they could finish the answer themselves.

When Brendon joined, though, not only did he bring a voice to the music, but he also became the head speaker for them all. Interviewers wanted his input and he was able to, willing to give it; when they asked for camera shots he was of course up front and center. They all brought their own unique qualities, of course, but the rest of the band was sort of Brendon's backup or accompanying act. Jon was all right at entertaining some sort of banter between himself and Brendon, and Spencer usually redirected them to actually answering questions and stating fact whenever they were goofing off too much. Ryan was comfortable with tacking on little comments here and there, but never leading answers or being the center of conversation. Hard to do that when half the questions were about all these new changes, though.

Luckily, interviews came few and far between in the beginning. When the next album was no longer just speculation to the general public and they knew it was going to be released soon, though - that's when they had to start setting aside entire days dedicated just to the press. The questions were more monotonous than usual because of all their 'recent' changes (recent to the public, anyway) - why did you decide to get a new vocalist, how did you choose him, is the next album gonna be very different now, etc. Sometimes it got personal and Ryan had no idea where they got some of this information, but assumed maybe LiveJournal despite the fact that he'd definitely deleted all the old entries that just skimmed the line of oversharing. They'd ask about Spencer's and Jon's girlfriends, or Ryan's home life, and everything about Brendon, because of course a fresh face's privacy was harder to invade. Spencer and Jon could make jokes to dodge it all. Ryan relied on someone else changing the subject or answering the question for themself.

What he found, though, was that it was easy to not get bothered anymore by the attention and the nerves that came with press days. They'd not had one with Brendon in the band yet. The very first question Ryan was asked, he instinctively looked straight at Brendon, and suddenly it was a million times easier to get his message across without worrying about stumbling or being misunderstood or judged. So, of course, each interview was spent this way: occasional glances at the camera to acknowledge its existence, but mostly keeping his eyes on Brendon or whoever was talking next. He was all right at keeping his hands to himself, at least. The band was so tightly knit with no concern for boundaries that they lounged all over each other anyway, but still Ryan sat with his fingers knit together, body folded in on itself most of the time. In retrospect maybe he hadn't come across very approachable in all this.

In any case they ended up so far from home, having taken too many roads or connected flights, that they had to stay in a hotel overnight, and now since they were apparently high rollers could afford two rooms. Ryan was pretty confident he wouldn't miss the days of all three of them (and, when on tour, the rest of the crew the label paid for) crammed into a single room. Alas, this time, he was quick to switch keys with Spencer just so he could share with Brendon, and the first thing he did upon arrival to the room was throw himself onto the mattress, legs still extended so his feet were on the floor. He shoved his hands up against his face, finally allowing himself to look anguished. "Most embarrassing day of my life," he mumbled into his palm, evidently still replaying every meeting since their early five a.m. morning to now, an equally early night of nine. "And we have another tomorrow. I'm gonna say I'm sick."

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

Ryan had never been in a relationship before - not that he and Brendon were, of course; as deluded as Ryan could be sometimes he knew that for certain - but this was the closest he’d felt to one, and they hadn’t even made anything ‘official.’ It’s just that they both took each other seriously (then didn’t when the time was right), gave one another all their attention and simultaneously knew when to look away, were so physically close oftentimes that it barely passed as platonic anymore... the list went on. Actually it was a wonder that they hadn’t just unanimously decided to be ‘together’ without saying anything about it aloud. Ryan wasn’t sure if Brendon would even want that or if he was just looking for something simple, noncommittal, but either way Ryan let himself entertain the dream. In his head Brendon was far different from past lovers who’d disappear in the middle of the night, who lost interest when they met someone even marginally more successful, who only hung off him for a public image. Brendon was definitely different. Actually, Ryan was glad he became best friends with him first rather than trying for anything that night outside of the tour bus.

Brendon looked almost sheepish in the face of constant flattery, which only really drove Ryan’s resolve to continue. Shut up and kiss somebody else’s ass. He grinned, probably would have followed orders if he didn’t think Brendon deserved the kind words and compliments - it took him so long to break into the industry that Ryan was convinced he’d been underappreciated prior to the career he had now. Of course, at this point, it wasn’t such a big deal because 80% of the messages they got from fans or admirers were for or about Brendon, their intriguing new frontman; still. There was a lot of lost time to make up for. Even if that wasn’t the case, Ryan loved his flattered expression more than anything ever, so. Paying him a simple compliment that was just stating the truth aloud was nothing for a huge reward like Brendon’s shy smile.

When they kissed - thank God - Ryan’s suspicions about his particular gift for it were confirmed. Not only the act itself, but everything surrounding it; like when they parted and he swept his thumb ever so gently over Ryan’s cheekbone, and Ryan could live in that moment forever because for once he felt no anxiety or stress at all. And the picture of Brendon with lowered lids and his lips just barely parted wasn’t an unpleasant one, either - Ryan didn’t bother hiding the fact that he was enjoying the view anymore. Fuck. Yeah, I’m in love with you. I love you. They were both clearly quite excited about this new revelation and Ryan leaned into the hand against his jaw, ready to, like, cry or die or something, and this was the first time he’d actually been overwhelmed by emotion. He wasn’t sure if he liked that feeling in particular, but the situation around it was definitely good. In response to Brendon’s admission he let go of an unknowingly held breath, laughing softly in relief and leaning even further into Brendon.

Damn right. Took us long enough. Good thing they were both in agreement. At least now he knew he wasn’t the only one who took forever to come to terms with and decide what to do with his feelings- he thought it’d just been him overthinking, dramatic as usual. Ryan let the tiniest of gaps close between them according to the guiding hand at his collar, feeling safe in the grasp Brendon had at his side. He figured he was alone in imagining this since forever. Try me. Or maybe not. Ryan tilted his head and wore a kind of dubious smile at that just as Brendon leaned up to kiss him again, and Ryan easily accepted it, catching the back of his head and releasing the tiniest breath of surprise against his lips when he felt a gentle bite. ”Alright, so maybe you do know,” he mumbled against Brendon’s skin, closing his eyes and enjoying the affection constantly pressed along his jawline, still holding Brendon close like his life depended on it.

He wouldn’t have noticed the rain if the hand in Brendon’s hair wasn’t suddenly catching little droplets, and he opened his eyes curiously, running his fingers through Brendon’s hair again to catch more moisture. He laughed softly and finally used his other hand to remove the glasses, vision no longer obstructed by raindrops, then hung them in Brendon’s collar again. He turned his head to catch Brendon’s lips again, on the verge of breathless when they broke apart. ”I know the rain is getting a little serious, but-“ Another kiss, because he couldn’t really help it. ”-I kind of don’t want to move. Ever.” They probably looked slightly out of their minds, clinging to each other in the rain, unable to speak for more than a few seconds before they were kissing again. Ryan didn’t really have a problem with it, anyway.

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

It registered, a little belatedly, that they kind of looked like newlyweds-though-not-wed, and Ryan took far too long a moment to entertain the idea of them being boyfriends, and finally landed on knowing full well that he was in trouble. Firstly it was way too easy, especially considering that not much seemed to change in his head. The only thing was, he’d feel way more welcome to act like they were now in public, arms wrapped around each other, Brendon’s head against his shoulder. And, as much as he tried to shake the fantasy from his head, he thought that he might finally be allowed to kiss Brendon. That in itself was enough to make him go silent out of concern he might say something he really shouldn’t, playing it off like Brendon’s change in tone was nothing at all. Embarrassingly these sort of unrealistic ideas passed through his head way too often - it was too easy since Brendon looked like he’d give the greatest kisses on the planet, and he was always biting his lip, and. Ryan forced himself to forget about it.

Sometimes he couldn’t remember why they avoided it so much. From the looks of it they were already perfect, had never gotten into actual conflict or been outright angry at one another; seven months of friendship was easily a whole other universe from them dating one another, though. Hard to reason with himself about that when all he could think was what if it isn’t different, or, more specifically, what if nothing goes wrong? He couldn’t see them finding reasons they suddenly didn’t like each other, or come to any sort of incompatibility; after all they’d had plenty of time to figure that stuff out and it just hadn’t happened. Sometimes Ryan thought Brendon was too good to be true, that he - the band, even - didn’t deserve to have someone like him around, but that was about it. Wasn’t even a real issue, just a matter of fact. The more time they spent alone with one another, the more he convinced himself that it’d be all right, with no consideration for how the others might feel.

Before you judge me too harshly, remember I’m a beginner. Ryan thought he was kidding for a moment, and when he realized he was dead serious, began to doubt this whole ‘huge ego’ claim. He nearly came right out with admitting that he’d likely never judge Brendon on anything - he’d scrutinize Spencer and Jon endlessly since they threw it right back anyway, like a running joke - but then that’d draw more attention to his already obvious favoritism. Brendon thanked him in the softest voice ever for his candor and Ryan thought that he needed to start working very hard to build Brendon’s confidence up, at least lyrically. There was another passing urge to just show him how much he meant through physical means, but those he already knew fairly well how to ignore. Thinking Brendon might read his thoughts on his face, Ryan turned his gaze down to his feet momentarily, trying to entertain thoughts of any other kind. I’d sing a little for you, but my voice is a little rusty. Can’t give a bad impression, my job is at stake here. Ryan rolled his eyes, though he was grinning. ”Sure. Your ‘rusty’ is probably still amazing.” At this point he knew he sounded like he was sucking up, but couldn’t help it. Saying what he thought for once kind of led to that. He didn’t push, though, figuring that within time Brendon would sing it for him, then maybe they could perform it together...

Thank you, Ry. He bowed his head in a ‘no big deal’ motion, following Brendon’s attention to the sky and finding that even at the beauty of a sunset in the mountains met with a comfortable level of rain, he preferred looking at Brendon. When he turned again, trying to think of more absent conversation to pass the time with, Brendon was already reaching to take his glasses back. Ryan let him, then froze up when he took probably both of them by surprise by almost cradling one side of his face. Ryan had half a second to wonder what the hell he was going to do, whether what appeared to be happening was something he should stop in its tracks, but the unexpected sense of security Brendon’s gesture brought him made it an easy decision. He didn’t quite lean in or even respond to the kiss at first, semi-convinced he was imagining it, but after a moment’s hesitation he responded, tilting his head and cupping a hand in Brendon’s hair to deepen it. All the worries about messing something up, either with just Brendon or with the band as a whole, melted away, and instead he had an internal celebration over the fact that he was very much correct in predicting that Brendon was a gifted kisser.

When they broke apart, awfully brief but still enough to throw Ryan for a loop, he wasn’t sure what to say or do. He kept his gaze level with Brendon’s, expression more at peace than ever, and was saved by Brendon speaking first. I think I’m in love with you. Ryan was still, not having even considered the conversation coming to this (but then again he hadn’t anticipated a kiss either), but it was easy. He’d dwelled on it for half-seconds and any time he forgot to restrict his thinking; he wasn’t totally sure what love was supposed to feel like, or what ‘in love’ was, anyway. Through everyone he’d been involved with and claimed to love, he realised he might’ve been very wrong once he took his very new, unfamiliar feelings for Brendon into account. It was more than a fondness, but something that kept him grounded, hard to explain. Ryan didn’t have to think, only paused out of surprise that Brendon was admitting to it, before responding himself. ”I think I’m in love with you, too,” he said carefully, sounding a little far away.

That was sort of bullshit, though. Ryan shook his head lightly, suddenly breaking into another smile. ”Actually, I am. I’m definitely in love with you,” he admitted, relieved laughter touching his voice. He thought distantly that he should probably be more worried about saying that and freaking Brendon out, but. They’d come this far. He smoothed his hand over the nape of Brendon’s neck again, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close. ”We’re idiots.” Clearly he was still dwelling on the fact that it took them so long to say anything. Nevertheless he leaned in again, placing another careful kiss against the corner of Brendon’s mouth, and another on his cheek - now that the metaphorical door was basically open he figured there was no reason to hold back. ”You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that.”

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

The next time you try to undress me with your eyes, give me a shout and I’ll make your life easier. Ryan’s breath stopped in his throat and he wondered how to take that one; Brendon was, after all, much quicker than him, and Ryan learned much more witty about it. Not shocking, considering he heard these quips practically every day of his life, but still - hearing them in practice and directed at him was very new. Not bad, though, Ryan discovered; he didn’t have a problem with it at all. It was just the fact that the only response he could muster was beyond weak, both in content and intonation. ”I’ll keep it in mind,” he murmured quietly, trying not to let his voice betray him, and felt distantly that he should be saying things to dodge implications. Like, ‘no thanks, Bren, don’t need to see that,’ or something else friends would realistically say to one another. Too late for that, though.

Even worse, he continued with their back-and-forth, and was delighted by Brendon’s reaction. That sort of smile was rare from Brendon but possibly even more endearing than the usual and Ryan realised he was definitely in way too deep. He made a secret promise to himself that he’d try to get that out of Brendon more often. Enlighten me. Perfect opportunity. Ryan’s loop around his side grew tighter for half a second while he considered - like he really needed a reminder he was there - but Brendon backed out. Actually, no. My ego is already too inflated. I hardly fit in the cabin anymore. Ryan had honestly never been disappointed that he wasn’t complimenting somebody before, and considered just going on spilling every little thing he appreciated about Brendon anyway, but that’d likely be crossing the line that he’d already trampled over and blurred for himself. He kept it to himself but turned a meaningful look Brendon’s way for a moment, uncharacteristically calm given the circumstances.

At the mention of Brendon’s song - and the honor of him asking for Ryan’s advice of all people - Ryan had to put things in perspective to answer honestly, consider all his earliest writings. Some songs off the first album were virtually conceptually the same, painting pictures of similar color but different content, if one looked past the diction and into the stories behind them. Like But It’s Better If You Do and Lying, arguably even Build God. Some were fairly obvious despite how secretive and vague Ryan tried to be. They were both themed in a hospital setting, him the ‘kid in a fight/with no fight’ and some other mystery figure a repeated offender for emergency services. He did indeed begin writing one song originally before it branched into another, evident in the similarity between verses and not just setting: you've earned a place atop the ICU's hall of fame opposed to ...on first name basis with all the top physicians.

He himself wasn’t confident in his abilities sometimes, and even more than that wasn’t confident in his own advice, so maybe he should’ve let Brendon work out a methodology on his own, but. If he wanted a starting point, there was one. Haven’t heard it yet, don’t get your hopes up. Little late. His hopes were always up with Brendon; he was never disappointed. He saw the doubt crossing Brendon’s features when he asked to see the work completed thus far, then the consideration, and couldn’t hold back a grateful smile at such a display of trust when Brendon broke away to retrieve his notebook. It probably looked like nothing to someone who hadn’t written this way before - in most cases, songwriting was someone spilling the contents of their soul onto a page, a completely vulnerable endeavor, and it never felt perfect enough to share. Ryan was glad he could break through that layer of insecurity. Although he did miss their original positioning, he took the journal carefully, keeping his fingers along the edges of the page as if he was risking ruining a hundred year old book. Dramatic, really.

The glasses joke had run its course but he could see through them pretty well anyway - shit, maybe he should see an optometrist - so he read through the broken pieces of what Brendon had thus far. They were written at different intervals, obviously, the penmanship more careful or more scraggly or more heavy in different places. More importantly the content already sounded like the beginnings of a very successful song, heartwarming in a way Ryan found difficult to capture. There was a complete beginning, from the words You remind me of a former love that I once knew to it’s fine with me, I'm just taking in the scenery, then ideas scattered around the page and incomplete verses waiting for the right words. I'm not complaining that it's raining, I'm just saying that I'd like it a lot... more than you think, if the sun would come out and sing with me. Ryan found that he wore the faintest smile, and suddenly these felt even more personal than lyrics, like Brendon entrusted him with his normal thoughts. He took another moment to wonder at the beginnings of the chorus, analyzing it all already, and realized belatedly that he was getting ahead of himself.

”Brendon,” he finally said in a small voice, looking up again. ”This is amazing. I can’t believe you were so worried about it, I mean...” He stopped himself from going on a ‘from an English major dropout standpoint’ lyrical analysis tangent and instead offered the journal back to Brendon. He felt basically the same as when he first handed the mic over, all shocked and impressed and inspired, though this didn’t come as huge a surprise as that now that he knew Brendon. ”It’s beautiful. I can hear you in the words already.”

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

Ryan’s interpretation of his relationship with Brendon was very simple: undecided. In fact he did his best not to give it much thought at all, beyond their first meeting. He was kind of obvious about his minor first-sight crush then but never worked up to any invitations out, at least not specifically romantic; once Brendon was really starting to integrate into the band as if he’d been there the whole way through, Ryan knew he had to get over it. So he pretended that every little charming thing Brendon did didn’t throw him for a loop, convinced himself that Brendon bringing his lyrics to life wasn’t the most incredible feat ever, etc. It’s not that he felt bad about it or ashamed - he was long past high school insecurities - but the potential backfire of him acting on his feelings was a little too scary. After all he’d put his entire goddamn soul into this band and splitting it down the middle right when things were looking up would probably break him.

Despite his efforts, Ryan was somewhat transparent. Even if he never said anything incriminating, he still looked for slightly too long, carried himself more carefully around Brendon, generally treated him with a bias. He probably would have closed himself off to the other two more than hung around them had this cabin trip only involved the original trio, for example. Brendon was easily the light he gravitated toward for warmth - or that’s the corny metaphor he tended to use in his head, anyway. Spencer caught on within the first week and never let him live it down, rolling his eyes when Ryan turned down an invitation over and making a lighthearted comment about his ‘new best friend.’ Jon was a mystery - he looked all-knowing, but then again he did with everything, and maybe Ryan was fooling himself. If he did know, he was nice enough not to comment. Brendon, he assumed, wasn’t totally blind nor completely ignorant to his own allure, so he must’ve had some inkling if not total awareness of the situation. Ryan himself had no idea what to think Brendon might feel for him beyond a sense of fond companionship, because he didn’t want to get his hopes up or believe in a dream out of his reach, nevermind all the signs of it being plausible. Namely, the exact same tension in the air that surrounded them now.

Don’t let them see us like this. Ryan grinned, mostly amused by the idea, ‘cause they’d just get a bunch of jokes at their expense rather than get in any trouble. Maybe. Ryan wasn’t totally convinced Spencer wouldn’t call him an idiot for getting too invested. I have heard them ask why you’re flirting with me. They know I’m not deaf, right? Ryan looked at Brendon with surprise at the word ‘flirting,’ wondering how he could be so direct when they danced around each other all the time. He laughed softly, the sound catching in his throat, then shrugged the shoulder opposite Brendon as casually as he could. ”You noticed?” he asked in jest, shaking his head and trying to suppress his nervous smile. ”Dumb question, anyway. The reasons ‘why’ are pretty obvious.” If Brendon could say that stuff so easily Ryan supposed he could try his hand at it as well.

Three minutes is a long time, actually. I’m kind of offended. Ryan laughed again, short and easy, because that was way closer to sounding like Brendon’s natural personality. In fact, all of this was getting much simpler to navigate. I dunno what it is. I just... I like being near you. Scratch that - that wasn’t simple at all, because Ryan definitely felt a rush of warmth at that despite the vague chill around them. In his case he definitely knew what it was: his dumb, clearly massive crush that he’d ignored and accidentally let grow beyond his control this entire time. He didn’t realise it was that bad prior to this conversation, though. And admittedly he may be completely foolish for playing along to his affection fueled whims, what with very nearly cuddling Brendon and delivering the most obvious lines in the history of ever and stealing his glasses to wear himself. At least he was more confident in Brendon maybe possibly reciprocating than he’d ever been previously.

I Have Friends In Holy Spaces. Even the title sounded brilliant. Ryan made an effort to not look too enamoured, and luckily Brendon wasn’t looking at him anyway. A song. Or, part of a song. Sounds kind of dumb when I say it out loud. Ryan shook his head immediately, knowing he was occasionally too critical and wondering whether he should comment at all. But he only really had issues when, as a band, they were all coming up with awful ideas, and Ryan’s patience with the prospect of teamwork was running short. This, though, was fine - he was pretty sure Brendon could show him something that looked like it was written by a three year old and he’d think it was revolutionary. So, yeah, he kind of held Brendon on a pedestal. I don’t really know... What it’s about. Does a song have to have a specific goal? ”It doesn’t sound dumb. I really like it,” he said honestly, turning his head best he could to Brendon, speaking mostly to his hairline. ”I never know what I want to write, honestly. It’ll start out as one song, then I realize that I’ve been writing about two different subjects, and suddenly I’ve got two new songs in progress rather than one.” He looked amused despite how annoying that process was, like he’d conveniently forgotten the entire frustrating day. Ryan looked off again at the water. ”Stream of consciousness. But - I don’t think you’ll have a problem writing lyrics, considering you have a natural talent for everything else musical.” He was going on for too long, probably, but it was far easier than addressing what the hell they were doing. ”What do you have so far?”

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

If all he was going by was their individual energies, Ryan definitely wouldn't have guessed that Brendon was the silhouette by the lake. He'd grown familiar with Brendon's perpetual strikes of vitality, where it seemed like he had some everlasting battery to keep up with social interaction or creating music or the physical exertion that came with performing onstage. Other times it wasn't so productive, where all the vigour translated into him wanting to do seventeen different things at once, likely forgetting a project once in a while. Ryan had witnessed his hyperactivity firsthand, and now he was even more familiar with the calmer side of Brendon far away in the cabin. He'd set his mind on one task and, even if incomplete, make impressive progress, or appreciate the environment most would glaze over. Ryan was a little reluctant to break what potentially could be a writing streak, but it'd been all day, and besides someone needed to remind him to go to sleep before it was a ridiculous hour.

Hyper or peaceful, Brendon maintained the same humor as usual. Need some water? Ryan grinned, leaning closer to Brendon in a lazier mirror of his movements. He thought fleetingly about making some noncommittal joke about pushing Brendon in, real grade school-style revenge, but then that was daring Brendon to throw it back at him. Instead, he complained, first thing. An hour you could have spent out here with me. I mean- If you wouldn’t- Never mind. Relating entirely too much to Brendon's quick backtracking - though it was unusual for Brendon, which was a little concerning - and wanting to throw him a lifeline, he nodded in full agreement. "No, really, I definitely wish I'd done that," he confirmed in an amused tone, watching as Brendon quickly occupied himself with his glasses. He snuck a glance over again, appalled by how someone could defeat the stereotype by looking perfect with or without glasses, and maybe it'd be weird to voice that involuntary thought. Ryan decided to keep it.

It was odd here; they were never even vaguely uncomfortable around the other, generally not that awkward unless you counted Ryan's dumb shyness, but this felt different. Maybe not uncomfortable or awkward, 'cause those both had bad connotations usually, but different. Unfamiliar territory, but he was nervous-excited to explore it. He felt a sort of relief each time they spoke, actually, like a weight off his chest. Nah. Okay, so maybe Spencer and Jon. Don’t tell them. Looking dubious, Ryan looked over his shoulder. They could probably hear even through distance and walls. I haven’t- I don’t think I could get sick of you. I don’t think I will any time soon. Ryan's grin of amusement from the worried 'don't tell them' faded marginally, turning into a fond smile, but anyway Brendon couldn't look directly at him either. Ryan was pretty pleased about that, actually, 'cause the usual confidence would just make him more clumsy.

With Brendon's head against his shoulder, Ryan felt a little less under a spotlight, more like the two of them were tangled somehow. He wrapped an arm around Brendon's waist to support him, contemplating dumb things like resting his head against Brendon's or smoothing his hair out of his face where some lone strands drifted out, and ultimately decided he'd just keep his gaze on the water. "Me neither," he admitted, then, more amused, "It could be three minutes since I last saw you, and I'd miss you. It's kind of funny." It was, to him - only because if they were being honest, this was probably not the weirdest thing he'd ever said to Brendon. I was writing just now. Ryan ducked his head like he was trying to see Brendon, interested as ever, and a half-smile lit up his features. Here - maybe this was the invitation.

"Yeah?" Ryan stealthily used his free hand to unhook Brendon's glasses, unfolding then pushing them up his nose in an overexaggerated fashion. His reading glasses, now, evidently. "Tell me about it?" More of a question than a demand; he knew it was probably not something Brendon was totally ready to share, so he'd be lucky if he got to put his new 'reading glasses' to use.

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

A band formed in high school, poorly planned out and short-staffed, really only stood strong the way that it did with a common ground. Ryan and Spencer were both kind of distant from any real social circle, only had each other to reach out to - they wanted to be heard over anything. That encompassed a lot of smaller things, of course, like being understood and not necessarily appreciated if it had to be forced, but any constructive critique would prove they were worth someone's time anyway. Better than nothing. They built up members not by obviously asking if they were the same way, but if anyone showed that they fit in, of course they'd be taken under Panic's proverbial wing. Jon was the first 'official' third member (every other bassist they'd kind of hated but suffered through in order to play anything at all), rational but still humorous, and sort of a control over Spencer and Ryan's often far-fetched ideas for the band. They were all pretty lonely, then, until they were first able to generate real, close-to-home music. Sometimes hard to understand, in all honesty, which was likely what made it easier to perform - there was a far less vulnerable feeling then.

Ryan had his doubts even at the height of their success. In fact he'd been in denial of their flaws whenever Spencer (or even Jon, when the other bailed) brought them to light, stubbornly refusing to change for the sake of a 'brand' - or something along those lines. When they really couldn't find a singer that would redeem them, and no a frontman that they explored complimented their personal styles, and compromises couldn't be made - he started to accept that they'd probably peaked pretty early, then, and it was only a niche following thus far. Ryan even considered re-enrolling in school towards the close of their first tour just in case, requesting transcripts from his high school, looking into scholarship programs and if he'd qualify for any at all. It wasn't all hopeless, per se, because Ryan still thought that making their own individual music would work just as well. He'd grown resigned to the possibility of their label either giving up on their contract or them having to bail themselves out. Then, conveniently, there was Brendon.

He was discovered in probably the weirdest but best way ever - Ryan picked him out of a crowd of ~100 people, gave him the mic, and Brendon was ready to absolutely demolish one of their most popular tracks. Needless to say the fellow audience probably wanted him in the band as much as Ryan instantly did. Blessed with the luck that Brendon hadn't already been picked up by some talent scout, they quickly recruited him, and he easily blended in with the rest. He was obviously on the already-established common grounds, clearly not heard the way that he deserved to be by patrons or friends or whomever could have possibly heard him. The quick cure was making him frontman, and no one, not even their modest cult following, had any objections to the new member once they heard his voice. (Ryan also argued that it was his face - "I mean, look at him." People usually agreed with him there, too).

Brendon was better than a voice for their respective instruments - he also turned out to be a recognizable face for them as a whole, was the largest personality of all of them. One would assume he was so new that he'd never know how to respond to the limelight, much less personal questions about the band; of course people usually weren't aware that he was both a huge fan prior to joining, nor did they know that Ryan spent essentially all his time around Brendon. It was easy with the others, since they could just watch the songs develop and unfold the meanings as they wished, but explaining his writing and the reason it sounded a certain way when played, etc., all of that was hard to do at once and without feeling pretty lame. Ryan veered from giving too much away about some tracks, dodging them with something general, and was glad that Brendon only ever delved with questions when it was to better himself.

Ryan actually grew to prefer Brendon's company over anyone else's. Of course he didn't close himself off to others or anything crazy like that, but he found himself thinking of how Brendon might react to some show he was watching or what he was doing at that given moment or how his whole person lit up when he laughed. Ryan was a little ridiculous about it all, writing vague pieces on his blog and promptly ignoring all comments speculating what it was about (incorrectly, funnily enough). It was an odd feeling, because in the past Spencer was the only one he could spend over five minutes with, and Jon had wiggled his way in to that club over a long period of time. With Brendon, it was easy. It was a good thing he'd gotten used to having them around for hours at a time, then, because their solution to the delay of their second album was to compile all of their brittle ideas into something useful in a cabin free of distractions.

Ryan ran out of space in his own journal a good two days in and ended up using the cabin's complimentary stationery, ending up favoring it over actually getting something new. Besides, it was easy to discern the old from the new this way, and he was trying hard to forget some of his dumb, incomplete original ideas for the record. The new vibe was far softer than the last, in fact a complete 180; he wasn't worried about pleasing anyone's tastes there, and was actually pretty sure the rest of them couldn't care less either so long as they liked it themselves. His inspiration came from this place itself, his newfound view on his friends since they were crammed together even longer than the tour bus, the times spent with Brendon where they'd run off somewhere and leave their bandmates kind of in the dust.

Sometimes he just naturally knew where Brendon would be and gravitated to him without giving it much thought at all. On his first try he found Brendon by the lake, and he suppressed a knowing smile; it was a wonder he'd be able to see this close to shore. He wished he could walk silently, cause no disturbance at all, but alas he ended up interrupting the peaceful scene by wandering down to where Brendon sat. "Hey," was the first dry word he could muster, and he realised after a whole day sectioning himself off to try writing words or repetitive tabs or anything productive he hadn't used his voice at all. Brendon didn't seem to mind it, just returning the greeting and setting his own work aside. Ryan's gaze automatically followed the book, wondering when they'd all be introduced to Brendon's genius in its entirety.

You okay? Joining me for the sunset? Just in time. Ryan nodded to all, feeling his voice return and trying again. As he spoke he absently retrieved a pebble from the ground, turning it over in his hands. "I'm alright. Glad I found you - I've been playing the same chord for an hour trying to get it right." He laughed a little, matching Brendon when he looked over the lake, but his attention remained there a few moments longer before he turned to meet Brendon's gaze. He wondered what he was thinking, then how lame it would be if he cleaned his glasses for him, then was willing himself not to since it so contradicted the serene circumstances. So, very lame. You look good. Ryan suddenly wasn't wondering anything at all, gaze dropping to Brendon's shoulder when he smiled sheepishly.

His fingers went white around the pebble in his hands, pressing too tightly before loosening up. "You do, too, Brendon," he said easily, like it was common sense, then skipped the pebble over the water just so he didn't have to hold eye contact in all his shyness. Funny how he still got that way after so long. "You always do." Naturally he lightly bumped his shoulder against Brendon's, turning back finally to watch how the sun's gradually less powerful rays illuminated his features. His first instinct was to make some sort of joke, but he couldn't think of anything quite fitting. "Not sick of us already, are you?" He half-smiled, thinking if Brendon had escaped out here he was certainly just avoiding the symphony of three, all mismatched instruments practicing different sections. Glad for it, though - being in his own company all day, it felt oddly refreshing to find him again.

raindrops on roses || b&r

Usually Ryan actually hung behind to help crew while his more social bandmates went along - he felt kind of bad they lugged all this equipment around to not play it themselves - but he was still, decidedly, stuck in his head. He'd assumed it would be a long time before people actually took to critical analysis of their songs, breaking them down to truly appreciate them, which was generally the case for most bands; they'd break up or just retire, and then people were interested in the songs. Tonight he was given proof that that was definitely not the case for them, or if it was, then they had at least one deviation. Ryan was grateful for that - not just someone getting it, but someone who took the time to. Sometimes the words were such nonsense that there was no point in trying to understand, which probably scared off other fans who just came for noise and a tune to be stuck in their head, to be fair. And maybe he was blowing this out of proportion, but he swore he could hear it all, and sort of see it although he thought the singer definitely needed more space to perform beyond his vocals.

He sensed that his bandmates caught on to him withdrawing into his own thoughts, particularly Spencer who didn't really know what the hell was happening but knew how to tell when Ryan was out of it. How inappropriate would it be to straight-up approach someone they didn't know at all and ask first about business? He felt like he had a particularly small timeframe to get the guy signed if he even was interested and not already playing for another band, just because if he hadn't been noticed yet, well. He would be sometime soon for sure, and Ryan just wanted to get there first. And maybe he sort of harbored a little crush, the kind you get when you, like, order the same coffee as someone else and they go to get it at the same time as you and they're kinda cute so your thoughts just carry off into thinking about what color walls you'd paint your shared apartment. Actually, definitely not a universal feeling. Maybe he'd just ignore it until it went away if he did end up getting the guy to join them.

Still, there was the way they'd go about it that bothered him. 'Mind dropping everything and coming in to meet our label so we can show you off?' or 'I got one good first impression from you and now I think you were pretty much destined to sing these words'? Sounded kind of like an asshole or an idiot. Ryan figured that literally no other human overthought about this, likely just jumped to polite conversation first, so he dropped it. He distracted himself by coming up just near his bandmates with bottled water from their tour bus - not like they needed the apocalypse-supply they had anyway - and leaving it up to Spencer or Jon to actually offer them out to each overexerted fan that approached. He still wasn't used to people knowing his name before he knew theirs, much less this entire situation. He tried not to come off as too unfriendly, smiling at whoever looked nervous to encourage them, but unfortunately the followthrough of actually talking was an issue.

The thinness of the gathering was good, because he saw his new favorite singer almost immediately, half-smiling in an effort to encourage conversation, half pretending to look preoccupied so it didn't seem like he was waiting for him (which was definitely a part of his standoffishness this time). Ryan definitely didn't want to come off too absorbed at first, after all, but he still had the best rendition of their chorus he'd heard yet playing on repeat, so it was hard to act right. Fortunately, the stranger wove through people with relative ease, and Ryan noted a lot of differences from the face he'd seen in the crowd. It looked like he'd cleaned up a little, like the show was just a moderate workout, and for the first time he was visible apart from a bunch of other jumping, overwhelming audience members. Safe to say he looked even better outside of such a nervous situation; Ryan strove not to be too obvious about looking, still.

Ryan? Hey. Thank god, he started them off. Ryan was so focused on the distinctions from the audience member he handed the mic off to, to the literal dream standing outside, he hadn't even thought of what to say. I’m the guy you gave the mic to. ...My parents thought it was a catchy name, but it hasn’t really come in useful til now. Ryan laughed, short and in surprised bewilderment, wondering whether he could hear 1,000 more cheesy jokes just because he'd been so damn charming about it. "How convenient," he replied easily, instantly made less nervous by 'the guy you gave the mic to's good humor. Ryan shook his hand informally, probably playing it off like they were totally familiar all too soon, but tried to talk before he let himself worry about that more. "That, paired with the fact that you looked like the only one who knew all the lyrics... perfect candidate." Vaguely self-deprecating, painfully true. Ryan straightened his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets, like they were suddenly too cold without that funny little handshake.

"Of course I recognised you. Any other names you go by?" Ryan's smile was gentle, and it felt necessary; if this guy thought he needed clarification then he certainly didn't fully grasp how remarkable he was. "I've never heard anyone sing our songs like that - or any song, actually." Ryan paused, suddenly nervous again, 'cause he really did want to show his appreciation, but it seemed there was no non-weird way to deliver that. "It sounds like you wrote the lyrics, you know? I mean, I know I only heard a little, but." He paused, considering this segue. "Are you in a band, or solo, or...?"

raindrops on roses || b&r

They weren't particularly good live despite how happy Ryan had been with the record. He'd been playing guitar and writing longer than he sang, so he didn't sound very strong when he had to, dropped his voice too quiet when he wasn't completely focused. It's not that he was a bad singer, not at all; when you touched on the subjects his band's lyrics tended toward, you needed a confident voice to accompany it. Ryan couldn't even muster up the courage to ask servers for extra condiments, or something, so it was even more difficult to put on a convincing show without the editing "prowess" of Spencer in a rented-out recording studio. Thankfully the theatrics of it all helped get them by without being, like, pelted with tomatoes, and he was at least not as weak sounding as he was at the first show. At the time he wasn't familiar with the acoustics of a room and whether a crowd of people affected it and exactly how far his mouth should be from the mic and - well. Basically he'd matured, forcibly, in a very short amount of time, although he still felt fifteen and powerless. Funny how that worked.

It'd been on their to-do list to put together a real band before the first tour, and they had actually gotten through plenty of trials and interviews. Very few bass players fit the sound they needed. Even fewer got along with them individually. More importantly, they knew Ryan couldn't keep on singing - too late for the first record but for the next one they'd be ten times better, if they found the right person. He was kind of in denial about it, though, pushing aside Spencer's suggestions and his invitations to the studio while they heard applicants, until he realized he was being an asshole. Then Ryan was actually at terms with their (more accurately, his) shortcomings and he participated in giving everyone that came in a solid 'maybe, we'll call you,' still taking lessons on the side. Thank god the label funded these things; they'd have starved to death by now or had to move into Ryan's car, which wouldn't do much for their image.

It got a little easier to ignore the more than slight distinction between the album and the live performances with each night, but that was probably unfair to people who'd only come to one show. As such, they overcompensated. The songs were instrument-heavy, and the sound guys deliberately lowered his volume in favor of the guitar. Visually they'd tried to hang on-theme decor up and at least slightly dress accordingly; Ryan swore by a very homeless French boy look, Spencer refused to do anything in particular besides a button-up and eyeliner, Jon did not participate whatsoever. Their instruments all fit the scheme of the record's cover as well, and maybe it wasn't exactly perfect, but they'd stumbled their way this far. No regrets now. And besides - there was still that vision he could execute when they got their shit together a little more. Not that the first-time stumbly band stuff wasn't totally building character, but Ryan was truly sick of watching YouTube tutorials on how to use all the new equipment again like, an hour before they were meant to go on.

Sometimes he wondered if letting individual audience members into that unplanned, clumsy mess if only for a few seconds was unfair. Maybe they should've just handed out packets full of lyrics, real elementary school classroom-like. Other times, he knew someone who wanted to be here from just a look. Not someone just trying to get out of the house, or to drink in the back and not pay them any mind, or those who had nothing better to do and managed to land a cheap ticket - someone who knew them and who waited for their show date and took ridiculous commutes to get there. They were too young in their career for anything too serious in those terms, probably, except for the first couple hundred who happened upon his online demos and stuck around since then. Ryan had no idea what category of people who deliberately got here, full intention, that this guy fit into, but he wore it well. He had energy still despite keeping up with every song before, was probably sweating more than the band, hadn't broken away as far as Ryan could tell. All this mixed in with just generally being cute, well. The split-second choice of who to share the mic with wasn't hard to make.

Ryan usually let them do their thing however long they wanted, probably make their friends laugh by saying something definitely not lyrical, so he awaited whatever show his new favorite audience member was going to put on - and simultaneously prayed that he didn't have debilitating participation anxiety. It seemed that way for a second, him frozen and Ryan grinning encouragingly behind the lyrics, but he practically sprung into action to finish the chorus. Ryan's grip on the microphone went slack but he just sort of hovered in the same position, completely caught off guard. It wasn't just that he sounded great objectively but Ryan was briefly not so sure he'd even written his own lyrics anymore. Like, he was nervous to sing some lines, and it was audible. This fan he'd never said a word to before, however, grasped them entirely, lilted and perfected whatever key he sang in to fit the storyline of Build God. Ryan was torn between just being purely impressed and envy. The former sounded a little more healthy.

The chorus ended and Ryan held his gaze, kind of not even wanting the mic back, because now he was very interested. His nerves disappeared, it seemed like, able to focus on the singer rather than the uproar of the rest of the audience trying to voice their approval and sing with him at the same time. Whoever he was, though, he deserved an arena, not some shitty half-bar half-stage scene, to cheer him on. It went too quickly and Ryan almost wanted to just let him keep it, come on stage and join the band, would you, but this wasn't the best timing. Suddenly it was reality again, and while his bandmates and the crowd covered the prolonged 'yeah,' he struggled to express to the clearly exhilerated fan that that was the best thing ever and now he didn't know what to do with himself. Instead of talking underneath all the noise like he fully intended to, feeling the start of words but not hearing them, he just opted to give him the most bewildered, delighted expression he could. Not hard to do when it was pretty genuine, actually.

"And- not to mention..." Ryan got back up quickly, already trying to breeze past it by giving the same look to his bandmates, and was firmly stuck in his head for the rest of the song, basically. Here were the facts: they needed a singer, that just happened, someone practically fell into their lap. Unknown: was he already in a band, was he single, who was he interested in... That wasn't quite directly correlated to the band, but. Priorities. He was very cute even when he looked like he just got off a gigantic rollercoaster - especially then, actually, and holy fuck, it was raindrops on roses and Ryan had to consciously stop wondering how he'd go about finding this guy afterward and instead get through the very intense guitar parts. No problem, that, but his voice still shook slightly towards the end of Build God, and he could see it now. Someone with certainty doing that instead; it'd be nice.

Ryan didn't give his full attention to the farewells, either, meandering to the very edge of the stage with everyone who worked on the show trailing unceremoniously behind them just to give a bow. It took him no time to put on his uncharacteristic stage voice. "Thank you for believing in us! Before we say goodnight - round of applause for the brave soldier who took on my lyrics, yeah? Thank you." He wanted to go all Ellen and jump back down and hold up his mic, "what's your name," "when are you getting signed," but he didn't. Instead he laughed behind the sound of the last cheers and whistles and hoped some random strangers showered him with the compliments he couldn't just shout over. Ryan and his bandmates hurried off to avoid feeling the wrath of the building owner, not bothering to fit in a shower or anything before carrying whatever equipment they could grab and fitting it into the storage hooked up to their kind of dingy van.

Considering that was up to crew and Ryan kind of wanted to recalibrate in the coolness of the outside air, though, he just leaned against the side of the van, taking off layers until he was in a v-neck and could rub at the shadow on his eyelids to smudge it around. They weren't quite so far in their career where people might actively look to meet them unless they happened upon the band at the bar, or something. Nevertheless, all three band members sprung to action when a little group came round, Jon and Spencer moving ahead to greet them while Ryan hung back, let them test the waters first.

raindrops on roses || b&r

12 sold out dates out of 14. Sold out. And they'd only been signed for about a year. Nevertheless, something was charming about looking fresh-faced and naïve to the criticism of the music industry. Ryan wasn't sure how they survived so many people - who weren't going to be the ones playing this music, mind you - giving them 'helpful tips,' steering them toward a more mainstream genre of music, recommending different ways to mix. Yeah, they could have probably been a lot more professional when it came to actually putting the first full album together, but Ryan couldn't imagine himself ever making something people would play as background music to a party. Pop was good for certain occasions, and they touched on it to make sure people would listen all the way through without getting bored, but what was more important was making something personal to him lyrically and soundwise.

Ryan was, oddly, the lead singer, lead guitarist, and sole writer, except occasionally he let the drummer take a look at his drafts because he was so transparent that Ryan could immediately tell when something needed to be changed. Best friends tend to find your faults better, anyway, and based on the fifteen different versions of each song on the album, Spencer had no problem being honest. It used to be just the two of them in a basement, hiring some underclassman to provide instrumentals when they wanted a horn or whatever and couldn't figure it out themselves, posting recordings online that garnered attention quickly. Ryan was ambitious, if nothing else; the validation from total strangers who just stumbled upon their demos was probably responsible for him actually getting them signed. They went through other band members like candy. Usually they just didn't mesh well with the two founders who were connected at the hip.

Their following was way more predictable, though; of course an online blog like his was a platform with a specific audience, so Ryan anticipated the simultaneously morose and overly excitable types to show up if ever they played stage shows. When they did, he was lucky enough to find that people not just in his social circle had taken an interest, but also people who seemed like they would never listen to this by choice in their life. He had a front row seat to the expressions changing, mood shift of an audience as the performances progressed. Although overly ambitious and way beyond starry-eyed, Ryan still had the modesty not to believe their luck. He blamed it on the theatrics, at least half of it anyway. He had much bigger plans, more detailed and thought out, but as things were now, they'd only been in the public eye long enough for him to throw a few baroque-but-gothic decorations here and there prior to a show, should the venue allow it. He got ahead of himself constantly, but putting in the time and money for the aesthetic of a show wasn't their priority as of yet.

As much as said ambition might be associated with confidence, Ryan was still young. He was always sort of terrified of standing in front of a crowd of people and exposing his thoughts, his soul, his efforts at writing something that didn't turn people away. He was afraid that there wouldn't be a second album. He was afraid they'd never win an award, or hear themselves on the radio, but more importantly he was afraid he'd never get the letters he wrote to his favorite musicians about "their music changing his life" or "saving him." It was kind of dramatic, but still; it meant they'd reached someone. When Ryan actually started getting serious about writing lyrics he wasn't necessarily doing it for anyone but himself - some thoughts were too harsh and painful when said out loud, so they lived through the pen. And then they got crammed into a metaphor, then another, etc., but eventually he came to the conclusion that this could get to someone else, too. Not that a 13-year-old was writing anything too profound, but.

That's all that really ran through his mind during these pre-show rituals. Fear, anxiety, then things to shove it down, like the imaginary fan who'd really appreciated their stuff, and could you sign this, please? Setting up didn't distract him much, and he didn't like tuning or testing the amps out in the open, 'cause then people were looking at him with no music to hide behind. Real weird. If he could control the setlist he'd start with softer songs, ease people into their kind of unusual sound; as it were he knew that the first song needed to demand people's attention. Time to Dance, then The Only Difference..., London Beckoned Songs..., so on. Sins was the fan favorite, unsurprisingly. When they landed on personal ones, like Camisado or Nails, he burned out quick - the first show he knew his voice cracked countless times and he was already self-conscious of his singing ability. Thankfully, they were such newbies that their shows stayed short, left out songs that weren't fast enough for the disengaged audiences. They got through 7 songs every show at most, the setlist changing with the correcting scratch-out of a Sharpie sometimes, and other times the seventh song - an encore if they were lucky enough to get it - was just a cover.

Anyway. Those were the motions. Ryan was at the front of the stage, not quite centered but closer to their current bearded bassist (who he relied on most of all for backup - his vocals were admittedly kind of better than Ryan's, which didn't add up at all). Their cue came from the sounds of equipment getting plugged in, feedback that somehow formed a melody, before launching in to the first song. Ryan's only real crowd interaction came from a shy 'hey' as he came onstage, and, on the better days, he'd let them sing for him. His role as lead guitar got passed on to whichever unlucky bastard was off at side stage occupying bells or piano scores, so on. It was their last show, this one; he had to. So, after stumbling through a rearranged setlist, Ryan turned round and let the rest of them know he'd mentally replaced Nails with Build God. Probably should've discussed that first - but what the hell. Again, the last show had to be different, unexpected.

After a brief intermission where they reoriented themselves, Ryan leaned in close to the stand, lowering his voice and holding his fingers over the neck of his guitar. "It's these substandard motels on the -" All three on stage, and the audience members who were ready for it, hurriedly sang a 'la-la-la' for him while he just grinned against the mic. "...corner of 4th and Fremont Street." He was moving his guitar round so it hung backwards when they came to habit of decomposing, jumping down to the barrier (not quite jumping but stepping - it was a small stage and his legs were, like, three fourths of his height) by very, and picking whoever got the mic as he drawled out eyes. The entire front row seemed to already know the lyrics, or at least most of them; he didn't like taking bets, though, and it would suck to hold it to someone who had no idea, so he picked the most confident looking face already singing along anyway to kick them off into the chorus. "Along with the people in..." Ryan held the microphone faux-dramatically out to a guy with about the best candid smile he'd ever seen, radiating enthusiasm, and time didn't stop or anything, but he definitely wished he wasn't busy right now just to strike something up.