jakob

seated and sweating || b&r

Brendon’s sudden change of heart - or that’s what Ryan interpreted it to be, anyway - wasn’t unfounded at all, and actually when he was finally able to look at the situation in retrospect, Ryan found that he felt sort of the same. Not all the time, and not deeply enough to initiate a breakup himself, but there were rare occasions where he got scared. They were virtually just out of high school, even more true for Brendon than it was for him. The overwhelming success of the band was one thing. Usually it was a good kind of terrifying, exhilerating, unless he spent too long thinking about how total strangers knew him and recognized him and made assumptions about him. But a relationship that appeared as serious as his and Brendon’s was becoming was a different story - they could continue to stay together until so much time had passed that breaking up would prove to be way more crushing than it had to be, or they could stay together, no breakups involved. The prospect of committing to something like that when he couldn’t even commit to attending university was daunting.

The difference was still that Ryan wasn’t affected by that fear frequently enough, or for long enough periods of time, to end things. That didn’t mean he wasn’t totally an idiot the entire time Brendon was working through his little speech; Ryan ignored his valid reasoning and instead got stuck in his own head, thinking maybe Brendon just didn’t want to commit to him rather than at all. Or, on a smaller scale of suspicion, that Brendon was coming up with a more civil-sounding reason to end things and he was actually just over Ryan. That was a quickly ignored insecurity. After all, Brendon was fairly obvious about the fact that he did love Ryan, even if he eventually got intimidated by it or fell out of love altogether. Ryan was pretty sure both of them still loved each other at the end, too. Unfortunate, but he had no control over how Brendon felt, so he didn’t bother mentioning that when it was all happening.

And, admittedly, Ryan kept those feelings for the longest time, and they were buried over the months enough for him to ignore it, sort of. When he was face to face with Brendon like this, and felt the slide of his fingers along his suit jacket, it was hard to pretend he only felt anything platonic towards Brendon. From the looks of things, Brendon was at least reciprocating - but he was so open and unguarded about it that Ryan wasn’t sure whether to admire his everlasting confidence or be suspicious about his intentions. The latter option was unfair as hell and didn’t speak to Brendon’s character, so he brushed it off easily. Hopefully not the last. Okay - so they were definitely on the same page. Ryan’s mouth went dry, his smile fading when he realised Brendon’s was gone, and suddenly he was sick of screwing around, circling the subtext without addressing it directly. He had the patience the first time it was like this between them, but now with the knowledge of how well they worked together, he wasn’t as afraid.

Lucky you. Very fucking lucky. Ryan was pretty resigned to the fact that he had few other redeeming qualities. Are you kidding? When I first met Dallon- Ryan instantly followed his gaze and the gesture towards the Dallon in question. Keeping his cool as best he could on his face, Ryan let the internal tantrum over how attractive the new bassist actually was ensue. I had the hugest crush on him, mostly because he’s, like, 6’4. Ryan laughed a little, managed it, but not much more because he was apparently this prone to jealousy. It’s not like there was anything to be jealous of - he said ‘had.’ And also here Brendon was, with him and not the bassist, yet Ryan couldn’t squash the spark of completely irrational jealousy that arose. Whatever; Spencer would probably object to another inter-band relationship after his last experience with it.

”Understandable, actually,” he said after a pause, because even if he was being ridiculous, he could admit that Dallon was cute as hell. He turned with Brendon, finding it increasingly easy to ignore the sounds of the party around them when they were this close. Nothing’s changed, then. Ryan pursed his lips, knowing that there was more meaning to that response than the sound of it implied, and he considered what could happen if he actually confronted what was happening head-on. Maybe he should wait longer than, like, ten minutes to tell Brendon he was still interested, but what was the point? They wouldn’t stay in contact after this party if they ended on a ‘we’ll keep being friends’ note, just because that was too hard, at least on Ryan. And everyone said that when they broke up - it never held true.

Despite the double meaning, Ryan smiled fondly at Brendon’s words, wondering at the contrast between how quickly things changed with them when they started dating, and when they stopped, nothing changed. A little backwards, but they tended to be that way, anyway. ”Hey,” he said, suddenly with complete clarity, and stepped closer with a hand on Brendon’s shoulder so he didn’t have to speak quite as loudly. ”I missed you. A lot.” It wasn’t sad sounding or anything - in fact it looked like he was more focused on the positive circumstances where they’d connected again. ”It’s been weird without you. It was worse in the beginning, but it’s like everything’s kind of... off.” And he’d initially thought the ‘world thrown off balance’ thing would eventually go away. No such luck. ”You’re here, and I feel a little normal again.”

seated and sweating || b&r

The idea of Brendon and Spencer ultimately taking the band name was something Ryan at first very strongly opposed. In fact he hadn't heard about it until after the fact, and he didn't really get it because they weren't Panic anymore, were they? But it made sense the more he thought about it. First of all - although the two remaining members probably didn't care about it that much - it carried all the recognition and fame. It was more difficult to make fans follow you to your next band, and therefore there was no guarantee you'd have even half the success of the old band. Second, they were playing the most similar music to what Panic had initially sounded like, or at least that's what the direction they were headed in seemed like. It's not like the two albums already out were totally cohesive, but they flowed in an odd way, separate but equal worlds. Ryan's ever-changing inspiration and style didn't seem to fit that narrative. So, he didn't harbor any negativity over that aspect of the split, either.

Despite being sort of shocked at seeing Brendon again without expecting him at all (or at least not by himself, and not out of nowhere), just a first glance at him alone was enough to make every old feeling resurface. Maybe not entirely, not at quite the strength they'd been before, but still - Ryan could remember the times when it only took Brendon entering the room for his mood to instantly improve a substantial amount. Or when he'd feel a sort of loss whenever he was somewhere without Brendon at his side (and the recurrence of him wondering what Brendon was doing, how he was, etc). Or the way Brendon looked when Ryan woke up beside him and before him, having separated from clinging together the night before, with his eyelashes dark against his skin and his expression peaceful and his breathing steady. Really, it was weird to have known him so intimately and now only feel it appropriate to treat him with just... politeness. Like the past was no big deal. Ryan consoled himself with the idea that maybe he'd get over it in a couple more months.

But, apparently, Ryan was the only one who felt such reservations. For the past two minutes all Brendon had done was flatter him and flirt, which was nice and all, but Ryan didn't know what boundaries had been established by the passage of time. Was Brendon just drunk and didn't really mean any of it? He was pretty well-coordinated and didn't seem to be slurring, so it sounded like he was just slightly ahead of Ryan in terms of alcohol consumed thus far. It occurred to him that he was actually familiar with how a tipsy Brendon worked, and, yeah, he totally lost his filter. Ryan wasn't sure whether he should respect sober Brendon's probable wish that he hadn't approached Ryan at all, or if he should just give in to the charm. Mostly, though, Ryan was very susceptible to the glass of what'd basically been rum with a dash of Coke mixed in, so he couldn't bring himself to come up with the right thing to do in this situation.

He was forced to instead rely on whatever words came out without a connection to his brain, which could only feasibly be slightly more embarrassing than how he normally talked - he doubted he could get any worse. No, I crashed the party. Ryan was gullible enough in the moment to almost give him an 'are you crazy' look before he read Brendon's grin. And was taken aback by it, kind of. He had yet to meet someone with a better smile than Brendon, actually. Fuck. Maybe he shouldn't've come in the first place. Yeah, I was. Me, Spencer... Dallon. So Spencer was here. Ryan's face briefly betrayed him while he nodded, a hint of longing to see his old best friend again, but he didn't even know what they would talk about or how they would reconnect in the middle of a busy party. The thought passed quickly. This new name, Dallon, however, preyed on Ryan's natural insecurity for half a second where he thought maybe Brendon had found someone else already - and then he realized he was an idiot, because of course Brendon wouldn't be acting the way he was if he was exclusive with someone.

Thank you. I try. Didn't sound like he was listening, actually. Ryan kind of laughed at his lack of focus, bringing his glass up to cover his amusement, just as Brendon decided he had to be tactile again. Ryan considered it for a second, then finally finished the drink hovering before his lips and abandoned it on the nearest available surface beside Brendon's mask. You’re so tall. Fuck me. The look on Brendon's face read like he was being wholly serious, but Ryan only forced another small laugh, not sure how to react to all of this still. Part of him, the stupidest part at that, wanted to say something like 'you're the one who broke up with me'; the other wanted to take the risk that Brendon wouldn't even want anything serious again and just go with his flirtatious behavior. Kidding. That was too long a pause, Ryan decided, and then he wasn't thinking at all. "Are you, though? I mean, it wouldn't be the first time." He returned Brendon's smile, a little more conspicuously, and promptly lost the nerve to hold eye contact after saying that.

Still. He'd decided not to care about the possible implications behind all of this and thanked the gradually more effective Bacardi. "I didn't know you had such a thing for tall guys," he said speculatively, and realized distantly that he'd been fixing his normally godawful posture ever since Brendon first commented on his height. Definitely screwed. "Glad you do, because I think you're gorgeous." He managed to look at Brendon longer than three seconds this time, truly meaning it, and barely holding back from saying 'still' before 'think.' That'd definitely shift the mood, right? He had no idea. In any case it felt like he needed to get even with Brendon quickly, and he had plenty of things to say, just none of the nerve to say any of it to his face. Not fair - Brendon had no problem literally saying 'fuck me' like that and Ryan felt awkward following in Cady Heron's footsteps telling him his hair looked sexy pushed back, or something.

seated and sweating || b&r

Ryan was, very clearly, not much of a social person. However, given his moderate success (that was definitely in the past now but people still expected him to be coming up with new work as soon as possible, or something), he was invited everywhere. Not just him, all of his associates, too. At the moment his 'associated act' was just Jon, though, and Jon was arguably as reclusive as him; the little contact he maintained with his childhood best friend mostly consisted of stunted conversations that went, hey, how are you, how's your girlfriend, how's the new music, oh it's coming out soon, that's great, good luck, goodbye, cursory things. He still adored Spencer, but convenience wasn't their friend. When Spencer worked with Brendon it meant he was travelling and far away, and communicating through phones or Skype or whatever was always a hassle. Ryan opted to let distance take over. Then, of course, Brendon.

The world wanted to know if the two of them, always stuck at the hip or screwing around otherwise even when all eyes were on them, were still on speaking terms after the bands' split, oddly moreso than they cared about Ryan talking to his initial best friend. In his head, Ryan wasn't sure how to answer that. What he did know was that he felt a fondness for him still and likely would forever - people who paid enough attention to the band to know that they were pretty clear about having dated thought it must've been messy, given the circumstances. It wasn't at all. Ryan had to make sure people knew that. He's my boy, always will be, and people could take that to mean whatever they wanted. In any case, Ryan had barely spoken to him once since what had felt like the end of the world.

It wasn't really that dramatic, and they all agreed on it needing to happen, anyway. But what felt like his life's work coming apart or at least hitting a bump in the trail at the same time as Brendon telling him he wasn't ready to move forward with him - it did make him go through some type of bereavement period. Creative differences made sense to him. Brendon being uncertain about committing was more surprising. At the start they'd been very much on the same terms - at the cabin, all of their confessions to each other were reciprocated immediately. Then throughout the relationship it seemed like they were equally affectionate, equally invested in it all. Ryan wasn't angry or anything that he'd changed his mind, or maybe he'd just understood a bad feeling he'd had all along, but. Breakups always fucking sucked. Even so he didn't try to convince Brendon otherwise or beg for him to stay, nothing like that. If he wasn't ready or scared or surprised or whatever, then he had a right to it.

Ryan liked to think he was that mature about his response in practice, but in reality he was kind of stupidly teary the entire time; during the band's split he didn't look anyone in the eye and just resignedly nodded at every compromise they made, fully agreeing but unable to express it with any sort of positivity. During the breakup, he again couldn't even look right at Brendon in case any sign of him being upset showed on his face and it garnered some sort of unhelpful pity reaction. And he was sort of in denial for a hot minute. Are you sure, have you thought about it really, y'know. He wasn't trying to trigger any second guesses, but he was also desperate as hell sometimes, so. Anyway. No hard feelings between them or even anyone in the band, in the end.

Despite clearly being out of the music scene for now - he hadn't started a new band yet, he hadn't named himself as a solo artist, he hadn't announced any actual news other than vague promises - he received an invite. Sometimes people only did this for the pictures they could take with him or with the rest of the band, which kind of sucked, and made him wary to come to any in the first place, but this was Gabe. His relationship with Gabe was kind of vague at best. He didn't know any details about their personal life, their likes or dislikes, anything, but he'd heard their music and seen some interviews and had passing conversations with them at ceremonies and events, so of course he knew of their existence and general personality. On the surface, anyway; God knows if they were actually that entertaining all the time. That was his official opinion on them actually: definitely entertaining, definitely charismatic, charming, interesting, what have you. He had no reasons to think of Gabe in a negative light at all, so the invitation seemed innocent, even welcome.

So he came, all reclusiveness in the back of his mind for now (though of course he had ensured Jon was coming in case he needed someone to cling to the whole time). The theme was moderately difficult to keep up with, for him; first of all he could not control his hair for the life of him and the 'sleek' look was very 20's. He eventually settled on a suit with too many pieces he dug out from the back of his closet that he must have worn during the second album, not black but a faded tan, some faint pinstripe pattern. The attempt to actually tame his hair was short-lived, but he at least flattened it down some, got rid of flyaways. So maybe he didn't look particularly sharp, but he definitely looked twenties, all he was missing was a cane. And for no extra money! He thanked everyone who never told him his fashion sense was absolute garbage back then, because now when he actually matched the suit together it had come to use. For the sake of not shocking anyone he took half a second to compare himself to the last time he'd been seen publicly by as many people as he assumed would show up. No major differences. Maybe a little more muscle, definitely at least an inch in height, not that he really needed it. And his features were a little sharper, still boyish but matured anyhow. Ryan decided he likely wasn't going to shock at all.

When he arrived he was interested in finding Gabe to at least greet them, thank them for the invitation, but unfortunately he hadn't been early enough to catch them. Too many people crowded around the entrance to their ridiculous house for him to be noticeable, especially because his 'costume' wasn't as impressive as some people who went all out. Ryan artfully dodged said people, slipping through the clusters of partygoers easily, thankful for once that he had the body shape of, like, a lizard. The destination was obvious: the bar. If he was holding something already then he wouldn't be offered a drink, and he wasn't really keen on getting drunk unless he found someone he was comfortable with to stick by. He ended up making his own rum and Coke in the kitchen while watching someone frantically attempt to wash a stain out of their suit jacket under the faucet. He decided he'd just stick to the walls for a while.

After maybe five minutes of observing, amused, all the varieties of conversation going on around him, Ryan suddenly felt crowded by someone and turned to either get out of their way or be greeted. The answer: kind of neither of those things. Instead he just froze up, staring at Brendon with what felt like a stupid look on his face. Hi. You look hot. He was only halfway through his rum and Coke so he couldn't even hold his drink accountable for the immediate response he thought of: you do too. Brendon could work anything, he'd already learned, but a suit was absolutely the best of all his capabilities. Aside from the outfit itself, though, Brendon just looked slightly different, like he'd grown into himself a little more. And Ryan swore he looked stronger than the almost-waifish Brendon he knew months ago. Not that he meant to let his gaze sweep over Brendon entirely. Fuck. He played it off like he was evaluating the success of his 20's look as best as he could.

"Hey," Ryan managed, and evidently could not get anything else out when Brendon smiled at him like that. "Um. Thanks!" He shrugged his shoulders a little with his words, trying for nonchalant but not quite hiding his surprised state. Was it weird to say the same thing back? Probably. I’m mad. You got taller. "Oh, uh -" Ryan broke off briefly, watched him reach out and explore his suit jacket at the edges, startled but kind of not bothered at all. He tried to quickly talk over whatever the hell was happening there. "I guess - a little. Maybe you got shorter." He smiled tentatively. That definitely didn't equal the amount of flirting Brendon was giving him, but he couldn't bring up the courage to voice any of the complimentary thoughts floating around his head. He punctuated his response by quickly drinking more of his concoction, thanking past him for making it a rather unequal split between the rum and the Coke, preference to the alcohol.

He was buzzing not from drinking but from sort of hesitant affection by the time Brendon's hands dropped again, and it took everything not to just reassure him it was okay to touch. Definitely weird - he should know how to deal with seeing an ex by now, considering he had plenty. What brings you here, anyway? "More like who. The best of the best," he said, nodding to Gabe, who'd conveniently come into view in the distance and briefly had an eye on them. Or Ryan thought they did, anyway. "I was surprised, actually. Not many people are interested since I'm not, like, active anymore. Did they invite you too?" A brief distraction from whatever was resurfacing with Brendon, he thought distantly that maybe if Brendon had been invited rather than crashing, Spencer might have come too. Would be nice to reconnect, if that was the case.

He wasn't really closely listening to Brendon's answer, though, because something in his head was nagging that he couldn't just let Brendon flatter him ten times in two seconds without making any reference to how much Brendon looking as good as he did made his chest ache. "You, um - you look really good. You look like you walked out of a Gatsby party, really." He was grinning, just slightly warm enough from the rum that he didn't care how lame that sounded, and was more glad he said anything nice at all without it feeling awkward.

a therapeutic chain of events || b&r

Maybe it was a little selfish to want Brendon to stay. After all, even if he did make the best recovery possible, it wouldn't be in full. He'd live with the mental and physical remnants of the death scare for the rest of his life; maybe he would even get worse over time. And he'd just been suffering for so long already... Ryan of course wanted Brendon to see his own expansive talent grow and reach more and more people, wanted him to progress as a person for himself, but he also just needed him there. They had some sort of symbiotic relationship, had for a long time. Without one, the other cannot thrive, so on. All the pamphlets in the visitor's section of the hospital had articles on how to deal with loved ones dying or how to cope with an extended sickness, etc., and he'd flip through them whenever he got kicked out of the room, but. None of them seemed to pertain to the two of them, didn't understand the complexity and depth to what they felt for another. Corny, but true.

So, definitely a degree of selfishness. Either way, as much as he was striving to keep Brendon around as long as possible, as much as he was what Brendon clung to, it was the same the other way round. Everything in his life was on hold not just because it felt like he should be there, but because he wanted to be there. He didn't necessarily want to see all the negatives - that was the shitty part, really, of spending every waking moment with him through all of this; he had so many symptoms to observe it was hard to keep up - but he wanted to help as much as he could. Of course there wasn't much he could do medically, which was really what Brendon needed now, but he supported in every other way. Ryan had made it very clear that all the financial complications involved here were sent to him, too, and any messages from insurance. Not like Brendon needed another weight on his shoulders.

An interesting concept that Ryan considered was maybe just conveniently disappearing when Brendon did. Brendon, in turn, clearly knew his thought process. He could sense the disapproval, but... really he had no clue what else to do. The music would take a permanent hiatus, probably, unless somehow he discovered that creating made him feel better (which, generally, any productivity didn't). He probably wouldn't want to look any of their friends in the face anymore - they were Brendon's friends, they would just serve as a reminder. Any jokes they'd share with each other, it'd feel wrong that Brendon wasn't there laughing with them. And he would definitely have to move. Maybe. There was another side to all of this - staying where he was and continuing as normal after the bereavement dissipated, it might be nice to see reminders of him, to have evidence of Brendon's effect everywhere. Easier to consider than all of this: walking onto a highway, losing balance from too high up, misreading the label on his medication, so on. Brendon would kill him again if that happened, or if he knew the exact lengths to which Ryan thought about it, he'd probably just kill him then, ironically enough.

But he was getting ahead of himself, there. He still didn't think Brendon was dying. All right, Brendon was obviously dying, but he wasn't going to die. Not necessarily. And when Brendon introduced the idea of them only having a month left together... how could he fit a lifetime into that amount of time, and how could he do it from a hospital room? That raised another question: if he did believe after all that there was only a month, should they just discharge him now? Then at least Brendon might be able to experience a spell of normalcy before- that. Considering the amount of machines around him helping him cling to life, though, Ryan didn't think that was a viable option anymore. He just needed to come up with other ways to make Brendon's final weeks as peaceful as possible, happy rather than grievous, because there was no point mourning while he was still alive. If the month was true.

It’s not their fault, baby. Yeah. He was right. But now it needed to be somebody's fault, and the staff, the entirety of goddamned healthcare could take the heat. And maybe I didn’t, but now I know. You- nobody can change that. Better start a calendar, start counting the days. Maybe Ryan would have appreciated the lightness in his voice, how casually he could approach this subject, at any other time, but. If Brendon 'knew,' then maybe it wasn't so far-fetched that he really did only have something like four weeks left. Maybe he did feel the end nearing closer, and just the thought of that weight on his shoulders... Ryan wished he could do something to ease the burden, but for now all he could do was lose his composure after months of being able to maintain it.

He heard his name, could hear Brendon through the fog that clouded his brain now, but was too lost in his thoughts to stop and acknowledge it. When he asked for some kind of legitimacy, Brendon didn't answer immediately. The more time passed without an answer, the more one became clear in Ryan's mind anyway: he must feel his time running out. Ryan pursed his lips, trying to tear his gaze from Brendon's so he wouldn't have to watch him lose it, but now he didn't want to waste a moment looking anywhere else or being anywhere else. He vaguely felt Brendon's hand take his but still couldn't regain much sensation at all, and, because it was easier than holding himself up straight any longer, he let his forehead rest against their joined hands after kissing the back of Brendon's. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't.

Get in with me, would you? So no answer became an answer. Ryan suppressed a tiny choked sound as best he could, letting it die in the back of his throat, but the shudder that accompanied it and tears that sprung to his eyes became his tell. He kept his head down for another moment until he could force the tears not to fall, letting them disappear once he closed his eyes, and once he came back up nodded profusely. He almost tried for an audible 'of course' but his voice didn't seem to cooperate. Failing that, he climbed over the side of the bed, careful not to touch any of the levers beneath or set askew any monitors, and fit his body against Brendon's where he wasn't stuck with an IV or bound by a wire from a heartrate sensor. It had gotten easier over time to ignore the fact that Brendon was now bonier than ever before, how when he wrapped an arm around him he could feel every protrusion and his always unusual body temperature. Still. That paired with the conversation topic made it necessary for him to shut his eyes tight, blocking out everything around him and trying to focus instead on Brendon's voice, his breathing, his actual heartbeat and not the annoying beeps that accompanied it from a distance.

He curled his free hand around the back of Brendon's head, fingers scratching absently at the slightly overgrown hair that nearly rivalled his, and let their intertwined hands rest between their chests. He pressed his forehead against Brendon's temple, trying to steady his breathing and make the verge-of-tears feeling go away. Brendon seeing Ryan take the hit so hard would just make it worse for him, anyway. He could save having some sort of breakdown for whenever he absolutely had to leave, where it wouldn't stress Brendon out more. After a shaky exhale he tried again to speak despite the tightness in his throat. "I don't..." Pause. He was at a loss for words. Ryan squeezed his eyes tighter, like the blackness couldn't be enough. "I don't know how we're supposed to fit forever into a month," he said softly, his voice nearly betraying him towards the end.

He'd like to renew their vows despite them not even having aged, he could do that right in the goddam room. He'd like to take Brendon somewhere warm where he could feel the sun constantly. He'd like to spend another day in bed with him doing nothing after a full week of being so busy they could barely breathe. He'd like Brendon to be able to see his dogs again after six months of nothing at all. He'd like Brendon to be okay again, he'd like them to find their first grey hairs together that were from age and not stress (and to see Brendon subsequently throw a hissy fit about it), he'd like to retire with him, he'd like him to not go at all. Ryan realised suddenly his face was wet and quickly turned in to his arm, clearing away the evidence. "...Are you scared?" Ryan was scared of just the idea himself - he still didn't even believe it was true. A month. "'cause - you don't need to be. I'll be here, always," he murmured, feeling just slightly cheesy saying it out loud.

And then since Brendon always needed a lighter follow-up, he figured he should include one, too. Anything to distract him from actually believing in the prediction - his denial was the only thing keeping him semi-composed. "I mean, unless I start to get annoying. Then just tell me to screw off." He couldn't really laugh, but. He squeezed Brendon's hand as a substitute.

a therapeutic chain of events || b&r

Starting with Brendon's third admission to the hospital, Ryan started trying to convince himself that he'd been through it once, he'd do it again. Not really helpful, considering that the first time resulted in death, but. The process he was used to. Feelings, not so much. The thing is, he'd seen it all happening when he was a kid from a kid's point of view. When dad disappeared for a few days, someone from work or from the hospital or a neighbor would call in, ask if he had anyone taking care of him, tell him his father was okay and he'd be home in no time (of course after the first time he told them he was home alone and child services didn't seem too happy with that, he just started lying). And he didn't recognize the signs of him being sick, either. When the whites of his eyes turned yellow it just seemed like a random peculiarity; when he was expelling blood every other day it was in the privacy of his own room. The drunkenness and the occasional violence was fairly normal, too, nothing that he had to deal with.

When he was 21 and his dad was dying and he had to come home to make sure the end was put off as long as possible, the sickness he observed was obvious; his pallid features, his jaundiced skin, the bleeding from no discernible wound... That and the fact that his dad couldn't even move towards the end, much less communicate with him. The difference between his final crisis and Brendon's supposed one was that everything was 10x more visible, and at least he could keep talking to Brendon so it didn't feel like he was just watching a silent movie play out. They could connect, so he wasn't just numb through all of it. Maybe that wasn't for the best, considering how much grief it was putting them through to not only watch everything get worse, but to have to watch it happen to the person you loved most (or, in Brendon's case, being watched by the person you loved most while you deteriorated. It seemed the one thing Brendon wouldn't want an audience for).

Anyway. Whenever he thought about it, compared the situations, one thought resounded in his head: get over it. Years ago, and very different from Brendon's circumstances, so he had nothing to worry about. His dad drank himself to sleep for a much longer time... then again the sheer quantity during each episode, plus how many times Brendon tried going cold turkey or just didn't properly detox, plus generally not taking care of himself - it made up for time. He hurt himself too much to turn back completely, but Ryan still held out hope that he could at least get back to a functioning level. He knew plenty of people went about their normal lives whilst going through dialysis, but. Brendon had plenty of other organs failing on him, too. Ryan maintained some surface appearance of not being scared anyway, just always showing a certainty that they'd get good news some day rather than a new problem. It wasn't optimism, per se, but more him being fed up with the disease.

What bothered Ryan the most - ignoring every possibility that nurses suggested, every joke Brendon made about it, basically anything about death - was the fact that Brendon had to experience all this pain. The precursory stuff. Ryan generally strove to protect Brendon from any hurt (although, ironically, especially when they were younger he tended to be the cause behind it, at least for a short time), so to think that he was suffering and all of this was out of his control... harrowing. And if it just progressed into something worse, and he was going through the same shit he watched his dad go through that looked more painful than anything, Ryan wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. Honestly. His only comfort for now was the fact that Brendon was at least a little numb to some of the symptoms thanks to medication, and anyway he wasn't active enough to hurt himself further. Ryan knew the horror stories of one tiny trip or fall ruining an alcoholic permanently.

Probably another one of the reasons he just didn't go home. Again like half his life with his father, he'd become Brendon's keeper, sorta. That role probably officially went to the nurses, but hey - Ryan came pretty close. When he got back from one of his brief trips away Brendon almost immediately tried to pull himself into a more alert position, to which Ryan kind of clung to the edge of his stiff bedding just in case something gave out on him. Turns out he was just paranoid as hell. Not so hot. The amount of time it took him to put together sentences now was admittedly kind of terrifying, but the kind that Ryan was used to. Other than that he really hadn't expected a different answer... although this time something seemed more serious; the air felt oddly more intense. Ryan's encouraging smile faded a little.

I, uh- I’ve been given an expiry date. Brendon was laughing. Ryan was pretty sure his heart stopped, ironically enough. The hand he'd set on the edge of the bed awaiting Brendon's felt cold, already empty, and he hoped if Brendon found it that easy to laugh then this was just another one of his dark jokes. A month, maybe. Ryan stared at him, waiting for the 'just kidding,' or anything at all that would make his mouth less dry or bring sensation back to his limbs. Nothing followed, though. Frozen, Ryan didn't react at all for a straight minute, both unsure how and preoccupied with other, more chaotic thoughts.

Why didn't time just stop? Or be fair to them and let Ryan share some of his, or whatever. It was a nice thought. Of all people it seemed the most unjust that Brendon was going to - might - be taken from him, from everyone, from the world. He had to live for himself first and foremost, but he also had so much to offer, so many people to meet, had. Ryan caught himself thinking in the past tense and realised he must have started doing that some time ago, now. Like Brendon had already gone, or like they were both dead. After all, if Brendon was going to go, then Ryan wasn't quite sure what he was meant to do with himself. Brendon's body may be failing him, but if he was gone altogether it'd be like Ryan lost an essential organ, too. He was very sure that he wouldn't be able to survive the loss. Hell, just like Brendon, he'd flirted with death back when they first separated.

And now here was only one of them who made it to the finish line. Supposedly. Ryan sat back and the only word that came to mind was, "Bullshit." Kind of harsh. But not at Brendon's expense - it was definitely all aimed at the doctors again. "No, that can't be right. Who told you... you really don't need to be hearing that, you know? It's bullshit. A month." Here was Ryan's initial approach as per usual: anger. Well, more specifically, frustration. He couldn't believe some doctor would say shit that's not even concrete, that they couldn't even back up, that at least half the time turned out to be a bad estimate. Half the time. Ryan thought about when he was told his dad could bear three more months, maybe, and then when he died three weeks later. And he was pretty sure he would be sick right now if he had anything at all in his stomach to throw up.

His irritated countenance, leaned back in his chair like he was too good to believe that, fizzled. His expression cracked first and then he sort of folded in on himself, torn between not wanting to be seen getting visibly upset for the first time in a long time and wanting desperately to hold Brendon as long as he could. "A month," he murmured, his tone completely different suddenly, more broken. "Fuck. Fuck." Ryan dragged his face from his hands, miraculously not crying but white as a sheet anyhow. "Brendon, they're usually wrong. That doesn't mean." He meant to say something like 'doesn't mean you're going to die,' but he didn't even want to say the word out loud, and his throat was closing up, kind of. He paused to breathe, thinking that the only person who could really feel it and confirm or deny the prediction was Brendon. So. "What do you think?" Maybe he couldn't just feel close to death, or, like, hear the Grim Reaper or anything dramatic like that. Ryan just wanted to disprove it as quickly as possible.

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

If all his fantasies were going to come true right now, Ryan would definitely appreciate every song on the album also coming together instantly, thanks. He was just miraculously up on his luck today. It still felt so... wrong, that it took them this much time to get it together. Ryan was half impressed at his own level of self control, considering that most of the time he was around Brendon, he was just finding reasons to love him more. No kidding, when I first met you, that was all that was on my mind. Amongst other things. Ryan barely gave him space to talk, still planting wisps of kisses at the corner of his mouth even as he spoke, but still laughed at the anecdote - then the implication. Apparently Brendon got comfortable very quickly. "Really? I guess I'm the blind one - took me a while to even consider you might be interested. And... I'm curious about these 'other things.'" Laughing, he watched as Brendon relaxed, practically pliant under his hands, and wondered if he'd ever be able to exist more than a foot away from him at any given time again.

It really was turning into a less than savory setting, though, especially for whatever this was, but Ryan could only come up with some vague concern. On the contrary... Ryan practically melted against him speaking so close before reminding himself to calm down, then dipped his own head until his forehead was pressed against Brendon's neck, too. There are better places to do this. Agreed. Moving to a more comfortable location would take too much time, too much brainpower, and plus, what if Spencer and Jon were up, just waiting to catch them in the midst of their trek to either of their rooms? Ryan was fairly certain he couldn't try and play it casual even while they were walking in, or at least not at the moment; if they went now, he'd definitely be clingy as hell, couldn't help it. Or maybe he wasn't giving himself credit and he actually could stay away for, like, thirty seconds. Either way he didn't really want to test his limits now.

Luckily Brendon didn't seem to intent on moving either, evidenced by him getting more comfortable with his arms thrown nonchalantly over Ryan's shoulders. I love you. Ryan easily went with the guidance of his kiss, grinning so hard he kind of lost his center, and since his smile was messing it up anyway he figured he could talk just barely against Brendon's lips. "I love you," he answered breezily, eyes shut and lashes stark against his cheeks. Barely a moment passed before he was laughing again, soft and curious. "I've wanted to say that forever - god, now I won't be able to stop." 'Forever' was maybe a little dramatic, considering it'd been less than a year, even, but. Now he was just thinking about how they could be in an interview or something and all he'd be focusing on was Brendon, how all he'd be able to say to him even in public would be followed up by 'I love you' at some point or another. Well, that's how things looked now, anyway. Ryan maybe needed some time to get used to this.

He probably reacted so strongly to it all because he'd never experienced anything quite like how he felt for Brendon. Mostly he'd had brief girlfriends who had their own ambitious careers, who stuck by his side for appearances and wanted to get big just as much as he did but couldn't find anyone more successful yet. There were one or two long-term relationships that measured up to a year and a half at most, but then half of it was bogus anyway, and all his 'love' was for some idealized version of the person rather than whoever they actually were. Brendon, though, started out pure and unadulterated, then he just continued earning Ryan's favor over time. He somehow veered off the road of platonic love that Spencer followed so carefully and dutifully, and Ryan had no idea how. Then again it's not like he thought Spencer was the most attractive person on Earth when he first saw him. They were, like, five. Brendon got lucky with the timing, probably.

Ryan's thumb brushed over a collection of water droplets on Brendon's cheekbone, trailing it off into his hairline. "I'm not complaining that it's raining..." He was smiling, but from his joke he started to hear a melody in his head that matched the words Brendon had written and he already memorized. Suddenly the song was upbeat in his head whereas before he'd anticipated it to be slow, not solemn per se but calm at the very least. And, because his mind was going a million miles a minute, he once again fell off topic despite every other force within him telling him to just keep kissing Brendon since it was easier. "I feel like maybe we did this out of order. Should I have taken you on a date first? Does watching the sunset count as a date?" Not that he was really watching the sunset so much as pretending the sun's brilliant painting against the sky was as beautiful as the boy to his right, but. Whatever. He was pretty sure Brendon hadn't been watching, either, considering he had to keep finding the right moment to look over without their gazes meeting and Brendon catching him in the act.

a therapeutic chain of events || b&r

Once, Ryan had to break down the door to the bedroom to discover Brendon lying disoriented, practically disassociated, and carry him to a detox program until he was rehydrated and well enough to come home without being sectioned off to a facility. Another time, Ryan got a call from someone else in their apartment building saying they'd found him in the hall, and he wasn't waking up, and would Ryan please come take care of him because this was out of their hands. The other call was from a bar downtown that said his number was the most recent in Brendon's cell history and they'd called an ambulance for him already, Ryan just needed to pick him up from hospital. They said 'he's all right, he's with us,' and Ryan sort of doubted it. If he'd been all right he wouldn't be in this situation. If he was really with them, he wouldn't have felt the need to go back on swearing off drinking. There were triggers everywhere, though, and apparently no one cared enough to protect him from them.

Even when he was 'okay' after every individual episode of a real relapse, Brendon wasn't. He couldn't stand the light anymore; his pupils were dime-sized all the time because the withdrawals never went away. He never wanted anyone too close, no one could touch him; it was always too hot or too cold but no matter what he was always sweating, his body rejecting the environment. He dropped weight faster than he could regain it, and that paired with his gradually degrading skin tone, the yellowness in his eyes, he just looked sickly. Ryan could hear when he couldn't catch his breath even when he hadn't done anything demanding - he saw the palette of redbluepurpleyellow bruises that appeared from nowhere - he knew when Brendon forgot what he was doing, what day it was, what month it was, and hid his confusion.

That was all towards the end, though. He'd started noticing things far too late. After so long of things seeming okay, the alcoholism still in existence but at the very least in the background of their lives, he'd let his guard down and stopped looking for any minor faults in Brendon's usual healthy, brazen countenance. In the beginning the changes were too subtle to chalk up to anything serious: Brendon would break his clean streak, but believe it to be so minor that he didn't have to tell anyone, and then when he suffered a week of the aftereffects he played it off as a cold. The 'colds' became more frequent with less breaks between them, and suddenly one day Brendon was perpetually ill, with worse symptoms than ever before that he didn't recover from.

He was a kid when his dad was dying. He had no idea about any of it, how this worked, so Joey explained it all - and Ryan kind of wished he still didn't know anything. Living in an empty house (he'd sent the dogs off to someone who could actually care for them, who was home more often than they were at the hospital) and going to sleep every night knowing Brendon's heart was actively failing was, ironically, killing him. He wished he could live in some sort of ignorance, because maybe being naïve enough to believe that Brendon would get better would let him live his life semi-normally. As it is, he did believe, but the only belief he had was that Brendon could get better. If he made the choice to, that is. The doctors all said he needed six months' sobriety to qualify for any serious programs or life-changing surgeries; Ryan could see in Brendon's face that he didn't think he could do it. That was the same day Ryan started making the effort to come to terms with the fact that maybe they wouldn't be growing old together.

That effort was essentially shelved to the back of his mind - for the time being Ryan much preferred to not think about ever losing him, and instead he focused on fighting to stay by his bedside past visiting hours, arguing with hospital staff until they just let him fall asleep holding Brendon's hand. He'd been officially admitted for three months, and two months before that it was in-and-out visits; while Ryan still refused to consciously address it, they had both been informed that there was very little time left unless things started magically looking up. Magic was, apparently, selective in the role it took in their lives, which Ryan was pretty fucking pissed about, but anyway.

Ryan's attitude throughout it all was... fairly aggressive. He approached it with a certain resignation in the beginning, because it seemed like things would just work out themselves within time, the doctors would know what to do, etc. And then when he started hearing serious things - heart failure and pneumonia and liver disease and six months at best and so much more - he began a one-sided war with all of the healthcare system. He argued with the doctors that Brendon was still young, there's no way it could be this bad, and he's been through all of this before so he knows that it couldn't have progressed so fast right under his nose, and they must be doing something wrong because Brendon just keeps getting worse, why is he getting worse, why can't he stand anymore, why, why, why. The only answers he really got were along the lines of please calm down, it's out of our control, you don't know what you're talking about. So, yeah, maybe he was a little out of line. Ryan grew comfortable with his new asshole reputation amongst the care staff and after the first month just stayed in the hospital as long as he wanted to, fuck visiting hours. Brendon's hospital room was practically his home now, too.

He did occasionally come back to the apartment to check the mail, pay bills, change his clothes, so on. He did just that after a five day streak of telling nurses to fuck off when they told him he couldn't stay in Brendon's bed, just shifting to the side whenever they needed to readjust the heart monitor. Five days and the smell of hospital and death still clung to him, so he promptly showered at home, changed into new clothes and looked at himself in the mirror for the first time in a while. His hair had grown unruly, his face looked blank, empty. He didn't look at himself for long - besides, he had to get back to Brendon. He brushed over all the old evidence of their life together, the sticky notes on the fridge with messages to each other, Brendon's shoes by the door, his jacket strewn over a chair. Their guitars were still next to each other on the couch since their last session together months ago, and Ryan swore the place still smelled like him even after all this time. It felt like they were different people, now, and he was glimpsing into the life of another, happier pair of people. Ryan just stood in the middle of the apartment, contemplating crying, before a voice in his head told him to get a goddam move on and he rushed out the door, back to the hospital.

Maybe they should just opt for in-home hospice so Brendon could be more comfortable, but Ryan was still hanging onto the hope that someone would miraculously cure him if he stayed longer around the professionals. Maybe. He picked up black coffee for himself at an express shop at the hospital's bottom floor and then a hot chocolate for Brendon, knowing he'd lost interest in anything with taste and probably wouldn't drink it just like every other drink he brought up to his room, then headed up to his home-away-from-home, bowing his head so he didn't have to think about how he knew every person in scrubs by name. He pushed Brendon's door open with his back since his hands were occupied and turned, a soft smile on his tired face, to set both the paper cups down at Brendon's bedside.

He dropped into a seat, running a hand through his still-damp hair and glancing warily at the steady but slightly too flat monitor to Brendon's right before dragging his gaze back to the still body under all the covers. "Hey, baby," he greeted gently, pushing the cup across Brendon's bedside table. "Brought you hot chocolate this time. Thought another caramel macchiato might be overdoing it, y'know?" Jokes. Didn't really matter, considering Ryan drank it himself after six hours untouched and could still see the cup in the garbage. He hadn't seen Brendon in maybe three hours, tops, mostly because of the commute between their home and the hospital, but still felt like he had to catch up with him. "How are you doing?" Naturally his hand hung on the edge of the mattress, tentatively awaiting Brendon's to take his first just in case he was in another touch-repulsed phase.

anytime soon || b&r

Ryan sort of wished Brendon was less expressive, but then if he wasn't able to see the total disappointment/rage/indignation mix on his face, he'd probably be acting even more like an idiot. So he wasn't sure. In any case his only thought process for the time being was fuckfuckfuck. Is this a fucking- joke to you? Ryan's mental response was a very certain 'fuck no, my face is just stupid and I'm sick of myself,' or something like that, but it was hard to explain that he responded to his own ridiculousness visibly. He ended up not answering at all. Distantly he wondered if any of their friends were like this behind closed doors, too, or maybe he and Brendon were just desperately messy. Well, not Brendon, necessarily. It tended to be Ryan that started these things. After all he could recall the beginning of this conversation - Ryan was the one to initially respond so inappropriately.

You’re not the easiest person to talk to about this shit. Ryan hated himself. He really did. Avoiding meeting Brendon's gaze he thought back to all past confrontations about the subject - and then he was thinking how his dad died years ago, how he hadn't actively lived with him since he was, like, fifteen, how he should be over it all by now. Anyone mature could approach the problems Brendon had without a bias, total empathy, the only thing in their mind being a goal to help him. Ryan did want to help, but he was caught in his own wave even after all this time. And I get it, but- who else do I have? All our friends drink, and Joey- he’s got his own problems, and- With only a few words Ryan felt how trapped Brendon must feel, understanding immediately at least on the surface. Their friends drank, yeah, but even if they didn't, half of them had been there when it all started. They weren't helpful then, and no one had changed enough to be entirely helpful now. Joey he was sure was over everything, after all he'd invited Brendon countless times to come to him for help, but of course Brendon was too considerate and too worried for Joey's well-being to do that. Ryan couldn't convince him otherwise, either.

So, he was alone. It didn't look like it, and everyone tried to make him feel like he wasn't, but if Brendon felt utterly alone, then he effectively was. I do have to be, though, don’t I? Some of the stuff I have to say, you won’t want to hear. It’ll be too familiar, or not familiar enough, and it’s not your fault, but I can’t talk about this with you all the time, as much as I want to, or as much as you want me to. "It is," he said quietly, without thinking, but it was barely audible anyway. He didn't elaborate right then, just stared at his hands while they continued, and through it all Brendon didn't appear to be receptive to any more of his bogus outreach. Ryan didn't exactly blame him, but it was frustrating that he couldn't fix all of his own issues and Brendon's instantly, that it seemed to get worse every time he tried to. He looked on sort of mournfully as Brendon dragged himself away, evidently over the failed efforts. Whatever. You have a funny way of showing it.

When he reached the door Ryan panicked. "It is my fault," he said quickly, slightly less quiet than before, and he felt sick. "I'm not just saying that. I don't want - pity, or whatever, I mean it. It's my fault I can't... get over everything. You need me, or anyone, and I can't be there for you because of my own issues. It's selfish." He paused, staring straight ahead and then shifting his gaze to Brendon, suddenly very present. "I'm sorry. For that and- all of this." More softly, but because he felt he needed the emphasis, Ryan repeated it: "I'm sorry, Bren. I really am." It felt way too real and he almost considered dodging the seriousness of the situation by saying something dumb like 'maybe I just won't buy the next goddam album,' but he was out of energy and that was definitely not going to take the tension out of the air. He went slack against the cushions, looking at the ceiling. "I want to, though. I want to be there." There was a certain desperation in his voice that he wanted to stomp out or hide otherwise - this was way too vulnerable, even when he was talking to the person he trusted most.

meet the press || b&r

As much as Brendon could stand the attention and just as well play off of it, it seemed like people were taken aback by his personality. The laid-back demeanor of the rest of the group was what people were used to, what they expected based on the small amount of publicity Panic had gotten thus far. Brendon, though, changed the game entirely - at first. When people commented more and more on his attitude and his hyperactivity and his general character, it seemed at first that Brendon could nod along and attest to his own behavior; then as time went on every time someone innocently 'noticed' him it sounded more like they were calling him out on his personality, something out of his control.

Ryan, kind of selfish when it came time to control themselves in the face of cameras and interviewers, hadn't even realised this, didn't consider that maybe all of it could bother Brendon. After all, once he'd initially come to terms with the fact that Brendon was a natural entertainer, he officially decided not to worry about him ever in regards to how attention would affect him. In retrospect, though, of course that many people commenting on the way that he acted would get to him - and of course he would do something to try to change it. The first day was normal, Brendon acting how he would usually, livening up the group and making everyone way more interesting than they actually were, naturally. The second day, though - he was no longer someone Ryan immediately looked to for help. Something was up, and now Ryan felt like he had to keep an eye on Brendon, make sure he was still with them both mentally and physically.

It was hard to describe. He just... looked like he wasn't fully there, like he'd checked out but left everyone with his shell so things looked normal. When interviewers directed questions to him, Ryan stepped in to answer, looking a little rude in the process but for a good cause. When Brendon was able to get a word in, it was slow, not elaborate. Even his movements were dead, slightly uncoordinated if he didn't put a tremendous amount of focus into it. Spencer and Jon seemed to pick it up, too, and they were barely attentive, so it must've been a big deal. The worst part was that Ryan had the smallest suspicion that maybe this wasn't just Brendon trying to act calmer - if he was doing it consciously, he would run out of energy to contain himself, wouldn't he? After a while he would have gone back to normal without meaning to. For the entire day, though, it seemed like he was trying to pick himself up, or at least hold himself together. Something was very wrong with this picture.

In an effort to feel normal, when they got back, he started absent conversation; Brendon was having none of it. It looked like he was sleepwalking. Dramatically enough, it hurt to watch. Miraculously, though, Brendon suddenly moved towards him rather than just forward, and Ryan grinned at him spontaneously, catching him once he'd climbed over. Ryan wrapped his arms around Brendon's waist, pulling him close when they kissed and effortlessly following the guidance of Brendon's hand in his hair. It started off fine, almost normal but like he was trying for it, and gradually Brendon seemed to lose the will. Ryan chased his lips for a second before faltering, gaze flickering over his features to try and deduce what exactly was going on for the umpteenth time. Sorry. I feel like- shit. "I know," he said instantly, face unchanging. One of his hands drifted up to trace his cheek, a vague attempt at being comforting, but mostly he was still stuck in his thoughts.

Without totally disconnecting, Ryan shifted back a little further, pulling them both until he was sitting straighter and more attentive. "What's different? Did something happen?" If something was going on at home or if he had a problem with the band, he'd probably have said something, but. Ryan didn't think that was even it. Physically Brendon even seemed different, his pupils slightly heavier and his skin paler now that Ryan was up close and in better lighting to see it. To be fair he had barely touched any food or water all day and that could've been part of it - but. These were symptoms of plenty unsavory things Ryan didn't really even want to consider. He may as well listen before jumping to assumptions.

anytime soon || b&r

Ryan was still paying for his misguided judgment, thinking he could even try to use their connection as a vantage point in the argument, and in trying not to obviously overreact his mind drifted to those dumb safety pamphlets you'd find in the pocket of the seat in front of you on an airplane. He read them every time even though they always said the same thing, and the little comics had these utterly calm people in the most extreme of situations. Some orange cartoon-skinned yellow haired woman with wide eyes but an otherwise blank face climbing out of an airplane that had dropped into the ocean minutes ago; a businesswoman depicted somehow being able to remember to take her heels off before going down the slide that takes her away from a slowly sinking aircraft. In the face of the terror that was Brendon being hurt by him, Ryan tried desperately to emulate those people in similarly harrowing situations: he kept his features flat, eyes narrowed to avoid giving away his own distant sense of hopelessness.

He was able to keep from immediately jumping to apologies, holding some sort of high ground even though he was kind of over their 'fight' and more interested in moving past it, compromising. Instead he was acting a little callously, and he recognised in Brendon's face alone that his unresponsiveness was worse than his instinct to make up for everything and beg for forgiveness. Ryan shifted his attention to the wall, feigning deep interest in the eggshell paint shade just to avoid watching as Brendon lost more and more respect for him. Just, okay? That’s where you’re meant to apologise. How fucking dare you- When he broke off momentarily Ryan finally looked back, animated for a frame of a second when he considered responding. Not the best choice. You don’t actually think I don’t love you, right? Because it’s not fucking funny. "I know," he murmured immediately, out of the energy to finish saying exactly what he knew, but anyway he meant that he knew exactly how Brendon felt. And he knew it wasn't funny. But his natural reflex to respond to that, however out of the blue, was kind of amusing, so Ryan's lips quirked slightly up on one side when he said, even quieter, "I love you, you know." It was stupid timing. He hadn't even meant to - his own eyes turned to the ceiling quickly and he killed the small self-loathing smile that had formed in the past half minute.

It wasn't funny for long, though, and in fact disappeared from his mind moments later when he uncomfortably shifted the topic back to Brendon's words. Brendon, however, didn't seem to want to confront the fact that he'd mentioned missing the 'old days.' Ryan got that, he did, but he also couldn't just leave it alone. None of this was under his jurisdiction, probably. He hadn't even been there. Brendon suffered through it, mostly, while he had yet to move east, but he had still seen the disease take a hold on someone else, so maybe he did sort of have an understanding of how it worked. He doubted his father was having any of he 'fun' Brendon was alluding to. Then again, even Brendon may be misinterpreting or misconstruing what exactly had happened. The mind played tricks on people sometimes; it made us believe the good times were better than they were, that the hard times were more bearable than they had been in the moment. Made us believe that being able to die from an addiction was fun when there existed facilities to cater to said addiction. Ryan tried to squash the image that sprung to life in his head of Brendon in a bar, looking like any normal drinker, but really it was his sixth visit that month, that week, that day.

It really isn’t that big a deal. You never write anything anymore, so there’s nothing for me to reject. That wasn't what Ryan was talking about. He didn't come down on Brendon for dodging confrontation yet, though, and just continued, effectively ignoring what he'd said (although it was very true; Ryan had hit a sort of slump, not interested in writing especially when the rest of his collaborators were moving towards a genre that he himself had no fancy or inspiration for). When a silence followed his words he thought maybe addressing it all was too much for the time being, and maybe they should just cool off for a bit, so he started to bail. Having stood still as a statue for several moments Ryan shook himself slightly, then let his uncertainty translate into his features before starting to speak. "I-it's okay, we..."

I miss it. Ah. Not what he'd expected. Brendon clearly knew that, because judging by his expression he wasn't done but he knew Ryan needed to get that through his head. Ryan didn't, really, but he stared on as if he was accepting of the fact that Brendon could admit his attachment to the past. That’s what people don’t understand. Sure, what came with it was awful, but the drinking? The actual- parties? Nights out, whatever? It was fucking fun, okay? Ryan set his jaw and sort of dropped down beside Brendon, finally sitting again and letting his shoulders go slack. He didn't stay level with him, though, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, scrubbing over his admittedly slightly worried face to avoid showing too much concern when it wasn't wanted. What I can remember, was- crazy. And I do miss it. I struggle with that shit every day, so I write about it because it’s what most of my life has been dominated by.

"And you can't talk about it, 'cause." Ryan was nodding, but cynically, suddenly hating himself more than before. It wasn't that he was saying Brendon couldn't talk about it as in he wasn't allowed to - he must not have felt like he could. And, what Ryan didn't say out loud but was pretty obvious, because Ryan had never been entirely receptive to anything Brendon had to say about drinking. Unless it was about recovery, he tended to accidentally sound like a huge fucking asshole. Ryan knew it, too, but only retroactively. He let his face rest in his hands for a few absent moments, not speaking but considering, until finally he did lean back, facing Brendon fully this time. "I'm sorry, baby. I get it - just." He restarted, eyebrows knotting together. "Touring is fine. Being on the tour ensemble is fine, I mean, you're right, it's basically all I'm doing now, so. It's just that... you writing that stuff by yourself... I don't want you to feel like you have to be alone, you know?" It all seemed so. Irrelevant. Ryan shook his head again, wishing he had any sort of clarity, and tried again to make Brendon understand that he wasn't trying to sound so unreasonable. "I know it's not your main reason to want to make the music yourself. I - I hope you know that you don't have to push people away from the personal stuff, is all. I'm always here for you."