jakob

mildly inspiring end | b&r

As annoying as Ryan was finding Brendon to be - which was probably just a result of him being smug about their switched roles - it was at least better than what face Ryan must usually show him when he was the same way. He'd not witnessed it firsthand, of course, but Ryan knew retrospectively how he acted whenever he was upset with or disappointed in Brendon; hell, he acted the same whenever anything vaguely negative happened to him. He put on a blank face, mounted some walls of invulnerability, and showed the rest of the world a quiet tension that he didn't care enough to even try to relax. Needless to say, that was probably rather unsettling to whoever was the cause of his mood or anyone who had to watch otherwise, much less his own boyfriend. It wasn't fair - he understood the extent of Brendon's now mostly controlled addiction and always reminded himself to treat it sensitively even when it arose in a relapse. In practice, though, it was harder to react the way he wanted when he was in the midst of it. More often than not he just got caught between two modes of emotion, either a complete flatline or a struggled attempt at sympathy. To be fair, the more he saw it happen, the easier it was to bring out the kinder side of himself.

It made sense that Brendon didn't have to choose between those two extremes, 'cause Ryan was never like this - and, according to his supreme distaste, he would never be like this again. Maybe. If peer pressure didn't get him first. He just vowed never to spend any time unattended with Gabe or Holden. For now, though, he wanted to be totally alone, and he demanded this of Brendon as soon as he could. That’s not nice. Take it back. The 'shut up' Ryan meant to say just floated around in his pained head, but he managed to convey it somewhat through a glare that pierced Brendon for a full minute. He continued flouncing around, though, making the environment as unbearable for a hungover newly-21-year-old as he could. This is how I show my undying love. "Go fuck yourself," he mumbled, at this point just throwing out whatever insults or taunts that came to mind first. Most of them, like that one, probably warranted some nasty response from Brendon, and he instantly wanted to take it back when he realised the ease with which Brendon could just annoy him right back; at least he gained momentary satisfaction from being mean.

They didn't always work, though, especially when he got cut off by Brendon climbing on top of him, very unfairly. Emo? Yeah, that explains a lot. "Wow, very original, an emo joke. It's too ear-" Ryan squinted at his phone screen after blindly grabbing it off his nightstand. "Well." Ryan succumbed to Brendon's halfhearted display of affection, his disbelief over it not being, like, seven in the morning suspended for the time being. Not only was he awake after Brendon, it was also after eleven in the morning. Fuck. Maybe it was his frustration with himself that made him hurl another snide insult Brendon's way, just short of childish namecalling. Says the person who drank no water and ate nothing at all last night. Drink responsibly. Trust me, I’m an expert. "Suck my dick. You've never had a responsible drink in your life, Blake." He'd probably regret that in, like, five hours. Not just his opting for 'suck my dick' over all other possible comebacks, but also him making fun of what was probably a topic his jokes weren't welcome on. Then again, Brendon kinda started it, and his mean streak was already a mile long anyway.

You’re welcome, baby. Catching sight of Brendon's smartly raised eyebrow, Ryan contained his irritation by setting his jaw tightly, bones stark with definition over his otherwise gentle features for half a second. This is reminiscent of other activities. Ryan groaned again just as he got the last word out, almost in time to cut him off as he'd intended to but not quite. "Yeah, which you won't be participating in, like, ever again. Fucker." Brendon clearly didn't seem to care - nor did he about Ryan's totally serious suffering, either. And whose fault is that, Ryan? Ryan batted at his hand cattily when he prodded him again, overly sensitive. "Gabriel Carrasco's." Pulling a name from a hat, really. They were the most prominent party figure that came to mind, but realistically Gabe wasn't even close to the forefront when the first glass of whiskey landed in his hand. We have aspirin, yeah. You know where it is. Clearly annoyed at what was a lure to get Ryan up and out of his sort-of-comfortable sanctuary of covers, Ryan chucked a slice of Brendon's stupid toast at him, retaliatory. "You get it, asswipe. I'm dying." He finally half understood Brendon's hangover struggle, at least. Although it was more likely that he just wasn't used to the feeling of a very normal, probably less-than-standard hangover.

Dickhead! Despite having been whining at Brendon and berating him ever since he first woke up, Ryan was affronted by this, and he lifted himself up a little, propped up by his elbows folded beneath him. I have to sleep on this side! Motherfucker. Guess I’m on the couch tonight. "You're goddamn right you are! Payback for not caring for your ailing boyfriend. Look at me. I'm close to death, Bren." Ryan collapsed back again, mock-pouting, apparently taking himself less seriously for once. He kept the act up for maybe thirty seconds before finally sitting up all the way, which took a criminally long time to accomplish. Ryan studied the blotch left behind by the toast landing on the sheets, wearing remorse clear on his face. "...my bad. I'll trade my side of the bed for a glass of water." He grinned at Brendon hopefully, faking some cheer for the possibility that Brendon might yield to his act.

mildly inspiring end | b&r

Aside from no one else expecting it, Ryan himself never, ever planned on drinking, even casually. It was an overdone topic, really, one that he always told himself to get over when it popped into mind, but his childhood mixed in with Brendon's personal traumas all made him stray from the substance altogether. Drugs or cigarettes, sure, he'd comfortably dabbled, funnily enough. Alcohol, however, was off-limits. Sometimes he let his guard down just to avoid either pitying looks or otherwise judgmental ones - those who knew him better would always feel sorry for him when they saw him sipping at anything, as if he couldn't see or something, and then those who didn't know him at all thought he was the wet blanket asshole drinking, like, Gatorade at a party. It was hard to not come outright with 'I'm not pretentious, it's just that my dad has cirrhosis,' or something to that tune. Generally, though, Ryan strayed away from explaining himself. At this point the only person who knew his situation to a T was Brendon, and Brendon never criticized.

In fact, Brendon was shockingly supportive of any and all decisions he ever made, for someone who'd had his own struggles. When Ryan eventually did start warming up to social drinking, Brendon remained a comfortable bystander, not even giving in to what was probably a trigger (and thusly very inconsiderate of Ryan, but he was also sick of acting like any little thing would set Brendon off; he had way more faith in him, really). Then, when his 21st rolled around, Brendon made no mention of what turning that age entailed outside of passing jokes or hints at what his party might include. If he was concerned about Ryan's well-being, he kept it to himself thankfully, 'cause God knows Ryan would just take it as being patronizing; if he was upset about not being able to come on account of both his age and his record, he didn't pass it on to Ryan, and as such didn't shame Ryan into staying home. Really, Ryan was really goddamn lucky to have Brendon, and it became even more apparent around this birthday in particular.

Anyway. It was a little weird. Ryan wasn't used to liquor, although he'd managed beer and wine before. Ironically he'd settled for his dad's favorite, and that, too, he expected might upset him - but oddly enough, it didn't. Sometimes his thoughts strayed to what his dad might be going through that very moment in Vegas, or to the one percent chance that Brendon might be set back a few years by Ryan welcoming irresponsibility in a whole other state... for the former it was such an old, done-to-death topic that he quickly brushed it aside, and for the latter, well. Ryan wasn't stupid. He knew Brendon was fine, had been when he left Seattle and apparently still was, if the content of his texts meant anything. All of that aside, Ryan was coming to his own unbiased conclusions about alcohol, which were mainly that it tasted like shit and he didn't like not being able to stand straight. Shocker that the control-freak was opposed to those side effects.

Despite this, when he flew back Ryan stocked up even more on the flight, going from tipsy to flat-out drunk thousands of feet in the air, and ended up somewhere inbetween those two states of being whilst on the comedown to his house. So he arrived at home semi-drunk. He was, unfortunately, probably not going to fully remember Brendon being his keeper, sort of laughing at how ridiculous he was while setting him away to bed (though not after they showered one another with welcome-home type kisses and compliments). He was also probably not going to remember instantly falling asleep once Brendon actually did coax him into bed, but that's exacty what happened. Instantly. Evidently, Ryan was the sort of drinker to just get a little goofier and much sleepier. Luckily it seemed like he didn't subject any of their other friends to that behavior for very long... although they'd probably have words for him once they collectively found out the birthday boy had gone missing.

Ryan didn't wake up at eleven when Brendon did, nor did he wake up when Brendon went through a typical morning routine. At some point he heard the door to the bedroom reopen, though, and shifted a little, conscious of something happening but fully feeling the payback from last night. If he'd just had water, none of the protests his body was making would be happening, but as it were he was dehydrated as hell and his head was pure pressure. Ryan felt the mattress dip beside him just before something pressed into his blanket coccoon. Sleeping beauty? Ryan made the most low-effort 'hm' sound he could in response. Is someone hungover? "Go away," Ryan mumbled, muffled against the fabric surrounding him, and hugged it all closer while Brendon tried to dismantle his fortress. Somehow he wasn't warm enough but still burning hot - so, decidedly, blankets were still necessary.

Damn, rough night? Since some light had reached him and he could make out some of Brendon, Ryan glared at him for a second before squeezing his eyes shut again, desperate to sleep even though he wasn't tired at all. Overtired, as a matter of fact, as if he'd slept too long. He successfully ignored Brendon's annoying prodding but couldn't escape Brendon straight-up climbing over him to get to the window, nor could he avoid the assault of sunlight that immediately followed. Ryan groaned, rolling onto his back. "I thought you loved me," he said sorrowfully, pulling a sheet away from his mouth and squinting at the ceiling. His eyes gradually adjusted, and he started to slowly wriggle, just loosening himself from the mummification of the covers.

This feels like an emotional episode of, like, an alcoholic recovery show, osomething. "Shut up. Your mom's an emo-" Ryan started to fight against Brendon when he returned, climbing onto him again. He pressed a hand to his chest and pushed, only admitting defeat when it appeared that Brendon was only giving him a kiss. Ryan relaxed somewhat, stilling beneath him and letting his eyes slip shut as Brendon planted a kiss to his cheekbone. Though he seems to be trapped in both bed and denial, Ryan’s eventually going to have to face facts... He’s relapsed, and his boyfriend won’t be happy. Ryan waved an arm in an effort to hit him, missing by at least a mile. "Idiot." If he had the nerve he'd probably throw Brendon's words right back at him, but he very much did not. Wake up, asshole. "I'm awake, thanks to you. My head fucking kills. Do we have aspirin? Or running water?" He glanced to his side, catching a piece of Brendon's toast and holding it above his face, considering it. Nope. Definitely not hungry. He chucked it at Brendon instead.

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

So Holden was discovering that he was very easily won over, and just the way Mitch regarded him was flattering. Usually people either had a problem with the 'alternative' look he'd settled on (if he landed in the wrong crowd somehow), or with his band's screaming approach rather than singing (which he was surprisingly self-conscious about, but then Holden was self-conscious about everything musical), or his height (which was stupid in itself). Anyway. It didn't seem like they were about to poke fun at him or something, and apparently that was the bar to meet. With what little conversation he'd had with them, or secondhand observed them having with someone else, they were just slightly dorky and very charismatic. No one from Pencey had anything bad to say about them or the rest of their group, for that matter... which was doing no good for Holden's recently swaying band loyalty.

So’s yours. Again. Low standards. Holden kind of melted at what was barely even a compliment. Not a lot of people easily admitted to liking the sound of him whine-screaming into a mic and occasionally assisting his guitarist with his own thrashing of a guitar. Oh, really? Lying is a bad habit, sugar, nobody actually buys records now. A rush of air escaped Holden's lips that sort of resembled a laugh, but sounded mostly awed out, and his expression matched. 'Sugar'? Jesus. He tried to get the hearts out of his eyes before speaking again. "I do, when they're worth it," he said, slightly quieter, forgetting the need to speak confidently over the sound of the rest of the bar. He nearly tried to come up with a nickname himself, something clever to reciprocate Mitch's boldness, but. Holden was kinda dumb usually; it was exponentially worse now. In fact he had to force himself not to reach out and help when they pushed hair from their eyes, settling on watching with a stupid look on his face.

As he hadn't thought it through, Holden realised belatedly that calling Mitch hot to their face was maybe not a good idea - especially when their response wasn't immediate. After the brief pause, though, it seemed like they weren't bothered at all, so he relaxed, glad that he'd evidently caught their full attention. Beer’s fine. Another test, passed. Accepting beer was definitely another winning quality. Mostly just 'cause Holden was cheap as hell. Not broke enough to ignore the opportunity to score a great record, though, which he was quick to inquire about. Right now, specially for you. Especially for him! Holden was dangerously close to spilling his drink on himself when he brought it away from his mouth, way too focused on Mitch's words. "Sweet. I'll get you a signed 'Heartbreak in Stereo.'" A weak joke - and at his own expense, no less - but Holden was only charming to an extent.

Hey, that’s cool. Holden turned his head a little to bare the ink, smiling sheepishly. "Thanks, it's a long story." He laughed a little, flippant, and tried to forget the dumb ass decision to never get a real job again. Maybe as a scarf model. I love tats as a concept, but I’m fucking terrified of needles. Which is dumb as fuck, coming from me. Holden was on the verge of his usual tangent where, whenever someone said something about the pain or the needles, he'd reassure them that it's totally not that bad, but then 'coming from me' caught him off guard. What was so special about... oh. Holden wasn't sure if them exposing all the beauty of their sharp canines was on purpose or still none of his business, but he stared anyway, looking a little startled back up to meet their gaze after a moment. So he was admittedly a bit frightened, confused, whatever, but also that was so goddamn sexy. Holden found a barstool and promptly took his seat to give off at least the impression of composure.

While Holden was debating whether or not to outright ask about it, Mitch continued, their gaze moving downward again to his sleeves. So, do they cover, like, everywhere..? About a dozen not-so-innocuous offers passed through his head, 'cause of course he really wanted them to know every single piece permanently on him, but this was like. Their first full conversation. Maybe not appropriate, right now. Regardless, Holden still ended up pushing his shirt up to his sternum, straightening up and hanging off the very edge of his seat to show the sparrows and text circling his hips. "Yeah, check it out! I'm basically running out of space, but I figure I'll just do cover-ups 'til I die. Like, if you couldn't afford a new sketchbook so you just start drawing all over your other pieces..." He realised it was probably weird to be baring 70% of his abdomen in such a public space and dropped his shirt again, slouching to normal. "Sometimes I design 'em myself. I'm not much of an artist, though."

when you were east || b&r

In this state, Ryan felt like a deployed soldier coming back home, or something, 'cause he was really that dramatic and Brendon's smile was just that showstopping especially after not having seen it in person for a couple of days. It dawned on him only after he'd successfully turned Brendon towards him that maybe he shouldn't have crept up on him like that, but luckily all he was greeted by was pure affection, like Ryan couldn't shock him if he tried. Probably true, considering how predictable they'd become to one another. Still- Ryan wouldn't have guessed that Brendon might actually prepare for his return home, and he had to laugh a little at the sight of Brendon primping like he was about to go on his first date.

Yeah, baby, I wanted to look pretty. This was beyond amusing to Ryan, who, despite an hour or so having passed since his last shot, broke out into a mixture of soft laughter and a lopsided grin before he was kissing Brendon again. "Mission accomplished, then." Ryan leaned into him, fully not taking into account their size difference while he gradually became more dependent on Brendon for balance (though to be fair if he was stood on his own he'd probably just be at a slant, Pisa-style). You kidding? You can buy me alcohol now. Ryan did not have the sense of humor about grim experiences that Brendon's 'father' and said father's boyfriend had, so if he was sober he'd definitely be pouting like a kicked puppy, but fortunately now all he could do was laugh gently again, rolling his eyes exasperatedly.

When Brendon's arms were wrapped over his shoulders he distantly began to worry about how capable they were of staying upright, so, very responsibly, Ryan turned them a little once more until Brendon was back against the counter, securing his own arms around his waist. I forgot how tall you are now. "Two days," Ryan reminded him, lifting Brendon slightly and pushing forward until he had him sitting on the counter. Evidently, his tipsy mind thought this was the peak of romance. "Imagine if I left for a week! You'd forget what I look like." Kidding, of course, 'cause when he caught sight of Brendon biting his lip like that he was fairly certain it'd be burned in his memory forever, and Brendon was about equally obsessed as he was. Maybe. They had an (unspoken, but very real) ongoing competition for who was worst about it.

Ryan stopped to study him for a second, resisting the natural urge to just kiss Brendon 'til he couldn't anymore, and everything else slowed down in tune. He could finally register the lingering alcohol on him, and all the other typical club flavors - smoke from various sources, sweat, someone's overdone cologne. Not very strong, at least, but still. He decided he didn't love it so much, but then he wasn't surprised; he'd always guessed people were over-hyping being twenty-one anyway. "I should've stayed home," he reflected, more fond than it was a sad statement. "No offense to everyone else's plans, but. I much prefer you." Ryan cracked up a little, pulling Brendon to him by the fabric of his sweater and kissing him again, finally giving in to temptation. In the back of his mind he worried a little that maybe being like he was wasn't good for Brendon - not that he really underestimated him these days, but Ryan figured if the tables were turned he'd be somewhat bothered himself.

After a pause he finally registered more than just Brendon's face, captured by his smile thus far. More than that, he had on this cropped sweater that really made it seem like Brendon had some sort of bounty on Ryan's head. He fiddled with the hem a little, pinching the threads between his fingers and brushing his knuckles against Brendon's skin absently. "Um," he said, very intelligently. "So, you can't wear this if I ever have to, like, focus on something. Just letting you know in advance." Ryan grinned, hearing his own speech just barely blur together, not caring enough to correct it. "'Wanted to look pretty' my ass. You're gorgeous."

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

Since he'd only ever lived in one place, and his family was already deeply entrenched in the scene, Holden was pretty familiar with every single band in his town (and any towns within a radius of, like, 75 miles). Even if they didn't play at the bars he frequented or scheduled shows in basements, he could usually get his hands on a VHS, and about half the time he did his best to show his support. When he wasn't a personal fan he could pick out what was a good band and what wasn't nonetheless. Get raised by musicians and that became a force of habit - he knew the lifestyle, knew how hard it was to make a living from what you loved (and consequently how easy it was to give it all up just to keep a roof over your head), so of course he kept up with anyone trying to 'make it,' and, with his own moderate success locally, reached out to extend a helping hand any time possible.

Sometimes, though, they didn't even need his help. His drummer passed him a demo one night, told him his buddy lent some guys his studio who killed it for such a new band. The tape just said 'BULLETS' in scrawled sharpie across the top, which was intriguing enough, but when Holden actually played it he fell in love pretty much instantly. It was rare to hear such vocal power, especially juxtaposed with the coordination between the singer and their instrumental, and Holden - ever the guitar nerd - had to replay over and over again to truly appreciate the tabwork in the background. He was almost grieving over the fact that there were only two songs. Anyway, that was what motivated him into actually finding them, and soon his whole band-turned-fanatics had coerced the younger group into performing a show. Part of Holden sort of wanted to be in the show he already imagined in his head rather than in the audience, but... he already had the one occupation. Unfortunate. Didn't feel like much of a setback, though. Holden tried to ignore his impulses.

Pencey's sets all went similarly - fast, loud, and destructive. Holden tended to leave a stage in shambles, and if there was anything breakable, it'd break. Including himself. This time he both kicked a stage light out and dove into a crowd that ripped his hoodie half off him and some hair from his head, so it was a homerun. In any case even the crowd familiar with them showed an untiring enthusiasm, giving Holden high hopes for the band they were now babying to success. When he passed them on their way up the singer said something indistinguishable, partly 'cause it was too loud, and partially because Holden had already established a stupid schoolboy crush on them somehow. Really he was just far too easy. All you had to do was look dead and a little unwashed, bam, he was into you. It was only after they dazzled him with an unusually sharp smile and turned away that he could process the compliment, and Holden promptly had to lean against the wall to concentrate his brainpower on not dumbly confessing his attraction rather than on standing. He's totally crazy fucking good with that guitar. Thanks was his quiet reply, a whole thirty seconds after they were already out of earshot.

He recovered quickly if only to be first infront of the stage and stared up like a kid seeing their idol for the first time. Honestly, he didn't even know them that well. If the bands had formally met, well, he was definitely stoned at the time. Now, though, sober and desperate to put a name to the face, Holden studied the frontman who looked like they'd already performed in the few moments the band got to put themselves together before playing. They even smoked his brand. Hell. Holden was just about leaning against the stage by the time they started, narrowly avoiding the pit starting behind him but still shouting out what lyrics he could make out when he originally listened to their demo. His energy seemed to pass on to the crowdmembers around him who would otherwise have been deterred by an unfamiliar group, 'cause soon he was surrounded by people throwing their arms out like him, urging on the mysteriously charismatic lead without knowing anything about them. Yeah, Pencey had definitely chosen the right pet project.

Holden rushed back to meet them as soon as they came off again, ready to rave about how well they did but too nervous to talk over his other band members. He wasn't a nervous person, generally, but this was definitely new to him, to be so taken aback by a group and specifically one member. He didn't really trust his mouth not to betray his bias, mostly. To compromise he let the others talk amongst themselves excitedly, looking as discreetly as he could at the oddly pale and less-oddly disheveled lead, hearing bits and pieces of conversation that would reveal them to be 'Mitch.' Sounded about right - so he definitely knew that information at least subconsciously. Rather than carrying a cohesive look, Mitch sort of stood out from the rest of their band in that they looked like the band had just dug them up from a grave, so maybe he could blame his intrigue on that. But then that totally implicated him into some weird sexual interests, so no. Holden cut his losses and decided he'd just have to go along with his strangely powerful crush.

They caught his eye while he was very blatantly staring, though, and he felt nothing less than supreme embarrassment, quickly looking away simultaneously. They disappeared just as swiftly and Holden naturally followed, his feet more confident than his mind, but it at least brought him somewhat back to normal. Probably not for the best. 'Normal' for Holden was being forgetful of boundaries, so self-assured that it hurt. So he was close to that state again when he landed directly beside Mitch, trying at a small smile when they turned to him and managing it. Thank god- he was kind of getting over his awkwardness, then. Up this close he could see the red around their eyes, the thick hair that clung together from either grease or stage sweat or maybe both, truly androgynous features. He honestly meant to say hi first, but their unique appearance was proving to be entirely too distracting.

Holden had a second to feel self conscious about the fact that they had to look slightly down to see him, but then their eyes were exploring his collection of body mods. That Holden was not ashamed of. Hey. Holden, right? Nice lip ring. For one thing, Holden was dangerously close to inviting them to bite it the way everyone romanticized lip rings, and for another, with his close inspection, any 'biting' suggestion appeared deadly. He was distracted from making an ass of himself by having to hide his curiosity about the stark canines that occasionally gleamed as Mitch spoke. Maybe asking was a little rude, or a weird thing to notice, he didn't know. "Thanks!" he said easily, pairing the oblique silver shine with a quick flash of his teeth in a grin. "I just wanted to say, uh- your band is fucking awesome. Like, 'I'd buy every record and not pirate it' awesome. You guys killed it." Holden paused, thinking about their stage acting again and sort of phasing out, before correcting himself. "Oh, and I think you're really hot, so can I buy you a drink? Is beer cool?" He barely waited for an answer before reaching over the counter himself and taking two cans of Pabst from ice, putting a bill on the wood in return. Perks of being a regular, apparently. "Speaking of record. When do I get one?"

when you were east || b&r

Ryan was not one for surprise parties or surprises at all, and everyone - everyone, he made sure of it - knew that. Especially when it came time around his birthday or even anniversaries, in which case he'd tiptoe around Brendon just in case. Anyway, this was why rather than sneaking him out somewhere, all of Ryan's twenty-one-plus friends notified him a week in advance that they were a. definitely going to celebrate and b. he had no choice in whether he was going or not. The 'b' point was questionable, because Ryan was so fussy that he always had a choice in everything, but this was one of those occasions where he really didn't want to look like a jerk about it. After all, everyone was being incredibly kind about the matter, and he knew what the 21 years landmark was. He didn't need the pity that might have accompanied him turning down the invite and looking like he was avoiding something.

He'd realised some time after the fact that Brendon couldn't feasibly go, unless he was cool with hanging around outside waiting for everyone else. He would most likely be refused entrance anywhere that their circle of friends planned on taking a newly 21 year old. Apparently, though, Brendon had no idea or was acting like he could get past that obstacle, because when he alluded to his coming along, Ryan had to very carefully bring him up to speed. It's not like they couldn't have gotten him a fake ID, or maybe just found somewhere that the bar served soft drinks for people in that awkward middle stage between 18 and 21. Ryan was just a little scared that maybe he'd be tempted to fall back into old habits. Even if he wasn't prone to temptation it would certainly be an uncomfortable environment- people joyfully participating in something that messed him up permanently, for one thing, and the reminder of the kinds of places he spent the worst year of his life in. Yeah, definitely not something he wanted to make Brendon participate in.

Anyway, Ryan knew that he could easily compromise with two separate parties anyway. One for his friends that needed that club scene element, another probably more intimate one to spend with Brendon and the people who they were closest to. He wasn't a lover of social events in general but they were always enjoyable if his boyfriend was there, and he knew how much Brendon genuinely liked them, so. A second party was worth it. Not that he shared his plans for that with him, 'cause although Ryan didn't like surprises for himself he loved springing them on a poor unwitting Brendon. For the time being, though, he had to get to New York for this ridiculously overhyped birthday party, so Ryan dealt with the tiny heartache that was saying goodbye to Brendon at the door. It was two days, three days gone at most, but they were a little attached at the hip.

It was like he hadn't even left with how much they texted each other or otherwise communicated among various platforms, but still it felt weird to be this far out by himself. When Ryan landed he was greeted by a group of more childhood friends - Z, Spencer, Dallon, beyond - and still there was that bare spot where Brendon should've been. He realised he was only half-looking forward to the party about an hour after getting off the plane. Ryan spent some time contentedly around the others, walking through NYC and cringing at the prices and shivering in the wake of autumn, but he had to retire early so he could actually give Brendon his full attention (as opposed to checking his phone every three minutes for a new notification). His hotel room, compared to his friends, offered no judgment for his weird attachment issues.

For the party itself he dressed basically how he would for a show, unsure whether a new year meant he should be changing his style or what. He didn't even feel older. Hell, Ryan looked in the mirror and still thought he looked sixteen - he was actually going to bring his passport to the party in addition to his license just in case security doubted him - but maybe it was all 'cause he still needed to participate in the dumb drinking milestone. His previous 'not a sip of alcohol' rule had been broken already, shortly after he'd arrived in Scotland years ago, but only just. Ryan still had a practically clean record. As it turned out, people liked to capture him breaking that clean streak, evidenced in the multitude of phone cameras crowding in front of him once he'd been gifted his first glass of straight Jim Beam. He wasn't sure exactly why - Spencer was the gifter, and apparently whiskey was the only proper 'first drink' that came to mind - but hey. He ended up having two more and sampling other people's various cocktails, so it must not've been a bad start.

Dallon informed him that Brendon was checking in and Ryan ensured that apart from sending his own meager message over that other people kept him updated on what was happening, too. Ryan wasn't totally sure that him seeing a play-by-play would make him feel better or just left out, but. Either way, he missed the hell out of him. Ryan had started off semi-reluctantly, and it only got worse as the night proceeded, so when he really did feel himself getting bored and sort of sad about who wasn't there, he went straight to Expedia and saw the soonest ticket out - boarding in a little over an hour. No problem. He told Brendon his plans while he was actively leaving the building without informing anyone, then sped back to the hotel to retrieve his belongings and straight to LaGuardia. Brendon seemed a little taken aback. In response, Ryan resisted informing him that he'd do pretty much anything for him, the temptation to send a 'drunk' text overwhelming.

Airplone mode thankfully guaranteed that he did no such thing, and Ryan flew across the goddamn country first falling asleep, waking up not totally sober, then supporting his state of mind by ordering tiny little liquor bottles from the attendants. Even if it wasn't still technically August 30th he counted himself as celebrating his birthday continuously, so, they all counted as miniature gifts to himself. The time passed way too slowly while he was sitting through it, but when the flight landed it was like it'd all gone too fast and he totally hadn't planned how he was going to get home so early in the morning when taxis were hard to come by; thankfully there was a line of them waiting outside the airport. In the nearly-an-hour commute he dizzily fixed his hair in the sunshade mirror, receiving odd looks from the driver who clearly caught on to his lack of coordination and lingering club smell, managing to look slightly in array by the time he was outside his own front door.

Upon stepping in Ryan could already hear Brendon moving about doing god knows what, and he made his way over as quietly as he could when each step was a struggle, finding him in the bathroom stood before the mirror. Ryan let his bag stand by itself and moved to him, sneaking up to his side where the reflection couldn't catch him and gently wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist. Chest pressed to his shoulder, Ryan planted a kiss on his cheek, grinning as if they hadn't seen each other in forever. "Hey," he said, slightly singsong, and glanced at them in the mirror before turning Brendon to him, pulling them closer. "Were you getting ready for me? That's so fucking cute." His sensitivity to his first few drinks was clearly still on him, 'cause that didn't sound exactly right in his own voice, but Ryan didn't seem to notice. Instead he tried to catch Brendon in a kiss, uninhibited - only to pull back seconds in to tell him everything he thought was crucial information for the moment. "I missed you so much, New York sucks, and. Twenty-one isn't as cool as people make it seem."

archetype of television || b&r

Ryan expected to feel like a parent coming home from a business trip to find their teenaged kid, but not to this extent. The house basically looked like the equivalent of said teenaged kid's wreckage post-party, red Solo cups strewn about and broken decor, except the red Solo cups were actually Pabst Blue Ribbon cans and the broken decor was broken guitar strings. Ryan would be panicking if he didn't know for certain that that was Holden's beer of choice, and also Holden typically never brought his own shit to break, so it always ended up being any of Ryan's instruments. It was fine; he usually just hunted down Holden later on and forced him to restring every guitar, not just the broken one. So, walking through the house again and finding it somewhat in ruins after only three days spent away, he couldn't bring himself to get angry - he wasn't the one who was responsible for fixing it.

He'd also be pissed that Holden the human tornado had even come round if that didn't mean that at least someone had stopped by and ensured that Brendon was alive. He could easily have faceplanted during a backflip, or something, maybe forgotten to eat while playing games the entire time. At least with the human tornado in question over, Brendon would be stocked up with pizza boxes (which was much more easily accessible than the tons of healthy to semi-healthy foods Ryan had stocked up on in preparation for his absence; in retrospect, a shortsighted choice, in that he knew Brendon wouldn't touch anything not directly in front of him). It wasn't that Brendon was irresponsible or that immature, per se. He just didn't really give a fuck about self-care until he was, like, on the brink of death.

All that said, Ryan wasn't really surprised to find him on the couch damn near naked with a controller in hand and - thank god - a pizza at his side. He wasn't sure if the disheveled hair he usually took such ridiculous measures to keep in line was a result of not sleeping or oversleeping, but it was hard to focus on that when he looked stupidly cute despite three days of living like an isolated high schooler. Ryan was in the room just in time to hear him scold Bogart and sort of laughed at his obliviousness (although worrying; what if it wasn't Ryan, god) before addressing him, finally. Freak? Thanks, babe. What a reaction. Ryan was almost offended. Then again, staring at a screen for 72 hours straight had likely numbed his reflexes.

He watched, entertained, as Brendon just as calmly moved Bogart off, then appeared to register fully for the first time that Ryan was actually back. Ryan beamed at him as he turned, suddenly animated. Fuck off, yours can’t even- He cracked up when Brendon quit his point mid-sentence, catching him as he came over the back of the couch and helping to keep him balanced after such quick movements. He curled his hand protectively round the back of his head when it was tucked against his shoulder, the other barred around his waist to keep him close, until Brendon was pressing a kiss to his cheek and he couldn't do much other than laugh softly, contentedly. He tried to stem it by the time Brendon was framing his face so carefully, to no avail; it just died down somewhat into a fond smile. "Can't what? This is an anti-'Dottie slander' household."

Clearly not minding very much, though, Ryan dragged the hand curled round the back of Brendon's head to between his shoulderblades, pressing little circles with his fingertips like a lazy massage. Hey. I’ve missed you so much. Ryan couldn't help the gentle laughter that bubbled at that again, nearly returning the sentiment before he was interrupted with a kiss that was pretty characteristically Brendon. Desperately trying to stop gleefully laughing or smiling in order to reciprocate in full, Ryan was able to properly kiss back about 25% of the time - and was almost self-conscious about it until he realised Brendon was kind of in the same situation. When they pulled apart they were identical, laughing breathlessly, Ryan feeling like he could lose his balance in a second.

Fuck, why didn’t you tell me you were on your way back? I would have- put some clothes on. Ryan looked at him curiously, half-happy half-confused, before he came to the conclusion that Brendon somehow didn't get his texts. He looked around for a moment before leaning away, sort of taking Brendon with him while he retrieved Brendon's overturned phone and came back to their original spot. He pressed the home button, revealing tons of new notifications flooding the screen. "Babe, Do Not Disturb mode has never been your friend." He peeled away one of Brendon's hands just to give his cell back, let him look through it all, probably 75% Holden trying to earn another night at PBR heaven. "Also, I don't think you would have put clothes on, but the sentiment means a lot. Besides- I don't mind. Kinda the opposite." He smoothed a hand over Brendon's chest, grinning widely again, and kissed him for another long moment, evidently still recovering from their brief time apart.

When he pulled away to breathe Ryan was reminded of the state of the house, glancing past Brendon's shoulder to see a fraction of the mess. "How did it get like this in three days?" he asked with short breath, not annoyed or angry sounding but more fascinated. "And, how are you alive? I count three pizza boxes." Both he and Holden were tiny, probably weighing no more than 130 each and a culminating average of 5'7. It was amazing how much they could shovel in - and how much they could drink without bursting, whether it be cherry Cola or a lager.

carved on a tree || wade & joey

You guess? Joey outright frowned at him when his attempts to get away were thwarted. He was dating the most antagonistic person on Earth, probably, except Wade could easily say the same for him, if he wanted. Either way Joey still liked him, annoyingly so. I could be a fucking comedian. "Okay, leave me alone," Joey drawled, exasperated, looking one-hundred percent sick of him until they were kissing again. So, very routine. Routine enough, actually, that they missed pretty much half the dates they weren't just very late for; it was almost pitiful. Thus, Joey was in more haste than usual, putting on a frustrated face in the hopes that it'd motivate Wade, but apparently that was an ineffective approach. He was still determined to break their impunctual streak, though, so Joey kept experimenting with ways to finally get them geared up to leave the apartment.

The Italian jokes always oddly backfired on Wade without him knowing. He could fake the language as much as he wanted, but with his actual half-fluency, Joey was able to make fun of Wade to his ignorance. Zitto to you too. Joey grinned, sort of cracking up behind his smile, but really if he humoured Wade's newfound comedian career path then they'd never get out of here - Joey ignored his easy amusement, moving on to the much more boring topic of his sisters. Hardly. I’d say you’re more stuck with me. Joey made a pained face and nodded, deeply in agreement. And, hey, I just wanna say... Joey nearly tugged his hands back from Wade's defiantly but ended up just looking somewhat apprehensively up at his newly serious face, unsure whether he really wanted to hear (presumably) Wade's opinion on poor Isabela.

I'm glad I rejected your sister- Rejected her? Wait. Joey hadn't gotten the full story on that. He opened his mouth to interrogate Wade on whether he'd disrespected his sister or not, but couldn't get a word in edgewise anyway. -that you didn’t contact me in years- "Um," Joey cut in argumentatively, leaning away from Wade somewhat to look at him like he was crazy. That was totally in the past. Not fair. He might be correct in calling out Joey on his ghosting habits, but hey. No relevance, and now this was a courtroom session, apparently. -and then I met you again and made you realise you’re not straight. "First of all, how dare you. Second of all, I'm realising I am straight after all right now. It was nice experimenting, buuut..." Joey sucked his teeth as if to say that's too bad and actually did take his hands back, shrugging remorsefully.

No matter what he said, he couldn't deter Wade from messing with him, though, so Joey had to endure the pure slander of his 'son.' Well. Maybe it wasn't slander if shit wasn't actively being talked, but anything Wade did that potentially could have a negative effect on Brendon magically became that in Joey's mind. He scolded Wade for it only to be received with laughter so extreme that Wade had to sit down. Joey gaped at him, throwing a hand out towards him in disbelief. Your fucking face, oh my god. "Jesus, who raised you? You know how in, like, 2013, everyone said JB was the shame of Canada? That's actually you. Die." He threw a random shirt at Wade, ignoring his surrendering hand. Clearly he wasn't actually bothered anyway, because Joey grinned at him the whole way through, enamoured even when they were both being endlessly annoying.

He was desperate in his efforts to stop the Brendon abuse, though, to no avail. Hey Siri. Send ‘Joey’s bastard son’ a message saying... Joey watched him dissolve into laughter again, dropping his arms at his sides defeatedly. "Is that really his name in your phone? Siri, is that really his name in you? Wow." Deciding he was really losing sight of his initial goal to leave as soon as possible, Joey occupied himself while Wade settled down, turning in to face the wardrobe mirror and readjust his disheveled tie. Only minutes with this man and he already looked like he'd been doing jumping jacks in his suit, everything was so skewed. Honestly. Get your mind out of the gutter. My intentions are completely innocent. Joey eyed Wade from the corner of his vision, muttering a thoughtful and slightly judgmental 'hm' while he pushed his hair back into place. By ‘sleep with you’, I mean have a nice 8 hours, asleep. Obviously. "Hm, okay, well, that's not what I'm referring to. Are we, como se dice, bisecting the triangle? Doing the Devil's dance? Going to the grocery store? Honestly, Wade. I need to prepare." Somehow, he managed to keep a straight face, staring somewhat blankly at his own reflection while he spoke in search of imperfections.

Never a dull day, you know that, babe. Joey looked at him again, finally, bewildered. "What? How often - you know what, that's none of my bus-iness," he sang, clearly exemplifying his need to spend less time with his influential 'son,' and handed over his only 2% serious suggestion. Realizing Wade had taken the hanger with formerly occupied hands he looked down expectantly, raising his eyebrow as Wade's towel successfully remained tucked over his hips. Vogue. He looked up to examine the fit, kind of laughing while he tugged the fabric down, smoothed his hand over it to get rid of imaginary wrinkles. "You know, four inches' difference really becomes extra obvious when you trade clothes. You look like one of those guys in school who has a mysterious growth spurt in a day and suddenly nothing fits anymore." To amuse himself further Joey tried to pull it closed and button it, which worked and therefore wasn't as fun. He sighed sadly, suddenly very weight-conscious. "Well. I support it. You can put your maple syrup jersey under it and be even more high fashion." Joey waved a hand dismissively, faux-apologetic. "Sorry, I meant, uh, the Canadian hockey jersey."

carved on a tree || wade & joey

So Joey was a sucker for tasteless jokes, but Wade started it with the Italian teasing. Which, P.S., was constant, not just for tonight. Joey wondered how he hadn't yet kicked Wade out permanently - though he'd probably just apparate right back. Wow. Joey half-smiled, clearly amused and knowing full well that Wade wasn't actually affected by all of that, so no remorse was owed. Plus, he always tended to come back with something of his own... While you drink that, I can grow a few tumours. Productivity. Joey rolled his eyes, but still sank closer when Wade held him by the sides, a tiny smirk on his face betraying his spiel of annoyance. "You know, collectively, we're kind of awful. Maybe we shouldn't be going out into public." A hint of laughter played on his voice and he tilted his chin up, trying to level with Wade.

I was kidding, Joseph! I thought you liked Italian, anyway? Joey probably wouldn't have forgiven him if a kiss didn't immediately follow that, then another sweetly placed on his cheekbone. Joey pursed his lips briefly, weighing his head to the side consideringly. "All right. You're funny, I guess." He laughed, pressing a chaste kiss against Wade's jawline since it was the most easily accessible, and almost made to escape from his grasp so they could leave already. Kiss me like you miss me, Joey. Joey stopped in his motion, smile dwindling because that was ridiculously charming, and Joey only weakly responded when Wade continued to kiss him. At first, anyway. He remembered the meaning behind Wade's words instead of just how winsome they sounded and tentatively curled his hand around the back of Wade's neck, trying to pull him down somewhat to deepen the kiss.

When they finally separated, Joey had apparently regained the energy to play along to all of Wade's dumb jokes like he usually did. Damn, why wasn’t I there? Was it when you were- Don't. Straight? Joey unceremoniously slapped Wade's air quotes aside while he tried communicating in his made-up Italian, his expression steely. "Zitto," he interrupted fluidly, the quickest 'shut up' he could muster. No but seriously, which sister? I think I met a few in Ilvermorny days. Oh yeah, one of them definitely had a crush on me. "Isabela? Yeah, you missed your chance. She's the one who got married, now you're stuck with me. Sucks to suck, Walcott." He was already turning away whilst speaking, already fully prepared to put together Wade's outfit and maybe sneakily put some of his wardrobe in order while he was at it. Wade wasn't, like, outright messy, but he definitely did not care to keep things from being messy. There was a very indistinct line between those two states of being, though.

You know, maybe I should ask Bren. Joey cracked up, thinking about Wade in leather pants and a leopard print blazer. Wait. Maybe he should call Brendon. Joey looked at him sort of seriously for a second, totally unintentional, then quickly turned as if his mind could be read. Ugh, I’m not sixty. Anyway, yeah, I’m gonna call Brendon, like- ‘What should I wear if I want to sleep with your dad tonight?' "WADE," he said quickly, nearly knocking a coat off its hook in his haste to turn around again. He looked entirely exasperated, but that was pretty typical around here. "Where's your phone? I need to confiscate it. He's traumatized enough without your help." Joey paused, then an eyebrow rose, coming to a belated realization. "You want to sleep with me tonight? Gross. I'm flattered."

Wade looked resigned to his clothing options. I guess it doesn’t really matter, they’ll be coming off anyway. Towel it is. "Ooh, interesting," he humoured him, twisting his voice teasingly. "I can't wait to get kicked out and you're charged for, like, indecent exposure. Hey, how about you wear something of mine? Clearly all you have is..." Joey examined a jersey with just a big red maple leaf logo on it, then sighed long-sufferingly instead of finishing his sentence. Shaking his head, he retrieved another suit of his own, holding it up to Wade and coming to the conclusion that their different heights was maybe something of an obstacle here. "So the sleeves will be a little short. Big deal! It's cute. Hey, wait, see if the jacket looks good with a towel." Because Joey thought he was hilarious, he'd partially given up on the search for something acceptable, handing over the jacket solely to amuse himself with how the ensemble might look.

a therapeutic chain of events || b&r

Ryan had a picture in his head of everything Brendon would be leaving behind, everyone. On just the first week of his stay Ryan had already considered calling Brendon's family and insisting they see him, just because it'd never looked this dire before and maybe they'd have some fucking humanity for once. Pray for him, or whatever, maybe - for a reason other than to change his identity. Now the pressure was on to really do that. They could lose their son, brother, uncle, and not even know it. If or when they did Ryan would inevitably be the messenger, forcing blankness and stoicism onto his face while he told them how Brendon started drinking when he was just a kid in large part because of them, and then how it extended into the rest of his life, and then it killed him. Rather, he killed himself with it. And then they probably wouldn't want anything to do with Ryan still, or ask him questions about who Brendon was, or come to his funeral. Ryan got visibly pissed just thinking about it.

He never mentioned that to Brendon. In fact he never mentioned anything negative to Brendon, as much as he could without making it seem like he was tip-toeing around him or pitying him; when doctors updated him on the severity of the situation he didn't question Brendon about what they said, when the rest of the world was having a crisis he didn't detail it to Brendon, if he himself wasn't feeling well he never relayed that information to Brendon. Anything that could potentially bring Brendon further down was strictly off limits in that hospital room - he even made sure to tell visitors that, because of course there'd be someone dumb enough to come in and make things even bleaker.

Unfortunately Ryan was not mechanical, wasn't a professional at keeping his own emotions in check. Learning that there was potentially a month left... Ryan never, ever cried in front of Brendon if he could help it, even before all this. In fact, he probably hadn't seen it more than five times max in all the years they'd been together. As much as he tried to hide it now, Brendon clearly knew what was going on, avoiding looking directly at him and all. Ryan appreciated the sentiment. We... Ryan let out a more steady breath at the feeling of Brendon's thumb running over his wrist, almost grounding. We never had forever anyway. He was right - but Ryan liked to delude himself. He conveniently forgot about the year where both of them almost died 'forgetting' to care for themselves, he deliberately never thought about how much damage Brendon had done to his body by continuing his habits years later. All he ever let himself think about before was what kind of place they'd retire at, where they'd travel, who they'd eventually be. Now, he felt robbed, a little vengeful for Brendon's sake.

Ryan asked if he was scared and almost instantly regretted it. He'd never been quite so direct before. The contrast between this unfulfilling life, the uneventful and pure-white clean surfaced environment, with what was happening to Brendon and what was going to happen to him- it was monumental. When you looked from the outside he just looked like someone sick, young enough to maybe get better, especially because he was already in care. Anyone close enough to the case knew he was going to go, if not within the month then soon anyhow. It was terrifying. He didn't have to ask. Y- Yeah, I am. Ryan's lips were already pressed to his temple before the words were fully out, his eyes still tightly shut. It was selfish to even really think about what he was feeling, but the total, overwhelming sense of powerlessness was alienating. It felt like he wasn't even here, his presence couldn't realistically be of any help.

But still. He would be here. I know. It’d be you or Joey, and Joey would bring Wade and Wade would complain about hospitals. Ryan smiled against his skin, so glad, so proud he was looking for something to talk about other than the end of the line, beyond impressed by how brave he was being. Odd to say, but he would've never guessed Brendon would be like this if he had to imagine the situation without the knowledge and experience he had now. Not that Brendon didn't normally possess that kind of courage, but. Ryan just would have assumed he faced death with a little less... normalcy. He supposed Brendon had always been aware, vaguely, that he was walking the balance beam of living and not, though. Anyway, he stayed quiet, unable to stop his thoughts to think about anyone else for the time being, though he still registered the almost-wistfulness in Brendon's tone at the mention of their friends.

Still, as per regulation, he had to try to talk about something lighter, and his efforts were returned somewhat darkly. If I start to get annoying just turn everything off. Ryan didn't really appreciate it, just following his gesture silently and feeling his own hands go ice cold in response, but at least he didn't start crying more. Which he felt dangerously close to doing. "Not funny," he mumbled after a pause, unable to conjure any other response. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a long moment again and then turning his head to face the ceiling, resigned. "Brendon, if they're right, I don't know, um." More visuals of train stations, high ledges, orange pill bottles, passed through his head, and he felt stupid, selfish. "I don't know what I'm supposed to... do." He was talking mostly about what to do with himself, but also how the hell was he supposed to arrange a funeral that fully memorialised Brendon, where was he supposed to be buried, what was Ryan supposed to do with everything they had, so on. Every post-death responsibility was a mystery to him suddenly, as if he'd never done it before, but then Brendon was far different and more significant than his first experience.

He paused again, just working on steadying his breathing, trying to stem the flow of silent tears that kept welling up and blurring his vision, erasing the tile detail on the ceiling and making the fluorescents look like visuals from heaven. "I mean, I don't even know what to do when I'm at home now." He was almost sure that if Brendon passed then he might keep making the trip to the hospital room daily, or keep buying his favorite foods from the store and picking up second drinks for him at coffee shops, or keep seeing him in reflections and feeling his shoulder bump his own in subway seats. He'd keep forgetting Brendon was no longer alive, then forgetting to remember. Suddenly Ryan wasn't thinking about the conversational boundaries he'd set for himself, how he vowed to protect Brendon from thinking about anything vaguely hurtful. "Like. What would you do if I- like, after. How would you go on?" Weirdly, it was easier to get the words out when it still felt like he was going to be with Brendon forever, like nothing had changed.