jakob

only for tonight | b&r

Ryan understood aloofness, he'd experienced it firsthand and was desperate to maintain it no matter what. However, the more he came to understand Brendon's dedication to remaining invulnerable and untouchable, the more he realized that they had very different boundaries. Anyone Ryan knew well would tell him he had the worst case of a raised guard, but at this point he could introduce them to Brendon and Brendon would quickly take the trophy from his hands. Ryan was the type to hide his emotions because he thought that might make him easy to read and control or otherwise take advantage of - plus, he'd just grown accustomed to people not really catering to his feelings, as he preferred it that way. Brendon's rationale (or what Ryan assumed it was) was far more complicated, something Ryan couldn't imagine sticking to. Why not want to build a connection beyond sexual? Why was he so opposed to having someone to bond with?

After all, it'd be easy for Brendon. No one had ever outright disliked Brendon for who he was, they just tended to be prejudiced towards his background or his family or his lifestyle. Anyway, that was how Ryan saw things. On the other hand, Ryan couldn't build a permanent connection because he just didn't possess that type of charm. It was fine with him, nothing upsetting at this point; not like he was the type to worry about being single when there was plenty else to think of. In fact his concerns only started around the time he began to realize he may feel something for Brendon that wasn't very appropriate for their professional relationship. If he liked him that much and wasn't in a relationship, then he was in a pretty dangerous position; the only barrier would be the risk of losing his job. Ryan wasn't too ambitious. That wasn't much of a setback, or it wouldn't be if Brendon just continued giving him reasons to like him.

He stood by the belief that maybe this was just a tiny thing that he was blowing out of proportion, though. After all, he did that with a lot of things, including Brendon's mention of the (probable) fact that he had plenty of backup/replacements for Ryan... and just when he was starting to think maybe he held a more unique role in Brendon's life. Whatever - Brendon cleared the air quickly, not mentioning it but socially apt enough to move on in a timely, considerate matter. That’s what you’re fucking surprised about? Not the fact I spent $60,000 on a bottle of water? Ryan shrugged, not even having thought twice about that part. And maybe he cared more about Brendon's limitless talents than he did about his dumb - but sustainable, of course - spending habits. "Well, I've seen you pay more for a bottle of rose water, which I stand by saying is not an actual skin care product. You really can't shock me anymore with your use of money." Although sometimes it was indeed painful to catch him dropping more than, like, $20 on a sandwich. Ryan would inevitably have to come up after him and mumble 'just a small water, thanks,' and that was still $4 at the least. He'd never get used to a well-off life.

Ryan ignored his callous 'poor' jokes (though he did entertain a brief play-by-play in his head of what it might be like for them to trade lives for a day) but quickly wished he'd somehow extended the conversation just by building off of that. Anything would be better than having to pretend he didn't desperately want to... flirt? right back at Brendon. He wasn't sure what it was. He trusted Brendon, knew he had a heart really and wouldn't intentionlly hurt him, but Brendon was still unpredictable and fiery. He could easily be waiting to see Ryan make the first move then laugh at his gullibility. Honestly, they had become close to the point where that could easily be some normal playful behavior between them. As far as this situation went, though, Brendon was full seduction, his gaze roaming over Ryan so obviously that Ryan felt handsome for once, wanted. He felt his features go slack, thinking all about how he might best approach just kissing him carelessly - and also how that was a terrible goddamn idea.

You say that like it should be obvious. It kinda was, to him. You’re gorgeous. That was the first time anyone had used that exact word for Ryan. Not that he had never gotten a compliment before, but they were few and far between, and his reaction was slightly different given the source. He sort of paused, watching Brendon hopefully as he shifted, and slightly dropped his chin, so close to just leaning in. Really fucking... God. Brendon looked frighteningly confident, so much so that Ryan was on edge again, but he forgot to be careful by how much he'd been thrown off guard. "No one's said that to me before," he replied in a small voice, vulnerable to the core for once. He wanted so terribly just to tell Brendon he thought he was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen - but, for one, Brendon didn't need to be told that, and for another, Ryan was still very much at risk of fucking up his entire life. He sort of communicated it by the way he looked at Brendon amorously anyway.

Brendon barely seemed deterred by his efforts to bring a reality check to mind. I know exactly what I’m doing, and so do you. Alright, yeah. Ryan's hand that'd previously been trying to keep him back instead moved to curl around his shoulder, gently holding him closer just as he began resisting the push away. The other mirrored the way Brendon hung on to his belt loops, landing just above his hip and squeezing lightly, affectionately. What kind of guy, Ryan? He resisted the urge to explain at length that he was ridiculously romantic and he had a fucking English degree so nothing was ever simple. But. I’ll make you that kind of guy. "Jesus." Ryan exhaled, shaking his head less in defiance and more in defeat, deeming that final line just about enough to push him. He leaned in to kiss him as long as he could before thinking better of it and ignoring his lips altogether, hearing Brendon's encouragement in the back of his mind while he eventually led both of them back to his sheets by pressing their bodies closer insistently.

Hours later he woke up with his face pressed into unfamiliar, too-expensive fabric, smelling vaguely like something he might know. Ryan took a few moments to orient himself then gradually shifted until he could see the room through his hair, watching Brendon pull a clean shirt over his head, his hair popping up from the static for half a second. He smiled fondly at the sight, then felt this heavy sense of dread, going noticeably cold. Yeah - he definitely wasn't going to be welcome here for long if he knew Brendon's streak well. Part of him argued he could easily be an exception... but most likely not. Ryan finally sat up, the comforter falling off his bare chest as he went, and he blinked in the direct light coming through the windows. Instead of addressing the elephant in the room - the fact that he was overstaying his welcome - Ryan opted to sort of joke it off. "Never thought I'd see you awake before me," he said with faux impression, avoiding looking right at Brendon.

mildly inspiring end | b&r

Ryan's efforts to stay annoyed at Brendon were squandered by his looks alone, and it'd be ridiculous if only anyone wouldn't be charmed by Brendon's appearance - especially the way he looked in sunlight. There was a reason Ryan carried such a strong mental association between his soulmate and the sun itself; he looked more alive than ever, more at home than ever, when he was illuminated in the natural light. It wasn't that deep, really, but Ryan comforted himself in thinking about it as the exact opposite of all the places Brendon found himself during the worst times of his life. Dark alleyways and poorly lit bars and neon-artificial clubs, those were all completely separate realms from the security of pure skylight. When he saw Brendon glowing warm and lively, it looked like he'd already finished reinventing himself from those times.

But Ryan was a romantic, and it really wasn't anywhere close to worthy of that much overanalysis, so he didn't bother commenting on the sight. Instead he just stared a little dumbly as Brendon's muscles stretched with the rest of him, skin bright with health and usually dark eyes revealing more depth than ever, then ducked his head to look at his hands while he picked at his fingernails absently. He barely even had the awareness after that to think about his own insecurities when next to Brendon like this (which usually the situation always dwindled down into). ...When am I not self aware? Funny he should ask. Ryan could ask the exact opposite of himself, 'cause apparently he very easily tuned out of awareness. He humored Brendon nonetheless, a tiny smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. "All the time, baby," he said, instantly thinking about the more than one occasion where he had to tell Brendon he was about to walk into a pole, or something. Pretty typical.

At his appearance, Brendon just shrugged, and oddly Ryan was flattered by his carelessness. So maybe Ryan had other redeeming qualities - what a nice thought. When has that ever stopped me? Taking that as rhetorical, Ryan seized the opportunity to admire him again while he glanced down at his phone, taking in the contrast of his eyelashes brush over his cheekbones, the newly emphasized freckles dusting his skin wherever it faced up to the sun. He wrung his hand together, trying to avoid reaching out to him already. He managed to save himself from something of a faux pas by diverting the conversation from alcohol to weed - not much better in any authority's opinion, probably, but definitely minutely more comfortable for him to discuss without sounding like a judgmental or cynical asshole.

It’s gonna be my 21st, so you better outdo yourself this time. Oh, Ryan had a lot of plans for Brendon, and they didn't all involve his birthday. He held his chin in his hand, elbow on the mattress, but angled so lazily he was barely holding himself up while he considered Brendon. "I'm not worried," he confirmed, which was likely a big deal keeping in mind that Ryan was pretty much always afraid of fucking up or disappointing someone. Brendon in particular. Maybe he was a little worried someone else might ruin the party - but every prime suspect for that was someone that Brendon liked, for example goddamn Holden or Gabe, all of whom had proven themselves to be little shits for the past couple days - but for the most part he was pretty sure he had his boyfriend's best interests in mind.

Ryan knew Brendon was probably mentally scrutinizing his new behavior, which he himself had only just fully registered, and looked sheepish. I’ll give you that, babe. What just happened? Slightly embarrassed by the effect Brendon rightfully had on him, Ryan shook his head a bit, dismissive. Brendon pressed on anyway. So, did drinking turn you into a bottom, or what? Ryan let go of his shirt and instead lifted one hand to press against his face briefly, play-fighting him as if they were kids again. "Quiet, you." Really not funny. But Ryan had exhausted all of his overreacting energy already, or something. Joking. Hey, your 21st would have been so much more fun if I was there. Ryan went silent, staring him down reservedly, because either this could be very bad or slightly cute. He wasn't that excited about his chances. His hands dropped unceremoniously to his side.

There was this one time at this shitty dive bar, I met this guy called Josh and he made a bet with me, who can chug a beer the fastest- he fuckin’ destroyed me, can you believe it? Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, somewhat impatient, and his bizarre act from moments ago was completely gone. "No. I guess not." He tucked one hand into his hair, then folded it behind his head, gazing up at Brendon in wait of the end of this very thought-provoking anecdote. He made me wear high heels as penalty for losing. Also, he was hot. 99% sure he took me home, it’s all a bit foggy. "I'm going to ignore everything I don't like about what you just said. Where'd you even get high heels? Who let your dumb ass borrow their shoes?" Ryan's fingers were playing along the skin he'd bared for himself along Brendon's waistline, pinching him very lightly to pair with his teasing. He forgot his resolve to forget everything unpleasant to make another mocking joke. "Also, it seems like it's safe to assume you just go home with everyone from these stories, based on what you say." Ryan was grinning, though, oddly not mad but more amused by his misfortune.

only for tonight | b&r

Personally Ryan wasn't even sure who he became attracted to, or if he even had a type at all. He'd not dated very much in the past, much less had one night stands. And if he did date, his streak tended generally towards women. Which was kind of misleading these days considering he couldn't imagine himself holding anything longterm in that sense. But still - the longest relationship he had had was with a girl who really only cared that he was pretty and acted just as pretty as he looked (supposedly, anyway; Ryan himself didn't really get it to this day). Little over two years wasted 'cause he appreciated the attention, really, and Ryan was fairly sure he hadn't changed much. He wouldn't recognize depth if it stared him in the face. Needless to say, any sort of positive glance in his direction was about enough, and he was endlessly easy when it came to being charmed. At least he was no longer in a place where he needed to be literally taken care of by whoever he was dating because he was so irresponsible. In fact, his job was dependent on him not being that way anymore, fortunately.

Even so, it was becoming clearer to him recently that his type was very much every attribute Brendon possessed... unless he really had to stop and be honest with himself about it. Like, on one hand, Brendon's genuine grin even when a joke wasn't even that funny, the way his eyes lit up and curled with it, the way he talked and moved and acted like a prince with childish tendencies all the same; all of it and more was so appealing to him that he couldn't imagine Brendon having any faults. On the other hand, Brendon constantly made it obvious that he was indeed a flawed person just 'cause that was human nature. For instance, he totally had no self-awareness (because he'd never needed it in the past, presumably). It was a rare occasion when he took other people into consideration if he didn't know them personally (and even then that wasn't guaranteed), and he didn't give a flying fuck about his health unless it had an effect on his physical appearance. So Brendon was perfect, but not really, and if he didn't embody whatever was meant to be Ryan's 'type,' then he was redefining the image altogether.

Ryan watched Brendon's face shift as soon as he made his little joke and sort of wondered if he was just easier to set off at night. It wasn't usually this common that Ryan got on his nerves, but apparently he had a knack for it now - then again, he usually didn't feel so vulnerable and anxious himself, and he definitely hadn't been this completely informal ever before. So maybe that made the difference. First of all, this is the first and last time I’m calling you at 3am, there are plenty other people who would appreciate the gesture much more. This was their dynamic, Ryan reminded himself. They made dumb jabs at one another and didn't really bother being careful about it. Except he still felt his face fall slightly, fully believing in the moment that Brendon really didn't care whether it was him or some total stranger that walked in. He bit his lip and turned his head just a bit away, in case he was tempted to do something stupid like speak or whatever.

And anyway, it’s not that deep- I called you to get soda because I wanted soda. Ryan made a little 'hm' sound to pass as a response, but it wasn't all that convincing, so he added an equally gentle laugh as if he found it funny. Not really. Ryan just focused on getting back to standing straight and neutral-faced because he'd since started to look all slouchy and depressed, ridiculously affected by a few joking words. Probably joking - hopefully. I bought a $60,000 bottle of water, once. Ryan was thankful for the distraction, even if it was a kind of bizarre anecdote. He looked at Brendon curiously, still working the hurt from his face. Acqua di Cristallo Tributo a Modigliani. It was, uh, encased in 24k gold and the bottle was, like, a sculpture based on artwork by this Italian artist- Amedeo Clemente Modigliani. "You remember the brand and the artist, despite the language barrier," he observed, sounding impressed, quietly enough not to interrupt. He figured it'd probably sound patronizing if he questioned Brendon further than that, though, and let him continue.

Mixed with 5mg of gold dust. Tasted like normal ass spring water. In my defence, I was high as a fucking kite when I bought it. Maybe it was stupid to be so worried over little things, but first the sugar doses and this 'high as a fucking kite' thing - Ryan always felt at least vaguely concerned for Brendon's health. Probably hypocritical. After all, he'd just accepted a cigarette from him, which left a scent that still lingered on his person stubbornly and remained ashed on his fingertips. Other times he'd indulge Brendon in drinking with him, or he'd share whatever junk food he could, or he'd smoke weed 'til he was practically unable to walk home. So he wasn't much better, and yet he still felt the need to make sure Brendon was at least in fair health despite all the shit he did to or put into his body. He argued with himself that it was part of his job, not just him harboring a dumb, tiny crush that maybe wasn't so tiny but he was definitely going to get fucking rid of it ASAP. Probably. Hopefully. "Right, well, tap water works, too, in case you weren't aware. It's 2018, you've got filters. No need for some Louvre water or whatever, rich boy." Ryan grinned, glad he could at least force something more than dry, quick sentences as he was wont to do when he felt out of his element.

He knew firsthand the shift in Brendon's features that came later but wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Ryan figured he'd just follow whatever lead would inevitably come from Brendon. Sweet. But, seriously? Nobody expecting you? But you’re so... Ryan accidentally let a hopeful look through the metaphorical protective wall again, watching him and needing the validation. It was bullshit, probably. Brendon was the master at lying to get what he wanted, genius when it came to schmoozing, and here was a prime example... Unless he meant it and there was genuinely a compliment on the tip of his tongue. Ryan felt suddenly self-conscious when his eyes roamed but didn't change his stance, just gazing longingly right back for a moment, wondering what exactly he was thinking, what 'so' lead into. Unfortunately, Brendon seemed to abandon the thought and Ryan pursed his lips, hardening his expression again as much as he could- not very much, as it turned out. "Yeah. No one." His voice was gentle, not bitter as his words may suggest but more matter-of-fact.

I think you should stay. Brendon's tone alone was calming but there was an edge Ryan couldn't put his finger on. His intuition, though, told him to get the hell out of there. Fuck his intuition when the 'tiny crush' in his head was screaming at the opportunity to stay over, get more time with Brendon than ever before. He wanted to know him, truly qualify as a best friend, and during the days he got to spend with Brendon there never seemed to be time to do that. Here, however, it felt slower, more surreal ever since they reentered the apartment. Slow and surreal, sure, but Ryan couldn't come close to adding 'serene' onto that list once he saw Brendon's shirt slip off, instead swallowing hard and trying desperately to stand his ground rather than instinctively back away. His gaze travelled over the ink painting his skin, newly interested in what they could mean and what story they might tell more than he was drawn by Brendon's general perfection otherwise.

Then, quicker than Ryan expected, he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, and Ryan's gaze rose to meet his. Every impulse was something like 'kiss him' or 'touch him' or 'hold him,' but Ryan knew deep down that that could have no good results given the nature of their relationship, no matter how much he liked Brendon. So he placed a careful hand on Brendon's shoulder, less lovingly and more like he was keeping him from moving even nearer. "Please don't be messing with me," he murmured, knowing he must look far less blank than he wanted to. Ryan was no good at vulnerability and now it was so, so hard to avoid. "Listen- I don't know if, if you know what you're doing. I don't even really know." He definitely did, actually. They weren't on the same page and probably never would be. It was killing him - but part of him really didn't mind and would rather take the leap on the off chance Brendon would change his mind. "I'm not that kind of guy, Brendon." It was a weird way of saying 'I'm not cheap,' and he definitely didn't like the faint amount of hurt in his voice, but there was no going back now. Maybe he'd misread altogether and was making unfair accusations, even. At this point Ryan was sort of keeping the balcony in his mind as a gruesome backup escape plan.

only for tonight | b&r

While familiar with the whole 'opposites attract' premise, Ryan honestly couldn't believe how drawn he was to Brendon considering their differences. It was extravagance, sheer talent, exuberance, charisma, all of that, versus Ryan's kind of awkward stumbly self. He wasn't being modest, either, it was just the truth that they were from opposite ends of the universe. He'd have no way of understanding anything about Brendon or why he did the things he did if he didn't a.) naturally possess a knack for empathy, or b.) have some background knowledge on Brendon's life and who his upbringing involved. The latter just made every ridiculous stunt he performed sort of rational, somehow. Plus, Ryan could somewhat relate, to an extent; it's not that his dad was super successful and therefore spited him because of his lack of (what his father considered) success, which was the case with Brendon. It's just that Ryan's dad had sort of quit on him, too, abandoned him as a lost cause. In different, less active ways, sure, and therefore Ryan didn't have to suffer the emotional toll that he assumed Brendon had, but still. He could imagine.

Similarly, Ryan attracted none of the attention or lifestyle that Brendon easily did. Even if Brendon hadn't come from the family he did, Ryan was fairly certain he'd he wildly popular and well-loved anyway by anyone he came across. Ryan, on the other hand, could pass through life rather invisibly if he wanted to, and oftentimes he actually did. He had made as many close friends in his lifetime as he could count on one hand, and anyone who wasn't considered close didn't bother to hang out with him regularly anyway (or, more accurately, Ryan pushed them away out of a lack of patience). He couldn't imagine having the expansive social circle that Brendon had, nor could he imagine people dreaming about him, dedicating Twitter accounts to him, strangers making images of him their lockscreen. Then again, with as many people as there were that had a superficial obsession with Brendon or the life he led, it became increasingly clearer with time that close to nobody was genuinely interested in making a deeper connection. Which was, again, incomprehensible to Ryan, who'd accidentally fallen down that rabbithole.

Although he could usually read people pretty easily, Ryan found it hard to pin down exactly how Brendon felt about him. His true thoughts were that Brendon just felt neutrally towards him - he was easy company, someone who'd be around regardless of what he did, and that was the end of it, probably. Ryan had never considered himself someone really interesting or admirable, after all; his friends didn't tend to express any excitement over any part of his character (but that's just 'cause they were lowkey either way) and he didn't pick up on any extraordinary personal traits himself. So he was, in his eyes, lacking in any department that might impress Brendon. But if he was still getting called up at random like this, where he was clearly delivering something useless to Brendon, occasionally he let himself believe that his perceptions were wrong, that Brendon wasn't 'just this way with everyone' or 'had nothing better to do.' Maybe his kind of plain personality was appealing, sometimes. It was nice to think, and Ryan let himself hang on to the delusion for a while until he was alone with his thoughts again, faced with only his own insecurity.

And it was lame that being liked by Brendon was so important to him. In a way, he was no better than those people who watched from afar, weirdly involved in Brendon's life even if they'd never met him. It shouldn't affect him so much when Brendon did something as basic as addressing him directly and personally - especially not after the amount of time he'd had to get used to it - but it did. You’ll be off-duty when I’m dead, babe. Ryan's always carefully controlled expression flickered briefly, giving way to a weakened, dizzy smile and the upwards curl of his brow for half a second before he gathered himself. "Probably sooner than you think if you keep on using soda to get me here. Maybe start asking for bottled water or, like, spinach." He had to ease the clearly strong effects of him getting too real, too early, but maybe this wasn't the best approach. Whatever. Ryan let his attempts at humor fall flat without any efforts to revive them - he'd likely embarrass himself more, anyway.

So, with that in mind, can I cut your pay? Ryan met his gaze, slightly uneven from the angle where he was slightly leaned away from Brendon and, in counterpoint, Brendon's head was curiously tilted, and knew this was a test on his patience. He smirked, not bothering to roll his eyes since it was probably implied. "Sure - then you can watch me wither away while I barely make rent every month. You live in a ridiculously expensive neighborhood, you know." He did know, of course, but at this point their conversation was about eighty-percent useless banter. You’re my employee, I’m meant to be professional. Believe it or not, this is me trying my fuckin’ hardest. It's not that Brendon sounded upset in any way, but Ryan still felt a little badly for his response; of course he knew what Brendon trying looked like. Seeing Brendon interact casually with others made it clear what his normal conversations went like, how quickly they drifted to inappropriate places whereas he was fine at staying strictly surface-level with Ryan most of the time. Ryan appreciated it, really. "Yes, sir," he mumbled at the sky, playing along with their newly addressed professionalism game.

Ryan barely noticed Brendon's reaction to his words - in fact, he didn't catch on to anything off at all. He hadn't expected anything from just saying the truth, actually, so there was nothing to watch for. He did glanced over when he realized from his periphery that Brendon was taking down a couple more buttons and swallowed thickly, realizing his nerves were rising gradually the more time he spent out here, and now the reason was discernible. He knew Brendon. Mostly, anyway. At least, he knew Brendon enough to guess what was probably going on here... but that was ridiculous. First, the 'plain personality' thing. He wasn't what Brendon went for in the sense of his character traits, nor was he his 'type' in any way except for maybe the fact that he was tall. Ish. He held a scant few centimeters over Brendon, enough to be visible but not enough to compensate for the fact that he was clearly not in the same league. Ryan decided maybe he was jumping to conclusions wanting to leave so quickly - it wasn't fair to Brendon.

Stupidly, with a tiny amount of suspicion left over, Ryan followed him back into the apartment, his arms still tucked at his sides to protect from the cold night/early morning air. The Queen wouldn’t take my shit. Finding it difficult to come up with equivalent responses let alone speak, Ryan just nodded with a steely, forced smile, watching Brendon move around from his station right in the balcony's entrance. So, are you in a rush? Got anyone to get home to? Ryan stared at the can on the table and remembered buying it, throwing a twenty at the cashier 'cause he didn't have any smaller bills. God, he missed the days where he only paid in ones and carefully counted exact change. He briefly contemplated lying, but even if he wanted to, he was rendered immediately unable to by watching Brendon's face change. "No, not really," he said, and thought about how his TV screen was still on, waiting for him. Weird habit to keep when it was pretty much impossible for a breakin to occur. Anyway, it totally counted, so he answered a little more comfortably. "Just Trevor Reznik waiting on me. But he's a creep." Ryan laughed softly even though the joke was more than sort of dumb, looking away abruptly.

Finally he moved a little closer, taking hesitant steps towards Brendon but at the same time in the direction of the door. "Um, but, you know, I should probably go home, right? You should be asleep. I'm supposed to make sure you do healthy stuff like that, aren't I? Go to sleep before the sun comes up, at least." He just needed an excuse other than 'I'm really nervous by the subtext here and gotta go' or whatever the hell was throwing him off. To look a little less like a freak he figured he could approach Brendon like a normal, unaffected person would, but the amount of buttons that were deliberately undone made him so anxious that he expanded his own personal bubble by at least two feet. Which was weird, 'cause he'd seen Brendon in various states of undress just because that was the way Brendon lived, but. This felt like a whole other situation.

only for tonight | b&r

Sometimes Ryan thought he might be in over his head. Sure, Brendon wasn't a particularly threating presence even if he was incredibly powerful and wealthy just by his birthright. It was his family that was intimidating; what if Ryan did eventually have to accompany Brendon to something more serious than concerts he attended or clubs he frequented, or to retrieve his takeout, whatever... He'd have to meet several of the richest people in the world, all with net worths he couldn't earn if he worked three different lives. Brendon didn't talk about them much beyond petty complaints, but Ryan figured there was some sort of alienation there - hell, it probably even caused whatever fallout put Brendon into his current position. It was worrying in that, if they could affect someone of his natural character, they'd definitely break Ryan. So he was passably qualified for his job until it came to people other than who he directly worked for.

The more comfortable Ryan got with him the more he started to consider basic duties just missions of friendship. If he had to walk with Brendon to shoo away strangers who gravitated towards a public figure, then he'd talk to him and suggest cafés and laugh, not quite fitting the typical steely-eyed scowl-wearing bodyguard figure. Then, maybe he didn't really have to look like that since he wasn't defending Brendon or anything. He probably couldn't in any scenario, anyway, considering he was about as scrawny as him, just taller. He did a good job of keeping Brendon from saying stupid things in public, especially not to anyone reporting, and maintained his social media from spiralling too far out of control, ensured he didn't make any connections with people who had even worse images than him or bad histories. All this alongside the frequent favors and constant compliance probably made Ryan more bearable - plus, he wasn't overly controlling, just playfully nagging as a friend would. He wasn't sure that there was any more effective ways to go about any of it, as Brendon would probably just outright laugh at him if he formally went 'sir, you are required to delete that Trump slander for your own safety.' That kind of thing he usually let slide anyway.

Soon after arriving, Brendon was freeing himself from the confines of his suit jacket, and Ryan gave a sideways smile at the predictable sight of him in a full suit in the earliest, nonexistent hours of the morning. He would've asked why, but the only answer would probably be 'why not.' Or Brendon asking why his go to was still the old thrift store button-ups/vests/scarves/trousers/dress shoes combo when he could now afford high quality. Screw that. Everything Ryan made went to building a studio. It’s fuckin’ divine. And I don’t use that word lightly. Ryan distantly wondered what he had to compare it to, or if silk was his version of linens. It's not like Ryan grew up considerably poor, but it was easy to say that the longer his mom was gone, the more meals became plain rice with whatever he could scavenge from the backs of cabinets. He was a little shocked Brendon wasn't a complete jerk, considering Ryan knew for a fact that he himself would have ended up a gigantic, world-ending asshole if he had as much money at his disposal. In fact, it was sort of impressive how friendly Brendon was. But that was a long mental tangent to go on just based off of some silk sheets, so Ryan distracted himself from who was clearly his new obsession by looking off at the skyline.

His interrogation came from a place of innocence even if he'd said it somewhat maliciously - that was just Ryan's nature. Brendon, however, didn't take it quite well, snapping towards Ryan with startling immediacy. I don’t get lonely. Ryan looked at him, suddenly a little more visibly awake, and tried not to stare too long while he contemplated this. Sounded like Brendon wasn't so sure of himself. Of course he'd been lonely - and Ryan was insensitive to approach it that way in the first place. He had all these people around him at all times that it wasn't obvious initially, but very few of them volunteered to be with Brendon when it didn't involve him paying for their entertainment. If they did hang out with him in their free time, then they expected exchanges eventually, not just companionship. People wanted to be with Brendon for the benefits about 80% of the time, with little regard for how interesting a person he actually was. Ryan was exceptionally fortunate to be given as much time as he'd had with Brendon, come to think of it. Instead of responding, Ryan just nodded understandingly after a moment, meeting Brendon's eyes only briefly before he turned away again. Felt like he should leave that comment alone, anyway.

Moments later he felt ten times better because Brendon was laughing again, those little laugh lines by his eyes becoming animated and charming as ever. Ryan watched him with a tiny smile on his face, betraying his vaguely cynical manner of speaking, and barely felt the cigarette burning to the filter between his fingers. Yeah, right. That isn’t very professional, is it? "Then say I'm off-duty," Ryan offered quietly, with no pause for thought. "I'm not paid to be your friend. I chose that part." 'Friend' echoed in his head, 'cause it seemed like Brendon was sort of threatening that label, but he stuck to it anyway. Worse, Brendon built off of the removal of his jacket by starting just barely on his shirt, and Ryan felt obligated to glance away, finally crushing the burning filter in his hand against the balcony ledge and pushing himself off of it to stand upright.

Would you even say yes if I asked you to just come over? Ryan's hands wormed their way into his pockets and he shrugged, brow furrowing just slightly with concern. "You make it sound so absurd." In any case he made a show of thinking it through, exhaling and looking up at the sky for a count of Mississippi. "My visiting hours officially end at 4 a.m., so you just made it, yeah. I would've come over," he said with a grin in his voice, trying to ease some of the tension he'd accidentally stirred. But it was hard to keep it that way, 'cause now Brendon had raised some red flags that made Ryan a little sad on his behalf; clearly he didn't think his company alone was enough to get someone he cared about here. He tried to work in that sentiment naturally... which was evidently hard to do without sounding ridiculously corny. "Yeah, you don't need, like, a bribe, or a cover story. You're enough, you know?" Ryan shrugged again, dismissive, and he slowly turned on his heel, feeling dumb. Brendon didn't call him up here for any of that, obviously, but. He genuinely hadn't known how alone Brendon felt before - even if it wasn't truly desperate or life-threatening he didn't deserve to feel it at all. "I'm wondering 'why me' when you probably could've called, like, the Queen, though." Joking, and exaggerating, but Ryan meant that point entirely.

only for tonight | b&r

Straight out of a university that was both not very widely admired and had given him a rather useless English degree, Ryan realised he did not have many career avenues ahead of him. He surveyed countless Starbucks barista applications - because that's where all his classmates went, after all, unless they holed up in their parents' basement and transcribed or digitalized documents from the comfort of their childhood home - but it all felt so... below him. Of course, there was the fact that most everyone started a career this way, with some shitty retail job that paid off rent and gradually built on savings until you could actually pave your own path. But Ryan was impatient and his full-ride had gotten him so far without any real expenses to worry about; now that he'd been in student housing long enough for his dad to forget about him, probably, he had to figure out something.

And then some Forbes motherfucker was dumb enough to open applications to normal people to help deal with his son, or whatever. Well, maybe the son was the reason for that kind of liberty, actually. Ryan did know who Brendon Blake was before he read the application and did his own research - he'd seen magazine covers that never seemed to capture him in a negative light to match their disapproving headlines in the way that they could always make the most attractive celebrity ugly. No, out of thousands of pictures they must have taken from paparazzi, any variation of "Brendon Blake Possibly Fucking Himself Over and Ruining Any Chance at an Inheritance" seemed to accompany Brendon grinning charmingly at whomever he was courting, or catching the camera and winking just on time, or - and this was about as 'messy' as they could make him out to be - leaning over a club's bar counter looking slightly dazed but sweeter because of it. He was lucky he didn't have a bad angle, because then there was no actual evidence of the real fuckery that must take place in his life (unless you looked away from the enticing smile on his face to the glass in his hand or the person hanging off his shoulders or any number of questionable things taking place behind him).

Anyway, the application itself was easy. Ryan knew how to make himself look good despite having about as many skills as a sixth grader with a reasonable literacy level. He could cook, ish, he knew how to purchase things from a goddamn cashier, he had some amount of interpersonal skills... and for good measure he noted that he had extensive knowledge of how to use Microsoft Office. The job description was, ironically, nondescript, after all. He supposed even Boyd didn't know what the fuck his kid was going to request from a glorified servant, or what said glorified servant would have to be thrown under the bus for. Ryan sort of accepted that part of it - he might have to rescue Brendon from his impulsive habits one day, either taking responsibility or getting him out of there altogether. That was about as risky as a job that was close to three figures got, though, so he considered himself endlessly lucky that the standard for Brendon's personal assistant position were so ridiculously low (or, maybe they were indeed reasonable, but easy to lie about).

Ryan would have done just about anything for independence at that point so he applied and was miraculously called in. The setting was beyond uncomfortable but Ryan was familiar with how to conceal how he really felt - and, eventually, that extended from pretending he preferred Brendon's personal lounge to acting like he didn't think Brendon was sort of kind of a little bit crazy. Most spectacularly, he accepted wine from him simply because it seemed rude not to, and Ryan even pressed the rim to his lips as if he really intended on drinking any of it. Had it been anyone else conducting the interview, Ryan would know such a question was a test maybe on his responsibility or something else; this, though, was Brendon Blake, and it was probably just a glass of wine. Despite not drinking it very much at all, Ryan gathered some sort of courage throughout the interview, Brendon's naturally positive response to him making him feel accomplished for whatever reason (and now the magazine phenomenon was starting to make sense). He instantly regretted it, but he opted to try to confirm or deny the truth of a very popular rumour floating around.

For the first few seconds he regretted it, and then Brendon seemed to come to terms with the inquiry, like he'd developed some newfound respect for Ryan's forwardness - or he just found it funny. Either way, Ryan stayed looking dumbly remorseful, nodding when Brendon tested the reality of the situation and then immediately explaining himself using Brendon's public image. He never got a full answer for that, and Ryan had always figured maybe his memorability with that complete fuckup was what gave him the job. Maybe Brendon just forgot everyone else who was far more qualified and wasn't just having mostly a normal conversation with Brendon the entire time... actually, yeah, that was believably impressive to the rich kid. In any case, 'the rich kid' wasn't so bad. Ryan had entirely misjudged him, thinking him some asshole who could just wear any mask well. He looked good, sure, whatever, but he was also endlessly talented, clever and witty in unconventional ways Ryan wouldn't have guessed. Of course, he had to catch Brendon in his element during passing moments to truly pick up on these things - when he bragged about them openly it didn't seem as extraordinary.

Most worryingly, Ryan found himself to be developing something of a puppy crush on him. It was stupid - maybe he was secretly just into that 'boss-underling' cliche that every other romcom went off of. But Brendon wasn't really a boss as much as he was a super demanding friend, and although Ryan compulsively called him 'sir' or 'Mr. Blake,' they were never formal with one another for long. Ryan actually eventually got comfortable with talking to him just like anyone else, even showing when he was annoyed by him (at the risk of losing his money, which was shockingly something he wasn't afraid of given the nature of their relationship by now) - particularly when he answered phone calls in the middle of the goddamn night. Wow, chill the fuckin’ attitude. I want some soda, I’m out. Get me some? He hadn't been asleep, of course, because he majored in English and was therefore vampiric, but Ryan just didn't feel like making the trip to the nearest 7/11 sometimes. Whatever. The $2.50 he'd inevitably pay for a case of Dr. Pepper was reimbursed exponentially.

Ryan pushed aside all the writing he wasn't doing and the guitar he hadn't been playing and his third watch of The Machinist to go complete this very crucial task, and Brendon got the affirmative message he'd meant to convey with all the shuffling sounds. Ryan rushed out in all his button-up clothing and no touch-ups on his appearance otherwise because it was fucking three a.m. and Brendon was probably only going to see him for ten seconds anyway, and he was at the destination with his delivery in almost fifteen. He nearly just set them at the door and left but then, since Brendon had no awareness of his surroundings, he'd never notice it, so Ryan approached him on the balcony, setting the case on the ledge within Brendon's reach. So good of you to come at 3am. What more could I ask for from an assistant, huh? Ryan's gaze naturally dropped to the floor as Brendon caught his lip - but not before he'd already stared during a long stretch - which was, admittedly, a new habit he'd picked up in Brendon's company. Usually he didn't present himself so shyly, but this was better than looking, like, lustful, or whatever.

"No problem," he said, rather contained for someone who'd just semi-snapped at Brendon over the phone. In person, it was somewhat more difficult to be short to him, for reasons Ryan suspected involved the way he could easily look so goddamned hurt. Or, on the flip side, completely smug and self-assured. It was either heartbreaking or infuriating. Hey, you should just crash here. With this offer, he looked at the cigarette presented to him skeptically, identifying the brand and comforting himself with the fact that it was in fact not just carefully disguised weed. He didn't want to take a cigarette and say no to staying over. But he also didn't want to not take the cigarette, so Ryan compromised and took it, then said, very eloquently, something like 'uh' under his breath. He turned aside, avoidant, and hung his chest over the ledge to take a drag, studying the city. Ever slept with silk sheets before? Ryan looked at him and laughed softly, smoke escaping towards Brendon, and then furrowed his brow with suspicion. He abandoned formalities for once to level with him. "No, Brendon. I don't think I intend to, either."

Yeah, he shouldn't have accepted the cigarette. It was a menthol, too, fuck. Ryan felt kind of like an asshole, so he didn't turn tail and leave, as much as he wanted to. Since it was past two a.m. and these were the hours of the day when people took chances, Ryan considered Brendon for a moment, another drag from the corner of his mouth, before speaking again. "Were you actually out, or were you just lonely?" It's not like he'd never been called for not-very-legitimate requests before, but Brendon hadn't been quite as inviting. "You could just ask me to come over."

mildly inspiring end | b&r

No rest for the wicked. And anyway, darling, I’d say that when you’re with me and I’m giving you that kind of material for later, you’re in heaven. Ryan decided he would have to not grace some of these things with responses if he was going to get anywhere today. As long as he kept on providing Brendon with mocking material, he'd probably be stuck in this bed for hours arguing with him about not getting up. Like, the only reason he hadn't risen after the fiftieth dig at his expense was spite. That was kind of how they subsisted, though, just a constant back-and-forth that never escalated into real conflict and always involved them acting dumb and lovesick every once in a while. Funny how functional they could be when their lives were purely sitcom material.

It’s not. Ryan almost flipped him off. Almost. The real struggle was lifting his hand from his head. Which sun are you referring to, Ryan? Shit. Another easy target. Ryan sighed, looking towards the sun he was actually referring to, feeling the glow spread across his face and feeling the exact opposite of refreshed by it. He blinked in the light momentarily before turning his attention back to Brendon, prepared for whatever smartassery would follow. I’m fucking you over right now, really, so. Both work. Weirdly, part of him was becoming fond of how dedicated Brendon was to bothering him - or playfully messing with him, anyway. Sometimes he couldn't tell whether Brendon was serious or not. Instead of the typical scowl he'd pull out, Ryan sort of smirked, squinting against the shine. "I'm glad you're at least self-aware," he said, unclear morning voice giving him some added sense of calmness.

The slight fondness didn't last long; as much as Brendon's lewd miming was amusing, he couldn't feasibly encourage it by laughing along with the joke, so Ryan reacted as matronly as he could. I was just on board to suck your dick, idiot. You should have taken that. Not like you to back out. Ryan would have gone red again if he hadn't reached his max capacity, probably. As it were he just half-frowned at Brendon, dubious. "Sure you were. 'Cause I'm so desirable right now." Nearly a fair point. He looked sickly when he was hiding from the golden light of the sun, and he was still wearing 80% of his birthday clothes from last night - the difference was, they were completely twisted and wrinkled from sleep, buttons in disarray and all. Sure, he was only marginally worse off from an average morning, but still. Not a good look for him, and he certainly didn't qualify for any of Brendon's supposed 'favors.'

Ryan watched Brendon distract himself with his phone for a moment, putting the pieces together that he was reading all the messages that Ryan had blatantly been avoiding. They wanted to get you pissed, that’s why. Getting drunk isn’t inherently bad, you know. Ryan met his gaze and was suddenly uncomfortable with the implication. First it spoke to Brendon's experiences that he never wanted to think about - then there was the annoying part of him that argued 'yes it is,' even despite the years of him trying to unlearn that misconception. Either he thought the act itself was stupid or anyone who participated was stupid, senseless. He'd only ever witnessed the negative effects, anyway. Funnily enough, if he'd stuck around at his party, maybe he could've witnessed the flip side to that... Bygones.

He tried to break the contact first, glancing at his fingernails and chipping at them absently. I envy you. My 21st is going to be so fucking boring. Ryan arched an eyebrow, but wasn't looking in Brendon's direction. "You underestimate my ability to throw an alcohol-free party. Not to spoil anything, but you should totally expect a fuckton of weed to make up for the loss." But that wasn't really news. He'd been throwing Brendon-themed birthday parties for years now, and they all went along the same lines with some appropriate variation as they grew older; baseline was of course weed, karaoke, and plenty of sugary snacks/drinks. What started off with Aladdin showings and Disneyworld visits evolved into everyone sitting around a smoky room watching Brendon attempt a very stoned falsetto. Story of his life, basically.

At the simple gesture of Brendon retrieving medicine for him, though, Ryan was considering just buying him the entire goddamn world - and Brendon didn't appear very complimented by his whim implication that he'd had peaked from this one single act of kindness. Ryan silently apologised to his judgmental eyebrow. I know. At least he seemed to have taken Brendon down a notch. Ryan smiled a little, watching him make the journey back over and climb ontop of him once more. Sneakily he turned his head at the last moment to guide both of them into a real kiss and Ryan felt lucky for it; it was sort of forgiveness, after all. Maybe not, though. Rather evilly, Brendon ground down and ahead, and Ryan was caught so off-guard that he didn't think to control the instant hitch in his breath. Clearly in a desperate state, Ryan latched on to the fabric of Brendon's shirt as he began to pull away, an effort to keep him in place.

That’s alright. You can’t help, uh, a lot of things. But you’re still a whiny bitch. "Sure, sure, you're right," he said distractedly, evidently completely uncaring about his new, colorful label. Sort of proving it correct, he started pulling needily on Brendon's shirt, trying to meet him in a second kiss. "I'm having a moment of weakness and you're being like that. I have good cause to be a whiny bitch." He was grinning dizzily, though, so clearly not that upset; in fact what was Brendon's attempt at teasing him seemed to have lifted his spirits somewhat. "Like, apart from my baby hangover, I mean."

mildly inspiring end | b&r

Although his boyfriend was clearly dead set on killing him - or at least Ryan felt like he was most definitely dying - Brendon was (a). pretty cute and (b). meaning well. Maybe. He presumably just wanted to make Ryan get up before he wasted a whole day and worsened his condition. All that in mind, Ryan wasn't genuinely mad at him, but it was easier to be mean and snippy than muster up anything normal. Thankfully, Brendon seemed to either realise this or accept the cruelty in stride. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past few days? Ryan was half paying attention. Brendon's incessant poking and prodding brought him back just in time to hear that and he groaned in mock annoyance. There’s a nice image for you. If there wasn't one in his head before, there was after Brendon made that suggestion; Ryan was caught a little off-guard, looking through slitted eyes at Brendon to try and dispel his stupid mental picture. "Have mercy for a second, would you? I'm in hell."

I’m a genius. Ryan tried not to look at him too long, 'cause the more he was in the oblique light of the sun flattering himself, the harder it was to throw halfhearted, dispirited comments at him. Brendon's power wasn't unique to Ryan, of course, but it was apparently twenty times as effective. Fuck off, it's past eleven. Ryan could cry. "It feels like four in the morning. Except, at four in the morning, the sun isn't out to fuck me over." He tried again to retrieve a pillow, pressing it protectively to the side of the face that rays of sunshine were assaulting. Slacking. Very much so. Maybe if Brendon's intent was, indeed, to get him up, then he was going about it wisely; the more Ryan thought that he might be lazing out, the more he felt guilted into rising and preparing for the day. But he was pretty sure all he could accomplish was maybe making a cup of coffee and carrying a pillow/blanket to the couch so he could suffer somewhere more socially acceptable.

Ryan was already instantly regretting some of his reflexive responses, but some of them in particular were very easy for Brendon to derail. I mean... Having realised moments ago what he'd prompted, Ryan glared at Brendon expectantly, only for a pink shade to rise high up on his cheekbones while he watched the lewd gesture. "Oh my god," he murmured, pressing the pillow he'd been hanging onto against his entire face this time, sighing dramatically into the fabric. He heard the muffled sound of Brendon laughing and rolled aside somewhat, willing his face to fade back to its usual paleness. God, you’re so easy to make fun of. "Yeah, and you're still fifteen years old." To be fair, Ryan had been the one to very maturely tell Brendon to suck his dick. It was just the wittiest comeback that came to mind at the time.

He probably bit back too sharply with a dig at Brendon's drinking, because he instantly shifted away from Ryan as if he was offended. Hideaway pillow gone, Ryan studied him as subtly as he could for any sign of serious affect but Brendon was a master of deception anyway - if he was truly bothered, Ryan had no clue. He could only assume that that wasn't okay and silently promised not to cross that line again. Whatever. I’m not the hungover one. Ryan exhaled slowly, thoughtful. "No one told me I had to drink water. What a hassle." Nothing could explain away how big a baby he was being about the whole situation, though. Not that Ryan would consciously address that. In reality he ignored any pressing thought that told him to suck it up.

Your loss, not mine. Pretty true. Ryan was, again, not going to admit that, though. Besides, I’m good with watching. Color rose to his features again, less intensely, but Ryan didn't bother hiding away again. "You are so much. So much, babe. I don't know how it's possible. You just woke up." He just shook his head a little, bewildered, and placed the blame on his inability to deal elsewhere. Gabe’s an angel, dickhead, and they aren’t very happy with you. Have fun getting grilled later. First of all, ha, Gabriel was actually an angel, second, Ryan had no idea why they'd be unhappy. He supposed that was an issue for later-Ryan to deal with. Now-Ryan was too busy launching carbs at his boyfriend to get him back for the entirety of his morning thus far.

Then perish, motherfucker. Ruined my fucking bed. Ryan mourned all the sympathy he'd just lost in a matter of mere seconds. Die, then. Ryan watched him rise, reaching out weakly and looking remorseful like he was truly on his deathbed. There was a long pause while Brendon appeared to weigh the pros and cons of adhering to Ryan's requests, and fortunately Brendon finally rolled his eyes skyward and walk off, assumedly to retrieve Ryan's bargaining chips. In the space of time he went, Ryan moved over to Brendon's side, resettling amongst the covers with as innocent a face as he could put on by the time Brendon returned. Don't you ever call me a bad boyfriend. Ryan gaped at him, ushering him over even while he approached.

"This is the hottest you've ever been," Ryan said theatrically, taking the aspirin and immediately chugging water with it, leaving barely a millisecond between his words and the action. He slowed down after, holding the glass tentatively and considering Brendon. "Sorry I told you to, like, go fuck yourself, and everything. You're a great boyfriend." He skewed up his lips in a slant, looking sheepish, and then set his glass of water down, folding his hands together before quickly leaning over to kiss Brendon's cheek. "Forgive me? I'm dying, Brendon. Couldn't help it."

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

For once in his life, Holden was actually determined to make a good impression (not that he intended to look bad usually - he just tended towards apathy when it came to how others felt about him). He couldn't put his finger on why, exactly, nor could he figure out why he came to trust Mitch so easily. Maybe it was just the kind of... chaotic way they presented themself that made them relatable. Like, Holden saw the greasy hair and the self-conscious amble and thought 'fuck it.' Even so, he wanted to maintain a certain image, one that didn't embarrass him, and there were few topics he had expertise on that weren't boring or otherwise not applicable. 'I'm good at guitar 'cause I was always too sick to ever go to school,' or 'I still live with my mom,' or 'I've been in, like, thirty unsuccessful bands' were all very true facts that came to mind but were somehow not appropriate for his self-furthering cause.

But if he put on some show now, he wouldn't be able to maintain it later, and most of all he wanted them to like him. So. May as well try to be normal and hope for the best. When he tried for a subtle compliment towards their music they seemed a little shy, enough that Holden was almost sorry he'd said it, but Mitch was charismatic enough to bring him back to earth. Thanks, I guess you’ll see. It was Holden's turn to look somewhat sheepish and he was quick to fetch them beers, concealing the tiny excited smile that rose to his face upon hearing that promise. He barely noticed their disinterest in the drink, but in all fairness he wasn't focused on much of anything other than Mitch themself. Call him hopeless romantic, whatever; the webs of his hands told the story already that he made a habit of falling pretty quickly.

As long as you write me, like, a personal message. Spell my name right. It’s Mitchell, with a double l. Holden realised he hadn't even asked for clarification on their name or anything - he must've been so focused on how pleased he was that they'd already known his. But he was very certain he'd known it in the first place, and was too quick to stop himself from saying so. "Oh, I know," he said with a faltering grin, already hating himself for sounding like a nerd, then quickly tacked on something to distract. "Who spells it with a single 'L'? I'll remember." Laughter naturally hung off his speech and he drank his beer witheringly, thinking that even if 'Mitchel' was kinda weird, Holden was way worse. Holden, who plays in Pencey Prep. Man. He distantly hoped Mitch, double L, wasn't much of a literati.

The shift in attention from his currently bland personality to his far more interesting array of tattoos was welcome, although he got mixed reviews on the scorpion tattoo's backstory. Got all night. Holden studied them for a second, a smile playing on his lips, before settling in to spill. "Okay, uh, when I joined Pencey, and I was in front of the biggest crowd I'd ever been, I realised I didn't wanna get a real job. Like, I don't wanna sit in a fuckin' cubicle in a tie and slacks or whatever, ever. 'Cause this is what I'll always want to do. So I'm gonna make it impossible to get hired, naturally." He laughed a little, close to the punchline but knowing the story sounded even more stupid as it went on. "But I'm broke, so I go to my guy and tell him 'I've got thirty-four bucks, give me whatever as high up as you can,' and I come out with this. Didn't get one on my face 'cause I'm too dreamy." Holden leaned back, holding his arms out slightly like he was presenting said dreaminess.

When he presented more ink, Mitch seemed actually genuinely interested, as opposed to how others might give it all a once-over and 'cool!' about 3/4s of the time. Holden ended up just appreciating the way they stared, not even bothering to feel self-conscious - though that was a rarity in itself regardless. Not if you use the space right. I mean... Holden hadn't expected real suggestions - just the idea alone - but alas he'd closed the exhibit too early to hear whatever Mitch had had to say. Seemed like they were a little distracted, anyway. I relate. Holden glanced down at the hands they held out, enthralled instantly. Of course they were an artist - he could've guessed from a mile away if he hadn't been so focused on the present. Well, maybe 'focused' was inaccurate terminology, but. He was already grinning when he looked back up, content with this new information

Struggling artist on your six. Struggling. Interesting. Holden made a note to force his wide social circle to spread the word and make the struggle not-so-real. Welcome to my twisted mind. Holden rolled his eyes skyward, leaning slightly towards Mitch subconsciously when they proved themself even more charming - in spite of their sort-of-intimidating-sort-of-sexy canines. Fangs? Probably a costume thing; the band was procuring a certain image anyway. "I could have guessed, actually. Not many people show up here with such a, uh, tangible aesthetic for their group." Holden was one example. He came in a hoodie and jeans and ratty sneakers all too big for him, his guitarist was in a button-up too clean for the bar, he was pretty sure his drummer's shirt had disappeared at some point. Yeah, none of them were particularly artistic.

None of us are. Can I see your hand ones? Pretty much instantly, Holden put his can down and levelled his hands out, palms facing down. 'HOPELESS/ROMANTIC' followed the curve of either bridge between his thumb and index finger, 'HALLOWEEN' was printed between each first knuckle, 'BOOKWORM' followed it in a trickier formation. Different designs followed further down and trailed off into ink-painted sleeves, he had some random concert band still on his wrist from weeks ago. "Yeah! These are the ones that make people think I'm gonna steal from their store." Holden barely laughed 'cause it wasn't a joke - more of an anecdote he apparently thought was normal to share. "My birthday's Halloween, that's why I've got that. And, uh, it looks like 'rwob okom...' but it's 'bookworm,' when you read it right." He demonstrated 'right,' lacing his fingers together for them, but looked back up soon after, tilting his head at Mitch. "You're pretty chill. Usually people don't care much."

carved on a tree || wade & joey

She asked me out. I said no. Despite this presumably being Wade's low effort approach at ridding Joey of his worry, Joey continued to stare at him, barely subdued. "I thought her standards were much higher. You really missed an opportunity there." Wade didn't seem very intent on dwelling on that subject though, so Joey just rolled his shoulders resignedly and moved on with him, shifting his weight to one side so he could look even more impatiently at Wade. Not so easy to look like he didn't actually like Wade when their hands were joined like this, though, and he wasn't really intent on pulling away even though that was sort of a talent of his. Just ‘nice’? Nice? Joey rolled his eyes as exaggeratedly as possible while Wade turned all sad and grievous, his previously grateful hold on Wade's hands turning loose and just hanging from his grip. I think I speak for both of us when I say... Our ‘experimenting’ has been much better than any other- antics? That’s a dumb fucking word but you’re like, weirdly pg-13 sometimes. "I'm a Capricorn," Joey said matter-of-factly, as if it was by any means an explanation for his PG-13 rating. If anything, Wade being a Scorpio was the sole explanation here.

If you’re straight, I’m Italian. "No, fuck off, that's my thing. Get your own." He steeled himself for more Canadian stereotypes flooding from Wade's mouth - but they didn't come. He might've preferred that over the subsequent attack on Brendon, though. Vaffanculo, Joseph. Bieber wishes he were me. Joey stared at him in semi-shock, in disbelief that he'd dangle his own powers over his head. He searched for some kind of Northern slang or a French-Canadian comeback, but nothing came. His last resort was to chuck a shirt at Wade for him to peruse and speed up this whole 'getting ready' process, which didn't seem to help matters. Sure is. Wake me up when you’ve disowned him, yeah? Joey huffed loudly, already sick of this conversation thanks to his evident over-sensitivity to any jokes made at Brendon's expense. Well, not really. He was probably keeping up the charade just to maintain his own fatherly pride - which was less pride in Brendon and more pride in himself for being someone's imagined father figure. Sad, but true.

Joey aggressively wriggled a little when he was vainly turned towards the mirror and Wade welcomed himself to wrapping his arms around Joey, trying to make it clear that his affection wasn't welcome right now, but that was even hard to convince himself of. He gave in and leaned towards Wade when he landed a few kisses along his neck and trailed up higher, succumbing to what might've easily been a tactic to calm him down anyway (not that Joey really needed containing- their petty arguments like this were usually for show, truthfully, to make either or both of them laugh). He swayed a little when Wade stepped away, like his source of balance had been disrupted, and looked strangely back-to-normal once they were separated, hands still moving over his collar carefully. No, but I’m sure you’d fucking love that. Joey thought he'd lost the comedic showdown, but then Wade started laughing, and he let a tiny smirk escape him whilst he looked over his own shoulder in the mirror. Guess we’ll find out. You call the shots. "All right, well, we need to actually get to the date first."

Begone, you fucking demon. Joey shrugged carelessly. So he was a Gen-Z at heart, fuck him. My eyes are up here, you know. But also I will take it off if you want me too. Wade was impossible to read in that specific moment. Joey squinted at him, uncertain, and there was a moment of silence where he couldn't deduce any seriousness or lightheartedness. He decided the former was probably the truth of the matter, but pretending that Wade was joking was much easier to live with... until that implied Wade might actually take his silence as an affirmative. "No, I insist. Keep yourself covered, bud." He pat Wade on the shoulder, all platonic love, like they were still high school pals. I stopped listening at ‘four inches difference’ because I was worried. Joey cracked up a little, totally not meaning to because laughing meant that Wade had got to him, but unfortunately it was too funny to ignore. "I mean... you should be. I'm packing." Joey thought he was hilarious. Then he remembered his 'PG-13' promise from earlier. "Still a Capricorn, though, so you aren't allowed any further comment on that." Joey mirrored Wade's hand cross from moments earlier, only for a second before he was too lazy to keep his hands in the air and they dropped back to his sides.

He got Wade's shirt buttoned up successfully with little to no struggle, and stood back to admire his handiwork. Sure as hell you fuckin’ did. He decided not to grace that with a response, because he was so super nice, and all. "A'ight, usually I don't ask this, but will you put some fucking pants on?" He also didn't usually swear, but that was becoming a far more frequent occurrence in conversation as of late. While Joey wasn't by any means frustrated, he was certainly antsy about them actually missing a reservation rather than being comically late as was the norm. "I'll even accept jeans. Or cargo shorts. Whatever it takes. Your legs will be under the table, anyway. Hopefully." Who knew. He'd chosen a, uh, character for a boyfriend.