jakob

melt your headaches ;; b&r

This wasn't just unexpected - it was like nothing he'd experienced before. Obviously Ryan had been through plenty of breakups, and he'd spent his time on either side of the deal. When he was breaking up with someone it was because he'd picked up on the toxicity befote it got out of control, or he just knew they weren't compatible already, or he'd realized that what was probably an impulsive hookup wasn't supposed to be a long-term relationship. When he was broken up with, usually he had something about himself to improve upon and generally he did, otherwise he was blind to some issues that the girl wasn't, fortunately enough. Or there were the occasions where things ended because they just weren't meant to be together longer than, maybe, a month or so, and both of them knew it. Brendon, though - he was the real deal. Ryan knew from the start that, if they weren't going to end up together forever, they were at least going to last for a long time. It was just... simple, so easy to see, for him. Apparently assuming that the feeling was mutual was the wrong thing to do.

And then there was the fact that none of those splits looked like this. Even in his last longest relationship the hurt wasn't so terrible; it was a painful conversation, first of all, because Ryan already had trouble talking about anything too much with the wrong people so of course an hours-long talk about how 'this isn't working' and 'we need to go our separate ways' sucked big time. Then all of their mutual friends had to migrate to whoever they chose, because for whatever reason they couldn't stay friends themselves... and then the month-long recovery period, realizing that all the things he'd become used to doing with someone else he now unquestionably had to do alone, and the person he'd picked up the phone for automatically when he had anything on his mind was no longer readily available like that, and, obviously, the hurt. Even if he wasn't really fully invested emotionally in any of his past relationships compared to how he was with Brendon, they still took a toll, still made his heart ache every time. And, already, maybe a minute into him and Brendon only potentially being over, this was worse than any of that.

Brendon looked like he was going to cry himself. Ryan really, really wasn't ready to see that. As quickly as possible, Ryan started trying to turn back the clock, undo his proposition since it seemed to push Brendon over the edge - but that was a little unfair. Brendon wasn't the type to cut ties just because of one question. He must've been thinking about it for some time, but Ryan didn't even want to consider that, so he kept trying to backtrack anyway. I know, Ry, I just- Quicker. With urgency, Ryan cut in, something like a panic alarm going off in his head. I have thought. Ryan pursed his lips in a furthered effort to control his expression, because hearing Brendon's voice tremble like that hurt about as much as hearing him say all of this. It was becoming even harder to ignore the shine in his eyes so telltale of incoming tears, and Ryan's hand cupping his jaw soothed over his skin before coming to rest again, trying to calm him down.

He looked down but Ryan kept his gaze fixedly on Brendon, just as uncomfortable yet oddly unable to look away like he might usually. He was transfixed - this seemed so unreal. Ryan let his hand drop the more Brendon shifted, where it became more difficult to stay connected to him, but not totally; instead he switched to holding loosely onto Brendon's waist again, ignoring the way he crossed his arms to fend off any sort of contact like that, because it seemed like if too much distance got between them then this would suddenly become real. Ryan wasn't ready for that. I- Ryan, you know- You’re my first boyfriend. I’m the first guy you’ve ever dated. Okay, true, and Ryan was nodding slowly but incessantly, mind running fast and chaotic. He felt a little worse for Brendon in this situation. No experience before, and then something like what they had... he didn't blame him for having doubts, really. He just didn't want to accept that these were reasonable fears to have, that Brendon's reaction wasn't actually that unbelievable.

I fucking- What if you’ve just settled for the first one you liked? Ryan grinned for half a second, hysterical, like that was ridiculous, like it was a joke, then dropped it, expression hurt/confused again. Good question, but Ryan wasn't even considering it. There's no way Brendon was 'settling' - you settled for someone typical, someone predictable and mediocre and boring. Brendon was anything but. Neither of us have ever been in love- what if- what if you don’t love me? How would you even know? Ryan shook his head quickly this time, one hand moving up to clutch one of Brendon's crossed arms just below his shoulder, closing more space desperately. "Brendon, Brendon- I know, trust me," he fretted, gaze moving fast over his face. He still didn't seem all that sure, Ryan just didn't know how to break the wall there. "I love you. I'm in love with you, actually. I have been for a year and a half. Consistently. With no doubts." For once his voice was more controlled than Brendon's tremorous one, trying to convey how sure he was, wipe away any of Brendon's concerns.

But. Brendon didn't just mean he was worried about how dedicated Ryan was. That, he wasn't so sure how to fix. Ryan paused, his hold on Brendon loosening, face dropping more - if it was possible. "I used to get scared, too. But it never lasted. So... I'm sure. I mean- how long have you..." Ryan stopped again, stunted, and already his mind was coming up with crazy ideas, but he voiced it anyway. "Did you... ever think of us in the long-term?" He definitely wasn't trying to sound so. Affected, whatever. But at this point he couldn't help but wonder what Brendon was expecting, when he was going to tell Ryan that he'd been thinking all of this behind the scenes, freaking out without communicating it.

in the sickness of you ;; b&r

Although it was unbearably average and startlingly mediocre, Ryan's life didn't have many constants. His mom had run out early on and continuing contact was irregular, his dad was unpredictable and seemed to be a different person every couple of months, any extracurricular he tried to take on to distract from home seemed to fall out of his routine - so on. There was someone, however, he could always count on: Brendon. When Ryan's newly-bachelor dad moved to the cheaper house when he was three, there was this huge, weird family next door, or at least that's how he saw it at the time. His dad had said something about them being Mormons and Ryan had no idea how to take that, or what that meant, so for a while all he did was sort of observe from afar whenever the kids were running around outside, looking fairly normal but dressing in a sort of uniform way and acting oddly formal sometimes. Anyway. That was his first opinion.

And then the youngest one turned out to be sort of a dork, so. Ryan learned the basics about religion and LDS specifically, navigated it as carefully as possible around Brendon's parents, and he appeared to be accepted as Brendon's friend. They worked well; Ryan was sort of flat, weird and funny when he had the energy but otherwise controlled out of force of habit, and Brendon was all energy, all the light in Ryan's life except when he had to be well-behaved for whatever adult was around to criticize. There was definitely some kind of inner polarity within him that Ryan could see, because he was clearly bursting at the seams a lot of the time, bouncing his feet and tapping pencils and clicking pens in class but desperately trying to follow all the 'sit still/stay quiet/be polite' rules that he'd been indoctrinated into. That became less of the big conflict, though, when, as he grew into the double digits and beyond, he started questioning the faith he'd been born into - that was a lot more concerning.

That questioning culminated into him fully not believing in what he'd been raised to anymore, or at least, he had major doubts about it all. It came back to Ryan first, of course, his best friend, the least likely to judge him for it. What was off was the fact that it came through in the form of hey, I've been thinking, and - just let me try something, close to that tune, and Brendon's love for his religion had apparently turned into an affection for Ryan instead, because they were kissing pretty soon following Brendon confessing he wasn't as close to the faith as his family wanted. Which, y'know, worked out, because although Ryan tried not to dedicate too much of his time to thinking about it all lest he drive himself crazy, he'd sort of had a thing for Brendon for a while. He didn't come to terms with it until then, though, so evidently this was an explorative time for them both.

Considering the potentially homophobic, 'never shown signs of hatefulness but could totally feasibly just follow the usual religious preachings on the matter' guy he'd had a sort-of-crush on ended up liking him right back, Ryan was lucky. And then he kept testing that luck by continually coming around just as much, if not more often than he had before - and considering he lived more at Brendon's place than his own, given his situation, that was saying a lot. No one really caught on because they were naturally touchy, appropriately close for people who'd been best friends for something like fourteen years now, but still Ryan knew they should probably be more careful. Like, when Brendon was grounded, not clambering through his window from the tree between their houses. Or, when they were in church, Brendon not muttering malicious or otherwise inappropriate shit under his breath to Ryan. Y'know. Normal stuff.

And yet he continued coming back. They had a movie night planned this time around, some random cycle through whatever they could find. It couldn't come any sooner; Ryan had been holed up in his room all day, listening to the indistinct stumbling sounds and clinks of glass against counter from the rest of the house, trying to time when he could eventually leave his space. Around eight there was a period of silence and when he glanced from his window to Brendon's, the house didn't look too busy - perfect. He'd been ready for hours, fully dressed in some band tee and jeans and a hoodie, and he darted down the stairs and out the door without sparing a glance over his shoulder. At Brendon's door he wisely zipped his jacket up all the way, covering the logo 'cause parents, and finally knocked. Brendon answered, predictably, within seconds, and was reaching for him. Hey, baby! Ryan practically flinched away from him, artfully dodging his attempts at an embrace and casually playing it off as if he was stepping through the doorway. "What? Hi, hey, what's up," he rattled off rapidly, looking around in alarm.

See, Brendon tended to do this. Got way too close when another kid or, worse, a parent could be running around nearby, or at least close enough to hear him call Ryan baby. "Careful," he hissed to Brendon after his quick look around, finally toning it down enough to relax a little and brush their hands together, sending him a reserved smile. Still looking around somewhat nervously, Ryan backed away to the stairwell, nodding at the door for Brendon to close it and simultaneously ushering him over so they could escape to his room. "It's been, like, fourteen hours apart. That's gotta be a new record for us."

asked if i meant it

Ryan's house wasn't originally intended to hide as many rooms as he ended up concealing, but it did; in the first place he'd only purchased it in such an expansive size because he was young and ridiculous and he could afford it anyway. Now, he wished he lived in a smaller, even miniscule place, but there were upsides that bode well with his personality. Some spaces needed to feel distant and far away from his daily life, enough so that they felt like escapist realms where he could be creative and free from his usual restraint. His study was put away in a secluded hallway he rarely ventured into unless it was specifically for the purpose of writing something nostalgic, something that needed him to delve into some state of mind very different from the norm. He had a studio he rarely visited these days but it basically took up a whole other floor, an underground in itself, and it was locked away in what was virtually a completely separate mindspace. Ryan was a thinker, first and foremost, and his thoughts took up a strange amount of physical space in his home.

So it explained why a lot of his home was sectioned off from Brendon. Still. When Brendon was now supposed to be part of his thought process, and was far more than just a guest or regular visitor, he should probably be welcome to these spaces. Apparently Brendon had other complaints, though. Hosts are supposed to be fuckin’ polite. Therefore, offer. You’re the worst host ever. A brazen thing to say when said host was allowing Brendon to take anything he wanted at any given time, but he supposed he understood why Brendon was now off on a drunken tangent when he'd been upset about a 'secret room' in the first place. If he'd been feeling particularly edgy he'd have lit up then and there and offered Brendon a smoke on the spot, but he wasn't, and besides he preferred this room of all rooms to remain smelling clean, so. Ryan just rolled his eyes at the accusations and moved along. That would’ve made it easier, yeah. He observed the manner with which Brendon sat, all casual, and grinned at Ryan cheekily, so clearly he wasn't taking any of this very seriously. Made sense.

It was a little startling, the way Brendon sort of stared back at him once he went for a direct approach, and Ryan almost couldn't maintain his gaze - until it seemed like Brendon was giving in himself, looking away. I mean- it's not the entire house if you keep me locked out of two rooms. Ryan raised an eyebrow, registering Brendon's smirk and that 'two rooms' implication with slight worry. So he knew more than Ryan thought he did. That was a little concerning. Without commenting on that directly, Ryan urged him to sit down, and Brendon seemed to do so thoughtlessly. Ryan was a little surprised at the command he was apparently able to take. Check you out. Top fuckin’ energy. Ryan's brow furrowed while he tried to piece whatever that meant out - but then he knew what 'top' meant, and could assume what it meant alongside 'energy,' so. He winced a little in the face of Brendon's suggestive smirk.

You’re hot when you’re mad. Ryan actually couldn't take that super casually. He blinked a few times quickly again, mouth hanging open slightly for a moment. "Well, I'm not mad," he said, defenseless, and with lack of a better argument. The only thing better on his mind was, like, 'shut up,' and that didn't really work. Brendon being so forward was - well, he wasn't unused to it, but usually it didn't come out like this in a way that left him pretty much speechless. And it was making his tiny crush even harder to ignore, thanks. He crossed his arms over his chest tight, uncertain, and tried to move on fast - and registered with something like glee that he could be the one to catch Brendon off guard this time, calling him on the alcohol he'd been taking. It’d be my pleasure. Ryan looked at him for a long moment, wondering how he lived this long not murdered by Spencer while being such a little shit, then sighed inwardly, giving up.

Abruptly, Ryan turned around, taking a chair from the edge of the room and pulling it up close to the edge of the desk. He hugged the back of the chair to his chest, holding the bottle he'd taken from Brendon before his face and considering it momentarily before drinking from it. Yeah, still not a fan. He pushed it back across the desk, looking bored. With what Brendon had already clearly been comfortable enough to say to Ryan it was probably a bad idea letting him have his drink back after all, but. This was better than him stealing it again later, passing out someplace random in the house where Ryan would have to find him again. "So you know about two rooms. I take it you couldn't figure out how to get into the studio?" At this point it didn't really matter that he knew. He'd probably get a way in somehow if he didn't just endlessly pester Ryan about it. "That's a shame. You'd probably really like it." A pause. Ryan decided to mess with him a little. "And I'd probably have shown you if you didn't already disrespect all my boundaries. Sucks." He tapped on the desk, looking forlorn for Brendon's sake.

if we go on || b&r

You’re such a tightass. Alright, pretty true. But Ryan still raised an eyebrow at his phone, waiting for an 'I take that back' or something similar that never came. It's not like it hurt to hear or anything, but it was still kind of bothersome anyway. His argument that all of that was out of his element was quickly proved moot, too, and Ryan became slightly more nervous, shifting to hug one knee to his chest while he listened. You know, there were a lot of things I wasn’t used to when it came to us, and I didn’t have a problem at least trying. You just fuckin’ turn up and look miserable. Ryan nearly protested something about how he didn't look miserable, but honestly. He probably did. Not that he tried to look that way, it was just his face. He was a pretty easy book to read sometimes if he wasn't focused on not being so much. It’s a party, have some fun. It’d do you some good. He was chewing his lip, mostly just thinking how Brendon had a fair point, frustrated about that since he was the drunk one, he should be totally unreasonable. But Ryan was annoyingly tightly wound sometimes.

He persisted trying to regain the upper hand - if he'd had it in the first place, that is. By now he wasn't so sure. If I didn’t want to see you, why would I even message you? You’d come to me eventually anyway. Ryan laughed sarcastically, this short, cold sound, because why would he? Like a moth to flame? Before he could come up with any smart response, Brendon seemed to catch on - ’Cause, work. Ryan rolled his eyes, leaning back with the knee hugged to his chest until he was basically curled into his chair inwardly. He sort of just wanted to hang up and let all of this blow over, but Brendon wasn't the 'blow over' type. Things tended to flame on until they were actually dealt with. When Ryan was a bit more direct, Brendon grew quiet. Maybe he was actually getting the message across. I’m sorry, okay? There are plenty other fuckin’ dates we can go on. Right. He exhaled softly, nearly a sigh, and pursed his lips, hesitant. "Sure, because you sound very genuine." His voice was barely loud enough to actually sound bothered, unfortunately.

Moments later he was escaping his apartment, suddenly worried about Brendon's well-being despite their current situation. That's how it tended to work between them, anyway; no matter how they were going as a couple or even as friends, they generally had each other's back. Some sort of unspoken rule. He tried to stay quiet about it since, if Brendon caught on, he'd definitely hang up/lock Ryan out/block him out in some way or another, for no other reason other than how pettily pissed off he was while drunk. And then in the morning when he'd sobered up and forgotten what little thing had frustrated him to no end while he was drinking he'd wonder where the hell Ryan was, why hadn't he stayed the night, where was the ten missed calls he usually had sitting around, et cetera. So. To avoid that whole mess, Ryan hugged a couple of fingers over the receiver, muting when he could, and unfortunately even that wasn't enough. Brendon was apparently just on edge enough to catch on, albeit at the very last moment.

Ryan was already starting to drive when Brendon said something about it. I just feel sick, I- no, fuck you, you’re in the car. He couldn't help it. Ryan cracked up into a grin, 'cause that was his boyfriend. So sensitive. "No, I'm not," he said innocently, decidedly less irritated. He turned a corner a block away from Brendon's place, shaking his head a little in amusement. Don’t fucking come over, I don’t want to see you. Suck my dick. Sure he didn't. He'd gotten home and immediately called whining about not seeing Ryan. Ryan called bullshit. He drove the final two or three minutes, tapping on his steering wheel agitatedly the whole way there, and ended up running up the steps to Brendon's building and waiting what felt like hours in the elevator. It was probably more like a handful of minutes, but at this point he was afraid Brendon was either a.) getting sick by his lonesome or b.) passed out, or both, and that was a pretty unsafe mix.

On his floor, Ryan rushed into the penthouse with his own key, stepping into the living room and finding - with a note of surprise - that it was not as trashed as he'd expected. In fact, Brendon must not have been in here long, 'cause it wasn't trashed at all. Assuming Brendon stumbled off somewhere, Ryan retrieved a glass of water from the kitchen, painkillers for the morning, and hung onto them while he continued investigating. He hovered around for a moment, listening for any movement, then cautiously went on to Brendon's bedroom, the door hanging open carelessly. He crossed his arms over his chest, observing a very wasted Brendon slung over his bed looking like maybe he wanted to get the hell out of here but physically couldn't, either too tired or too sick to. Whatever the case, Ryan had to suppress a smile, not so much laughing at his misery but more at the contrast between his attitude and his appearance. "Hey, baby, y'know, you've never looked better. Drink some water, dummy." He held out the glass reverently, moving closer from the doorway. "Been sick yet?"

asked if i meant it

It was probably unfair in the first place to restrict Brendon from entering a room in the house he now lived in indefinitely; after all, what said 'you're not welcome here' more than sectioning someone off into one place when he had all of this available space? Ryan was just incredibly private and intended to keep it that way, at least partially. He was gradually getting better at opening up to Brendon, both for the sake of the novel and because they were becoming friends anyway, but there were still things he'd like to keep to himself permanently - possessions or thoughts or ideas that not even Jon or Spencer had seen, all locked away in his study. At this point he should've probably reconsidered the value he placed in all of these things. It's not like he dusted everything off or memorialized it or gave it a shrine, nothing like that. All of his father's paperwork and old correspondence between them and the rare photo sat in a cardboard box on a shelf, untouched and uncared for; all of his own journals and schoolwork that somehow held sentimental worth were shoved into drawers that he never opened. So nothing was really too sacred to keep from Brendon - Ryan was just high strung.

And he was the same when he entered the study, mysteriously unlocked and hanging open, regarding a much more nonchalant Brendon with a calculatedly blank expression. Brendon was looking at him in a very specific way he probably would've appreciated at any other time, but now it just made him feel worse, because he was pissed but Brendon looked like that and it was hard to stay pissed. So, pissed off and frustrated. Ryan tried to keep it under wraps for both of their sakes, pointedly ignoring the way Brendon immediately bit his lip and actually batted his eyelashes, like he thought he was in a cartoon. Honestly. Maybe he was way more than drunk. Hey, you sound hot. Definitely more than drunk. Though his expression remained the same, Ryan quickly blinked a few times in succession, mostly confused by his forwardness. It's not that that was unlike Brendon, just - he'd never said anything quite like that before with such ease.

And anyway, I told you I smoke, and you still haven’t ever actually fuckin’ offered. You’ve made me resort to fuckin’ stealing. "I didn't realize I was obligated to offer you any when you could get your own. Was I supposed to offer you drinks so that you didn't steal any of that, either?" Ryan made no mention of the fact that he didn't actually mind any of that, just the fact that he'd quite literally broken into the study, but. He may as well keep Brendon on edge if he was already in trouble. It appeared to be working; Ryan was familiar with how Brendon looked when he was nervous, or when anxiety was building, and he always felt bad about it usually. He never meant to intimidate him or make him feel bad or shame him, any of that, but he made so many social faux pas that it sort of happened a lot anyway. This time he could see Brendon catching on to the fact that he'd made a mistake and was glad he could at least be that perceptive in this state.

Regardless, Brendon was obedient, taking his legs off the desk and rolling away from it in his chair in due time. Ryan held his gaze steadily, half occupied trying to distinguish exactly how drunk he was at this point, whether he'd have to, like, carry him back to bed. They were quite a distance away by now. Anything else you’d like me to do? The smug look on his face said a lot in itself. Ryan was kind of afraid to hear whatever he was thinking. Get on my knees? In a heartbeat. Ryan mentally cringed alongside Brendon's common sense, thinking that whatever Fifty Shades fantasy he had going on in his head needed to be extinguished as soon as possible. How the hell was he supposed to react to that? Not humoring him seemed to be the best answer, so Ryan narrowed his eyes at Brendon for a moment before seizing the bottle of alcohol, his other hand hovering uncertainly in preparation to catch a very unsteady looking New Yorker.

I’d exhausted all other fuckin’ entertainment. What? Ryan had forgotten he'd even asked a question. Mostly he was still dwelling on the 'get on my knees?' bullshit from earlier. Brendon certainly bore a certain shock factor. Anyway - that was his fault. When you realized all the technological distractions were kind of empty, and you were someone like Brendon who had little interest in his expansive library, it got boring. He wasn't doing a great job keeping his only guest occupied. Ryan looked at the bottle in his hand for a few long moments, hesitant, before finally gingerly placing it on the desk. And I was curious why you keep this shit locked all the fuckin’ time. Journals? I’m disappointed. I was looking forward to a sex tape on your computer- hey, what’s your password? Ryan still looked slightly distracted, but he furrowed his brow at Brendon, confused - a sex tape? Had Brendon met him? Ryan had about as much scandal as a baby carrot. Even if he didn't have a sex tape to his name, there was still absolutely nothing interesting on his computer, at least nothing that might appeal to Brendon.

Nevertheless, that didn't mean he was about to welcome him with open arms to all of his information. He stared at Brendon impatiently while he gave all his attention to the screen, waiting until he finally looked up again, then planted his hands on the edge of the desk, leaning in until their eyeline was more level. "I gave you one rule, Brendon. Not to go in my study. When I welcome you to the entire house, I expect you to respect my space." He paused, studying the way Brendon was trying desperately to maintain balance and only awkwardly succeeding, then nodded at him promptly. "Sit back down. You'll fall." He straightened up again, scrubbing one hand over his face and hooking the other around his hipbone. Ryan spared a brief glance around before looking again at Brendon, tiny and wasted and in his old jersey, and he couldn't be that angry at him. After a moment he tried offering an explanation of sorts, if only to fill the time until Brendon inevitably passed out from boredom or intoxication. "You wouldn't have found anything interesting. It's all just... whatever I saved from my place back in Colorado."

He examined the bottle again listlessly, something like a scowl playing on his lips, sloshed the liquid around a little. Guess now was a better time than ever to reveal that, yes, he did know what Brendon had been up to, he wasn't that ridiculously oblivious. "I don't care what you drink, Brendon. Stop refilling shit with water, though. Just tell me what to replace, Christ." It was more funny than it was annoying at the moment, somehow, which made it hard to look very serious at all, but. Ryan solved that issue by very determinedly fixing his gaze on the leftover alcohol in his hand rather than at Brendon.

city’s your playground | b&r

Although the usual set of commandments Brendon followed for himself had stopped applying to Ryan long ago, he still often became worried that maybe this time was different, he was going to get run out as soon as Brendon woke up or Brendon would run away himself. He walked a thin cord, balancing carefully between Brendon's rampant mood changes and his exhausting indecisiveness as to whether he was to be an emotional person or completely not, and Ryan always tried steering him in the direction he'd been going earlier before they'd turned physical. Ryan liked all of it, everything between them, but he did have his preferences. He liked when Brendon said what he was thinking, and when he truly meant it, he liked when he could catch Brendon off guard rather than just earn a smug grin and something like 'I know,' he liked everything tender and gentle that came so few and far between with the two of them. Ryan knew it wasn't healthy to treat him like a boyfriend in his head like that, but. He honestly couldn't help it.

So he was careful when he awoke, moving gently and making himself as unintrusive as possible, so that if Brendon did want him to leave or vice versa maybe his softness would change his mind. Evidently, it wasn't necessary; Brendon woke up fairly quickly alongside him, Ryan could tell with the change in pace of his breathing. When he leaned over, too, he could see the slightest, sleepiest smile, and there was a surge through his chest, another dangerous feeling too close to that of a boyfriend. He needed to fix this issue - but he saved it in the back of his mind for now, savoring the serenity of the moment, the way there was no contesting his presence here. First the talk hours before, and now this unrelenting welcome... Ryan was pretty sure he hadn't had a day as good as this one in a very long time. He grinned in amusement down at Brendon's tired figure as he groaned impatiently, eyes opening tentatively. So maybe Ryan was a little inconsiderate, but. He wanted to see him, desperately.

Brendon turned over onto his back, and Ryan watched his hand glide through his hair, so tempted to toy with it along with him. And- temptation was apparently very strong. His hand slid from Brendon's shoulder to his hair, absently curling locks around his fingers, his forearm framing the side of Brendon's face. Brendon appeared to still basically be asleep, barely listening and stretching out at length like a cat. My entire body is done for. I need to go back to sleep. Ryan arched an eyebrow, smirking knowingly while images from hours previous flashed through his mind. "Is that a compliment? Testament to my ability?" A little too proud for someone who was probably not as responsible for Brendon's current state as the comfortable couch was. Nevertheless, Ryan held onto it, trailing his hand down from Brendon's hair, to his collarbones, chest, navel. Somehow he instantly had energy, enough to want to map out all of Brendon's skin, though it wasn't all that surprising considering under the circumstances he'd be overenthused regardless.

Greek Gods? Really? If I didn’t think you were gay before... Ryan grinned right back at him, feeling the overwhelming urge to kiss right where his smile reflected on the corners of his eyes, and of course he followed through, leaning down quickly in a bizarre juxtaposition to Brendon's slow, placid movements. "You had your doubts? I must not be doing well enough." Evidently he'd woken up cocky - and Brendon kept giving him more reason to be. You tired me out. Ryan watched him for a moment, tranquil, suppressing any overindulgent thought that threatened to rise to the surface when he saw the easy smile on Brendon's face. The task became harder when Brendon pulled him down, arms looped round his waist, and Ryan's chest was suddenly pressed to his, keeping his chin raised so he could continue watching a very exhausted Brendon attempt to sleep.

"Clearly," he said softly, closer to his ear, and sort of silently laughed, drawing his now-tingling arm up to cushion Brendon's head. "Told you I could." He let his head drop, face nestled close to the crook of Brendon's shoulder, his hand returned to the other side of his head only to brush absently through the hair behind his ear. He shifted a little until he was more half-on top of Brendon, half-fitted along his side, rather than letting his hipbones dig sharply into the poor guy. In fact he was overly careful ensuring all of his points and edges were kept away from him. After a pause trying to sleep but unable to on account of holy hell this is real this is happening, plus the fact that his arm hurt almost unbearably, Ryan spoke again, voice low against Brendon's jaw. "All the stuff you were saying earlier, about..." Caring. Fuck. He couldn't get it off his mind. "You meant all of that?"

asked if i meant it

Unused to guests, much less actual housemates (although Brendon was only temporary), Ryan wasn't sure how to handle Brendon. Actually, Brendon may even be a special case when it came to treating visitors because he was a very unique individual. Ryan had, of course, already come to understand that he had a teenager's diet, and easily catered to it - before he usually just forgot to feed himself and found whatever was easiest left in his kitchen by whichever staff took pity on him, generally some kind of canned soup or a ready meal or, because it was easier to drink the calories he needed to live rather than actually eat, he'd find some kind of shake. So basically he acted like some retired old guy. Easy life. Then Brendon came and things he never touched disappeared, so Ryan naturally got someone to restock the random arrangement of snacks Brendon seemed to survive off of: Doritos, Coke, Skittles - any sour candy, really - so on. It was kind of sweet, he wasn't hard to take care of at all considering anyone else would be taking advantage of the free amenities and potentially radical diet changes available to them.

Brendon, though, only did a few things that would be worthy of Ryan getting upset with him, and even then Ryan didn't really care. He was a little messy, too distracted whenever he was running around the place to pick up after himself, but Ryan was pretty much the same. This was what housekeepers were for, anyway. Then sometimes Ryan didn't really feel up to talking more about his personal life, but Brendon pushed regardless, and that was actually vaguely irritating - but over time he'd become even slightly grateful for the relief, realizing that getting some stuff off his back was helpful. Finally, the alcohol. Ryan wasn't a big drinker himself; in fact he only really sipped at beer or wine or heavily mixed drinks if he was actively trying to start drinking, or if it was a social thing. But he wasn't dumb. He'd spent his entire childhood sniffing out liquor, cleaning up after a gradually more careless drinker. After the first time he thought he smelled rum in his kitchen, Ryan checked his supply and found that his vodka poured way more quickly, was way less strong than he remembered it was meant to be.

It was more funny than it was irritating, although Ryan figured he'd probably be pissed if he actually did drink. Truthfully he was glad to have it gone. It was only there for guests - and Brendon was a guest, so he may as well take it. Actually, Ryan was considering how to best break it to him that he really didn't mind the stuff going, but he was sure that'd be too much like putting him on the spot. Anyway, Ryan had only caught on about a week ago, so who knew how long it'd been, but he did know that a lot had disappeared. More than anything, he was fairly impressed by Brendon's tolerance. He got up every morning looking pretty normal, never really smelled like a usual hangover, and generally was good at whatever sneaky process he had orchestrated. Or maybe he wasn't trying to be sneaky at all, just trying to be polite keeping everything at the same level? Unlikely. Regardless Ryan chose not to say a thing.

All the changes were throwing him for a loop, though, and a handful of times this month he found himself with headaches or other physical signs of his introversion taking a toll. When he complained of a migraine, Brendon didn't seem to mind him retreating - thank god. Most anyone else would probably think he was rude if they saw him escape to hide in his room early so often; Brendon understood. Anyway, he wasn't lying, and Ryan actually did catch some sleep for a few hours, such a rarity that it was kind of unfortunate that he could only manage to pass out from a debilitating headache. It was basically a full night's sleep, as a matter of fact, only he woke up more disoriented than ever in the lightless hours of morning, dark enough for stars and moon to still be out but early enough for dim rays of sunlight to rise over the treeline all around his home. Not an unusual setting for him, just not something he'd usually wake up to.

He also didn't usually wake up to the distant sound of his living room's television blaring, playing through paid programming like no one was actually watching it. His headache was decidedly gone, so Ryan had the patience to investigate. He rubbed his eyes, then rose and pulled a jacket over bare shoulders, not bothering to zip it in his stumble to the living room. Yep. As suspected, he was met with the glow of a television, nothing else. Ryan switched it off, thinking this would be kind of strange if Brendon wasn't already something of a wild card, and figured that his night/morning was going to be a game of finding where Brendon was. Probably lost. He wandered around a little more, sorting absently through his overcurled hair while he peered into rooms, not finding him in the library or any of the guest rooms or taking a three hour shower in any bathrooms. Odd.

He finally came to a hallway he nearly skipped because he was so sure Brendon wouldn't be there - the one that led to the study, where the light was on, illuminating the rest of the hall. The one room he told Brendon not to go in. This was where everything truly personal lived, where he kept all his childhood journals and a lot of his dad's belongings that he rescued from his basement in Colorado and where he organized all the more important segments of his writing, and most crucially the place where Brendon couldn't Aries everything up. He felt this vague wave of irritation/anxiety under the surface, trying not to jump to any conclusions, maintaining a calm exterior while he approached the doorway. Ryan drew his finger over the key already in the door, pursing his lips tight as he realized Brendon somehow must've known where it was for some time now, and slowly pushed the door further open to lean against the doorframe.

Considering he still looked semi-asleep and his hair curled boyishly at the ends, Ryan probably didn't look very threatening. But seeing Brendon hanging over his desk, untouched by anyone but himself before, it was very careful control that kept him from breaking his unperturbed expression. He liked Brendon, sure, in fact he was growing on him more and more by the day, but this was kind of hard to excuse. Hey, this room is tight. Ryan blinked at him slowly, fingertips tapping on the side of his thigh at a fairly rapid pace, and registered the indistinct bottle in his hand. That explained it. Clearly his judgment was impaired... but then Ryan wasn't sure a sober Brendon would even care that much. Can't believe I’ve been here a month and only just seen it now. "Considering I told you that this room was off-limits, it's not that hard to believe." His voice was rough from an actual human amount of sleep, and he'd be bothered by it if it didn't kind of add to the energy he was exuding anyway.

Ryan meandered in, stuffing his hands in his pockets and keeping his shoulders high. Brendon was in his jersey. Sweet, but. Kind of hard to keep charmed by that when his feet were also up on the desk carelessly, bottle full of alcohol dangerously close to hours of work and a computer that he wouldn't be able to recover. He crossed the room until he was opposite Brendon, looking over his work and the wood at him, unreadable. "Brendon," he said carefully, tilting his head to meet Brendon's gaze. "Get off my desk." He paused, waited, working his jaw, pulling his lip between his teeth briefly. Ryan held his hand out, gesturing vaguely towards the bottle. "And give me that. Why are you in here?"

melt your headaches ;; b&r

At his rather dry response - but Ryan wasn't much for conversation right away, anyway - Brendon looked up at him, seemingly amused, and Ryan's heart skipped just at the sight of his smile. Jesus, the thought of waking up to that every morning rather than every other morning or even longer than that... yeah, he'd like to get to that point sooner rather than later. By now Ryan was basically holding his tongue to stop from running the suggestion by Brendon, but they tended to be on equal terms at any given time, so he wasn't really worried. They'd both written those songs on the new record, same romanticism, same idealism, the same concept to reinvent love. Honestly, they had kind of succeeded in doing that, Ryan thought. Or, anyway, his idea of love had changed entirely. Like he'd admitted to before, all his past 'lovers' were nothing, now. A thing of the past, and a very dumb past at that. Now seventy percent of his thoughts were dominated by Brendon, Brendon, Brendon, and the other thirty were pretty pointless since they weren't about him.

Wow, you got out of bed to come see me? Ryan nodded vehemently, like he was impressed with even himself, and smirked in what was meant to be a suppressed smile. Don’t suppose you’d wanna get back in? That was very tempting. In fact, it was the secondmost thing he wanted more than anything right now, and the first thing he was trying to cut to the chase for rather quickly. He toyed briefly with the idea of breaking his thoughts to Brendon in bed, an even calmer place to do it, but Ryan always took forever to get to the point, so. May as well get it over with. Plus - if he brought it up now, they'd end up having one bed to waste days away in. Shared. Like everything else would be. God, that'd be ideal. He was stroking more carefully at the fade of Brendon's hairline, already envisioning it all.

Brendon's lips were pressed almost absently to his jaw and Ryan leaned into it while he spoke, already stuck in the motion of moving them like a slow current. He wasn't worried at all, in fact, he was completely careless, in the place he probably felt most comfortable with the person he felt most comfortable; and then he was. Brendon became rigid in his arms, breathing stunted, and suddenly he wasn't holding onto him anymore. It'd never occurred to him that maybe they weren't on the same page before - well, it had, but it sounded so absurd to him, and he'd even spoken to Spencer about it in a fit of 'hey best friend listen to this' gossip, and Spencer agreed that Brendon was likely in the exact same headspace. Evidently, Brendon was a pretty good actor. Ryan kept his small smile, reserving any panic for now, and let his arms slowly drop as well.

Ryan, I- I can’t. Ryan's smile faded a little but not totally, expression slightly confused, and he tried to meet Brendon's gaze only to find him focused fixedly on the floor. Can’t do- this. Us. It’s too much. Too soon. Too fast. That couldn't be right. It'd been a year, and then a friendship before that, and surely Brendon didn't mean any of this. He just had to think about it, maybe... or he already had, and he'd made up his mind before Ryan even asked. Ryan stared at him, slightly more scared, and couldn't find any words at all, mind totally blank except for a vague register of fear. I’m sorry. This is why I called you here. He didn't even sound sure of himself. If Brendon had no conviction about the matter, and had sounded fine moments ago - teasing, as a matter of fact, like he was perfectly ready to joke around - why was he saying any of it?

"Don't say that," Ryan said in a small voice, stepping closer again, hand gently settling against Brendon's jaw to try and raise his head, meet his eyeline. "Hey, you don't have to- you don't have to do that. We can wait a little while, okay? Just think before you..." Wait. If this was why Brendon called him here, then that wasn't the only reason. He paused, considering, and studied Brendon for a moment, feeling cold. "Why? What are you afraid of?" If Brendon was serious, had thought this through, then Ryan didn't want to convince him otherwise - it sounded more than a little manipulative. He just wanted to hear him out.

say what you mean ; b&r ; tell me i’m right

/ Debatable

if we go on || b&r

/