jakob

if you're going, then go || b&r

It made exactly zero sense that Ryan should come here, with relatively zero forewarning, close to the middle of the night, so on - and then be an asshole to Brendon. If they had to pick someone, it should be Brendon scaring him off with his frankness, but apparently Ryan's sense of how to treat other human beings totally died out around him. Anyway, it probably didn't matter; Brendon seemed way more confused than he seemed annoyed. Ryan didn't blame him. If he was in Miami and Brendon flew in from D.C. to crash his hotel room, he'd wonder a few things: how come it had to be him he chose to see, why would Brendon abandon all his business for Ryan across the country, how long was he planning on bumming around, so on. Yeah, he could see it from Brendon's point of view, but mostly he didn't care. Let him be confused. Ryan was self-important around him and him alone, so he may as well act as entitled as he wanted while he was here.

He thought he sounded vindictive, even, but then Brendon was clearly trying to suppress a laugh, biting his lip withholdingly. Ryan could practically feel the scrutiny. He set his jaw tight, more pissed by the second. You were the one who came here, Ryan. Brendon had the nerve to sound bored. There was a messy internal conflict following that; Ryan wanted to send him over the edge, make him spiral the way he was himself, watch him lose his shit like he'd seen hundreds of time before, all because he sounded so damn smug about all of this and how dare he be bored when Ryan felt as awful as he did now. Then the other side of the war wanted some kind of comfort, wanted the person he'd basically only ever been an asshole to to be gentle with him, tell him what he had with Keltie wasn't the end of the world and make him believe it. That side was pretty unequipped for battle, though, and had rarely existed as strongly and as frequently as the other, so mostly Ryan was angry.

It seemed like he got close - Brendon's jaw set tight, he could tell from the tensing muscles at the sides of his face, and his eyebrow arched critically. Didn't feel like much of a win, still. Hey, I haven’t got a problem with Keltie, she seems nice. Bad taste in men. Damn. Ryan had already pulled the 'fuck you' card twice, but still it was on the tip of his tongue. Instead he made an exasperated sound, something between a sign and an 'ugh,' and tipped his head back, shoving his hands through his hair and holding them there while he glared at the ceiling. "Hilarious. Dickhead." Yeah, sure, he hadn't been joking, but Ryan could pretend. He nearly went for a sensitive spot, said something like 'if she has bad taste for liking me, then you do, too,' but that came too close to actually talking about whatever weird double-nature relationship they had, and he wasn't ready for the awkwardness behind that. Nor was he ready for whatever accusatory comeback - and a rightly founded one, most likely - Brendon would come up with.

Maybe that’s why she’s still with you. Ryan's gaze shifted slowly, miserably, from the ceiling to Brendon, and he looked at him tiredly for a long moment before rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe." He was off his game. He dropped his hands from his head back to his sides, fingertips digging into the couch cushion. You’re a dumbass, you know that? Was this really the time to be reminding him? Ryan returned his attention to Brendon, suspicious about the sudden change in direction. She’s always looked at you like you’re some kind of weird zoo animal. You’re her... Objective eye candy. A talking point in her circle. The anger in Ryan's face died out and he blinked at Brendon, mulling that over. It was true, and he knew it for a while on some level, just didn't really think about it. He didn't like addressing the way Keltie looked at him like some rare creature any time before, but now at the tipping point it was just another straw on the camel's back.

Ryan shrugged a shoulder, reserved, and let his gaze flicker to the floor again, chewing his lip somewhat anxiously. "I know," he said in a more neutral voice, quieter. They still weren't being nice or even levelling, but the lack of confrontation in his tone was hard to find, so much so it felt almost odd not to be yelling at Brendon for being honest. "I have known, I just -" Ryan paused, hesitant. What was he willing to say in front of Brendon? Again, if he was sober, he probably wouldn't have said a single word about any of it. Now, though, he was on the verge of a tangent and couldn't stop. He scratched his temple self-consciously, pulling his legs closer again while he stared at the floor intently. "It makes you feel important, you know. Less damaged, being idealized like that." And that'd been the case. Somewhere along the way he had fallen even deeper into his destructive self-perception, thinking himself so fucked up and messy that he'd become codependent with Keltie. Honestly, it wasn't good for her either, but the bottom line was that neither of them were innocent here. Anyway this was all very dramatic, and he realized he'd been telling Brendon about it and paled, suddenly deeply uncomfortable when seconds ago he'd waltzed in completely disregarding how unwelcome he was without issue.

But Brendon had mercy, even if it was short-lived, because he was quieter when he sat down on the other end of the couch, having the heart to look disinterested. That was probably an effort to get under Ryan's skin again, but really he'd rather not have Brendon's full undivided attention on him while he was being this sensitive about his shitty relationship. Seriously. What are you even doing here? Ryan ran his hands over his face, then got through another shot, willing the room to spin more on him. He didn't know. He honestly didn't. He'd already run through a series of excuses; 'you were closest,' bullshit; 'no one else was available,' he probably could have found someone who didn't hate him that hadn't been at the party; 'I was going to be in Seattle for the show anyway,' yeah, still didn't explain the ditching the party rather than waiting 'til morning and choosing Brendon's place rather than getting his own room; so forth. The fact he didn't want to bring up: he really did want to see Brendon. Actually, despite the nature of their circumstances, he felt some kind of relief from seeing him again. It made no sense at all. Like hell he was going to say that to Brendon, though.

Ryan started to speak, prepared to improvise entirely, and could only meet Brendon's gaze for a second before he had to look down again. "I don't know. Actually, fuck, I should just - I can go. I don't know what I'm doing here." He nearly even said 'sorry' about it. Jesus, it must be a bad night. Ryan started to stand up, unfolding from what had become his little nook in the corner of the couch, and immediately felt his balance thrown. Feeling the room turning around him and his head swimming, Ryan dropped back down after a second, leaning all the way back against the cushions to stare at the ceiling and struggle to refocus his gaze. "...On second thought, I might not be able to go." Ryan paused, reconsidered the whole apology he'd forced himself to pass up, then finally looked at Brendon again. "I shouldn't've come. I'm... I'm sorry, whatever. I didn't think it through. I just couldn't be there anymore." 'And you came to mind first, because you were on my mind,' yeah, that didn't sound great, so miraculously he controlled his mouth for the time being.

asked if i meant it

The longer he was in here, in more than just a vaguely uncomfortable situation, the more Ryan picked up on how revealing Brendon was behaving. He honestly couldn't tell whether this was some kind of drunken change of heart or maybe the alcohol brought out even more boldness than Brendon usually had; whatever the case, he was a little terrified by it. Whenever he spoke he knew the words were in one ear and out the other - Brendon was focused on him half-intently, more specifically, his mouth. Funny. Ryan could relate. In this situation, though, he was the lucky one who could control his gaze somewhat. Or he thought so, anyway. While completely catching Ryan off guard with his very vocal attraction, Brendon wet his lips and did that self-satisfied side smile he wore so well, and Ryan felt himself in trouble again. He forced himself to look at the wall past Brendon momentarily, trying to look less flustered.

If this isn’t mad... Ryan's fingers loosened easily from around the bottle when Brendon went for it, because at this point it didn't really matter, did it? He dropped his hands to his sides, at a loss. I’d love to see what happens when you are. Ryan tilted his head back a little, chin rising. He may be more out of his element than ever, but still, the dry humor was alive. He responded with as much. "You'd love to? Sure, feel free to piss me off," he said in an easy tone, his own smirk forming. Mostly 'cause Brendon was such a unique character. Ryan honestly couldn't understand what the appeal was in being scolded like a kid, which was what he'd come pretty close to doing here. Anyway- Brendon seemed to take the challenge with getting him mad, because with his bottle back, he began acting more reckless, carrying it unsteadily until he could take another drink. Ryan stared at him pointedly, knowing this was more likely than not just another effort to set him off, so he didn't humour it.

In fact, he couldn't be mad when Brendon winked at him like that, but thankfully he could still hide away in his defensive arms-crossed position. A subconscious effort to escape the situation, Ryan downed some of the drink after taking his own seat, scowling but still mostly resigned. Brendon finished all of it and Ryan knew that was a bad idea, letting him have even more although it wouldn't make such a huge difference, but at this point he was catching him looking him up and down, a step up from just watching his mouth carefully earlier. Ryan had no clue how to fix this issue. It was hypocritical - he himself never gave Brendon a break from being the most attractive person in the world, in his eyes - but at least he wasn't so entirely obvious about it... or he hoped. There was the sane, rational person's way out, where they just address it mutually and maybe consider romance, but that was a horrifying concept for Ryan. No way to go around that while staying anywhere near his comfort zone. Instead, he tried to pick up the slack on letting all of it pass, forcibly ignoring all of Brendon's signals.

Mentioning the studio Brendon had passed up seemed to help the situation, or at least change the topic. Studio? You have a studio? Maybe 'help' wasn't the wrong word, actually, because now Ryan was fixated on how excited he seemed, endlessly fond of how easily he became enthused by something so simple. But then it made sense - here was someone clearly meant to be a professional musician, someone great, who'd never even had the opportunity to record, and now he'd learned that there was a completed studio a short walk away. Suddenly, all the stress about Brendon getting in here melted away, and he was wearing a tiny smile watching him light up, nodding affirmatively. You’re fuckin’ kidding. Why haven’t you shown me? Good question. The thought passed through his mind a few times, but he'd always figured a studio tour would also involve an obligatory tour of Ryan's own personal recordings, and he didn't think any of his songs were any good. Yet. Maybe in, like, a million years he'd be improved enough to think it was good enough for Brendon, but now, not so much.

Rather than say that, though, he continued the 'scolding parent' spiel, mostly for his own amusement. He'd probably end up showing Brendon now, anyway, after seeing how happy he got - just with a deal on no playing his own music. How do I make it up to you? What do I have to do? Ryan already didn't like where this was going, starting to shake his head hesitantly. What do you want? My firstborn? A blowjob? My left arm? You have pretty hands. Ryan stared at him for a second again, then shoved the heel of his palm into his eye, once again bewildered. First, those were three very different things, where did he think Ryan's priorities lay; second, he'd never received such a weirdly specific compliment before. He didn't dislike it, but. Brendon was just in such an entirely separate league from his own. He was already speechless, but when his vision came back from the static, he found Brendon with his lip between his teeth and that gleam in his eye still. That, he had no idea how to respond to.

"Um," Ryan said sagely after a pause, shaking his head slightly, "I don't - I don't want anything. You don't have to... all right, I'll make you a deal. If you can walk right now, I'll show you the studio." Watching Brendon make a fool of himself was much more fun than being rendered speechless, looking like a fish in water, by him. He leaned back with his chin between his fingers, watching Brendon expectantly. Of course he wasn't going to make him walk down there without assistance - but honestly. He needed to get back up a rung after being offered a blowjob, like, fifteen times in three minutes.

if you're going, then go || b&r

Had Ryan actually thought this through, he'd realize that presenting himself for Brendon to make fun of after undoubtedly being given so much fodder was a bad idea. To be fair he hadn't actually seen any of the pictures or other documentation of how awful his party was... other than a small glimpse of the photoshoot Keltie had taken the liberty of posting everywhere she could. That was just the start of things Brendon could laugh at, though. The teen pictures he'd semi-successfully kept from his friends' camera rolls (except for maybe Spencer, but he wasn't malicious enough to bring them up), the fact that Keltie apparently thought he'd love some sort of skimpy Rockettes visit (an easy door for another 'not-a-hetero-bone-in-his-body' comment, probably), or even the ultimate tragedy of the night: a summation of how genuinely awful his long-term relationship was, how much time and energy he'd wasted on something so clearly incompatible.

But he didn't think it through, and now he was going to him like a magnet, attracted over hundreds of miles. Last year when Ryan learned his father was terminal Brendon had become so uncharacteristically sweet, probably just unsettled by the way Ryan couldn't bite back as hard or as often, how his expression and general body language had changed, whatever. No matter the case, he'd been so nice, and Ryan had never been the target for Brendon's kindness in the same way Brendon had never been on the receiving end of his. Once he was moving past the heaviest burden of grief, he realized what had been going on - and he liked it. The tiniest sample of them actually being friends and close was something he genuinely wished he could have. But of course this was a passing dream, one that lasted for seconds whenever it came back to him.

Now was one of the times, sort of; he felt so shitty he just wanted them to be civil to one another, or if he couldn't have that he'd rather hold the upper hand whenever they were at each other's throats (because apparently that was his limit... either he could acceptably be relatively all right with Brendon or he could be absolutely extinguishing his confidence). A tiny part of him was aware that he wanted Brendon to be nice to him, to wish him a happy birthday, to pretend he'd have wanted to be there, to tell him he'd missed him the same way Ryan had missed him. Scarily he registered that in this state he wanted things from Brendon that were less friendship-oriented and more like something one may want from a boyfriend, and he was quick to wash away that mindset. The thought alone was horrifying. Ish. Maybe a little bit tempting. Not that he'd ever admit it, or let himself think of it longer to exist as anything but an intrusive thought.

When he got to Brendon's, he answered the door shirtless and stubbly and messy-haired, and after so much tight-spaced band time together he had seen that and was fairly used to it, but still. He couldn't look at him long or he'd risk something showing through his expression, probably, something embarrassing, so he ducked through the doorway smoothly as soon as he could, shutting his eyes tight and pretending he was welcome. Brendon looked confused, not angry yet, and Ryan prayed silently don't make me go don't make me go, all the while feigning total confidence in his being ghere by welcoming himself to Brendon's hotel amenities. As many of them as he could hold, actually. Judging by a quick look around the room, it seemed like Brendon had already broken into the alcohol. He definitely wasn't twenty-one. Lucky fucker gets a room paid for by the record and gets everything he'd normally have to wait a year for.

You fucking better, what the fuck are you- Characteristically, Ryan cut him off before he could scold him more, already breaking into a tiny vodka. Meanwhile, Brendon was evidently calibrating to the situation still, genuinely baffled by Ryan appearing here. Maybe he hadn't gotten the text, then, or just didn't believe it. Either was plausible - he could've definitely set Ryan to 'no notifications,' and if he had them, it wasn't feasible that Ryan would ever go out of his way to see him. But here he was. ...What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room on a Thursday night when you’re supposed to be at your birthday party? In New York? Ryan looked at him through narrowed eyes, wanting desperately to talk about how it felt to be at that place where he didn't even know anyone, how he felt now in general, but that wasn't their relationship. Instead, he set aside the now-empty vodka, moving on to a tiny rum bottle.

Brendon looked resigned for a moment, then smug, and Ryan was torn between wanting to wipe the fucking smirk off his face and thinking he had such an endearing side-smile. Weird. Did you fly across the country to see me instead of your girlfriend? Empty rum. He set it aside, moved on to a second bottle of the same. Pointedly, he looked rather pissed that he couldn't come up with another excuse than that. Whatever; he wouldn't have wanted to keep up a lie all night anyway. Fuckin’ loser. Does she know you’re here? "Fuck you," he burst out immediately, sitting up and pulling his legs up to sit criss-cross on the couch. "Fuck you, okay? All you ever do is whine about Keltie. Maybe it's not your fucking business." Ryan's third shot unsteadily landed on the coffee table next to the slowly forming line, and he paused for a long moment, forcing himself to look away from Brendon. God, he wished they were different people.

Ryan started to talk then stopped in the same second, hesitating a little while longer. Suddenly the anger dissipated from his face, not totally but mostly, and was replaced with something closer to despondency, an actual frown threatening. "A year, and she has no idea who I am," he said quietly, melancholy. "I should have broken up with her so long ago." He hugged his arms around his legs, feeling the room move around him and knowing he probably should have let his last drink be in NYC. Fuck. He glanced at Brendon, feeling a twinge of mortification that certainly paled in comparison to what he might have felt sober, then quickly looked back at the floor. Whatever Brendon was thinking, it was probably already not so good, he'd probably already lost any semblance of an upper hand. So fuck it. "I feel like shit."

if we go on || b&r

Ryan probably should have let go of the whole abandoned date hours ago, like, when they were at the party they'd ditched it for, but he hadn't. It was a bad habit of Ryan's, hanging on to shit that upset him rather than bringing it to light with Brendon and discussing it. But that at least went both ways - if he tried to 'talk things out' with Brendon, then even Brendon wouldn't be great at it. So they were equal. In any case, now he was stuck in a cycle, and Brendon appeared to notice despite his drunken state. What do you want from me? I’ve fuckin’ apologised. You always find some excuse to be mad, I’ve always done something fuckin’ wrong. The fact was that this was an exaggeration, sure, but it held enough truth in it - that Ryan tended to become short with him fairly easily, or at least lose his softness - that Ryan felt guilty. He paused, hesitating, and even after trying to start a response, he couldn't grace Brendon with anything. Second-guessing himself, Ryan stayed quiet, letting those comments float unanswered.

Instead, he headed on his way to Brendon's. For one thing he didn't like the idea of either of them falling asleep angry with the other - he personally wasn't upset with Brendon, so now he had to fix his wrongdoing with Brendon. Even if there was a larger chance that sober Brendon would either have forgotten or forgiven him already, still. He feigned innocence all the way. Fuck you, man. He'd accidentally been an asshole often enough that he'd heard that before. It honestly held no weight. Ryan continued driving, unmoved. You’re an asshole, and I don’t want you here. Go fuckin’ home. Still so obviously untrue. Ryan was about to argue that Brendon was the one who wanted him here in the first place, had sent the trigger text for this entire conversation, and did 'go fuckin' home' now mean something different from 'go back to my apartment and wait for me like a lapdog,' but Brendon was quicker to hang up than he was to reply. Damn. For the first time, like, ever, he'd been confident in what he wanted to say.

When he actually did get to Brendon, he was face first in the cushions, everything but his jacket still on. Very endearing. It was hard to be mad at someone so horribly, horribly messy. Fuck off. Unclear, but Ryan got the message, persisting regardless. He could stand whatever Brendon said to him as long as he got him something to avoid waking up feeling shittier than he really had to. Fuck off. I told you not to come. Go away. Still didn't care. Ryan moved closer, reaching the end of Brendon's bed. Motherfucker.[/i] When Brendon turned over, he raised his arms slightly, water and pills still in hand, in faux celebration. "There he is," he cheered gently, smiling at him despite the scowl he received. Go away. Doing the exact opposite, Ryan approached him, placing the glass and the pill bottle on his nightstand and leaning against it.

The way he was tucked back up to his headboard like Ryan was a disease was amusing, but Ryan made a desperate effort to rein in any sign of him thinking this was funny, bringing his expression to one of calmness. "I'll go if you do as I say," he said in a controlled voice, trying to meet Brendon's gaze. As far as he was aware, Brendon could go one of two ways: respond to authority incredibly well, because he could be dismally submissive, or reject it vehemently because he was also so strongly Aries. Ryan hoped to god he stuck with the former. "Deal?" Without waiting for an answer, Ryan took his hand, firm at first in case he tried to pull away, then loosening once he started to undo his sleeve clasps, reaching across him to catch the other hand.

The role of 'babysitter' was one he'd, evidently, grown quite comfortable with, because Ryan was already fully prepared to care for a drunk Brendon. "I brought painkillers," he reminded Brendon distractedly after a pause, gesturing with a nod to the nightstand while he tugged him closer by the front of his shirt. "Take them and finish that water. And, I'm not letting you sleep in a full suit, so hold out a little longer, 'kay?" It felt like he should clarify, anyway. Unbuttoning the rest of the shirt buttons Brendon hadn't gotten to for him probably looked like something Brendon would get the wrong idea from. He was silent for a little while, slightly morose looking, and pulled Brendon's shirt apart for him finally so he could shrug it off. "Did you really come home early because you missed me?"

if you're going, then go || b&r

Twenty-one was a weird age. The supposed drinking age when really you've probably been drinking for years already, the age where you should maybe sort of have your shit together but it's fine if your credit is shit and you live with roommates, the age where you still have nightmares of being late for first hour before waking up in a cold sweat realizing you aren't in high school anymore. Anyway, now that was Ryan's age, and he was trying to measure his life thus far up to it. He'd drank (and smoked, for that matter, more than just cigarettes, and tripped and gone on benders), he was definitely more rich than any twenty-one year old needed to be yet still unfulfilled by the work he'd put out to earn that wealth, and high school was far behind him. In fact, Ryan felt fucking fifty. He wasn't necessarily unhappy, but there was a lot going on that he'd rather not be; he'd rather have a different life on his twenty-first. Then again, surely nearly everyone did. He wasn't special.

And his biggest issues were probably nothing to other people. He'd lost the last parent he had contact with in the summer of last year, he wasn't totally sure where he stood with his girlfriend he'd had for nearly that amount of time, and he fucking hated his band's frontman. Well. He said that, they both said that, but really they both also knew that there was more subtext there than either of them wanted to address. Still - that was just another shitty thing he didn't want to still have happening by the time he was twenty-one. Maybe his gift to himself could just be kicking Brendon out of the band, whatever, but considering he still missed the kid whenever they were apart, that probably wouldn't bode so well. He'd spend probably twenty minutes rejoicing in the newfound quiet... then sulk about it until they could somehow win Brendon back over. So maybe Brendon was his biggest issue. Ironic, in that he was 5'9 on a good day and maybe 130 soaking wet.

Anyway. Apparently celebration was in order. Ryan wasn't sure that it was all for him - he didn't enjoy any of it. Nothing from Keltie, that is, and she was the only one who'd gotten to him yet; really, a photoshoot? Ryan could barely look in the mirror half the time. A series of photos of him, even if it included someone he considered objectively a hundred times more beautiful than was reasonable to date him, was definitely not something he'd ever wish for on his birthday. Ever. And then, hours later, he was brought down to some club in NYC, playing excited about it the whole way there, letting his face fall flat when no one was looking. Inside the walls were decorated with more teen-years pictures, there were people wearing shirts with equally unflattering images on them, even his cake was the same; and then Keltie was prancing around with her friends in clothes that barely qualified as that.

It wasn't just that he didn't like the party, really. He could deal with a shitty party, he had before. But the fact that Keltie threw it, and honest to god thought he'd like it - they'd been together nearly a year, and he switched between thinking they were just temporary to thinking that they were meant to be together forever, but mostly he thought he was pretty good at consistently showing her that he loved her and knew her to the core. This was just another bead on a string of signals that she had no idea who he was or what he cared about - granted, both of them were tearing what had even started out as a rocky relationship apart, but lately it'd been her mistakes that were pushing him towards the edge. He didn't want to be there. He smiled for a few pictures, maybe got caught with his true emotions on his face in some of them (and prayed none of those would find their way to social media), and started trying to find a way out not even two hours into his own birthday party.

She invited Spencer, because she knew him, knew they were childhood friends. Of course. That was easy. Jon, though, somehow slipped under the radar, and Ryan didn't even have a clue where he was - he'd called and wished Ryan happy birthday earlier that day, clearly not wanting to spoil the birthday surprise that he must have assumed he wasn't invited to because Ryan didn't mention him enough or something, and now Ryan couldn't for the life of him find Jon. Brendon, though. He knew if Brendon got an invite he must have turned it right the fuck down, and he knew he was home because the asshole posted on some form of social media every twenty minutes. That became Ryan's excuse: he didn't miss Brendon, he didn't wish he was here, Brendon was just the only one available to run away to. And, well. Ryan would go be alone instead of any of this if he didn't... miss Brendon. Had he not indulged in twenty-first birthday festivities and had a few drinks already, he probably would have convinced himself not to go to him, too.

Five or more drinks in, though, Ryan couldn't stop thinking about how bad the future (and the present, and the past) of his relationship looked, and about all of the sporadic moments where he forgot how much he hated or wanted to hate Brendon, all of the moments where he wished there weren't unwritten boundaries between them, all of the moments where one of them accidentally became vulnerable and suddenly they weren't at each other's throats with a vengeance. Namely, he couldn't stop thinking about Brendon. So much so that he found himself making some lame excuse of 'I'm going to the bar,' and instead heading to the door, straight out of the club, out of New York City, all the way to Brendon's in Seattle where they were meant to play a show later. He did have the decency to warn Brendon about it first: I'm coming over, unlock your door, which was about as friendly as it could possibly get in his texts to Brendon. He made a point not to check his phone after that. If Brendon was telling him to fuck off, he didn't want to see it - hell, if Brendon was telling him he wasn't home or wasn't going to be home, he'd rather just risk it. Anywhere but that party.

A couple of hours after initially making the decision to get the hell out of there, Ryan ended up at his door, cursing himself for not bringing a coat because the hotel was far and he was always cold anyway. He stood there for a handful of seconds, thinking that this is stupid, what was he thinking, Brendon's not even going to want him here and he'll probably just be an asshole right back at him anyway, and then he was knocking on the door because he didn't really care. He hadn't seen him in a couple days already, fuck it, he missed him, hated him but needed him around regardless. When the door opened he didn't even bother standing around waiting to be invited in; Ryan ducked into the narrow gap between Brendon and the doorframe, looking around the room resignedly. "Hey, what's up, is this the hotel bar," he mumbled, distracted, already rooting around in the minifridge for tiny shot-sized bottles of alcohol. He came up again with multiple necks between his fingers, looking triumphant. "I'll reimburse you." He fell back onto a hotel couch, letting the bottles clatter between himself and the back cushion, long legs strewn everywhere, and started opening a tiny Grey Goose. "So, what does the famed Brendon Blake get up to on a Thursday night." Clearly he wasn't intent on addressing the whole 'ditching my birthday in the middle of the night' thing.

in the summertime

Since he'd started his career, Ryan had gradually become better at handling anything that would normally send him over the edge with anxiety; stage shows where one hundred things were coordinated to happen at the same time and at the right pace and in a timely manner or else everything was ruined tended to prepare you for most every high-stress situation that a normal person could stumble into. That paired with being incredibly young and naïve heightened matters, and everything else that followed, too, like the financial burden when even their semi-successful music could not make ends meet, or the separation from family, or the worry that all of this was wrong and maybe he should've chosen a normal career path instead of one that was incredibly unreliable, tried and tested so by millions of people before him. So. He was better than ever at dealing with nerves, yeah. It went without saying that these days not much swayed him, moreso little things like, dunno, making eye contact with a stranger. Strange how things worked that way.

Because it was basically as big a ceremony as yet another huge show, and he even had Brendon on his side and all of their friends before him, you'd think the wedding would be less nervewracking - and yet, there Ryan was, slightly shaking the entire time he clutched Brendon's hands before the audience they'd amassed. Maybe that was the difference. When Brendon proposed and they were in virtually the same position, he didn't feel anything close to anxiety, but in front of other people saying all of the same words, just more practiced and rehearsed, he couldn't cope as well. And that was exactly why he was marrying him, anyway: Brendon was the person who changed it all. Easy to be around, made it easier to be around anyone else, basically fixed him. It sounded cliché, stereotypical, even a little cringey, but he honestly had nothing but Brendon to account for his ongoing story of personal improvement.

Anyway - it was a good kind of anxiety. The kind where he felt so choked up excited he thought he couldn't get enough air, the kind where he felt this building anticipation that sent him on his toes, the kind where he looked at Brendon and lost all sense of coherency because he knew this was what made their famed 'forever' official. He could hardly speak. Whereas Brendon delivered as beautiful a speech in his vows as his proposal was, baring his heart for not just him but everyone else they knew because evidently the vulnerability wasn't scary up there, Ryan could only summarize. He had whole journals and online entries and sticky note musings that could be gathered up and condensed into real vows, sure, but Ryan wasn't ready to talk for so long about someone who'd become a large part of every fibre of his own being, souls interwoven, or at least not in front of everyone who'd barely grasp it anyway. That's what it felt like - no matter how hard he tried, put his language mastery to use, it seemed like he would never be able to communicate exactly what he and Brendon had, and even if he came close no one past, present, or future would ever be able to relate on the same level.

A little dramatic, sure, but instead of saying any of that and revealing quite how ridiculous his thought process was, Ryan boiled down everything he desperately wanted to say into an intricate little web of words, not much but expansive enough. Lucky for him he was marrying probably the most understanding man in the world, so. Brendon didn't look too hurt by the short and sweet rendition of things he could fill whole nights telling him. He did cry, though, somewhat worrying because that, like, never happened, and the last time Ryan remembered it had to a serious extent nearly spelled the end of their relationship. Funny how things turned out - now the situation was the exact opposite, and now Ryan could wipe away his tears without it feeling wrong, could tangle bodily with him right after before they had to break away to find the reception. And, of course, Brendon had to perfect things even more with a song he'd written just for them, just for this, and nearly got him crying, too. Ryan swore that was the plan, honestly. Either way, they didn't ever part that night, and Ryan never stopped hearing that song in his head, the way Brendon's voice had never sounded so confident and strong.

Years into as successful careers as theirs, of course they could afford something totally unnecessary and beyond what they'd usually spend their money on. Cape Town was a dream. And it was meant for Brendon, as odd as that sounded; Ryan only ever envisioned him soaked with sunlight whenever they entertained the idea of a holiday, so of course their honeymoon had to be someplace that'd keep him glowing, where he could run to the beach whenever he wanted, where he had as much freedom as he could possibly get. More than the honeymoon was for them as a couple, Ryan truthfully just wanted to ensure Brendon was getting the absolute best destination possible. And, apparently, one where he could constantly be nearly-nude was that. It worked - Brendon enjoyed his vacation from clothes, and Ryan, more of a homebody, knew Brendon was his home anyway and enjoyed staring ninety percent of the time. Claiming to be reading, of course. Because he wasn't so obvious.

Lying there with a halo in her hair she cried... Of course Brendon had their own music on his shuffle. Ryan smiled at the book he'd been skimming the words to inattentively, simultaneously nostalgic and amused that it was playing at all, then glanced at Brendon once he felt his prodding. His sunglasses were lifted up to rest in his hair and this was the first time Ryan had seen his face in a minute; despite seeing it daily he still looked overly fond for half a second, drawn by the way he glowed in the light again. This sounds familiar. "Right?" Agreeably, Ryan tilted his head in time with Brendon, grinning at him a little sideways. Brendon probably sensed his distaste for hearing his own work (though he didn't mind nearly as much as he would if he was still singing), because he rose to turn it off, and Ryan planted his hand over his page absently to watch. That’s a good song, though. Heard some guy wrote it about him and his boyfriend. While Brendon turned, Ryan looked considering again, shrugging a shoulder. "Interesting. I hope they ended up getting married. Seems like he was pretty happy," he mused, playing along.

Seconds later Brendon was at the edge of the pool again, sliding into the water smoothly, instantly shining in the light again and such a picture of serene that Ryan forgot to look back down at his book. He watched him tilt back to face the sky, leaned nonchalant against the side of the water, thinking mostly about how he was the luckiest motherfucker alive to be spending a honeymoon in Cape Town with Brendon of all people. Evidently he admired for too long, because Brendon returned to his immediate surroundings and opened his eyes to meet Ryan's. He practically scrambled to recalibrate, shoving a hand through his hair while he looked back down at what was definitely a totally different page than what he'd been reading before. Or maybe he'd just, like, completely forgotten what this book was about. Yeah, that seemed pretty likely. Ryan tried to look busy, like he hadn't been staring uselessly, cradling his jaw in his hand and placing his elbow on an armrest.

As if that was his cue, Brendon took a moment to dive under and return closer to him again, dripping incessantly once he was back out of the water. Ryan timed his glances up carefully to register that Brendon had found a towel and sort of dried his hair, would probably have protested him remaining that wet whilst being so close to him and his book if the sun didn't tend to instantly help dry him anyway. When he could sneak a glance up again, Brendon was standing before him, like he was on a mission. Come in with me, baby. Funny joke. Ryan raised an eyebrow at him and quirked his lips a little, but otherwise just looked back at his book, still trying to figure out what the hell he'd blanked on. Turns out it didn't matter anyway, because in no time Brendon was taking it from his hands with surety he couldn't dodge away from, and Ryan watched with withheld surprise as Brendon climbed over to sit with him. Although the intrusion was certainly rude, Ryan naturally caught him anyway, wrapping one arm around his waist once his arms were thrown around his neck and letting the other hang over the side of his chair.

He opened his mouth to protest this somehow, but Brendon pressed a kiss to his neck, so charmingly that Ryan remained silent without meaning to. Hi. I’m your husband, not that book. Love me. Ryan paused, stuck in his gaze, pressing his fingers against Brendon's back like the beginnings of a lazy massage. "You're right," he said after a moment, looking apologetic as ever. Actually, he faked a short innocence act, made to look like he was holding Brendon tighter in an embrace. His free arm joined the other around Brendon, carrying him when he abruptly stood and went to the edge of the pool. Lucky Brendon was pretty goddamn tiny anyway, because he could still stop there and kiss him quick before letting both of them drop into the water, keeping his arms around Brendon while water splashed around them. He walked them along at a leisurely pace, one hand raising to hold the back of Brendon's head, a grin spreading across his face again. "How about that? Sorry about the book. Thought it was a pretty good cover for me staring at you all day." While he absently pushed Brendon's hair back into place and smoothed it down, he tossed his own back, or at least made an effort in vain to shake it from his eyes.

in the sickness of you ;; b&r

It was a little odd that Ryan was the one more obviously uncomfortable with the idea of them, or at least them being exposed; after all, he hadn't been fed opinions and rules all his life, and yet he was enforcing them for himself anyway. No one had ever outright told him to think a certain way about anything, but he attended public school and definitely picked up on how his peers felt about different issues - especially when other boys were totally comfortable calling each other different slurs and insulting one another based primarily on sexuality. The reason he evaded Brendon after their first kiss, though, wasn't just that; he was actually scared for his friend. What if he got caught? He'd heard horror stories of families disowning their kids for much less. And if it wasn't that, Brendon would at least get hurt, and Ryan had never had to help that large of a wound heal. Ryan wasn't even as scared of his own dad's potential reaction as he was of Brendon's family's.

But Brendon was sort of reckless, didn't seem to care much about what could happen to him, so maybe it was good that Ryan worried for the both of them. Says you. True. Ryan was sort of incredibly dramatic when he needed to be. Even still, he didn't like the accusation, so he raised his eyebrows at Brendon, affronted. Since they were both evidently in a dumb lovestruck mood, he wisely shut the door - only to be received by Brendon grinning all-knowingly. Wow, want some privacy? "Yes," Ryan replied, half exasperated, but he was still smiling brazenly, so it couldn't've been all that bad. He joined Brendon beside the bed shortly after, still unsure about joining him even after years of having been that close just platonically, but he supposed that's what change did to a person. In any case, he was moving past the timid stage slowly but surely, for the time being just allowing his fingers to drag through Brendon's hair gently.

An expert at navigating Brendon's jokes by now, he tried supplying his own, only to find that he could be bested again. Okay, but then who else would give you a boner during a sermon? Ryan looked at Brendon's profile, all he could see, with something akin to horror, and clutched the edge of the mattress. "Hey, gross, that hasn't actually happened. Don't abuse your power over me," he laughed after a pause to recuperate, shoving Brendon lightly by the shoulder in retaliation. Brendon faced him again moments later, apparently taking no issue with Ryan calling him on his very inappropriate house-of-God behavior. Worth it, though, huh? Say yes. Ryan sighed, long-suffering, and studied him for a few beats. "Yeah, fine, you're worth everything. I hate it." He suppressed a smile that threatened to accompany his pretend-sadness while he clambered over, easily slotting into the space Brendon made for him.

After a few moments, Brendon responded to Ryan pointing the remote at him, accepting it as if he'd actually been activated. Ryan caught him when he leaned back, wrapping his arms around his waist and smoothing his hands over his chest absently while he watched the screen change. It took basically no time at all for him to give in, and the remote was back in Ryan's hand. I’m not sure. Ryan blinked, leaned over his shoulder to look at him while he played with Ryan's hoodie toggles. "I see, you never had anything in mind in the first place. Sneaky." Ryan sat back after kissing his cheek amusedly, flicking through again blankly. It really wasn't like they were going to watch, but if he admitted to that by picking at random or not picking at all, well. That'd be admitting they were as useless as they seemed. So.

Put on whatever you want. "Hm," Ryan murmured, not paying attention, eyes fixed still on the screen while Brendon just barely kissed him. Still looking past him, he chased his lips, to no avail. You're cute. I missed you. Decidedly, Ryan landed on their 'Watch It Again' list, and of course Ferris Bueller was the supreme choice. He dropped the remote on the mattress and actually turned his attention to Brendon, hands fitting back around his waist naturally. "So you've said. I wonder if we'll ever be the kind of people who can go a whole day not seeing one another and be fine." Regardless, his hands still lifted to frame Brendon's face, brushing hair back and looking him over fondly. He lowered his voice, not really thinking about it. "But, I missed you too. Obviously." Ryan shifted to holding the back of his neck and his shoulder, kissing him properly finally, and withheld the urge to audibly congratulate himself on no longer making this weird every time. "I'll just move in here and we won't have this problem again. Look, your twin bed perfectly fits both of us, it's fine."

let’s pick up, pick up

Okay, yeah, it was unfair that things had ended up the way they were between Brendon and Ryan. Unfair to Brendon, that is. Actually, it was kind of sad - he came in excited and enthusiastic about this new opportunity, a potentially life-changing deal from Spencer, only to find that he was part of what Ryan perceived as a scheme between the drummer and bassist. It wasn't his fault that he was a more practiced, skilled singer, more suited for their sound and production. It also wasn't his fault that he, typical ball of energy Brendon, practically barreled into Ryan when they first met, but still it pissed the former frontman off even more than just learning he was being replaced would have. Usually his patience wasn't so short, honestly, but apparently time spent in the favored spotlight had changed that fact; now he got ridiculously aggressive at one man alone at the drop of a hat. And, even worse, seeing Brendon get guilty over things that weren't on him in the first place made it all better.

Ryan's vengefulness that started out as him taking it all out on Brendon with little to no repercussions (maybe the odd instance of Spencer snapping at him in defense of Brendon, not much else) was eventually matched, though, and that's when matters got much worse. They weren't good before - Ryan attacked Brendon whenever he got the chance, telling him to start over on a song if he messed up even slightly, rejecting ninety percent of the ideas he brought to writing sessions, so on. Now, with Brendon sending it right back, clocking Ryan on the fact that he only screamed at every mistake because he was jealous that there were so few in comparison to his own singing, knowing full well his ideas were good and deserved to be heard and therefore writing completely separate songs to present to unbiased parties, and more, it was worse. It was better than him standing idly by while getting practically harassed by the former singer, though; at least this way Ryan's attitude, all over a little bit of a hit to his ego, wasn't going unchecked.

Brendon looked morose through introductions, which was great, but Ryan could probably do better than that. So he pushed harder - and Brendon quickly got defensive. Everyone else in the room, naturally, looked either vaguely horrified or like they wanted desperately to leave, or both, all just contained out of politeness. You have no idea how much I wish it were me in Keltie's shoes. Ryan's smug expression dropped and he scowled at the way Brendon stretched out, languid, over his seat, like none of this was a big deal anymore. No way, he wasn't allowed to feel fine about everything, fuck that. He’s all bone, darling, watch yourself. Ryan sucked in a breath like he was about to respond to that just as smartly, but he had nothing. And just saying 'fuck you' like he wanted to instinctively seemed like a weak replacement, so. He stayed silent, setting his jaw and glaring at the way Brendon gradually looked more self-satisfied until he could actually grace him with a reply.

For a moment he was a little scared; Brendon clearly knew the first 'type' comment was bullshit. If anything, Brendon was almost completely his type, if only he wasn't such an annoying asshole. Or, well, if he didn't have a musical talent surpassing his own, then he'd probably be fine. Ryan would probably even be pursuing him, actually. But it was dangerous when Brendon knew that, which he clearly did, sending a telltale look his way and potentially clueing Keltie in to the exact depth of their weird as hell relationship; Ryan tried to move on fast without addressing it directly. His deflection seemed to get to Brendon more effectively, and Ryan smiled again, pleased with himseld. I haven’t dated, no. Ryan nodded understandingly, looking sympathetic, totally seeing past the bored look on his face. Aside, the rest of the band was exchanging looks, Keltie still deeply uncomfortable.

I don’t feel the need, because I’m not fucking desperate. Jon rose, upbeat, and clapped his hands together, approaching and guiding Keltie away by the shoulder while he said something about giving her a tour around the bus. Ryan's arm easily lifted off her waist, gaze not moving from Brendon while she and Jon spared them last glances. "Not desperate? Weird. I've always thought you acted about as desperate and petulant as humanly possible. Is it just your personality?" He paused, considering the question for himself, then waved a hand, dismissive, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. "Maybe you're only like that around me, though. 'Cause clearly it's killing you to see me with her, right." Okay, maybe not a smart move pulling that card, but. Ryan didn't really think this stuff through when it came to trying to out-insult Brendon.

in the sickness of you ;; b&r

Ryan tried to imagine how it was for Brendon, sometimes, the struggle he was going through. He had to play an act virtually ninety percent of his day - prayer dominated a lot of their daily activities that Ryan would never even think to stop and give grace for, or whatever, for example. One day out of the week was entirely dedicated to the faith, actually, and sometimes it was more than that. And Ryan would never be able to give the mini-speeches of thanks to some unknown power that he heard Brendon give before meals sometimes... once he knew Brendon didn't completely believe anymore, it was hard to hear, and when he was visiting to bear witness to it he'd look up from his bowed head and folded hands to check whether he was reading off a script. No such thing. He had no reservations about it in the first place, but seeing that just made Ryan want to stick with him even more while he was forced to live this lie, unable to tell anyone else.

And it got even worse when he started, in Brendon's words, experimenting. Their kiss was brief, genuinely just experimental; and then they were so awkward for a while. Ryan literally couldn't look him in the eye. He hadn't thought very hard about how he felt about boys in general before, just knew that maybe he wasn't so specific about his sexuality, that when he looked around the cafeteria at school during lunch there was a very wide variety of people he'd get flustered by if he tried talking to them. When Brendon kissed him, though, suddenly it was all very real, and he knew his vague like for anyone in general was instantly narrowed down to Brendon and Brendon alone. Actually, he'd liked Brendon for some time, just hadn't confronted it. So for a few days after the kiss, he stuck to his own house, closed his window's blinds for once to shut out the light and Brendon potentially seeing in, hid from the world while he came to the conclusion that, yes, the experiment had proved fatal, he definitely liked his lifelong best friend whose whole god-fearing family would hate him if they knew, and oh fuck what about his own dad, et cetera. The usual gay freakout stuff.

He knew it could be worse. He could be Brendon. Who, by the way, he knew had already done a lot more than just a little kiss; Ryan had had some tiny experiences, all meaningless and that made him feel nothing at all, so much so he didn't even count them, but Brendon had been through everything, even the drug stint he'd excitedly told Ryan about while Ryan internally panicked and wondered if the police were gonna show up in the middle of the night to drag his best friend away for selling, like, a goddamn gram. And he knew Brendon wasn't without shame at all - he never expressed it, of course, but Brendon had just as many doubts about God being not not real as he did otherwise, so surely with all of the perceived sins he'd racked up he thought there was a chance for supreme punishment. Ryan didn't know how to convey to him that that wasn't going to come, that he wasn't bad, that he was the best thing in Ryan's life, so on- so he didn't, really, just let him come to terms with his fears himself.

Ryan's anxiety passed fairly quickly. It took him no time at all to fall into romantic step with Brendon, and they were on the same page easily, sometimes mutually overcome with internalized guilt or shame but they could deal with that together anyway. Ryan was, oddly, the one more uncomfortable with showing it too much, or at least it seemed that way; they could be miles away from home, out in town, and he still wouldn't hold Brendon's hand in public. They could be in a completely empty corridor and he'd still turn all around to look for anyone listening when he called Brendon baby or vice versa. He started keeping his phone under even more lockdown than before - not that his dad even really interfered with his life at this point, but he was so paranoid that there was always a 'just in case' to argue. And, speaking of - he rarely let Brendon stay at his. They'd had this unspoken deal since forever (since Brendon's mom picked up on the smell of alcohol that hung off of Ryan's and his father's clothes and saw their home for herself, that is) that Brendon's house was the main meetup point, and Ryan's was, like, emergencies only. But he got a lot stricter about visits once it seemed like Ryan's dad could have a lot more reason to wail on them for something.

Anyway. He was nervous. But he liked Brendon so much that he put up with it all as best as he could, tried to just wait until they were both free from their homes, independent adults, then he could do what he wanted without worrying about either of them getting hurt in some way. Still, they weren't there yet, so he sidestepped Brendon at the door to maintain some semblance of secrecy and was met by pouting. He pouted right back, deliberately teasing Brendon's mastered puppy-dog look. Hi. Yeah, yeah, get over it. Ryan tried for forgiveness by reaching out, lightly running a few fingertips over the back of Brendon's hand, the beginning of holding it - only to have it snatched away. That’s too much homoerotic subtext for me. You’re in a Mormon household. That was actually terrifying. Ryan nearly let panic get the best of him, but honestly, Brendon wasn't an idiot, he wouldn't say that if they weren't alone. Ryan relaxed somewhat. "Drama queen."

He watched Brendon become animated, closing the door and running his hand through his hair, and had a mini-daydream about doing just that for him. Relax, they’re all out. Lucky you. Again, what, his thoughts were occupied; then Ryan caught up to speed, nodding quickly, relieved. This happened once in a blue moon. He was still a little on edge, given the fact that, y'know, maybe someone was hidden around here or whatever, but - not enough, because when Brendon leaned up fairly desperately to kiss him on the side of his face, Ryan tightened his jaw to suppress a smile, faint rosy spots rising high on his cheeks. "Quit," he protested, entirely too weakly to mean it, while he turned determinedly to the stairs again. Another hour and I would’ve died. Ryan entered his room still looking pleased about the kiss on his cheek, holding a hand against the side of his face sheepishly. Still not really listening. He muttered something like 'uh-huh,' always on Brendon about his dramatics, and circled around the room absently, restless from lying around all day.

Brendon, on the other hand, instantly dropped into bed like his body was lead. Ryan took his hand from his face and smiled fondly at the sight before turning to close to the door, twisting the handle so it clicked silently into place, and returned to Brendon on his side, facing him. Next time, you’re coming to church with me again. Ryan looked faux-thoughtful, as if this really took considering, and dropped into a crouch beside Brendon's bed, folding his arms over the side and resting his chin over his forearms where he could face Brendon directly. He let one arm reach out, thrown over Brendon's shoulder so he could run his fingers through his hair. "Why? So you can make more nasty comments under your breath during a whole sermon? Honestly, I'll just go sit with another family." He was grinning, kidding, but really. This was an issue. "One day you're gonna get caught making, like, a dick joke 'cause you have no volume control, and then we're both gonna get kicked out."

Evidently in a playful enough mood now to joke around, Ryan suddenly looked serious, hand resting on the side of Brendon's face to level with him. "And you know what, babe, I'm so ready to take that step with you. I'll come this Sunday." He broke his facade and grinned, suddenly making way to join Brendon on the bed despite the limited space. He clambered in, all sharp edges trying unsuccessfully not to prod Brendon, and stayed sitting up to dig around for a remote. Once retrieved, he pointed the power button at Brendon, commanding. "What's on our watch list?" If this was really a movie night. If not, their watch list was shit they'd definitely already seen, and the real activity was making out. Classy.

let’s pick up, pick up

Ryan had a girlfriend. She'd been a dancer for one of their award show performances, elegant and definitely beyond all of the greasy ass band members but giving him the time of day nonetheless. All of them had been in pretty ridiculous costumes, and of course Ryan so wisely chose to approach her in the stupid baroque, almost flouncy getup they'd put him in, picking someone pretty and blonde from the line and going with his impulse: ask one of the cute dancers out. It wasn't a great sentiment, but he was realizing he was young and being single was probably what made him so chaotic - he only had three other guys to turn to if he was having a rough time, anything that needed support. And anyway the only person he was attracted to, he also sort of majorly hated eighty percent of the time, so he needed to get over that. Or not get over it and just ignore the problem, whatever, same thing. A girlfriend might help.

Hey, he could even get something long term out of it - or he thought that could be a possibility at the time. But from everyone, he picked Keltie to ask, simply because she was the only one who returned anything close to a look of interest and acted telltale shy around him, and then when they actually started talking, they seemed to hit it off. She thought he was precious or whatever - Ryan didn't get it, he wasn't 'strange and sweet' and hadn't been that to anyone before, he was just him - and he thought she was witty, beautiful, talented, but that was about all they were to each other. It became clear within the first few days that that was all they would ever be, too, but it wasn't causing any huge problems, and Ryan was having fun anyway, fuck 'long term' when he could experiment all he wanted now. Certainly Keltie was on the same page, because neither of them turned down opportunities for the other, or anything that would indicate something serious. Careers were still priority, they were in a safe zone.

She also served as something of a distraction, although that, of course, wasn't what he originally intended them to be. His life was normally dominated by having to create, create, create, or, inevitably, Brendon. Those were about the only two things that usually mattered. Either he was torturing himself over what the next 'big thing' was in his music, what was the next album going to be, how were they going to get bigger - or he was thinking about the little fucker that was probably, unfortunately, the answer to all of those questions. When Brendon joined the band he was obviously needed. Ryan could sing, he just didn't have a powerful voice. He wasn't meant for pop music or really anything beyond gentle acoustic sounds, something soft, easy listening. But when the kid they brought in to replace him without consulting him at all turned out to be both endlessly annoying and infuriatingly better than him at everything, yeah, he sort of had an issue.

Ryan didn't always have much of a frontman's energy, but Brendon made him want it so desperately that he turned up the arrogance factor as far as it could go, so much so that he was now perpetually in competition with the actual frontman. Who could write the best lyrics (he always criticized Brendon's until he was genuinely upset), who could outplay the other (Brendon was a fucking good guitar player, too, so Ryan pretended to find fault with his chords until it hurt), who got the most credit on the album (which unfortunately extended to the other members, and Ryan only stopped nonsensically preaching about how he 'fucking did everything anyway' when Spencer was looking at him judgmentally), so on. If it wasn't that, they were bickering over who used whose coffee mug, or who took the last whatever, or who was getting a certain bunk even though it didn't matter at all. And the worst part that he was irritatingly attractive. Beautiful, actually, just about any positive physical descriptor, and it made Ryan so much angrier about everything.

He was funny, and his smile lit up the room, and his hair was pretty much always perfect even if he had some questionable phases of style there for a bit, and it all sucked big time. Ryan probably would've even done something about his attraction if he wasn't so soulcrushingly jealous about his role being taken, and being done so much infinitely better at that. On the plus side, he knew Brendon felt the same- or. Not knew, but he was very sure, and Spencer and Jon backed him up even if they laughed about their dynamic on the side. They'd cast tense, searching glances at each other when one wasn't looking, and behind every argument there was a fire that was definitely separate from the malicious one, etc.; it was clear to sense the subtext beneath it all, basically. Ryan knew it was awful to parade her around, but he knew if he brought Keltie to his attention, it'd kill him. One more tally to add to Ryan's side of this unspoken competition.

So he did. It took her some convincing - 'no, the bus is so crowded, they wouldn't want me there,' 'oh, of course they do, they've been dying to get to know you,' so forth - but he successfully got Keltie from her hotel to the tour bus in time to catch all three of the guys at once, although only one was really important to bear witness to his new relationship. Ryan made sure to step on with his elbow hooked around her waist possessively, hugging her close to his side once they were on. Spencer and Jon seemed to know it was best to stay protectively nearest to the door, like there needed to be some sort of wall between him and Brendon, so he addressed them first. "Hey, guys. Keltie, this is Spencer, Jon..." Ryan smiled, well-mannered, while they stood to meet her, exchanging 'hey's in varied excitement and shaking hands, and looked over the trio to Brendon, gaze narrowing. "...And this is Brendon." His voice took on a cold edge that Keltie seemed to pick up on, because she didn't go out of her way to meet him in a handshake like she had with Spencer and Jon. Then, they'd done that for her - Brendon wasn't. Rude.

Ryan met his critical brow with an equivalent one, awaiting whatever snark he had coming. So, Ryan, you’re straight now? Ryan rolled his eyes, and aside, Spencer and Jon were dropping back to their seats, clearly melancholy. Thankfully they'd learned that stepping in was pretty pointless. "Well, are you worried you missed your chance?" He still had on this polite smile, probably the only thing keeping a concerned-looking Keltie from bolting while he planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Sorry. You don't seem like you would've been my type, anyway." He paused, tilted his head. "Actually, Brendon, are you anyone's type? You haven't dated at all since you joined. That's a shame, really."