jakob

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

It was an unfortunate truth that maybe if they'd started off right, if Ryan hadn't aggressively jumped on Brendon just for his being in the band at all, maybe they'd be... a lot different. Given the way they looked at each other when they thought no one would catch them, or the way at least Ryan wished Brendon was around when he wasn't there, they'd probably have even ended up in some kind of romance. Maybe fleeting, sure, because Ryan didn't know enough about Brendon's usual personality (that is, not aggravated and provoked like he was used to) to determine whether or not they were actually compatible, but. He tried not to let himself think about it too much. Mostly because if anyone could read his mind, god forbid Brendon himself, it would be mortifying. He'd basically built up a facet of his personality, a part of his identity, over hating Brendon and being the absolute best at pissing him off. Kind of a way of life, now.

So he kept himself away from that derailing train of thought and instead focused on how romance wasn't ever in the question, how they weren't meant for that anyway, how all of this was only happening because... well. Ryan wasn't exactly welcoming of having any kind of attraction to Brendon, so obviously it was just a very bizarre outlet for all of the hateful energy between them. Obviously. And he was drunk. Even if he did remember tonight it'd be easy to pretend, everything would go back to normal, he'd never slip up again - and who was he kidding. They fit naturally even when usually they repelled each other, two like charges. This, in fact, felt more natural than anything when he didn't think too hard about how they usually were with each other, how if he was in a more sensible state he would have already stormed the hell out or even just not come in the first place, shun Brendon from the safety of his shitty birthday party. But this was how it was now: somehow every handhold he found seemed like a puzzle piece finding its match, and Brendon met every move he made with an equivalent energy and without hesitation, and he'd never felt quite that before. Ryan had no idea what to make of any of that.

He was trying to gain a point of advantage somehow, look less weak for giving in to what had apparently been a desire for some time now, and Brendon didn't appreciate it, obviously annoyed by his efforts to talk it off. He dragged Ryan down and Ryan went surprisingly easy, catching himself with his arms barred one around Brendon's waist, the other beneath Brendon's arm and hand wrapped over the other shoulder. It was almost an intimate picture, like a longing embrace, but Ryan was mocking him endlessly and was answered with Brendon lunging to latch onto his neck. Ryan tightened his hold on him more, knowing it was probably more reflective of their dynamic to pull away but letting his head drop to Brendon's shoulder anyway, exhaling sharply. It was painful, sure, but not enough for Ryan's drunk brain to register it as anything other than just another driving force, another thing to drive him crazy.

In an unexpected turn, they were kissing moments later, almost calmly by their standards until they weren't and Ryan could physically feel the loss. And, he decided, it wasn't Brendon's decision to make whether or not they were doing this, so he practically chased him, the irritation making him itch. Ryan went after him, closing the distance quickly after Brendon had made such a smug and self-satisfied exit, shoving him back and trapping him against the edge of his hotel bed. Really - he'd never crossed a line quite this far before, so there was an edge that wasn't just anger present, something more like anxiety or excitement or... something. Whatever it was, Ryan felt pretty invincible. In turn, Brendon made it easy, shaking his head rapidly when Ryan confronted him as if he was actually allowing him that authority. Ryan's natural scowl turned into a grin for a moment, almost amused by the shift in his countenance, exhilerated by the brief sense of control.

You started this, dickhead, you fucking- What, what, Ryan was sick of playing, sick of accusations, and he shut Brendon up anyway, dragging him in until heir lips met again and the natural fit was at work once more. Ryan was losing focus on keeping his balance, leaning dangerously over Brendon gradually, until Brendon was pushing back, bringing himself back up fully onto the mattress and pulling Ryan with him. Unquestioningly Ryan came with him, his shirt's fabric barely stretching from Brendon's urging until he climbed over him obediently. Brendon's hand slipped beneath his shirt and Ryan shivered at the touch, unexpected, meeting his gaze while his hand spread to explore his sternum and the other tangled through his hair. Ryan was a little ahead of him, there, to be fair; he'd been the intruder bursting into Brendon's room when he was already shirtless. Well. Lucky him. He'd already travelled about every inch of skin available on Brendon these past few minutes.

What, I’m just being nice, birthday boy. Ryan slowed down, losing his focus, and let his head be tilted back, catching Brendon when he arched up and keeping him close for a few moments before pressing him back down. He pressed a hand against Brendon's chest, almost pinning him except that he inadvertently let his touch be more firm than it was aggressive, and ran his fingers through Brendon's hair without letting his nails scratch. The angry energy was still there, just. He couldn't pull it out, was suddenly gentler, more grounding. He shut his eyes tight, almost speaking against Brendon's mouth. "If you wanted to be nice, you would have been there," he murmured, then felt the embarrassment strike. He may as well have cried about Brendon not going to his party, whatever, right to his face. Maybe he would have come if Keltie bothered inviting him and- Keltie. Ryan didn't exactly stop, still letting his body weight rest mostly on Brendon and his hands roam and his lips press wherever, but became more hesitant. He had a girlfriend, basically ex, but not quite. He nearly reminded Brendon.

Instead, though, he was gradually losing the angry passion with which he went into this, almost... 'affectionate' might be a stretch, but definitely almost neutral, almost like he was with someone he never loved to hate. Ryan's no-longer-biting kisses trailed off towards Brendon's ear, slowing down, and he finally paused, exhaled. "I still have a girlfriend," he said, deadly quiet, and wasn't sure what to do about it for a long moment before he pushed himself up a little, unable to take his hands off of Brendon regardless. "Barely. But."

i sit around and want you

For Ryan, 'time heals all things' was a bullshit sentiment. He was dealt shitty cards in the first place, let himself break down over time, become less whole and more crumbly at the edges; it reached other people, too, though, and that was the problem. He had an extensive history of letting his own mess run out of control, hurting other people without really meaning to. Anyone he dated in his teen years became his codependent without question, despite him remaining completely invulnerable - he just strung people along, anyway. With friends he only valued the best of the best, which happened to be Spencer for the majority of his life. The rest he let sit in the sidelines, paying little attention to them unless they approached first, and with Spencer he was hardly as considerate as he should be half the time. In fact, because he was self-conscious in at least some respects, he sometimes doubted Spencer saw him as a best friend the way Ryan did him just because he tended to be that bad.

His worst crime was more in his twenties, though. Brendon had become the one he considered his best friend, his closest confidant, the love of his life, actually - and then he got scared, selfishly so, didn't even tell Brendon before abruptly breaking off the engagement. A lifetime of hurting people in little ways that added up thinking he was the victim because occasionally things didn't work out - a lifetime of immaturity - led him to be distrustful of the only genuine, functional romantic relationship he'd ever been in. At that point he could read Brendon so well, knew what mood he was in and when, knew what to say or do to help when it wasn't anything good, so on. And yet he didn't stop to consider exactly how badly this would mess him up in the long run. Sure, Ryan was affected, too; that was when he decided he wouldn't do anything as serious and long-term again, when he figured that he just wasn't cut out for it, when he broke even his own heart but pretended it was being protected.

Brendon, though. Who would he trust again? It's not like Ryan gave a particularly good or believable reason. At best, saying that the band separation would make it too hard on them, that Brendon would tour too long and they'd be apart or Ryan would be recording too often and they'd be distant, maybe all of that could be passed off as believable. Given some time, though, surely Brendon caught on to it all being bullshit if he didn't at first. And, horrifyingly, probably attributed some blame to himself. In fact none of it was about Brendon. Ryan's doubts about breaking off the engagement stemmed purely from the fact that he trusted Brendon more than anyone, that he knew Brendon better and more intimately than anyone else he'd ever met. When he shared as much of his life, been through the same unique experiences as Brendon as he had, it became hard to consistently believe he was capable of ever hurting Ryan 'first' - but his record streak was scary enough, at the time.

That was the key. At the time. The aforementioned sentiment of 'time healing all things,' yeah, it sort of healed the wound of that whole mistake, breaking up what could have been the rest of a happy life with his soulmate. It sort of matured him as a person, made him realize that having a victim complex over every slight misfortune that happened upon him wasn't the right way to live, wasn't something that made him a very agreeable person. It sort of made him into someone calmer, who didn't worry and self-destruct over every tiny mistake and flaw, who wasn't so self-critical (and oftentimes outwardly critical) that it kept him up at night. He had his moments where he struggled with nerves, the brief chokehold of anxiety that he was oh-so-used to, but. These days, he was getting better. He'd had enough of a recovery period from the more hectic stage life, found himself a group of friends and a couple close ones, kept himself grounded with bizarre hobbies and mystical, secret music. And, most importantly, he tried to forgive himself for all the fucking up he did the rest of his life, tried not to forget everything about the band and his relationship (and every other thing he used to distance himself from for that matter) but hold it close to his heart, try to undo every wrong he'd done now rather than dwell.

After all, it seemed like he was never going to see Brendon again to tell him how he felt about everything that had happened. There was no real revolution, in all honesty - he'd not dated anyone for as long since then, hadn't even desired a real relationship like it except for a few wandering moments. So it's not like he'd proven his initial engagement worries wrong. Still, he didn't exactly stand by the way he'd gone about it all, practically abandoning the person he claimed to love so much - and the worst part was that he did, he truly, genuinely did, just. Didn't have the foresight to understand how deeply that would affect Brendon. For Ryan breakups were things that hurt the other person for maybe a month before he saw them with someone else. As young as he'd been, he figured Brendon would bounce back the same way. After all, time and dedication had nothing to do with it so long as Ryan was the common denominator. Yeah, some change had definitely been in order for his character. None of that was particularly rational.

Apparently, though, he was wrong. Ryan wasn't entirely, like, cornered, the way Brendon was, so maybe he was lucky to be the one looking out at the crowd at Brendon, surrounded by people gradually catching on to his presence and becoming more excited about him than the scheduled artists. After all, as much as that spotlight was on him and illuminating the cocktail of surprise and nostalgia and vague heartache, no one was looking at him when they could instead be directing their attention to the top hit, the one-man band, the jack of all musical trades. After so much time they'd certainly changed but at least one thing hadn't, and Ryan could instantly tell when anxiety set in for Brendon. His instinct, even still, was to help, to come offstage and wrap an arm around his shoulder and take him outside, away from everything that was too much and too overwhelming, to breathe fresh air like he used to. But they weren't that anymore. It was his decision, anyway. Ryan instead stood there with his hands wrapped tightly around his micstand then the neck of his guitar, watching someone who his brain still registered as 'best friend' suffer, unable to do much about it.

He decided to fool himself into believing he was mistaken, he was misreading him because of the light, and if he wasn't, well. Jon was there. Ryan was grateful for his presence, really, because he cushioned the blow at the very least (even though he'd been the instigator, fucking mastermind of mediating things like this since always). As much as the still-teenage, still-early-twenties part of him reacted characteristically, the thick blanket of dread falling over him and fleeting reattraction gracing his mind, Ryan was different now. He'd pushed himself to recover from it all and wanted so desperately to fix things to an amicable state of friendship that he gave Brendon a tiny smile, something revered; and Brendon clearly didn't feel the same. Ryan tried to forget about it fast, they could talk later. He focused on the song, trying not to think how it could have easily been about Brendon when really he couldn't even remember the girl's eye color now.

When he did try to talk to him, he was, unsurprisingly, not so well received. Truthfully, Ryan couldn't blame him. He kept on smiling, though, trying to be friendly, even when... I didn’t know you’d be here either. Point taken. Ryan didn't play oblivious, necessarily, just not affected, nodding a little uncertainly while he continued on with the Jon buffer (really, thank fucking God for Jon Walker). Ryan had seen the guy walk away himself, backing off quietly and disappearing into a small sea of softly excitable fans, but only when Brendon's back had turned, and Brendon turned seconds later to look for his shield to be welcomed by nothing. Ryan felt a little bad, really. Maybe leaving Brendon be would be a little more painless - but that was another escapist kid route. He'd grown, honest. I’d say he’s a bit of a liar, really. Clearly angry, but curious, looking Ryan up and down like that. Ryan was wondering the same but he didn't even have to look very hard; Brendon was more lean muscle than he was tiny and unassuming now, his hair had taken quite a few upgrades, looked more comfortable with himself, less wide-eyed and naïve. It was kind of unsettling, really; where was the bouncy and erratic kid he knew before? This was someone else almost entirely, except for the tiny familiar habits and features he could pick up on.

The point was, he needed to... do something, to make up for what'd happened. It probably wasn't appropriate to try and lay everything out on the table now and apologise, not with so many people around and a song coming up later and - just, all of the circumstances, but. If it came to it, he was going to say something, maybe not initiate off the bat lest he freak Brendon out. The guy was clearly pissed, he wasn't going to be receptive to anything Ryan said unless he broke the ten year thick ice a little. He watched Brendon visibly relax a moment after inviting him backstage and knew it was probably forced, but he still appreciated it, his smile becoming less unsure of itself and more hopeful by the second. Uh, yeah, sure. "Great, just..." Ryan surveyed the room, preparing to lead the way. Looked like Brendon's fans weren't exactly closing in but hovering nearby, waiting for a way in to meet with him, probably. Well. They could do that outside. Ryan raised his hand, floating hesitantly in the air for a moment before resting on Brendon's shoulder, trying to guide him off to the stage door so he wouldn't get pulled away by anyone particularly ambitious. "Looks like a lot of your fans are here tonight, huh? I guess that's probably the norm by now, though."

As much as he distanced himself from Brendon's life - which took much less effort over time - he did know how popular and successful he'd gotten, was actually endlessly proud thanks to that residual part of him that hung on to the time that Brendon was his best friend. So his quiet observation was given with a little half-smile, glad for Brendon's sake, until he remembered how Brendon looked from the stage when he first saw him and lost the nerve to look so content. Ryan glanced away, letting his face fall slightly, until finally he was getting them through the door and they were in the dim light of the backstage area, surrounded by people working with equipment and hauling instruments and looking despondent on their phones. Basically, much less threatening than the crowd. He turned to Brendon, shoving his hands in his pockets and searching his face, a little unsettled when he remembered how he'd never been able to easily meet anyone's eyeline when he knew him - and now here he was, actually examining him to catch every difference, wondering whether his eyes had gotten this much darker or if it was just the light. Well. Either way. It was like they were two different people meeting for the first time, or it would be if he didn't feel the unhappy energy from Brendon that no doubt resounded from their history.

He couldn't undo that, of course, but he could talk through it. After a moment Ryan raised one shoulder, turning it towards Brendon as if he were on his way to nudge him but remaining a safe distance apart. "How have you been, anyway? You look so different. Like someone else." He meant this a little deeper than surface level appearances, but didn't bother saying so. In ten years he couldn't recognize the new Brendon's changing emotions, or see exactly what he was thinking, or predict what he was going to say next, all of which he could do with ease before. That was all different to him, made him feel like he wasn't talking to Brendon. Maybe a twin, who he had to relearn all about. Bizarre.

if we go on || b&r

You fuckin’ think you can just give me commands and I’ll go all pliant and willing. Well. You’re absolutely right. Ryan arched back a little to regard him more seriously, his fingers still curled somewhat in the fabric of of Brendon's shirt. One minute hot, the next cold; yeah, sounded about right, but he hadn't expected it to be that simple. He'd expected at least 3-5 business days until he got some results on the 'calm Brendon down' project, and here he was, totally lucky. Ryan smiled real small, amused and pleased simultaneously, and was even more contented to see that Brendon was smiling back. Not for long, though. Apparently Brendon noticed that he'd changed moods too quickly and fixed himself, straightening to undo any measure of easing the air in the room that he'd made moments ago. Ryan forced himself to match his energy, trying to hide any of the laughter threatening his lips and tilting his head towards Brendon uncertainly.

Doesn’t that make you a hooker? Even worse. Ryan's attempt at a flat expression fizzled for a moment, screwing up into a half-smile and half-bewildered face, while he couldn't decide whether he should snap at Brendon for that or laugh at it. Either way, he was just glad Brendon was taking himself a little less seriously, not arguing when Ryan raised reasonable points (but, was not arguing as good as making jokes? Probably not). "Hey, hey, whoa, I wasn't sleeping with you for at least a month there in the beginning," he contested, then paused, hesitating. He lowered his voice to a level of realization. "...Which I guess would just make me a bad hooker. Alright, shut up." So mostly he was bantering, yeah, and it was dangerous to get comfortable like that when at any moment Brendon could flip around and decide he wanted to be morose and sulky again, but. Fuck it. He took advantage of the funnier moments while he could.

Brendon had more fighting spirit in him despite the brief moments of peace they caught; Ryan watched him dance around, a stumbly, stunning mess, and felt this faint ache in his chest alongside all the remorse choking him up. At this point it was a familiar swell, the same thing he felt when he saw Brendon unexpectedly in some online article in paparazzi photos, or when he saw Brendon standing before the fridge illuminated only by the artificial light while he chugged orange juice from the carton in the middle of the night, or when he could roll on his side in the morning and see Brendon still asleep and taking even breaths. Yeah, he hadn't quite put a name to it, but he liked it, coming at the most bizarre and most normal times, when Brendon wasn't doing anything and yet it was still so endearing. Ryan was fond of him, to say the least. And although he felt terribly about the night already, watching Brendon winding down after it all made him feel a little better; fitting his hands around his narrow sides and holding him steady, close to him, seemed to tune everything else out. He smiled a little watching Brendon glance down at the gesture, evidently sated, all of his features softening. Funny, Ryan remembered moments ago he was complaing about something like going 'pliant and willing,' and now...

This drunk, Brendon wasn't as sneaky, and Ryan noted, dotingly, that he was fighting a smile, his face conflicting with his stubborn head. Whatever, Ryan could be patient. Go away. I don’t- I don’t require your services. You overcharge. There. A pause and he was smiling, not one of the big, world-stopping ones, but no less powerful; Ryan pursed his lips, one hand raising to run his thumb along the corner of his mouth affectionately. "I feel like you don't mean that," Ryan said, a humorous undertone to his voice, then quirked an eyebrow. "Well. Except for maybe the last part. I'll have you know, I'm expensive as hell." Very unfitting topic of conversation, considering that after a few more moments he was navigating his words very carefully, apologizing and trying to reassure Brendon, the whole deal. He was used to the typical ice walk, and here they were; it seemed to be working, because Brendon suddenly looked a lot less at will, less focused and more flexible with whatever Ryan asked of him.

He thought maybe Brendon was finally going to drink the damn water, maybe even take the painkillers despite Ryan not asking outright quite yet, but he just spared a glance their way and nodded in the affirmative that he would eventually. Good enough for maybe any other time, but he'd been nearly sick a while ago and Ryan was still worried, so he was preparing to walk them back over to the bed when Brendon buried his head into his shoulder, seemingly forgetting everything he was cranky and sullen about this entire time. A bit surprised, Ryan curled a tentative hand around the back of his head, hesitating before he kissed his hair blindly and let his cheek rest against the top of Brendon's head. His weight was practically nothing, or if it wasn't Ryan would have gotten used to it by now anyway, so he swayed them a little, free hand sliding absently up and down Brendon's back to soothe him.

It was kind of worrying that he chose this over passing the hell out, given his state (but then Brendon was anything but predictable), so Ryan opened his mouth to ask if he was all right when Brendon spoke first. I love you. Ryan smiled to himself, tender, hand still moving at an easy pace. "I l-" He broke off, stilling completely, and pulled his head back, trying to see Brendon. "What? What'd you..." Fucking Brendon, really. Choosing this time of all times to say that for the first time. Of course. When they spent at least one night a week looking up at the stars, or otherwise someplace beautiful... this was how he... but, Ryan realized, it didn't really matter, because on reflex he was going to return the sentiment before the depth of what Brendon had said had reached him. Maybe it was the first time he'd said it to anyone, fuck. Ryan cradled his head more carefully, trying to level their gazes, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Bren," he answered, finally, his mouth curling into a grin again without his conscious control. "And I really hope you're not too drunk to remember that in the morning."

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

Brendon was finding new ways to piss him off all the time, whether he meant to or not, that was just the nature of their relationship. One of the worst Ryan had picked up on, though, was the way he tended to see right through him; Brendon was perceptive to all his dumb wants and desires and impulses, picked up on every shift in body language and day-to-day slip-up. It probably wouldn't bother anyone typically, because no one was as guarded as Ryan, but he spent his whole life hiding his true feelings on anything and everything. When he was that vulnerable to the person he despised most, the person he actually lamely brainstormed ways to drive crazy... yeah, it set him off a little. Clearly the same case was here - Brendon was barely looking at him any way other than knowingly apart from the occasional variations he incorporated, like when he imbued some tense heat into his expression, or there was underlying anger, so on. In any case, it frustrated Ryan to no end, made him feel naked and exposed and like he needed to leave even in this state. That's what he wanted, anyway: out.

It didn't feel so much like that when Brendon let his fingernails drag down Ryan's chest, though, when both of them had momentarily lost sense, or maybe Brendon was thinking and he knew he could use all of this against Ryan sometime later. That was enough to throw fuel into the flames of suspicion - with all of this, Brendon could do some serious damage, tell everyone Ryan had been the one to initiate a heated kiss between them, had been the one to come here in the first place, not to mention the hundreds of miles he'd traversed in order to get here. Not that anyone really gave a shit about their feud as much as them, but Ryan had jumped the gun, done all of this before breaking it off with Keltie... as much as he told himself that Keltie was probably with somene else already and they'd been done for a while, been dead for at least a month now, no one had ever said it definitively out loud. It wasn't fair. Still. He wasn't thinking about that enough to stop himself, not when he was just finding out how easily he and Brendon fit together, like puzzle pieces. Ryan didn't get that much.

He was, mostly by habit, looking for things he could throw back at him: the slight shine on his skin telltale of sweat, even though they'd barely done much yet, the occasional swell of his chest, the rise of hs body temperature. Ryan was responsible for all of that. He was proud of it, allowed himself the victory for a few moments, until Brendon was meeting his gaze with nothing but triumph to read, and he knew none of it was actually a win. He was still the one who came here, the one who started this twist in their usually much easier to navigate relationship (god, and he thought it was difficult before). Ryan knew what he'd usually do with the knowledge that Brendon had the upper hand. He'd do whatever he could to undo it, whatever was in his power to knock him back down, no regard to how much it hurt Brendon; now, though, he knew what he wanted from him, exactly like Brendon suspected. He could play stupid as much as he wanted, but it became simple once their lips first met. So he let Brendon have it and went right back to kissing him, furious and desperate and maybe a little more pathetic than he was used to being.

He registered Brendon's hand switching to hook in the collar of his shirt - that fucker was going to stretch out the neckline, he wasn't worth it, he wasn't, and still Ryan didn't shove or pull away - and his nails digging into his jutting hip, the way they instantly matched each other's energy almost laughable. Some people were meant to be lovers, yeah, but Ryan was pretty sure they were meant to be enemies, and this was a very strange way of expressing it. He swallowed down the noises Brendon made, nearly inaudible beneath the struggling white noise in his head, welcomed them with his own when their hips rocked gracelessly together. They were both clearly losing control and it was slightly worrying, Ryan overwhelmed by how it seemed like he couldn't get closer to him if he tried, didn't want to get away at all despite every resounding instinct to do exactly that. Had he not just sunk his teeth in or been tugging Brendon's hair nearly out, maybe this would feel romantic or passionate in a good way, Brendon's hand curled around the back of his neck, his own holding Brendon steadily close by his back. But that wasn't them, probably never would be.

Ryan tried to undo some of how far they'd gone, try to talk it away. Brendon didn't seem very receptive. Can I remind you - Ryan winced, exhaling sharply at Brendon turning his own move on him, thumping his head back against the wall to try to save himself from the sting of too much hair-pulling. Seriously. Juvenile. -that you kissed me? Ryan scowled, narrowing his eyes at Brendon. "Right, sure, and you didn't kiss back at all. If I recall correctly, you were..." Ryan straightened, stretching out the meager couple of inches he had over Brendon, then tried to exaggerate the sounds he'd heard moments before - deeply overexaggerate, complete with his eyes rolling back until he stopped to add insult to injury. As per usual. "Oh, oh, Ryan... Yeah, fuck you." He continued trying to push the blame back onto Brendon, at least partially, when really. If he was using reason, he'd definitely just admit to himself who was at fault here, suck up his pride and not say it aloud.

You saying you haven’t? You’d do anything to have me, wouldn’t you? Want me so bad. It wasn't like he was saying anything particularly seductive, but still Ryan's stomach turned uncomfortably, a reaction he desperately wished he could control. The words alone made his jaw set a little more tightly, frustrated that Brendon could do that, and he stared speechlessly back at his sneer until Brendon was pulling him down again, both open-mouthed and lusting. Ryan meant to do more damage, really, pull more or bite more or something, but instead his hands landed on Brendon's hips, fingernails digging into the bone with only firm pressure while Brendon's came to curl around his jaw. It was nearly easy, simple, something Ryan could get used to, and he leaned in to the touch - until Brendon was pulling back (Ryan's brain dumbly protesting nonono against his better wishes), disentangling entirely. Ryan felt, melodramatically, a little cold, and he watched in confusion as Brendon composed himself again. Happy birthday.

What? No, fuck that, they weren't done, Ryan's mind had drifted a lot and he didn't intend on letting it down, but. He was still frozen in place, feeling emptyhanded, almost drained. If Brendon wanted to go, then, fucking- whatever, just... except he didn't, because he paused, hesitated in a way that would've gone unnoticed if Ryan wasn't watching him so intently, and Ryan knew it. He scowled, the flame reignited, and followed him at an uneasy pace, his footsteps drifting but sure in their direction nonetheless. He caught himself on the bedroom doorway, hanging on. "What the fuck," he demanded, nonsensically, already continuing forward to shove at Brendon, trying to knock him back onto the mattress. "You think that's it? No, fuck you - you started this, too, so fucking finish." He moved closer until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he was leaning over Brendon, running his fingers through his hair roughly before he was kissing him again, both hands around his head. He pulled back slightly just to mock him - "'Happy birthday,' god, asshole," - before continuing, one hand sliding down to grip his arm.

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

It was true, Brendon was often the one biting back rather than first; Ryan only took his aggression out on Brendon because he would hit back, as a matter of fact. He was the initiator, the stronger source of anger even most of the time, despite being known as the less powerful personality, the anxious and quiet one. That wasn't wrong, because he was indeed deeply introverted, years of living as a social pariah child turned him into a soft-spoken and eye contact-avoidant adult. But no one except those who were with them on the long bus rides and stretched hotel stays knew that he could stand up to his exact opposite, Brendon, the definition of extroversion, the fiery personality and bold stage presence. Somehow, Brendon brought out that side in him, something that never reared its ugly head unless he was (easily) provoked by his frontman.

He was in a weaker place now, multiple different factors changing their dynamic drastically, ultimately making Ryan genuinely nervous about his missing sense of an upper hand. Usually he had at least something, and now... nothing. He knew he could. He could shake Brendon off easily, if he fought past the drunk dizzy spells that came on for three seconds every minute or two, or he could berate him and scream at him until he jusr went the hell away or at least moved Ryan's drunk ass out of the hotel room, or he could. Just leave everything. Crazily, he wanted to burn every bridge he had, knew it was all over with Keltie and knew that with whatever his relationship had become with Brendon (on his own end, anyway; it seemd Brendon didn't feel even distantly as confused), the band was probably fucked, too. Or maybe he was being dramatic, emphasized by his current state of hazy-headedness. That sounded about right.

Brendon's only response to his protests were hateful, a cynically amused scowl and a smart response. What are you gonna do about it? Cry? Well. Ryan had felt pretty close to it a few times tonight because apparently he was a lightweight more than ever, but. To that, he was adamant on not being emotional at all, frowning deliberately at Brendon and trying to come up with something that would be the end-all to this confrontation entirely - but he had nothing good. Motherfucker. Either way he could tell Brendon was running his fuse short; right, he hadn't even burst completely yet, but he was close to blowing up. Ryan welcomed it. He wanted to actually fight, or do something physical, get rid of all the restless energy making his hands tremble and his face scrunch irritably. Anything to wipe the recurring smugness off of Brendon's face. Anything to make him shut up, stop reading Ryan's mind, stop seeing right fucking through him all the time, because he did know. Asking why he was really here when he did know, god, he knew it all. He'd just let Ryan off the hook, miraculously, until now.

And Ryan almost did. He was fully planning on it, roughing the knowing look off of his face once and for all. But he didn't. Somehow he was kissing him, all the anger misrepresented, all of his hate for him somehow directed this way. He didn't know how the frantic energy came out that way, he had no idea, but at least the subtext they always skirted was finally answered. Worse than that, Brendon wasn't pushing him away, wasn't avoiding him or even answering to it. But then he was, and his hand against Ryan's chest felt almost affected, and he was kissing back, and. God. Ryan almost lost himself in it, let all his drunken impulses take him, ignore all of his common sense and normal rationality. Somehow, though, he forced himself to pull back after a few moments, mouth red and shining and holy shit, what were they doing, how could he ever fix this. Worse: Brendon had something to say about it, after the initial shocked pause. So you didn’t come here just for me, right? Ryan thought about correcting his mistake, actually hitting him. But. He couldn't bring himself to.

Brendon was pulling a little at the fabric of his shirt again and Ryan tried to refocus from the sudden sheen on his lips, full as usual, suddenly more distracting than ever. Shut up for one second, will you? Ryan's face twisted into a mean look again, and he was prepared to fight back again, try to escape this, but then Brendon was leaning up and- god, Ryan couldn't stand him, how controlled he was even here. Ryan shuddered at the sensation, him licking a line along his jaw, then his breath so close to his ear, nearly shoving him away by reflex but dropping his hands to his sides instead, weakly. You can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. I won’t let you. Ryan stared back at him, reading the heat in his expression but unable to react properly, torn between shoving him away and storming out and whatever or finishing what he'd started, giving Brendon something to remember, something to keep him from feeling like he'd won whatever this is.

He kept on looking for a few extended moments, still feeling hurt and sad and lost, but now with the overlay of the heat between them, the tension and incompatibility that somehow made them compatible. His breaths became slower, studying Brendon's face, everything that pissed him off before momentarily beautiful in the way it was all so comfortably familiar, and. He was kissing him again, one hand raising to tug on his hair, roughly then rougher, the other finding the small of his back to pull his body even closer. For good measure he caught Brendon's bottom lip between his teeth, biting alongside all the hair-pulling in case he wasn't getting the message, and this was so juvenile but he couldn't do a thing about it, making a tiny, involuntary and anxious sound before catching himself and trying to correct it. "Like this is my fault," he murmured breathlessly against Brendon's mouth, pulling back mere centimeters to argue before going straight back to kissing him. "You've been begging for it since we met. I'm not fucking blind." Kind of hypocritical, since he sometimes stared a little too long for comfort, but. Mostly he was trying to negate all the signs of weakness he was letting show.

if we go on || b&r

Maybe if Ryan hadn't known Brendon before, when he was so emotionally closed off and unaccepting of anything that came close to romantic intimacy, he wouldn't be so patient with him whenever he did things like this. But he did - he'd gone through the pain of believing Brendon could never like him back the same way, and when he pushed past the initial phase where he was afraid to even touch him, he'd done the whole routine where he scrambled out of his bed in the mornings before Brendon could kick him out first. It'd been rough, and now he tried to stick it out as much as he could when Brendon was still showing signs of adjustment these days. Plus, it's not like Ryan didn't have his own moments. He was critical and overbearing and generally hard to be around sometimes - a lot of times - and Brendon rarely said a thing about it or gave him flak otherwise. Ryan knew him well enough not to be put off by his sometimes troublesome behavior, and Brendon was understanding enough not to take his bad moods to heart. They were on the same level, then.

Trying to act authoritative to win his attention over seemed to work for a moment, where Brendon just gazed back at him with a careful look, but then he was shaking his head stubbornly. Either way, it didn't matter much, because Ryan successfully undid the clasps on his sleeve with the bare minimum protest. I know what you’re trying to do. Ryan smiled to himself, amused, as he reached over to access Brendon's other sleeve, a steadying hand on his opposing shoulder to keep him still. "Oh, yeah? What's that?" he asked, humoring him. You’re trying to exploit whatever power you think you have over me. Ryan narrowed his eyes at him, trying to understand exactly how that thought came to his head, how that could possibly seem like a feasible conclusion to come to. Well, for your fucking information, I wouldn’t do anything you asked me to if you paid me. The idea repulses me. "Brendon, what power am I supposed to have over you that I could exploit? You pay me. I'd say that puts you a few steps ahead of me."

He was half-grinning again when he pulled a whiny Brendon closer, shaking his head somewhat. No. "Yes." But he didn't actually force the medicine on him just yet. He could probably get him to relent when he was more half-asleep. Ryan caught the defiance in Brendon face while he watched him undo his shirt buttons and knew what wild thoughts were running amuck in his mind, no question about it. He tried to quell whatever ideas Brendon was getting before they went too far and it seemed to work; he removed the shirt without complaint, tossing it aside carelessly. Unfortunately, though, it didn't seem to help how he felt about Ryan at the moment, because after lying there resignedly for a few moments, he was pressing his foot against Ryan's chest to get him away. In turn, Ryan hung onto his ankle, laughing a little bit at his meager attempt to remove all company. Leave me alone. Brendon folded his arms behind his head and let up, so Ryan moved entirely onto the mattress rather than just sitting on the edge, criss-cross and letting his knuckles trail back and forth along Brendon's knee.

He didn't leave him alone, in the end, just posed a more genuine question, a little affected. When Brendon sat up and regarded him more seriously he straightened, trying to match his position, level out. If I knew you were fuckin’- gonna be such an ass about everything, fuck off home, I wouldn’t have bothered. Ryan's face went a little flat, feeling the slight guilt again, and he ducked his head to watch while he twisted his fingers until his knuckles turned white. I missed you, and I just wanted you to be here, and you- you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you went home instead. Ryan inhaled slowly, exhaled in an almost-sigh, watching how unhappy Brendon looked and feeling his heart sink. "I'm sorry, baby," he said softly, reaching out to him and letting his hand drop against the sheets while Brendon stood. It's not like he could repeat the sentiment of him not knowing again, argue that he thought he'd been dismissed anyway again, so he let it be, chewing his lip while he watched Brendon stumble.

Ryan would be amused watching him struggle to pick up after himself, then nearly fall into his wardrobe, but. Nothing was really that funny now, with Brendon genuinely sad, hurt, rather than drunkenly upset. There was a difference now, even if he was still unmistakably wasted. It’s not like I didn’t care about the date. I got that suit just for it. I thought you’d like it. Ugh. Even such a tiny thing made Ryan hurt with him. I just- whatever. Will you go away now? Ryan rose, headed to the wardrobe and closing the distance between them again. He fit his hands over Brendon's hips, running his thumbs over the stark line of bone/muscle definition on either side. "I did like it," he said, with a tiny smile, trying desperately to get one on Brendon's face. He raised one hand, settled it on the back of Brendon's neck, swaying them a little. "I'm sorry. I should have been here then, but. I'm here now, okay? I just wanna be sure you're all right." He pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, smoothing strands of hair from his temple, then gestured with a nod at the water on his nightstand. "So I need you to drink some water for me. Yeah? Will you do that?"

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

Ryan could tell that Brendon was controlling himself beyond belief, knew that every glance sent his way was judgmental and every tone he picked was careful, his words calculated when he wasn't just throwing them out there without regard. He knew it wasn't from anything like sympathy, because he'd sort of seen that before from Brendon; this was probably just him confused by the circumstances, and, in fairness, Ryan was deeply confused, too. For Brendon he still didn't know why Ryan was there, had deigned him an escape route over everything else, was still here after their confrontations. For Ryan it was about the same, and then more, like why he hadn't yet scratched Brendon's eyes out. He hoped whatever personality changes came from drinking weren't, like, revealing of someone's true intentions, because if so, his true attitude towards Brendon was radically different than he'd thought.

Instead of continuing on his personal tangent, Ryan excused his being there once and for all instead of dancing around the subject - and Brendon instantly didn't seem to appreciate it. Oh, it wasn’t just me, was it? Ryan was prepared to be dismissive again, even quirking the corner of his mouth in the first start of an effort to make some joke about it, but then Brendon was actually standing, moving with surety towards him. Ryan barely had time to register it before his wrist was in a vice and he was shoved backwards - definitely not good for his situation, and he felt a vague sense of panic about falling right over, but Brendon's apparent newfound strength kept him up. He nearly held onto Brendon in counterpoint to keep himself steady but was too stubborn about the matter, preferring instead to stumble dangerously along with Brendon as a ruthless guide. Not just me, huh? Suddenly this wasn't really funny anymore. An extremely rare occasion, Ryan was actually slightly intimidated, trying desperately to hide it from showing in his expression - so much so, he didn't have an answer for that. "Don't fucking touch me," he tried, tugging his wrist a little although he knew full well Brendon was the source of all his balance for the time being, and his voice was barely reliable for any venom.

You’re a fucking joke. You can’t fly across the country like some lovesick dumbass and then turn on my doorstep, complaining about your girlfriend. 'Oh, Brendon, my girlfriend doesn’t even know me.' Ryan was backed against the wall, too close for comfort, and he felt this weird surge of anger mixed with the choking feeling of tears, but he definitely wasn't about to cry, god forbid. It was more from frustration - the more he desperately wanted to leave, the more impossible it seemed, and he'd gotten himself in this situation in the first place. And he was frustrated with himself for shorting the patience Brendon had allotted him; although just a little, it was still revolutionary for them. Had he been even slightly appreciative or shown it genuinely, maybe this wouldn't be happening, maybe he wouldn't be cornered and spoken to so harshly. Sure, he was pretty used to it, it happened every week with them at least, but. He didn't want to deal with it tonight.

'Oh, Brendon, what should I do, I’m so pathetic that I can’t even talk to her.' I tell you what I fucking think, try to at least make you stop being pathetic on my hotel room couch, and you turn around and tell me you came here because of the show. You’re a lot of things, dickhead, but you’ve never been a good liar. So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here? Ryan swore his heartbeat was audible. He'd never felt like he'd genuinely been knocked down a rung by Brendon, but now, where he felt an actual edge of panic to the overtone of hatred and was rendered entirely speechless... it was very new. He had no answer for him and even if he did, he probably couldn't get through it with a steady voice, so he stayed silent, staring with almost-wide eyes back at Brendon until he finally let up, turning away from him and swearing. The irritation in his tone said enough; Ryan didn't chase him to get back at him - partially to avoid more fighting, partially to stay standing at all - just pressed closer to the wall to maintain balance, shutting his eyes and jumping slightly at the sound of the fridge door slamming.

Intimidation was one thing, but he was still Brendon's equal when it came to angry shouting matches, so he was, of course, pissed right back at him. Just without the same level of clear-mindedness to honor him with real responses. And he'd never been quite this drunk around Brendon, so it all felt different, the warmfuzzy that should come along with drunkenness only serving to assuage his usual hotheadedness. Where he might usually be screaming at Brendon right now, he was focusing his energy on staying standing, maybe drifting towards the door in a belated effort to escape. You’re a real fucking piece of work. I let you in my hotel room, I dare say give you advice, and you can’t even properly thank me. What did that matter, Ryan thought, keeping his eyes on the prize of getting to the goddamn door, until Brendon intercepted his route, fingers curled in his shirt unrelentingly. Shit. Was it really that big a deal, he'd tried, that was as good as thanks got with them.

Ryan almost argued as much, bringing his gaze back in an impatient glare to Brendon and preparing to try and fight back after being quiet so long, but suddenly they were very close, and Ryan blinked rapidly, recalibrating. What do I have to do to make you thank me, huh? Usually it was Ryan in that position, talking down to him, mostly just because he got to that angry level first. And now. It felt... too weird. He definitely felt something other than affronted, aggravated, and he wasn't sure how to take it, how to react. Ryan's eyes flickered around his face uncertainly, his chin lowering slightly from the confrontational angle it'd taken, and he wasn't even trying to think of something to say. Is this what you want, birthday boy? Is this why you’re here? Ryan willed him to get his hand out of his shirt and away from his chest lest he feel his ridiculous heartbeat, but. It didn't really matter because Ryan broke character first, barely waited for him to finish his interrogation before he leaned to close the tiny gap between them, his hand raising from his side like he planned on hitting him or something until instead it curled around the back of Brendon's neck and suddenly he was kissing him.

And he was trying stupidly, desperately, to tilt Brendon's head back until there was easier access to slip his tongue into his mouth, when it occurred to him exactly what was happening, and Ryan flattened against the wall again, bracing because he had nowhere else to go. He paused, the image of panic, and he could shut up and look like an idiot or try to regain some dignity somehow if only he said something. Anything, really. He hesitated a little longer before wrapping his hand around Brendon's, trying to tug it away from his shirt. "Fuck this. I'm leaving, alright? Like you want. Unless you want to give me more shit, then by all means, prolong your misery. I can't stand you, either."

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

Ryan already wasn't in tune with his own emotions much anyway, but the complications with Brendon were much, much worse. Yes, when asked, his plain answer was that he hated Brendon, down to the bone. But here he was, picking him as an escape route when reasonably if he hated Brendon as deeply and truly as he said he did, he'd have just slept on the New York City street until morning. And it's kind of universally accepted that if you hate someone, you don't desperately want them to care about you and be sensitive to your situation. Ryan was introspective for sure, but he didn't want to dwell too much on the complexities of all of that. Rather than try to understand why Brendon had adopted the role he did in Ryan's life, and why it was that fucked up and convoluted, Ryan ignored it, reacted in whatever way came naturally thanks to the haze of drinks clouding his judgment. Normally he'd stick to his guns and stay cold and bitter no matter what, but. This was a very new situation, all unfamiliar feelings.

And although he was drunk, Ryan wasn't totally oblivious to how he looked. Pretty pathetic, really. It could be chalked up to just girl trouble, sure, but that was an easy way out; his issues were primarily with Keltie but didn't end there. He was also newly troubled by whatever the hell the subconscious whims were that drove him here. He'd never even given Brendon a faint chance of being his friend, or his acquaintance, anything. With these new, unfamiliar circumstances, Ryan was a little afraid that he didn't just hate Brendon, and now his conscience was trying desperately to show that. On some level, apparently, he wanted to be with him on this milestone, as much as he tried to explain it away with something else. And, understandably, Brendon wanted him all the way fucking gone. Ryan agreed even though it had been his own feet carrying him here - it'd be easier to be suffering through that bullshit party than it was to deal with his unpredictable shifts in feeling.

Well... I wasn’t joking. The content of his words aside - asshole, as per usual - Ryan noticed for the first time how rough Brendon's voice sounded, and then, by extension, the state of him, the room. Clearly he'd been alone for some time now, without even a phone call as evidenced by the disuse of his voice. Ryan regarded him more carefully for a few seconds, wondering if that was by choice, if he was lonely or just preferred the time to himself. His natural instinct was good, he deserves it, for the former, and fuck him, he can't have it, for the latter, but on the same scary subconscious level as before, Ryan was almost worried. Sure, Ryan himself had had a shitty time as of late, but he was surrounded by people, and some of them even meant well. Brendon looked like he'd successfully roped himself off, oddly enough considering he was the extrovert out of the group. But Ryan's drunk brain was the one that brought up these unnecessary concerns and it was the (gradually weakening) sober part of him that quickly dismissed them; if Brendon had been alone for days, then that was pretty pathetic, and he was an asshole anyway so he should be. Logic and reason, there.

Thankfully, Brendon was on the same page, and didn't oblige Ryan's BAC by being merciful towards him. Well - not much, anyway, because Ryan knew he could be really digging deep, tearing him a new one, if he wanted. That was slightly irksome in itself, knowing Brendon was holding back, but clearly he wasn't prepared for Ryan to be here. He comforted himself in knowing that the reservations weren't for his sake and Brendon was just low energy. What’s the big deal, just break up with her. That was the coldness Ryan was used to. He smirked for a split second, cynically, then actually thought about those words. He'd been thinking about it, just never heard it out loud, and it didn't really help to hear it in Brendon's voice specifically - but still. After a few moments trying to imagine what it would be like to actually go through with that - god, Keltie would cry, and knowing the nature of their relationship probably argue, make him feel like shit about it - Ryan felt like he honestly couldn't ever do it, he was trapped. In a brief lapse of judgment, Ryan forgot to hide his heart, wearing the mixture of fear and vulnerability on his face. It lasted for a second, give or take, before he remembered the ruthlessness of his company, and hid half his face in the palm of his hand, blinking rapidly.

He thought he could get out of there and made a wholehearted attempt only to be turned right down by the unforgiving forces of gravity. No way he was going, clearly, unless Brendon very kindly bodily threw him out. He'd appreciate that, actually. You think? That tiny part of him still felt bad for intruding, and he gave in momentarily, genuinely apologizing against every fighting spirit within him that protested against it. And fucking Brendon let a quiet overcome them that made him dwell on it. Great. Ryan cringed inwardly. You’re what? Can’t hear you. He wasn't lying, he really was apologetic, but now he didn't want to be, or at least he didn't want Brendon to know. So he bit back. "Forget it," he muttered, trying to stand again and hanging on to the back of the couch. He succeeded in that first step, staying as still as he could while he willed the room to stop spinning, a death vice on the seatback.

While waiting, though, Brendon spoke up again, looking thoughtful. Look, you’re obviously upset, I just don’t get why. Ryan's turned a tired face on him again, thinking that this was actually a pretty soft approach. He could just be saying 'suck it up,' or something, but. He wasn't. Ryan pursed his lips, trying not to look grateful or anything similarly gross. You and Keltie were never meant to be together forever or some shit like that. Just be thankful it’s earlier on. It’ll hurt less. He was right. He was absolutely right, Ryan knew it, just. It didn't feel good, didn't feel like the right resolution. And- 'it'll hurt less'? Since when did Brendon give a fuck about what hurt him or not, and how much? Ryan blinked at him, considering sitting back down but suddenly too restless, endlessly anxious in the wake of a desperate situation. Anyway, you’re here now. There’s no point apologising.

He was being... uncharacteristically patient. Well, it was characteristic, in truth, just not with Ryan in mind. Ryan watched Brendon a little longer, wondering if he was as confused and muddled up as Ryan was, but that was a long shot. He most likely wasn't. Ryan wasn't sure what he expected from him at this point. Instead of directly addressing his rational approach to Ryan's distress, he veered slightly off topic, his attention span short at the moment anyway. "...I was going to come to Seattle, anyway. For the show later. It wasn't just you." He nearly said something like 'don't flatter yourself,' but again. Whatever was in alcohol made him not want to hate Brendon as much. Ironically, he hated that phenomenon. All the same, it was responsible for him using the pleasantries he had never done before with Brendon. "Um. Thanks. For-" He didn't know. Awkward suddenly, Ryan's steadying grip on the couch was no longer helpful to him staying upright, and he swayed a bit. "I don't know, just. I knew I was going to have to break up with her, but hearing someone say it out loud... thanks, whatever." So maybe 'whatever' negated whatever sincerity he had, but he meant it, deep down.

i sit around and want you

For the past ten years Ryan's life had become thousands times more comfortable for him, easier and less stressful on a day to day basis. When he left high school and found himself signed to a record deal and being recognized on the street almost instantly it was intimidating. He was already the kind of person who couldn't say hi to people without staring primarily at the ground, couldn't approach customer service workers unless he had a good ten minutes to warm up, couldn't talk about himself without feeling like he'd been doing so for too long, so on. Then, without preparation, entering into a life where he'd have to talk to collaborators constantly and deal with their criticism that he already enforced so strictly upon himself and meet deadlines without any failure whatsoever and - everything, it was a lot. Nothing he hadn't been striving for since he first picked up the guitar, really, because he knew he wanted to be a musician, he just hadn't anticipated the band picking up so quickly, and then the pace was so rapid that he thought he got motion sickness.

And then the split. They'd seen it coming for some time and not discussed it. Fans couldn't tell because luckily the first two albums were cohesive enough individually, but the four guys were the ones trapped in every tense recording room, they were the ones who exchanged lyrical ideas and instrumental tracks, and they could tell that each offering was gradually clashing more and more with one another. None of them coud choose a set direction for the third record, and the creative differences were getting in the way of them making anything at all, even turning them on each other occasionally when someone was so adamant about their idea being made into a reality. Ryan hadn't anticipated them falling apart this early on in their career, or relatively early anyway, and yet here they were, drifting. After months of struggling with each other or otherwise being avoidant, they called a time of death, and went their separate ways.

The 'separate ways' were determined by creative direction, because it made sense; Jon and Ryan had the same folk-ish indie easygoing sound, Brendon and Spencer were still more pop-punk, more relevant to what the general population would buy. Maybe that's why they got to keep the name - the band's background fit more with what they wanted to continue to do. Anyway, it did make sense, the way they doled out band members, but the confusing part was Brendon and Ryan. They'd been together for a while by then, and had even been engaged, and then the split put strain on something Ryan had already been reconsidering. It wasn't Brendon's fault at all. As young as he was, though, Ryan had only ever experienced shitty relationships that came to screeching halts or explosive dissolves, and he honestly was not prepared to see Brendon go that way. These four friends were the only people he could keep consistent in his life, thus far; everyone else he'd fallen out with or something along the same lines.

It was unreasonable, really, but at the time that didn't occur to Ryan - and he still sort of stood by his decision as much as he regretted it ninety-nine percent of the time. Self-doubt had chased him from the initial proposal, even. He thought about his parents, mom leaving at such an early age, dad not bothering to stay functioning enough to keep his only kid more than just 'alive and existing.' He thought about all the girlfriends who turned out to not care that much for him, who cheated or who didn't see him or who wanted to change him. He thought about every friend who decided he wasn't a priority and dropped out of his life, or who once visited him daily only to eventually forget to call. He thought about the fact that the only person he could say he'd known for years for a reason other than their career was Spencer, and even Spencer didn't seem that interested all the time - though he could be fooling himself. So, a famed self-saboteur, Ryan pushed Brendon away before Brendon could hurt him first. He broke off the engagement, made a shoddy excuse about how it would be hard to keep up when they were in two separate bands, and promptly disappeared from his life.

That was before. The tragic backstory, and everything. In ten years Ryan had successfully pretended his engagement didn't exist, not out of malice or coldness, but to keep his sanity. That was his closest confidant in the world, the person who changed his life, and he'd broken them up in a split second, so now he had to exist in a world where that didn't happen. It was the only way he could feasibly go on, really. Ryan started on a roll of basically back-to-back girlfriends; he didn't intend on any of them being long-term, especially didn't plan any engagements, and there was a mutual understanding about that in every scenario. He kept surrounding himself with pets, sticking by Dottie primarily, kept holing himself up in a strangely decorated and otherworldly home in Los Angeles just to keep writing songs he never showed anyone. Occasionally he'd make a public appearance on someone's Snapchat, or someone's Instagram, or in a grocery store where a fan would catch him and post it on YouTube, or at a Halloween party, et cetera. Basically, it was a yearly event that he would be caught in the public eye. His fans - though he doubted it was right to call them that by now, since he barely released anything to be a fan of - would not quit badgering him about it on social media.

Anyway. Ten years of reclusivity, basically. His friends were ones he kept particularly close and didn't reach out far beyond that. All of the old ones had grown distant from him, he supposed with time, or maybe they despised him for what had happened with him and his ex-fiance - he couldn't blame them, and he knew it was a small friend group so there really was no way to not take it personally, but honestly, couldn't they mind their business? Go between the two of them like divorced parents? Whatever - now he kept up with another ex-girlfriend, Elizabeth, and she was his best friend. She made sure he was alive when he was particularly awful at keeping in contact, let the world know he was alive once she did. Others, Alex, Daniel, Langley, Jeremy, Allison - all of them were close, too, but he still only really saw them when he was forced out of his solitary shell of a home. Maybe that lifestyle wasn't really good for him. Whatever the case, he'd become accustomed to it, even comfortable, and it was much happier and simpler than the times when he woke up panicking about being late for a show or spent hours trying to find the exact right word for a song he figured people would probably forget about anyway. Ryan was meant to be a musician, sure, and that's what he was; he just wasn't cut out for any kind of superstardom.

This was one of the times where he was invited from his isolation zone, and because it was Z, Ryan was glad to accept. It wasn't just any party, though; she was inviting him to perform. On stage. In front of people. Who would be there, by the way, expecting him, because once he accepted, that's when posters started getting made - that's how she trapped him in it even after he found out about the performance. Special guest: him. Fuck. Anyway, Z promised it'd be better than his high school prom, so he tentatively continued, practicing with her for a few weeks before it became time to actually go, and suddenly he was picking out a suit that made him look like he was graduating some sort of Navy training with Z, who looked naturally like his white-dressed, lost-at-sea wife. They tended to be like that, anyway.

The event itself was packed, and luckily Ryan was able to hide backstage and pretend he was still setting up the entire time the venue was filling with a crowd. He could hear his name at least once every thirty minutes in passing conversation by the stage door and he wasn't sure how to feel about it. Here was Ryan, virtually off the radar for ten years straight, and people were still excited to see him. It made his heart soar, his chest warm - what about him, ten years ago, freshly dropped out of college and not knowing what the hell he was doing, endeared him to people he never met for this long? What made him so important to them? He supposed it was just validation that he'd reached his ultimate goal, for his lyrics to mean something to someone, and evidently they did enough that people hung on to the idea of him for this long without anything to sate any appetite for more content. He appreciated it, genuinely and truly, and made sure to keep in mind to hang out after playing, try to show that appreciation somehow although he had no idea how to express the amount of gratitude he felt.

Ryan listened to Z play with that on his mind, a small smile on his lips like there always was when he heard her. She just had that innate talent; there was something otherworldly about her voice, her music, that drew you in, even if you weren't a fan of the softer sound she tended towards. The audience seemed to agree, judging by the hush that fell over them and the low hum of people who knew the lyrics singing along softly, then the onslaught of applause immediately following, cheers of her name and 'I love you's, so on. She smiled modestly, as per usual, and turned her head towards Ryan hidden offstage, and he took his cue to step forward from the darkness, slinging a guitar over his shoulder once he'd stepped into the glow of the stage lights. Ryan took a moment to look all around him first, too nervous-excited to face the crowd that was clapping again or listen to Z's undoubtedly generous introduction, and the fairy lights and gentle mood light seemed to settle him a bit. He finally looked back, waving at one side of the audience, taking in the faces, dropping his hand to strum at his instrument whilst he smiled at the rest of them.

Z's acoustic pointed to Jon and Ryan tried to follow the direction, excited to see a friend he only got to see once in a blue moon as of late (though he'd fallen out with him probably the least of everyone), just to find that it wasn't just Jon. The friendly smile on his face disappeared, and instead of showing the guilt/fear/surprise that he instantly felt in his expression, Ryan let it go completely blank, save for maybe a distressed quirk in his brow. Brendon was here. Somehow. He must not have followed any ads, because Ryan's name was plastered on all of them in big, bold lettering, so... Jon invited him. Was he up to something, here? Surely he didn't know that Brendon probably hated him for what he did, even after a decade, because if he did he'd be considerate enough to let them continue existing in completely separate worlds where it was safe. Somehow, Ryan remained relatively calm, ignoring the rapid beat of his heart and blinking slowly at Brendon, fixated on him alone now despite the fact that Z was moving on (a good idea, considering people were realizing their surprise visitor was here). It felt like an eternity that he just looked at him, and he was beautiful even when he was clearly shying away from the view of other guests, and for a moment Ryan felt like he did whenever he looked at him while they were engaged.

But Ryan kept breathing, recuperated, kept strumming his guitar; he offered the tiniest smile to Brendon from afar, reverent, and then curled his hand over his mic, hanging off the stand timidly. He ignored the faint sense of dread all through his body, instead focusing on keeping up a smile that he gave to everyone, until finally it was Z and his time to sing. "Since we met I sit around and want you..." Unfortunately, their song choice was now hilariously inappropriate. "I don't do the things I oughta do; I'm so in love I let the world go by me." He'd been swaying vaguely, but Ryan's gaze landed briefly, uncomfortably, on Brendon again, and he started the first note of the next line that way before thinking better of it and looking away. "Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but you..." The song was something he'd definitely write when they were together, or maybe even in a fit of irrationality while he was trying desperately to forget about their romance and failed; it hurt all the more to sing in front of him, attention landing on him occasionally until he could feel the ache in his chest and had to turn again.

That's all you get for now, Z teased once they'd finished, trailing off the last note sweetly and serenely, and Ryan laughed easy, quickly made his exit after waving and removing his guitar. He'd have to come back onstage later, but now - what was he supposed to do? Hide back here and pretend Brendon wasn't at the event? It's not like he didn't want to talk to him. Maybe if it was a few years ago, he'd still be wary about talking to him, but a decade had passed. Nothing could happen anymore. Besides, if he wanted to fix any anger Brendon might still have at him, now was the time. Ryan took advantage of the stage adrenaline leftover and braved it, weaving through the chattering, distracted audience while Z set up for the next song to play, giving brief 'hello's and friendly smiles and a hug or two when prompted. He got to Jon and Brendon surprisingly fast but they seemed focused on one another, and Ryan intercepted the circle of onlookers that had grown around Brendon to brush his arm feather-light, loosely attempting to turn him. "Brendon," he said enthusiastically, a nervous smile back on his face. He had to actually remind himself to finish his name, not just say 'Bren' - weird how that habit hadn't died out. "It's great to see you, man, I would've never thought I'd see you here. Thank god for Jon Walker, right?" Jon, who seemed to have mysteriously moved away despite them standing still. Ryan glanced around briefly, where it seemed, thankfully, like only a few people had caught them, then back at Brendon. May as well take advantage of the relative privacy to sneak off. "Hey, listen, do you want to come backstage?"

let’s pick up, pick up

They were now in constant competition for not just the best vocalist, best guitarist, best lyricist, whatever - sometimes Ryan even got brave and told him he was shit on the piano or came for something else he was obviously masterful at - but also for who could maintain said competition, who could keep the ball rolling on making the other feel badly. Of course they never actually seemed to hurt each others' feelings; maybe in the beginning Ryan could get to Brendon because he hadn't come into the band expecting to be attacked at every turn for no real reason, obviously, so he probably actually took the criticism to heart. Now, though, Brendon's voice was responsible for them selling hundreds of thousands more records in comparison to how much they sold before him, so obviously when Ryan told him he 'couldn't sing for shit, why was he here,' it was completely untrue. Or, when they were selling out shows now rather than just making a reasonable turnout, it became clear that Ryan's constant 'no one likes you, you don't belong here' spiel was bullshit. All of that and more, really - they weren't hurting one another more than petty annoyance.

The push and pull, it seemed like, peaked here, and Ryan was over the moon with joy. Brendon looked like he was ready to snap, shoved to the edge finally, and Ryan couldn't wait for whatever outburst it was to come - or maybe he'd break down rather than out. Either way, definitely a win. Ryan relished in holding the upper hand as long as he could, meeting Brendon's fake as hell smile with a tiny one of his own... difference being that his wasn't really fake or even forced. Maybe you just want it to be. "Ouch," he returned sarcastically, crossing his arms with them newly freed by Jon. Either Brendon was running out of material or Ryan had actually gotten to him. That was the ultimate goal in these typical confrontations, anyway - see who could get under whose skin most effectively and most quickly. Spencer seemed like he wanted to disrupt that contest before it got too catastrophic, but of course he had no idea how, so instead Ryan bore with the feeling of his tired eyes stuck on him from the lounge couch.

Ryan subtly alluded to the subtext they never seemed to want to talk about, feeling more bold now that his girlfriend was halfway across the bus examining the bunks alongside Jon with genuine interest. Brendon, though, looked more at ease, and as a clear result, Ryan was almost unsettled, regarding him more carefully as if he were a ticking time bomb. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? There it was. The change in his tone, the words themselves, Brendon biting his lip when Ryan definitely had a thing for his mouth in general - undoubtedly a deadly cocktail. Ryan hated him because he probably knew it, too. Ryan's face changed for a discernible moment, eyebrows going slack and smug smile fading slightly, and he had no idea what to say to that other than something stupid and dismissive that would hold no power. Fuck. He paused, then heard Keltie's voice faint from across the bus, saw Spencer taking his cue to leave from the corner of his eye, and came back to reality, scowling at Brendon again. Not as good as looking self-satisfied, but he couldn't muster it back up.

He rendered Brendon speechless next, evidenced by the way he grew quiet again and then actually got up. Wow, it was rare Ryan could actually argue him out of a room this quickly. The smirk came back, thank god, and he watched him intently, a gleam in his eyes. Brendon came too close but Ryan focused on him even as they brushed against one another, turning his shoulder as if he were affronted and then his entire body to watch him exit. Unfortunately, Brendon stopped at the door, and Ryan's only comfort was the fact that he had to actually look up to meet his gaze. Seeing as you’re so concerned, maybe I’ll start dating. Not like I don’t have options. A confusing slew of emotions followed that. Something like 'oh shit nononono' passed through his head, and Ryan made a point to ignore it, immediately making a flippant 'tch' sound and shrugging one shoulder. Have fun with your girlfriend, dickhead.

Almost reflexively, Ryan grabbed his arm, barely in control of the way his hand shot out on a hair trigger. And then, not expecting his body's instinct reaction to seeing arch-enemy-frontman, he wasn't sure whether to pull him back fully into the bus or push him the rest of the way through the door, so Ryan went with the easiest option; he shoved him out and followed closely, the death vice on his arm serving to keep him steady and relatively balanced all the same. There was really no point in switching from in to out, but. If he was leaving anyway, Ryan was going to prolong the exit, not let him have the last word. "Oh, yeah? What are your options? You gonna pay someone?" One corner of his mouth lifted, amused by the thought, and he took his hand away to cross his arms over his chest as if thoughtful. "It's not like anyone would stick around for free, obviously. There's not much to redeem all of -" Ryan nodded at him up and down, insinuating. "- this. Oh, and, you know, the emotional baggage of you being obsessed with your guitarist even though he's got a girlfriend. Not sure anyone would want to be with that."