jakob

i sit around and want you

It made sense that the only way Ryan could see him even still was as a friend - best friend, even, despite the fact that Ryan had a whole new circle of people. His brain just automatically registered his face as comforting, nostalgic, evidently barely focusing on the heartbreak that was undoubtedly and entirely his own fault. It's not like he had any reason to harbor resentment for Brendon. Brendon hadn't been the one to run away, virtually out of nowhere, and he hadn't been the one who did it with such a disconnection to the situation that he barely talked to any of their mutual friends afterward, regardless of their level of involvement. Brendon had been something of a victim there, dictionary definition of unfair. All because Ryan didn't want to risk getting hurt first. If he was still prone to dwelling on the past, he'd beat the hell out of that idiot from ten years ago (and, he of course still dwelled on everything and anything, but it sounded better to claim not to).

Ryan had developed the ability to look people in the eye, sure, and meeting Brendon's was a trouble that stemmed not from any kind of social anxiety, but from guilt. Looking straight at him, even though he now wore this resigned expression, then something like feigned confidence - Ryan had drifted too far to catch up on recent changes, but the pretend-confidence was clear and far away from Brendon's natural security - and was struck by the memory of how he'd looked when they split. Very rarely had he ever seen Brendon cry, or look so dumbstruck, so caught off his guard - and even less rarely, in fact never before, had he witnessed it all happening because of him. He knew that much. As much as he dodged recognition like a pro and slunk away from real, raw emotion enough to pretend it wasn't happening, he could just as easily act as if he had never been there that day, had done so plenty of times for years. It was generally the one with the worse end of the deal who completely dissociated themself from the situation, but Ryan was stuck with resounding guilt about it all (predictably), worry for what had happened to Brendon after he left (and yet the guilt kept him from checking in), and, amongst other things, a lot of isolating. Turns out any reminder of their relationship or even just Brendon afterward made him feel everything he tried to ignore.

He never allowed himself a moment to wish for anything else, to imagine what they could have been or what they would have ended up making of themselves or if they were supposed to grow old together and Ryan just fucked up the balance of the universe, or whatever, all 'cause of his petty rejection issues. It was easier to deprive himself of those kinds of thoughts when Brendon wasn't around, though - when he was separated from the Brendon left in Ryan's head and instead just a guy in tabloids always picture-perfect and unreal. Looking at him now, even from the distance between him on stage and Brendon stuck in the crowd, Ryan felt the danger of those wistful thoughts immediately. He reasoned that it was only natural - it's not like they spent enough time around one another after the breakup to really come to terms with it and maybe let the romance die out. Usually for relationships that ended like theirs had, the love is gone before they finally make the cut. Brendon and Ryan had no such luck.

It was basic instinct that led him off stage and towards Brendon, but Ryan knew his intuition was definitely not to be trusted, so it wasn't a venture that came with no wariness - in any case he couldn't stop himself, already halfway there before he even registered that he'd moved so comparatively fast. His initial resolution to just fix things, get on at least a level ground, was dissipating. The more this montage of their dedication to one another played in his head, juxtaposed with his rambling, semi-controlled speech about how it wasn't working out (it was, definitely was, they were going to get married), the more he wanted to know Brendon again - not just fix the bad blood but explain himself entirely and catch up with his oldest, closest friend, make sure he knew it was never about him. Actually, on the contrary, Brendon had given him too many reasons to count, to stay. It just wasn't enough, matched up to all his childish fears, to stop his impulsive plans in their tracks and rein all the crazy in. Of course, that probably wasn't going to happen. Ryan burned a fuckton of bridges. He didn't expect anything from Brendon, now, when nothing was owed to him.

Ryan's mind drifted, against the personal rules he'd set for himself, to the fact that he might have seen Brendon change in all the ways that he had if it'd never happened. It was easy to guess that, yes, they would have lasted; they would have gotten married, and maybe Ryan would talk about his fears only to eventually laugh them off, and they would probably be so much happier than they were individually. All speculation, all wishful thinking. Ryan comforted himself in believing that maybe Brendon wouldn't have found as much success with Ryan weighing him down, or something; anything to veer away from the destructive train of thoughts of marriage he was already riding. When they were right before one another, that natural, worrying thought process lasted maybe ten seconds; then Ryan snapped himself out of it and promptly tried not to look like he was staring as much as he was just making friendly eye contact. He convinced himself, in the back of his mind, that he hadn't noticed Brendon shaking at all.

With inane distractions about fans, whatever, Ryan had led him to smile at those around him like it was second nature, and Ryan observed with something like fondness at how it was still the same. He was less boyish-excited than he was ten years ago whenever someone recognized him; now he was simple and sweet but still radiant as all hell somehow, despite the circumstances. Ryan supposed he was used to playing it cool for paparazzi, anyway. That was on his mind when, only vaguely, he caught onto bits and pieces of Brendon saying something back, very nearly asking him to repeat himself until he recognized Brendon's dry tone as a familiar one. Whatever he'd said wasn't necessarily for Ryan to hear. Instead of replying Ryan glanced at him tentatively, wondering if this was what it would be - Brendon's indignance, his own uncertainty - and again considered the easy way out by not talking at all. It wasn't as simple as that, though, and he thought his feet probably wouldn't carry him anyway.

When they were back, Brendon moved noticeably away, and Ryan said nothing again - just observed with concern heavy in the back of his mind. If he was fine enough to regard Ryan like he was now, all pride and vague but contained bitterness, then there was nothing to worry about except maybe getting burned by what'd clearly been an ignited, angry ten-year-long flame. Regardless, Ryan still asked questions, still wanted to know Brendon Remodelled. Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month. Ryan's lips parted, natural reflex to tell him he had heard some of it and he liked it and Brendon had grown so much musically - then he remembered where they stood again. Instead, he nodded, looking glad nevertheless that Brendon had good news to deliver. "I'm happy to hear it," he said in a gentler voice, keeping the distance between them but bowing his chin somewhat in counterpoint to Brendon's stance.

Anyway. He barely recognized him, blah blah, usual shock. A decade does that to a person. Ryan would've looked sheepish if he hasn't been expecting that tone of voice anyway, that kind of inflection. He took it as politely as he could, quirking one side of his mouth like it was a joke. You look different too. But did he? Ryan knew he was less flimsy and breakable looking compared to ten years ago, but a little muscle didn't do much in his eyes. He certainly hadn't grown out of the cherubic features into something far more adult, or at least not by much. On the flipside he as catching so many tiny details off about Brendon, how his expressions were more practiced, the lines of his face sharper but not severe, the way he held himself even under pressure that would've sent decade-ago Brendon running. How’ve you been? "Fine," Ryan answered reflexively, used to either lying or giving as little info as possible. For this, he wasn't sure which it was. "Not 'new-album-and-tour' level, but. I don't think I was cut out for that anyway. You've always been the braver one." he punctuated it with a semi-amused smile, so out of his element but so determined to say something - anything. Even if that last part was kind of hitting too close.

"Remember, we used to play shows like this?" he continued after a moment, mostly just trying to find comfort in their conversations again. It was already sort of easy; he knew he should be on edge, really, but all forces in him still registered Brendon as familiar, safe. Anyway - reminiscing on the tiny shows they cramped in to play together wasn't helping his case, even if he felt the briefest flood of warmth through himself. He folded in on himself a little, gaze dropping momentarily from Brendon's face while he drew his shoulders in, almost defending. Ryan started-stopped again, nearly on a ‘remember when’ tangent, then bit his tongue.

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

Now the string of admissions Ryan was making was less about the relief of getting it all off his chest and out in the air, more about seeing how Brendon would react, because each time was intoxicating. He couldn't quite tell whether he felt triumphant seeing him look slightly dumbfounded for a second each time, clearly not expecting the answers he was getting, or whether he was drawn to the way it clearly affected him at least a little - the more brutally honest and bold he got, the more he seemed to knock Brendon off his guard, and it felt way better than pissing him off ever did. This was nothing compared to the faint exhileration whenever he could get Brendon to snap or yell back at him or storm off angrily. This was new, different, and Ryan was pretty sure he'd found a new favorite way to talk to Brendon. Though maybe whispering whatever he was imagining at the moment to Brendon may not be ideal when they were in front of their bandmates... whatever, they'd already annoyed them to no end, may as well disgust them.

Ryan's first illustration of his imagination apparently went down well; Brendon shut his eyes for a moment, evidently trying to paint it himself. Ryan smiled at him, amused and knowing all at once, wondering at how much ammunition he had left. This could go on for a while, really. What a pretty picture. Ryan almost let go something stupid about how Brendon was kind of a pretty picture all by himself, but. Really, too much. He was already on something of a roll. His gaze dropped to his mouth for the umpteenth time, really all Brendon's fault because he let it hang just slightly like that, and he bit his own lip tentatively, mind wandering. It wasn't all just that kind of thing in his head - wasn't all just sexual and messy and completely reflective of their subtextual relationship. It was also the kind of thing he was sure they'd never be, the kind of thing that'd never be okay to say: stuff about how he wished he knew what his truest and most genuine smile looked like, how his stage presence made Ryan feel weightless even from the sidelines, how he envied his personality sometimes. Stupid things he was sure wouldn't do the same damage as admitting this stuff. He was sure it'd just send Brendon out the door (or more accurately send Ryan into getting kicked out).

You know, that’s pretty vague. And that’s okay. I’m a visual learner. Ryan arched an eyebrow, decided to characteristically be a smartass. "I prefer the kinesthetic approach. Hands-on, you know. I can be a lot less vague then." He was grinning again, probably sleepy-drunk at this point and therefore shouldn't be teasing any kind of activities he wouldn't be able to carry out, but. It was fun, and he'd already started some kind of streak. Thank you, darling. He knew what Brendon was mocking and he had a moment of weakness, his smile flickering into completely different territory before he controlled himself. It's not like he necessarily wanted that. They were screwed up beyond fixing. Anything that could be described as a romantic relationship would be far too toxic even if they worked on their issues now - nothing better than, say, the waste of his time that his current-ish relationship was. But it was nice to imagine, alongside everything else he was plucking up the courage to say aloud to Brendon. He tuned in in time to catch Brendon's matching kiss against the corner of his mouth, and it felt almost intimate - though at this point he was probably making it all up. He put on a smile, putting off emotions for the time being.

You know what, you’re right. Your thirsty ass is always very happy to see me whenever I’m shirtless on the tour bus. "True," Ryan offered, weighing his head to the side. "Now you know what I'm thinking when that's the case, I feel like I'll be seeing it a lot more. Tease." He could've guessed that before, but now it was kind of confirmed. Not just that, but also the whole bottom ordeal - it was a little sad how obvious Brendon could be. He called him on his princess behavior, met by embarrassment first, then - shockingly - a brave show of courage. And I deserve to be treated like one. Ryan laughed a little, his hand dropping from the back of Brendon's head and landing at the small of his back, coaxing. "Sure, but usually in my imagination I'm not treating you exactly like royalty." He watched again, amused, for his reaction, still testing the waters freely. It'd become sort of a game, really.

When offered an alternative his only answer was to latch back onto Ryan's neck, and Ryan let his head thump back against the wall involuntarily, shutting his eyes. In the back of his mind lived the vaguest concern about how he'd hide the inevitable harsh purple spot on his skin, especially when anyone who'd see it would know of his mysterious disappearance tonight, but. He couldn't quite bring himself to care enough to stop Brendon. Instead he kept talking, inhaling sharply when he left a punctuating bite over the already formed bruise, dragging his fingers loosely down Brendon's back while he re-settled with his arms strewn over Ryan's shoulders. He re-opened his eyes when he felt their foreheads rest together, almost startled by the closeness, blinking to focus on the darkness of Brendon's gaze, his bright honey versus Brendon's coffee-hued. His instinct was to kiss him, or something, but this felt maybe a bit more intense than that.

I think I’ve thought about it more than you’ve actually done it with Keltie. It wouldn't have been funny to the complaining Ryan from minutes ago, but now he grinned right back at Brendon, dazzled by his smile until it was gone and his own faded, too. Somehow he felt like the one under the spotlight, even when they were kind of level now. I want to be feeling it for days afterwards. Ryan's smile had completely disappeared, then, suddenly looking very serious, a little intimidated by how easily he'd become so forward when it had taken Ryan forever to get to where he was. He opened his mouth a little, trying to come up with something smart quick, but stopped before restarting. "So you will be," he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, but still. These were kind of unrealistic promises to be making when he'd probably bust a breathalyzer. I quite like the position we’re in right now. Ryan furrowed his brow, shifted his eyes to look between them, where Brendon looked so comfortable in his lap he may as well have lived there. Ryan smirked, the pressed foreheads suddenly much less daunting a position. "A power bottom's still a bottom, princess." And he gave in to temptation, kissed him briefly with a hand wrapped around the back of his neck and the other hooked in his waistband tentatively, all careful with no real bite.

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

Though now something of a repetitive subject to dwell on, Ryan was still circling, wondering exactly what subconscious compulsion drove him here. What did he really want from Brendon? Just a night to fulfill all the desires he'd ever secretly harbored for him? Wouldn't that just lead to more similar nights, some kind of mutually beneficial deal between them? It's not like Brendon seemed to be very against where all of this was going. But even then it didn't sound like enough, didn't sound like exactly the right answer for his problem. Ryan had never been, like. Romantically, even platonically attracted to him, just. The extent of it was catching him in the middle of telling a joke to Spencer with this excited smile on his face or laughing over some ridiculous article with Jon bent beside him and sort of wondering what it'd be like if they had the kind of dynamic where it'd be okay to do that. As a matter of fact, Ryan had never been the one to make Brendon actually smile or laugh or be at all enthused about anything related to him - that is, not unless it was in a cruel way. The closest he'd come to being faced by Brendon looking genuinely happy was if, maybe, he accidentally turned his way on stage, or if he'd caught him off-guard right after talking to someone else.

It was probably purely coincidental. After all, anything anyone ever said about Brendon could be dumbed down to something about him being the most pleasant and personable individual they'd ever met, something about his charisma or his charm or his humor, and it was all a side that Ryan had never seen. He supposed maybe he wasn't wistful about Brendon himself, didn't desire that kind of closeness with him necessarily, just was curious about this unknown part of him. Granted, it could be argued that the Brendon Ryan knew was the 'unknown part,' considering basically no one else knew of it or really got under his skin to bring out something close to it in the same way Ryan could, but still. The point was, he was missing out on something, and for whatever reason he longed to explore every facet of personality Brendon had to offer. As much as he spent his days hating him beyond belief, he knew Brendon was nuanced and full of spirit, knew he was voluntarily ignoring everything he had to show for for this long. Apparently drunkenness won out in the battle of pride and curiosity, picking the latter.

And now he was, rather comfortably, admitting to everything he'd ever managed to keep secret from Brendon, deep down under lock and key. It felt strangely like a relief - but also somewhat nerve-wracking. Brendon looked equally unnerved by his newfound sense of forwardness (under the brand name Captain Morgan, plus a few others, but same-same). Even so, Brendon had the most confidence, allowed himself a smirk. Ryan remained looking somewhat flat with a touch of smug, the best alternative to outright petrified. I like foreplay. Ryan studied him more carefully, again thinking about how funny it was that they fit so well, despite it all. Maybe funny was the wrong word to use. And I’d like to know what you did imagine. Ryan's gaze dropped after he searched his eyes a moment, once again appreciating his timing to catch Brendon shirtless (though it's not like it took any specific timing to find him that way). How could he answer that without upgrading the mortification level by 1,000 percent? "Scratches down my back, you on your knees - you know, the works," he answered vaguely, kind of amused still, figuring as little as possible was better than nothing.

It takes a whole fuckload of alcohol and me making out with you for a good while for you to admit that you’re even attracted to me. Out loud, sure, but Ryan was fairly certain he'd been caught staring stupidly in the past enough times for it to not need to be said. Nevertheless if he was on a roll now he may as well go on about every attractive thing - seemed like Brendon tended to appreciate a bit of an ego boost. But, I’m flattered, an’ you’re hot. Ryan laughed lightly, almost rejecting the compliment, but looking self-deprecating and insecure - y'know, the real stuff - was worse than anything he'd already done. He kept it to himself, but still looked doubtful. "You're stupidly gorgeous," he started, hating that he'd said it instantly because it was actually too far, but he'd already begun the thought. No going back. "It's not like I have to admit something obvious." See, it was true, but there was probably an unspoken rule to not use words like 'gorgeous' in regard to one another. It was too gentle, he'd already been too gentle for a while, this had taken too much of a turn... but that didn't matter in his head for more than a few worrying seconds.

Ryan triumphed in somehow embarrassing Brendon, the one not totally out on a limb here, the one who already had the higher win tally. He grinned when Brendon hid his face in his shoulder, catching the back of his head and drawing a few locks of hair between his fingers sportively. When he faced him again he was still smiling, probably the most lively he'd ever looked while staring directly at Brendon, but didn't care enough to notice. How’d you figure that out? "You're sort of a princess," he laughed, but not in a mean way like he should've, more lighthearted and jovial than anything else. "Why, would you have it any other way?" Then he remembered he'd been the only one to admit to thinking about them like this, and his smile faded to a degree, still there but ultimately weaker. "If you've thought about it at all, that is. Your take is probably a lot more interesting."

in the summertime

Perhaps the reason this relationship worked so well (the best he'd ever had, obviously, otherwise Ryan wouldn't have literally married him) was the fact that there was confidence in it. Saying 'I love you' aloud at this point was pretty much a formality. They understood each other and their gestures so well that love was written in everything; every touch, every breath, every shared space... He was lucky, to say the least, because even the wedding ceremony was more of a gesture than much else, a time for them to parade the other around and have their dance and eat insane amounts of cake. If he'd given no vows Brendon would still have gotten the message, likely, and that was kind of the best thing to ask for when applied to their day-to-day life considering Ryan absolutely fumbled anything he didn't get to write on paper first. Well- write on paper, then proofread, then draft again, then edit, so on. His first tries were rarely anything impressive, as such an iterative person. Because of Brendon's constant patience, he didn't need to try so much anyway. Needless to say it saved him a lot of energy and anxiety.

So their honeymoon was, naturally, just as easy and effortless for them, nothing they had to work for to enjoy; while other couples might've built some crazy activity schedule or actually needed the ridiculous villa they'd ended up in to stand each other, Brendon and Ryan were fine spending days in and days out doing absolutely nothing with one another, and they'd be just as fine in, like, a shoddy tent, or something. Just as long as both of them were there. I am. I’m also pretty. Look at me. As if he hadn't already been looking. Ryan followed his guiding hand without qualms, kissing him back gently and letting his embrace grow more firm around Brendon. Maybe he should feel a little bad about definitely planning to drop him back into the pool to mess with him, but. Ryan guessed this was the start to a whole life of ruthlessly teasing his husband, all because he was very cute whenever it happened regardless of which exact reaction he landed on.

Brendon barely suspected a thing when he first stood, though, so he caught a break at least in the beginning, charmed by just being held. I think I just fell in love with you again. Aw. Ryan smiled at him, totally trustworthy, just before granting him a final almost-apologetic kiss and sending them both into the water, resounding currents lapping around them. He felt Brendon cling even tighter for safety and Ryan sort of laughed at him but still held him closer to reassure him all was fine, one hand rising to cradle the base of his skull, pressing a very soaked kiss to his forehead when he shut his eyes. Y’know, you’re evil. But at least you’re in the pool now. Ryan raised one shoulder, nonchalant. "'Evil' sounds about right." He laughed, though, walking them through the water at a leisurely pace, more into the sun, watching it reflect off Brendon's skin, illuminate his eyes until they were similar to Ryan's own bizarre honey hue. He leaned into him, drawn by the garden of kisses Brendon was planting alongside his face.

I just hope it was a good one. "I have no idea," he mumbled, in regards to the book, and was vaguely amused. It's not like he ever actually read the thing. Or the summary on the back, or even remembered what the cover looked like. Yeah, he'd sort of been preoccupied. Why have you been staring at me? Ryan arched an eyebrow, reading his mind and figuring he didn't really mind giving Brendon three million compliments within a two minute timespan anyway. So he hummed thoughtfully, turning his gaze to the sky as if he really had to think about it. "Have you seen you shirtless?" Ryan grinned at him, cheeky, his fingers finding his hair and absently combing through while he spoke. "The whole 'sun and moon' analogy really comes to life when we're actually in the sun, I'll have you know. It's like you can actually glow. Really, I'm kind of sorry for you, that you can't watch you." Ryan actually did look a little sorry, tilting his head to the side and making a grievous sound, sucking his teeth.

And, what are your plans for this evening? It’s getting on in the afternoon. Again Ryan looked dubious. Was it not obvious? "I thought it was sort of implied that I'd just be staring, whatever you do," he joked, then swung them a little, thinking. "Dunno. Maybe I'll get a tan." Ryan cracked up a little, because the thought was sort of ridiculous - and besides all he'd gotten thus far was a little pink blush across his nose, cheekbones, too faint to look like it was anything but him being embarrassed. "Why, have something in mind for us?" Ryan raised his eyebrows, almost suggestively except for that he kind of never was - it was just his version of earnestness.

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

Ryan's mission was sort of fruitless. Part of him really, really wanted to see Brendon warm up, too, see him slow down and approach Ryan more softly and- be normal, whatever. For whatever reason he was intrigued by that possibility, the totally alternate universe it would be if they were anything but biting remarks and hateful energy. But his venture in testing the waters was one-sided; every look Brendon gave him was suspicious, and he even seemed inclined to pull completely away. Ryan was close to getting frustrated, saying fuck it and just launching back into aggression again, but it was just his natural instinct to things not going smoothly with Brendon now. It wasn't what he actually wanted to do otherwise he'd have already done it, would have never stopped the more empassioned approach he started in the first place. Despite all his efforts being met with nothing he kept on, hands slow on Brendon when all he got in response was nails on skin, biting kisses, worse words. He just made up for it with equally abrasive responses verbally.

At least I’m not fucking boring. Typical 'I hate you, you hate me' banter that totaled up to nothing, so Ryan let that be, quirking an eyebrow dubiously. They didn't even last longer with the kisses, slowing down on his end as per usual, until Brendon was pulling away anyway, the fire he apparently needed so badly rendered irrelevant. He seemed to think he could knock Ryan off course, though, despite the fact that Ryan was so clearly veering away from his usual habits anyway, and sure Ryan was somewhat surprised by his question - more like the seductive way Brendon had presented it, but still - but he still responded earnestly, less driven by just the alcohol and more by a sickness of their routine. The back-and-forth that never ended, playing around instead of addressing anything directly, never feeling quite satisfied by any of the interactions anymore when in the beginning he'd felt a weight off his shoulders any time he took it out on the singer - all of it. He was sick of it. So he was honest.

Brendon looked speechless, but not really, and maybe a hint of annoyed. Nothing Ryan wasn't used to. But you didn’t. You can say whatever shit you want, but if you don’t do it, you might as well be spinning bullshit. He nearly argued that it was a surprise party, he would have if he'd known, but. He'd be kidding himself. He only wanted Brendon to be there when he'd gotten a few drinks in him, and even then, inviting Brendon had never crossed his mind as a possible thing to do. It just... was such a foreign concept, having him around for events where he didn't absolutely need to be there, and besides they had this image or whatever to uphold. For cameras it was to look like they at least existed peacefully alongside one another, but in places like that party, if they looked friendly, it would look weird as all hell. People didn't know him that well, sure, but you didn't have to know Brendon or Ryan well at all to know what their relationship actually was. He ended up not answering him, just continuing on his truth tangent.

Apparently it caught Brendon off guard, but in a way that made him apparently feel like he'd succeeded, amused him. Ryan watched him shift around again, rising up onto his palms rather than his elbows, but remained in place, his expression careful. Fuck it. Brendon could think this was funny all he wanted, could tease him, whatever - it'd piss him off, but he was sick of screwing around, was finally going to say shit he wanted to instead of skirt around it with mean comments and scowls cold enough to shut everyone up. He figured that was the real triumph: finally just being out with it. I never thought you’d admit it. Ryan raised one shoulder in a lazy shrug, holding his gaze steadily. He didn't think so either, but here they were. But yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear. Great. Maybe now he'd shut up. Which was weird to think when Ryan was the one invading his hotel room and the one who'd followed when he walked away, but he was nothing if not a hypocrite, so.

He knew what Brendon was most likely thinking, probably thought he had himself some good humiliation material, whatever, and it was true. Even better- it would probably work. As much as he just wanted everything clouding his head out of the way, it was also embarrassing, no doubt about it. But he could deal with that later, and at least now he could buy whatever alcohol he needed to cope. Fuck it. Brendon moved closer again, settling in Ryan's lap and pulling him in by his shirt. Ryan didn't protest, letting his head tilt back with Brendon's guidance easily, still maintaining his gaze until they were kissing and he let his eyes slip shut, almost peaceful until Brendon was murmuring into his ear. What do you think about? It would be funny if Ryan wasn't suddenly taking all of this so goddamn seriously. He ran a hand up Brendon's chest, along the side of his neck, and came to hold his jaw carefully, realigning their eyeline while his head was still kept tilted back. "Well," he started, thoughtful, "When I imagined us finally sleeping together it didn't involve a makeout session quite this long and complicated." But they spent years circling each other. He almost made some snide comment about that fact - 'no surprise you're into foreplay, then' - but didn't feel quite compelled enough.

Maybe making the implication that this was actually leading somewhere was more embarrassing than he'd already been. Still, fuck it. "But it crossed my mind a lot." He lost sleep. It was ridiculous. "I mean. Look at you." Ryan ran a thumb over the corner of Brendon's still-reddened mouth, gaze dropping from his eyes for the first time to become distracted. There was a start. In years he'd only ever sneered at the implication he might be checking Brendon out, but now that was sort of an admission to it. "Also," he continued, mouth curling in a slight smile, "I sort of figured you'd be the bottom. Fair?" Another opportunity to say something like 'because you're annoying,' and he totally passed it up. But now what was initially sort of daunting, embarrassing, was almost funny to talk about, and he was sure if he was sober it'd be the same. It was just a little... unbelievable to be saying out loud.

stay afloat || b&r

Many would find it easy to jump at the opportunity of taking Brendon's monetary offer and rolling with it, a get out of jail free card. He was certainly something of a blessing, conveniently generous in Ryan's biggest time of need, but Ryan honestly just... couldn't do that. He had to earn it himself - the furthest he'd go was maybe accepting the help with an extremely strict repayment deadline, because, sure, if he was getting that much closer to his eviction date and he still had nothing solid to give to his landlady, maybe he'd take Brendon up on his strangely forward kindness. But right now he was already drowning anyway. If it was the three months' rent that Brendon helped with, there, that was one thing, but he feared it spiralling into other problems - in Ryan's worried fantasy, he believed he could grow complacent concerning all of his other bills, too, and start accepting help on all ends. He wasn't a charity, and he didn't need anyone feeling bad for him; that was final.

But it was harder to say that when it didn't seem at all like Brendon just felt bad for him. Brendon knew nothing about him, practically, even if he knew slightly more than Ryan was able to eke out of him at this point. Rather, Brendon's kindness just seemed to come from a genuine place, and Ryan couldn't comprehend that. In fairness he had made that weird God comment earlier, whatever it was - 'God spent extra time on you'? It was so, so sweet, something he was entirely not used to at all, and if Brendon was the type of person to say that then seconds later offer up his assistance in answer to a one-grand-plus debt, maybe he was strongly religious. Ryan respected that, really, he did, just couldn't relate, and therefore it was harder to believe he was serious. He was nothing if not the most honest looking person Ryan had ever seen, though, so it's not like he was suspicious about the matter. Just so... bizarre. Ryan wasn't judging. He'd been considered pretty freaky all his life, so. May as well give Brendon the benefit of the doubt.

If I move in here, consider it my debt, too. He made it seem like the simplest thing in the world. The table wasn't big, but it still put more distance between them than there was while standing, and Ryan mourned it. Brendon acting so nonchalant about one of the hugest sources of stress in Ryan's life was just... it made him want to calm down, too, made him feel like he had when they shook hands in greeting, and it was just a taste of the same thing but left him wanting to move inches away again. Man- maybe Brendon wasn't the weird one. Ryan was the touch-starved freakshow who wouldn't give him any space, apparently. He lowered his gaze, self-conscious, and didn't argue even though he would probably never, ever consider it Brendon's debt as well. He hadn't made the mistake of prioritizing his bills like Ryan had, hadn't forgotten to factor in the unexpected medical bills, so forth; he shouldn't be the one punished. Whatever you say. It’s really not a problem. Ryan was grateful, really, but he was this close to telling Brendon to back off about it (when that was the farthest thing from what he wanted his new guest to do, actually). So he moved on.

He noticed Brendon had another funny quirk - he sort of mirrored Ryan, at times. When Ryan tried for his first genuine smile in a long time, Brendon almost instantly picked up on it, and Ryan decided he liked how his potential new roommate wore it better. He was a little stunned, actually, how it added to his sort of fuzzy-at-the-edges, glowing mystique, probably something Ryan was making up because he was so easily taken by attractiveness, as was becoming evident to him. He'd never experienced it like that. And he still barely knew the guy, fuck, he really should've considered how lonely he was before inviting people around expecting to act like a normal person. I like that. You can call me whatever you like. Well, he was messing with him, but alright - and if this meant Brendon was going to call him Ry... very nice. He liked the way his name sounded coming from him, particularly the nickname he'd forgotten anyone ever used with him. He nodded slightly, at this point smiling consciously to avoid killing the good-natured air about them but still appreciative nonetheless.

Predictably Brendon's laugh, modest and in response to his comments in regard to Brendon's job, was just as disarming as everything else about him. Ryan blinked, endeared by the way the rest of his face became animated with it, the squint of his eyes and the light in his smile. His chest, always hollow and vaguely wistful, felt a little warm, like he'd seen an old friend or something along those lines, and he mentally chided himself for his dramatics. Thank you, but if it were based purely on looks, you’d be as well off as me. Was this total altar boy flirting with him? Ryan sat back, regarding him with something like surprise, and pursed his lips tightly before they could betray him into a smile. This was just... a lot. "That's..." He trailed off and was startled by himself - he hadn't been rendered speechless in a long time. Not much moved him these days, not in any direction. And he wasn't very good at saying thank you, either, so he struggled for a moment before landing on it, his tone quieter. "Thanks, I don't hear that very much." Why not just say thanks? Christ. Actually he was adding a lot of unnecessary details with little prompting here - he still wasn't sure whether it was Brendon or if he was just off his game today. Whatever it was, he didn't know how to feel about it.

Because apparently every force within Ryan gravitated towards him and made subconscious changes to accomodate him, Ryan tried to learn as much as he could. I came from up north - Ryan's eyes drifted to his drumming fingers and wondered if that was a nervous tic, was he nervous, was this a difficult topic -to get away from my dad. He’s really controlling, y’know? Ryan's face had grown carefully blank and he nodded slightly, reserved but understandingly, searching Brendon for a sign of his content countenance breaking. He really didn't want to see that happen, if it ever did, so he figured he wasn't going to push on this subject for his own gain. Sometimes it’s better to be by yourself. Well. Away from family, anyway. You don’t get to pick your family, so you get what you’re given. And it doesn’t work out for everyone. Fuck, Ryan knew, knew better than anyone, and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his own nervous habit. Brendon's gaze had fallen to the floor but Ryan still nodded sympathetically, leaning closer to the table again and looking attentive. He could listen to the guy speak for hours, even though he really didn't have that kind of time on his hands.

Oh, and- I sing. A pause, then Ryan smiled a little, amused by how fast he jumped between subjects. "I'd love to hear sometime. I play some guitar, when I can find the time," he said, trying to ground Brendon again after he'd detailed a little of his life and it didn't seem all sunshine and daisies. Now that he mentioned it, he could kind of tell Brendon was a singer, that distinctive controlled way he spoke and the levels to his voice he was sure would be there if he tried building notes. Ryan himself hadn't touched his guitar more than maybe three times since he'd graduated high school. It was such a neglected hobby of his that he was afraid he was no good at it anymore, all of his bragging rights squandered. In fact, maybe he shouldn't've mentioned it at all if he'd just lost the ability. "I'm sorry about your dad." He stopped, thinking, and it was his turn to let his attention fall, back to a bit of chipped wood at the table. He picked at it absently, wondering if this was what oversharing was, but he hadn't even normal-shared anything in, like, ever. He felt a strange sort of kinship with Brendon now that made it seem like he had to comfort him with the knowledge that he understood what he was going through, though.

"I have a... complicated relationship with mine, too. So I know what you mean." A moment of quiet passed and that was all that he was comfortable saying on the matter, really; it was the most he ever had, actually. He changed his tune, trying to sound more enthused. "The good news is, if you're looking for a found family, Vegas is a fine place to start. Lots of weird characters to make friends with." He grinned, mostly forced, but it was true - even if he hadn't built up any kind of 'found family' himself. He just imagined other people were living the life of the Friends cast. "Out of curiosity, are you, like, religious, or something? Not that I mind. I'm more asking for your sake... I don't know how, um, open-minded you are." Hint hint, I'm a heathen, I have no virtues, whatever. It's not like he did anything seriously unacceptable. He was too broke to afford weed anymore and that was about as scandalous as it got, so.

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

Something in Ryan was growing gentler, not fonder because he wouldn't allow himself to be that way but close to it - and the biggest downside to that was that the only way he could feasibly look was as if he held any real affection for Brendon. Which, he would argue 'til he died, he definitely did not. Maybe this was his mourning period. He hadn't actually had any soft, warm moments with Keltie for a while, and as much as he came off as an aggressive asshole that was what he generally went for - when they did come they were few and far between, since now his relationship had been so strained for so long. There: he wasn't, like, craving this kind of thing with Brendon or anything, fuck that notion. It was just that he hadn't experienced it in some time and the opportunity had presented itself. This, of course, didn't explain why his abrasive energy was dying out gradually, didn't explain why it didn't totally bother Ryan that Brendon had somehow become the target, but. Whatever. It wasn't anything real, couldn't be.

He had a moment of weakness, though, sounding embarrassingly needy about the party again. It's not that he wanted Brendon to be there, really, just. Wasn't he supposed to be there? Wasn't it, like, his obligation to show up - not just there but at any of Ryan's events? That should've been a band rule, right? Everyone always in the same place... but there went his head again, trying to find excuses for Brendon to be around as much as possible. He didn't even like the guy, and he was annoying, clearly trying to kickstart the heat they started all of this with and sounding bothered when it wasn't working. Resistant to any efforts to undo his wind-down work, Ryan ignored Brendon's digging nails and the pushing bites in his kisses, pressing him more firmly against the cushions with unwavering hands on either side of him to continue his own agenda. Any kind of rigidity he tried to show, though, would probably go unnoticed now, considering Brendon was never going to let him live down practically whining about him not coming to the birthday.

Brendon was back at his neck and Ryan almost thought he was in the clear after all - almost. When he all but collapsed against his mattress, boneless, Ryan's dumb drunken hands continued with a mind of their own, raking fingers through his hair carefully. First of all, you hate my guts, why would I go - funny he should say that, while Ryan was all sensitive touches but a fairly unfriendly gaze - secondly, I wasn’t even invited. Neither was Jon. Jon. What the fuck has Keltie got against Jon? Ryan pursed his lips. He was still pretty pissed about that, too. He certainly cared more about Jon than he did about the gaggle of random half-strangers she'd scrounged up seemingly off the street. Hell, a majority of the guests were her dancer friends that he didn't even know by name. It was bizarre. He turning you gay too? Ryan's anger redirected again from Keltie back to Brendon, and he scowled down at him - an odd juxtaposition when he was still framing his face tenderly with one hand. "You're real fucking bold, you know," he mumbled, but Brendon kind of had a right to claim responsibility. Never before had Ryan been quite this gay both in theory and practice, so.

Despite his distaste for Brendon's attitude he still kept on kissing him, uncontrolled by now, until he wasn't. He didn't actually have that strong of a moral compass that he really wanted to leave, anything like that; mostly he didn't know what he was doing here, had become confused by his own mindless actions. Brendon didn't look all that affected by his sudden change of heart. Uh-huh. Ryan avoided looking right at him, mortified for whatever reason, but it didn't matter - a few beats later Brendon was pushing himself up forcefully and Ryan shifted away from him with a little surprise, granting him the right of way without thinking. He didn't get enough time to register he really didn't want Brendon that far away and that may not be his decision anyhow but he'd already pushed him around plenty, what would it hurt another time - but. Too late, Ryan turned to watch Brendon move as far away as he could, pulled to attention when he drew the back of his hand over his mouth and feeling a vague sense of pride that he was to blame for that.

You’re really something. Their places changed so drastically, Ryan was closest to the headboard now, and he sat back against it, fixing his gaze anywhere but on Brendon. Yeah, yeah, he was difficult, he was an asshole, whatever, get on with it. You can’t go all righteous now. Not like you can take any of that away. Sober he probably would've pretended to feel bad, but sober him also would not have come, so. Ryan just looked somewhat blank, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, the sting so much different when it wasn't Brendon. Look, whatever. Go back to your girlfriend, play happy families with her for a bit. Well. He hadn't done that for a while. Ryan made a small, cynical sound, a half-laugh, and shook his head, turning his face to the ceiling and driving a hand through his hair. "Sounds like it bothered you even more than it bothered me," he commented dryly, then relaxed, returning his gaze to Brendon finally.

Not a good idea, because that's when Brendon chose to lean back, all angles and narrow when he caught himself by his elbows, smug. It was certainly an image to behold - but it also pissed Ryan way the hell off. Do you think she’s better than me, Ryan? Ryan froze up, blinking at him sort of flatly, caught off-guard. He knew it was mean-spirited, was supposed to set him off, but something in his chest was twisting that wasn't necessarily him getting aggravated. Ryan searched his face for a long moment, unreadable. "Yeah," he answered in a new voice, more solid and clear, then tilted his head back a bit. "I would've invited you." Two unrelated things, for the most part, but he was pretty sure he meant both. He forced himself not to think about the embarrassment, just maybe how it'd knock Brendon off his game too. Potentially. He tried digging a little deeper, meeting Brendon's eyes and looking casual as ever. "I think about you more than I've ever thought about her. That what you were looking for?"

stay afloat || b&r

There was something off about Brendon. Or just... something off about Ryan when he was around the guy. He'd only basically learned his name thus far, and roundabouts what he could afford, maybe, but still in the short time he'd been on Ryan's doorstep he somehow changed Ryan's countenance drastically. Usually Ryan was distracted, focusing on finding something to live for for the next five minutes, something to keep him invested in whatever the activity at hand was, or maybe trying to come up with alternative ways to make ends meet. On the odd occasion he'd let himself daydream about what his life could be, what he could be doing - what if he'd accepted the audition from those two guys in band club, what if he'd ended up in their band, what if he had his degree, what if, what if, what if. Brendon, though, commanded his attention and all his curiosity, and made him feel a bit more in the moment than normal, made him care a lot less about everything falling apart around him in the background. Maybe just... talking to someone friendly, bizarre but sweet, was touching enough to Ryan who rarely interacted with anyone at all to make him feel different for a few passing moments.

It wasn't an extreme change, or anything, but Ryan was still starved for something, anything that wasn't how he usually felt, so he stayed considerably close to Brendon, subconsciously afraid if he went too far then he'd get away. Fortunately for Ryan, Brendon had given him this omniscient smile, soft and serene, when he dwelled half a second too long on their handshake - like he just. Knew. Ryan supposed he must be easy to read these days; maybe after a lifetime of keeping everything under lock and key, now his feelings were starting to show on his face. He hoped not. He was definitely feeling a lot of things about someone whose name he learned to properly pronounce five seconds ago. While he followed Brendon into the apartment he was almost concerned for his judgment, wondering what he thought of it all, whether it was up to standard. Weird, he didn't even give a fuck what the landlord thought, usually. He didn't have the time or energy to care. Now, though... somehow different.

He kept it clean, a force of habit. Even if two jobs could consume up to fifteen hours of his day he still found time to tidy up. While he sometimes left belongings strewn around for convenience there was still no dirt or dust to be seen, cleaner than it was when he'd moved in, and every light remained bright and unflickering once he learned to keep them fixed up. His meager amount of furniture was arranged in a way that made the place look at least mostly inhabitable - his 'dining table' matched the cabinets of the kitchenette, his futon, dragged out of his father's house, remained the same as it looked the first time he built it from the box, the box television he'd found on the curb a year back had been fixed up to the best of his ability, the coffee table free of mug rings and adorned with newspapers only slightly out of date. There was no point in maintaining it, he knew; he was leaving soon, anyway. In the back of his mind he knew he should keep his exit as not-messy as possible, make it easier for whoever had to pick up the pieces. As little marks left on the world as possible. He hadn't made much of a dent yet, anyway.

And maybe since that was his plan, he should be sparing Brendon, but. He could always just move to his father's shortly beforehand, whatever. He could work out the details when he actually had a confirmed roommate. If he was becoming easy to read, Ryan hoped none of this was too painfully obvious. Where do you work? Ryan paused, not super excited to admit he wasn't doing anything truly important at all for the world, but. Whatever. Brendon was evidently still emitting that weird calming effect. He didn't dwell long. "Mornings, I work in this book shop in the city. Customer service. At night I wait tables. It's all very glamorous." He didn't mention how his tip rate had steadily dropped since he lost the will to smile all sweet for people. When he wasn't guaranteed even, like, four dollars, it was hard to muster all of that up. Even now Ryan had to remember to wear at least a pleasant, neutral smile, instead of letting his face rest in some brooding flatline. (Brendon, he noticed, had mastered that pleasant neutral smile, and he wasn't exactly surprised).

Don’t worry, I’ll have enough money to help with that. Ryan considered him seriously for a moment, vaguely confused- why would he take that stress upon himself? Ryan hadn't really asked... although he was planning on maybe asking for a deposit, at most. He searched his face - perfectly crafted, the fucker - for the punchline. Nothing. "You really don't... have to... It's my debt, you know? Don't worry about it." A rare occasion, Ryan felt something frantic in his chest, couldn't put a name to it. He had a personal deadline aside from the eviction notice, and here it was, speeding closer. If he took Brendon's money it'd be like he was tossing it in the trash - in fact anything he took from anyone would be a waste now. Just tell me how much you need. What could only be loosely described as panic surged then faded a little the longer he looked at Brendon, taken aback by his generosity. He tried to take it casually rather than outright deny his help or accept it. "Uh, well - let's not get ahead of ourselves, just... make sure you even want to live here first, yeah?" He smiled, forced, trying to joke around and failing for the most part. Honestly. Couldn't take anything gracefully.

When Ryan sat across from him he noticed, with even less surprise because now this was becoming slightly predictable, how much Brendon contrasted with the rest of the place. Sure, he could keep it as clean as he wanted, as neat and orderly as ever, but everything would stay subpar and dingy and slightly off - Brendon, however, floated through the apartment with ease, took a seat at a rickety chair with one slightly shorter leg than the others and didn't even seem to be off-balance. Practiced, poised, all of that. Maybe he came from a rich family and that's why he was so ready to take someone else's debt. More importantly something in his neutral expression was comforting, naïve, and after Ryan became bored of his keys he let his gaze rest on his face, forgetting that there was something of a time limit to eye contact (face contact?) and simply watching him for some time.

Ryan cut him off before he got into answering, too afraid of being a bad host, and Brendon seemed amused by his limited options. Maybe just him in general. Ryan sat back, an eyebrow quirked barely, wondering whether to be offended - but it was hard to be when Brendon regarded him so earnestly, openly. No, Ry, I think I’m okay. Ry? Were they there yet? Ryan paused, smirked. "Suit yourself, Bren," he returned easily, smiling genuinely for the first time in some time. Uh, I- model. Yeah. Ryan raised one shoulder. "I could've guessed. Considering you look like that, it must be a reliable income, so. Fine by me." It was barely even delivered like a compliment or flattery. Just plain truth. He waited, wondering if that was the end to the story, then leaned forward on his elbows. "That's all? No backstory? Where were you before Vegas? Do you do anything else besides modelling - any hobbies?" Ryan wasn't sure how else to go about ensuring your new roommate wasn't some kind of crazy runaway inmate, whatever, and Brendon definitely wasn't that but he was definitely odd.

stay afloat || b&r

Ryan had wanted to get an English degree out of high school. Actually, he had a lot of plans. Ryan was an excellent student, realizing early in his academic career that he'd kind of be on his own through all of this and therefore had to build up some kind of work ethic. That work ethic was to study endlessly, pour his heart into the subjects he was best at and guaranteed full marks and beyond on, do his best in those that he didn't understand as easily but could still scrape the bottom of the top-grade barrel if he tried hard enough. He took all the college courses offered that he could fit into his schedule so that he wouldn't have to pay them off later, get the credits while they were free and looked impressive on applications. He took extracurriculars like band and volunteered (well- irregularly, and fairly rarely, but still notable) and did anything to get ahead, ever-ambitious because he needed to forge his own opportunities, here. And he had a full-ride scholarship to UNLV on his hands by the end of junior year while most others still weren't sure what they wanted to do with themselves.

But Ryan had something of a unique situation. At this point he didn't bother feeling sorry for himself about everything because the story was a broken record, and probably fairly cookie-cutter as far as sob stories went; he hadn't seen his mother since he was a toddler, and after she disappeared, his father's drinking gradually got worse. Through grade school he could actually delude himself into thinking everything was normal, because his dad still made an effort to recycle all the glass bottles before he could see them, still bleached the smell out of the air, still came to school for the occasional parent-teacher meeting or to sit in the audience for the spelling bee. Then in middle school his grandmother started sending money to help with the rent checks because his dad was having trouble getting to work regularly, and when he did he was reprimanded for his erratic behavior. High school, Ryan was the one putting him to bed and cleaning him up (and the entire house, for that matter, because he'd be damned if social services stopped by and whisked him away) and driving him to medical appointments and, once it was bad enough, providing his treatment with the help of a nurse that came by monthly.

The thing was, his life revolved around his father. When he got the scholarship he knew he couldn't afford housing or any of the other bills alongside all of the books and materials university required of him, even if tuition was covered, especially not when his father's medical bills fell into his hands as soon as he turned eighteen. The most independence Ryan could get was moving into an apartment, which was of course the least frugal option and probably unwise in the long run, but the house carried a little too much baggage for him. He couldn't stand more nights lying awake listening to his father practically suffocating in the next room. Also - in all honesty - if he was still there, the whole suicide thing probably would've already happened. Ryan may feel hopeless now, but he definitely knew that there were times in his life where he'd been worse. Dark things to think about, nothing he wasn't used to. Of course, it's not like he could blame his father for everything - Ryan probably had a whole mess of mental issues and complexes completely separate from his upbringing, but for the most part he tried to focus on the stuff he could find a reason for. Honestly. He should just write a book.

Ryan didn't have many friends, either, and didn't interact much with his coworkers or anyone at all. So, with this new roommate, he wasn't totally sure how to act - not that it would matter for long anyway. He answered the door a little hesitant, not quite anxious because it'd been a while since he had the capacity to really sweat small stuff like social situations but certainly concerned enough about how to present himself. Luckily, he apparently didn't have to do much to make an impression. The guy was obviously staring. Endlessly flattering, moreso than it would be with just anyone, because the applicant himself was probably the most perfect person Ryan had ever seen: he was untouchable, just. Arresting. If Ryan wasn't pretty much numb at this point he'd probably be begging Brendon to date him if he wasn't planning on moving in. It was that extreme - he just didn't need to know any more information. Gorgeous was an understatement. And still he was looking at Ryan like he was the one who fit that description... but also at his hand like he'd done something offensive in going for a handshake. So maybe he'd scored another weirdo. Whatever, this weirdo could get away with it.

Finally Brendon took his hand for a shake and Ryan forgot his usual firm grasp, suddenly feeling odd and otherworldly, less present. He could feel the tension leave his body, all the wear and tightness in his shoulders drawing out until he was standing somewhat straighter, the stiff and resolute frown on his face loosening while his muscles relaxed. Ryan was a little unsettled, but. He'd probably just gone for way too long unbelievably touch-starved. God spent extra time on you. Ryan's brow furrowed minutely again and he let his hand drop, feeling the loss noticeably, his mood swooping low, low, low once more. That was... quite possibly the weirdest thing anyone had said to him. Religious? Well. A religious male model was way better than the other guy. Ryan forced himself to smile a little, although he quirked his face somewhat that probably gave away how bizarre he thought Brendon was. "Um, thank you..." There was a hint of a question mark there. Yeah, he wasn't cut out for this. Ryan definitely should've warmed up into socializing beforehand, something.

Yeah, hi, I’m Brendon. Nice to meet you. Brendon's name played on repeat in his head, a mantra, suddenly so much nicer than any name he'd ever heard before. Fuck, if he changed his mind and wasn't interested in the apartment at all, Ryan was so screwed. This was setting the bar unbelievably high. "Ryan. You, too." When he stepped aside and watched him move through the door, Ryan noted the easy and effortless way he went about everything, somewhat fascinated - and the... feather?... he was apparently shedding? Fuck the 'religious male model' thing, was he a religious stripper? Leftovers from a boa? It all made so much sense. But so little. Ryan withheld all of his concerns for now - clearly he made enough money if he was applying, it didn't matter what the hell he did. Yeah, you could say that. Ryan cared about the ominous undertones to that for one moment before he didn't have the energy to, standing there thoughtfully before decisively shutting the door behind them and wandering after Brendon.

"Feel free to look around," he offered, voice calm but gaze careful on Brendon. He was beautiful, sure, unspeakably so, but still a little peculiar, who knew if he was a klepto or not? Regardless Ryan started guiding him around, holding a hand out behind him vaguely in a 'follow me' gesture. The place was kind of sad, especially for something he could hardly afford, three rooms total: a bathroom, a kitchenette that connected directly into the main room where he'd made himself a bed out of the futon, and a separate room that'd obviously been cleared out in anticipation for a roommate. "I'm, uh, not home that often, so you don't have to worry about it being crowded around here. I work a lot." Ryan paused, stopped and turned to face him. "Actually - that's why I needed a roommate: I'm not working as often anymore, hours got cut. I'll be honest with you, I kind of owe the landlady a lot right now." He laughed a little, almost cynically, and looked somewhat distant for a few moments, attention flickering off to the wall absently while numbers rolled through his head.

"So, anyway, that's why it's important that if you move in here you can... hold up your end of the deal, and all." He gestured to his wobbly dining table, a tiny circular thing just outside the kitchenette with three equally wobbly chairs, for Brendon to sit down. Absent-mindedly, Ryan started toying with the various things he ended up throwing onto it each day - keys, wallet, so forth - while he spoke, curling his legs beneath him when he took a seat. "Do you have a job? Tell me about yourself. Oh, um - do you want water, or... coffee?" That was kind of all he had. And the coffee was black, stale. God, this probably wasn't a great first impression, especially the whole topic-jumping situation. He hoped freaky religious guy at least could follow his always-derailing trains of thought.

stay afloat || b&r

NOTICE TO PAY RENT OR QUIT. Three months. Every time Ryan came close to coming up with his rent money he had to use it on something else: gas money to drive to his dad's (where he would stay if he didn't absolutely have to go to work), or hospital bills for the same man, or to pay off some other bill that took priority, like insurance or the cell bill. His landlord wasn't particularly nice but she also wasn't particularly aggressive, so every time the check was due, he gave some excuse and puppy-dog eyes. A slightly older than middle-aged woman, she always bowed to it - I just need another week, my hours got cut at work, I promise I can make it, plus his chronic babyface to match - but three months was a long time to wait, and every missed check added up. He was over a grand in debt to her, now, and he had no idea how he could come up with that and another month.

What was the point? He'd come to the apartment two years ago with plans to save up some cash, take a gap year, then go to college, either paying fully for himself or finding a full ride somehow. Surely it couldn't be that hard... he'd been a contender for valedictorian in high school, his grades were that good. He'd worked for it because he knew he'd need the help financially, but now it wasn't helping him in any way. At twenty, he was still working two jobs, both of which had drastically cut the lengths of his shifts and now he couldn't come up with the usual bottom-of-the-barrel amount he made to survive, and his dad was still hanging onto life an hour away from him where he still had to take care of him just like he was a teenager again, and he wasn't studying anything at all, hadn't even gotten through registration before he realized he couldn't afford it. That's the thing: there was no point. At all. Ryan was cutting it close to the line every day and he was getting sick of it. This wasn't living, this was existing, and... nowadays, half of his time was spent trying to figure a way out of it all.

It was dark, and sometimes he thought maybe it was selfish, but. Honestly, when his father finally gave in (he knew it was going to happen, yeah, he'd come to terms with it a while back), and when he gave the landlord the money so that she wasn't screwed over by some dead kid, what else was there to stay here for? He didn't see any way out of this hole, so... yeah, Ryan was sort of saying his goodbyes in general. Giving away anything he thought had value, trying not to talk to people much lest he make a connection or whatever, god forbid. Any real plans were curtailed in order for him to have time to make up that money, though, and to see his dad off first of all, because really as much as he so desperately wanted to go and escape all of this, he would rather not pass his debt on to his poor landlady and he wasn't particularly a fan of his father but he didn't want him to be alone in his last days. Which it was coming up on, he knew it.

There was no telling when that would happen exactly, though, so, eviction notice in hand - if you fail to pay the above mentioned rent due within the month, the tenancy will be forfeited and you must vacate and surrender the premises to the landlord - Ryan put out an ad for a roommate, too cheap to afford a spot in the paper and just throwing up some printouts on telephone poles and poster walls. Maybe if he got lucky the applicant would be, like, someone super well-off just looking for a steal on their place to live and Ryan's life would suddenly be so much easier. But maybe not. He got two responses total: one guy who called in and then met him only to be extraordinarily creepy and perhaps a weed dealer, which would be nice if he actually made money from his deals, and then some e-mail scheduling a meet-up. Really weird. It was fairly ominous, so vague and surface-level that all he knew was that the guy's name was Brendon, and whatever, Ryan would take whatever he could get at this point.

Ryan dropped down to his dad's place before the interview was supposed to happen, make sure the daily nurse was still keeping him breathing. All looked well - he was in bed, television on, his dialysis set-up trapping him in place from the nightstand. Ryan hovered near him for a few moments, hesitant in case he was no longer an unresponsive case, but he didn't even look at him. Ryan ignored any emotion that came from that, fluffed up his pillows, and promptly went exploring through the house, digging through his childhood room to find all of his emergency cash he'd hidden for when he couldn't steal grocery money from his dad's wallet in high school, all of the savings from shitty part-time summer jobs. Not much, but. It helped alleviate the debt a little. He came up with a couple hundred before finally slinking out of the house, back to his apartment, mentally adding to the stack of money he'd made up for his landlady.

Minutes after he came back, though, weirdly conveniently, a knock came at the door, and Ryan had only just been unwinding from being out. He threw his keys on his wobbly table and answered the door tentatively, looking curious at who he supposed was his roommate applicant. And, fuck, if it was, then... no questions asked, he's in. Ryan was strapped for cash, sure, but they could get a third person here, no problem. The guy was just. Perfect. "Um," Ryan said first, eloquent, standing there for a moment before remembering to be normal. He shook his head and then opened the door fully, holding out his hand as friendly as could be. "Hey, hi, how are you, you must be Brendon." Ryan smiled as good-naturedly as he could muster, stepping back. "Come on in. Did you just get to town?"