jakob

catch me like a cold

As a matter of fact, Ryan wasn't the type to chase - that was just one of Brendon's preconceptions that'd been correct. If something was failing, he let it, and rarely was the first to admit to the failure. Why else would he have let him and Keltie go on so long the way they were? It was a character fault that came from a multitude of different reasons. Sometimes he just didn't want to be the one to blame, and letting something fall flat by itself rather than address it gave him a less active role (which totally made sense in his head). Other times he was afraid that even if he did try, his efforts would be for naught, nothing would get better and he'd be stuck worse off than before. Usually, though, he settled and watched things happen just because someone else tended to handle the chase. Sticking to the same example, Keltie had been the one in pursuit after he initially approached her - once he laid on the charm originally it was enough, apparently, and she was drawn to her new pet project naturally. As long as he wasn't making changes, she kept on coming.

Now, though. It was dramatic to say, he knew it, but Brendon made a lot of things different. There was the obvious: he'd made Ryan not hate him with the snap of a finger, had unexpectedly dug his way out of the cynical side of Ryan and instead made himself the forefront of Ryan's mind at a constant. He just had so many qualities Ryan had overlooked before while he was busy being angry about everything between them, everything Brendon had bested him at and replaced him doing, and now... the chase seemed worth it. Not that Ryan was all that exceptional at 'chasing.' For one, he was too scared of looking like he wanted him, looking like anything had changed between them when literally everything had changed already, looking like he was the weak one. 'Weak.' Ryan still wasn't sure why wanting so desperately for them to become something more was a 'weak' wish to have, but it seemed like he was betraying his younger self, who'd been so angry that his place had been taken so expertly and with reason. Something like that. It was hard to 'chase' the way he wanted, to allow himself to wish, when all of that kept weighing him down.

He'd done such an awful job of it, in fact, that Brendon had been led to believe that Ryan didn't care about him at all. Even in the first place, their sexual relationship hadn't been his only drive, but somehow that belief had planted itself firmly in Brendon's head. Ryan couldn't blame him. The only way he could justify spending extended periods of time with him, close to him, was with that, where both of them were at least getting something. After all - as much as he liked Brendon now for all of these newly discovered traits and habits and general uniqueness, he couldn't guarantee he had anything in return for Brendon. So spending time together was sort of out of the question. So he thought. Sorry, yeah, I didn’t realise you had feelings for me, I can’t believe I didn’t get that message through all the yelling, that’s insane. Ryan didn't remember saying that, but yeah, yeah, he really did, he had feelings for him, and they were so intense and unfamiliar that he didn't know what to do with them, so strong he wished he could find some fucking eraser to undo all the time before. 'All the yelling,' he sounded like a monster, and it wasn't even far off the mark.

'I do,' something sure and unquestionable and solid, was on the tip of his tongue, but Ryan just stared back, feeling terrified and looking only a fraction of it. He couldn't say anything to fix this now. Hell, he probably couldn't say anything that would ensure that the end of this conversation was on a good note or even a vaguely okay note - Brendon was, most likely, going to get off the bus or watch Ryan get off the bus, still fuming about it all. Or, y'know, Ian would come back and he'd have someplace to channel it. Ryan sort of felt sick thinking about the hopelessness of the situation. Maybe there really was no chase here at all. If this was so hard, so impossible to get through, then maybe they weren't meant to be anyway, and this was the line. He'd dug himself too deep of a grave, and now he couldn't climb out no matter how hard he'd try to fix it; there would always be the time where they screamed at each other, and, more importantly, the time where Ryan had usually been the one to pick the fight or dodge the moment of vulnerability. Really, he did want to try, but when a future seemed so bleak, he probably shouldn't subject Brendon to it.

He wasn't expecting Brendon to believe him and go along happily and easily just because of a few apologetic words. He'd rather lay it all out here and now, actually, as much as it fucking sucked. Still. He couldn't have braced himself no matter what Brendon responded with. Why do you have to be a dick to me in private to convince other people that you hate my guts? Everyone already knows you do. Ryan was on edge again for a moment, thinking about how if everyone knew how much of a 180 he'd taken towards Brendon then they'd think the same vice versa and Brendon would most definitely be embarrassed to be associated with him in that way - hey, in that sense this was an inadvertent protective measure, wasn't it - but the fire died out fast, rethinking what note Brendon had ended that thought on. He sounded almost sad, his voice breaking on him, and Ryan felt this ache in his chest, wanted to hold him close like people who weren't them would have with one another. "They think I do," he corrected him in a small voice, lowering his head to level with Brendon when he looked down. And fuck them, too. After this conversation he was hating that dynamic more and more, cared less what other people thought, valued more that Brendon might be able to see the truth for himself.

The vulnerability faded quick, Ryan's mentioning Ian evidently enough to bring Brendon back. What’re you sorry for? Being a dick to him, or being a dick to me because of him? "I'm -" Ryan was, again, minutely frustrated, drawing a hand quickly over his face before he spoke. "Both. Okay? Both." He was certainly not twelve, but he was acting like it, unable to even repeat his options. And- are we done here, can I ask him back over. Ryan watched him, speechless, until he realized what Brendon was doing, wiping his face - namely, his eyes. Ryan's lips parted, his only possible deviation from his jaw actually dropping, and reached out to Brendon for half a second before drawing his hand back to himself, resting his fingers over his jaw in distress instead. He was pretty sure any attempts at comforting weren't welcome, anyway. "I... I wish you wouldn't, Brendon. I know it's not fucking- fair of me, or whatever, we never made promises or anything, but." Ryan looked away, reserved, totally unused to these types of conversations. He honestly didn't know how to have them without circling subjects incoherently. "But I do have feelings for you. I do, and I don't even know if it's okay - I can't tell whether you hate me or not, either, I just assume you do."

After this, it made sense that he did, and Ryan wore that understanding on his face pretty clearly. He looked frustrated by it for a second before trying to finish his thought. "So... you're the only one. For me. If you're going to be with him, I'm sorry, I can't just... I can't do it." Ryan paused, thought again about how stupidly difficult this was, the position he was putting Brendon in without really meaning to. He just knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it and storming out without explanation, or something, seemed like the worse option. "Ask him back if you want, just tell me if I should get over you now, okay?" Ryan hadn't made eye contact longer than a few seconds for some time now and he was definitely looking away as he finished off, feeling stupid and exposed.

riches all around

Does that come naturally to you? Ryan was already playing on a laugh, his lips curling relentlessly despite his efforts to look more casually friendly than manic. In his defense, it totally wasn't his fault; Brendon was going to be to blame for when his cheek muscles eventually ached from constant use. It was both just because of his personality and because Ryan had become basically a mirror for him - he had a contagious smile, one that lifted his entire face alongside it, and all of his energy. Actually, Ryan was pretty sure that the population of the bar in full had become more spirited since the first moment Ryan had won a genuine smile from him. But maybe he was imagining things. Something tells me it doesn’t. And, uh, you’re gonna need a little more than some khakis to convince anyone that you’re straight. Ryan waved a hand in front of him to deflect his critical once-over, making a faux disapproving look at Brendon. "You underestimate me."

He knew what Brendon was onto before he started speaking, settling onto his elbow against the bar and raising an eyebrow in preparation. You poor thing. Ryan's gaze drifted down to watch his fingers tap, wondering if the skill in them just came from styling. He could usually tell when someone had his same interests... but surely Brendon would've alluded to it already. Most would've already promoted their SoundCloud, whatever. Then, Brendon wasn't that kind of guy. You’re in the music industry, and- well. Is it a nightmare? Ryan shrugged one shoulder like it was nothing, looking a little ways away, but it wasn't nothing. "Yes," he answered honestly after a tiny pause, then laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Yeah, it is. I mean - I date girls, too, it's not so bad. But if I'm ever interested in a guy, you know." He bit his tongue there, trying not to talk too much considering it was a subject he'd never really allowed himself to ramble about. If he started, he probably wouldn't shut up. But he had to be careful; unless something was actually serious, he'd never let it become public. If he did end up liking a guy enough, though, then his career would come second - Ryan tended to invest his entire soul in a person, no way he'd hide them for the sake of saving sales.

He looked a bit lost for a second, wistful, before reserving that emotion, setting it aside in favor of going back to their easy flirting. Thankfully, Brendon made that simple by being the most tempting place to put all his flirting towards. You can hold me against anything you want. Ryan's breath rushed out in half a laugh, half the wind being knocked out of him, looking awed. Brendon looked almost embarrassed despite covering it up quickly, but Ryan took zero issue with his apparently impulsive comeback. He watched with slightly parted lips as Brendon tried to recover, clearly distracted. Hi, I’m Brendon Blake, and I have no brain-to-mouth-filter. Can we, uh, start over? Ryan's gaze flickered between his eyes and his outstretched hand momentarily before he took hold of it, shaking once, firm, a fond smile on his face again. "Sure. Hi, Brendon, I'm Ryan," he said, then briefly looked thoughtful before pulling Brendon slightly closer by his hand. "And I'm just glad we're on the same page." Wouldn't it be a perfect moment to kiss his cheek, or the back of his hand, or something? Ryan wished he had a complete grasp on the bounds of appropriate social interaction. Then he'd know whether that was weird or not after such intense teasing. Probably very weird. He didn't, and just let go of his hand after a moment, relaxing back against the counter.

I’m surprised it still fits you. Well- actually- it doesn’t. Ryan cracked up, lifting an arm only a little restricted by the now ill-fitting sleeves. He'd grown longer and leaner, but the leather hadn't stretched with him. The sleeves were too short and the coat itself too wide for his admittedly sort of waifish-if-fit figure - but he thought he'd gotten away with it. Damn Brendon for being observant. I mean, only if you’re a paying customer. I’m not cheap, y’know. "Of course I'd pay! I'll pay you to follow me around and correct all my mistakes, matter of fact." There was an idea. He was past the time of needing a crew of makeup artists for tour, but he still needed some professional better than him at making him presentable. It'd been a joke at first, but now he was really considering it; was it bizarre to ask so soon? Should he wait until he'd had an actual appointment with him? Should he even be hiring someone he was so obviously attracted to? Maybe him and Brendon would end up just being friends... but then he felt disappointed even thinking about that, so maybe not really. Quite a pickle, that.

Here was his trial session if he was serious. Ryan straightened up when Brendon backed away, but unexpectedly he returned, pulling his seat closer until his thigh was settled between Ryan's and the other was bracketing. Ryan looked between them with his mouth parted dumbly again, and when his head lifted was caught more off-guard, Brendon's hand landing on his jaw gently and turning him for examination. Ryan promptly shut his mouth but couldn't help his eyelids half-shutting, a little too close for eye contact to be totally comfortable. Well, your curls are cute, but like, five years younger cute. Ryan smiled, finally looking up to meet his eyeline again, and nodding a tiny bit, acknowledging the fact that he looked about twelve readily. He was sort of used to it, saw his ridiculous babyface in the mirror daily. You need it shorter, but styled so that- if weight is taken away, it won’t just curl even more. Which means you’ll have to take care of it, style it every day, and have regular upkeep. Ryan was already cringing. He was impressed with Brendon's quick take, obviously a gift of his, but still. This was bad news. He couldn't even shower regularly. Or pay bills, or buy food necessary for survival, or drink enough water daily.

Think y’could handle that? "Hmm." Ryan's gaze dropped to his lips for a second and he hesitated, then tapped two fingers beneath Brendon's chin endearingly to perk him up before taking his hand back. "Could you handle it for me?" He smiled sweetly, clearly the kind of smile you followed up asking for a favor with, a nonverbal pretty-please.

riches all around

Although he'd become accustomed to having to read people rather than them be honest and forward with him, Ryan still couldn't tell exactly how Brendon felt about him in return. Or he was picking up on all the right signals correctly and it wasn't his imagination. Still, Ryan highly doubted all the glimpses he'd been getting of Brendon looking for a few moments too long or the hints of interest in his gaze were real, anything more than his imagination. He wasn't totally hopeless, but he was still not in Brendon's league by any measure of the imagination - first he'd known for sure this was true in respect to their individual appearances, and now, after only a few minutes of conversation, it was true for their personalities, too. For as experienced and worldly Ryan had become over such wide-reaching tours and his touching of so many lives, he really hadn't expanded his character all that much. He was still the same guy, just minus, maybe, five insecurities. Granted, five huge ones that solved a lot of his initial incapability to cope with this life, but the point stood. He just shouldn't have made the cut for Brendon.

And yet, here they were, skipping the usual normal/casual conversation stage and instead incorporating it into a gradually (quickly) heavier flirting session. It didn't feel weird at all, though, because somehow Ryan felt like he'd known him forever, like he was just uncovering some sort of memory of him rather than learning about everything completely new. It had to be who Brendon was, surely, his unique personality and his powerful charisma that Ryan hadn't even seen before in his industry (where 'charisma' and other such Machiavellan subtypes ran rampant) to such an extent. Brendon, fortunately, didn't seem too bothered by it either, but Ryan could tell that despite his clear wish to not let this get past a certain point, he couldn't find a proper way out. Maybe Ryan would just spare him the grief, get a number, call him at some better time... but then that left the chance that he still wasn't hooked, and if Ryan tried calling him later he wouldn't get an answer. Screw mercy, he had to make sure he wasn't going to get ghosted if he left him alone. Was that inconsiderate? Maybe a little.

You’d be surprised. Whoa. Ryan considered himself pretty innocent-minded, especially in comparison to his peers, but at this he raised his eyebrows at Brendon, smiling amusedly at how fast they'd gotten to this point. And, really, he was pretty sure he'd want that dinner first because he was kind of old-fashioned (although Brendon seemed talented enough to maybe have already convinced him otherwise, should the opportunity present itself), but this was very entertaining. Anyway. He didn't delve into the half-joking parents discussion, not because he didn't pick up on it or wasn't interested, but because this wasn't really 'first thirty minutes' conversation and he knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, either, should questions be returned to him. So he saved that look that crossed Brendon's face and his brief change in countenance for later, reminded himself that it was an eggshell subject, filed it away in the new mental drawer he was making for Brendon. He was pretty sure he was going to need a lot of headspace open for him later.

Any chance you’ve got a Book of Mormon kicking about anywhere? Are you god-fearing, Ryan? Ryan perked up interestedly automatically, leaning in just as Brendon did like they were sharing secrets. He wasn't sure what was better- this 'Mormonism' deal or hearing Brendon say his name properly like that, realizing for the first time exactly how effortless and steady his speaking voice was. He'd gotten so instantly comfortable listening to him speak, he could probably do it for days on end. Now, though, Brendon was clearly imitating someone, parodying a speech he'd heard before. "I see what you mean," he said, nodding all faux-sympathy, understandingly at his standup. "I could get one. And, as I assume is necessary, wear a button-down shirt and khakis or whatever so that I look like your straight friend. See, I'm good." Hopefully shedding some light on what was clearly a strained situation was more helpful than it was annoying, but Ryan was rolling the dice here really.

Maybe a bad transition, that to accidentally alluding to a hookup (then embracing his faux pas), but it happened, and Ryan was eternally grateful that it fared well with Brendon. Good thing he was easygoing. Ryan may not be awkward and uncertain anymore, like he used to be so terribly, but he chose the worst moments not to pick up on social cues. I bet nobody’s turned down that offer before. Honestly if Ryan could get way with looking cool about that, he would have tried to, but as it were, he weighed his head to the side consideringly, looking entirely doubtful. Truth be told, his love life was tragic. He never did anything that wasn't at least a little serious, didn't partake in flings or hook-ups or one night stands, and that's, a surprising amount of the time, what people were looking for. So he got turned down quite a bit, yeah, by people who knew that he'd just be a burden or a scandal over a one-sided relationship sometime in the future or who thought he was too much.

Brendon looked serious, though, and he was touched, meeting his earnest gaze with a fond one of his own, speechless. And, darlin’, I’m not about to be the first. Ryan caught his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before deciding this was about time he got back to that drink, and he lifted the whiskey to his lips, taking another extended sip. He still kind of wasn't sure whether they were fucking around with subtext or if Ryan was really going to, like, sit him in a room with his guitar and shabby live unedited singing voice, but either way, it was more time with Brendon, so. He was grateful for the acceptance. "I'll hold you to that," Ryan returned, regaining his confidence and composure, but not quite enough to use a response pet-name for him like he almost wanted to. What the hell could he get away with without sounding stupid? 'Sweetheart' didn't quite roll off the tongue with a stranger, 'baby' was a little serious, something even joking like 'princess' totally sounded as if he was making fun of Brendon's obvious bottom status. Sensitive situation. He wasn't about to take a risk.

He was almost proud that he could presumably make Brendon flattered, if the blushing was any indication, and it was beyond cute. Ryan tilted his head, completely charmed, couldn't help himself. What do you think I’ve been doing? Ryan smiled, reserved, because mostly he'd thought it was something about pity, but he appreciated it anyway. Then Brendon was reaching over unexpectedly, looking at him for permission - for what? - and Ryan was nodding without knowing, his face turning from adoring to slightly dumbfounded while Brendon ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't touch-starved, or anything like that, but he still closed his eyes and had to purse his lips to keep from sighing like it was the first time anyone had come near him in years, ridiculous. It's not like he'd been trying to get Brendon to play with his hair (or in this case 'judge' might be a more accurate word for what he was doing) but, yeah, this was totally cool, a great bonus. It really was too long, honestly. It curled at the ends, made him look at least five years too young - and he didn't have many years to spare.

Ryan let his eyes open again when Brendon's hand dropped, weirdly more comfortable with him. What you’re doing works for me. Great - but Ryan apparently shared too much immediately afterward, because Brendon was looking shocked with him. "Wait, no, go back to a second ago when you still liked me, pretend you didn't hear about the jacket," he laughed, reaching across to squeeze Brendon's arm for a split second as if they were the bestest of friends if only to make the eyebrows go back down. "So, hypothetically, if I were to schedule an appointment with you sometime, you'd make me look like a functioning person? Tell me your professional opinion, what would you do to fix this." Ryan settled in dramatically, already entertained. Maybe it wasn't the best to pick at a job the guy clearly was bored of at the very least, but still. Keeping it light, making the best of a bad situation, that sort of thing.

riches all around

Ryan was very familiar with the 'I don't have time for this, I'll duck out in ten minutes when it's polite to do so' look. The 'I'd really rather be leaving' - or maybe 'I don't want to have to leave, but such is life,' all he'd seen before, and Brendon was fantastic at hiding the fact that he identified at least a little bit with all three, but not enough for Ryan to overlook. Had he been a real rockstar he'd just demand Brendon's time instead of accepting the fact that he'd have to go, say he was more entitled to it than whatever other obligations he had going on as a functioning human being, but Ryan was nothing if not totally out of tune with his job title. He'd lost some of the traits that made him weaker in the industry, yeah, but he wasn't quite a huge asshole yet. Mostly he was just hoping he could get Brendon's number, preferably not a fake one, so that he could take advantage of the clearly limited free time he had in the future. Really - he wasn't a hook-up guy. He wanted to know him.

Maybe vague offers based around money wasn't the best way to go about that, but Brendon seemed to accept his sense of humor (with serious overtones, because honestly, buy the whole menu if you goddamn want), so it must not be a terrible approach. I mean, I’m not easy. Y’gotta, like, chauffeur me. Court me, all traditional. I have religious parents, so... Funnily enough, Ryan's first instinct was to lie, say 'me too' so it looked like they had something in common, start a superficial 'how crazy is that?' moment. He was always forgetting that people could fact check basically 70% of what he said with a quick Google search. Instead of that, he laughed easily, very glad that Brendon was goofier by the second. It bode well for him when someone could just dumbly joke for hours alongside him - he was past all of the intense love affair stuff. "I didn't think you'd be easy," he said, all flattery - and yet still most definitely genuine coming from Ryan. "Hey, I can do all of that. And parents love me. I'm sure I have a Bible, like... somewhere in Hoarder Hell." AKA his house. Maybe not something to admit to your very attractive new pal. He supposed if Brendon traded in a 'religious parent card' he'd have to return it with something equally as personal as that, right? Unwritten social rules, whatever? Totally.

Ryan was entirely serious when he offered to buy anything Brendon ordered, but Brendon simply laughed and propped his head up in his hand over the bar, all sweet as if it was just sentiment. He'd just learned Ryan was famous (or, well, not learned, but realized who he was), why not jump on the opportunity to take advantage of the riches for, like, some shitty bar's mozzarella sticks? Definitely a high roller item. In any case, he looked absolutely precious even when he was presumably doubting Ryan, and Ryan stared back in obvious endearment. He nearly forgot that it was completely inappropriate to just adjust someone's hair for them, but anything to get closer suddenly seemed acceptable to him. Nevertheless he withheld the urge to brush those few rebellious strands out of Brendon's eyes, just met them with his own, in even better humor now. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Ryan copied his ridiculous nod and reflected it right back at him, as if this was undoubtedly the wisest insight anybody had ever given Ryan in his entire life. He was truly floored.

If you won’t buy me the whole bar, I don’t wanna know. Ryan actually opened his mouth, prepared to accept that challenge and show his true, ridiculous, desperate serial monogamist colors, but then he faltered, realizing that was less impressive than it was creepy. He had equal chances of Brendon loving how sadly quick he was to please, or being completely terrified of how much it might make him look as if he was obsessed with Brendon, something like that. Equal chances on such opposition: not a good thing. So Ryan didn't even try, though his intent was probably somewhat obvious. "That's good advice. All the more reason we should hang out more often." There, played it safe, though he was kind of disappointed he couldn't instantly drop a fortune on some beautiful stranger tonight and make his day. Well. Yet. Maybe Brendon would change his mind.

After he'd tested Brendon's name verbally, he was almost nervous - he was a pro at learning by ear, for obvious reasons, but he knew a subtle twist like turning the 'o' to an 'a' in Brendon's name would completely change it all. This wasn't even something impressive, probably, but Ryan wanted him to feel respected, heard, whatever. It seemed like he had a difficult name to work with - at least, he did in comparison to Ryan, probably, like, the tenth most common name ever. After paying close attention, though, Brendon didn't seem to bristle or do a mini eye-roll of exasperation, so he must have done something right. It can be arranged. Ryan was getting a vibe similar to that of 'I don't have time for this,' but he didn't press him. It's not like Brendon was holding a huge 'PLEASE COME HIT ON ME' sign while sitting by his lonesome; Ryan had sort of invaded his space unquestioningly. If he didn't want to talk much longer than a couple of free drinks and half-interested looks, that was his prerogative.

Something about how Ryan had made his cheeky little secret show proposition seemed to get to Brendon, and he earned the truest smile yet, one that made Ryan smile right back in its gleaming glory. Brendon didn't just grin or whatever, his entire face, entire spirit lit up with him, and Ryan felt like he was sitting next to the sun, so eternally grateful he got to witness that, see the ever-charming way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Sounds good, too. How private are we talking? Ryan had totally moved past what he said, now all he could focus on was what Brendon's real smile looked like, and he had to take a moment to recalibrate. "Just you and me, unless that poses an issue for you?" He was still sort of laughing, stuck in a grey area between banter and flirting. That seemed to be both of their forté, though. Ryan had honestly lucked out.

He needed to know more, though, so he pressed about Brendon's career, truly curious as to what someone like him couldn't be able to accomplish. When he asked, though, Brendon's demeanor shifted, barely noticeable. Ryan became more serious, relaxing his body language and meeting his gaze more carefully. I’m a stylist. Ryan nodded slowly, thinking how he needed one of those bad, look at his fucking hair. I make people look pretty, and, as you can see from my example- me- I do an alright fuckin’ job. Ryan smiled mostly because it seemed like the right thing to do, but a follow-up was on the tip of his tongue; what did you want to be? He was clearly a sort of lost soul, and Ryan was something of a collector. "'All right' is an understatement," he returned, in a very self-assured tone, completely earnest. After a pause he shrugged a shoulder, nonchalant. "I need you. Look at me. I don't know how to dress myself or anything. I've had this same jacket since I was seventeen."

seal it with a kiss

It was no secret that Ryan lacked confidence and self-assurance. It had been that way through a very successful run with an incredibly well-known band, so how could he feel better about himself without the support of hundreds, thousands, millions of people? That was the most bizarre part: once the band split, something he'd initially hated and refused to believe was 'for the best' or even real, the pressure started fading away to be the very best, and thus his subconscious relieved pressure on him. It made sense once he got down to the middle of it. When all he'd been doing for years, since his formative years, even, was focus on criticism and try to work with it constructively, always bettering himself to match the tastes of others, always trying to make a living off of something that he'd originally started just to enjoy doing, it preyed on his psyche. When the band or even the production was judged harshly, he took it to heart, as if he was fully responsible for all downfalls the group had. When they didn't have as many hits as they'd expected or a song he poured his entire being into didn't get as much attention as he thought, it killed his spirit, mentally maimed him.

Ryan wasn't built for it all. Not like, say, Brendon. Maybe that's why they made such a fantastic team; they were opposites, nearly. Brendon was the passionate, lively, charismatic frontman, with a tangible spirit and a presence to light up a room. Ryan was quiet, reserved, standoffish, sticking solely to his side of the stage and often so closed off that it came off as rude or abrasive. Brendon, although he did have his moments where he became anxious and truly overwhelmed with it all, could handle fans finding him on the streets, could handle the bountious amounts of post that reached them when their address was leaked, was confident enough in his abilities to up and start singing in the middle of a crowded mall or something. He knew how to handle people, be it on an individual or large-scale level, and he knew them so well that he got along with just about anyone. It was actually fascinating to see him at work. Here was a multi-talented, musically genius, incredibly young and therefore presumably naïve man, who had the whole world around his finger, could make anything happen with the snap of his fingers because he was either that ambitious or that influential.

He was born into the lifestyle, had always been ready. While Brendon had moments of debilitating nerves, every waking hour of Ryan's life had become dominated by them. In the beginning he was more exhilerated than anything - he and his friends were going to start a band! Then, hey, his favorite musician ever had contacted them about a record deal! They had their own apartment (even if it was shitty)! They were making an album! And then the public eye came into play, and everything was suddenly far too real for him. His first actual show was the worst and best day of his life simultaneously - and it went downhill from there, for his mental situation anyway. As for the band, they got better and better, because all of the stress and anxiety fueled his perfectionism as much as it dampened his creative spark. It was probably obvious, come to think; he might not have been so shut off to people and shy if he hadn't felt like the world was on his shoulders, and maybe he would have been so much less controlling of the band and what they put out into the world if he didn't feel like everything would be fucked without his masterminding the situation. It was the most fantastic time of his life, definitely his wonder years without a doubt, but behind the scenes, he was in an incredibly dark place.

In a way, the split was a blessing. It lifted a gigantic burden from his shoulders and relieved all the built-up fog that clouded his life. At the time, though, all he did was snap at Brendon as if it was his fault, like he could control them all going in different directions idealistically, as if he wasn't saving Ryan from a very real and massively self-destructive breakdown that had been in the works for a long time. He couldn't see that Brendon's idea was good for all of them... at first. Over time he became resigned to the thought that maybe this thing he'd poured his heart and soul into was hurting him, sort of his own Frankenstein monster - and he was about as afraid of this ever-growing monster, too. He wasn't angry at Brendon anymore, but at the people who came to audition who clearly understood what they were getting into potentially, who would be able to handle the fame and the responsibility and the troubles that came with all of this. He was jealous that he couldn't do it himself, that he couldn't keep being on stage and in creative control with the love of his life forever all because of his own neuroses.

After a long time of screwing around being sad that the best/worst part of his life had officially ended, moping about that he couldn't do what he was used to anymore, Ryan knew he had to find an outlet again. Naturally he went to Jon who he'd bonded over about new music before, when the band was close to splitting and they had already written half a record and made the music for it. They continued their work and an album was out surprisingly fast for someone in his headspace - or maybe not so surprising. After all, there were certainly many expecting fans waiting on him (which he was grateful for, considering he'd anticipated people to abandon him as quickly as his initial success had picked up), but no producers were breathing down his back to get something amazing and showstopping out as fast as possible. No one was waiting expectantly for singles to drop just so they could write scathing reviews, throw 'constructive' language over what was clearly just a critical piece on his work. Even more than all of that, no one had heard any of this before, and no one was trying to spoonfeed him a genre to work in. He had complete freedom, and almost total support for whatever was to come.

That album did not take off with light speed like his first ever, but it didn't come close to failing or even doing poorly. Despite this, the band behind it just... never continued, went on indefinite hiatus. It wasn't the fact that it hadn't been a Panic!-level success, but he knew he didn't want to be part of a group anymore. Ryan's goal to just put something out and be heard was met and exceeded, and it fueled his desire to start working again - though, this time, it was a much more personal venture, excluding Jon and requiring weeks of introspection. He rarely released his solo work, and if he did, it was shabby tracks on SoundCloud (which eventually became less and less habitual, then was deleted entirely), or snippets on Instagram. He sort of fell off the face of the Earth, actually, spending time in his own head and workspace, or with Brendon when he had time off. On occasion they still got to work together and functioned just as well, and truthfully, Ryan owed a lot of the fact that he even continued focusing on music to Brendon. Even if his and Jon's band had made him realize what he really wanted to do, it wasn't motivation enough. Moreso than Brendon, though, Ryan had a new friend: Z.

She'd taken a daily role as his best friend, whereas Brendon had tours to go on and Spencer and him had been growing distant for a very long time and Jon was, well, growing up, too busy for all of this. Z had been making music for about as long but was one of the best he'd ever seen, had mastered her craft and was skilled beyond her years, was more enthused than any creator Ryan had met in his life - arguably even his own husband, who had a hired team to care about all of the things she still cared about. It was probably why Ryan got on with her so well. She revived the ambition he had when he was younger, the ambition that got his first band known by one of the most famous creators in his genre, the ambition that built the foundation for his ultra-successful ex-band. But she was also genuine, down-to-earth, utterly charming, the kind of person he actually wanted to be around constantly, just like his original bandmates (and he'd fooled himself into thinking that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing). She inspired him even more than his own husband to keep creating, keep making, and a large part of that was stringing him along to her shows.

People called it something like abusing a power, as if she really only wanted him there because he had a niche crowd that followed his every move. It was definitely not that - had he not come along she'd have just as many people around, because her career was truly succesful as well, and she'd garnered such a large group of equally taented friends that Ryan was pretty easily replaceable. Honestly, the idea of playing live again even though it'd only been a handful of years terrified him. He had gotten better at his craft on his own, had honed lyric-writing (though that wouldn't come into play here anyway) and sharpened his voice, made a mistake about once in a blue moon on his guitar and could improvise as if he'd tabbed out the song beforehand. He was even better than the Ryan people knew. But the scary part was what if maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that, what if he'd actually gotten worse, what if he looked too different now or acted stupidly in front of everyone, what if no one even fucking came. It was harder to let all of that get to his head, though, when he knew in the forefront of his mind that he was doing it all for Z, and, better yet, she'd be up there onstage with him. He wasn't going to be alone, and he trusted her and her gifts so, so much.

Anyway. Apparently it worked out, because the next time she had a show planned, he was invited along again - with short notice. Having a long resume of working well under pressure, though, Ryan panicked in silence, learning her songs (or re-learning in some cases) quickly, perfecting every single tiny note and figuring out how to twist his voice this way and that, which parts he couldn't quite make the right sound and finding a way around it. He picked out outfits, found one that wouldn't conflict so much with Z and her setup and the theme, one that he wouldn't look too ridiculously goofy in and didn't magically uglify him. Even so, when he'd had it picked out an entire week beforehand, he was still freaking out in his and Brendon's room, staring in the mirror and adjusting everything and rethinking every choice he'd ever made. It wasn't just how he looked - though he definitely wasn't pleased with it, still - it was the fact that people would be there, maybe, and there might be pictures, and what if he'd have to talk to people, what if they asked the wrong thing, what if, what if, what if. It was all very unnerving when, these days, he hardly went out unless it was absolutely necessary.

But he couldn't hide here forever. Brendon was probably worrying. Ryan made his way out of the room a little sheepishly, going to the main room and still tugging his sleeves down self-consciously before he lifted his head and realized Brendon was staring dumbfoundedly. Yeah, yeah, shut up, he'd married the most ridiculous man ever. Ryan let his arms drop to his sides and looked slightly embarrassed, tilting his head up to the ceiling while Brendon shifted about to come to him. Fuck. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so bad. But this was Brendon. He'd probably lose his mind over Ryan wearing some white T-shirt that comes in a Wal-Mart 4-pack. Oh man, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. "I feel stupid," Ryan mumbled compulsively, but he couldn't help smiling back at Brendon's contagious grin, letting himself lean into him while he wrapped himself around Ryan. In turn, Ryan let his hands slip into Brendon's back pockets, pulling him close as they barely kissed.

You look so good. "We're married. You have to say that. It's, like, the law. Doesn't even need to be true." But Ryan was cracking up, so clearly he was flattered, his mortifications from moments previous dying out. He shut his eyes serenely when Brendon's hand curled around his jaw, feeling so at peace he'd rather be here than at the ultimate stress show (even though he knew that last time it was 10,000x better than he'd anticipated). We’re running late, but... I'd say let’s just stay home, but I want to hear and see you be wonderful. God, you’re so handsome. Ryan's eyes rolled to the ceiling again and he detached from Brendon, backing away with a stupid grin on his face. "Shut up, I love you," he said, exasperated, running a hand through his hair and feeling the pressure melt away. "You should've have your expectations so high. It's been a minute since I performed, you know."

riches all around

Something in the way Brendon looked at him made him nervous. Not scrutinizing, really, because when you were in this situation you had to be careful to control exactly how judgmental your expressions became, but... just interested. Maybe he was critical in his head and was just wise enough to not let Ryan bear witness to it. Ryan did that enough for himself - when cameras were pointed at him more often than not, and thousands of eyes were staring up at him from an audience most days out of the week, and too many people than he could imagine were watching all of his social media for new content, he was nitpicky about himself, too. He knew he wasn't the kind of person to stand out in a room, to catch an eye; maybe he was interesting looking in that he was somewhat androgynous if he wanted to be, looked too young for his years, was generally kind of elfin, but he wasn't universally attractive. He could certainly see the incriminating comments that proved not everyone was quite a fan.

It's what made him a little nervous about nights like these, where he'd seek someone out to talk to. Actually - that's just the thing, he didn't do that often. He'd stumbled upon Brendon and decided to, because Brendon, unlike him, had this otherworldly appeal about him, was so easily gorgeous that it could take someone's breath away. And maybe that sounded dramatic, but Ryan sort of had a streak for that. Already he was planning out first, second, fifth dates for them, trying to pick up on everything Brendon perked up at (if at all - he was shockingly lowkey for someone of his caliber) so as to appeal to that bias, working every good angle he had (and there weren't very many, even if he was confident in the few existing) in order to impress. Not to say Brendon would certainly end up even sticking around, but everyone Ryan had previously tried to 'woo' in any way turned into his new life's obsession fairly quickly. An awful, awful habit, that had only started once his career picked up. Maybe there was some psychology to that. Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn't be hitting on anyone until he was over that issue...

Eh. Maybe Brendon was looking for someone prone to endless spoiling. Ryan ignored his better judgment and kept on, finding that Brendon's personality didn't disappoint, either. Sure, darlin’, but you’re paying. One thing about his unique lifestyle - Ryan had grown accustomed to being way more expressive than he naturally was, although selectively. In this case, he glowed, gaze lighting up when he realized Brendon just might actually be agreeing. And, if the sweet glimmer in his eyes was anything to go by, he was content about it rather than going with it to keep Ryan happy. "No problem at all," he replied, breezy, and already his mind was on a roll again. Yeah, yeah, he'll pay for anything, just ask. Really - the guy called him 'darlin',' looks like that, has the disposition to match. Ryan had basically found a Disney prince in some half-decent bar in downtown L.A. Once in a lifetime. Usually if you found a good one, they were all looks, no character, and Ryan wasn't too interested in that.

Two drinks? Someone’s thirsty. 'Funny you should say that' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue, or some comment about irony otherwise, but he contained himself, reminded that they'd only met, like, five minutes ago. "Hey, I've got all night. Order as much as you want." A typical half-smile landed and he thanked fuck that he didn't have some embarrassing reaction to the whiskey. It's not that he didn't drink- just not much. And if he looked like a freshman taking his first sip of god-awful, cheap gas station beer in front of the most stunning person he'd ever seen, yeah, he'd rather just die. Fortunately Ryan withstood his first sip, actually liked it, continued drinking with ease. Less fortunately, Brendon didn't seem to jump with joy upon learning that he was famous (very famous, but Ryan didn't go into it), nor did he do the usual 'oh wow really that's so crazy I heard you on the radio the other day' that every-fucking-one did. All right, the second one was just sort of annoying, considering they'd all repeat his own lyrics back at him as if he wasn't embarrassed of 75% of them over time, but still. No less flattering.

Anyway, he at least didn't look totally lost, so the band name wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Ryan counted his blessings. He watched the jacket come off, taking this as a sign he wasn't going to run off any time soon. Unless this was a Cinderella scenario where he'd have to hunt him down with only a well-kept jean jacket for evidence, in which case, awkward. He didn't have the time. Yeah, I have. Ryan maintained a perpetual friendly smile even though he was literally going to lose his shit over how lucky he was. Who hasn’t? Lucky for you, I’m not some weird fanboy. I’m not gonna jump you. Unless you want me to. Ryan laughed, but almost distantly, realizing that Brendon's half-ignorance to the band was actually a very good thing. Had he been any more invested in who they were, he'd probably have delved into Ryan's Wikipedia page or something, learned all about his tragic backstory and seen every moment his teenage self had, unfortunately, lived in the spotlight. Being very young and famous at the same time meant you were publicly embarrassing, and people were ruthless. And Ryan hadn't quite revealed his own history - people just picked and picked until things unintentionally came out over time.

It was better to be able to have secrets, especially when he wasn't trying to scare away someone who had agreed to a paid-for dinner. Ryan tried to quickly tune back in, keep their back-and-forth going. "Oh, Brendon, trust me, it'd be nice," he joked, definitely serious. "But since you aren't a serious fan, I could definitely convert you with some private shows, how about that?" He laughed again, wrapping both hands around his glass and lacing his fingers together until he could bring it to rest on his knee. Brendon was looking past him, all elegance except for the fact that he was wearing an expression that Ryan already knew too well. He felt a little bad, honestly; Ryan had gotten used to the attention, maybe Brendon hadn't. Actually, he was too pretty to be passed up on. People definitely must have stared before. His gaze dropped to his own hands and Ryan tried to distract him, made curious by the tiniest shift in his energy. "What about you? What do you do?"

riches all around

When he was younger, Ryan would never have anticipated what his life had come to now. Of course when he first picked up some hand-me-down guitar from his uncle at age thirteen he'd had passing moments where he thought it might be nice to play in front of people, but he'd never had the self-confidence to even dream or believe that maybe he'd be selling to millions ten years later. When he posted demos to LiveJournal, it was a storage system for himself; when he woke up to 1,000 replays weeks later it was just a nice milestone to have made. At the time he'd figured that was probably it, that was the peak. Music was never going to be a career that he could live off of. He'd get a law degree like his dad wanted, maybe, or join his dad's business if that didn't work out, or if he could completely separate himself from family wishes, maybe get an English degree. That was actually the dream he had, the achievable one. But he never thought music was an option. A hobby at best, not something he was good enough at to be profitable.

Fast forward to now and he knew he was good, had proven to himself time and time again that he could play whatever song he wanted with ease; maybe singing wasn't as much of a strong point but he got around that by making his own songs to work with. He didn't necessarily flaunt the success quite yet because - well. There was no point. He lived alone, didn't necessarily need a mansion with staff and ten cars. Actually, all Ryan needed was a spare studio room and enough space to make noise where it wouldn't disturb other people, some security to make sure no one hung around outside his house in wait to hand over fanmail personally or grab photos that wouldn't even sell as scandalous (considering all he ever did at home was hide inside and binge-watch lame shows from the eighties). So he lived well below his means, still not totally attuned to the lifestyle that he could reasonably have, in a half-luxurious house with mostly thrifted furniture and all of his old recycled childhood belongings. All in all, his personality and outlook had caught up with him in this new life, but maybe not his habits and behaviors.

It's not that he didn't try getting here, but it surprised him that any of his efforts worked. Really, his personal childhood hero probably got hundreds of people reaching out to him on a daily basis, trying to show him their work; Ryan just got lucky that Pete had the time for him. He had the talent to grab attention, sure, but so many others did, too, if only they knew the right place to go. Ryan was ambitious enough, posting demos anywhere he possibly could, advertising locally and faking his age so that clubs might hire his band to play (which definitely did not work fifty percent of the time), and that period of time most musicians suffered through as a 'starving artist' living in their parents' basement subsisting off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles was just far shorter for him. He, Spencer, Jon, and Brent definitely had rough times in the beginning, but their deal was so much sweeter than what other people went through just because they picked up in popularity faster, had too many gifts to ignore.

Ryan was the endlessly praised lyricist, the perfectionist who made no mistakes, and it translated to his guitar playing. His voice may not be clean-cut and bold but it worked for their music, had an edge that made people keep coming back and that he'd grown into over time. Spencer had picked up drums around the time he got his hands on a guitar and had such a precise rhythm that Ryan never doubted his place in the band, knew he was going to be there from start to finish. Jon joined a little later but still had half the hand Ryan did with lyrics and was fantastic at it - clearly this was his dream forever, he wanted to make it as much, if not more, than Ryan did, and honestly he often shared the spotlight as frontman, a dynamic duo. Brent was... Brent. Didn't really need him, but as much as he was argumentative and difficult to work with, he still fucking killed rhythm guitar, so. They had their faults but they'd earned their place on the top hits list, every time. Their relevance wasn't unfounded at all.

Hopefully they were relevant to a very far-reaching crowd, because, honestly, Ryan wasn't as confident in his personality or interestingness in general as much as he was in his ability to make good music. It made, uh, hitting on people much more difficult. So he had to rely on his talents to be obvious for him. There was no glimmer of recognition when his new bar friend looked at him, though, so that was somewhat disappointing - maybe it'd come to him later, or Ryan would have to make the allusion himself. Absolutely. Only after he'd been looked up and down. That was a good sign. At least he must look somewhat appealing, then. I’m Brendon. I’d usually prefer dinner, but y’know, for you I’ll make an exception. Ryan's smile became a little more genuine, amused, and he pulled up the nearest barstool, silently flagging the bartender and gesturing to Brendon's drink for two of the same. "We could do that, too, sometime," Ryan said, definitely getting ahead of himself but selling it with a tiny, charming tilt of his head.

I recognise you from somewhere. Thank fucking god. Finally some leverage. Ryan propped himself up against the bar on his elbow, looking almost sheepish despite having hoped for this. Was this the day to finally be cocky about it like he'd always joked, say something like 'yeah, 'cause I'm a huge fucking deal'? Maybe not. Wouldn't sound so funny in a real conversation. "I'm a musician, might be it. I lead The Young Veins. Heard of us?" And wouldn't it be magical if the bar's sound system started playing one of their hits? He'd probably run out of luck for that, whatever. Their drinks were pushed toward them and Ryan tested a little, keeping his body facing Brendon, elbow planted on the wood still.

riches all around

Three albums, three eras, hundreds of songs, millions of fans - Ryan was in sort of an insane place these days. He'd started off slow, a high school band with a shitty name that made about ten different evolutions before he settled on one that was only vaguely cringey over time. Okay- that might be too generous, but. He wasn't going to change something with as huge a brand as it had now. His first album was received with mixed critical reviews, baroque and edgy and sort of poppy when it came down to it, commercially successfuly because that was the air of the time, and as timeless as it was it probably wouldn't sell now if not for the nostalgia of the scene age. The second was Beatles-esque and gentle, although when he was stoned as hell and writing it with Spencer, Jon, and Brent, they definitely thought the album was hardcore and screeching. Listening back, far from it. It was reminiscent of flowers, of fields, of meadows, delicate and nothing like the roughness he thought he'd created. The third was close but not quite; it was beachy and indie-rock, a classic that would stand the test of time in the same way that the second album would but the first definitely wouldn't. So Ryan was sort of an expert by now.

And all of his solo works were just as well-received. Between the hiatus of the second and third albums he'd focused on it more, and officially only released solo work after the third (much to the distaste of his fans, but hey, they weren't the ones holding his contract). That stuff was even more mixed-genre than his official band's albums. He produced dreampop, he made classic rock, sometimes he delved into something beyond soft and delicate, almost the kind of music you'd fall asleep to. Generally, he was reaching so many different audiences that it was hard to know who he had initially started making music for, but in reality it was all for himself. He needed an outlet, and Ryan wasn't shy or reserved anymore but he just wasn't much of a talker, so music became that. When people started listening to excerpts online and his fucking idol even liked the clips he put out, he figured it was time to make that outlet public, to at least be a part of something bigger while doing what he loved.

So that was the success story. He still didn't really believe it. Ryan saw his name on Forbes lists and saw not-outdated articles on Google and was in autocomplete suggestions when you typed out 'Ryan' and still couldn't believe it. People approached him on the street, waited over five hours outside of venues to be first in line for his shows, then had the patience to wait until he could come outside post-show just for the chance to meet him or get an autograph. He had an entire staff dedicated to keeping him safe from bad publicity or invasive paparazzi or rabid fans, paid people to sort out all of his obligations and complete tasks that he couldn't at such a level of fame and to maintain his house when he left for months on end, and all of it was so out of his realm of reality that he wasn't sure he was even in it half the time. After this lifestyle had dominated half of his time on earth you'd think he was used to it, but he was far from it; he still spent days staring in the mirror trying to see what everyone else saw. It was all... so bizarre, and he would never calibrate.

But sometimes he had to escape it. He didn't need a 'disguise' or anything ridiculous like that if he was in the right place. Places like Los Angeles, New York, everyone was so focused on themselves, or if they were paid to focus on famous people they were busy hunting down other celebrities doing different things from him, that they didn't really bother with him. He could go out in all his glory and would maybe get a second glance every couple hundred feet, get the occasional fan too enveloped with his work to pass up the opportunity to say something, and that was okay. It was almost normal- as normal as normal got for Ryan. So whenever he came to L.A. he went to the most generic neighborhoods ever, found the most generic bars and clubs and restaurants, and those were the ways he got out of the house safely without an agent behind him.

Usually he didn't interact; not for his own safety but just because he was sort of aloof by nature. He was beyond social anxiety now, even being vaguely nervous around someone was unheard of at this point. That's what his teenage years and a couple years following were for - now he'd interacted with so many people that he didn't feel the edge anymore, only ever had a physical reaction when he was crowded or overstimulated. But face to face, he'd gotten over it all. In this case, though, in the midst of a half-empty downtown Los Angeles bar, catching a glimpse of someone on one of the barstools looking bored as all hell with what appeared to be a classic whiskey, he was sort of inspired to strike up conversation. Yeah, yeah, he was human, he'd tried to hit on people before, it only went down well half of the time - and half of that time it was only well-received because they knew who he was. But it hadn't been part of his plans tonight, he was just floored by this guy's... general air, how flawless he was.

Ryan spent a few minutes lingering around the bar, directly avoiding looking over lest he look too obviously creepy, but sort of trying to figure out how best to do this. Send over a drink? He had whiskey, a sipping whiskey that would be really weird to have two of. And he probably wouldn't even be... actually, this was downtown L.A., there was a good 99% chance he was at least somewhat gay. And he was too pretty not to be. Fuck it. Ryan waited until he was low on his drink before coming over, leaning against the bar rather than sitting in case he was turned away. Propped up by his elbow, the wood digging into his waist, Ryan put on a winning smile, the kind reserved for red carpet shoots. He was just glad he was actually dressed for the occasion this time - a leather jacket typical of him and slim-fitting jeans, rather than the lazy getup he'd pick on slow nights. "Hey, there, can I buy you a drink? I'm Ryan." His easy countenance helped the line come out all too smoothly, complete confidence and composure. He tipped his head to the side, trying to cue a name in return.

nothing friendly at all

You know, I think a lot of things would turn out better if you listened to my insight a bit more, y’know? Ryan watched him, silent, while he left a gentle trail of kisses along his jaw, just barely kissed him back when their lips met. He considered this. Brendon was kind of right, though. Whenever he declined Brendon's advice in the past, it wasn't because it was wrong - it was because it was coming from Brendon. It wasn't just silly stuff, when Brendon suggested something crazy like how he was planning on jumping offstage at the encore (which actually had a followthrough), but things like last night when he'd genuinely offered his own thoughts on Ryan's situation, when he was rational and clear-minded while Ryan was freaking out. Even if Brendon was joking about this now, he was right. Usually Ryan would be pissed about it. Just- in general. Ryan smiled real small, thought about how maybe if he'd been as wary of Keltie as Brendon was in the beginning of it all, things would be different. "Yeah," he said quietly, "you're right." Ryan kissed him again, slow, before he rolled off to call room service.

He felt eyes on him as he spoke and looked over, a self-conscious grin gradually crossing his face when he realized he had Brendon's attention. When he sighed appreciatively, totally corny, Ryan let the arm hanging above him in his hair fall to Brendon's side of the bed, nudging a knuckle against his temple playfully. He looked excited about the large order for only a few seconds before his expression shifted, and Ryan realized his mistake with that unwise choice of words. He opened his mouth to quickly take it back but had no idea how to correct it, instead ending up watching as Brendon went in. Don’t push it. You’ll have a lot of making up to do if you want to be my ‘favourite’. Ryan was already cringing, mentally begging Brendon not to go on this tangent, because really they had the worst history ever and it could go on forever, both sides. Also he'd sort of liked the tiny amount of time, the trial period, where they got along - more than got along. God, he could see them as so much more.

You’ve insulted me so many- Brendon got comfortable, clearly, and in turn Ryan scrubbed his hand over his face, still half-smiling out of discomfort and apprehension. Remember all the times you made fun of me ‘cause I have to wear girl’s pants? Yeah, I remember shit. Ryan cracked up a little, turning on his side and throwing an arm over Brendon's waist, curling close to him while he tried to maintain his good humor. "Hey, that was my cover. Really I appreciate your ass that won't fit into normal jeans." Ryan paused, his smile fading a little while he thought about turning this into a more serious conversation - about how he was actually sorry about everything before, about how he wished things hadn't started like they did, how he'd do anything to change what they were. Maybe if he'd originally gotten over himself and accepted the much needed change then... but thinking about the 'what if's and trying to change history was useless.

They were here now, and they were who they were, their relationship was what it was. Ryan had always figured there was no turning it around, no way for damage control to happen. And maybe this was a weird way to start it, just outright sleeping together after his hissy fit, but they had so much time before the show and maybe more if the could escape prepping, he could conceivably fit in some honest words and reflections. Saying 'sorry' wouldn't do it, and going back on his word for a few hours wouldn't do it, though. Ryan would have to invest time in undoing everything, in completely reversing the dynamic here. Still it was scary - it's not like Brendon would welcome a change in his personality with open arms, and of course it's not like he could show that face to anyone else, either, or... well. He wasn't sure what came after 'or.' Jon and Spencer weren't horrible people, they'd probably just roll their eyes at a change between him and Brendon, but he didn't know for sure how anyone would react, how people would regard him or Brendon.

He lifted himself on an elbow until he was hovering over Brendon, trailing his fingertips over his chest, mapping out the faint definition. 'You'll have a lot of making up to do.' Sure. "Okay, then, tell me, how can I make it up to you," he said, his voice less questioning than vaguely curious, mostly distracted by the path of his hand.

catch me like a cold

One thing about this new dynamic between them: Ryan no longer had Brendon figured out. He probably didn't before, but then he didn't put much thought into the matter - it was simpler when he was safe in believing that all he could do was hate him, that that was the only capacity in him (except those times he had to ignore every lusting thought or momentary affection, which tended to complicate things until he could push it all to the back of his mind and go on hating). Now he knew there was more to it, and in turn, more at stake, and suddenly it was much less clear to him how to go about talking to Brendon, how to win an upper hand or how to even stay balanced. At this point, Brendon tended to get to him at every turn, was far better at this than him. Ryan presumed it just meant none of this affected him as heavily at first, but in all honesty he was just more of a character than Ryan. If they were on the same page, Brendon would handle it all ten times better.

And he was definitely more stable than Ryan. Surprisingly. Brendon, who regularly threw fits in their tiny, cramped bus because he'd lost a hoodie or something, was less snippy and sulky about their newfound issues for God knows what reason. It's like they'd switched roles, and Ryan hated it. Even now he was being more rational than Ryan, could practically read his mind. Oh, really? Ryan stiffened defensively at the challenging tone, knowing he couldn't dispute it without being entirely transparent. He was a horrific liar, yeah, whatever. Can I ask, Ryan, what were your plans, assuming you and I would be alone on the bus? Ryan glared at him, and the truth was that he'd been expecting the bus to be fully empty when he got here, but really. When he saw the light on from outside and known it was Brendon, his mind jumped to predictable places and he'd felt that now-familiar twist in his chest, and somehow Brendon knew that. Transparent. Ryan ran his bottom lip between his teeth after a moment, closing his eyes for a beat and looking sick of this already. He figured it was easier not to answer at all.

But his avoiding like that was only making matters worse. When he got scared of what they could potentially have, when he saw them getting closer to it, he stepped away, put a space between them and made it look like he wanted to. He absolutely didn't. If Ryan wasn't so terrified of what could come of him giving in to what every natural instinct had turned into around Brendon, of letting their entire relationship do a complete one-eighty, he'd be letting him in to every thought that crossed his mind and opening himself up to being beside him constantly. It'd be Seattle everyday, basically. But to stay safe and comfortable, he had to look like he had nothing invested in this, like nothing mattered. He may not be the better actor between them, but he was still fairly sure his point was getting across, that he was vaguely convincing. Brendon seemed to believe it, and was actually looking more defeated by the dynamic by the minute- kind of worrying. If he was already done enough to start finding a boyfriend or whatever Ian was, then surely something Ryan was doing was wrong, despite figuring originally that it was in Brendon's best interest to hide this, too.

After having to look away to avoid seeing Brendon visibly go through the motions of defeat, Ryan caught him checking his phone, right now of all times. Probably that Ian guy. Ryan practically felt his chest sink and his temperature rise at the thought, ridiculously. But that was all temporary; moments later he was learning how Brendon genuinely didn't believe he cared about him, and sure that was believable but Ryan had never thought that it was necessary to express it. If he thought about it he realized he'd never really even thought about whether Brendon cared about him, but that was only because he never had any reason to believe that he did or didn't, and if Brendon was having doubts now then it must be that Ryan was big enough of an asshole to convince him that he wouldn't mind whether he was around or not. In reality, Brendon took up about ninety percent of his thoughts, consumed probably as much of his free time be it with him physically or writing about him or trying to see him, etc. He would care if something happened to him, and he cared about what he thought and what he opined, and generally he just gave a fuck - couldn't express it, though, lest both of them undergo a huge change. Or maybe he was just a coward in his own right.

In these rare moments where he dragged up the courage to do it, though, like that entire honest time in Seattle, he knew he was hard to believe no matter how genuine he was. Brendon definitely looked unconvinced. You sure you’re not just worried they won’t save a piece for you? Ryan shut his eyes again, shaking his head less in annoyance and now just disappointed in himself for leading Brendon this far astray from the truth. All because he was scared of change. Funny how it took you seeing me making out with some other guy to even say that to me. Ryan's original abrasive composure had broken, now apologetic and trying hard to keep it under wraps; it'd likely just make Brendon more cynical if he saw the remorse on his face and couldn't discern whether it was real or not. You’ve actually met Ian before. I introduced him. I hung off his arm and he touched my waist and you didn’t even notice because you don’t fucking care if there’s anything emotional going on, as long he doesn’t take your fucking fuck buddy away from you, it’s fine. Ryan regarded him more carefully, recognizing how hurt he felt with ease and feeling it hard, reflected back. He couldn't help, couldn't fix it, and he was the cause. It was hell.

"Don't make assumptions if you're going to be that far off the mark," he said, quieter, shifting his gaze away uncomfortably. Clearly he'd dodged touch too much, climbed away too quickly when they woke up together, because Brendon knew a person who was completely not him, not someone anyone who'd ever known Ryan had met. He was deathly sorry that Brendon was apparently the first to see that side of him, the first to be presented with that impostor. Yes, it is, because we don’t do anything else but that. True. Ryan almost argued that if he was given the choice Brendon probably wouldn't want to go out on some date night, either, but. It wasn't him being unfair - it was the circumstances in general. What is it to you, then, Ryan? I’m all ears. Got all night. You ruined my original plans. Ryan watched him back towards the couch and collapse onto it, the conversation (confrontation) clearly breaking his spirit, and wished he had an answer.

In his head he had some monologue going. 'Maybe I want to be boyfriends,' 'maybe I wish it could be more,' so forth. He nearly argued that Brendon had never shown any sign of it being something more to him - but then he was the one finding an Ian. He wasn't the one throwing a fit about no exclusivity, he wasn't the one calling them something they weren't, wasn't the one making claims. Brendon, in fact, looked like he hated him, a look he was very used to but somehow now he felt it in his core. Moving fucking speech, but forgive me for not believing you. Ryan instantly blushed, embarrassed when he'd been truthful and it didn't go over well. He hadn't been expecting open arms, or anything, but still hadn't prepard himself for mortification. Why the fuck should I not think you’re just doing this to do your permanent hard-on a favour? Ryan shoved his face in his hands, bewildered by how far astray Brendon had been led from knowing what kind of person he really was, how he really wasn't like that but somehow had put on a convincing enough show to seem like it. All to save them from exposure. Somehow it didn't seem worth it anymore.

Speaking of which, will you leave me alone in return for me sucking your dick? ‘Cause that’s clearly all you want. Ryan took his face from his hands and dropped them at his sides, looking at Brendon disbelievingly. "I didn't know," he said, then paused, shutting his eyes and steadying his voice. He wasn't angry at Brendon, he reminded himself - he was angry with himself for screwing up his chances this bad, for fucking up Brendon's perception of him so much. "I didn't know how badly I misled you. If you really think I'm like that, then I fucked up beyond belief, Brendon, and I'm sorry. I thought- I thought I was being convincing for other people, I didn't think it was- I didn't mean to hurt you." He dropped his gaze to the floor, toying with his hands anxiously, his brow furrowed with distress. "I'm sorry about Ian."