jakob

cherries, cherries

Ryan didn't know what he was expecting when he applied at the local shelter. He wasn't qualified for much so maybe just walking the dogs, cleaning the lobby, what have you - and it started out as that, yeah, but things were getting a little too real. The other day, when they were short-staffed, he came to help give vaccinations. Okay - just holding each dog that came through still and helping them calm down, but even then, it felt like a lot. Ryan figured if he didn't have a degree then he basically contributed about the same as a bulldozer passing through the veterinary offices. Alas, his supervisors trusted him way too much, and as such his responsibilities had increased drastically and all he thought about all day was what he'd be doing when he got to work. It was troubling when he was a senior in high scool and should probably be focusing on, say, getting every grade up to par with his English marks, but whatever. As busy as he became (and overwhelmed by the fact that he was actually doing important things, not just the whole food service worker/cashier deal half of his classmates got), Ryan loved animals, so. It was a pretty sweet gig.

And, four to nine, that gave him time away from home. He was sick of the extremes. Complete, deafening silence, or indiscernible crashing and distant swears at... the world, dad's boss, the couch for being in his way. There was always something. And no longer did he have to rely on maybe being able to sneak some cash from his dad's wallet for groceries, or new clothes, or gas. Ryan didn't make a lot, but he made enough to rescue his dwindling pride. Who knew - eventually he might be able to afford a place of his own... but maybe that was ambitious thinking after only a handful of months. He liked the job for now, knew it wasn't his career (Ryan had that all mapped out - he'd be making music and no one could convince him otherwise) but if he was going to have it for a while, maybe that initial like would go away. People got stuck in deadend jobs for years, started being assholes because they were sick of it but needed the guaranteed pay. So help him if he ended up like that.

Anyway. He'd been tasked with grooming. It was hard to do something wrong there - and if there were qualifications he was supposed to meet, apparently he came closest out of everyone else around. Pretty simple, really. He knew how to shave, and evidently that translated into how to trim a dog's coat. Or do the 'trim everything but the head, tail, and paws' look some people asked for, leaving the poor animal to look like a goofy lion. And to think these were once predators. Anyway, after a couple of weeks he was getting the hang of it, coats looking shiny and blown out upon leaving, absolutely no weird dog smell to hear of. It was a weird accomplishment to brag about - which Ryan didn't, and he showered constantly lest he come to school evidencing the smell of a dog shelter, god forbid his group of friends call him out in the middle of a cafeteria for his silly part-time - but, seriously. This was all making him very excited for the day he could actually get his own job.

The downside: he had to actually take the appointments at the front desk. Ryan was anything but happy to talk to clients, even if he'd mastered the 'customer service smile' and learned the classic politeness script. Hi, how are you, who's this with you, how can I help you... if all else fails, ask them about their dog, everyone loves to brag about how well-trained they are or show off their goofy name, whatever. Ryan was running through all of this when the next client came through the door - actually, he sort of recognised this kid, he was a year younger but in the same band course anyway. Some kind of advanced student in that respect. No offense, seeing how he behaved when there wasn't an instrument occupying his hands, he doubted he'd be advanced elsewhere. Anyway. Ryan kept his head down most of the time, not out of shyness or an unwillingness to participate, but at this point in senioritis he didn't wanna fucking talk to anyone, so he didn't know his name right out. Brandon? Sounded about right, but not totally. Brandon-whatever was holding his Jack Russell terrier like a baby, close to his chest, and Ryan became a little worried that maybe he was hurt, couldn't walk or something. But the dog was wiggling around happily, clearly uninjured and just graced with an owner who spoiled him.

Ryan pushed all of his homework assignments aside and glanced over the line of appointments, finding a 'Brendon/Bogart grooming@11:30.' Brendon. That's what it was. "Hi," Ryan said as Brendon got to the counter, Bogart still squirming enthusiastically in his arms, trying desperately to give him kisses. Ryan stared for a second, because usually dogs got this sense of dread about shelters, but apparently Brendon had avoided whatever trauma instilled that in them with his dog. Worked out well for Ryan. "Right on time. If you have somewhere else to be, we can just take him to the back, and call you when he's ready." Ryan was moving out from behind the counter, gesturing Brendon along while he went down the hallway to their room with standing baths, shower heads galore. He tapped at one of the baths, retaining the friendly customer service smile. "We start by cleaning with an all-natural tearless shampoo, then a cream rinse conditioner. After that we clean ears, nails, maybe brush out the coats. Sound alright? You're not one of those people that's, like, 'Fido needs a special oatmeal bath, only the best for my dog,' right?"

For a moment it was bizarre to be almost-bantering with a classmate he'd probably said three words to before. Actually, images of Brendon getting snapped at for being fidgety or awkwardly, unsubtly chatty popped into mind and he hoped he wasn't just stirring the pot, but then again this was all only when he wasn't otherwise being stimulated by the coursework. The guy seemed to genuinely pour his soul out into band. Still, not sure about other classes, but he was talented - and that was pretty much the extent of Ryan's knowledge on him. Years of keeping to himself really hadn't helped this first official conversation, if you counted it as one.

if it's a dream, don't wake me

Interviews were, in fact, not Ryan's forté. They always went the same - how are you, what inspired the album, how is the tour going, our fans are asking if you're going to this godforsaken country next - except some threw some invasive questions in for good measure, and usually those were predictable too, but recently he'd had a new 'scandal' to talk about. Who's the strange mystery man you've been dragging around everywhere? Who's standing with you at all of the post-show signings? Is it true you've been paying him this ludicrous amount or that ludicrous amount? Ryan was all right with talking about Brendon, but he sort of didn't know whether Brendon was okay with being talked about, so he dodged those questions pretty well. Typical 'just a friend' or, even more vaguely, 'just another hire for tour.' Those pictures they pulled up as reference, though... if he didn't look overtly gay before, the way he looked at Brendon had to be some kind of tell. Yikes. He wondered how to break the news to his 'just a friend.'

Mostly he wondered what Brendon was doing back at the hotel with no responsibilities. Probably figuring out that kettle he supposedly didn't know how to use (sure, Brendon, just easily bored and scared of the premise that he would be bored for hours). For a while there he got to text back and forth with him, his phone placed only a little unsubtly on the armrest of his chair lighting up every time the inteviewer got a question out. He was going to give short, flavorless answers anyway, he didn't see the deal with making it entertaining for himself. Eventually, unfortunately, Brendon stopped responding, and Ryan had to sigh, put the phone away, and actually say more than 'yes,' 'no,' or 'I don't know,' or the more tasteful 'I'm not sure.' Hey, Ryan, what's the whole reinvention about? You look different lately... Nothing but a very attentive new makeup artist. Who may have yelled at him as he walked out the door for only wearing a hoodie and not following the exact steps to making up his improved hairstyle (Ryan had eventually compromised for the apparently mandatory leather jacket and stood in the mirror for another twenty minutes to correct his hair - even on his off days, Brendon was right).

After a moment of the place looking empty, Brendon reentered the living room from his bedroom, and Ryan's eyes lit up at the sight of his hoodie, just a little too long on him and hanging over his hands. Brendon, the princess, in casualwear was sweet enough to him, but in Ryan's? Yeah, he was going to have trouble keeping the nature of their professional relationship in order. Uh, thanks? Ryan leaned forward, nodding enthusiastically, to retrieve the mysterious takeout box from the coffee table. One, singular chicken wing. Brendon was so damn thoughtful. He sat back and curled into himself again while he started picking at it, grinning in amusement. "Thank you for saving some. Very generous." He supposed he'd see from the trash later exactly how much that order originally constituted - and, from the rest of the hotel room, what the hell Brendon had been up to during his time alone. Seeing the evidence of his bizarre antics was sometimes funnier than everything that happened itself.

Somebody’s been on a splurge. "A little," Ryan said through a bite of chicken, but he was more focused on his hands than at the splurge anymore. It seemed to take Brendon a minute to catch on that the shopping trip wasn't for Ryan himself - obviously, as Ryan bought new clothes maybe once a year, and they definitely wouldn't be from these brands all laid out - and after the pause, Ryan glanced at him, curious. What did he expect? Surely Ryan's propensity for giving Brendon literally anything and everything had shown its face already. Are you serious? "Dead." Ryan sat up again, leaning forward and setting his elbows on his knees while he watched Brendon dig through the bags, a grin rising to his face in wait for approval. There’s Gucci here, Ryan. Ryan laughed lightly, shrugging. "Is that still cool? I thought Gucci lost traction, but apparently it's back."

Jesus, okay. The way Brendon looked at him. Definitely worth his while - and the money. Ryan's grin dimmed into a dizzy smile, softening. Am I your sugar baby now? God, I almost don’t wanna look at anything, it’s above my pay grade. "Debatable. I'm not cool enough to be a sugar daddy. Maybe a sugar uncle." He seemed to actually mull it over for a second before waving at the bags again, dismissive. "There's a, like, jean jacket in there that's really cool. But... if the gay rumors weren't already really bad, they'll be worse now since I got caught buying it." He stood up to root through the Gucci bag, pulling out the embroidered denim jacket, testing the shearling again gingerly. "Here. See? Floral. Only you can get away with that."

nothing friendly at all

Hey, don’t worry about it, I don’t judge. Brendon, Ryan decided suddenly and with clarity, was stupid. But he was kind of funny, so Ryan laughed begrudgingly, shaking his head incredulously. "Whatever you say. I don't need any pointers. You'll feel me for weeks." But he couldn't say that without laughing, either, so Ryan grinned again through another rush of breath. Despite the kidding around the premise of a next time was very appealing - or at least it was at the moment. Who's to say how they'd feel in a couple weeks' time, or maybe even less? Brendon and Ryan, when it came to one another, were known to flip a switch pretty quickly. For now, though, appealing. Anytime, baby. That chance that maybe they wouldn't feel so inclined come some time for rationality and logical thinking disappeared in his mind when he met Brendon in another kiss, simple and short but something like sealing a deal, confirming that promise permanently.

Ryan's natural reaction to criticism of Keltie was to almost-defend her (not that he'd be so withheld, say, a day ago; he could at least pretend to care in full when they were still mutually together, defend as much as he was able) and Brendon gave him a sharp look almost instantly. Ryan swore he recoiled somewhat himself, but there wasn't much space to do so, must've been in his head. For a moment he was afraid maybe that was it, that was the end of the line, he'd found the point where this became unacceptable to Brendon... for whatever reason. Was Brendon jealous? If this were any other time Ryan would relish in the thought of that. He'd gotten Brendon jealous with such a tiny display. Now, it was just a little confusing. Brendon clearly had no idea what superiority he held. Maybe he and Ryan weren't together and never had been, but they had an understanding, some weird unspoken connection that he didn't feel with his now ex-girlfriend. The magnetism between him and Brendon was palpable, but when it was him and Keltie, nothing. Just Keltie's initial, contagious infatuation, stretched out beyond its time of death. Thankfully, Brendon didn't say a word, even if Ryan could tell there was still an edge neither of them dared mention.

You’re pretty, but you’re really, really dumb. Something about his voice. Ryan would be offended, but - he was so glad Brendon was coming close again, catching him with welcoming arms, endeared by that fondness in his sleepy voice. He locked their hands together, gentle and forgiving, pulling the joint hands to his lips until he kissed the back of Brendon's. With that, obviously eye contact was out of the question. They were complicated like that. Ryan kept looking nervously away while Brendon leaned to kiss his neck, shutting his eyes tight when Brendon came to rest his head comfortably in the crook of Ryan's shoulder. He'd been practically single for a while, now, but this felt startlingly close to boyfriends, and that... wasn't the first time Ryan was thinking that. The more he got that intrusive thought stuck in his mind, the less scary it became, but Brendon's reaction if he were psychic was definitely terrifying to think about. Maybe he should distance himself from this weird, overly affectionate behavior, then.

Ryan maintained a level of discomfort with their sensitive circumstances, keeping his gaze away, but Brendon's hand came to wrap gently around his jaw and drag him back over. Ryan went with no fight, exhaling softly against Brendon's lips before kissing back, feeling something like relief. Maybe I should’ve told you to fuck off. Ryan didn't quite respond to the next kiss, thinking more 'what the hell is he onto.' I’d be able to like, walk, then. Oh. Ryan visibly relaxed, a soft smile gracing his features while he watched Brendon grimace even after the tiniest amount of effort. You’re trouble. "Oh, yeah?" He turned a bit more on his side, reaching out until his bicep acted as a pillow for Brendon's head and his forearm wrapped around his shoulder. He squeezed his arm, endeared, searching his face again. "You're kind of trouble, too. I'm sure I won't have a Brendon-free thought for a while." God. A little while ago, that was sort of true, but they were remarkably different kinds of thoughts then. "Not that I mind."

There was a certain anxious energy thrumming below the surface, which Ryan supposed was pretty typical of him, but still. Concerning. His eyes dropped to Brendon's lips, considering, and wondered how exactly to phrase all of his curiosity. 'What are we?' That sounded a lot like asking... if they'd be something established, and if he asked that, there was the chance that it'd come off as if he was proposing something established. Maybe he'd do it if he didn't have such a clear image in his head of Brendon looking horrified in response. After a pause he pursed his lips, thoughtful. "What now?" He stroked the thumb wrapped around Brendon's shoulder over his skin carefully, wondering how the hell to expand. "I know it's stupid, but. I can't see myself acting the same." Like they hated each other. Which he supposed they probably did, and he'd probably remember as soon as he wasn't inches away from kissing him again.

searching for a feeling

Thrown for a loop in memories, old lyrics were worming their way into Ryan's thoughts, relevant ones like back to the street where we began - though calling them 'lovers' may be something of a stretch. Still, they were taking steps backwards, here. Ryan didn't totally believe it to be that way. If he did want something more, wasn't this progress? Maybe time apart had matured them, maybe they could make it this time, maybe, maybe, maybe. Or maybe time had passed differently for Brendon and he was in no rush to find something real, expanded fame and a change in circumstances made him even less drawn to commitment. Of course, Ryan could just outright ask, but he was better at torturing himself over these things than he was at being forward and direct. And the premise of scaring Brendon off was really not something he loved to think about, either. Hey, I’m pretty sure we counted. Ryan glanced at him sideways, smirking, and shrugged. Hey, nobody knew - as far as they were aware - but there was definitely some scandal there. People wrote ridiculous, far-fetched fiction about this stuff online. If only Brendon and him went public, god. The response would be cataclysmic.

He could see Brendon practically jittering and related too entirely, feeling foolish, his body thrumming with unspent energy - even though it seemed like they'd quickly expended a lot. He wasn't even sure where it was coming from. Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two - maybe Brendon had been right there. It was before the split, before anything, really, but perhaps Ryan was exaggerating all the memories of what'd happened between them. It would explain why he felt like every sense was amplified, like he was vibrating out of his skin. He stilled himself despite all of that, self-conscious and therefore not quite helpful to Brendon's cause even though he was definitely strongly supporting his own cause, here. One of them, anyway - the one where he wanted something beyond what they'd ever been was what he reluctantly neglected. Apparently his sudden slowness was confusing, though, because Brendon became hesitant, almost sheepish. This is what you meant, right? Ryan grinned, quick to smooth a hand down Brendon's chest reassuringly. "Of course," he said hastily, charmed by Brendon's timid backtrack - and how it was actually pretty thoughtful. "If I ever change my mind about that, then I've gone crazy, believe me."

The slight changes between both of them were welcome, every memory of a soft, more unassuming Brendon shifting to match this new version of him, his hair fully out of his face now to present every clear, sharpened feature, muscles formed from God knows where, wardrobe shifted to compliment all of his perfection otherwise. Your melody sounds as sweet as the first time it was sung, with a little bit more character for show; yeah, that's what it was. More character. Brendon was finding his own. It seemed like some separation from a very controlling creative department - Ryan wasn't naming any names - was helpful to him. But it didn't matter how strongly Ryan felt about him, Brendon was making it clearer by the moment that he didn't want this to evolve into anything more. 'For now' was all Ryan could think, and maybe that was unhealthy or overly wistful or even inconsiderate of Brendon's wishes, but. He just couldn't believe him. If Ryan was this invested, even after time apart, even after meeting other potentials (and not being interested), there was no way it couldn't be returned at least a little bit. Ryan was never confident in much, but in this, he was.

Shirt discarded, Brendon was quick to explore his skin, watching all the way. Ryan kept his gaze trained on his face, picking up on the appreciation and feeling a warmth all throughout; sometimes he was glad that Brendon was occasionally all too obvious. When he became tactile in return, Brendon seemed to twitch away for a moment before relaxing, eyes slipping shut - and Ryan thought, yes, he missed him, too. If I ever leave I could learn to miss you... He'd agonized over that one for a considerable while. Now, it was less agonizing. Yeah. Shit. More rules. Tentative, Ryan waited with bated breath, Brendon's affectionate gesture of throwing his arms around his neck and speaking spectacularly close only bringing a tidbit of comfort. Nobody can know. Oh. It did hurt, a little. It would much more if he hadn't sort of figured that was part of the agreement anyway... an unfortunate thing he'd accepted for a long time. He knew it was to avoid complications and invasive questions and all of that, but he wished he could, like, yell from the rooftops, talk about Brendon openly with anyone and everyone who would listen.

Despite understanding, Ryan still ached, and he was silent, half-responsive when Brendon kissed him again, soft as ever. He couldn't manage the enthusiasm back into his expression, not quite. And y’gotta let me top you. After a moment, Ryan laughed, leaning his forehead against Brendon's again and letting his eyes fall closed. "You're cute," he teased, a hand lifting from Brendon's waist to rest at his temple instead, thumb stroking over his skin fondly. "Sure, if you're up for the challenge. Anything for you, baby." Oops. Baby was more Brendon's thing - Ryan didn't think it rolled off the tongue quite as much for him. But "Sentimental Boy" is my nom de plume... Maybe that was true these days. 'Nobody can know' replayed in his head, and Ryan bit his lip, meeting Brendon's gaze and trying to mask his sudden uncertainty. He agreed, of course, it just sucked, and with that rule specifically he was growing less confident that maybe they were on equal terms here.

"But... you're right. Nobody can know, sure." His lips quirked again, bittersweet, and he finally leaned in again, the hand at Brendon's temple shifting to hold the back of his head instead while he caught him in another kiss, couldn't resist it. He gently caught his lower lip between his teeth, lightening his own slightly dropped mood, and pressed more long, drawn-out kisses to his cheek, drifting aside leisurely. "Hey..." He spoke between kisses, his eyelids at half-mast. "I have... my own rule." A prolonged kiss at his cheekbone, right by his hairline. "You have to try not to make me too jealous onstage, 'kay?" He was only kind of kidding. Ryan laughed softly close to his ear before catching his earlobe, leaning forward just barely to lean Brendon back with him.

calendar business

Back in suburban Colorado, where Ryan grew up, the stars were no rarity - but they were nothing like what one might find in rural areas, where no artificial light has paled out that of the real stars, no pollution clogged up the sky. He never dwelled too heavily on them, really, it was the moon and the sun Ryan was most drawn to when the sky was concerned, but he understood the common obsession. When he moved out here, finally alone alone rather than very aware of the distant presence of someone else uncertain and unsettling in his home, looking up at the stars felt like his only company. Most nights it wasn't just the black with scattered, bright twinkles that most acknowledged as the extent of an evening sky. Rather, it was a luminous picture of violets and burnt reds and cobalt blues, all overlaying the void that the stars were sprinkled throughout. He could write an epic poem about the image if he ever took the time to think of things not in his contract these days, and if he ever felt charmed enough to step outside and enjoy the peace for once. By now, he'd grown used to it.

But he could say that about many things, and since Brendon arrived, his enthusiasm for life in general had returned (returned? he wasn't so sure it was ever there in the first place). That wasn't to say Brendon was this animated cartoon character dusting up rooms and Mary Poppins-ing the place up, bringing life to every corner; he was a New Yorker, far from all of that cliché bullshit. But he had a quality about him. With his wide vernacular and every word in his personal dictionary, Ryan could not put a name to it. Brendon played along with his still socially awkward quips, came up with responses to his still dry conversation, was patient with how closed off and reserved he was. He made Ryan want to put a real name on his book, made him want to put a dedication in the beginning when, before, there'd been a blank page - his younger self was a cynic in that he didn't believe anyone deserved that place when there were two perfectly fine candidates. Brendon, without meaning to, improved his life as a whole. If he was corny, he'd say he completed him, even. But Ryan didn't even allow himself to think that kind of thing.

For all of that, Ryan didn't want him to leave. He didn't need a roommate, and he needed no more staff, but he didn't know what to call Brendon in order to make his stay appropriate. Sometimes he just resorted to accepting the fact that he was now, undeniably, a home for wayward kids - Brendon a city street rat barely escaped from Brooklyn, Ryan a Colorado runaway subsisting off of the overly generous royalties from his tragic works. He didn't know what they were. Ryan could comfortably call Brendon his best friend - though he hadn't done as much to his face, unfortunately - and there was probably something more to it that he wasn't quite ready to admit to. When Brendon was gone for a week, though, the place felt quiet, unlived in as it had been before despite Ryan inhabiting the house still. And he knew where Brendon was, too, with his old friends that he'd so impulsively abandoned, unable to deal with another budding addiction. Dealt with it once, didn't want to see it again, didn't even want to help. Maybe if he was considering Brendon his best friend, now, he should warn him that he'd never made for a very good one in the past.

Weird to think of where they'd started. Hi. What the literal fuck are you doing on my porch at eleven in the morning? He definitely still talked like that. Short, uncommunicative, blunt, all of that - just fonder. That stumbly, semi-forced meeting had turned quickly into something unexpected. Brendon was a musician, he learned fast, mostly from picking up on the typical signals - callouses, a learned ear, the brief admission that he had earned his degree - because of course Brendon rivalled Ryan in that he spared every detail about himself and didn't come out with information that easy. And then the dipping into Ryan's drinks - which, though it was something Ryan was fine with, certainly made for an awkward phase, becase he only addressed it when he found Brendon wasted and the guy for sure came onto him, without a doubt. Get on my knees? In a heartbeat, and, unforgettably, you're hot when you're mad, so on. Ryan made a point to try not to get mad at him anymore after that. Which was simple, considering every annoying habit Brendon had was gravely endearing.

Anyway, he didn't seem to remember it fully, so Ryan was left alone with the scarring memory. They'd since gotten along unbelievably well, a match undoubtedly not made in heaven. Brendon had patience with him, even when he was able to embrace Ryan and tell him he missed him and receive nothing back. Audibly, anyway. Ryan had grown used to that warmfuzzy feeling it gave him, grown used to responding in his head; if Brendon had acquired any skill at all while staying here, it was mindreading. Ryan's slow life, time a jelly, was a limbo for Brendon, and sometimes he wondered if Brendon longed for something different. Maybe he wanted to go home, maybe all of the awkward stammering about staying any longer was actually him being polite about asking to leave. But if Ryan thought about it too hard, he convinced himself it was true, so he avoided thinking about it at all, just relished the time in the studio with someone else who levelled with him, who seemed to resonate with all of his musical ideas and was in tune with any chord he played. His mind drifted in there, especially listening to Brendon play or sing; it was probably his innate talent that made Ryan think, fleetingly, about things like love and commitment, so much so that he sometimes had to cut the sessions short with lame excuses. Being embarrassed by his own thoughts, in his own 98% empty home, was an odd feeling.

Despite knowing that those unsafe thoughts entered his mind during times like those, when they were alone and basking in one another's company, Ryan still tended to indulge. He'd learned some time ago of Brendon's love for the night sky out here, and it gave him some more insight into his life that he so rarely talked about. Had he never travelled? Never been given a chance to see the world outside of roughed-up Brooklyn? He supposed Brendon wasn't much of a tough, scarred up escapee from the streets of New York City, but it still seemed like he'd just... not had a great go at life thus far. No adventure, nothing, if visiting up here was the best that he'd had. Ryan tried to write, but instead watched Brendon silently while he gazed up distractedly at the stars, always taking it all in as if it were the first time he'd seen them so clearly. Something about his inexposure to it was sweet, made Ryan want to show him everything and anything beautiful he'd never had the privilege to see before.

Ryan was memorizing his profile, every curve and careful lilt to his silhouette, especially now that he wore such an awed expression at the sky above, when Brendon looked his way at the abandoned notebook beside him. Avoidant, Ryan glanced away, as if he'd been looking at the sky all along himself. Any luck, then? Ryan hummed curiously, innocuous, like he hadn't expected Brendon to speak. He noted - with the practiced, careful observation he'd picked up such a habit of around Brendon - his instant self-consciousness and slightly smiled, wondering what exactly got to him this time. With writing, I mean. I see you writing constantly but you never seem to actually get anywhere, y’know? "I've always got a muse," Ryan said, somewhat mysteriously, and for Brendon's sake he kept his voice low, too. Brendon was the muse, really. All of that writing was, to say the least, not something that could be quantified into a commercially selling book. Unless suddenly the whole world wanted to hear all about Brendon and Ryan's views on him, blanketed in the usual metaphor and poetry/prose mix, that is. "Just... nothing that I can show to the publishers." He glanced back at Brendon finally, having kept his gaze straight up ahead previously.

Distantly he thought about how it was ironic, Brendon was a figure like the sun to him and in all his lyrical little notes to self, and he was so in love with these stars laid out above him. "I don't think you're as much of a city person as you might've resigned yourself to be. It's sweet, how much you love a clear night sky." Only recently had Ryan grown a little more comfortable with saying things so obviously semi-affectionate like that, but still. He sort of cringed at his word choice. He chewed his lip for a moment, considering, then looked back at the sky, suddenly feeling playful. He leaned over to Brendon until their gazes were aligned towards one point, lifting an arm and pointing randomly at the stars. "Look, those collected stars there - that's Cassiopeia, the constellation. Neat, right?" Keeping his face fixed forward, Ryan betrayed a tiny smirk, amused by himself.

if it's a dream, don't wake me

Ryan was getting a whole lot of shit about how he treated his new stylist. He'd arranged for Brendon to make at least five grand every tour day that he worked, and that was just for making up Ryan's crew - if another band that might accompany their show needed him, or a dance crew didn't come prepared, they were a whole other cheque to deposit. And his label did not like that. At least, not until they saw what a good job he'd done, mostly in ensuring that Ryan was actually presentable to the public eye and no longer looked like a homeless little newsboy, forever young and jaunty and awkward. Now he matched somewhat more to his personality; Brendon assembled him a wardrobe of leather and more casualwear and the occasional homage to his old, offbeat style, with the old-fashioned coats and often bizarre footwear. He'd changed his hair, too, made it less boyish and helped reduce the endless youthfulness of his face, added an edge that he didn't quite have before. And the dumb (but, at the time, very popular) makeup he used to do on himself was fully out of the question, whereas he'd only been sort of weened out of the habit when Brendon came into the picture.

So the pay was special treatment, sure, but Ryan was a bit too inappropriate. He couldn't help it - they met at a bar, and if Ryan hadn't learned first of Brendon's work and wanted to throw him a bone so badly, he might've asked him to be his forever rather than work as his stylist. It didn't matter much; Ryan figured eventually he could have both. But Brendon was special, in his eyes, required a lot of charming and attention that he was more than willing to give. Ryan still flirted with him when he could get away with it, cast careful glances at him in his reflection when he was sat backstage being made into a whole new person, left him little personified lyrics all about how much of an effect he had on Ryan and how stunning he was, made fleeting touches that looked overly fond. He'd been playing this game for a strong three months, never outright trying to ask Brendon for any commitment or put a label on them just because he'd never been given any surefire, definite signs that his interest was as strongly returned. He was dumb, but not dumb enough to start something where he'd be unbelievably more invested. And also it was probably not best to start a relationship while on tour, so. He waited.

Ryan promptly ignored all of his label's complaints or otherwise deflected them - 'you can't give your boyfriend more money than the rest of the crew, Ryan,'; he's not my boyfriend, he's a highly qualified stylist, so fuck you, he'll make what he earns - and continued on with his reckless behavior, because whatever, he was a goddamn rockstar, had been since he was a teenager, and he could do what he wanted. Yeah, that totally justified it. That and the fact that he really was awed by Brendon. He could tell even people who might otherwise be put off by the fact that Ryan was treating him differently didn't mind much, all because they eventually met Brendon and realized that, yeah, it made sense. Yeah, we'd probably give him special treatment too. Ryan was glad for that, but of course ensured people kept at a distance. Not to be a cockblock or anything, but none of these assholes were good enough for his maybe saved future boyfriend. Bookmarked, if you will. Maybe he was being a little too ambitious... but that was his entire career, he knew no other way to approach things, and if Brendon minded, he hadn't seen any evidence.

In fact, Ryan was more forward and enthusiastic about it all in his head than he really was in person. He knew if he was coming on too strong he'd scare off not only an employee but also someone he considered a good friend, so. Ryan spared him very honest compliments, cast flirty glances, sang him songs, but he never overstepped boundaries or tried anything particularly scandalous. He was sweet. If he freaked Brendon out he'd feel guilty about it for life. Anyway, he was realizing what kind of thing Brendon liked most, if only to score some more brownie points with him - and he happened to be very easy to please. For Ryan, anyway. Anyone else might go bankrupt. Typical to his job, Brendon was very into fashion, or at least into getting fashion onto himself; he was somewhat hedonistic, maybe not entirely materialistic but he appreciated a shopping spree. And Ryan could totally do that, hell yeah.

They were coming off of their brief tour, finally, after those couple of months, and in wide open New York City, where any store was available to him. He'd been waiting for a big city. They'd been to a handful, but this was the jackpot. Ryan stopped into Prada for a few jackets, some shoes, all things he'd seen similar styles to on Brendon's Instagram feed, and he definitely didn't know his size for certain but his best guess was based on the fact that he was little. Adorable, really. And, 'cause it sounded vaguely like a place he thought he'd heard rich people shopped at, Ryan popped by Dolce & Gabbana, grabbed some sunglasses for him, too. Tom Ford, more jackets, some suits. Chanel, though he'd honestly never, ever heard Brendon say anything about cologne or anything - he picked up something in far too decorative a bottle, vanilla-scented purely for the in-joke. More suits from Armani, bullshit from Gucci that looked like it appealed more to a very rich teenager, and, well. This wasn't high-end clothing, but he knew Brendon fairly well, so he grabbed candy and a couple of video games he knew absolutely nothing about, too. Maybe he was going a little far here. Whatever. Brendon's first tour coming to a close, he deserved a gift or fifty.

In his early days, Ryan's band couldn't even afford one room for all of them, but now everyone did whatever the hell they wanted - if you didn't want to bunk together, then you didn't have to, get your own room. He'd, quite literally, pestered Brendon about sharing a room, not totally out of any lustful intentions but because he did enjoy his company anyway. Lucky for him, Brendon was patient. With arms stacked with all of these shopping bags, some bizarre rainbow of wealthy brandnames (and a nondescript thankyouthankyouthankyou for shopping with us one from the corner store candy distributor), Ryan trekked up to their room, bursting through the door and opening his arms. "Happy almost-end-of-tour!" he proclaimed to what appeared to be an empty living room, pausing when he realized Brendon had probably trailed off to a kitchen or bedroom or something. Well. Did not go as planned. He gingerly started arranging the bags on the nearest couch so they wouldn't fall off and figured Brendon would come to the sound of Ryan raising hell, didn't go looking. "I bring gifts! And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them." Ryan collapsed on a separate chair, splaying out all his lankiness lazily.

searching for a feeling

It was true, Ryan poured his heart into his lyrics because he couldn't do so much with spoken words. The split itself was no huge deal - although he had, admittedly, been a shit about it at the time - because he'd seen it coming, and he and Spencer were bound to reconnect anyway. Brendon wasn't a guarantee, and Ryan grieved that loss so much, though it made little sense, that he turned what he felt into song. Well - most of it. And sometimes he had to twist the story into other things he didn't completely relate to lest he be a broken record, but still, there were so many standalone lines that were meant only for Brendon that he almost figured he'd never hear out of disinterest or otherwise. Even the happy, beachy songs that set the tone for the album like Take A Vacation included lines that called him back to memory; if this is settling down, then why aren't you here? All because initially it seemed like they were doing the wrong thing, making music without two key pieces to this puzzle of theirs.

Maybe we will, maybe we won't; their endless dancing around each other that he instantly regretted not taking a brave step forward into. Almost the entirety of 'Die Tonight' was his - it could practically be Brendon's intellectual property. But if I were to die tonight, would you cry or deny my place in your life? He'd never known where they stood, but when they tried to settle... I'm aware that you're scared of my heart, but it's here. Maybe that would be a little embarrassing to know that Brendon had heard it. Especially now, seeing him again... it'd been practically an invitation, and it still rang true, telling him he'd be waiting. Unknowingly, he supposed he had been. Every night is the same; go to sleep with our blame, and the shame is enough to separate us / but we can't help ourselves, we're in love, and it really hurts when it's wrong. The song spoke for itself. Perhaps sending Brendon the demos first so he could approve that much private thought about him being publicized was something Ryan should've considered - alas. A little too late now. And he wasn't freaking out, or anything, so maybe he hadn't heard or hadn't picked up on it.

The album wasn't the only thing he'd released, though, and Ryan was even more certain Brendon hadn't come across it. Lonely Moonlight was blanketed with metaphor and vagueness as per usual, and it was far too soft for anyone to even consider it might be about Brendon, his supposed arch-nemesis. In actuality: someone I love loves someone else; another day I lost all by myself. Maybe he wasn't in love, but it felt like it. Maybe he wasn't alone but it felt like it. And... maybe he was dramatic. Brendon probably wasn't writing melancholic love songs alone in a hotel room in the dead of night. Ryan tended to invest more in these things. 'Where I Belong's I know I should've never left, I'd gotten tired of being buried wasn't necessarily true anymore - he'd only felt 'buried' in those early times of Brendon taking his place, despite still being the main source of creative output. After the split the resentment over that had briefly returned, not just for Brendon but at everyone who'd played a role in turning over his lead as frontman. Anyway. The point was, Ryan had definitely dwelled too much on everything, and it seemed like Brendon was getting along fine - but he was a much more talented actor than Ryan.

And he had a writing team thinking about things more objectively. Hurricane, though, rang with the sound of Brendon - Ryan had grown familiar with his style, and some of the lyrics hit too close to be anything but his, alluding to not just Ryan but the split itself. It was spiteful, sure, and overconfident and cocky and resentful, but some pieces became desperate. You're behind my eyelids when I'm all alone... He didn't come and speak to me, or put my heart at ease... Fix me or conflict me, I'll take anything. It was a stretch, and at least one of those was about God considering the context, but still. There had to be some element of Ryan. And 'Trade Mistakes'... and 'The Calendar,' god. And I meant everything I said that night. Ryan had practically memorized the entire album by the second day it came out, on the floor of his bedroom, replaying-replaying-replaying, analyzing every word and ignoring the hurt when he thought he'd detected something. What was worse, somehow, was that it seemed like Brendon was doing a better job moving on.

But. He couldn't bring all of that up now, interrogate Brendon about what his words meant. A clean split? Ryan paused, reconsidering, then pursed his lips. His mind drifted to the same place as Brendon's unknowingly. Here I am, composing a burlesque... He'd been mad about leaving all his lyrics behind the first night alone, but a couple days, give or take, and he'd grown accepting of the fact that that was all Panic's property, not his. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Is that what we’re calling it now? Ryan tilted his head, good-natured. "Compared to other bands, sure. Hey, no one went off on a drug binge, none of us have any sex scandals, everyone's excited to see each other... I'd say we're doing pretty good." Well. Ryan had come pretty fucking close to snapping for a minute there, but he'd had Jon. Still he considered it all good, every cited difference and every annoyed comment and argument they'd all had with each other towards the end now officially moot. It'd all been in the heat of the moment - or, at least, Ryan never meant any of the hurtful words that might have left his mouth. Brendon's dismissive shrug kept him from going back to that, though.

Everything, anything, make me yours. The guy was a goddamn poet. It was just more fuel for that shared kiss, and maybe something Ryan would store in his brain for, like, ever. Make me yours. He wished. Wished he had the courage to ask without being afraid of the answer, wished he could prove that they could be something real without it failing, wished they'd worked out in the first place. He could feel Brendon's hesitation, though, and allowed him the pause, giving some space by leaning back somewhat. That’s fine, but- I think, that, uh, we need some ground rules. Ryan stayed shut up, uncertain, and just watched him cautiously, still not quite moving to help or encourage the removal of his shirt. Honestly he wasn't too excited about the reveal, either. Self-conscious through and through. At least it gave them an excuse to not make constant eye contact during what seemed like it was going to be a serious, almost uncomfortable conversation.

To stop us fucking shit up again. Ryan would be offended if he wasn't absolutely right. His brain had just blocked out that part, all the fucked up stuff. Like- we can have our steamy second love affair but this time, only for this tour. No longer. Ryan's mouth quirked slightly, and he wasn't going to say anything, but that was hard to believe. Just for this tour... and then what? They'd think about each other until the next equivalent partner? Ryan was sure he wouldn't meet someone who affected him as much as Brendon. As much as he'd like to abide by these 'ground rules,' he'd wanted to win Brendon over since about ten minutes ago, wanted to try again officially. Brendon wasn't just a hook-up, even if that hook-up would last the length of a tour. He was a lot more. Figuring he could probably change his mind in time, Ryan slowly nodded after a moment, shrugging his shoulders free of fabric. "Sure," he murmured impassively, pulling his arms through the sleeves and dropping his shirt to the floor. "Works for me." He tucked his fingers into Brendon's waistband, totally innocuous, and explored the expanse of his skin, thumbs finding his hipbones and hooking there. He lowered his voice, expectant. "Any more of these ground rules?"

if we go on || b&r

Y’remember the first time? Ryan stared back, caught off guard, and realized Brendon's attention had dropped to his mouth, lip comfortably between his teeth. He was gorgeous, and Ryan admired for a moment before trying to stop Brendon's train of thought in its tracks. He should definitely not be thinking like that when he was this wasted. "Yeah, yes, but let's not dwell on that right now," Ryan said hastily, somewhat hypocritically considering his mind was already going a mile a minute just at the reminder. He sucked in a breath to cool it, but he'd already accidentally pressed Brendon on, watching his hands trail down the delicate line of bone, then to the slightly mussed collar of his shirt, cautious. Nah, I’d say you’re a good one. Brendon star of approval. I’ve slept with a lot of people, and not a lot of them get such an honour. Ryan's jaw practically dropped when he moved away. Who the hell tells their boyfriend 'I've slept with a lot of people' outright like that? God, only Brendon. Not that he hadn't already known anyway.

He could only watch Brendon bumble about uselessly for a minute or so before actually coming to his rescue, charmed by how wonderfully ridiculous he was. Even if he were sober, this would be pretty typical behavior. Ryan had to come close, had to wrap himself around him again, had to support his weight like his life depended on it. The irresistibility Brendon demonstrated to him was much different from the kind that magazines and press and taglines all claimed of him. Sure he was beautiful to the outside world, it was easy to see, but no one saw this side, completely goofy and charming beyond belief and endlessly entertaining, not to the same extent that Ryan got to see. You break my bank. Worth it, though. You’re sexy. Ryan stopped to look at him like he was crazy because no one called him that, ever, but Brendon was already leaning in, as if it was nothing. Easily, Ryan caught him, basking in the warmth that was them cuddling this close again, even upright.

Ryan thought maybe he'd just fall asleep before the conversation continued, but Brendon was admitting to loving him seconds later, and. That would be a lot to take from anyone. Obviously it was always flattering. But Ryan was his first real, real relationship, the first person he'd probably said it to in such a way, and. The pressure was on, sure, but that part of it was in the back of his mind for now. Just the fact that Brendon probably had spent time trying to put a word to his feelings, realizing that 'love' was the answer for them... and, more than that, he likely meant it. It held so much more coming from Brendon than from anyone else. Brendon didn't give this part of himself to anyone, even after years of the spotlight taking away so much that was supposed to be dear and private to a normal person. Ryan stared at him, stunned, and this was one of those times he was rendered speechless. Being told 'I love you' hadn't been something so important before - and he'd never felt so right and genuine in wanting to say it back.

Brendon, predictably, saw no big deal, even seemed confused by Ryan's state of shock. I love you. Ryan had no idea how to convey the mass array of emotions running through him, just kissed Brendon's head and returned the sentiment, wishing there were more powerful words for this. Well, there were, but Ryan would have to write it all down for him. He made a note to self to do just that before Brendon's showstopping smile was on his face and Ryan had, quite literally, never felt weaker, sinking against Brendon's hold when he held his face gently to kiss him. He closed his eyes, relaxing fully against him when he felt the faintest bite on his lip, followed by a garden more kisses planted along his jawline, ever so typical of Brendon. If I am, just tell me again.

Ryan's breath came out in a rush, his smile playing on his lips, and he kept his eyes blissfully closed. Brendon wasn't sober yet, but still he was grateful to finally say these words aloud, so- "I love you," he murmured, close to his ear, hand wrapped carefully around the other side of his head. "I love you so much. And I missed that smile. You forgive me now?" He was laughing slightly beneath his words, amused to think that just minutes ago they were bickering about Ryan being at the wrong apartment, of all things.

searching for a feeling

He is. Okay, great to know, and Ryan was over talking about him, but he remained patient, shifting his weight to one side and regarding Brendon with an expectant eyebrow. And yeah, he would. Sometimes we don’t know when to stop. And we wonder why people think we’re dating. Ryan chewed his lip, reserved, and thought about how that was kind of like them even at their worst because more casual fans didn't see through the stage act or the faux-friendly interviews where that infamous subtext was the only thing keeping them in line. He opened his mouth to ask 'why aren't you,' because of course he was on edge and bold interrogating was his specialty when he was like that, then decided against it - if the answer was anything like Brendon just not wanting to pursue anything with anyone, Ryan didn't want to hear it. He hadn't hit that point just yet, and he probably never would, if how he felt just seeing Brendon again was any indication. As it were he just laughed, softly, slightly belatedly, and dropped his gaze along with the topic.

Jon, ever his savior, came to replace any mention of the new bassist, ironically enough. Brendon seeming happy to hear about him was good news in Ryan's book. There'd always been that possibility that maybe, even though nothing bad happened to cause the split, he still held the missing members to a lower regard, didn't want anything to do with them. With Ryan, maybe that would be understandable, but Jon had been his best friend, too. And now, apparently, he still was one of them. Ryan was glad the whole new reinvention hadn't totally gone to Brendon's head. Tell him the feeling’s mutual. Ryan didn't see through the lie entirely, but he also desperately wanted to believe that Brendon had heard the new stuff they were so proud of, so he did. Ryan nodded obediently, a little smile returning to his face. "Sure - but give it a night, you'll be able to tell him yourself."

I’ll admit, I had my doubts about this tour. Seemed like the label wanted to feed off the ‘drama’ or whatever they fuckin’ hoped would happen. Oh, so they weren't going to ignore that whole thing. Ryan nodded again, this time cynical, almost scowling. "Yeah, I did too. Jokes on them - guess they weren't expecting us to have had a clean split." And they probably weren't expecting for Ryan to pretty much instantly come running back to Brendon for - whatever this was. It had initially just been to reconnect, he swore, and on some level he'd anticipated one of their old fashioned, quiet shouting matches, for whatever reason it may have ended up being, not that he wanted that at all. This was a little heavier than what he came to do, or at least it was once he'd realized that just looking at Brendon again settled a weight over his heart. No one should like anyone that much, it dawned on him. It got in the way of ambitions, of life, and maybe Ryan had gotten himself out of it the first time with the split, being able to take up another group with Jon fairly quickly, but here he was sinking back into the same ditch.

He was predictable to himself, at least, and felt a little sorry when Brendon laughed his disagreement. God, I wish you were. Ryan smiled at that - at least after all this time he could still surprise him; God knows Brendon could do it, too, the other way around, after seeing this new stage show, his new self. But it wasn't a bad surprise. In fact, the stunning new-and-improved Brendon played a part in bringing Ryan suffocatingly close again, both of them wrapping around one another in record time, lustful words spilling from Ryan's lips as if he were back out giving a show. Y’gotta be more specific. Ryan melted into his hold, sinking against him when his hands came around his jaw. I do a lot on stage. Better tell me straight, or I’ll end up miming blowing you and call it a day. Ryan tilted his head consideringly. "Miming wasn't exactly what I had in mind. We've got plenty of time to make up for, may as well do everything." He was grinning, almost like he was kidding, but really. Ryan could not think of a joke to make here if he tried.

Suddenly, though, and very typically of them, the scene turned softer, this kiss the most contained they'd been in - probably ever. Brendon seemed somewhat distracted but Ryan couldn't bother to question it; it felt like he'd been waiting for this, even despite thinking they wouldn't see each other again this close up. When they parted, Brendon's eyes were wide, and Ryan sort of braced himself again. I- Ryan... Ryan pulled a little further away, holding Brendon at length almost if only he could actually physically bring himself to do that. It's just that Brendon was never one to stammer over his words like this. I- I missed you. But, baby, I don’t know what you want. What is it that you want from me this time? Baby. Ryan searched his face, wondering if that was really what Brendon took him for, as someone who just... wanted something from him. He supposed he did - want his presence, companionship, whatever - but this made it sound like a business deal, as if Ryan had taken something from him before. He was speechless for a moment, then Brendon was already backtracking.

If it’s just the late nights, I think we can work it out. Ryan watched his face while his hands moved over his shirt, not stopping him but not quite helping, either. "Just you," he answered after another beat, lifting a hand to fit around the side of Brendon's face, stroke a thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm not saying boyfriends, I know, it doesn't work." Ryan seemed pretty disappointed by that fact, though, and 'yet' echoed in his head. They could totally turn that around by the end of tour. Probably. Just had to put in the effort. "I just want you. Whatever you can offer. See, I'm not picky." He grinned, amused, but couldn't help wondering why Brendon asked - was he hurt last time? Was he actually avoiding relationships like Ryan was worried about? Either way it seemed like this wouldn't go quite how he'd like.

dance in the rain

So maybe wanting Brendon around for practice was a little bit selfish. Jon and Spencer were easygoing enough to deal with during their daily lives, but as bandmates, they totally didn't respect Ryan's control freak, perfectionist tendencies. Spencer would stare him down whenever he subtly tried to change chords that either of them had settled on (usually by playing his own way and waiting for someone to notice and question him about it, which only happened nine out of ten times), or tell him to get out and stop looking at words when he'd taken too much time staring at one particular lyric figuring out the best alternative to it, or put him in instrumental time-out when his playing became particularly discordant whenever he was frustrated. That kind of thing. Jon looked like the child of two fighting parents whenever that sort of stuff went on, looking between them with his hands paused on his bass and wondering what their stupid silent best friend language meant. It was never arguing, but Ryan could be difficult and annoying at times, and he knew it.

Brendon, though, was the fourth part of this equation, an essential piece that made them all work together. Whereas Spencer was his unrelenting, honest second half, and Jon was their patient observer, Brendon was the one who could always lighten the mood and find a compromise. It was a little surprising considering, in their daily lives, he was the sort of childish one, immature and sweet on the surface, but really after so much time with him they'd all realized he was a lot more than what he seemed. When Ryan replayed-replayed-replayed one tiny snippet of a song, wondering how to perfect it, Brendon pulled him away from the obsession and found a way to fix it in himself in impossible time - not just that, but he fixed it so that Ryan liked it, too, stopped searching for an answer and torturing himself. When Spencer was close to snapping at Ryan for that kind of behavior, Brendon could detect the oncoming storm, made something lighthearted out of the circumstances and pulled them all away from the stress without even lifting a finger. And, well. Jon was just prone to secondhand stress, mostly, but Brendon knew to stay near him, made him feel less alone when the two who'd been friends for probably too long were being negligent.

Things were good so far, because Ryan hadn't been too bothersome yet - not that he'd really had a bad obsessive episode since Brendon even joined the band; the worst he'd been was worryingly quiet and self-destructive, staying awake for hours to piece together solutions, but that was enough to bother his bandmates - and Spencer hadn't called him on being self-isolating, dealing with things alone when they were in this together, or something, and Jon hadn't resorted to lighting up to mentally escape the two of them, but it was only a matter of time before the semi-relaxed air was no longer that. So. Brendon had to get up, as much as Ryan wanted to leave him alone. He had a hard job as both the peacemaker and the frontman, so he kind of deserved the rest, but maybe Spencer was right - sleeping 'til noon might be enough, even if he'd stayed up concerningly late as per usual. And Ryan wasn't going to tell Spencer that he sometimes encouraged that habit by staying up with him, not ever.

When he came in, though, Brendon seemed to know what was happening, pulling a pillow over his head in silent irritation. Ryan mentally rolled his eyes at the drama of it all. When the pillow was thrust off the bed fairly aggressively Ryan watched it, trying not to smirk lest Brendon's eyes open and he see Ryan laughing at his theatrics. Go away. That pout, big brown puppy-dog eyes, and he could get away with murder. Ryan pursed his lips desperately, but when Brendon's eyes shut again he allowed himself to smile, overly amused. I really hate you right now. Ryan's fingers started carding through the hair by his temple, maybe messing with him. "No, you don't," he said, almost sing-song, and then Brendon batted him away before turning away completely. Ryan took his hand back and leaned over the edge of the mattress, staring at the back of his head. "Oh. Maybe you do." He hummed to himself, knew Brendon wasn't totally serious but would be irritated by him for the rest of the day at least, and that sucked. Ryan could barely handle thinking he wasn't in Brendon's good favor for, like, a minute, even. Fucking Spencer, really. Should've come here himself.

Speak of the devil. At the mention of the drummer's name Ryan heard his long-suffering sigh and was met with Brendon's gaze again, which would be fantastic if he didn't look annoyed. Brendon really didn't look like that often - Ryan wasn't used to it. He sat back on his heels, hands freed of the muffin, and put on his best innocent face, willing Brendon to forgive him for this terrible crime. You’re dead to me. Ryan looked down, running a finger over the hardwood almost guiltily. "I'll be dead for real if we're not back in ten. So get over it," he returned bravely, trying to match Brendon's ruthless just-awoken attitude. You're like, Spencer’s little lackey. Ryan stood up, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, shrugging helplessly. "I got you an hour and a half more of sleep, you know. I was supposed to wake you earlier. Where's my thanks?" He was smiling gently, though, clearly having lost his resolve to be bold in facing a cranky Brendon. He pushed at his shoulder softly, gesturing at his breakfast. "Eat your muffin, drink your water, be nice to me. I'm your favorite." Ryan raised his eyebrows, amused, daring Brendon to tell him otherwise.