jakob

cherries, cherries

Ryan was maybe slightly concerned that this may end up more of a conversation with Brendon than an actual grooming session for his dog. Truthfully, Ryan was one of the most on-task people who worked here - and now here was a threat to his productivity streak. Not that he particularly minded. Brendon was funny, a bit antsy and anxious, and admittedly cute this close up. In a room full of other kids, his personality could come off almost obnoxious, but Ryan was now convinced that that was only his outlook in school when he was perpetually annoyed anyway. Right now, he was charming as ever. Yeah, I’d rather stay. He can be a nuisance- can’t you, Bogart? Ryan's easy laugh came almost immediately, grinning at Brendon fondly at his use of the classic baby talk. He heard it from others and tended to rolled his eyes, but really. Brendon pulled it off.

Oh, I don’t doubt you’re good with dogs. Ryan smiled breezily, feeling very aware of the pawprint embroidered on his work shirt. Ridiculous. Otherwise I’d be concerned as to why you were working here. He shrugged. "Just wish I had one. My, uh..." Ryan paused, wondering why he'd even got as far as 'my' when usually he was all right at dodging the subject. He maintained a cheery smile regardless, just tilting his head to the side. "My dad doesn't want one." Well, it was true. For whatever reason his mind drifted, and he wondered what kind of family Brendon came from. He somewhat knew already - had heard all of the 'big Mormon family' stuff, something like five kids running around that house and all of them were religious. Which was funny, 'cause Brendon really didn't act like it. In fact, Ryan was pretty sure he'd also heard something about weed in correlation to little, innocent Brendon, but maybe that was wrong, too. He was just... interesting. If they ended up friends, Ryan wouldn't mind that. He’s just- disobedient, to, like, everyone, apart from me. Ryan nodded understandingly, was almost excited to prove him wrong on that, 'cause he did it ninety percent of the time with other patrons. It made sense, anyway; dogs caught on to vibes fast, and Brendon had such a good energy about him. Not that Ryan would say that weird shit out loud.

Maybe Brendon was self-conscious, but Ryan felt no qualms with complimenting his singing. It was incredible. This he was self-concious about saying out loud: that Brendon could be a star, looked like he was born to perform, deserved to be doing something more meaningful than high school band. No one else he'd observed in class, not even their instructor, was as good as him at any one of his given specialties. Ryan had seen him sing, seen him play the drums, seen him on the guitar and the bass, even on the piano. Plus a few of the wind instruments - but everyone got forced over there at least once, so. It didn't hold up to much. But he was good at it all. (And Ryan had witnessed firsthand Spencer grimacing at his drumming talent, because Spence was trying to practice on his own with some yard sale drum kit he'd found for cheaps and he was definitely not that skill level.) Anyway. Yeah. Maybe he'd tell Brendon all of that someday, but not right now, where even looking his direction seemed to take him off guard.

So are you. Ryan stopped, looked up from all the supplies he was laying out and curiously searched Brendon's face. It was... flattering, that he'd even listened, let alone liked it. Ryan barely ever sang, and it tended to only be to his immediate friend group, which was... well. Spencer, usually. Some new lyrics, poetry he'd written he was trying to make marketable, whatever, and he never thought he was particularly great but he could sort of carry a note and he wanted to work on it. And Spencer wasn't the type to go on with compliments about his abilities - plus his uploads on LiveJournal never got attention - so this, just three little words, was sweet. He finally smiled, genuine and honest, at Brendon. Thank you. "Thank you," Ryan returned, hesitating for a moment before continuing on to Bogart.

He’s a little bitch. Ryan laughed openly, shaking his head sportively before offering Bogart a treat. He watched Brendon mumbled something to Bogart, heard his name in there, and figured it was just something comforting to keep him from panicking. I enjoy it. Ryan waited. He'd seen him in there. Had to be something more - related aspirations, something. And, I’m not really good at anything else... Apparently not. Ryan looked almost affronted, like Brendon had told Ryan he wasn't good at anything else. "Don't say that," he said, groundingly, catching Brendon's gaze and holding it. "Even if it was true, you fucking kill in there, so. I mean, you're the best in the class. I'm not kidding. It wouldn't be the worst thing to 'only be good at.'" He cracked half a smile again, less serious looking. "I joined 'cause I thought it'd get me into a real band, somehow. I'm an idiot. So far I've got Spencer and he can only kind of play drums. You know him?"

let’s pick up, pick up

Yeah, yeah, they hated each other, they took every opportunity to show it, but. Sometimes. Sometimes Ryan was afraid he'd gone a little too far. Of course, most peoples' 'too far' would quantify as a physical fight, something that would actually visibly hurt, but for someone like Ryan - shrimpy enough to have maybe a 10% chance of winning any given confrontation, intelligent enough to know exactly the most biting thing to say and which weak points to aim for when he was saying it - the psyche was a powerful battleground of choice. Brendon might take too long to come up with a comeback and he'd have divided feelings about that; joy that it'd struck true, worry that maybe Brendon was actually believing the bullshit. Worse, in the early days, Brendon didn't have responses for him, nothing that held up anyway. He didn't know Ryan, really, wasn't as comfortable being as cutting as he was right away, wasn't prepared for immediate backfire. He didn't want to make him... permanently insecure, or whatever, because the majority of - if not all the time - Ryan was just mad he couldn't accomplish what Brendon was. Fuck wanting and not wanting, though. If he was honest with himself, he knew he'd already made a fairly deep wound.

So, Ryan didn't care. Not out loud, not in actions, that is. But he sort of gave a shit whether or not Brendon really took anything to heart - Ryan himself didn't care what Brendon had to throw at him, he was self-aware, knew when something was true and when Brendon was pulling insults out of his ass just to keep the ball rolling. He watched closely, recently, just to be sure, because when he wasn't trying not to, Brendon tended to wear his expressions honestly, and. Really, Ryan didn't actually mean to hurt him. He never knew what to do with himself when he realized he'd struck a real nerve. Actually, the conversation usually ended there. Right now he could tell was just bullshit - incredibly surface-level for them, in fact, considering no one had analyzed the other's childhood and 'maybe that's why you are the way you are now' or 'look, I found a replacement for you,' so on.

Ryan kind of half-laughed at the sight of Brendon standing, arms crossed, looking slightly caught off guard, relished in it. He let his shoulders drop when his hand came back to him, relaxing as much as he could when he was, admittedly, fairly tense. Always was around Brendon. Oh, please. I could get them to pay me if I wanted to. You’re so sexually confused that you’d be first on my damn doorstep. Ryan watched him rub his arm, smirking. Maybe Brendon's words would've actually gotten to him if he didn't look a little too childish to be taken seriously at the moment. "Keep telling yourself that. It's cute that you hang on to such far-out dreams, though." He knew he was stupid to even respond, because obviously Brendon wasn't totally in the wrong. Maybe not first at his door, because Ryan had too much pride, and maybe not the doorstep. Maybe knocking at the side window, or something, with an excuse to get inside. He wasn't head over heels, like that exact verbage seemed to imply, he just checked Brendon out a little too frequently to be normal.

That’s right, motherfucker, take a good look. It’s all you’re ever gonna get. Die mad about it. Ryan actually laughed, full and genuine, and it would be almost like they were kidding around if there wasn't such a mean undertone to it. He shook his head at Brendon, nearly said something along the lines of 'you really think you're hot shit, huh,' but. As aforementioned. Apparently Ryan did too, at least subconsciously. So he couldn't say that without practically asking to be mocked for it. Don’t flatter yourself. And anyway- are you sure it’s a girlfriend? Ryan blinked, off his game suddenly. He thought Brendon didn't even pay attention to all of his complicated history. How many have you had before that poor girl you’re whisking along now with your sad damaged English dropout act? Ryan scoffed in the middle of his speech, loud and obnoxious, because fuck that, he didn't have an act, much less that. Still - he had to remind himself of where he was now to avoid overthinking it. Inner mantra and all - not an English dropout, a very brave pursuer of dreams, which have been achieved. So there.

I heard you’ve got some on the side. How about that? That true? "No," Ryan said immediately, almost protesting, and that was so boring, he could say something more, something to hurt right back, but he couldn't think of it. Maybe Keltie would like to know about Jac, and Helena, and... Ryan brought his hand up again to cup the side of Brendon's face, turn his head back to him from where he'd glanced to the bus, instantly cutting him off. "Shut the fuck up. What, do you keep a written record of it all? That a creepy hobby of yours, or are you just waiting for me to be available?" And they were so utterly high school that all he could feasibly do, all his subconscious could muster up, was to push at Brendon's shoulder, totally juvenile and annoying beyond belief.

your way

You'd think their main issue would be the fact that the foundation for whatever their relationship was now was something awful and mangled and toxic, but really, it was communication. If they didn't have that problem, Brendon would probably have expressed how bored he was in some way other than intentionally riling Ryan up. Truthfully they'd probably never said one honest thing to one another, except when Ryan became exhilerated learning how being genuine with Brendon made him react. That first night in Seattle, bringing all their subtext to the surface, for example; or sometimes when both of them became vulnerable, forgot how uncomfortable they were being casual with one another, and he'd let slip something affectionate or the offhanded 'baby' that he could catch a gentle smile in response just before Brendon glazed over it (and eventually Ryan did exactly the same). They were funny, that way. Except it wasn't that funny when you were part of all the irritating bullshit, experiencing it firsthand.

Ryan wasn't expecting to be the wrong one at any point in this conversation (he didn't in any conversation, for fuck's sake, but Brendon had just said 'just wanted you a little riled up for next time' when Ryan had missed him), but Brendon was suddenly looking at him defiantly and he backtracked, questioned himself. He rarely did that with Brendon, second-guessing his own words, but he was beginning to accept how completely wrong he was in the beginning of their 'friendship,' so he'd become more vigilant. In fact, he almost felt bad, watching Brendon's head drop, completely forgetting what started this confrontation for a moment. The- ‘precious fucking rules’- are for both of our benefits. You know that. We agreed. Don’t fucking pull that on me. Ryan paused, the anger in his gaze dying out, because, yeah, they agreed. Brendon hadn't given him much to agree to, but he knew, without Brendon having to say it, that not getting as attached as he was acting now was one of those rules. Unspoken. He recalled himself promising that he'd find some way around the rules, the 'only for this tour' that he figured he could win Brendon over on. Yeah, so he was being unfair. He only communicated his 'fine, fuck you, you win' through an unhappy expression, because of course his mouth couldn't form the words 'you win' in front of Brendon, or even pretend to compromise. Not in this state, anyway.

All he could actually bring himself to do was mess with Brendon, pressing him flush to the bus behind him, and for Christ's sake he had no idea what was going on around him he was so focused on getting Brendon back for this but he prayed no one could see them from this angle. Brendon, on the other hand, was only worried about maintaining his status of Most Annoying Bastard Alive. I dunno, darlin’, have you got it in you? It's like he prepares for this moments. It took everything in Ryan to just blow past that, ignore how much of an asshole the guy he was practically pining after was. He did it anyway, watching Brendon closely, and it appeared as though this worked for him, somehow. Ryan supposed it made sense. It's not like their constant fights before did anything to ween them off of the below-the-surface lust between the two of them, why should some level of aggression not do it for him now? Brendon was practically slack against the metal behind him, Ryan feeling his musces relax under the palm of his hand.

Brendon glanced over Ryan's shoulder and Ryan followed his gaze with a close eye, daring him to look back at him. I- I want you to fuck me. Ryan could have literally broken character then and there, burst into laughter at the fact that he'd not only actually said it but could barely maintain eye contact throughout the admission, but he held it together, simply smirking in response. But, uh, if you still wanna watch that movie... Ryan looked him over again, a soft, fond smile on his face while his eyes travelled from the ground beneath them, all the way back up to Brendon's eyeline. He shifted the hand at Brendon's jaw to crook behind his head, the one pinning him to the bus to settle on his lower back, and pulled him up closer for a kiss, long and punctuating. He hardly pulled away afterward, just rested his nose against Brendon's cheek and daintily tried to land more kisses against his skin. "Yeah. I do. Asshole." Ryan completely separated, hot to cold, and backed away from the bus, rolling his eyes. "Don't ever fuck with me like that again. What movie do you wanna watch?"

old fashioned

Brendon, on the other hand, was so informal with his way of speaking that it was just a little bit precious to listen to. Odd, though, considering he seemed like the one who should be so well-spoken. Although... all things considered, Ryan doubted he came from 'old money;' it's not like people like them got much of an inheritance, not when they were open about themselves. That was beyond attractive to consider: Brendon being self-made. Ryan wasn't much for sentiment, listening to peoples' life stories and so forth, but really he wanted to know where Brendon came from, how he got where he was now, what he did when he wasn't just the mysterious presence both headlining and in the background of his own luxurious party. He was attractive, gorgeous, showstopping, of course and obviously, but still - his personality was enticing, too, rivalling all of the physical temptation with a fire. From the bizarrely casual way he spoke to the way he, for whatever reason, chose to blend in when he could easily be the center of a room, Brendon was intriguing.

Fancy seeing y- Yeah, yeah, it's not like they didn't have all night (and knowing how long it took for these places to clear out completely, they had even more than that), but Ryan was still quick to get to him, immediately going for his mask. Maybe that in itself was an odd move to make, considering when people were in their exact position, seeing the other person's face didn't quite matter. But Ryan had familiarized himself with Brendon's before, so he was fairly aware that it was something of a view to behold. He'd apparently rendered him silent again and was almost afraid he'd even made Brendon hesitant, apprehensive, like maybe his speed was intimidating, but clearly this was a good silence. Not at all. Ryan's smile was soft, pleased by how easily Brendon went along with him at any given point. You'd think someone used to fame and fortune would have gotten a little uppity, hard to get along with, but it seemed like Brendon's charisma won out over his class standing. Once again: intriguing.

He'd have the sense to feel a bit self-conscious by Brendon's close examination of him, this first time so near to him, but it was hard to when he had such a comforting countenance as a whole. Anything he said was returned smoothly, anything he did was welcomed naturally... and lifting his mask off, Brendon did just the same, without fail. Some curls fell back into place against his temple now that there was no cover in their way, and Ryan swore he felt the most clichéd he ever had in his life. Here he was, barely put together, the stereotypical criminal from a storybook, directly opposite the clean, pristine image of Brendon, no faults in sight. Yeah, cliché, but he just felt lucky Brendon didn't reserve any judgment over the deal. Anyway. His memory hadn't fooled him. Nothing restrictive over their faces any longer, he could freely admire, and, yeah, he remembered the soft brown eyes, the little eyebrow scar, the lilt in every feature. It should probably be embarrassing that the best word that came to mind upon seeing him openly again was 'dreamy,' but really. The accuracy.

I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. In his pause, Ryan grinned briefly, fast and amused - he didn't realise he'd be interrupting. In any case, he let his thumb stroke over the fabric of his shirt, distantly registering that, yes, this felt very right. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together. You’re just my type. Ryan raised his eyebrows somewhat, surprised. He didn't peg Brendon as someone to really look for romance - or whatever - this far below him, but sure. Not that Ryan was very self-deprecating, usually, he just wasn't famous or even unimaginably rich, no matter how successful he'd become in his business. "Convenient. I believe you've singlehandedly defined my type." He dropped his brows, smirking again, because he couldn't help it. He tilted his head at Brendon, and - YoucancallmeBrendon. Seriously. He didn't understand having this effect on someone like... not Mr. Blake, or Sir, but Brendon. He liked that. But they were in the same boat, so. He laughed with Brendon, albeit without any of the nerves, far more enthusiasm in it. Please.

"Brendon it is," Ryan conceded, his voice airy. He chewed his lip, considering. When was the last time someone called him by his first name? Well. Chosen first name. Still. "You can call me Ryan." He said it pointedly more slowly, dipping his head while he openly teased Brendon. It took Brendon a while to actually follow his directions and talk, which he supposed he should've seen coming, but. He really did want to know. So this is what you’re doing, is it - y’wanna kill me. "I prefer the term 'ravish.'" Ryan spoke against his skin, smiled, breath warm just below his ear. He considered, briefly, allowing him a break, but he probably wouldn't be able to stand one himself. I, uh, I’m a musician, I- Ryan felt Brendon's hand in his hair, his heart skip dangerously, and that was dumb because it was truly such a small gesture, but it was sweet, so fond for people who'd barely even spoken. And could barely keep up with speaking now, apparently. He hummed gently, encouraging him, showing he was listening.

I play music- Well, those are kind of the same thing, but Ryan didn't bother correcting him, just laughed softly in the curve of his shoulder. And- I’m a fool for gorgeous men like yourself. And that one barely counted. Still, he didn't call him on it. It was flattering, anyhow. Ryan didn't get 'gorgeous' much. He pulled back, one hand sliding further to brace flat aganst the small of Brendon's back, supporting him, the other curling over the hand he had white-knuckling the sink behind him. "Is that so? You've made me lose all sense, myself." He paused, spared a glance around, at where they were. "Clearly." His gaze landed back on Brendon and he rested there for a second, searching. Pretty confident that there was no going back now, Ryan closed the space between them, ducking his head a bit until he could kiss him slow. Christ, it was by some fluke that he wasn't the one completely incoherent right now, because this was far too easy to relax into, almost fully leaning into Brendon before he caught himself.

He only eased up once he had to catch his breath, and he barely did when he tried to speak again. "I can already tell you're going to be trouble for me," he breathed, laughing, because jesus he'd never be able to get him off his mind. And, really, he had other shit to do, though at this point none of that really mattered to him at all. Unavoidably, he had to plant another quick, wistful kiss on Brendon's lips, before a tangential thought led him astray again. "You are going to give me the grand tour at your next party, aren't you?" Double entendres. Their forté. A bathroom meetup every time just wasn't much of a choice locale.

old fashioned

Ryan himself was careful about his identity, though not overtly so. He definitely should be, all things considered - he was a criminal, for Christ's sake, and oftentimes interacted with people in that same legal standing. He wasn't stereotyping, just 'guessing' that they wouldn't take well to him. It was cold, hard fact, and he knew because when they became lousy with all their own shitty, homemade liquor, that's when any typical anti-Prohibition radicalist became comfortable saying whatever the hell they wanted. Actually, for most, the bullshit started even when they were sober. Typically Ryan could nod along in hearty agreement as if he truly did believe the 'fucking fruits were ruining the bar scene.' It was a little odd, because some 30 years ago things changed and people were more open about all of this - drag balls had become more well-known, frequented by people not in the community themselves, gay literature was increasingly successful despite the public understanding what world it came from.

But those times were fading away because, somehow, bar owners of 'normal' clubs felt that the new competition would hurt them and working-class men felt like their familial hierarchies could be threatened, whatever. Ryan didn't much care. He lived life secretively anyway, his sexual preference only part of that. Hell, he barely told people his real name. There were plenty of masks he could throw on to protect not just his sexuality, but also his controversial career path, his customers, his business partners. Ryan had plenty to hide. He couldn't imagine what Brendon went through. In New York it wasn't as bad as other places - there were still drag shows that weren't quite as underground as they probably should be to stay safe, still speakeasies hosted by and for the gay and therefore 'othered' community, still dive bars that openly labeled themselves as specifically gay-friendly if not -only. It just wasn't as easy as, say, ten years ago, and both of them were far too young then to really participate or even know to be part of it. Well. Maybe not Brendon. He was as 'fruity' as they came. He'd probably known from birth - not that Ryan would make that joke to his face.

Maybe, though, he had a good enough sense of humour anyway. Ryan had taken a strong liking to him already. He was confident but proving a shy streak, what with spluttering at a simple wink, and honestly, Ryan wasn't even that slick. He watched Brendon's recovery with a fond smile, wishing they had no masks so he could admire in full the hint of little crinkles around Brendon's eyes whenever he had a full grin on - yeah, he definitely bookmarked that image the last time they saw each other, and the tiny preview through their covers didn't do it enough justice. Should be. Confidence back. Ryan wasn't sure which version he liked better. Either way...

Grand of you to say, sport. 'Sport.' Ryan was familiar with the nickname though it wasn't all that common, but it rolled off of Brendon's tongue in a particularly charming way, sweet and friendly. And, actually, not quite as belittling and 'father-to-son' like in the way it came from others. He smirked at the tiniest amount of contact from Brendon, the little nudge of his foot, and really it seemed like a nothing gesture, but after a while of living closeted he'd become adept at recognizing these minute nonverbal cues. Not like they had a lot of options. So Brendon was interested. For good measure, he made a passing comment about Dallon's bar, the audience specifically. He absolutely is. And what’s even better is that he doesn’t even know it. Ryan imitated his sympathetic look to a T. Maybe he could start up a straight-passing bar to balance things out, poor Weekes.

Even despite all their little secret signals, Ryan invading his space more than he had been was a risky move, and he was greeted with open arms - specifically, Brendon's leg coming to rest against his, like their time of interaction totalled up to more than a couple hours, tops. Fortunately, too, because Ryan tended to jump the gun. He didn't have all the time in the world. Wonderful. That voice. He knew Brendon was a singer, but really, he didn't realize a range like that could be so fatally attractive. I make time. Oh. He had a way with words, too. Interesting. Ryan let the silence linger, his gaze returning to his glass while it seemed both of them retreated to their thoughts, and suddenly Brendon was preparing to stand. Apologies, old sport, I’m just going to the restroom. Right, so Brendon caught his drift, earlier. If it was anything else, he'd naïvely believe the excuse. The way things were going, this was nothing but a proposition. I won’t keep you waiting long. Brendon brushed his arm in passing; Ryan kept his drink in hand, smiling casually. Yeah, definitely on the same page.

For a few moments, Ryan just observed the place, listened to the sound of distant conversations, glasses bumping behind the counter, barrels still being carried in. Some fucking luck he had, seriously. This was the first break he'd caught in a while. After a suitable amount of time he placed his emptied drink down, walked to the bathrooms, leaned against the door as he closed and locked it. Ample space, too; seriously, some higher power was supporting them. He grinned at Brendon unwithholdingly now, immediately coming close and backing him against the sink, hands finding either side of his face. "You don't mind...?" And he didn't wait while asking, just lifted the mask from his face gently, set it on the porcelain so he could study him more closely. He figured the hair was a touchy subject, as pristine as it looked, so he carefully drew his fingers through the strands at his temple, framing his features just to admire for a moment. "When I saw you for the first time, I didn't think I'd be lucky enough for someone this handsome to... be interested." Be gay, actually. Usually it was just the attractive guys that were, in fairness, but Ryan never got to meet them anyway.

Clearly wasting no time, Ryan pressed even closer, aligning his body with Brendon's and slipping his hands down to his waist as if it were a natural fit. "Mr. Blake, to be perfectly candid, usually I become better acquainted first." He looked at him as if he was reconsidering. Really, though, there was no question. "I can multitask. Tell me about yourself - I like the sound of your voice." And he wouldn't mind hearing more of the range, but they sort of had all the time in the world in here, plus if he kept Brendon talking while he explored, well. He'd learn. In any case, they didn't find this arrangement to talk, so Ryan searched his face briefly for any apprehension before finding his way to his jaw, planting delicate kisses while working just the top couple buttons of his shirt, making space on his neck for the same attention.

sorry to get sentimental tonight

It wasn't a total shock, or anything, because Ryan had at least a cent of faith in their relationship, to say the least, but the fact that Brendon's reaction was a stunning, showstopping, shy smile and not a complete 180 in mood almost decimated Ryan. It was a fucking relief, but at the same time, exactly what he'd expected in the back of his mind. Expected or not, Ryan was the luckiest motherfucker alive. You just officially made that the best sex I’ve ever had. Ryan laughed, cutting himself off only to kiss Brendon as deeply as he could in the briefest of moments, wishing he wasn't so rushed on trying to get words out so he could draw that time out. Hey, it worked for me. Ryan smiled weakly, because, sure, he thought that now, but he was getting another proposal whether he liked it or not and it would be goddamn perfect. Not this mess, for sure. They touched all the time, attached at the hip, and yet the dance of Brendon's fingertips over his skin was electrifying. And at least it wasn’t cliché, right? Ryan sighed at himself, his ridiculousness, and bumped his head back against the headboard in defeat. "I suppose," he said dramatically, before raising his head again and smiling at Brendon.

Ryan followed Brendon's grip to his hand, realizing only then that all of his fingers still adorned a stupid amount of rings. He rolled his eyes, already guessing the answer he was going to get. You’ve got enough, I think. He smirked, ignored that, continued on his own train of thought as if there'd been no teasing to think of. "Engraved. They'll match." His smile was small, private, watching Brendon's face and then the kiss he planted on the back of his hand. Again. So fucking lucky. Hand free, he switched it around, took Brendon's in his own and replaced a ring from his to place on Brendon's delicately. "Here's a placeholder, for now." He turned his hand over once, and though it wasn't much, just a plain band, he liked the idea already. Brendon in a ring he'd given to him. Asked in public, answering 'I'm engaged,' so on. Fuck, when Ryan got one, he'd abandon all the others; he was ready to ramble about Brendon more than he already did. And he'd get invitations to do so. Even better.

He was stuck in his thoughts when Brendon ground down against him, and he dropped his hand with surprising speed, pursing his lips to suppress any real reaction. He cleared his throat as Brendon spoke, unsettled. So, I’ll think about it. Jerk. Ryan lost his breath when Brendon caught his lip between his teeth, tilted his head obediently with the guidance from his hand. 'kay, maybe he was a little versatile. If you propose to me again, in a different position. Ryan nodded his head to the side, practically dizzy, until he could kiss him proper, nose brushing his cheek. "Hm, maybe later," he teased back, barely a centimeter from his lips. "I've got a headache." The furthest thing from true, because Ryan felt pretty much weightless (despite the weight of Brendon, all over him, comfortable), but he thought he was funny sometimes. Enamoured, he rested both hands behind Brendon's ears, cradling his head and tilting back just to study him for a moment. This was it. This was the man he was going to marry. His wonderful weirdo. He exhaled on a smile, wishing he could communicate through just a look exactly how sickeningly in love with him he was, because he certainly couldn't do it with words - and that was his craft, his gift.

Ryan lowered his hands, let them settle around Brendon again, just holding him secure. Honestly, he felt like fucking thanking him, like he was some lost soul that'd been saved. Maybe that was a little true, even. He didn't want to wait to propose again, didn't want to wait to get married, he wanted to do it here and now, but the last time he'd jumped the gun like that - maybe twenty, thirty minutes ago, give or take - he'd sorta messed up the moment he dreamed of almost nightly. So he ignored the impulse to elope. "I'm gonna do it again, you know. Second take. You won't have a clue. Totally gonna blow this proposal out of the water so you don't get to tell anyone about it." He regarded Brendon very seriously. Hard to do, given the circumstances. "Which you're not allowed to do, by the way. This is seriously not the grand gesture I had in mind. I'm gonna blow your mind, baby." Maybe he was hyping this up a little too much. Maybe not - he'd go to the ends of the Earth for this idiot.

About telling anyone. Ryan was sort of worried about that. Spencer had taken something of a liking to him, because with time, he realized Brendon was actually in this for real, not just a sideshow - but that didn't mean they were best friends. Six months wasn't enough for Ryan's life to not be in danger if Spencer learned he'd proposed on the spot. His management, they'd be pissed about his image changing, not that he was much of a 'player' but he looked at least unattainable, in a way, and marriage made him definitey unattainable in a practical sense but it wasn't sellable. Plus that whole 'unprofessional' part, but Ryan had kind of worked them off of that edge over time. And the fans... he saw the critical response enough, the whole articles about Brendon, nitpicking and wondering if he was in it for the money, for the fifteen minutes (six months, come on) of fame, for anything but actual love and dedication. Brendon rarely said a single thing about it, but Ryan was sure if he was in his position he'd be bothered by the treatment, by the public eye that he didn't sign up for. Sure, there was a sliver of positivity, like when his work was recognized or he got caught in an interview beside Ryan at awards shows and it captured his personality or people just thought he was as gorgeous as Ryan did. Whatever the case, it was a delicate balance between obscene, unfounded amounts of disapproval and celebrity-level adoration and acceptance.

It wasn't all that fair. Five minutes in to confirming their engagement, Ryan wanted to announce it to the world, and he was worried about the impact it'd have on his fiancé.

your way

The weirdness turning into a fond familiarity did, in fact, ring true. Yeah, maybe they were a weird pairing, all things considered - their history of strife, of lust, of everything in between, definitely not a lot of friendliness except spottily, infrequently until now - but that didn't mean anything to Ryan. He gradually gave less of a fuck what anyone would have to say, should they come out about all of this, or just start being open about what was going on. He saw Brendon across a room of people, and it was no longer 'avoid that trouble,' more something affectionate, magnetic, like Brendon was a buoy, the only light he knew in a sea of nobodies. Cruel, sure, but in comparison, he really didn't bother talking to other people now (save their immediate circle, 'cause they all had aspects of him, too, thank god). It was definite - none of this was scary save for the newness, should they jump into anything with... labels. An idea they fervently avoided, usually. But anyway. Ryan got scared of most anything if he was unsure of himself enough. This wasn't anything to worry about.

Still, this all seemed so distant when Brendon was acting the way he was, like he honestly couldn't care less whether or not Ryan was in his life. Which, y'know, Ryan might be able to let go had he not dug himself this deep and now he definitely needed Brendon around. They weren't codependent, not quite, but Ryan knew he'd subconsciously labelled Brendon one of his closest friends by now, something beyond the obvious default 'close friend' criteria Brendon had fallen into just by being in his old band. If all of this came crashing down, he'd at least be depressed about it, and that was a hefty understatement. He thought all of this, but here Brendon stood, completely casual after a few weeks of bare minimum contact - or that much, by Ryan's sort of (sort of? very) needy standards. Actually, he looked somewhat amused. Ryan felt the blood rush to his face, not anger but embarrassment, a rosy color settling over his cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose. He almost looked away, but the staredown seemed to make better points with Brendon.

You need to like, catch up on a lot of shit. Ryan screwed up his face a little, not quite offended but confused by the redirection. Okay, this totally wasn't the plan, but sure. By asking me, your secret ‘lover’, let’s say - we could say something else, really, but Ryan pursed his lips and shut up, with some effort - to watch Netflix with you, alone, you’re implying- you know what, nevermind. Ryan shook his head, rolled his eyes, he got the gist. Seriously, what a useless phrase. Why was he so into Brendon if he knew about this stuff, actively used it enough to have to explain it - whatever. Ryan mustered up the intensity enough to almost back Brendon into a corner, almost interrogate him about what the hell was going on, and then he felt defeated. Worse, he couldn't tell whether it was because of Brendon's insistence on staying away from him, or if he had worn himself too thin trying to cover both of their allotted spaces for a willingness to continue whatever was going on between them.

Brendon pressed further away from him, closer to the cold metal behind him, and Ryan seriously was sick of pursuing nothing. He considered walking away completely, let this conversation stay incomplete 'til he wasn't so stupidly affected by everything. I’m not stringing you along. Sometimes, I just don’t wanna fuck. Is that too difficult for you to believe? Ryan lifted his head and stared at him incredulously. Seriously? Brendon was the one who brought up fucking. Ryan had wanted to watch a movie. In fairness, that was a miscommunication, but when would Ryan ever use slang that wasn't years out of date? Either way. He couldn't believe what Brendon took him for. "Sometimes I don't, either, Brendon. I didn't think it went against your precious fucking rules to want to be your friend." Ryan paused, chewing the inside of his cheek, realizing that was sort of stupid to say out loud. They rarely called each other friends, as much as it happened in Ryan's head - maybe it was somewhat unfair to expect Brendon to participate in all of that.

Brendon worked himself up into the offensive, straightening up and crossing his arms, and, shockingly, none of the 'I'm over being angry because he's so dropdead gorgeous' passed through his head. No, Ryan was actually bitter, actually hurt though he wasn't certain he was anything close to a 'victim' here. In truth, he wasn't sure what the hell was going on anymore, whether they were anything anymore. Nothing. Just wanted you to be a little riled up for next time, that’s all. Ryan's messy thoughts stopped circling like a storm and he stared at Brendon, at a loss for words. Riled up for next time. Brendon shunned him on the off-chance their 'next time' might be a little more intense. Right, pin accusations at Ryan with 'sometimes I just don't wanna fuck.' Right. He shook his head after a few moments, blinking at Brendon. Walking away, once again, sounded like a great option.

Instead Ryan was moving closer, intent on messing with Brendon's head the same way he'd been messed with, because evidently their competitive streak never died. He angled himself until he could work his minimal height over Brendon again, push at his elbow until he could uncross his arms for him and hold him against the side of the bus. "Which is it, Brendon, 'sometimes I just don't wanna fuck,' or you want me to fuck you harder? We've got a hotel right behind us, and go fucking figure, your genius plan worked. I'm pissed at you." Ryan lifted his hand to brush against his jaw, featherlight, and from a third party, it certainly looked like a tender, intimate moment. Funny, that. He paused, inhaled, searching Brendon's face intently. "So pick."

sorry to get sentimental tonight

Ryan wasn't worried about the prospect of actually being engaged to Brendon (and then eventually marrying him, holy shit); it was just. What if his answer wasn't really yes? Ryan would have to wait longer if Brendon even ever wanted to get married and, god, they had never even had a conversation about marriage, maybe they weren't ready, maybe his stupid impulsive behavior with Brendon - totally Brendon's fault, by the way, because he was way too easy to be completely, wholly infatuated with, or something more meaningful beyond that - was finally going to come back to bite him in the ass, whatever. But. There was also the chance that he did mean it. He did mean it, and they'd be engaged, and that was the fucking dream, really, but Ryan would probably propose again at some point. Did two proposals cancel it out? Whatever. Third time's the charm, then he could have an actually good engagement story rather than 'I popped the question about five seconds before climax, thanks for asking.' Though in all fairness that was about as romantic as their story of meeting, in a shitty LA bar.

Anyway. He had to address it, at some point, so he started testing the waters, and Brendon seemed a thousand times more chill than he felt. Ryan was almost calmed by the little kiss at his jaw, almost charmed into nonchalance by the easy way he drew his fingers through his hair. Almost. Hey, baby. God. It took everything not to abandon the following conversation and divert into a weird confession of love triggered only by the sound of his voice just then. He continued. So. Ryan felt self-conscious, stared right back at Brendon for a second before he started to turn his head slightly, swallowing and looking at the wall past Brendon's shoulder. Before y’say anything. Oh. He looked back, hopeful. You’re fucking astounding. Really not the time. Ryan still lost his breath, close to laughing with Brendon but only managing a smile. "You're telling me." That was, uh, incredible. Seriously, Brendon could make a career out of how talented he was at saving a situation, changing the subject to something wildly different. But Ryan ignored where his gaze had landed, shut his eyes and moved on.

When he opened them, Brendon had the nerve to look like he didn't know what Ryan was talking about, and Ryan could have killed him, really, watching him laugh and shrug innocently, but fuck, he loved him so much. Seriously, please let it have been a real yes. Ryan shut his eyes again as Brendon planted a garden of the gentlest kisses along his collarbone, calming down a little. Y’gotta be more specific, babe. Things were said, but are you referring to 'fuck me harder' - and about there was when Ryan cringed beyond the point of no return, his hand falling from the back of Brendon's head to the mattress, defeated - or 'will you marry me?' Okay. Alright. So he did hear. First of all, fuck Brendon for bringing that first part up, really, right now, when his nerves could have given him, like, a heart attack, probably; second, how was he so comfortable saying the latter out loud? Ryan couldn't even repeat the question. Well. Probably when he was in the right setting, a planned situation, but not immediately after fucking it up immensely. He wanted to marry Brendon, yeah, whatever, but he also totally hated him right now.

Well. Did you mean it when you asked me? Ryan opened his eyes, looked at him carefully. He wondered what Brendon thought. Would anyone ever not mean it if they proposed to Brendon? Seriously, Ryan was just glad he got there first. He bit his lip, carried them upwards along the pillow a bit until he could sit up more, was holding Brendon against him with a hand curled round his shoulder. He smoothed his thumb over the bone there, searching his face, because he was so scared that he'd messed up beyond repair. "I meant it," he confirmed, voice more certain than even he'd anticipated. "I didn't exactly... I mean, in all of my dumb imaginary scenarios, this was not one of them, but I meant it." Please say you did too, holy shit, six months is nothing but we've got a lifetime ahead. Ryan's gaze dropped to his lips momentarily, a split between avoiding eye contact and maybe admiring, and then he offered up a sidenote. "I'll get a ring, even." He grinned, deathly nervous, but maybe that could finish up the deal.

sorry to get sentimental tonight

Ryan had made a grave mistake.

In truth, it wasn't really a mistake, because this idea had lingered in the back of his mind for some time now. Actually, like three days after he and Brendon had met. Just, he had a few different plans for how it would go, and a lot of them were classier and more well thought out and more considerate of what the rest of their time together would be like as a result of how it went, so on. Also, it wouldn't happen in the middle of, uh, fornication. Granted, they were pretty good at that, but still. Things like this had to be a whole occasion, as far as Ryan was aware.

Basically, he'd proposed.

If you could call it that, anyway. The words 'will you marry me' just sort of came out in the heat of the moment, y'know, and at the time he didn't even fully register the scale of that fuckup, and maybe Brendon wasn't responding to that question specifically but Ryan definitely heard a 'yes,' and it wasn't until afterward, recovering, that he realised the depth of the situation. That afterglow quickly became the very opposite of the familiar warmfuzzy feeling. On one hand, there was still the chance that Brendon had accepted, and that meant he really did like him enough for that; on the other, even if he had accepted, it could be that he, too, was just fired up at the moment, and hadn't meant it at all, and then they'd have to have the most uncomfortable conversation of all time. Ugh. He had no idea why Brendon stuck around with his complicated ass.

But he couldn't leave it for too long or else they'd have a much longer awkward period. Brendon's head was against his chest, arm thrown across his waist, and Ryan's hand was rested against his back, the other folded behind his head against the pillow. He'd been staring up at the ceiling for maybe five minutes, just letting his breathing even out, pretty sure Brendon was dozing off but not totally sure because he could not look at him, beyond embarrassed. Seriously, if he left this, it'd just get worse. Or maybe he could wait until Brendon said something... which he wouldn't. Brendon only ever made a fuss about petty shit and this was so real. So. There was another option, to just never, ever talk about it, but then maybe in, like, a few years, when he tried to propose again, Brendon might bring it up. And then he'd be embarrassed all the fuck over again. (And maybe Brendon even fucking forgot. But he wasn't going to risk it.)

"Hey, Bren," Ryan said tentatively into the quiet, his hand sliding from Brendon's back to curl through his hair, trying to get his attention. "So." Pause. Holy shit. He didn't plan this conversation either. Ryan sucked in an audible breath, searching the ceiling like there were lines written there for him. "So, uh, what I said -" Another pause, and Ryan seriously thought he was going to die. He'd rather do that than talk about this, anyway. "Some... things were said. Did you... Did you mean. That?" Ryan cradled his head a little, shifting up until he wasn't lying totally horizontal, just his head propped up somewhat, and he could look at Brendon uncomfortably. "'Yes'?" Actually, it was less of a yes and more like a yeah, totally, or something along those excitable lines, but still.

you and i will always be my dream

We probably look a little out of our minds. Brendon's holding onto me like I'm the last person on Earth, like I'm his lifeline, and maybe I am a little bit that last one, but really. We're not even thirty, and here we are, Brendon close to tears in my arms, both of us so, so conscious, all the time, that this could be our last year together. Maybe we won't even last that long. I hate everyone who's never doubted they'll grow old with the person they love. Since high school, neither of us had that guarantee. When we promised each other we would, when we made our confident vows, I'm fairly sure both of us knew the truth. Hey, at least for a while there it looked like our chances were good, but evidently wellness was a fickle thing. Happiness, almost, except with our situation, I'm happy he's even here. I'm happy I got him out to the sea, this salty air, and I guess my standards have lowered considerably.

We're a picture of, 'what troubles might young lovers have?' And here's the answer. We're not invincible. We never were.

He's smiling at his feet. He's perfect. Well, you always were a romantic. I'm proving him right as he says it, my fingertips cradling his jawline in a gentle effort to bring his face up, catch a glimpse of his smile. Whoops. I smile back at him and shake my head fondly. I’m just proud to say that I’m the one who took your ‘seeing the sea in real life’ virginity. I half laugh, watching the skyline and then eyeing him in my periphery. Shockingly, Brendon was usually the one with jokes filed away, despite everything. "Charming way to put it," I mumble, then wait for the next obvious punchline, and surprisingly Brendon doesn't say it. After a moment I go for it myself, try to meet his goofy humour. "...You took a lot more than just that, though?" I'm grinning so hard I can't even say it with confidence, nudging him as lightly as I can without having to worry about making him lose his balance. We're so stupid.

I know he's annoyed by my help, or frustrated at the very least, not at me but the circumstances themselves. But I catch his hand anyway, gaze dropping from the dim horizon to our feet as we meet the water, our skin stark against the foam, sand swirling as we knock it out of place. I can tell he's cold, too proud to say a word about it, and there's no room to move closer to comfort him. All of this, though, even if it's chilly as hell, is better than the dismal hospital room he's trapped in, so I hold out rather than taking us back quite yet out of worry. We've got a little less than an hour and a half now. Not all the time in the world, but I take what I can get.

Somehow he can read my mind. I can feel his defiant look, even when I keep my eyes straight ahead. Don’t. I continue anyway and suddenly he's in front of me, I'm forced to look at him, his pale skin illuminated by the blue all around us. After a moment of his close inspection I drop my head a little, eyes slipping shut, letting my hair fall over my forehead. 'Stop.' His hands cover my chest and I place one of my own over them, lifting my head and sucking in a heavy breath. No. His voice... we speak as if he's already gone. I tighten my grip around his hands. He's still here. With my optimism, I'm still sure he's never going to be gone. That, or it's just too unimaginable an idea to grasp, him not being in my life. Whatever the case, I'm naïve enough, in love enough, to still have hope.

I have nobody to blame but myself. I purse my lips and shake my head at him slightly.

It kills me to even think about, but I'm almost angry at him, way back in my subconscious. Why did he have to... A relapse - multiple, contributing relapses - is out of an addict's control, I know, I know that better than anyone. But why, that's all I ask. Why Brendon.

All you’ve ever done is love me, and- and you stuck to our vows, can you believe it, in sickness and in health- I love you- I fumble with him, a tiny sound escaping me as he moved to embrace me again, and I weakly catch him in my arms. When we kiss it's hard to stay straight, and both of us sway because I'm supposed to be the pillar of strength and I'm not nearly strong enough to uphold that role. I recover after a moment, holding the back of his head close, his waist flush to my body. I love you. I search his gaze, and this close up, I know there's still life there. He looks sick, but he's still Brendon, still the same person I've known my whole life. My best friend. I don't even have to say it back. I just breathe out, more steadily, and I turn us around still holding him close until he's the one who can look out at the fading sky. I bury my face in his shoulder, press light, whispered kisses to his skin.

Close to his ear, I try to speak again after an extended pause, my voice as hushed as his had become. "You're going to be okay," I say, and I fully believe it. I've never felt so strongly about anything in my life. "I know it. Trust me. I'll be right there next to you, the whole time." I round him until I can hold him from behind, arms round his waist, keeping him secure and hooking my chin over his shoulder. I study the skyline again. I can barely see the sun anymore. "It's beautiful."