Neve

downtown storm || b&r

In direct contrast to Ryan, Brendon got himself dosed on caffeine through frequent energy drinks and coffees, and ate way too much candy than was healthy in order to keep himself energised. Well, that was his excuse- his own anticipation kept him running for the entire show and long after, when in the evenings in the tour bus he was too over-anxious from all the caffeine and sugar that he couldn’t sleep and had to climb into Ryan’s bed just because it helped him settle down. This usually happened anyway, because the two of them both hated sleeping alone when they had years of getting used to falling asleep intertwined or waking up curled together. To be alone was alien and strange and even trying to fit into single beds was more comfortable than having one to themselves (as it didn’t come conveniently with the love of their lives). Dallon and Spencer often refused to go and wake the two of them up, ‘just in case’. Ryan sort of defensively questioned this, but Brendon knew exactly what was happening and informed them that, rather unfortunately for him, that didn’t really happen on tour. They were always tired, and felt filthy, and just wanted to go to bed. Ryan did, anyway. Brendon always said he wasn’t tired and then passed out instantly without warning, usually having taken up all the room in Ryan’s bed after Ryan had gone to the bathroom for two seconds or something. That got him rather grumpily chewed out in the morning.

Though Brendon was fully aware of Ryan’s anxiety, and as supportive as he could possibly be, he didn’t really relate or understand, because the stage was his comfort zone, and where he felt most natural (besides, of course, in his husband’s arms, a fact which he never failed to remind Ryan pretty much every time he declared his ‘second love’, ‘the stage’. He tried to be as helpful as possible, and was always asking Ryan whether he was okay, checking up on him at every spare moment, approaching him during song intervals just to make his hopefully comforting presence known. Brendon didn’t know how much he helped, if at all, but it always made him feel more calm just by saying something (because if Ryan was having a rough show, that was all brendon could think about. It was kind of a knock-on effect). He often wondered if his own perceivably obnoxious behaviour on stage and to the audience contributed towards this, and sometimes kind of asked the question as subtly as possible, to which he always received a rather obvious ‘no, You’re doing nothing wrong’. It didn’t show up on stage, but Brendon was an anxious person to when it came to things he couldn’t control, like crowds not separated by the stage and the barrier, or not being able to understand or help his husband.

Back in their early days, it had been even worse; because it was a new thing to both of them, neither of them had any calming pre-show ritual, nor did they understand how to help eachother (for example, how Ryan now made sure Brendon didn’t consume an excessive amount of caffeine and sugar, and Brendon trying to be as reassuring a presence as possible). Ryan had panick attacks a lot, and Brendon’s voice suffered. Neither of them knew what they were doing. Now, they thought themselves experts, even if it was really Dallon behind the scenes, keeping them both in line and in check, long-suffering, mostly thanks to Brendon and his lack of both shame and sense of appropriation when it came to how he behaved with his best friend on stage. Their exaggerated caricature of intimacy (Brendon called it that intentionally) used to really irk Ryan, but now, he kind of just brushed Brendon and Dallon’s antics off, rolling his eyes at Brendon’s childish behaviour. It was kind of funny, he came to realise.

One of Brendon’s favourite pre-show pastimes was irritate their dad friend, and Dallon just kind of tolerated it, half amused and half exasperated. Luckily for him, Brendon didn’t get long to nag him, as it was time to go on stage literally as soon as brendon approached. Metaphorically saved by the Bell. Brendon came alive, springing into action, activating his tunnel vision to the stage. Of course, he still registered Ryan hanging on to his belt loops and felt his heart swell dramatically, just at the gentle reminder of his presence. He got to do his favourite thing in the world- sing- for a living, and he got to do it with the love of his life. If that wasn’t what he was singing for, what was it? He was happy, genuinely happy, and unfortunately for Brendon, in the past, his geniune happiness had been rare and hard to find. He was about to turn and say something to Ryan, but he was being urged onto stage, and he immediately bounded up the steps, feeling a new kind of love fill him- his great appreciation for his fans, which he talked about too much and too little. He often got emotional just thinking about how many people loved him (though they didn’t even know him). He tried to be as geniune as possible with people, even if his stage personality was definitely amplified. For example, he didn’t usually go around stripping in public, or imitating making out with his best friend while his husband stood meters away.

Caught in the passion of the entire moment, he made a beeline for Ryan, as if he had unfinished business, and just kind of dragged him in for the kind of kiss that felt way too intimate to be sharing with these practical strangers, but Brendon couldn’t wait and he liked showing his appreciation and kissing was easier and more fun than launching into some speech. He got so involved that he almost felt a loss when he pulled away, leaving him with the mental promise that that kiss wasn’t finished and they’d pick it up later. Brendon grinned almost dizzily, walking backwards back to his stand as Ryan spoke. All right, but Brendon’s our frontman for a reason, no? Always beautiful. He laughed, and splayed a hand against his chest, feeling another swell of affection and then some rare bashfulness when the crowd called out in agreement to Ryan’s words. ”You guys are too nice. Love ya.” This was greeted by a hundred ‘I love you Brendon’s’, and he just kind of winked, before announcing the song, because he could almost hear Dallon and Spencer gagging in the background.

The song was quite easy, no particularly difficult notes yet, and everything was going amazingly. Brendon was energised, electric, alive with enthusiasm and enthralled by the passion of the crowd even though they were only just getting started. He was heating up already- time to lose another freshly ironed shirt onto the stage floor as a hazard for Dallon to almost trip over fifty times, as was what usually happened. Vying for ryan’s attention (a rather frequent venture for Brendon), he caught his husband’s eye as he unbuttoned it with muscle memory skill, still singing as he did so and shrugging it off just as he reached the chorus. ”...The black magic of Mulholland drive, swimming pools under desert skies, drinking white wine in the blushing light- just another LA Devotee.” That line always kind of made him internally cringe for his own sake. Most of the album he’d written as an ode to drinking and parties, and though he still appreciated all of his work, some of it was tied to painful memories. He quickly pushed the thoughts away, in favour of turning to Ryan to gauge his reaction.

Nothing. His husband was close to him now, a few feet away, but he was just eyeing him calmly. Brendon was somewhat offended. ”...Sunsets on the evil eye, invisible to the Hollywood shrine, always on the hunt for a little more time- Just another LA Devotee.”As the sang, he made his way over to Dallon instead, presenting him the mic to share which the bassist accepted and sang into. The rest of the song he remained largely to the left of the stage, intentionally stretching and hovering around Dallon, just to mess with Ryan. He knew he wouldn’t really care, but it was still funny. By the time they reached the end, Brendon had a sheen on his skin from sweat, and his hair was beginning to stick to his forehead, and his lips were parted. Luckily, he wasn’t tired. ”...Fuck, thank you so much,” Brendon grinned, folding his arms behind his head and wandering to fetch his water bottle from where Ryan was standing, as he’d left it to the right of the stage. Moving his mic away, he spoke just so Ryan could hear, barely inches away from him. ”C’mon, baby, you usually get a little more excited.” Grinning, he moved away back to centre stage, pausing. Next up was Victorious. He waited.

downtown storm || b&r

The hours between arriving at the venue and walking on stage were, to Brendon, a time to hype himself up, make sure he was ready, and in theory, do some vocal warm-ups so he didn’t lose his voice during the performance, hit the wrong note and let it fall flat, or, god forbid, miss a high note that he was regretting putting in the song. This was, of course, in theory- in reality, he spent his time bothering his boyfriend/fiancé/husband (depending on what era of his life it was) by saying ‘they had an hour left before the show’ and hurrying to say he was ‘just making sure Ryan was ready in time’ when he was called out, or more often than not, getting stoned just because he could and there was nothing else to do. In the past, he had just gotten drunk. Some of his worst shows he began when he was hammered, and those memories were to painful to even think about, never mind relive in a video sent to him by a ‘fan’ that found them funny. Anyway, none of that was really relevant anymore; because backstage many people used to drink, oblivious to Brendon’s problem, Ryan had requested that it be just not present at all (by then, they were famous enough to command such influence, so it fortunately worked).

The next particular show was to a crowd on the larger side, so Brendon spent a good portion of his backstage pre-show downtime consoling Ryan, who was pretending he wasn’t still anxious every time they walked on stage. Brendon, in contrast, was self-described ‘born for the stage’ and a natural, charismatic frontman. In other words, he had enough stage presence and charm for the both of them- sometimes too much, though the audience always tended to lap it up, screaming praise that brendon in turn basked in, completely at ease in spotlights and confident enough in his own talents that he would attempt and often succeed to hit such ridiculously high notes live on stage. His coaches often told him not to work so hard, but he respectfully ignored them, trading common sense for the thrill he got out of hitting that perfect note, the praise of the audience, and the dumbfounded, often exasperatedly affectionate and awe-inspired looks that Ryan shot him right after, as if to say ‘that was amazing, but you’re so dumb and extra’. Brendon adored it, adored him. He was sort of daydreaming about the experience when Ryan popped into his head and he wondered absently where his husband was. Usually, they didn’t stray too far from eachother. He glanced around, but was distracted by a mirror, stepping closer to turn his head to the side and try to inspect his profile.

His hair was, as usual, perfect, and when he ran a hand through it, he mentally nodded to himself. Brendon was wearing his usual tour attire, a black shirt and his leather pants, which happened to be his only pair of pants period. This was opposed to last night, where he randomly paired a leopard print shirt and a aqua blue jacket just for the hell of it, much to Ryan’s amusement and Dallon’s disdain. Once he had finished shamelessly assessing his reflection, he stepped back, clicking his tongue and finally spotting Ryan in the corner, tuning his guitar for the fifth time. Smiling, he all but bounded over like an excited puppy, filled with nervous enthusiasm, stocking all his energy to be released on stage. He tilted Ryan’s head up by his chin and leaned in to kiss him rather firmly on impulse, half-smiling when he pulled away. ”Excited, baby?” Brendon asked, but wasn’t expecting an answer. ”I’m so fuckin’ ready. How long do we have?” Again, rhetorical. ”We have, like, twenty minutes.” Brendon wasn’t sure he could wait that long, and bit his lip impatiently as he stated towards where they would go to climb up the stairs out onto the stage. He could feel the electricity and anticipation of that sensation coursing through him. Brendon felt like some kind of live wire.

Distracted again, he left Ryan somewhat in the dust, rushing over to different stage crew and guitar techs and band members. Dallon had been ready an hour and a half ago, while Spencer (recently added as the drummer, only because of Ryan’s constant pestering and Brendon’s impatience when trying to find a suitable replacement for their last one) was drumming the air, clearly occupied with some kind of weird personal rehearsal he had going on. Brendon managed to fill twenty minutes, but they felt like hours, and by the time they were being gathered together to get on stage, he felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was at the bottom of the stairs, Ryan, Dallon and Spencer behind him, and when signalled by the stage managers and crew, he bounded up the steps out into the bright lights, greeted by a chorus of screams and cheers and general appreciation for his presence. Brendon was beaming, drinking it all in, as the rest of the band entered after him and took their respective positions- Spencer behind him, to the drumkit, Dallon to his far left, and Ryan the closest, to his right. Brendon took centre stage, gripping on to the mic stand, still grinning. He took the mic from the stand and glanced over at Ryan, instinctively wandering over just as the crowd was dying down, and reaching out to turn his husband’s head towards him, dragging him in for a passionate kiss, fuelled by his excitement and energy, further encouraged by the erupting screams of the crowd, just what Brendon expected, because his fans were weird and excitable like that.

Apologetically, but not really, Brendon pulled back, smiling affectionately at Ryan and mouthing ‘I love you’ before turning completely on his heels and heading back to centre stage. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, he just looks so gorgeous tonight, doesn’t he?” Laughing at the chorus of general agreement, Brendon looked down at his feet when he fixed the mic back onto the stand. ”Anyway, what’s up, fuckers? Love y’all. This first song’s called LA Devotee.”

Obviously perfectly rehearsed and timed (Brendon said that in his head as it happened), the band started playing, and Brendon was still holding onto the mic, hanging off it for a second before taking it off the stand and starting to sing, alive with energy. “You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, o-oh-” he was grinning between words, alive with energy, as the crowd sang back at him. ”Oh, the neon coast was your sign, and the Midwest wind with Virgo rising, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no-o.” Upon singing ‘virgo’, Brendon glanced over at his husband, wandering a little closer until he had caught his attention, upon which he brought his free hand to the front of his own shirt, unbuttoning it as he continued to sing (partly because he was sweating already, mostly because he wanted a reaction from Ryan). “Static palms melt your vibe, midnight whisperings...” He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, and all but jumped into the air as he kicked off into the chorus.

fuck a silver lining || brendon & ryan

Though Ryan wasn’t exactly as engaged or enthusiastic about anything and everything all the time as Brendon was, he was by no means ‘plain’ or ‘boring’, and had none (well, almost none) of the negative attributes he assigned to himself with such massive finality that whenever Brendon tried to convince him otherwise, it was like trying to have a meaningful conversation with a brick wall. Okay, so maybe the characteristic of ‘stubborn’ was more or less correct. Sometimes, Brendon felt kind of bad for ‘washing Ryan out’ with his more intense and fiery personality that often earned him most of the spotlight. At interviews, most questions were directed at him- on stage, at shows, most people were screaming i love you Brendon, though an increasing amount of fans were vying for ryan’s attention now, as he had noticed. Maybe there was something about his lack of interaction with the audience that was appealing. Brendon found it quite funny. Anyhow, he did feel bad sometimes, but Ryan always reminded him that he preferred it that way. That it was Brendon who was born to be a frontman, not him. This settled his ego enough for it to not bug Brendon's conscience too much.

Though Ryan was usually rather stoic and silent around most other people, around Brendon, he was different, in that his guard was more dropped in comparison to the shield he held up around audience and interviewers and other people he had to interact with out of obligation. Brendon never put a guard up, but he, too, felt more at peace and natural when he was in Ryan’s arms than any other place on earth. They just kind of fit. It was ridiculous, and cliche, and unlikely, and most things throughout their lives had seemed to be dragging them apart, but they always found their way back together. Brendon didn’t really believe in destiny or fate or anything, just choices- and being with Ryan, though it didn’t seem it at the time, was the easiest choice he ever made. He’d only been in love once, and he didn’t intend that to change. It wouldn’t change. Brendon’s heart belonged to him, it had ever since he’d first shakily confessed, all the way until today, and it would all the way until they died. Brendon didn’t doubt it. If they could overcome everything they already had, nothing else could separate them.

It wasn’t always cringeworthy heart-to-hearts or unnecessary declarations of love for the millionth time, though. Brendon would get bored of that. He was a passionate person, and a physical person, and luckily Ryan was kind of perpetually thirsty. They weren’t newlyweds anymore, and nothing had changed, as evident by the lack of ability to get work done in favour of other things, usually suggested by Brendon, and readily accepted by Ryan. Sometimes they worked perfectly together while making music, but Brendon was kind of uninspired and Ryan could never really write when other people were around, even if it was Brendon. So it kind of lead from that into other things, and neither of them were complaining when they finally had the energy to be awake, Brendon in Ryan’s shirt and Ryan kind of refusing to speak or move as it probably was too much effort.

Bored, but considerate enough to let Ryan lie there without disturbing him, Brendon had started to flick through channels and had then simply given up, standing to stretch himself out and then sitting back down to turn and give in to his compulsion to convince his not-sleeping husband to get up and actually be productive with him for once. They had lots of things they needed to do, and though they only wanted to do one thing, Brendon knew Ryan would try to be responsible anyway. Maybe it would impress him if he started talking about chores and errands for once. The key word was maybe. As he ran through a list of things they should do, Ryan’s eyes opened, and he felt his insides heat up because fuck, his eyes were gorgeous. I’d do anything for you, He thought absently, cracking a smile. He was kind of still entranced when Ryan spoke. You’re sweet. automatically, the corner of his mouth twitched and curved up again, as he let himself be pulled in to meet Ryan in a kiss.

He was ready to allow himself be fully distracted again, but Ryan kept it brief. Hiding his disappointment, he sat back a little, tilting his head to consider him. What’s this song idea? Brendon conveniently couldn’t remember. He shrugged carelessly, leaning in with an obvious attempt to kiss him again. And I vote we sit outside, wherever we go. brendon kind of bared his teeth doubtfully, kicking himself for suggesting that they do anything besides lie there. For a moment, he just stayed silent, quirking an eyebrow just to consider his options. Then, he decisively leaned in to kiss Ryan again, with purpose, and while he did, he moved over completely so he was lying practically on top of him, legs tangled together, one arm propping him up and the other moving to cradle Ryan’s jaw. Brendon intended to steal his breath, and after what he believed to be sufficient, he pulled back, and broke out into a satisfied grin. ”What do you say we just don’t go anywhere? Forget everything I just said.”

fuck a silver lining || brendon & ryan

Brendon wasn’t exactly someone that you would, or could, describe as lazy. He was, in general, an energetic and enthusiastic person for the most part, with an overzealous attitude and effortless snark that made him both entertaining, and exhausting, to be around. His every incline of the head, raise of the eyebrow, twitch of smile and curve of the mouth was expressive to an extent that was almost cartoon-esque, and with a voice as rich and vibrant as his in speaking as well as singing, in Brendon’s presence, nobody could ever really get bored, especially once he was talking about something he was interested in or passionate about. This could be anything ranging from popular music in 1950’s France, to TV shows like Stranger Things, his three strikingly different but collectively charming dogs and everything in between. When he talked about something he loved, he would constantly smile, his eyebrows would raise, the corners of his eyes would crinkle in a genuine extention of enthusiasm, and his hands would become animated, just like his whole body, always moving and remaining engaged. This happened during most conversation topics, but his favourite thing- or more specifically, person- to talk about was his husband, the love of his life, the most gorgeous man he’d ever met and the person he believed made him the luckiest person alive. Ryan. Whenever he tried to tell Ryan this, he’d dismiss it In a kind of shyness, and Brendon would just kiss him, kiss him hard and hope Ryan understood this more than what he was trying to convey verbally.

It was funny, ryan was usually so good with words. He was an incredible songwriter, a real wordsmith in Brendon’s extravagant ways of describing him or showering him in praise- but when Ryan tried to express something vocally to him, he seemed to find it difficult to find the right words. Brendon could relate to this, though- for all his charm and fluidity, whenever he attempted to grasp at words to tell Ryan how much he loved him, he only discovered there was nothing in the English language that would effectively allow his husband to comprehend just how much he meant to Brendon. It was frustrating, so he often resolved to other tactics- expressing things physically, through touch, through heated kisses that made his whole body flush with heat, to light contact that made him shiver, to gentle fingers running through hair with purpose too intense to even attempt to describe. When Brendon was in these kinds of moods, he was ridiculously clingy, but Ryan never seemed to mind. Usually it was the other way round, so Ryan kind of just made the most of it.

That day, they were just kind of sprawling about the house before making an attempt at recording some music or writing some lyrics with questionable success. It had started with Brendon kind of just staring at Ryan while he wrote, followed by the two of them tuning guitars for about fifteen minutes, followed by Brendon somehow ending up in Ryan’s lap and the next hour being completely unproductive creatively but very much more enjoyable than trying to come up with words rhyming with circus. They were now in the living room, Brendon finally willing himself to sit up, feeling Ryan shift a little beside him in complaint. He was wearing ryan’s button-up shirt, but it was open, and for a moment he considered just ditching it but then he decided he wanted to smell like him. Brendon glanced around the room again- he had been awake for a while, but had just kind of settled down against ryans side. The tv was on, and he reached over for the remote, flicking channels boredly before he finally turned around to see if Ryan had decided to come back to reality yet.

“Baby,” he began, moving a hand to intertwine his fingers with Ryan’s and bringing his hand up to kiss gently. “You alive?” A pause. Nothing. Brendon seemed almost breathlessly sounding enamoured when he moved a hand to comb through his hair affectionately and waited patiently for any kind of response. “Are you broken?” Realising that his husband really was dead to the world, Brendon rose and let go of Ryan’s hand, running his now free hand through his own messy hair and rubbing at his neck automatically. He was a little stiff from not moving for a while, and cracked his neck and back in succession before relaxing his shoulders and dropping his arms by his sides. Throughout everything, he was still kind of smiling to himself, almost a smirk but not suggestive, just relaxed and happy and pleased. He was in love. He just wished Ryan was awake so he could hear him say it again.

After a moment, he started searching around for his phone and found it on the coffee table, checking it and sitting back down the couch where there was space. It was just after lunch, it was sunny outside and Brendon contemplated finding the dogs and taking them out while Ryan clearly fake-slept beside him, trying to avoid that responsibility and any contact with the outside world. “Ryan,” He said, softly, grinning as he shook his husband lightly. “Baby. I know you’re awake. But I think I just had the greatest song idea. Plus the dogs need to be walked. Plus I think we should go out for lunch. Can’t do that while you’re ‘asleep’.”

carved on a tree || wade & joey

These dates weren’t really a weekly thing, but they were sort of loosely regular in some kind of way- when Wade suddenly felt like going out for something to eat instead of letting Joey pretend he was on masterchef, or Joey had recovered from the effort required to be social enough to leave the apartment once every now and then, they organised something, usually at the same few places. Tonight, Wade had insisted on Italian, and had wandered rather extravagantly around, speaking in a very awful accent and saying the names of different pasta shapes in the hope of sounding at least some what Italian. Joey seemed amused, but not very impressed. Their reservation was eight thirty, but by half six, wade had only just stepped into the shower, and he took twenty minutes minimum. Half an hour later, he stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist and almost slipping on his way out towards the mirror above the sink. Looking around suspiciously to make sure Joey hadn’t, like, sensed his embarrassment, Wade focused on his reflection and wondered for a moment whether or not he should shave. Hovering, he considered asking Joey, but then decided all of this was too much effort and walked back into the bedroom to fully collapse onto the bed, closing his eyes and folding his arms so he could rest his forehead.

What seemed like seconds past- but suddenly, Wade heard Joey’s voice, and wearily raised his head just enough to listen. For a moment, incredulous silence, then a long-suffering sigh loud enough to hear even from the next room, with an undertone if poorly concealed affection. Wade, are you ready? Oh, shit. Reservations. Pushing himself up with his forearms, he moved to sit up, dragging his hands down his face and then standing up. Maybe it was time to get a move on. He stretched briefly and then stepped through the doorway to the hall, walking down and into the kitchen. Joey was stood there, arms folded, fully dressed- wearing a really nice shirt and looking good enough that Wade forgot what he was going to say for a second and just stared rather dumbly, looking like a lost puppy. Joey raised his eyebrows and Wade finally offered him a grin. “How are you ready? It’s only-” A pause. His eyes were drawn to the clock on the wall. “Oh. Oh well. Hi.”

Before Joey could say anything else, Wade, still damp and clad in a towel, leaned in carefully to kiss him, moving a hand to rest at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to pull him close and risk protest. “You look great, Bruno,” He said, the corner of his mouth tilting when he pulled away, hand dropping from the nape of his neck and to his side. “Thought about what you’re having? I already know. Italian.” Quite shamelessly smirking at him, Wade then turned around, reaching to rub at his neck thoughtfully. “You think we could just skip dinner and stay home?” Without even waiting for an answer, he turned back around and shrugged as if to say ‘it was worth a try’. Then, he leaned in to kiss Joey again, before grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him back towards the bedroom with purpose.

Letting go only after he had shut the door, Wade crossed his arms and turned around. “I don’t know what to wear. Would they mind if I just wore a towel? Is that normal in Italian culture? I’m fully immersed in it, by the way. Penne. Ravioli. Cannelloni. Tortellini. My accent is better than yours.” Of course, this playful taunting had a motive- Wade actually really like Joey’s Italian accent (he was, as a Canadian, rather oblivious to the fact that it was only really semi-accurate), and was always looking for a way to coax it out of him at most times. That, and he’d literally chosen the restaurant so he could make several inappropriate jokes and relish the look on Joey’s face (mortification) when Wade came out with them at the table of a relatively nice place. But those were the things he had to get used to- Wade’s unabashed way of showing affection, his apparent lack of shame, and his naturally confident attitude all made for somebody that a extremely socially awkward person would have something of a nightmare trying to keep in line. “No, but I’m serious. What do I wear. I’m helpless, Joey. Helpless!”

stop the cavalry — River/Ari

Of all yearly holidays, Christmas seemed to be River’s favourite- in contrast, Ari quite simply held some kind of bitter vendetta against anything Christmassy, and banned all discussion of it until at least halfway through December. Of course, River graciously ignored this ban, singing Christmas songs to himself and making sure that whenever he went round to Ari’s house from November onwards that he was wearing the ugliest Christmas jumper he could possibly find. This was not a difficult feat- every year, without fail, River’s mother bought him about five ugly sweaters every time it rolled around winter. He had more than enough to choose from, and Ari’s face was priceless every time; the immeasurable disgust etched onto Ari’s expression when he opened the door and saw River stood on the doorstep in an embarrassing knitted jumper was always expected, and always enjoyed. It never got old, and River had no regrets, even if sometimes it meant that ari wouldn’t even go near him until he took off whatever atrocity he was wearing. Honestly, though, River could pull anything off, and had the suspicion that ari always forced him to take off the sweater was that he knew for a fact that river didn’t wear any t-shirt underneath.

Christmas had come around again- after Halloween, which had consisted mostly of River trying to get his head around ari’s goth-punk miniphase (the week that spanned across just before and a few days after Halloween where the only thing ari ever wore was black leather, head to toe, all studded and buckled and sometimes with a great deal of skin exposed. Now, River wasn’t exactly complaining, but it was strange- and stranger still when, almost abruptly, Ari’s fashion sense seemed to mellow again before River even had time to enjoy whatever Ari was doing with himself for that short week. Feeling that he had to counter this, River went online and scrolled relentlessly until he found the ugliest, cringiest Christmas sweater imaginable, and was wearing that very same jumper when he turned up on Ari’s doorstep, 8th December. In one pocket of his jeans, his phone was nestled, and he had one earphone in, humming along to ‘last Christmas’ even as Ari opened the door.

Not ten minutes later they were both nestled together on one of Ari’s ridiculous couches, River having successfully convinced his boyfriend to watch a Christmas movie with him. It was rather surprising how easily Ari succumbed- something told him that he was expecting something back in return, and the evidence was apparent in the way he was playing with the bottom of River’s thick sweater and how his other hand had moved up and was stroking through River’s fluffy, downy hair. It wasn’t currently very long, but it had been a decent while since it’s last cut; therefore, it was medium length, soft and long enough so that Ari could rather easily comb his entire hand through it. They managed to get about twenty minutes into the movie (elf, obviously) and through an entire large pack of caramel popcorn when Ari leaned in as if to steal a kiss from him. River, deciding that this could be entertaining to exploit, pretended not to notice him, even dropping the hand that he had curled around Ari’s hip and letting his grip go slack.

Ari was predictably persistent- he reached under the hem of River’s sweater and traced faux-innocent lines across his waist, only prompting raised eyebrows from River as he forced himself not to smile. He glanced back at the screen after reaching into a newly opened bag of popcorn and pushing one against Ari’s mouth to distract him for a few seconds. When Ari opened his mouth to speak, River just barely turned his head, as if not really paying attention. As if finally noticing his boyfriend’s impatience, his expression seemed to soften, and he took on an air of false sympathy. ”Did you want something?” A pause, and an annoyed pout from Ari. ”If it’s important, i’ll pause the movie for you...”

Neve’s Character Storage.

Neve’s Character Storage

-Brendon Blake
-Gabriel Carrasco
-Mitchell Darrow
-River Kendrick
-Tom Flores