Neve

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

Brendon didn’t particularly believe in fate, or destiny, but in a traditional sense that’s what this all seemed to be- that, or really good luck. At first, this had all been about playing for a band, performing, as this had been what he’d wanted to do since he first started playing instruments in the form of the first fender he ever bought. Since then, he had tried to play around 20 instruments, maybe more, and was adept in many, including but not limited to piano, guitar, and drums. Obviously, singing was still his chief talent, and his most recognisable. He’d be wasted as anything but a frontman. But that kind of wasn’t what this was about any more- in eight short months, he’d made free friends he planned on keeping forever, and one in particular who made an impact on him that was kind of nervous about. Brendon hadn’t really felt about anyone the way he felt about Ryan before, so it was all foreign to him, all uncharted territory. In fact, he was still kind of just ignoring it for the sake of the band. And the sake of his own heart- self protection. If he never did anything about it, he could never get hurt; Brendon hadn’t approached- or not approached- things like this before, but then this was new. It was just easier.

For all the promises he made himself, apparently his lack of self control meant that that plan wasn’t about to go into action. Instead, he invited Ryan to sit beside him and suggested watching the sunset, the moved consciously closer. Nothing about this was going to plan, but in the moment, he didn’t care. No, really, I definitely wish I’d done that. Brendon smiled kind of gratefully at Ryan for throwing him a line, but said nothing for a while. He wondered what they’d be doing right now if Ryan had been by his side for the past hour. Brendon was driving himself crazy just thinking about it, so he exhaled conclusively, swivelling his feet into the pebbles to get to the damp earth of the lakeshore underneath. The rain was making the round stones shiny, and he followed Ryan’s actions prior, picking one up and skimming it across the lake to draw attention away from himself, suddenly extremely aware of the lack of distance between them. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

When he spoke next, Ryan cared more about Spencer and Jon hearing than he did, and he was kind of unsettled, but didn’t question it. However, when Ryan’s arm wrapped around his waist, he felt the electricity of the contact and shivered, hoping it could be excused as the cold. ”Don’t let them see us like this,” He mentioned quietly, slightly amused, “I have heard them ask why you’re flirting with me. They know I’m not deaf, right?” Brendon wasn’t kind of forgetting how thin the walls were here, and though he knew Spencer and Jon weren’t blind or oblivious to the tension between him and Ryan, he didn’t really care whether they did or not. He only wondered if Ryan did, and closed his eyes, trying to press close and steal some of his bandmate’s body heat. He was comfortable, and was happy with no more talk, but Ryan was speaking again. Me neither. It could be three minutes since I last saw you, and I’d miss you.

”Three minutes is a long time, actually. I’m kind of offended,” He murmured, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He hesitated for a moment. “I dunno what it is. I just... I like being near you.” Brendon admitted, his voice wavering a little. Yeah? He nodded, and went to speak again, but Ryan had interrupted by reaching to unhook Brendon’s glasses from his shirt. Simply watching, he raised an eyebrow as Ryan put them on, and considered his bandmate for a moment, deciding that he looked pretty good and also that he was kind of screwed. He was saved by Ryan inquiring about his writing, but not really, because his subject matter was sitting right beside him, too close but still painfully far away. It hit him suddenly that he wanted to kiss him. It would be easy, he’d just have to lean up, he’d never get a better opportunity. Brendon took a deep breath.

”I Have Friends In Holy Spaces.” He said softly, looking out at the lake for a moment. “A song. Or, part of a song. Sounds kind of dumb when I say it out loud.” Brendon admitted, and he was doubtful, regretting mentioning it. “I don’t really know... What it’s about. Does a song have to have a specific goal?” He wondered out loud, figuring that of everybody to ask, Ryan was probably the expert. Anything to distract him and stop him from ruining it by doing something impulsive, as Brendon was reknowned to do.

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

Though Brendon was, for the most part, happy with the fact that Ryan was still the chief lyricist, and he greatly admired his talent, he did sort of want some creative input. Singing was all well and good, but it wasn’t especially inventive; he had things he wanted to say, maybe not as profound or as complex as Ryan’s subject matter, but he wanted to say them all the same. So, while Ryan and Jon had worked on other things, Brendon often didn’t get involved with their little song projects, and instead excused himself to work on random lyrics of his own. So far, he didn’t have a full song, just fragments of verses, words and phrases he wanted to use, people and emotions and inspirations and everything he wanted to fit into a period of three minutes, average. Brendon didn’t know how Ryan did it- fit so much into such a short period of time. Sometimes, he considered just talking to him about it, asking him for some advice, maybe, but Brendon was kind of too proud for his own good, and besides, some of the things- and people- he wanted to write about was sort of embarrassing if the wrong person found out. So, he soldiered on, finding peace by himself when he could.

This was one of those rare moments of stillness. Brendon was, in a sense, a live wire, burning with energy and passion and a sense of urgency. When he was subdued, mellow, tranquil, it was strange, almost alien, though at the same time he seemed part of the landscape, matching it for its dynamics and drama. At this moment, his feet were crunching in the pebbles, his hair was stirred by the breeze, his skin adorned with tiny raindrops, hunched over slightly to protect his notebook from the drizzle. It wasn’t like he could have stayed like that for very long- he had too much energy to stay still for long periods of time- but since he was absorbed in his work at that moment, if Ryan hadn’t have interrupted, he probably would have finished. Instead, he closed the notebook, having finished on the lines i’m not complaining that it’s raining, i’m just saying that i’d like it a lot more than you think if the sun would come out and sing with me. He wasn’t sure what would become of it- but he had a title.

Brendon put it out of sight and mind for the moment and turned his attentions to what he considered more important- Ryan, who greeted him with a half-smile and a rather dry ‘Hey’. Amused, he raised an eyebrow, and fanned his hand out towards the lake. “Need some water?” When Ryan sat beside him, he automatically moved a little closer, inclining his head to pay full attention. I’m alright. Glad I found you- I’ve been playing the same chord for an hour trying to get it right. He laughed a little, tipping his head back thoughtfully. “An hour you could have spent out here with me. I mean- If you wouldn’t- Never mind.” Dismissively, sheepishly, he shrugged his shoulders, and raised his head again, reaching to adjust his glasses slightly. He couldn’t see out of them very well right now anyway, so he gave up and took them off, wiping them half-heartedly on his shirt.

His attention was drawn by Ryan’s hand clenching around a pebble, and his face betrayed nothing except mild curiosity. You do, too, Brendon. He heard the pebble skip and then splash, but he was looking at Ryan, feeling suddenly like he was too close and way too far away at the same time. You always do. A faint smile threatened to break his neutral expression, just as the sun’s evening rays broke through the trees as it set. He gave in quickly, but looked down at his feet. Not sick of us already, are you? Brendon thanked God that Ryan, in that instance, was a little better at carrying on conversation. Brendon was sort of flustered, because his heart was aching for some reason and he wondered whether the reason for that was sat beside him. “Nah.” He paused, suddenly doubtful. “Okay, so maybe Spencer and Jon. Don’t tell them. I haven’t- I don’t think I could get sick of you. I don’t think I will any time soon.”

Brendon’s voice was soft and gentle, and with those words in the air, he still refused to look Ryan in the eyes (they were honey-coloured and made his heart flutter ridiculously in a way he thought didn’t actually happen). Instead, he moved even closer, and tilted his head to rest it comfortably on his bandmate’s shoulder, the height difference just enough so it was pretty much perfect. His glasses were hooked into the neckline of his shirt, and he exhaled gently, looking out at the horizon. “I was writing just now.”

oh such torturous things ;; b&r

If, eight months ago, somebody had told Brendon that he was to become the new frontman of an explosively successful, young and unique band that he himself had fallen instantly in love with when he first heard their debut record, he would have laughed in their faces but maybe wistfully imagined what that kind of life would be like. Never mind he would get to hang around with the people he kind of musically looked up to- guys his age, being as successful as they were almost effortlessly- he would also be able to do what he loved; sing. Not just to a weak crowd of lunchgoers who were only half listening. Not just people too drunk to actually register his talent. He wanted to sing for people who wanted to listen. Brendon had aspirations to improve his writing, too, and had been doing so whenever he could, even adopting the tactic of just carrying a notebook around and writing in it whenever any tiniest spark of inspiration hit him, whether that was between waiting tables for Joey, or out drinking with his friends at the weekends, or just sitting at home, absently watching cars pass by. He never showed anyone, though- Brendon didn’t think anybody would particularly care, apart from Joey, but he was kind of reluctant anyway.

Anyway, a month down the line, Brendon had signed what he needed to sign and was now not only a member of the band, but the frontman and lead singer. Ryan still retained the roll of lead lyricist, because he was still obviously the most adept where that was concerned, and Brendon initially had no problem with this. If they all sticked to their talents, it would work. Luckily, because of their similar ages and interest, all the members clicked straight away; it was like Brendon had always been there, and he quickly became a central force, a natural leader and a great friend to all three of his bandmates. Spencer, he noted, was probably the most approachable, and Ryan’s best friend since childhood- the two had started the band together. Jon had joined later, and didn’t quite fit into the emo-cabaret aesthetic they had going on in the first record, instead wearing sandals and sweatshirts all the time, but he still fit. Ryan was probably the most reserved, even though his stage persona was surprisingly confident when it needed to be; Brendon noticed that for a man of all his musical and lyrical talent, he wasn’t exactly self assured about his own prowess- but god, was he stubborn.

Brendon grew to love them all very quickly, through re-recording and practising songs from Fever, and taking part in compulsory interviews where most of the questions were directed at him, as the new frontman and the most obviously comfortable in the spotlight, friendly and adaptable of them all. It seemed a welcome break for Ryan, who was tired of talking so much. Brendon understood the band to an extent that he pretty much covered everything, even one day touching on the reason Ryan wanted to be replaced- he felt he hadn’t a voice confident enough for his confident sounding lyrics. Because Brendon was adamant about being fully intergrated, he tended to ask a lot of questions about the subject matter- particularly the more personal stuff, like Camisado and Nails for Breakfast. Initally, Ryan was very closed off. He still didn’t really know- just what he could speculate, and that it was to do with a family member close to him. He tried not to push too hard.

Seven down the line, Brendon and Ryan had grown even closer. Somewhere between stupid inside jokes and profound conversations about music and literature, they grew to understand eachother more and more. Seven months ago, Brendon would have never imagined this. For a while, he thought he’d grown out of his crush, but had recently accepted it would probably stick around for a long time. It was driving him crazy. Anyway, by this time, they were getting not-so-subtle hints from the label to hurry the hell up and write a new record, so the four of them kind of spontaneously agreed to Jon’s suggestion- they all go stay in a cabin in the mountains somewhere, draw artistic inspiration from nature or something. Ryan loved the idea, Brendon just loved the prospect of spending so much time with them, Spencer didn’t really have a choice. Not even a week later they were in a cabin by a lake, as secluded and remote as they came.

It was beautiful. They had an amazing view, and though the cabin was small, it was homely, and the great spaces and nature around them meant that if any arguments from being kind of cramped broke out, one party could quickly just leave to go stand by the lake or wander the outskirts of the woods to cool off. It was usually Brendon doing this. That particular evening, it was misty, and the view was kind of obscured. Mountains rose up dramatically, the lake was grey and glassy, and a light drizzle of rain caused tiny ripples on the surface. The sky was grey, but the horizon was smudged purple as the sun began to fall, not quite setting. He was writing, sitting on a worn log down by the pebbled lakeshore, writing some lyrics that had been stirred around in his head all day. Brendon looked up- his glasses were adorned with tiny droplets- and ran a hand absently through his slightly tousled hair, his expression neutral, his eyes dark and his eyelashes low. He wondered what this memory would mean to him in the future, and exhaled. Things had changed.

Jolted out of his kind of dramatic self-reflection, he heard footsteps behind him, crunching onto the pebbles. He glanced over his shoulder- it was Ryan. He greeted him with a tiny smile, silently inviting him to sit beside him on the log. Ryan did. “Hey, Ry,” He said, softly, biting down gently on his lip and closing the notebook, laying it down on the pebbles. ”You okay? Joining me for the sunset? Just in time.” Brendon looked back over at the lake briefly- then decided there were better views, and turned back to look at his bandmate. There was a long pause, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “You look good.”

raindrops on roses || b&r

When the mic was held in his direction, extended forwards as the lead singer leaned in to offer it to him, Brendon was at odds for a moment as of what to do. He was sure some of his friends were elsewhere in the audience- Dallon he had convinced to come along, but had lost during the first five minutes when he went to find a drink and never came back- and he hesitated for milliseconds before picking up the chorus where Ryan left off. For a few moments he regretted taking it so seriously, being so dramatic about it, singing it like it was his own song- he should have just shouted ‘I love you, Dallon’ into the mic or something. Now, though, he could see the shock crossing Ryan’s face, and felt his stomach twist. Was this a good surprise, or a bad one? He felt like flinging the mic back in his direction, but then he noticed that awe had crossed the frontman’s features, too, and felt suddenly even more motivated. He was going to make the most of this- he might never get the opportunity to sing for this large an audience ever again.

So maybe he’d kind of religiously listened to this song. Ryan was- what? A year older than him? And the imagery created by the lyrics to Build God were incredible, complex, dirty motels juxtaposed with raindrops on roses, everything tied together as a caricature of intimacy. He was intrigued by what went on in Ryan’s head, what possibly inspired him to write this song, whether he was writing in hypotheticals or from experience with such things and places. Probably the former, but still, Brendon wondered where he conjured up the attention to detail, right down to the intoxicatingly awful scent of such places that he was describing. Brendon wished he could write like that, so he guess he kind of compensated by oversinging, and projected his admiration through subtle lilts, displaying his own attention to detail and appreciation of the lyrics through his own area of expertise- singing.

And Ryan clearly appreciated it- when Brendon continued into the second verse, the astounded expression on the frontman’s face told him everything, the way his grip on the mic went slack and he let Brendon go wild. When he finally gave it back, he seemed reluctant to take it, and when he did he made sure to first look as delighted as possible with that rendition of the song and Brendon felt his heart racing- from the adrenaline, the applause around him, from Ryan’s clear praise and the general exhilaration he got from performing. Brendon decided that this was what he wanted to do, and what he would do. He’d make it to where Ryan Ready was and higher. He had the talent, the charisma, the intense presence, the mercurial qualities- all he needed was a chance, and a great deal of luck. Brendon sang along to the rest of the song with equal enthusiasm, wondering in the back of his mind whether he’d be able to express his appreciation for the band in person. Ryan looked distracted, too- or maybe it was his imagination.

When the song ended, Brendon joined in the appreciation by cheering and clapping along with almost childish enthusiasm, a bright, wide grin betraying his exhilaration, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he brushed his hair back, unsticking it from his forehead. Thank you for believing in us! Before we say goodnight- round of applause for the brave soldier who took on my lyrics, yeah? Thank you. As cringeworthy as it sounded, Brendon’s heart skipped as some applause erupted again. He leaned against the barrier as if to catch his breath and looked up to try and catch the lead singer’s eye again, but they were already laughing and leaving the stage. Brendon exhaled, hot and bothered and a hundred thoughts racing through his mind, his heart still loud in his chest. When everybody started clearing out, he made a beeline to the venue’s slightly dingy bathroom, steadying himself in front of a mirror and trying to tidy himself up a bit, noticing how his lips were red and his face was flushed. His hair, thankfully, obediently fell back into place. He rolled his shoulders back. He knew his next move.

In theory, seeking out the band by their tour bus was an easy move. They all seemed like pretty chill guys. In practice, it was slightly daunting, even if it was partly because he had the biggest, typical crush on the frontman. He hung back from the rest of the modest crowd of people waiting to greet them, and noted how Ryan also similarly hung back from his bandmates, while Spencer and Jon moved forwards to greet the herd. Brendon hesitated- then realised his nervousness was dumb. He was a naturally confident person. This guy was basically his age. He had been clearly impressed by his singing. Inhaling, he did move forwards, shrugging off his jacket to try and cool off. Expertly dodging the crowd, and the preoccupied Spencer and Jon, he approached, wearing an easy smile, but still feeling his heart skip. ”Ryan? Hey. I’m the guy you gave the mic to. ...My parents thought it was a catchy name, but it hasn’t really come in useful til now.” He was grinning at his own joke, offering his hand, but thinking very different thoughts. He wondered if it was obvious.

raindrops on roses || b&r

Brendon rather generously described himself as a singer, when in fact, he was just a guy working at an Italian restaurant for decent pay and singing to himself when there weren’t many customers to maybe get himself a little extra in the ways of tips than usual. He did kareoke, if only for the opportunity to perform, and sometimes sang properly for Joey’s evening rush a few days a week, but other than that- nothing. It wasn’t like Brendon was shy, or that he didn’t realise the full extent of his talents- in fact, he was extremely confident, with a natural flair for performance and the dramatic, with an inborn charisma that tended to captivate anybody he spoke, or sang, to. Joey, his boss, but also his stand-in father figure and possible closest friend, always told him he should do something with that talent, but Brendon just hadn’t done it yet. He’d always told himself he was just young, he didn’t need to have anything figured out yet, but. It was his dream. To do what he loved to make a living.

It was men like Ryan Ready who made him doubt that he was making good progress in his life- they were more or less the same age, Ryan a year older or something, and he was the lead singer, guitarist and lyricist of his own band, a band that had risen frighteningly quickly to the spotlight thanks to the internet and its army of fans, that counted Brendon amongst its ranks. He had written his own theoretical songs and lyrics before, but they were nothing compared to the abstract nature and complexity of Ryan’s songs. He admired him, and was in awe of his talent- though his voice wasn’t the strongest as it went technically, and his range wasn’t as broad as Brendon’s and other singer’s, it had an edge when the lyrics were raw, and was almost honey-soft when the song so demanded. His entire aesthetic, Ryan’s sort of stoic and half-shy persona- Brendon adored that too. He was maybe a little obsessed.

As such, he had attended a show already, this was his second- and this time, he’d managed to get all the way to the front so he was against the barrier, hair something of an endearing mess, sticking to his forehead from the heat, eyes shining from the stagelights, breathless from singing along. It was the last song- Brendon expected Nails For Breakfast, because of the last setlist, but he was instead greeted with Build God, to his delight. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would sound like recorded with his voice, so when he sang, he did it with purpose. It was gritty, it was some weird genre he couldn’t quite describe and didn’t want to attempt to like many critics had, giving it ridiculous names like ‘cabaret emo pop’ or ‘baroque pop-punk’ and everything in between. He just wished he’d been part of it- it was what he yearned to do, and even more, he wanted to be on that stage so people could see what a multi instrumentalist and talented singer like Brendon could do.

He was leaning against the barrier grinning, blinded by circling spotlights, eyes only on the frontman as the song started. Brendon naturally knew the lyrics off by heart, and sang in perfect time, but loud, and with an almost unnatural understanding of the lyrics in his tone, as if he had been there when it had been written, like it was his song. When Ryan actually caught his eye during the chorus, he faltered slightly, kind of starstruck when the mic was held out for him, but he pulled himself together hastily so to not miss the opportunity. He even reached out to take hold of it. ...Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy-“ His voice sounded like someone else’s. ”Inside, what a wonderful caricature of intimacy...” Grinning, he finally made direct eye contact with Ryan, and almost forgot to breathe. Had he really just done that? Brendon cursed himself for being so over the top.

Directly after, though, he continued singing, because Ryan hadn’t taken it back. He sang in a voice that was more smooth, seductive, more appropriate for the song, almost explicitly sultry. “...Tonight tenants range from a lawyer and a virgin, accessorising with a rosary tucked inside her lingerie...” He took a breath. “She’s getting a job at the firm come Monday, the Mrs. will stay with the cheating attorney, moonlighting aside she really needs his money, a wonderful caricature of intimacy-” Feeling like he’d hogged the mic, he offered it back, but now he was really hot and bothered from the situation and the song, and you could see it in his dilated pupils and his parted lips.

smile even though you're sad || b&r

Three and a half months ago, Brendon had relapsed- again. He was starting to doubt himself, and wonder whether this was just how his life was supposed to pan out- drinking himself blind and destroying ever bridge he ever built in his brief periods of soberity. The irony of some of his (or rather Ryan’s) old songs left a bitter taste in his mouth- sit back, relapse again. He tried not to think about it too much. Two and a half months ago, he had gotten worse, and Ryan wasn’t exactly doing great either, though he granted himself the privilege of not particularly caring, or rather subduing that quality with more alcohol. One month a half ago, they had an argument- a bit quite explosive, but a crushing, desperate one, where Brendon, in self defence, had shut himself off completely from Ryan and decided to leave before Ryan could properly tell him to. He felt slightly better knowing he hadn’t technically been told to fuck off.

With a month a half to reflect on, Brendon was still uneasy about whether breaking it off (officially? kind of? Brendon didn’t know and was too afraid to ask) was the right thing to do for both of them. The first few weeks, he’d been a mess- since the next day he’d moved to Joey’s with barely a backwards glance, he spent most of his time curled up in a chair, sometimes nursing a bottle of whatever Joey reluctantly let him have, Bogart close to his chest and his brown eyes colder, darker, almost hollow. It had gotten easier- Joey told him he was getting better, he was in the process of being weaned off, but the success of this didn’t rub off on him when he was busy trying to offset shakes and steady his hand. Joey had been a saint through all of this, and the guilt did kick in sometimes that this definitely wasn’t easy for him on multiple levels. Brendon knew he could be selfish, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t even thanked him, but for some reason, the words felt wrong and muddled and his usually talkative self couldn’t quite formulate one sincere enough.

Now, Brendon was doing significantly better, but something inside of him was void- it became prevalent when he felt the ghost of a hand intertwined with his own, the sound of a voice played on repeat in his head, the missing warmth at night while he lay awake staring at the empty space beside him. It was all kind of cliche and he was sick to death of himself to the point he wondered whether it was better to break things off for good rather than just leaving himself to speculate and agonise over uncertainties. He just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. He wasn’t sure where he and Ryan stood. Was Ryan doing better without him? He hoped so, but also selfishly hoped that Ryan missed him just as much. To fill his time, Brendon mostly turned to Joey, or Bogart, or whatever bullshit he could find on the TV. He stayed away from music because a certain song had started to play on shuffle once and he’d grown angry instead of sad and almost thrown his phone across the room.

That particular day, though, Brendon was feeling better than he had in a long time. Bogart was curled up in his lap, his hair was actually falling right, his eyes looked a little brighter and the crinkles returned when he smiled whenever Joey said something to make him laugh. Ryan was, astoundingly, the last thing on his mind, and since he had kind of forced Joey to play some Sinatra on the sound system, he was singing enthusiastically along to that and having a good enough time that he could skim over the tremors in his hands for once. He was getting better. Brendon was in the middle of ‘My Way’ when he heard the front door open, and he only stopped momentarily to listen and pat Bogart reassuringly. Probably Wade come back from work, about to walk in and demand a meal from one of three good groups- pasta, a different pasta or any variation of Mexican food. When Ryan walked in, he was kind of taken aback, and his voice faltered and stopped.

Unable to stop his eyebrows from raising, he felt Bogart sit up, alert and nervously excited. Brendon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, and Ryan beat him to it by a mile anyway. We need to talk. He said nothing, and only wondered why Ryan couldn’t just drop him a warning text first so he could look a little sexier. Jesus, what was he thinking? This was still his husband. Not his ex. This in mind, he tilted his head, as if to tell him to continue. I’m so sorry, Bren. For what? All but unloading everything on him while he’d been piss-drunk and incredibly vulnerable? Brendon held his tongue. I’m so sorry, I got so fucking scared, and then. It just- that’s not what I should’ve done, no one should do that, I didn’t think it through, shouldn’t have left you alone like that- ”Ryan, stop.” He cut in finally, kind of annoyed that a downer had been put on his day but also feeling a stab of pain in his chest and an ache in his heart he’d tried to drink away resurfacing.

“Don’t apologise. What else were you supposed to do? Stay with me in sickness and in health like you promised at our wedding? That would be asking too much. Anyway, I wasn’t alone. I got Joey.” Joey, who he specifically told to not let Ryan in. Brendon grimaced for a second, then shook his head and broke into a relatively easy smile. ”Anyway, how are you? Doing okay?” He was trying not to seem too passive aggressive, but when Bogart jumped down from his lap and bounded towards Ryan excitedly, he couldn’t help but accidentally exclaim ‘Traitor’. He rested his head against the couch cushion. “How’s Dot?”

anytime soon || b&r

Besides Ryan’s tendency to use extravagant metaphors, or sometimes unnecessarily complicated vocabulary with a more open, even ethereal edge to his songs as opposed to Brendon’s use of more fiery, passionate but sometimes straightforward lyrics, there was one thing that kind of chiefly separated their writing styles. Ryan, see, didn’t really write about himself, and if he did, everything was kind of guarded under three layers of tightly woven metaphors. Instead, he tended to write about other people and their effects on him, on action rather than being. For example, his father, or more often Brendon, because that’s where he drew a lot of his muse. Brendon usually took it as a compliment, and songs like Northern Downpour held a special place in his heart (though songs like Cape Town set him kind of frowning out of nothing but confusion). As opposed to Ryan’s indirect but insightful approach, Brendon used ‘I’ and ‘we’ much more, writing from experience and action rather than observation and emotion, for the most part. Brendon was motivated by such things, and though he did write a fair few love songs, most of his music varied- about the darkest and brightest times of his life, about the parties and extravagance, then the demons he never shied away from.

When he did choose to write songs about other people, his cast of characters to choose from was vibrant- ex-lovers, people who, in a different life, would have perhaps been potential lovers, old friends, family, about a God he didn’t believe in and people that meant more to him than he could ever describe without music. Brendon had no skeletons in his closet; he’d dressed them up and put them into songs. This was why he was defensive, and independent. Sure, he’d allow strangers to hear it, but they all dismissed his party anthems as just that. No deeper meaning. Everything made more sense when he could control all the details. He felt that nobody had the right to his own personal tragedies and happiest memories. Even Ryan. Brendon didn’t know how to say this to him without hurting his feelings, so he just kind of dodged around it, even if that meant more aggressive and harsh ways of deterring Ryan from the band. He couldn’t really tell if it was working that way, but Ryan was definitely angry, so he supposed that was going relatively well.

Ryan was at the doorway, and Brendon was on edge, his shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched. He didn’t like this at all. This wasn’t like them. They argued, sure, like every couple, but they were just silly things, regular harmless bickering. If not, it was resolved in less than a day (because Brendon needed attention and Ryan couldn’t stay mad). This, though, was a step over that line. What he said about the songwriting was a step over the line, he could see it in Ryan’s eyes. I didn’t realise you had such a problem with me writing about you. Brendon cringed internally, feeling sick. Of course he didn’t have a problem with it. But it was too late to back down- his pride forbid it. I mean. I guess it is kind of pathetic. Being in love with someone, composing nearly whole albums about them... An unseeming rush of affection hit him at the worst possible time and he shook it away as quickly as he could. This was the man he was in love with. What was he doing?

I figured if the feeling was mutual it wasn’t too pathetic, but maybe that was stupid thinking. Brendon was almost stunned at the implication there, and speechless for a second. Did Ryan just genuinely doubt that Brendon loved him, and express that doubt to his face? He was... unspeakably angry, and struggled to control that, trying to keep his face straight. ”What the f-” He paused. “What the fuck did you just say?” Brendon kind of drew back against the headboard, suddenly cold. ”Jesus Christ. Fuck off.” What the hell is wrong with you? That was rich, coming from him, Brendon thought, but said nothing. ”Fuck off, Ryan. You can’t just say that to me and expect me to forget it. We’re fucking adults now, we’re not in high school any more.”

anytime soon || b&r

When Brendon was writing songs, he never really thought how the lyrics would affect the rest of the band, then his close friends who would hear the music first, then the wider audience- it was more simple with the fans, because Brendon had never really spoken about his troubles with addiction in the past in public, but with his friends, they all knew. When they heard lyrics like ‘i’m not as think as you drunk i am’, ‘we’ll stay drunk, we’ll stay tan’, ‘champagne, cocaine gasoline’ and ‘drunk pre-meds and some rubber gloves’, amongst many others, they all kind of cringed, knowing the connotations and immediately growing concerned about Brendon, but didn’t say anything, because they knew he’d immediately be on the defensive. Maybe it was his way of coping, they thought. Brendon himself didn’t really know why he wrote about it so much, because even when he sang songs like ‘don’t threaten me with a good time’ live, though a kind of bitter taste rose in the back of his mouth, he almost felt... Wistful. He didn’t really talk about it, but it was hard to tell people who were worried about him that he actually did enjoy partying, and getting wasted, and everything that came with it in the heat of those moments. Maybe this was dangerous- it wasn’t like he didn’t know what it would do to him if he started again, but he missed it, sometimes, on Saturday nights when his friends were just having a few drinks like people normally did, or New Years, when he had to stay home or it was too much for him, or at events he attended of any kind that served alcohol. It was difficult for him- it would be so easy to just order a drink, down it quickly, and nobody would notice. But he knew that one would turn into three, then six. He knew that. But sometimes he didn’t particularly care.

Brendon often pondered talking about this with Ryan, but he knew it wouldn’t go down well, because he wouldn’t understand. Plus, he didn’t seem to care much about the explicitly alcohol-orientated lyrics he brought forward in most songs, even in the song he’d written for their wedding. ‘Share one more drink with me’- ironic, considering their circumstances. All this considered, he stayed quiet about it, and poured it all into his songs, to almost relive memories. Brendon tried not to think about it too much. Lately, though, he’d felt more defensive over his music, and this was why he wanted the band to himself- he’d be free from disapproval, frustration amongst band members, criticism, and those typical concerned glances he got whenever he even mentioned a memory, or rather a few broken pieces of a memory, to do with the time when he’d gone out to party like how his songs described. Brendon hated it, he wanted out. Or rather, he wanted them out. He loved the band, Sure, but he’d kind of made up his mind. The fact he was maybe being a little- no, very- selfish didn’t occur to him. It wasn’t just his band.

Bullshit. Brendon blinked back into reality, wincing just slightly. More like you’re not letting any of us do anything. Scowling, he bit his lip, looking away to steel himself and then turning back with purpose. ”Sorry, which album has performed the best? The one you wrote, ten years ago, or the one I wrote last year?” A low blow, Sure. But Brendon felt like he needed to back himself up. Consider the possibility that your ‘creative direction’ isn’t- isn’t the best one to take. No, he thought immediately, wringing his hands and watching Ryan intently. He never intended this to go as it did, but it was too late to take anything back or back out. Brendon had to push on, even if he knew now from Ryan’s expression and voice that he was angry. It was alarming, though, when Ryan stood up- was he going to leave? Brendon raised a hesitant eyebrow and opened his mouth as if to say something, but Ryan beat him to it.

Sure. You think you’re better off flying solo, go ahead. You’ll return out of material eventually; you can’t write about your personal tragedy like it was a party forever. I’m out. Brendon bristled visibly, his shoulders tensing and his expression shifting from annoyance to obvious anger, his jaw clenching as if trying to hold his tongue. But he didn’t. ”You can’t say that as someone who’s written about the same fucking person for over ten years. That’s pathetic.” In the moment, he didn’t regret it. “And, ‘personal tragedy’? You know there’s a reason those songs are happy, right?” His voice was uncharacteristically venomous, and he waited for a few heartbeats until what he’d said finally reached his own ears, and his stomach dropped. He felt distantly sick.

anytime soon || b&r

To be fair, Brendon had been thinking about this for a while, and most of his points were, on the surface, pretty valid. The problem only appeared when one remembered that Ryan had been the practical founder of the band, that most problems he cited like ‘lack of bandmate contribution’ had been orchestrated by his own unwillingness to accept other ideas, and his desire to have full control sort of arose from the lack of control he’d had over his life in his late teens and early twenties, surfacing as a way of making up that lost time, and making him feel more grounded. That, and he was just sometimes downright too proud and stubborn for his own good. It was rare now that he admitted to somebody else’s good idea, and when he did, it was begrudging, and minimal as possible. Nobody was perfect, and Brendon’s vices were kind of deeply set in a way that made him appear selfish, and disregarding of other people’s input and feelings. He didn’t realise it himself- in his head, what he was trying to do made complete sense, and he even thought it’d make Ryan happier- he foolishly thought that if he was happy, ryan was bound to follow suit, which was short-sighted, and he thought maybe Ryan could work on his own long overdue music projects. No matter his reason, his handling of the situation definitely didn’t help his cause.

Because Ryan generally caved to what Brendon wanted, within reason, Brendon had kind of thought before going into this that it would go pretty smoothly, and there would be no hard feelings or bad blood, because that would definitely not equate to a healthy relationship. Then again, neither did kicking his husband out of their band. Brendon wasn’t really a team player to begin with, maybe because he’d been isolated for a lot of his childhood as the youngest of his siblings and the stereotypical gay reject to his parents, but that was probably looking too deep. Because of this trait, he found it difficult to compromise with people, or even listen to what they were saying, because he had so much to say himself. This, at his best, made him charming, and at his worst, stubborn and insufferable. Brendon was aware of this, but often couldn’t stop himself butting in at the worst of times and saying something that was probably better left unsaid. For example, now, when he almost said that Ryan didn’t contribute at all.

Brendon never expected Ryan to readily agree, but he was still uncomfortable at Ryan’s flat facial expression, knowing that this meant he was just pissed. He almost reached to take his hand, but Ryan moved away so they were completely separate, and he felt a little rejected. Ironic, really. He bit his lip, looking away awkwardly but determined to argue his point, clearing his throat. Ryan spoke before he could continue. That’s great. That’s really good. Brendon looked up, and Ryan was staring at the ceiling. He remained silent. You know, I have always wanted to be a touring member for the band I started. “It’s not always about where you start, Ryan. It’s the fact that you don’t do anything in the band anymore. Nothing would even change.” That was way too harsh, but Brendon kind of just grit his teeth, really not wanting this to be an argument but also accepting the inevitability of it all.

I’m sorry. Brendon raised an eyebrow. You’re not going to, like- try to compromise or anything? Or go solo rather than kicking everyone else out?” ”What’s the difference? I’m the lead singer, I make the band.” Again. Shortsighted, arrogant even. Brendon was rarely this uptight about things, but this potential argument had him on edge. Have you even thought this through? He scoffed. ”Have for a while, actually. The last album- I wrote literally everything. You guys still played. What difference does it make?”

anytime soon || b&r

Ever since they’d first formed a band, it had been Brendon and Ryan. Other members had more or less come and gone, with Spencer leaving the original lineup due to a fallout with the rather dramatic lead singer (Brendon). Dallon had dismissed it all at first, saying it was ridiculous, so they enrolled hthis kid called Jon. Obviously, when Brendon left ilvermorny, the whole thing fell apart, until Ryan came to Hogwarts and the two of them managed to convince Dallon to be their bassist. They managed without a drummer for a while, but then Ryan met Spencer again (to Brendon’s original disdain), and there were four of them. However, by this time, Brendon was already somewhat shouldering in on everything, leaving the other band members with the task of recording only and not much creative input. He preferred to work alone, for the most part, and this became apparent when the other members were kind of shut out of the creative process. None of them bothered to complain- Brendon was stubborn, and often too nice about it all to get mad at- so they kind of just stayed silent and added in where they could (where Brendon allowed).

As of late, though, Spencer, Dallon and Ryan were kind of getting fed up, especially Ryan. He felt more affronted about being left out then the other two, because a) the lead singer was his husband and still had no problem with rejecting most of his work, and b) the band was kind of his idea in the first place, and in the early days, he had done the most to contribute. Ryan wasn’t confrontational enough to complain, and kind of satisfied himself by looking on the bright side- he was playing alongside the love of his life, he still made music with the guys, and if he squinted, it was just as fun and they were still a band. Brendon, in contrast, didn’t feel like this. One of his vices was his sense of self-importance that reared it’s head sometimes, and maybe his desire to be in control, so he still felt creatively restricted by the three other guys, particularly Dallon (who was perhaps the one who was most vocal about the fact they were being excluded). He came to a conclusion eventually that he’d try and break away from them, and maybe try and convince them to just be touring members. Brendon wasn’t trying to be malicious by any means, he just profoundly felt they were hindering his music, whether this was true or not.

He figured Ryan would be the hardest to talk to, because... they were married. He was going to try and kick the person he lived with out of a band the two of them had originally formed. In hindsight, the whole thing was ridiculous and kind of selfish of him (Brendon was, technically, firing them, if he squinted enough), but he was adamant. Brendon didn’t know when to bring it up, though, so he eventually just plucked the subject out of thin air after a few hours of just... buttering him up. Brendon was curled up next to him- it was the afternoon, and they’d both just remained in bed practically all day, brendon just constantly pressing affectionate kisses against Ryan’s jaw, hoping to himself that it would take away inevitable hard feelings. ”Ryan?” He began, hesitantly, biting his lip and pulling away to sit up a little, running a hand through his tousled hair. ”I need to talk to you.” He figured that sounded may too serious, and cleared his throat to move on.

”I’ve been thinking recently, how.. How it’s mostly me, writing music and singing and shit, and... I was just thinking, it would make it easier if you were like, officially removed from the process? Cause like... I don’t know, you don’t really make a-” Fuck, that sounded bad. Brendon rubbed his neck awkwardly, not meeting Ryan’s eyes for a second before he straightened up. ”Not just you. Dallon and Spencer, too. You could still, like, play live and all that. Touring members.”