Neve

mildly inspiring end | b&r

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mildly inspiring end | b&r

Brendon wasn’t really sure what he was trying to achieve. If he succeeded in annoying Ryan out of bed and self-pity, he would surely just drag himself over the couch, instead, and be a pain in the neck for the rest of the day. He made a note to self to call Holden later and tell him he was coming over- if Ryan didn’t quickly come down from his current agitated, very annoying, whiny state. It wasn’t like he felt any sympathy- sure, he knew exactly how it felt, the sensation was all too familiar; but this was a baby hangover compared to some violent ones that Brendon had suffered in the past, some that even Ryan hadn’t seen during the worst periods. A shiver cut through him suddenly as he relived the sensations- retching, shivering, an excruciating pain in his head. The afflictions were like ghosts- gone, but their presence was there, unseen. Brendon found that this did bring back some painful memories, but he shook it off as quickly as he could- there was no use feeling sorry for himself. There was already a man in this house doing enough of that for the both of them.

Have mercy for a second, would you? I’m in hell. Brendon laughed, meeting Ryan’s slitted eyes with raised, suggestive eyebrows. ”No rest for the wicked,” He replied, surveying the rather sorry state of his boyfriend with something akin to disdain. ”And anyway, darling, I’d say that when you’re with me and I’m giving you that kind of material for later, you’re in heaven.” Grinning again, he settled, deciding that watch Ryan complain would never get boring. It feels like four in the morning. ”It’s not,” He chimed in helpfully. Except, at four in the morning, the sun isn't out to fuck me over. Ryan was making this too easy. He cleared his throat. ”Which sun are you referring to, Ryan?” Splaying a hand against his chest, he then gestures towards the window where the sunlight was entering. ”I’m fucking you over right now, really, so. Both work.” Rather judgemental, he watched as Ryan buried his face in his pillow to try and escape the daytime, and was very tempted to just pull the remaining blankets and pillows away and leave him on a stripped bed. The more he whined, the more tempting it became.

In all seriousness, it wasn’t like Brendon would have refused Ryan’s request (if it had actually been a request and not a poorly thought-through insult at someone who was very likely to gain the upper hand by turning it back around on Ryan). He rarely did. Brendon was quite laughably used to making such a lewd gesture in Ryan’s direction, mostly because he thought the expression on Ryan’s face was always priceless and the way he flushed pink was also pretty entertaining. Either way, it was like a muscle memory, and Ryan’s response (hide his face in the pillows) was textbook. Oh my god. Brendon curled his hand into a fist and brought it to his mouth for mere milliseconds because he started laughing almost immmediately, so easily amused by his own immaturity. Yeah, and you're still fifteen years old. He wager a dismissive hand. ”I was just on board to suck your dick, idiot. You should have taken that. Not like you to back out.” Now he was just messing with him, but it was funny because Brendon wasn’t exaggerating or telling any lies. They were just really like this.

No one told me I had to drink water. What a hassle. Brendon checked his own phone again, scrolling back up through the many messages sent between Ryan’s departure from the party and this morning. ”They wanted to get you pissed, that’s why. Getting drunk isn’t inherently bad, you know,” He said tersely, looking up carefully and making brief eye contact. ”I envy you. My 21st is going to be so fucking boring.” He was genuinely mourning the loss; all last night he had just envied them all having fun without him because apparently he wasn’t fucking strong enough to have a few drinks and then stop. It almost frustrated him how Ryan hadn’t continued to drink when he got back- wanted a drink first thing this morning- needed to drink throughout the day. Brendon was angry at himself, and though he knew it was an illness, an addiction, it wasn’t as easy as just ‘really wanting to stop’- he found himself taking all his own blame, if only to put it down to a reason. Really, it seemed, the universe had just been unfair to him.

You are so much. So much, babe. I don't know how it's possible. You just woke up. Brendon snapped out of his brief melancholy and shrugged his shoulders back, as if to ask Ryan whether he expected anything else. Back on his phone, he sent a single message to the group chat- sleeping beauty is awake and hung over- and immediately, Gabe was typing. He laughed and put his phone aside. That one was for Ryan to read. Speaking of his boyfriend, he had almost decided to tolerate him and treat him nicely, but suddenly his side of the bed was covered in crumbs and grease and he was ready to condemn him to death. For some reason, his compassion for the evidently suffering man he loved got the better of him and he found himself obeying his boyfriend’s requests and getting him water and aspirin, hoping it would make him less of a whiny dick.

This is the hottest you’ve ever been. Brendon wasn’t sure whether to be offended, so he just skewed an eyebrow. Sorry I told you to, like, go fuck yourself, and everything. You're a great boyfriend. ”I know.” Though slightly more patient, he wasn’t about to leave Ryan alone yet- instead, he climbed into Ryan’s side of the bed, then crossed it completely to straddle Ryan again, grinning widely as Ryan attempted to kiss him on the cheek. He turned his head to catch his mouth, instead, and lead him into a kiss, with seemingly relatively innocent intentions. Instead, he threw a different spanner into the works of the already pretty broken man beneath him and pressed his hips down hard, shifting forwards and keeping his eyes on Ryan to catch his reaction. Forgive me? I’m dying, Brendon. Couldn’t help it. He laughed after pulling back, making himself more comfortable. ”That’s alright. You can’t help, uh, a lot of things. But you’re still a whiny bitch.”

I find it all so amusing || r&a

River had been working at this particular hospital for considerably longer than Ari had- sorry, Dr Cola, as it was probably more appropriate to address him, though nothing about their relationship was particularly professional or appropriate. The two of them weren’t in a relationship, technically, mostly because they hadn’t confirmed anything mutually or even properly talked about it, but they were unspokenly exclusive and intimate far beyond platonic friendship, and above all River adored him, even though he was obnoxious and endlessly irritating. Not that he’d ever admit it, but even when he first met the doctor, his general presence made his jaw ache- his smile, his voice, his eyes, his hair. Again, since the start, River had probably lost focus at important times while the doctor was around, and often got funny looks from him when he asked for patient information and all River could supply was blank-looking stares and prolonged uhhhhs. Dr Cola made him useless at his job. River was quiet anyway, but this man probably initially thought he was mute.

River wasn’t usually such a pushover, and he intended immediately to get over himself and snap out of his stupid infatuation, but even after taking ten minutes to even enter the doctor’s office, psyching himself up to act like a normal human being and behave how a nurse should behave to a doctor, he would still stare at his mouth, resist the ridiculous urge to climb over his desk and kiss him in a kind of adolescently foolish and urgent way he didn’t pride himself in imagining. River, usually relatively meek and generally soft-spoken, wasn’t used to such thoughts and motivations. Luckily, in the beginning, Ari seemed on the surface to share no similar feelings, until River changed his hair one day just to mix it up and not only did the doctor notice when he headed into his office, but there was a noticeable lip bite and River all but burned up. That was the closest he came in a while to stepping way over the professional boundary and respond to the unspoken flattery in a much more colourful way. Again, River found himself dizzy from his own active imagination that he kept contained inside his gentle self, and snapped himself out of it again before excusing himself to leave.

Though afterwards he again attempted to swear off even entertaining the idea of kissing him or something likewise, it wasn’t long after that that they had started... something, and in some miraculous stroke of luck, there questionable and careless behaviour hadn’t yet been caught on to, save a few close calls where river had to scramble off Ari’s lap and stumble aside, making up weak excuses that only passed because Ari was a good doctor and River was just someone that everybody tended to like. They were at the point now where they behaved as if dating- and they had seen eachother repeatedly outside of work- but again, nothing had really been spoken about. River wouldn’t complain if Ari had officially asked him out, but he supposed it was difficult and such a relationship would be severely frowned upon if it didn’t spell an end to both of their jobs. Apparently, this constant looming risk was less an immobiliser and more a motivator, the threat a sort of excitement (though River would admit that thought process over his cold, stiff corpse), and they had been in this kind of limbo-relationship for a couple of months now at least.

That particular day was a strangely slow one, and Dr Cola was, for once in his life, ‘off duty’. Not really, because chances were he’d be called out halfway through, but theoretically he had an hour or two to himself where he could dedicate it to getting other work done. This rarely happened, when River was around- the nurse always set out with a professional game plan; drop off the patient information the doctor requested, don’t end up with his tongue down your throat again- But somehow, to his surprise, every time it was the same. River was still shocked at his own behaviour and really did expect better from himself, but what could he say? Ari was handsome, he asked River to call him doctor, he found a way to get River to kiss him whenever there was time and opportunity. And uncharacteristically, River found himself usually just going along with it, mostly because in retaliation he could just make fun of him to all end.

The formula was always the same- another nurse approached him, and he already knew what she was going to say; Doctor Cola wants the records, Doctor Cola wants the information from the patients on Ward 7 and 8, Doctor Cola wants vitals from [insert patient]- the same formulaic bullshit each time that River inevitably agreed to do, mostly, he told himself, because that was his job. Either way, he found what Doctor Cola so desperately needed and headed towards his office, knocking once before pushing his way inside, running his free hand through his hair and hesitating for a second, letting the door shut behind him. His eyes immediately rested on the man behind the desk at a computer, a man clearly pretending to be engrossed in reading something on his monitor, a man who caught his eye immediately after the door had shut.

Ari was looking almost devil-may-care, the supposed professional lounging back in his chair as River approached, noting in annoyance how the doctor’s pale golden blonde hair fell so effortlessly in an almost 90’s style- River wondered absently how many patients just didn’t pay attention to what he was saying because they were distracted by how unfairly and androgynously pretty he was. Still sick of himself, he stopped short of the doctor’s desk. ”Here you go, Dr. Cola,” He said with a raised eyebrow. "You know, one of these days, Dr. Pepper are gonna sue your whole ass name.” He dropped the paperwork on Ari’s desk and cracked his neck to the side. "Anything else, Doctor? It’s been a slow shift so far.”

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

Mitch wasn’t usually this seemingly smooth- behind a relatively calm exterior, they were wondering what the hell the guitarist from the band they’d known barely a week was doing following them to the bar and actually trying to talk to them. Usually, they stuck to who the knew- Evan, more often than not- and kind of surveyed the scene if they were in public, trying not to engage. At any time, they’d much rather be at home, or at least somewhere where they could just relax, do nothing, and draw. Though they tended to fit the last activity in everywhere at any time- Mitch always seemed to have a sketchbook of some kind on hand, and was frequently just bent over the paper, sketching away. Not tonight, though. It seemed they had company to entertain, and though at first they had worked themselves up slightly about having to talk to someone they didn’t know, they calmed down when they realised this guy was very easily impressed. Just saying sugar- a frequent, casual term that Mitch used towards people in offhand- seemed to draw out some kind of positive reaction, and though they raised an eyebrow slightly, they decided to persist.

I do, when they’re worth it. Mitch did laugh slightly, feeling kind of awkward because they were being complimented and they weren’t sure how to react. After a pause, they responded with a neutral, ”Thanks, I guess you’ll see.” Wow, Mitchell, you’re so interesting, They said to themselves critically, ready for Holden to get bored and go away- but he stayed, and even asked to buy them a drink, so Mitch figured that miraculously they hadn’t bored him to death yet, or made it so awkward that he had to leave. Praising themselves silently, they took the can Holden gave them and tapped their fingers against the aluminium absently after cracking it open to at least seem like they were committed to drinking it. Sweet. I’ll give you a signed ‘Heartbreak in Stereo’. Laughing, they brought the drink to their mouth and tasted only the metal, the familiar tangy taste reminding them that they were actually quite thirsty. If only to quell it, they sipped convincingly enough. ”As long as you write me, like, a personal message. Spell my name right. It’s Mitchell, with a double l.”

Easily distracted, apparently, their focus was next on the slightly questionable scorpion, blatantly inked onto Holden’s neck in a position that demanded attention. Surprisingly, Holden seemed sheepish- funny, because Mitch had figured that since this guy had more than a few piercings and neck tattoos, he didn’t have the capacity to feel sheepish or embarrassed. Maybe it was regretted? Who knew. Thanks, it’s a long story. ”Got all night,” They responded immediately. Was that flirting? Mitch wasn’t even sure themselves at this point, and was kind of just really interested in the tattoos more than anything else. Whenever they mentioned being terrified of needles, tattoo fanatics tended to immediately launch into tangents about the pain not being that bad, but Mitch was adamant and scared enough of them for the fear to be most likely permanent.

The irony was in the sharp smile that Mitch then displayed, as they noted Holden’s immediate curiosity, surprise and even scared apprehension. Knowing that interest was sparked, Mitch set a mental clock; how long would it take for Holden to ask about their teeth? This bet with themselves was quickly forgotten, though, because Holden lifted up his damn shirt and Mitch almost had to asked what the hell they were doing (even though they knew exactly what). Not even bothering to be subtle, their eyes dropped down after a split second of hesitation, and roamed, surveying the abundance of ink and nodding in acknowledgment. The artist in them couldn’t help but form extensions of the designs on Holden’s skin and when they looked up at Holden again briefly, they realised how pretty he really was and hastily memorised his features in order to try and draw.

Yeah, check it out! Mitch was startled out of their almost-daydream, and took the invitation to again check it out. I'm basically running out of space, but I figure I'll just do cover-ups 'til I die. ”Not if you use the space right. I mean...” They were about to extend, but Holden regrettably dropped his shirt and they faltered, shrugging dismissively. Like, if you couldn't afford a new sketchbook so you just start drawing all over your other pieces... Laughing at the apt analogy, they found themselves staring at Holden’s lip ring instead of making eye contact, but kept talking anyway. ”I relate,” They remarked, presenting their hands suddenly, somehow still covered in both graphite smudges and pen ink. ”Struggling artist on your six. Welcome to my twisted mind.” Mitch laughed, baring those teeth again. Sometimes I design ‘em myself. I’m not much of an artist, though. ”None of us are. Can I see your hand ones?”

mildly inspiring end | b&r

Brendon had spent most of his morning scrolling back through the new messages sent to their collective group chat, noting it was mostly Holden and Gabe, with Mitch just using shady emojis and Dallon occasionally checking in, almost concerned from the tone of his texts. Gabe was the most persistent- demanding Ryan’s audience, promising evisceration if Ryan didn’t a) explain himself and b) ‘get back to his awesome party right this second’. Then there was a brief pause after Holden sent a ‘Gabe, come find me’, and a few minutes later Gabe was back and text-yelling in all caps about Ryan being ‘nasty’ and ‘a modern-day judas’. So maybe they were a little melodramatic, but Brendon knew from Holden’s passive shrugging emoji that Ryan had probably told Holden his plan before he left and this information was new to Gabe. Even dallon, usually very patient and used to Ryan and Brendon’s ‘escapades’, was somewhat taken aback by the lengths Ryan went to just to get back to his boyfriend a day earlier.

He desperately wanted to read some of the colourful messages Gabe had sent out to Ryan, but even he figured that was overkill and just glanced mournfully at his phone on his own dresser, wondering when was appropriate to ruin Ryan’s day even more. He wondered if he regretted coming home early- 2am early. Shelving the question, he continued being a nuisance, evidently not put off by any of Ryan’s insults. Go fuck yourself. Unphased, Brendon blinked, still stripping him of as many blankets as possible. ”What do you think I’ve been doing for the past few days?” He said, arching his eyebrows and nudging Ryan hard in the side to make sure he was paying attention. ”There’s a nice image for you.” Even more provoked, Brendon soon ended up sitting literally on top of him, unimpressed but amused with Ryan’s misery.

Wow, very original, an emo joke. ”I’m a genius.” He offered, tilting his head decidedly. It’s too ear- ”Fuck off, its past eleven,” Brendon butted in immediately just as Ryan clumsily found and checked his phone, presumably figuring out that it wasn’t as early as he thought it was. Well. The mortification Ryan felt was obvious; though he was the one who usually demanded cuddling, he was also usually up first in the morning, sometimes hours before Brendon. Being overprepared for the day was kind of his thing, and Brendon had taken his crown, for once. ”Slacking.” Was all he said, right after barely kissing his cheekbone. Ryan apparently didn’t appreciate this gesture as much as Brendon expected, because moments later, more insults, and Brendon had to try to give back. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very self-aware sometimes.

Suck my dick. Brendon’s eyebrows rose, a light appearing in his eyes that was clearly scheming. ”I mean...” He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek for a few moments, seeking eye contact with his long-suffering boyfriend, before collapsing into laughter, running a hand through his hair, flushed now. ”God, you’re so easy to make fun of.” So maybe he jinxed himself a little bit, because Ryan’s next retort was inspired. You’ve never had a responsible drink in your life, Blake. Wow. Affronted, Brendon fast moved away, almost grimacing but not quite that upset. It wasn’t like he could argue that, but still, it sort of stinged. He wasn’t quite at the stage yet where he could joke about it that liberally, but he just rolled his eyes, playing it off pretty well. ”Whatever. I’m not the hungover one.”

He was back at the mission of irritating Ryan to death almost immediately, something he had a natural talent for, apparently. It was strange- Brendon had a personality that was automatically kind of childish and immature, and Ryan was definitely opposed to that kind of humour. He tolerated it, kind of- he had to. Yeah, which you won’t be participating in, like, ever again. Fucker. ”Your loss, not mine,” Brendon scoffed, looking at Ryan distastefully, but then cheering up, cracking a self-satisfied smile. ”Besides, I’m good with watching.” he wondered how far he could push this before Ryan actually rose up and throttled him to death. Somehow, he felt like he was nearing the line, and even shifted back warily, afraid that Ryan (Sure, hungover, but still naturally stronger than Brendon) would snap.

Gabriel Carrasco’s. Instinctively when Gabe was mentioned, Brendon looked towards his phone, trying not to laugh. ”Gabe’s an angel, dickhead, and they aren’t very happy with you. Have fun getting grilled later.” Unfortunately, Ryan wasn’t in a very conversational mood, apparently, so all he got from that was some toast thrown at him and then a butter stain and breadcrumbs on his side of the bed. You get it, asswipe. I’m dying. He glared from the bread that he had picked up and moved back to Ryan, grimacing. ”Then perish, motherfucker. Ruined my fucking bed.” You're goddamn right you are! Payback for not caring for your ailing boyfriend. Look at me. I'm close to death, Bren. With the least sympathy ever, Brendon surveyed Ryan, still fully unprepared to assist at all. ”Die, then,” He said flatly, finally turning and standing up, from his own side this time.

...my bad. Damn right. I’ll trade my side of the bed for a glass of water. Turning around, Brendon considered the exchange, weighing up his options. He could agree, earning him a non-breadcrumbed side to the bed, but also he’d have given in- or he could disagree, keeping his dignity but not a comfortable place to sleep. Though he usually would have prized dignity, he dreaded the prospect of arguing with a very easily irritated Ryan more, and just rolled his eyes before turning around, though by the time he was out of the door, he was smiling faintly. Thirty seconds later he was back, moving around to Ryan’s side with both some aspirin and a glass of water. ”Don’t you ever call me a bad boyfriend.”

mildly inspiring end | b&r

It was a role reversal, in some way, but usually on nights where Brendon had been drinking heavily (even more so than usual), Ryan didn’t possess the patience to be civil, and though he had nearly always tried to be, Brendon could feel the tension even when intoxicated- he felt like Ryan had so many ruthless things to say about it but was holding them all back, because what good would passive aggression or in that case straight-up aggression even do? Brendon was glad that was how it was, because he already felt near-constant, agonising guilt pulling at his insides. He was getting better, because he no longer really had access to alcohol (if he really wanted to, he could, quite easily, but not without ruining his progress and dismantling the trust and faith Ryan had in him), but whenever he thought about it still he sometimes felt that painful mix of desperation and disgust, because he was supposed to be stronger than this. Ryan told him he was strong anyway- he was in slow but more or less steady recovery, and his boyfriend said that’s all he could ask for from Brendon.

That aside, it was interesting to see Ryan in a similar predicament that Brendon found himself in most mornings for the past three years, and watching the pile of sentient blankets shift about, he wondered what his approach should be. Ryan was usually as sympathetic as he could be, getting him water and aspirin and keeping the blinds shut, the lights off and the noise down, but for Ryan this wasn’t serious, tiring, or a draining, constant morning habit, it was probably a one-time situation, because when Ryan inevitably said ‘i’m never drinking again’ he would probably mean it. Brendon was envious how easy it would be for him to say and do just that. For Brendon, this situation was funny; though he batted around with the idea of being sympathetic like a loving boyfriend probably should be, or just making fun of him and annoying him until he got up. The latter was obviously the triumphant option, and Brendon wasted no time in tugging at the blankets of Ryan’s pitiful fortress.

Go away. Sitting back, he tutted, still grinning widely. ”That’s not nice. Take it back.” Persistent, he pulled the excess blankets away and dropped them onto the floor unti he made out the form of Ryan, glaring at him. Always irritating, brendon clambered over his suffering boyfriend and once he had opened the curtains, he heard a loud groan and the sound of Ryan moving. I thought you loved me. He rolled his shoulders back in a shrug, turning around and watching with raised eyebrows as Ryan wriggled out of his fortress, so he could actually kind of move his limbs. ”This is how I show my undying love.” Crossing back over to Ryan’s side, he was again unsympathetic, climbing onto him gracelessly and laughing as Ryan tried to fend him off. Shut up. Your mom’s an emo- ”Emo? Yeah, that explains a lot,” He retorted, persisting against Ryan’s hand that was trying to push him away. When he’d finally pacified him, Brendon leaned in to kiss him briefly on the cheekbone and then straightened up, shifting, apparently very comfortable.

Ruining the momentary quiet, he made yet another smart comment about Ryan’s predicament and ducked out of the way to avoid Ryan’s flailing hand, rolling off to the side with a short laugh. Idiot. ”Says the person who drank no water and ate nothing at all last night. Drink responsibly. Trust me, I’m an expert.” He frowned after he said that, thinking that maybe that was the wrong word. I’m awake, thanks to you. ”You’re welcome, baby,” He said immediately, adjusting himself to sit cross-legged atop the crumpled sheets. He surveyed them with a raised eyebrow, and grinned as he said, ”This is reminiscent of other activities.” His plan was apparently ‘get Ryan to kill him before lunchtime’. My head fucking kills. Do we have aspirin? Or running water?

”And whose fault is that, Ryan?” He said mock-seriously, prodding him again casually in the side before looking off towards the door thoughtfully. ”We have aspirin, yeah. You know where it is.” It became clear quickly, when a piece of his toast was hurled in his direction, that wasn’t the answer Ryan was looking for. Luckily, Ryan’s aim was terrible and it didn’t hit brendon, it just landed on the sheets, and Brendon’s eyes widened. Dickhead!” He exclaimed, picking up the toast (butter-side down) from the mattress. ”I have to sleep on this side! Motherfucker. Guess I’m on the couch tonight.”

mildly inspiring end | b&r

Brendon certainly wasn’t used to Ryan coming home drunk- it was never a situation he imagined happening, or thought he had to prepare for, because Ryan was kind of alcohol-phobic and barely touched it unless a social event occurred where it was obliged. Even then, Brendon knew he consumed it very sparingly before losing his nerve with the stuff and stopping. It wasn’t like he didn’t like it, Brendon knew that, because he had seen Ryan enjoy it before- in fact, Brendon was almost positive that these days the abstinence of drinking was due to some kind of guilt, like he felt he owed Brendon that, or he couldn’t for fear of upsetting him. Maybe Brendon was kind of cynical that way, thinking it revolved around him- Ryan unfortunately had plenty more history involving alcohol and alcoholics in his past- but on the very rare occasion he did drink, and Brendon was present, he always caught careful glances his way, almost like he was scared to get caught with a drink in his hand. Brendon appreciated the thought but wanted to tell him that by doing that he made the sense of alienation even worse, and subconsciously heightened his own sense of anxiety around drinking. It wasn’t too bad, though, so he just kind of ignored it.

Ryan’s 21st, though, was not only revolved around drinking (legally, at least), but it was an event where Brendon was notably absent and Ryan didn’t feel as pressured to maybe hang on for his boyfriend’s sake. Brendon was glad, at the time, but also didn’t know what to expect- he knew Ryan would be drinking (Gabe and Holden would most likely see to that), but not how much. If he knew Ryan it wouldn’t be that much, but apparently he was wrong- when Ryan got back to their apartment after hightailing from his own party and flying to a different state at 2am, he was greeted by a Ryan he wasn’t used to. His boyfriend was tipsy, and that was enough for Brendon- he didn’t need, or want, to ask exactly what he’d drank, because there was a startling pang of envy upon seeing the pictures from the party and then Ryan himself, and a sense of longing when he could still detect the faint taste of whiskey when he and Ryan kissed. More than anything, though, Brendon thought it was funny, and knew from the moment Ryan got home that he’d be laughing at it him tomorrow when he was nursing a hangover.

After a couple of hours, at around 4am, Brendon managed to convince an overly touchy and very affectionate Ryan to go to sleep, promising he’d be minutes behind. Brendon brushed his teeth and got undressed and then collapsed next to him, realising after only a moment of holding his breath to listen, Ryan had passed out. Too hot to actually climb under any blankets, throughout the night all of them had been systematically stolen by his apparently cold, sleeping boyfriend, and in the morning when Brendon woke up at around 11am, Ryan was covered by a mountain of blankets. The sun was, regrettably, piercing through the cracks in the blinds by now, and Brendon shielded his eyes slightly as he sat up, covered with a sheen of sweat, his hair springing up comically. Squinting, he looked over at the pile of blankets where his boyfriend was presumably sound asleep, then eased himself off the bed, heading straight into the bathroom to shower quickly so he at least looked awake.

Fifteen minutes later and he was showered, fully dressed, and had made himself some toast (how capable of him) that he was eating as he walked back into the bedroom. He was just in time to catch a movement under the blankets and grinned, moving around to his own side of the bed to place his plate down, then climbing back on, prodding Ryan hard. ”Sleeping beauty?” He said in a sing-song voice, settling back and shaking his head. ”Is someone hungover?” He tried after a pause, tugging at a few blankets and pulling them away with only faint protest from Ryan until he could actually make him out. ”Damn, rough night?” Brendon couldn’t help but laugh as he threw the few blankets that Ryan wasn’t clutching onto off the side of the bed, and prodded him again, apparently to no avail. Not willing to give up, he climbed over Ryan with complete lack of courtesy to go and open the blinds, letting the sunlight stream in. All he got from that was a groan of protest.

”This feels like an emotional episode of, like, an alcoholic recovery show, or something.” He commented, moving back over and actually fully straddling Ryan, a knee on either side of his torso. Ryan’s face was partially obscured by remaining blankets, and Brendon laughed again, leaning forward over him to kiss his cheekbone and then moving aside, shaking his head. ”Though he seems to be trapped in both bed and denial, Ryan’s eventually going to have to face facts... He’s relapsed, and his boyfriend won’t be happy.” At least he found himself funny. Brendon stood up again, rolling his shoulders back. ”Wake up, asshole.”

when you were east || b&r

Brendon sometimes wondered in passing how the hell they were still like this- ‘this’ being overly, ridiculously affectionate and mutually obsessed, the kind of relationship that seemed to be in its first few months, like a too-good-to-be-true honeymoon period, and Brendon, when he thought about it, kind of supposed it was. When they had first started dating, it was in ilvermorny- Brendon was trying to shake off the resounding, heavy impact of strict, bigoted religious parenting, and the subsequent internal homophobia that still crept up on him now and then, though he didn’t mention it. Ryan, on the other hand, was still going through a perpetual rough patch with his dad. This was about the time that they both declared their hatred for alcohol and alcoholics, not knowing that Brendon would be in the same position just a few years down the line and that one of his closest friends would also have the illness. The first years of their relationship were awkward and adolescent, though they had a bond strong enough that meant when Brendon had to move to the UK, it hit them both hard. Ryan stopped eating and became something of a ghost, and Brendon turned to the one thing he knew that people used to try and feel better; the same thing he’d sworn off in support of his first boyfriend.

After that, the main problem was obviously Brendon suffering from alcoholism, but with a little help from Joey he managed to get into recovery after a lot of coaxing. That’s where they were now- Brendon was struggling on, really, but he didn’t tend to talk about it if he didn’t have to. He liked it when Ryan didn’t have to come home and have that angry-sad-disappointed expression on his face, or worse, when Ryan’s face was completely blank. So it was the first unhindered chapter in their relationship, so they could be easily affectionate and never got bored of eachother and the place they’d always rather be was together, at home. This was almost the reason Brendon felt compelled to look nice (not compelled, really, he just wanted to), and why he spent just under an hour trying to preen himself into presentability. It worked, obviously, because when a newly returned Ryan finished kissing him... Mission accomplished.

Brendon smiled, holding onto his boyfriend carefully because he was almost scared he’d push them both over, and kissed him again on the jaw, moving a hand to interlace his fingers carelessly with Ryan’s. He was about to suggest moving, but before he could say anything, Ryan actually lifted him into the counter and all Brendon could do was blink, wrapping his legs around Ryan’s waist with a grin once he’d recovered, though he still looked enamoured, inhaling sharply. Two days. ”Two days too many,” He commented, raising an eyebrow, then biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself saying some things he had in his head that were way too dramatic considering the situation. Imagine if I left for a week! You’d forget what I look like. Brendon scoffed immediately, tilting his head and studying his boyfriends face, trying not to focus too long on the eyes or he’d never look away. ”You better not leave for a week.”

I should’ve stayed home. Brendon nodded vigourously, in full agreement- the past two days had been boring, and lonely, and Brendon would never get that time back. He hadn’t even seen Ryan on his birthday, technically. That sucked. ”You’re right. Think of all the things we could have done with that time.” That was an open-ended statement, and with Ryan in his current tipsy state, he wondered whether he’d get anything out of him regarding that. No offense to everyone else’s plans, but. I much prefer you. Then they were kissing again, and Brendon tasted faint traces of whiskey again. He kind of pulled him as close as possible with his legs and reached up to move a hand into his curly hair, curling it around his fingers and then pulling just hard enough so Ryan could feel it.

They broke apart and Brendon reluctantly let go of his hair, just watched Ryan’s expression change intelligently. Um. Brendon tried not to laugh. So, you can't wear this if I ever have to, like, focus on something. Just letting you know in advance. He watched Ryan play with the hem, wondering what was going through his mind and deciding he’d find out. "Maybe I’ll wear it especially on days you have to focus on something. A challenging element.” He paused. ”Hey, what are you thinkin’ about? Like, me, obviously, but specifically. I’m curious.” That was a baited question, really, but when Ryan told him he was gorgeous, he forgot all about that and melted a little where he sat, moving a hand to the back of his neck and coaxing him in again.

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

Mitch didn’t expect to be, but they were genuinely a fan of Pencey pretty quickly. For the most part they didn’t really understand what the singer- or more accurately, the person who screamed the lyrics- was saying, but the guitar was ridiculously good, it was loud, it was destructive and that guitarist brought a kind of energy to it that made it almost entrancing in a chaotic, disorganised kind of way. Either way, it worked, and Mitch admired it- though more theatrical in nature themselves, they wanted to tap into that kind of raw energy, so the balance between the chaos and noise that a crowd like this obviously wanted and the theatrics and flair that mitch desperately wanted to bring to it all was found. Their aesthetic, though constantly changing, was briefly incredibly specific, and they committed to it completely- though, in all honesty, it wasn’t too hard to look like a vampire when they were, actually, a vampire. They were pale enough, looked dead and tired enough, and they had the set of fangs- all they needed was some red eyeshadow and black hair dye and they were set.

It didn’t look like it, but they got nervous easily, as did the rest of their band- Evan had downed a few drinks beforehand to quell his nerves, and though Mitch wanted to, they just kind of steeled themselves, trying to focus on the performance rather than the audience. It proved surprisingly easy, but they did notice a familiar face at the front, right against the stage- Holden, the ‘crazy fucking good’ guitarist, singing along to the lyrics he knew and driving the crowd along with a similar enthusiasm. They were well received, thanks to the obvious approval of what Mitch assumed was a regular customer, a familiar face, a well-liked individual- Mitch was even more intrigued by Holden, then, who apparently knew like half the lyrics to both songs they had out and was presumably the one who convinced the rest of Pencey to give the newer, younger band some small assistance. That all passed through their head very briefly when they were back in the zone again, finishing off Vampires and then coming to a stop along with the instruments, relishing in the appreciation of the small crowd, and retaining their persona until they were off.

Mitch had already decided that was what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives, and was living in the afterglow of that rather frenzied, lightning-quick performance. Making a beeline to the bar (that’s where they’d find Evan, probably, if he weren’t home, plus any other interesting characters who maybe wanted to talk to them after seeing them up there in stage, a new face to learn and know), they quickly leaned against it to get comfortable, and not seconds went by when they were looking slightly down at their apparently #1 fan. Giving him a second to greet them first, they wasted time examining rather meticulously everything they could see about Holden that was immediately obvious, piercings and tattoos. They seemed to be everywhere that Mitch could see skin, and the invasive thought of i want to see the rest of them was met by a quick self-check. Chill out, Mitch, you hardly know this guy. In fact, you don’t know him. Mitch exhaled finally, then began to speak.

Apparently temporarily immobilised by an offhand compliment with the slightest flirtatious undertone, Holden was silent for a few moments before he flashed Mitch a grin. Thanks! Only one word, and Mitch could tell that accent was thick, which was weird of them to notice considering their Jersey accent was just as strong. They felt a passing urge, as they often did, to try and bite the silver ring, but they imagined if they did that they’d draw blood. That wasn’t a problem for them, but regrettably their teeth were painfully sharp. They drew their tongue over the points absently, then shifted their weight, trying to refocus when Holden started speaking again. I just wanted to say, uh- your band is fucking awesome. Mitch nodded, because duh. ”So’s yours.” Like, 'I'd buy every record and not pirate it' awesome. You guys killed it. Mitch almost laughed, because that was a huge lie, but they settled on a knowing half-smirk. ”Oh, really? Lying is a bad habit, sugar, nobody actually buys records now.” They responded, pushing their thick hair out of their eyes again to prevent it sticking to their forehead.

Oh, and I think you're really hot, so can I buy you a drink? Is beer cool? Now, Mitch didn’t care when people were forward, but this was a kind of forward they weren’t used to. After a moment, they laughed slightly, deciding they liked this guy, and nodded, turning their body almost fully so they were facing him now. ”Beer’s fine.” Fully knowing they probably wouldn’t drink it (they had very specific tastes, usually, though they weren’t always opposed to just plain old alcohol), they waited for Holden to take the cans from the ice and when it was pushed towards them, they brought it closer along the bar, cracking it open so they could at least have, like, a sip. Speaking of record. When do I get one? ”Right now, specially for you,” They said, flashing him a grin again and lifting the fan to his lips to drink some, an action that only reminded them that they were actually quite thirsty. This thought drew Mitch naturally to Holden’s neck, where they noticed the scorpion tat yet again.

"Hey, that’s cool,” They said suddenly, indicating with their hand the scorpion on Holden’s neck. "I love tats as a concept, but I’m fucking terrified of needles,” Mitch said, with a hint of irony touching their voice, ”Which is dumb as fuck, coming from me.” Just to make sure Holden caught on enough to at least be curious, they hated their teeth, drawing their tongue over the points again. ”So, do they cover, like, everywhere..?” They trailed off, looking down to Holden’s arms and then up again to meet his eyes.

to my legs and to my tongue | m&h

It was kind of lucky that they had some friends in the ‘scene’- otherwise, they’d never get shows. They knew another band who was a fan of their two-song demo, enough so that they even got them a show; it was a shitty bar, yeah, but shitty bars were the only bars that actually let them play, and the only bars that had audiences that would potentially appreciate their barely-rehearsed songs that barely even qualified as actual songs, by some accounts. It was a quick turnover- they met this other band once, and mitch could only remember faces, not names- the other band immediately got them a show, and a couple days later they turned up at a predictably shitty bar, with cheap drinks and questionable bathroom odours, ready to perform. First, though, they watched Pencey perform, and Mitch was genuinely a fan pretty quickly, though they only really paid full attention to one of the guitarists who looked like they had way too much energy for such small stature. They racked their brain for a name- It begins with a H- fuck no, not Harry- Harvey? Aich-Oh... Aich-Oh-El. Holden. They shifted, triumphant. Holden... Something. The one who had been most enthusiastic about their own band, and had encouraged his bandmates to help get them a gig. Mitch reminded themselves to thank him properly later.

It was a short set, and by the end, Mitch and their bandmates were suitably pumped for their own turn (save maybe Evan, who looked just as sick as he did when he arrived). There was about five minutes in which the two bands met again, only briefly, Mitch praising them hastily and turning to Holden specifically to deliver a compliment- you’re crazy fucking good with that guitar. They flashed him a quick grin then turned towards the sort-of stage, making sure their bandmates were ready and then walking away to get ready, not looking back to see whether Holden had replied, or even heard what they had said. They hadn’t even started yet, and Mitch was already a hot mess; long, recently dyed black hair was unruly and some strands were plastered to their forehead until they pushed them back; their red eyeshadow was smeared somewhat, and they were wearing full black, creased to all hell, finishing off a smoke before finally turning towards and stepping up to the mic.

Mitch had a charisma and stage presence while they were up there that didn’t seem to show itself when they were just Mitch, not the frontman of a probably unnecessarily theatrical band. Their voice, though not technically the best, was raw and unique and insanely expressive in ways other vocalists could only dream of; the very modest crowd sure appreciated it, as was obvious by the end. Somehow, when they left the stage, they looked more or less the same as when they had walked on; save the even moreso tousled hair. Almost miraculously, Mitch didn’t even look out of breath (a trait shared with Evan, but definitely not the other band members). Walking off towards the other band again, grinning and pale all scarlet shadow and jet black hair, they looked almost ghoulish, like they’d be more at home in a gothic horror, or more realistically a Halloween party.

When the two groups conversed again, though Mitch didn’t look at first, they could feel Holden’s eyes on them, and it took everything in them not to raise their eyebrows. Finally, though, they turned to make eye contact with the guitarist for half a second, before moving over to the bar to get something they’d pretend to drink. Evan had gone off god know’s where (probably Home, if they knew their brother, and they did), the other bandmates had dispersed off into the people waiting for the next band to go up, and the members of Pencey were probably off drinking elsewhere. Mitch remembered the drummer telling them they didn’t even really like this bar, and they’d probably be off afterwards, so they were saying goodbye in advance. Mitch was fine with this, apart from the fact part of them wanted to talk to Holden- mostly to ask about his guitar and his playing style, slightly because they wanted to know about that fucking scorpion tattoo on the side of his neck that only had seven legs.

Apparently this Holden motherfucker could read minds, because moments into leaning against the bar and pretending to think about what they wanted to drink, the guitarist appeared next to them, and they turned, blinking. For the first time, they got to actually register what he looked like- still short, probably 5’6, with annoyingly good eyebrows, black hair swept almost to the side, and a lip and nose ring. He was cute, Mitch registered, eyes lingering for a few moments on that lip ring and then moving to his neck, to look again at the dodgy scorpion. They saw the start of other tattoos, too, and on his arms, Mitch could see even more. ”Hey. Holden, right? Nice lip ring.”