Neve

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

Brendon had been stuffed in the back of the cab for almost four hours, in a silence with the driver that didn’t exactly grow warm as time passed, but wasn’t explicitly uncomfortable. He watched the counter as the amount of money he’d have to pay for this trip clocked up into the multiple hundreds, and even though he knew if this job didn’t work out, he’d have no way back to New York, he didn’t really feel nervous, just faintly apprehensive. No room for regret now, he told himself- and he exhaled, clicking his tongue, dragging his eyes finally away from the counter and out of the window. As the hours passed, the landscape had morphed from mostly grey and neutral to green and blue and brown, and the wondered why the hell this guy had to live so damn far away. He grimaced. What was he doing? Spending the last of money on a one-way trip to the middle of nowhere to land a temporary but long-term job (that he still didn’t know the full details of- Jon had been impossibly vague) that he might not even get.

”We’re almost there,” The cab driver piped up loudly, and Brendon was blinking at the counter, but barely listening. Five hundred and twenty dollars. Sitting back and exhaling, he banged the back of his head against the worn leather of the seat, then turned his head towards the window mournfully. He realised he hadn’t actually responded to the driver, but decided he probably didn’t want much conversation, so he entertained himself for the final minutes of their journey by thinking back to how the hell he ended up sharing a car with this guy for the past four hours.

He’d been fired, obviously. As his manager gave me the worst news of his life, he had smiled, probably in an effort to lesson the blow, but Brendon knew he relieved to be rid of another liability.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Blake.” Brendon bit his lip as he remembered how the motherfucker had wrestled with that god forsaken smile, probably embarrassed to show his glee but too relieved to hide it. “Your track record with this company is fantastic, but-” Brendon had scoffed, cutting in. ”But you can’t have someone with jacked medical insurance, I get it,” He snapped, already letting his disdainful thoughts warp into reckless, biting attacks, as he imagined ways in which he could fuck up his neat office. Maybe set fire to his potted plant. ”Let go of the weak links first.” His manager had stuttered something about how Brendon misunderstood, but he just narrowed his eyes, clenched his fist, all he could see was the plant in the corner going up in flames. ”I understand just fine,” He had cut in again finally, smiling the sweetest smile he could, knowing full well he’d regret this all later. He didn’t know where this was coming from- some repressed place in the back of his mind, maybe; Explosive altercations were never the direction he enjoyed to go, but in this case he has been willing to let loose, even if he knew he might swallow his pride enough to come back later groveling on his knees.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” His manager had broken eye contact and shuffled with the papers on his unnaturally neat desk. ”You will receive pay for two more weeks- plenty of time to find a new job. Have a nice rest of your day.” His eyebrows lifted in mock sympathy. I’m real sorry about all-” he waved a hand, ”this. If I could I would’ve done it differently.” Brendon leaned forward and raised his eyebrows right back, snatching the paper he had been offered right out of his hand before standing up suddenly from his seat and turning towards the exit. ”See you in hell.” He stormed out of the office before he could muster any accusations of insubordination, slamming the door as hard as he could on the way out. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the concerned glances his coworkers, no, former coworkers, threw his way as he cleaned out the small table that was his desk, his hands shaking as they tossed scraps of paper and old reminders into the trash.

Uncovering a yellowing photograph interrupted his frantic, desperate cleaning. It was a snapshot of when he had just graduated high school, an arm around his ex-girlfriend. She was smiling from ear to ear and his eyes were bright and grin just as gleaming, and though he looked like he couldn’t be happier at the time, Brendon had to really think to remember her name. For a moment he considered discarding it too, starting anew completely; but then again, no good has ever come from forgetting the past, only learning from it. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked it into his jacket pocket pressed against his quickened heart, and briefly he felt his pulse through his shirt. For some inexplicable reason, it was comforting. Maybe he liked to remember that he was alive underneath it all. The screwing up, the clean starts that were never really clean. His heartbeat was the only constant in his life- that and Spencer, who he now had to break the news to that he didn’t have a job any more, one that had supported both of them.

He finished stuffing the remnants of his latest job into his work bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left, not really sure where he was going, but knowing this wasn’t where he belonged. One thing about New York City was that no matter what time of day it was, or who had died, or whatever tragedy in the world was occurring, the city kept moving, like a merciless train with no care for anything other than staying on time. It didn’t get its nickname for nothing. This city never slept; not for Brendon, not for anyone. Nothing puts life in perspective like having millions of people crammed into one place, all independent, all perfectly capable of caring for themselves. Brendon descend into the subway, getting shoved around a couple of times by people far wearier than him- Another benefit of New York, he thought, was that someone always had it worse than him; that made complaining superfluous. Even so, he gave it his best shot.

Good on his boss for firing him on a Friday; he sure knew how he’d handle it- he called up Jon, not Spencer (he was putting that phone call off because Spencer was more likely to freak out), because he was the one person Brendon trusted to be in a bar on a Friday night. He picked up after three rings.
”What d’you need?” he mumbled, probably already a couple drinks in, which was admirable at five in the evening, although not particularly surprising. Jon had been fired himself a couple of weeks prior, and now drowned his sorrows with the last of his savings. Brendon clicked his tongue when he realised it reminded him of himself at a time that wasn’t far away enough to be comfortable.
 
”Got fired.” Brendon plugged his other ear, the roar of the subway station making it almost impossible to hear Jon’s feathery voice. ”Need to forget about it for a little while.”
 
”Mhm.” No questions asked- he didn’t sound particularly concerned or sympathetic, and Brendon wasn’t sure if he was glad about that or not. He heard rustling through the phone, likely Jon figuring out where he was. “Come down to Stanley’s, the one on the east side. Drinks  on me.” Brendon laughed, because they both knew there was no way that was happening, but Brendon would entertain the little joke for a while. ”How generous of you.”
 
”Yes. I am the bestest friend and you are lucky to have me,” Jon agreed. ”See you later, dude.” ”Yeah, bye.” He hung up, exhaled, dropped his phone into his satchel. So, at least he had plans- he felt a little less directionless, even though he knew that afterwards he’d probably feel worse. The train pulled up and its doors slid open, beginning the mad dash to board before they automatically closed with no exceptions.
 
A couple of tourists were trying to figure out where to go, holding an outdated map of the wrong burrow. Normally, Brendon would have stopped to direct them, thereby missing his train in the process, but not today. As much as he tried to ignore his upbringing, that deep-seated, Mormon politeness was too ingrained in his mannerisms to brush aside. Judgement clouded by contempt, he managed to ignore them, stepped on the train and let the door slide shut, the metallic sound of it clanking against the body of the subway sending a jolt of pain through his head. Brendon had a constant headache nowadays. As he thought about it, sitting not uncomfortably in the back of a cab in the middle of beautiful, fresh-aired nowhere, it came back, a stab of pain at his temple. He blinked it away, and remembered how he’d rested his head against the inside of the train car, closed his eyes, and let the thundering roar of the vibrating car drown out his thoughts.

Leave it up to Jon to pick the one well-kept bar in all of Brooklyn. Brendon’s work clothes seemed almost informal compared to the immaculately dressed revelers working their way around the bar, until he saw Jon, sitting at the far end of the counter, looking tipsy and it was barely even six. He collapsed into the empty chair next to him and dropped his satchel onto the floor as Jon slid him a drink before he could even look up. Unexpected- he’d thought Jon was joking, but he wasn’t about to complain, and He flashed a gracious smile, taking a long swig before his friend changed his mind. It burned his throat, which meant it was way too strong for his own good, but eventually pooled warm in his stomach, relaxing his shoulders inch by inch.

“So,” Jon propped up his chin with his hand, ”What happened, dude? I thought this was supposed to be your, like, big break or somethin’, and the last I heard you were about to be promoted.” His voice was usually monotone, but it was lilted from alcohol, and he even thought he detected a hint of concern. He didn’t sound judgemental- Even so, he couldn’t stop himself being defensive. “I was!” He snapped, then reeled himself in a little, guiltily, after Jon winced at his harsh tone. ”Sorry. But yeah, the company apparently had to do some,” He did air quotations, “ downsizing. I call bullshit. The government showed up last month and implemented new mental health regulations on the company, so now they have to pay for any part of that in our company healthcare. Guess who has the biggest track record of mental health problems.” he gestured to himself grimly, and turned to look at Jon, who himself looked somber.

”Shit, man,” He said slowly, shaking his head like he was still taking it in. ”That fuckin’ sucks. Brendon nodded, but he just looked tired. ”And I gotta tell Spence, fuck.” Jon stayed silent, and Brendon downed another drink, liquid courage for when he eventually called his roommate. It was 7pm- not late enough to leave, though he didn’t want to get wasted- he was much more unlikely to do well at any interviews if he was hungover, and job hunting started tomorrow. A comfortable silence had settled between him and Jon, and Brendon turned to him eventually, smiling, finally sort of relaxed. ”Any chance you know any company that I haven’t worked for yet that needs someone with a music degree?” He asked, joking, and Jon laughed, because this was a running joke. Brendon’s dreams to be a musician, Brendon’s music degree that he had never once used. But Jon stopped laughing, furrowed his brow. ”Y’know, Bren, If you want to be a musician you have to actually play music, go to clubs, and get your name out there. Why the hell are you doing blue-collar jobs and shit? Just do it, man.

Jon was right, but it wasn’t that easy. ”If I could catch a break I would do that,” He huffed, running a hand habitually through his hair and resting his elbows on the table. ”The real issue is my income is small and right now, rent is sky high. My roommate sure isn’t working, so I have to sustain two people with one job. Spence also happens to be my oldest friend, so I can’t just kick him out.” He paused, staring dejectedly into his glass of whiskey.

”Oh, woe me,” He mocked, rolling his eyes when Brendon shot an insulted look his way.  ”Dude, we’ve all dealt with this. As much as we all want to pursue our dreams, it usually doesn’t happen. The only person I know who- wait a minute.” Brendon looked mildly interested, pushing his whiskey away, no longer feeling like drinking. Jon’s face was scrunched in concentration as he tried to remember something. Two beats passed, then a slow smile crept onto his face. ”I may have an answer for your job problem.”
 
Really?” Brendon drawled, more than skeptical. [i]”Duh, trust me.” He cracked his knuckles - Brendon went to copy him, but he’d already cracked them from due to constant nervous energy - and leaned back in his chair. ”Have you heard of the book series ‘Fever’?” It rang a bell, but Brendon didn’t read much- or at all. He looked at Jon helplessly, bit his lip, mulled it over. ”Uh, kind of.” ”That’s a no, then, Jon remarked, and Brendon shrugged a shoulder. ”It’s basically a young adult series about the complexities of growing up in today’s world. Every teenager in the world is obsessed with it. Y’know, they cling onto anything super hormonal and nuanced.”
 
”You know this how? And how is this in any way relevant to my job?” Brendon hissed, amused, but exhausted with Jon’s tipsy ramblings that never got to the point. “Some of us had angsty phases that weren’t skateboarding and smoking pot.” Brendon rose his eyebrows, about to raise the point that that’s exactly what Jon did, but he was already moving on. “Anyway, the author grew up with Spence and I in Colorado. He called the other day, which, like, never happens, so it was weird to begin with, and he said he needed someone who grew up in the city for a long term position.” Brendon was interested, but apprehensive. One of Jon’s old friends? Spencer’s? Why had he never been mentioned before, if he was so famous and successful? I think he needed a source. He could always do his own research, but the dude is a freaking hermit who’s terrified of people and crowds. Brendon clicked his tongue, because how was this guy going to write about New York if he’d never even been there, even with a source? ”This all sounds very informal,” He said doubtfully, drumming his fingers on the bar surface and looking away. ”Where would I even work? Is it reliable?”

”He’s already worked it out with his publishing company. They’re far enough up his ass that he can basically get anything he wants. Most authors don’t get that lucky, but he’s too clever for his own good,” Jon mused. Yeah, whatever. ”Jon, I need a date and time, and place, at least. And what about Spencer? This is a bad idea.”

“Upstate,” he mumbled. ”I think he wants someone by, uh, this weekend, or he’s probably gonna have a nervous breakdown.” So, tomorrow. Brendon couldn’t find a place for Spencer to stay by then. He bit his lip nervously, shaking his head. ”I’ll find another job, I-“ Jon hushed him. ”Just send him to my place. He’ll be fine, okay? There was a silence, and finally, Brendon caved, nodded. ”Can’t believe I’m gonna fuckin’ do this.”

Finishing the rest of my drink, he bid goodbye to Jon, who was using the counter to keep himself upright at that point, and maneuvered my way out of the bar. He’d be fine; if anything, Jon had mastered the art of dragging his sorry ass home even intoxicated beyond reason. The crisp night air whipped down the boulevard in short gusts, and while Brendon was inside the sky had darkened into its usual blank canvas, with only the occasional helicopter or plane to decorate it. He pulled his jacket tighter around his form, a shiver travelling down his spine. It was strangely cold for September, even for New York, and although many people brushed it off as a cold spell or global warming, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was some kind of omen. An omen of what, he had no clue. Maybe some parental superstition had rubbed on off him more than he thought. Brendon grimaced at the idea, and pulled out his phone, staring at it for a moment before calling Spencer.

He was so lost in thought by the time they arrived that the driver had to speak up. ”That’ll be... Five hundred and twenty-three dollars. Paying in cash?” Brendon nodded, handing over the last of his money, receiving twenty-seven in change and hastily shoving it back into his wallet before stepping out of the cab and mumbling a ‘thanks’. Then he finally saw the house. He stared at the gigantic wooden structure that stood in front of him. That house looked like it had room for a family of at least ten, including a chef, two maids, a butler and, fuck him, a bartender. A wide terrace stood on six wooden posts, and he could barely see the entrance from here. Jesus, this guy was filthy rich. There was something strangely comforting about the atmosphere as he stepped out of the car, the smell of the humid earth and the trees around offering their leaves and branches as shelter to the house - no, mansion - as though accepting it as part of the landscape. A wooden staircase on the left side seemed to be the only way up to the terrace, with no doors at ground-level. Ivy was crawling up what once must’ve been the hand-rail, already engulfing parts of the staircase itself, like Nature made attempts at taking over but decided that there was no urgency in the matter. As he let his eyes travel further along the wooden planks that built up the structure, He noted that the house itself was half-reclaimed by plants, its cracks and crevices full of still life. A small part of him wanted the forested mountain to absorb the house completely, turn it into a temple for the birds and other mountainous animals, but the rest of him knew better. The rest of him knew that this was his one shot to get out of his self-induced hell.

Oddly, the wooden steps didn’t creak under his weight, the only audible sound being of the wind in the leaves overhead and the faint crashing of the small waves lapping the shore of the lake he’d spotted from the window of the cab. Everything seemed so gentle compared to the constant, endless chaos of the city, and yet it wasn’t mild or inconsequential. Each element of the picture had its place in it, one part of a whole. There was an abandoned potted plant on the porch, long dead after what seemed like weeks, if not months, of neglect. Maybe the poor guy didn’t know how to water plants. A shame, to live in the countryside and not know how to tend to the wildlife. Not that he was any better in the botany department, but still, it felt like a waste.
 
He took five seconds to try and dispel the anxious tapping of his foot against the porch, but when it refused to stop, he simply sighed and rapped on the door with his knuckles. Immediately, he had his usual nervous, internal dialogue where he convinced myself not to take off running, although this time, there was nowhere to run to.  A minute of standing awkwardly on the porch passed, and he leaned to his right to peer through the darkened window, searching for any sign of movement on the other side of the glass. God, he wasn’t home, was he? Just his luck. He bit his lip, not willing to give up- he had no other option- and saw that the porch wrapped around the back of the house. Maybe he was in the garden, or something. Brendon followed it around, and suddenly he was stood on a stranger’s back porch, and a stranger who either hadn’t heard him knock or didn’t care was standing there, cigarette in hand, clearly almost as confused as Brendon was.

“Um,” He managed eventually. ”Hi.” He looked up at the other presence. From where he stood, he seemed a few inches taller than Brendon, slightly slimmer. His chestnut hair grazed didn’t quite graze his shoulders in curly, longer-than-average locks, and his eyes were steadily staring him down, both surprised and unimpressed at once. He knew immediately this was Ryan, and felt extremely awkward for barging onto this guy’s back porch.

”Hi. What the literal fuck are you doing on my porch at eleven in the morning?” The man asked, voice dripping with sarcasm that made Brendon wince a little. ”Right, right.” He nodded and scratched the back of his neck. “I’m Brendon, uh- a friend of Jon’s?” Brendon wondered if Jon had even said anything about it to him, considering they were apparently friends. Ryan still looked suspicious, almost distasteful, but looked like he was weighing his options, and Brendon stood his ground. Again, he had nowhere else to go. ”Uh... for the job?” While he was waiting, he studied his possible future employer again. So, this author dude smoked on his back porch at eleven in the morning. He wondered briefly whether he was also one of those ridiculously routine-bent artists, like Van Gogh or Hemingway, sucking on his daily cigarette before going back to his desk and working his magic, spurting out a few thousand words in an hour or two. He tried not to laugh at the image, and breathed out, raising an eyebrow.

if we go on || b&r

Unlike with Shane, where his relationship had been mostly horrible, peppered with rare instances of him being suffocatingky sweet, Brendon’s time so far with Ryan had been mostly everything he could have ever hoped for- somebody who actually respected him, knew him well, genuinely cared about him. They went on dates (when Brendon didn’t bail), slept over at eachothers apartments more often than they slept alone (mostly at Brendon’s), and they kissed without it leading into something, called eachother baby, Brendon introduced Ryan as his boyfriend before his PA. Brendon saw him as something of an angel, but that could be dangerous- even though Shane, a man he know saw as the devil incarnate, an asshole on all accounts, walked all over him, Brendon sometimes didn’t recognised that he was unintentionally walking over Ryan, who didn’t really feel compelled to talk about it because Ryan had to work on his critical attitude, Brendon on his ability to take criticism, and both of them had to work on communication. A little of that, a little honesty in the gentlest but firmest way possible, this could probably all be solved in an evening. But no, Brendon swept their plans under the rug and decided to get wasted, shunning Ryan to please his audience, and Ryan went home, which was admittedly understandable.

That’s your name, crackhead. Brendon sounded affronted even though he didn’t say anything- his stunned silence said it all as he bit his lip hard and fought with his dwindling common sense. He wanted to rip into Ryan- but he couldn’t actually think of much he could use to drag him. Fuck Ryan for being boring and an amazing boyfriend. ”My name is Brendon,” He replied intelligently, sounding more silky than scathing. He heard Ryan’s amused rush of air and felt like throwing his phone across the room, but instead his put him on speaker, cracking his knuckles way too aggressively and considering just hanging up before this conversation became too annoying and too complex for drunk Brendon to handle. Oh. Brendon, you said ‘fuck that’ when I said we should go, and then you invited me to leave before sharing a laugh with your crew. Brendon clicked his tongue, leaned back against the cushions, shutting his eyes as he spoke- or tried to speak. ”Ryan, baby,” He started, definitely not intending to sound affectionate. ”You said you wanted to leave. I basically said feel free. Would you- would you fuckin’ prefer if I asked you to stay? I just said I didn’t care, I wasn’t being a dick. It always happens anyway,” He muttered, opening his eyes and staring at the lights on the ceiling. They were way too bright, but he didn’t look away, even when he started to feel dizzy.

That was kind of asshole behaviour. So I, ‘by all means, went home.’ Brendon sat up, furrowing his brow- what? Why did that sound so pointed? He paused a moment, confused, then shook his head. ”You could have at least told me,” He messed with the cuffs of his sleeves, picking at the fabric and blinking away the blurriness from his vision. ”I was looking forward to seeing you.” Some would say a pathetic attempt- but he meant at. At least, drunk him meant it. Sober Brendon would have pretended to stop caring and been in the pool by now, sending Ryan obnoxious selfies just to irritate him- and subtly tell him that yeah, he did miss him, come over. He was a lot of work- but he liked to think he was usually worth it. Just maybe not now. I didn’t think you would- sorry about that, actually. ”Didn’t think I’d what? Care? Charming,” He retorted, not even giving Ryan a chance to breathe. He sat back again, dragging a hand roughly through his hair as it started to fall in front of his eyes, and breathed deeply. Mistake. He suddenly felt nauseous, and paused, glancing towards the bathroom. False alarm, thankfully- but he still felt slightly sick as Ryan continued on.

Baby. Don’t ‘baby’, me, he thought stubbornly, getting closer to just hanging up and leaving Ryan to some documentary or boring book or whatever his boyfriend got up to when he wasn’t working for Brendon, or with Brendon. Maybe that was Brendon's problem- he still thought that Ryan’s world revolves around him. And work wasn’t life- and neither was a boyfriend- even if he was a pretty big part, it was selfish of him to think he was all that mattered. And he didn’t, really, but he didn’t exactly show that. Are you really going back out? ”Well, y’know, somebody ruined my other plans. So, yeah.” He sounded sort of immature- but that was Brendon when he was mad, and drunk. You could just- go to bed. He was about to tell him that he was okay, thank you, but Ryan continued- I’ll come over if you want, you know. He paused, because god, it was tempting, suddenly he was tired, suddenly there was nothing more appealing than falling asleep in Ryan’s arms and sleeping possibly til the afternoon. But Brendon was stubborn. He had to make his point somehow, and giving in was not how to do it.

He stood up suddenly, taking his phone with him, and swayed, realising he was dizzy, drunk, and nauseous. It would be fun to try and go back out like this, now those shots he’d taken right before he left had kicked in. Brendon hesitated. ”Don’t bother,” He said finally, moving over to the kitchen counter to steady himself, ”Clearly you didn’t want to in the first place. Stay at home, read your book or whatever, enjoy your alone time. I’ll go fuckin’ find someone who’s actually fun- Shane,” He announced, not thinking, before immediately feeling even more sick and clenching his jaw, backtracking before he even took another breath. ”No, no, fuck that, forget I said that,” He mumbled, leaned against the counter and putting his phone down. ”I don’t feel good, I- I’m gonna go.”

if we go on || b&r

Ryan was, in short, everything he could have asked for in a boyfriend and more- he was sweet, attentive, caring, organised, adoring, affectionate, meticulous, reliable, the like- but along with those positive Virgo traits came a host of less favourable personality quirks. Ryan could be something of a control freak, overly critical, had a mean-spirited and ruthless dry side- not to Brendon, but it was still evident- he could be judgemental, closed off, passive aggressive. Brendon had learned, though, that the point of a relationship wasn’t to try and fix’ anyone, but making them happy, improving eachother, not holding a grudge against them for mistakes or personality traits. It wasn’t about perfection, it was about realistically being happy, and if Brendon held every slightly negative trait against Ryan and criticised him for it, and vice versa, then they would never work. So, Brendon, an exuberant and passionate but hot-headed and stubborn Aries, felt himself slowly falling in love with Ryan, a more mellow and subtly witty but self-critical and fastidious Virgo- not that he was ready to admit that, yet. He wasn’t even sure what he felt was what he thought he felt. It was all too confusing; Brendon didn’t like not knowing things, so he procrastinated even thinking about it for too long, or he was overwhelmed by both anxiety and affection and that cocktail of emotions was a disastrous one.

That was all well and good, but they shouldn’t let eachother get away with shitty actions and behaviour, and Brendon’s callousness (or most likely obliviousness) to Ryan’s feeling of neglect when he was out partying was the definition of shitty behaviour. He cast aside pre-meditated plans for a date with Ryan in favour of some random A-lister party and lots of alcohol- naturally, not a great move, and Ryan didn’t feel too happy about it, or very prioritised. Brendon wasn’t stupid, but he didn’t realise Ryan cared that much, because Ryan was used to not telling Brendon how he felt at this point- because Brendon couldn’t handle criticism. It was a cycle they needed to get out of if it was going to work- because Ryan didn’t deserve second class treatment, and Brendon wouldn’t benefit from Ryan stewing silently on all the wrongs that Brendon had done upon him. They needed to communicate- Ryan needed to stop sugarcoating everything in order to cushion the blow, and Brendon needed to stop being oversensitive and defensive about everything he did. They had a lot of work to do, but at heart, they understood eachother. It was just a matter of stubbornness and closeness- becoming less like two separate units tentatively holding hands, and more like one, embraced. So to speak.

Apparently that wasn’t going too well that particular night, because Brendon shamelessly bailed again and Ryan said nothing, just went along with it. For Brendon, it was great- he could have a great time with semi-strangers and famous friends (depending on what you qualified as friends), drinking himself silly because he hadn’t known any different his entire life. It was a miracle he hadn’t developed some kind of addiction yet, and it was even a stretch to say he had a problem- He didn’t feel like he needed to drink, per say, he just enjoyed it so much that he wanted to, even after killer headaches and ruthless hangovers. Nevertheless, it was still unhealthy- Brendon just brushed off any concerns people expressed by telling them they were boring, they needed to get a better hobby than judging him all the time, it was none of their business how much he drank. Ryan, unfortunately, included. He was just used to being on the defensive all the time that he didn’t recognise that people genuinely were concerned about his wellbeing. His father, for example, always told him to curb it on the bad habits- but Brendon could tell he cared less about Brendon’s health and more about his own image as a father and as a man.

So, in short, Brendon still wasn’t fully ready to receive criticism, or what he saw as patronisation. When Ryan came over, all gentle even, arm looped around him and hand at his waist, he initially felt like leaning back into his arms and falling asleep- but the laughs from the little entourage he had nearby and surrounding him told him he should probably ignore whatever Ryan was about to say. Something about wanting to go home- hard pass, Brendon thought, as he stepped away from his grasp, then made an offhand, dismissive comment that was barely concealed code for ‘leave me alone/go away, you’re ruining my fun’. So, Ryan actually left, and Brendon didn’t even look back to check. He thought at the back of his mind that it was okay, he’d be at his penthouse, he’d see him later and they could have their alone time. He didn’t think about the fact he’d be much more drunk and would probably only talk about being ‘dicked down’ or something along those lines. Intoxicated Brendon was a handful, to say the least, Ryan learned the hard way that any filter he might have had went completely out of the window.

And that was the case through text, too, even if it was hard to tell because Brendon’s drunk typing was barely legible. He didn’t think before he wrote, didn’t think that maybe he was overreacting- he was just pissed, because he’d left that party because he missed his boyfriend and his boyfriend had decided to swan home instead of to his penthouse like they agreed. The texts he sent were fuelled by pettiness, and when he put his found down to wait for a response (sometime tonight, hopefully. If Ryan was asleep, he’d be even more mad) he began to unbutton the top few fastenings of his long-sleeved shirt because it was warm as hell in his apartment. He considered going for a swim- maybe not a good idea for drunk Brendon, but he was never one for good ideas anyway. He looked down and saw that Ryan was typing, and laced his fingers together, eyebrows furrowed- but then his boyfriend was calling, and Ryan looked at the picture he used for his caller ID, wondering whether he should just leave it to ring. The temptation to be salty was too much, though, so he picked up, stayed silent. Hey, B. Brendon scoffed immediately. ”Don’t hey, b me, dick,” He muttered, blinking a little when he registered that yeah, Ryan was talking again. So you made it home? Cool. ”No, Ryan, I used my fucking psychic powers to notice that you aren’t in my apartment. Yeah, I’m home.” Sorry, you were sort of being an asshole, and I didn’t want to deal with it at whatever ridiculous time you came back, so.

Brendon stayed in offended silence for a few moments, setting his jaw. Then he all but slurred his next sentence out, so he sounded pissed and very drunk. Not a good combination. ”How was I being an asshole? I told you I didn’t want to go home. I’m allowed to stay out,” He snapped, leaning back in his chair and holding the phone close to his ear, all testy but barely listening. ”Y’know, I came back much earlier than usual because I missed you, and you fuck off away from me. Thanks, baby.” Brendon really did say things he didn’t mean a lot of the time- and a combination of impulsive, irritated thoughts and lack of filter was dangerous. He put his phone on speaker and cracked his knuckles idly. Did you have a good time? Brendon’s response was immediate. ”Yeah, without you. You’d probably know what that was like if you didn’t have a stick so far up your ass,” He said, dragging his hands quickly down his face and then picking his phone up again. ”You know, whatever. I’ll go back out.”

if we go on || b&r

Over the past few months, Brendon had, with newfound enthusiasm and motivation, made improvements to himself and his life- which was a strange resolution for somebody who had it all, a penthouse apartment, expensive clothes, all the material goods he could ever want. He had been closed-off and emotionally unavailable in the past, unable to commit properly or engage in close, emotionally intimate relationships, or take those that said they liked him for real seriously. Ryan was one of those that vowed that he saw him as more than the son of some Forbes motherfucker, but as a person who genuinely didn’t trust anyone as far as he could throw them (and he was relatively tiny), it was a stretch for Brendon to even open up a little without getting stressed out and closing back off completely. He expected Ryan to give up with trying to get through to him early on, stop attempting to build a closer relationships of the foundation of the mess they had become- but he was persistent, and eventually, Brendon began to see him as a best friend, someone dependable and trustworthy, and after the brief crisis with Shane, Ryan became a lover, and they made so much sense it was ridiculous to him that he hadn’t dropped his defences and let him in earlier on. But it didn’t matter now- they were together.

But it wasn’t all plain sailing, unfortunately. Brendon had lived a certain way his entire life- alone, neglected but simultaneously spoiled- so his outlook on life was almost twisted. He saw life as a means of getting wasted and spending extortionate amounts on useless things and engaging in ‘morally ambiguous’ and ‘reckless’ behaviour (as it was described by the media, who lapped up all the ‘estranged millionaire son’ drama they could ask ever ask for). He had barely been keeping his head above the water for most of his adult life, but somehow, he coped- he enjoyed parties, he liked drinking, and before he and Ryan became more serious, he enjoyed frequent flings without any regrets. And this social butterfly/party animal aspect of Brendon had by no means faded away along with his emotional vulnerability and insecurity (and some of that naturally remained, it was deep-set); he still attended any events he was invited to, even when he had plans with Ryan. Those plans were rearranged hastily, and in their place, Brendon invited Ryan along every time, and usually he accepted, albeit while reluctant and mildly bitter.

That was the instance that night- Brendon and Ryan had reservations somewhere, but when Brendon received a last minute invitation that Ryan was, you know, inclined by his job to show Brendon. Immediately enthusiastic, he half-assed an apology for the change of plan (offering him only a ‘sorry, baby, some other time’ and kiss on the cheek), and immediately got ready, deciding to wear a new scarlet suit he hadn’t yet premiered. Ryan, of course, agreed tentatively to come along, even though he had many, many reservations and he was (rightfully) bitter. He felt somewhat neglected, and Brendon was too oblivious to realise, because Ryan didn’t express his opinions on Brendon’s over-indulgent lifestyle- criticising his behaviour hadn’t gone down too well in the past, because he was used to everyone tending to his every whim and kissing the ground he walked on. Brendon needed somebody to wake him up, tell him that to this extent, how he was behaving was reckless and unsafe without dancing around it, and ground him a little before he caused himself serious problems before he even turned thirty.

Honestly, Brendon didn’t even know whose party it was, he just showed up and looked pretty and immediately broke into a bottle of red wine, offering some to Ryan (who shrugged and decided on one glass, mostly from the pressure of the whole situation- this was notably the first and last direct interaction Brendon had with him the entire night, even if he gushed about him to anyone who would listen for the rest of the time he was there), before swanning off around to speak to A-listers that he hated, B-listers that hated him and randomers who somehow got inside and flirted with him for all of their worth. It was quarter to one in the morning when Ryan walked up to Brendon, who was asking a crowd nearby him if they wanted to do shots with him, and held onto his waist gently to get his attention, mumbling in his ear that he wanted to go home. Brendon just heard ‘go home’ and shook his head defiantly, stepping forward out of his gentle grasp. “Fuck that,” He had replied, loudly, grinning at the crowd of people who were waiting for their shots. ”But by all means, go home.” Ryan had muttered something like ‘fuck this’ and turned around, but Brendon didn’t pause to look and instead leaned over the bar to grab the attention of the bartender and satisfy his entourage. He thrived on the attention.

Come 3am, and Brendon’s thoughts finally turned back to his boyfriend. He looked around trying to find him, then remembered he’d gone- hesitating for a moment, he remembered they’d agreed to meet back at Brendon’s if Ryan wanted to leave a little earlier (which was prone to happen), and, motivated by sudden, intense, drunk affection, he decided to leave. Brendon said goodbye to everyone that looked disappointed by his exit, and all those that looked like they were celebrating his departure, too. He all but stumbled outside, called his chauffeur, and ordered them to take him back home- ‘to see my boyfriend’, he added, deciding that detail was necessary. It took about fifteen minutes, and Brendon was home- but, strange, his door was locked. Ryan didn’t leave it locked if he knew Brendon was coming back. Curious, he unlocked the door and shut it behind him, only to be greeted by an empty apartment. ”Honey, I’m home,” He called, his voice rough, as he shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the couch, making a beeline to his kitchen to retrieve some more wine for his own personal afterparty. ”Baby, are you here?” No response.

Frowning, he left the glass on his counter and turned, heading into his bedroom, then bathroom, then back into the open plan living room to double check. Was he on the roof? By the pool? He went and checked there, too, but Ryan was nowhere to be found. Which left one conclusion- Ryan went home to his own apartment. Brendon felt an overreaction build in his chest and his immediate reaction was to sulk, sitting on his couch for about ten minutes while he stared at his phone and wondered whether or not to text him. He did. I thought you were coming back to mine, read his text, but with several drunken spelling errors. Where tf are you? Did you plan on telling me you’d fuck off home? Brendon paused, put his phone down, then combed his hands through his hair, blinking profusely. His head was going to hurt in the morning. He picked his phone back up. This is bullshit.

city’s your playground | b&r

Right then, there were too separate moods at a dichotomy, driving Brendon’s mind and body in distinguishably different directions. The majority of him wanted to finish what they started, was driven by a lustful subtext that was pretty much constantly there for someone like Brendon, while a smaller part of him was swelled with emotion and a strong feeling of attachment he wasn’t used to, affection beyond what he was willing to show or feel. This imbalance was vaguely uncomfortable and alien to him- his physical desires were never usually diluted by any emotional turmoil- and this wasn’t even a turmoil, it was a soft, gentle feeling that made him want to just sit there and kiss him chastely, no further goal in mind. But Brendon wasn’t even really aware that kissing didn’t always have to be a prelude to something more- sometimes kissing was kissing, it was showing affection, it was comfortable, calm intimacy that Brendon wasn’t used to giving or receiving. So, even though the vast majority of him wanted to accelerate and shed more clothes, the tiny pockets of gentleness were strong enough to render him more easygoing and gradual. They had all the time in the world, he told himself- then shook his head free of the dangerously sentimental thought.

Ryan was handsome, and responsive, and gentle, and somehow still awestruck and even awkward in situations like this, even after they’d been through it many times now. Brendon wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not- it didn’t seem like a compliment, but then again, maybe he just had an immobilising effect on people. It had happened before, he just didn’t care enough to notice that people were so breathtaken by his presence, his touch, everything about him. With Ryan, he was more attentive, so he noticed the short, escaped gasp, the pressure of Ryan’s fingers on his hipbones, his hands just below his waistband. Brendon felt it all vividly, his senses pleasantly overloaded for once. He busied his hands on Ryan’s skin as he spoke, eyes down, no idea what he wanted to say, just winging it as he went along. He cared about Ryan a lot- as his assistant, his best friend, his semi-casual lover- and the knowledge that he had been a dick to him more times than he cared to remember hurt, and invoked guilt in his gut that was prevalent whenever he looked at him and thought about it for too long. Ryan didn’t deserve that- didn’t deserve to be the brunt of the needless stresses of a spoiled rich kid.

Brendon bit his lip for just a moment, eyes distant, that refocused and leaned in to kiss a very distracted looking Ryan. And that helps. Brendon shrugged one shoulder, but nodded, matching Ryan’s tentative half-smile. ”Yes, it does help.” Ryan was quiet for a while, understandably- Brendon had reprimanded him for talking too much and then there was he, dropping his guilt on Ryan’s shoulders while part of him fretted about Ryan’s reaction and the other part told him who cares, what are you doing, this is not sleeping with him, by the way, get your priorities straight. He told that part to shut up for just one second. Thank you. Brendon smiled, shrugged, uncertain. You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say all that. Was he really? Replaying all the words he had said in his head, Brendon was wincing, because he sounded almost callous, like he was saying it to half-ass addressing the unspoken between them, or just to make himself feel better. That wasn’t the case, and Brendon didn’t know how to explain that, so he just trusted that Ryan really was genuinely grateful.

In case it wasn’t obvious, I care about you, too. Like you’d say- ‘more than you know’. Brendon smiled, briefly resting his forehead against Ryan’s as he drew a thumb gently across his jaw. And I guess you’re pretty cute. He let his jaw drop slightly, eyebrows raising, unimpressed. ”You guess?” He questioned, shifting slightly again and putting pressure down against Ryan’s hips, vengeful. ”That sounds uncommitted. You’re reallt starting to offend some people.” Ruffled, but mostly unaffected by the poorly thought out comment (for someone like Brendon, anyway), he moved on, finally deciding they should actually do what their relationship entailed- or what it was supposed to entail. Bold of you to assume I have the patience to move to a bed or wherever, right now. Look what you’ve done to me. Brendon did, and he found that he liked the picture. I look like I ran a mile. He smiled, shrugging with faux-innocence. Stay. That one word was unbelievably compelling. He stayed.

He was about to speak again, but then he looked down and Ryan had done away with the fastening on his jeans, and he raised one eyebrow, faintly amused but mostly glad he finally had some initiative in him. Ryan’s hand was beneath the fabric and at his hip, and Brendon’s eyelashes dropped low over his eyes, his vision a little hazy as he shivered at the gentle touch. He was barely paying attention when Ryan spoke again. What made you say all of that? I like you talking that way. Brendon blinked, pulled his arms back from over Ryan’s shoulders and moved them up to frame his jaw, pulling him in for and fully ignoring his question for the entire duration of what became a passionate kiss. When he could avoid it no longer, he drew back, bit his lip. ”If you just wanted to talk, baby, you can go home and call me,” He said archly, raising his eyebrows and deciding to fully settle back into the cushions, leaving his legs in Ryan’s lap. ”Or, we can talk later. Sound like a plan?”

i'm just taking in the scenery || b&r

Inbetween frequent shows and writing sessions, one of the main task that occupied the band’s time were showing up reluctantly to interviews and panels they were heavy-handedly coerced into doing. None of the four members were particularly confident or eloquent in the beginning, but then Brendon turned up and he quickly got the hang of it, doing most of the talking until maybe Jon or Spencer dropped the odd comment and Ryan was forced into answering a lyric-based question. They never seemed very enthusiastic during these interviews- in fact, they’d probably rather be anywhere else- so, to make them a little less mind-numbing and repetitive, they all tended to get high beforehand (as with everything during the entire era of the second album), though this was obvious, and probably risky considering the nature of some of their more frequently asked questions- for example, there always tended to be one that was basically are Brendon and Ryan together but worded more delicately each time. First, it was something like ‘you’re four young guys trapped together on a bus most of the time, is there ever tension between any of you’- it was said carefully, but the interviewer looked plainly at Brendon and Ryan. They never entertained them with a straight answer, and just tended to shrug or avoid it or make jokes.

As time went on, when Brendon and Ryan actually were dating, the questions began to become more bold and straightforward- things like there are rumours of Brendon and Ryan being in a relationship and have you ever dated a bandmate/which one would you date if you had to, and finally a straight question- are you and Ryan dating. Again, they tended to laugh awkwardly, shrug it off, dismiss it all as some joke, a rumour- when really, the reason Brendon and Ryan arrived at interviews up to an hour late wasn’t traffic, the reason they were so touchy was by no means platonic, and they were dating, had kissed, had fallen in love, and were completely besotted with eachother. They denied, denied, denied, but it was obvious, really, even if somebody wasn’t really looking. They could be at interviews and they’d be sat way too close to eachother on the couch, with Brendon’s fingers tapping against Ryan’s leg, or it could be a judging panel, and they kept leaning in to talk into eachother’s ears and pass notes that nobody else could see. Neither of them really knew the meaning of subtle, they never had, and eventually, they stopped caring completely- especially after they got back together.

Brendon was asked repeatedly about Ryan right after the band’s breakup, and whenever his name was mentioned, his chest tightened agonisingly and he felt a dull ache of pain because he was still in love, he missed him, missed his skin, his eyes, his kisses and his embrace. When they reunited and very quickly got back together, thanks to a certain Gabriel as well as Brendon’s tipsy forwardness, they decided it would just be easier to make their relationship public for once. It sort of worked, because they were no longer asked speculative questions about rumours- but then again Brendon was mostly asked about whether the band split was because of him and Ryan, whether dating a bandmate was hard, do you have any plans to get married. That last question was one he did indulge in, gushing about marriage and future and domestic bliss and hoping Ryan didn’t watch every single one of his interviews because, as had been revealed in the past, he sometimes wasn’t too reliable when it came to huge commitments. And marriage was a huge commitment- even if he had already decided he wanted to remain with Ryan for the rest of his life, the concept was extremely daunting.

Nevertheless, he was sold on the romance of it all, and even though he wasn’t usually so sentimental, he was unbelievably excited about the death of his bachelor self. He couldn’t wait to be married, introduce Ryan as his husband, share a surname. It was all so domestic, so perfect- Brendon couldn’t believe it would be happening to him. He thought he would be alone for a very long time when he was younger, and then after he broke it off with Ryan. Both times, the love of his life had proved him gloriously wrong. Ryan saved him from cardiac arrest during the proposal, too, rebuking his nervousness. You sound like I could have said anything else. Brendon smiled against Ryan’s hand, and then lifted his head, blinking gently, eyelashes fluttering because Ryan was too pretty and he couldn’t look at him directly for too long without being rendered dumb and speechless. ”You never know,” He said softly, eyes studying Ryan intently, enamoured, “Thought maybe you’d want revenge on me for dumping you for no reason.” He grinned, moving forwards into Ryan’s lap.

Me, too. He imagined Ryan’s proposal. He’d be so much more nervous, because of Brendon’s sketchy history with huge, sudden steps forward. He’d probably struggle to find words, but the ones he did say would be so profound- Ryan had a way with words, when he could get them out, then Brendon could never dream of matching. But he did his best, and he hoped it was enough for his English major boyfriend- no, fiancé. They were fiancés. Brendon felt his heart swell. Pretty much since we met. But I’m glad you beat me to the chase... this is so beautiful, baby. ”Since we met? I know I’m pretty, baby, but did you have that much of a crush on me?” He teased, just as Ryan rested a hand behind one of his shoulders. He then leaned in as he was coaxed forwards, joining him in a gentle, familiar kiss, trying not to freak out too much and get all hyper from the happiness and ecstasy surging through his nerves. You’re corny, but sweet. Shrugging haughtily, Brendon didn’t grace him with a response, but had to forcefully prevent a smile when he met Ryan’s eyes.

It’s a good thing I get you to myself. Brendon nodded, enthusiastic about that concept, arms still thrown over his shoulders and crossing over loosely behind his neck. ”All yours,” He agreed, shifting a little to get comfortable. ”Forever. I love you.” Was it overkill to say it so often? Brendon didn’t know. In some kind of romantic cliche, he wasn’t sure whether he said it too often or not enough. Ryan didn’t seem to complain. We’re keeping your last name, right? Instantly, Brendon pulled back, regarding him with an emotion akin to shock and mock annoyance. ”Darling,” He began, his voice soft and low and velvety, ”You know I love you more than anything, but if I had to take your name, I wouldn’t marry you. I wasn’t meant to be Brendon Ready.” He smiled fondly. ”Ryan Blake... That’s nicer,” He murmured, testing how it sounded on his tongue. ”George Ryan Blake.”

Tell me about it, how we’ll be. Married life. I vote: lots of dogs. Brendon nodded, enthusiastic, and then decided to gently push Ryan backwards so he could settle over him, hand carding through his hair while he told him what he had thought about so much over the past few months especially. ”Three dogs,” He suggested, tugging gently on a curl of Ryan’s hair. ”They’ll wake us up in the morning and we’ll stay in bed for as long as we want. We could be in silence, on separate sides of the bed, or together, kissing til we’re breathless, and it wouldn’t matter because we have hundreds of mornings to vary and each one will be perfect as long as I spend it with you, my husband, my love.” He paused, grinned, kissed the corner of his mouth. ”Cringy, huh?”

say what you mean ; b&r ; tell me i’m right

Similarly, Brendon wouldn’t say he had a type, per say. He had preferences- for example, he was usually only attracted to people who were taller than him, no matter their gender. This didn’t tend to be a problem, since he was a merely average 5’9 (even though he constantly complained about being short- he pretended to be disdainful of taller lovers, but in fact he wouldn’t have it any other way). Ryan checked that box at 5’11, almost 6 feet. Brendon was also rather cliche, being quite easily attracted to those who fitted the stereotypical template of tall, dark and handsome (like, for example, Shane- although, even though Shane was hot, he was attractive in a douchebag way that actually made it hard to keep looking at him anyway), and he liked dark eyes and dark hair on the curlier side. Sounded suspiciously familiar, which was interesting, because Brendon only started giving answers to the ‘do you have a type’ question after he met Ryan. Ryan, with his rich honey-brown eyes, and his dark hair that grew curly when it started to get long, his strong, defined and dexterous hands. Yeah, Brendon had a type. It was Ryan.

Unfortunately, it took him way too long to realise that he was more affected by Ryan than any other man he’d ever met, have literally only just experience the full extent of that when that asshole came to the door looking like that, even dressed in leather and clothes that he was certain weren’t usually staple parts of his usual outfits. When Ryan appeared at the door he could barely speak or react, so instead, he just swallowed like a dumbass and considered just turning around and leaving. Luckily, he managed to steel himself, spending a few beats of silence attempting to hype himself up- you’re Brendon Blake, you’re handsome and funny, everyone wants you, you got him into bed in less than twenty minutes- and he was more or less ready to get everything off his chest, and not only win back his fantastic personal assistant and best friend, but gain a lover he’d been virtually blind to the presence of for months. Fucking Shane- Brendon wished he’d listened to Gabe when they tried to tell him that while they wanted him to date, maybe Valdes wasn’t the best first option.

But in the meantime, Ryan had time and space to gain ‘independence’, in that they weren’t as codependent as they’d become to seem, and also the space to get over Brendon’s entitled ass. Brendon knew now that Ryan had found it difficult to be around Shane, not just because of jealousy, but because he was a dick to Brendon and he didn’t deserve to be treated like that- and, knowing if he brought it up he’d be called hypocrital and controlling, the best thing to do was to stay away and let Brendon and Shane burn themselves out of a ‘relationship’ that was more like an elongated, toxic and unhealthy but empassioned affair. So, while Brendon was involved with the piece of human garbage that was Shane, what happened to Ryan’s strong, overwhelming affections? Beforehand, they had some kind of outlet in the form of their constant, oxymoronic distant intimacy, but now- nothing. If strong affection wasn’t noticed, where did it go? It faded. But Brendon was holding out on the possibility that maybe Ryan liked him seriously and strongly enough for those feelings to remain.

As the possibility of that seemed to dwindle, Brendon’s hope and confidence began to quickly drain away, and he felt his back raise jarringly as his defences started to build up. He was moments away from blurting our with something stupid and provoking, or claiming that the whole thing wasn’t true anyway, or leaving and telling him to not bother ever coming back. Brendon’s useless impulse control really wasn’t working in his favour, and he struggled to contain his frustration, because this wasn’t how all of this was supposed to play out. He tried to fervently argue his case, convince Ryan that he wasn’t lying or delusional. Ryan just sat there looking lost for words but occupied by thoughts until Brendon spat out something defeatedly- then, his assistant moved quickly across the couch towards him, and Brendon’s heart skipped violently as his mind was flooded with thoughts like is he going to kiss me, and i want him to kiss me, and kiss him. But no kiss came, and instead, Ryan just wrapped his hands around Brendon’s. Brendon looked unsure, but said nothing.

No, I don’t know how I feel. Brendon, taken by a surge of defiance and disappointment, pulled his hands back, drew his legs in, tried to remain at a distance. ”Then you don’t feel strongly enough about me.” But I’ve never seen you like this. I- I can’t believe how far you’ve come. How far he’d come? What did that even mean? Brendon looked doubtful, looking down at Ryan’s hands right after he refused his grip. And if it’s becayse you really feel that way- fuck, Bren, I... Ryan’s eyes were trained briefly on his lips again and Brendon felt a cocktail of contrasting emotions. The first and most intense were affection and attraction as he willed Ryan to just kiss him, for god’s sake, they both wanted to. The second was frustration with Ryan for being so damn indecisive, so vague. ”What do you mean, if? I’m not fucking lying to you, jesus-” He started with a raised voice then trailed off into a resigned mumble. Brendon felt like shit- had he been that untrustworthy, that cold, that when he poured his heart out, Ryan didn’t even believe him?

I don’t want you to change your mind. I haven’t changed mine, but that’s because you’re you. Brendon bit his lip, hard, tasting blood again as he stared hopelessly at Ryan, wondering if he knew how good he looked right now and how much Brendon wished this conversation would but about five minutes long. ”But I have changed my mind- for the better. I want to be with you, it’s not- that difficult a concept...” He trailed off, because really, it was. Or it had been. An actual, affectionate, loving and stable relationship with Ryan was a new revelation for Brendon, because he was stupid. ”If you didn’t want me, Whatever, I’d live, but Ryan, you do want me. I’m not blind. I don’t understand why you’re making this so difficult.” Brendon was worked up now, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions and the tension between them and the sense of failure from the backfire of a plan, so he stood up, hands back on his face, dragging back through his hair.

And. I don't know, just... you'll realize you can do better, or something. I'm - I'm not ready for that. Brendon folded his arms behind his head and shut his eyes, clearly antsy and stressed, verging on desperation as he managed to get through several stages of grief in about five minutes. ”Ryan. Ryan, fuck- you’re gorgeous, you look so fucking good, you’re all I’ve been thinking about for the past week, I miss you. Fuck finding better. You’re the only person I’ve ever genuinely wanted to date, and- you won’t even believe me, what’s the point?”

city’s your playground | b&r

The two of them were almost tragically in tune, in most ways. Physically, they were compatible, were together like that enough to be familiar and comfortable with eachother’s body, speaking the same silent language as fluently as lovers did. They had complimenting personalities and senses of humour- one more muted and unassuming, one cantankerous and and forceful, both were stubborn, Ryan was dry and sarcastic and sometimes even had a mean streak, while Brendon was inappropriate and outspoken and thrives off the attention of acting out. Both of them had an equal amount of flaws, came from very different backgrounds and lived very different lives, but they were best friends, as well as the two halves of an empassioned casual affair that was only casual one-way. The one way they weren’t really in tune was emotionally. Both struggled to express it most of the time- Ryan choked up on the only words he ever meant, Brendon flat out refused to discuss his own feelings- so there was an element of constant miscommunication and misinterpretation that made things difficult at the best of times.

But for Brendon, it was worth it. Here he had a close friend that he had learned (and could learn again) to trust, that he could talk to easily without trying to hard or too little, that he could even vent to about the plights of being rich and famous if he so chose to. Best of all, to Brendon, they were intimately involved, and that was not only the icing on the cake, but for him at the time, it was most of the ingredients. He remembered Ryan implying that he wanted more, that he felt more strongly about Brendon than vice versa, but he chose to ignore it, as he had with most problems throughout his entire life. Instead, he carried on as they did, only really talking about it to Gabe, who had apparently straight up stabbed him in the back and gone running to Ryan about it, saying that Brendon didn’t trust ryan and god knows what else. It was true, obviously, but Gabe shouldn’t say it.

No matter- they could discuss whatever bullshit Gabe had said later on. Right then, Brendon had other matters on his mind, and that was getting out of his mind. But it was unprecedentedly difficult, because Brendon’s mind was swimming with thoughts of trust and bonds and the possibility of genuine romantic affection. It was mostly subconscious, lurking at the back of his mind, but enough to distract him, and even mellow him out to be much gentler than he usually would- kissing gently when he’d usually have been undressed by now, all soft touches and uncharacteristic calmness. It was nice, he thought distantly. It was something he could theoretically get used to. Still, there was only so much of that he could cope with- Brendon was impatient to the bone. Sorry. You’re distracting. Ryan thankfully caught on, and Brendon bit onto his bottom lip just as his hands slipped up his shirt. Brendon crossed his arms over to take hold of the sides of his shirt and pulled it over his head, dropping it over the back of the couch and leaning forwards, resting his hands on his waist and smoothing them upwards across Ryan’s skin, resting on his shoulders and then wrapping around his neck as he shifted forwards to get more involved.

I am? Brendon nodded faintly, pulling back just a little to study him and then leaning in to his ear. ”More then you know.” An issue. How so? Feel free to do whatever you want about it. Brendon grinned. ”I intend to,” He replied, eyebrows raising. He then did his usual, pressed his weight down against him, moving one hand to fist into Ryan’s hair, accelerated from their brief moments of softness. He caught his mouth in a more urgent kiss, free hand joining the other in his hair briefly then trailing down back towards his waist. Brendon only pulled away to breathe, looking at him from under his eyelashes. ”I’m so glad I met you, and I’m so glad we decided to do this.” That comment was weighted, and when he realised he’d put more feeling behind it than he intended, Brendon paused.

”I- I’m sorry I treat you like shit sometimes. Don’t argue, I know I do,” He started, talking quietly, but with a rough edge to his voice because honestly he wanted to get back to what he was doing. He didn’t have very good timing himself. ”Nobody’s ever been as nice to me, as genuine with me as you have. Even Gabe is flaky. You’re... dependable.” There was a beat. ”I do care about you, even if I don’t show it very well. And you’re very handsome.” He smiled, relaxed for once in his life, and leaned back in to catch him in a kiss, this time with one hand holding firmly onto his upper arm and the other moving down to hook his fingers very inconspicuously under the waistband. ”Before we go to the point of no return- would you rather stay here, or go somewhere else..?”

say what you mean ; b&r ; tell me i’m right

Shane might’ve been manipulative, but Brendon, though more vulnerable than he dared to show, wasn’t a complete pushover, and he has wilful, and stubborn. If he didn’t want something to happen, or didn’t like something that somebody had said, he’d usually make a show of confronting the situation and forcefully correcting it as he saw fit. With Shane, he was inexperienced when it came to supposedly committed relationships, but he wasn’t completely naive. He knew roughly what was acceptable and what was not, but the lines were blurred- not solid or clear enough for Brendon to really argue against questionable things that Shane did or said or even care about it when he did. Brendon knew that Shane was a dick, he knew he wasn’t a good guy- he was just there, and he was attractive, and he was overwhelmingly sweet when he wanted to be to the point where it was sickly, and above all, Brendon could kid himself into thinking he had a proper, stable relationship like people were always bugging him to get. Everyone thought Brendon needed someone to control him, to change him, apparently for the better. Brendon subconsciously hated it the entire time- the feeling of entrapment with someone he didn’t even really like.

That sense of ensnarement terrified him- what if it was like that with everybody, no matter if he liked them or not- but the more he thought about it, the less daunting it became; but only, he realised, if the hypothetical relationship was with Ryan, someone who was- or had been- smitten with him, genuinely liked and respected him as a person, seen him as a human being and not a pretty, useless rich boy with a high calibre surname and an endless host of ridiculously expensive suits. Ryan was sweet, and hesitant, and intelligent, and nervous, and careful, and pretty; he was eloquent (on occasions, and usually lyrically, not verbally), dry, and gentle, and somewhat endearingly pretentious, and Brendon had recently arrived at the hasty but sure conclusion that it was Ryan who was his match, the perfect template for a potential better half (even if that was an unhealthy way of looking at it). And he’d made all decisions in the past few hours without considering that maybe Ryan didn’t feel the same way, or want to pursue anything as suddenly as Brendon did.

So, when he made his melodramatic but anxious confession, and he wasn’t immediately greeted by an expression of joy or exclamations of agreement, Brendon felt his back raise and started internally building defences, shielding himself while grasping onto hope that this was just surprise. He looked stunned, so Brendon just sat quietly for a moment, with enough sense to allow it to process, before he began to speak again, still hushed and hasty and stumbling over his words, brain working faster than he could speak to express his thoughts properly. Once he finished, for now, anyway, he looked at Ryan hopefully, willing him to say something, anything. Actually, no, he took that back- if it wasn’t good news, he didn’t want to hear it, and he could very maturely pretend this never happened. Brendon... He hadn’t heard Ryan say his name in what felt like forever, and his chest tightened when he realised exactly what was at stake here. ”Yeah,” He murmured quietly, acknowledgment more than anything.

You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that. Brendon felt a little hope ignite inside him again, but it quickly smouldered and burned out when he noticed that Ryan did exactly sound very excited about it- he was then confused, unsure of what to say, having thought previously that at this point they’d have made up, were back to normal, and he could call Ryan his boyfriend. His plan hadn’t worked the way he had intended. ”You’re welcome?” He suggested anyway, running a nervous hand through his hair. He met Ryan’s eyes with as much boldness as he could muster and wondered what he was thinking about. Ryan looked distant, unsure, unconvinced, and whatever remnants of confidence he possessed had been stamped out in the dust. Brendon felt drained, and anticipated disappointment just from the uncertainty of Ryan’s reaction. I - I do. I do still like you. But I don't know if... you really feel the same. What? Brendon’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to argue, pausing only to process properly what he had said. ”But I just told you I do,” He pointed out, shifting forward slightly with purpose. ”If you still like me, what’s the problem?”

He sounded horrendously entitled, and was too oblivious to even realise. What am I supposed to say, Bren? I pine after you for months and it- He shifted, uncomfortable, aggravated. ”You say you’re happy, and you date me,” He suggested, looking down at his own hands. ”I don’t understand the issue.” You tell me you like me after I always thought it was impossible, you never would... Brendon was frustrated. He didn’t understand what Ryan’s big issue was- Sure, it had taken him a while, but surely that should lead to happiness, and a greater sense of relief? He couldn’t find words, lost at how he’d gone from ‘I’ve been waiting for you to say that’ to ‘what am I supposed to say’. So Ryan knew what he wanted from Brendon, but not what he wanted with Brendon. He bristled visibly just thinking about it, but willed himself to at least maintain composure. Brendon had worn his heart on his sleeve and it had been hurt- typical.

I’m scared, too. What did he have to be scared of, Brendon thought? He stayed quiet, staring at his hands, wishing suddenly that he stayed back at his fucking penthouse and left everybody the fuck alone. I could come back, and you realise you just missed the company, misinterpreted things. What then? Brendon finally looked up to meet Ryan’s eyes again, defiant, but only felt a sense of unease combined with strong affection because he looked so good and Brendon really felt like this was breaking his heart in real time. ”...Do you think I’m lying? That I’m that out of tune with my feelings? I might find it difficult, Ryan, but this- I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure,” Brendon mumbled, shifting back again resignedly and dragging his hands roughly down his face. ”Whatever, if that’s- if that’s how you feel...”

mildly inspiring end | b&r

/