Neve

melt your headaches ;; b&r

Since they both were young, and inexperienced with relationships and romance, the fallouts they did go through tended to be brief, but poorly handled, problems more likely to be swept under the rug in an attempt to forget them rather than addressed and solved. Okay, so maybe Ryan technically had a lot of experience; but it wasn’t all exactly helpful. A handful of girlfriends (some barely qualifying) in the space of a few short years, one after the other, meant he never made a meaningful connection with any of them- and they were less romantic, more motivated entirely by more careless motives, as a mutual means to an end, something to do for the sake of it. Brendon was not his first intimate relationship with a man (Ryan was a questioning musician, Brendon would’ve been seriously surprised otherwise), but he was his first boyfriend. To Brendon, though, that didn’t matter- the idea had recently started to grow in his head that he was just another in a string of Ryan’s lovers, even if deep down he knew what they had was special, Ryan hadn’t lied to him at the cabin and kept it up all this time.

If Brendon thought that through for a little longer, maybe even used his heart instead of his misguided rationale, he would come to that realisation; that it was unfair to judge Ryan just because his dating history was questionable, it was wrong to think that he had no special place in Ryan’s heart. But Brendon was scared- and in worrying he was doing the wrong thing, he set himself up to do something that would just make him miserable. See, Brendon’s dating history was more or less the opposite to Ryan’s, in that he didn’t really have one; he’d been on dates, had brief flings, but nothing long enough to call a relationship, and that was something when you looked at what qualified as a relationship for Ryan. Brendon was worried that he wasn’t in love, that he didn’t know what love even felt like, it was unbelievably unlikely- impossible, even- that the first man he’d ever properly had feelings for was ‘the one’, the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. Yeah, their time at the cabin had been incredible, a heady cocktail of gentleness, intensity, passion, connection; but was it love? Self-doubt was eating him alive, and with that came a fear to commit, because what if he was right, and in a few months he’d realise this wasn’t as real as he thought it was?

Brendon’s head was swimming with doubt and anxiety and dread, and it surged through him afresh when he saw Ryan standing in his living room, causing his body to freeze as he stopped on his way to meet his boyfriend at the door. Turned out he didn’t need to let him in- he’d forgotten to lock the door, but he played it off pretty well as intentional. The only thing that stopped him breaking down right there from all the chaos in his head was the familiar contact of Ryan’s hands against his waist. Brendon ignored everything he’d told himself he was going to do (for example, get it over with and break up with him as soon as possible) and held onto him with an underlying desperation, managing to control his emotion when he leaned it for a light kiss. Fuck, why did he do that? Kissing his boyfriend right before forcibly making him his ex was probably not the best way to go about this, and he knew that, but it was so hard, he looked into his eyes and suddenly he was back at the lake, confessing and kissing in the rain. It was picturesque, but seemed to Brendon more like a passing fantasy than his reality.

There was still space between them, and though his common sense told him to widen the gap, his heart and his body forced him forwards into the comforting embrace of Ryan’s arms, resting his face into his shoulder, close enough to his skin to hear his pulse and feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. He closed his eyes and swallowed when Ryan pressed a kiss to the side of his head, and he let himself relax just a little when Ryan cradled his head and swayed them both slightly. Maybe they could stay like this forever- no space between them, linked together, their height difference working perfectly so that they just fit like puzzle pieces- then Brendon wouldn’t have to think about the future, he could dwell entirely in the present, with Ryan. That’s what he wanted. He didn’t want any talk of future and forever- Brendon was too impulsive for a predetermined life, too unpredictable to be confined by the idea of ‘forever’ with a single person, no matter how much that single person made his heart skip in his chest. Well. Brendon felt his breath against his neck, turned his face further into his skin, crossing his wrists where his arms wrapped loosely around Ryan’s neck.

I just slept all day, so not much. Brendon wondered what Ryan was thinking. Was he happy? Was Brendon about to ruin his day, his week, his month, his year? Maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe Ryan could convince him he didn’t have to take such drastic measures. And then I raced other cars to get to you. Brendon pulled back finally, opened his eyes, smiled up at him. ”Wow, you got out of bed to come see me? Don’t suppose you’d wanna get back in?” He teased, all the while asking himself what the hell he was doing, Brendon, are you stupid, you’re making this so much worse, so much harder than it has to be. He was still close, his hands resting against Ryan’s chest as Ryan carded his fingers through his hair. There was a silence- a comfortable one for Ryan, maybe, a suffocating one for Brendon. But he felt a little different. This was nice. This was wonderful. Was it worth giving up? Brendon gazed up at him, attentive.

You know. Brendon was barely listening- he had stepped closer, pressed his lips comfortably against Ryan’s jaw, trying to distract himself from conscious thought and allowing himself a more physical, emotional experience before he made up his mind. We wouldn't even have to meet up if we lived in the same place. And you definitely have a better apartment, so my vote's on that. Ryan’s voice may have been light, breezy almost, but Brendon felt his blood run cold, his stomach drop. This is what he’d been afraid of- Ryan becoming too absorbed in the long term, wanting bigger steps when Brendon was afraid of even little ones. And that passing comment referred to a huge commitment, and the gravity of that was enough to send him over the edge of ‘maybe not’ into the world of ‘yes, I have to’. He said something else, then, something about blankets, but Brendon had tuned completely out. He felt like he was underwater, slow movements, muffled hearing, confused senses. Brendon breathed in, breathed out shakily, and stepped back out of his arms forcefully, dropping his hands rigidly to his sides.

”Ryan,” He began, dropping his eyes to the floor, ”I- I can’t.” A pause, as he swallowed, willing his voice not to waver and crack. ”Can’t do- this. Us. It’s too much. Too soon. Too fast,” Brendon wondered if he was actually talking because the voice he heard coming out of his mouth wasn’t his own, it sounded distant, but distressed, shaking. ”I’m sorry. This is why I called you here.” An attempt at sounding decisive failed, and Brendon just felt ridiculous. He was hit with a sudden desire to be held, comforted, but it wasn’t like- fuck. Brendon couldn’t even meet his eyes.

melt your headaches ;; b&r

Brendon knew pretty much everything about Ryan’s past ‘serious’ relationships, that had been on-off, fraught with conflict and toxicity, and exclusively with women, as far as he knew- Ryan had told him all about it, after a little gentle pushing. He was just genuinely curious about Ryan’s history, because if this was the man he wanted to be with, he had to learn about his past to become comfortable in the present to share the future with him. So Ryan spilled after not a lot of convincing, which was surprising, because he didn’t like to talk much about himself. But then, Brendon was in a unique position- Ryan’s boyfriend, now of a year, who was the only person Ryan was truly gentle for and didn’t get sick of spending time with. Brendon felt privileged to be maybe Ryan’s first concrete geniune relationship, but on the other hand, insecurities started to play on his mind during tour. While moving around the world for over a year on tour, where he was surrounded by so many different people that he got on well with and felt attracted to (nothing more, obviously; just feelings he couldn’t help), seeds of doubt had sprouted in his heart. Ryan was his first long-term, serious romance, and it wasn’t like he felt tied down, but he was worried that he didn’t actually know that what he felt for Ryan was actual love and whether it was just... He wasn’t sure, but he was scared, anxious he was making the wrong decision, committing to one person too soon.

If Brendon had a little sense, and was less impulsive to be jumping to these conclusions immediately, he’d get in tune with himself and recognise that yeah, he was in love, undoubtedly, and that hadn’t weakened- even with tour, which had been, in a word, exhausting. It had been the best part and then some of a year of none-stop shows and very short breaks and having to spend every waking minute with the same three people. Tensions did run high on that tour, mostly from frustration and the sensation of being cooped up without much space, but on a whole, they had enjoyed it. The last album was the first one Brendon had anything to do with, and since lead vocalist was changing to Brendon for an actual record and he wasn’t just heavily contributing towards the vocals live, everyone was slightly worried about the possible backlash of such a drastic change. But they had confidence in Brendon, it was Brendon, for fuck’s sake, and Ryan especially (strange, considering Brendon was sort of hogging the limelight- but then Ryan had never been one for that anyway) reassured Brendon that it would be received fine. And they were all right- sold-out tour, top selling album and singles, generally positive reviews from critics and an incredible from most fans (apart from those who were diehard for Ryan’s more subtle, humble frontman style and extremely different voice and stage presence).

So, in that way, everything was looking great when tour finally ended- even though the band members had started briefly locking horns over musical direction, there were only surface cracks that could easily be healed. They didn’t start writing again (or rather, Ryan didn’t, and everyone generally followed his lead at this point), and went home to have some well-deserved, extended alone time for the first time in a year. For Brendon and Ryan, that lasted a couple of days before they were seeing eachother almost every day again, because they were just that smitten for eachother, still in their extended honeymoon phase. Everything was fine, it was like in the beginning, they were touchy and affectionate and loving and close- but then Ryan started talking about the future, and Brendon didn’t understand. Wasn’t the present good enough for him? Did everything have to be so defined? He was mentioning things like moving in, and Brendon felt himself to a little dizzy when that was brought up, and not in a good way. Brendon loved Ryan- and he was doubting his feelings now- but it was a little suffocating.

It was when Ryan started casually talking about moving in together when Brendon decided conclusively it was time to sever the tie, move on, get a chance to actually meet other people before he made the decision to settle with the first man he’d ever dated. He’d heard everywhere that a first romance never lasted- and to prevent himself worse heartache, he thought it made sense to cut it off sooner rather than later. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy- Brendon was spelling out the demise of a healthy and happy relationship because of his own fears of commitment, not out of any rational reasoning. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, not even Ryan, which should have probably been his first port of call- instead, Brendon was characteristically impulsive and came to the decision himself. He’d mulled it over in hindsight for a few days when he decided there was no point prolonging the inevitable, and he sent Ryan a vague but breezy text about him coming over. Hell Yeah. Brendon smiled despite himself, then it dropped.

Their apartments were about ten minutes away from eachother, so ten minutes later, Brendon got a text that told him Ryan was almost there. He went and stood in his bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, and ran his hands through his hair. His hands were shaking, and he bit his lip so hard while concentrating on trying to stop them that he tasted blood. Suddenly, he heard the door open- he’d left it unlocked, and he turned, strode out of the bathroom, and met his boyfriend halfway across the living room. Brendon Blake. Your door was unlocked. ”Excellent observation,” He retorted gently, his snarky response automatic, their exchange comfortable, familiar. Brendon’s chest felt uncomfortably tight. Unless that’s for my convenience, I’m disappointed. Brendon smiled faintly, all thoughts of breakup and stress momentarily dissipating when Ryan covered the space between them and immediately rested his hands on his waist. Brendon stayed quiet as he received a chaste kiss on the cheek, and he gazed up at his boyfriend, enamoured- no. What was he doing? This teenage attachment wasn’t how to go about a breakup. Hey, you. What are you up to?

Brendon released a long sigh, that could be relieved or disappointed. He rested his hands gently on Ryan’s arms and impulsively leaned in to kiss him, then stepped into his arms and slung his arms around his neck, burying his face in the crook of his shoulder and inhaling. ”Waiting for you,” Brendon reported, closing his eyes. He felt so comfortable, secure. Maybe he didn’t have to break up with him. He decided distantly he’d let Ryan convince him. ”How about you?” His voice was muffled against Ryan’s v-neck. The one Brendon wore so much that it was stranger to see Ryan wear it. He didn’t pull away.

stardust in my eyes ;; b&r

Brendon didn’t usually get so comfortable with people quickly, but when he did, he acted as if he’d known the person for his entire life. Unfortunately for him, that comfort wasn’t always mutual, and he often came on too strong; for example, with Ryan. He wasn’t completely there yet with his boss/housemate, so he took risks in his behaviour, tested the waters, the limits of what he could and couldn’t appropriately say and/or do- and initially, when he just told Ryan to ‘shut up’ (even if it was just preceding a compliment), for a moment he thought he was going to be reprimanded, and was already thinking about the quickest route outside so he could drown himself in the pool he’d already spent so much time in. That eyebrow raise- Brendon froze up for such a brief moment that it was hardly noticeable, almost sure he’d overstepped whatever boundary they had. Thankfully, though, Ryan stayed quiet and looked interested, so he continued, albeit with more caution and carefully chosen language. For a moment, his compliment bore no reaction, and admittedly, it was pretty lame as far as flattery went.

A few heartbeats later, though, Brendon could see that smile that Ryan attempted to hide behind his mug, and returned a slightly sleepy grin of his own that turned quickly into a barely suppressed yawn. Turns out all the soda wasn’t doing too good a job at energising him after all. Brendon was close to excusing himself and going back to his room, still hyperaware of his half-dressed state, but was interrupted before he could even speak up. Shut up. Oh. Brendon couldn’t decide how to react- was he being serious? If he was, Brendon had mastered the kicked puppy look, and also the art of quickly retreating to save himself embarrassment. If it was a joke, he would laugh, but the only thing he gave Ryan right now was a cautious, apprehensive half-smile as he again scratched at the back of his neck where his hairline faded into his skin. You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met. Brendon blinked. Oh. At first, he was floored by the compliment, but then he was doubtful. Ryan had seen him play maybe a couple of times on piano and guitar each, and he hadn’t even heard him sing (as far as he knew. Usually, when people heard Brendon sing the first time, they had something to say about it, so he’d be a little offended if Ryan found it unremarkable enough not to even comment).

”Thank you,” Brendon said, looking down at the kitchen tile as if it was very interesting because he was flushing again and this was stupid, he knew he was talented, it wasn’t news to him, compliments didn’t usuallt make him this bashful- this sheepish, almost embarrassed reaction was otherworldly to him. Something felt a little different. Maybe it was the honour of receiving such high praise from somebody so- to put it plainly- rich and intelligent and talented himself. It was nice, but Brendon wasn’t usually this sentimental and he was close to bowing out and finally backing up into his room; luckily the subject was changed and the blood left his face so his complexion was normal and didn’t completely betray his feelings. And yet, you didn’t actually make fun of me. Brendon rested both of his palms against the counter on either side of his hips, crossing his ankles where his feet were planted on the floor, and tilted his head, his hair springing off gently to the side in the process, the stubborn cowlick falling over his eyes. He couldn’t be bothered fixing it any more. ”I want a job, don’t I?”

An effortless grin, natural charm, and Brendon was apparently back, a far cry from being bashful in such a short time. Thank you for having mercy. ”I’d say it’s more- self-preservation.” A pause, a smirk. ”If I had a little more job security, you’d be in pieces by now.” Brendon’s thoughts then turned back time to when they first met, and Brendon enviously stared at his cigarette and all the ashtrays everywhere the entire time. He knew Ryan smoked in the late mornings, evenings, and apparently indoors until the sun rose. He could obviously afford the habit. Brendon couldn’t, really. But that never stopped him in the past- Spencer did. Kind of. Maybe I shouldn’t. Dickhead. Brendon tilted his head, pretended to look interested in what he had to say. I mean, you’re a musician. I shouldn’t corrupt your voice before I get to hear it properly. ”And yet there you are, a musician,” Brendon replied archly, ”Corrupting your own.” So he was half joking, at a stretch, but he was also hinting at hearing Ryan’s singing. He was sure it was good, but he couldn’t pair any farbricated voice with Ryan’s face or his normal speech, and he was extremely interested to hear it. Not that Ryan, expert recluse, would ever real something so personal. Maybe He was salty- but he hid it well.

Whenever that is. Subtle, Brendon thought, clicking his tongue- but he couldn’t help but smile, shrugging one shoulder to keep some mystery at least. ”What, you want me to serenade you right now? What would I even sing?” Like that was even a question- Sinatra, obviously. Who else? It wasn’t like he had that portrait permanently inked on his arm for nothing. Brendon was lost in thought about which song would best showcase his voice when Ryan caught him in the dark about the books he was supposed to be reading while he was lying on an insanely comfortable bed trying not to spill soda on the sheets and the cream carpet. That would mostly likely not go down well; maybe just like the information that Brendon hadn’t even finished the first novel yet. He tried not to stutter- Brendon was the master of faking it til he made it. Hey, don’t stress about it. I’m not worried at all. Too late for that, anxiety was building up in his throat and his chest and his stomach, and he’d fucked this up already, why is it so difficult for you to just sit down and concentrate for more than five seconds on something that isn’t a video game, Brendon...

You know, most people take a long time to finish it. It's not really... 'read in one sitting' material. Heavy subjects, and all. Brendon nodded stiffly, inhaled and exhaled, hoping that his brief freakout hadn’t been noticed. At least other people took a while to read it, and it wasn’t just- Brendon shook his head slightly, closed his eyes, then nodded to show he understand. Shit, Brendon, you’re so fucking dumb, stop overreacting, you’re fine. ”Oh,” He said suddenly, looking up, ”Yeah, it’s uh, heavy- I was wondering where you get the inspiration to write that kind of shit comes from. Is it not draining?” Maybe he was over the line, but some of the stuff Ryan wrote about seemed to dark and realistic for the author to have just pulled it out of nothing. He could be completely wrong, but if he wanted to understand the books, he’d have to know.

stardust in my eyes ;; b&r

Brendon often wondered why Ryan, who he found to be surprisingly apt (in fact, incredibly talented) in playing various instruments, dropped what he saw through brief expressions and longing looks and heard through wistful sighs to be his true passion for writing some novels he didn’t even like. Ryan was much more talented than Brendon with a guitar (he should’ve guessed from the beginning with the telltale callouses of his hands- hands he incidentally couldn’t stop staring at once he started), but not as well versed with the piano, which was Brendon’s area of expertise. That, and vocals- Brendon was a singer above all else, despite being impressively multitalented. He’d asked Ryan out of sheer curiosity and almost hope whether he was much of a singer, and though he always looked awkward and mumbled some kind of bullshit excuse and changed the subject, Brendon just knew from his voice that he had some ability, and he was desperate to hear it. Unfortunately, it took Ryan long enough to even play something on guitar for him, and that was his most confident area. Seemed it wasn’t ever going to happen- but Brendon was everything but a quitter.

He imagined that Ryan was more active with playing and writing music when he was younger, and he often wondered about his lyricism; seeing as he was such a skilled writer anyway, coupled with music, Brendon imagined he had a least some experience there. But it was all speculation. Ryan was closed off as all hell, especially about his past- so Brendon hadn’t even attempted talking about Spencer and Jon directly yet, just hinted at them and dropped their names in conversation every now and then, leaving a very worried look on Ryan’s face as he tried to seem unreadable. When Brendon mentioned Spencer, especially, Ryan started to fidget, attempted to be expressionless and failed miserably every time because his eyes gave it away and so did his gradually fading smile. He always opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, as if confused and about to ask a question- but he always faltered, laughed awkwardly, changed the subject, of excused himself and left. Clearly being in this huge house all alone hadn’t helped him in the ways of being any more talkative about anything, never mind more personal information about his past. Even surface level things, like his parent’s first names or the existence of any extended family. He was a closed book.

Though, Brendon was the same. The reason he never spoke about himself was a) some of it was too painful to discuss, brought back overwhelmingly unpleasant memories, and b) he just assumed people didn’t really care, because back in the city, nobody did. After all, he’d been kicked out of his last position because he was a weak link, a loose end, a disadvantage. Brendon had sort of settled into that role by now and went with it, even if every time he did the same thing, ended with the same bad rep- kick off, storm out, go and get drunk with Jon, who could always be relied on to be there just to be a semi-sympathetic ear. Spencer wasn’t exactly the kind of guy Brendon could do that with- he’d be mad if he knew Brendon was hiding shit from him, not telling him when he was upset or stressed, but Brendon just told himself that Spencer had way too much to be dealing with right now to waste time worrying about Brendon, who was admittedly a fighter, had survived this long and supposed he could keep surviving as long as his heart kept beating. The Aries flame was always alight, even when everything seemed dark and hopeless.

It didn’t feel like that now. How could it? Brendon was by no means ‘fixed’, but his days felt a little brighter, he felt more fulfilled than he had in- probably years. He was surrounded by nature, something he had never previously grown to appreciate, having lived for his entire life in a grey, industrial environment, he was sleeping a bed with Egyptian cofton sheets in a gorgeous room bigger than his apartment, he was living in a house he still hadn’t fully explored, he had access to a pool and a Steinway piano and all th guitars the could ever play. The company wasn’t bad, either- Ryan was, surprisingly, a great host, apparently instructing his housekeeper to stock the fridge and cupboards with whatever food and soda he saw Brendon consuming most frequently. Plus, he was either too obvious to notice that all of his alcohol was being halved with water, or he didn’t care, turned a blind eye, and either way that was great. Brendon couldn’t ask for any more- he was living out the lifestyle he’d always dreamed off, minus the reading pretentious books and reciting his entire childhood to someone he met last week.

Okay, yeah, he was wearing Ryan’s jersey and little else, very funny, was Ryan smirking? He flushed, rose dusting his cheekbones, a hand reaching up to scratch his neck sheepishly as he glanced at the floor, the countertops, anywhere but Ryan. He thought for a terrifying moment Ryan was going to comment about the interesting choice of dress, but he didn’t, saved Brendon from drowning himself in the pool by changing the subject back to soda. Not that the jersey had been a topic of conversation. It had just been a false alarm. Not even coke? Pepsi? Brendon shook his head ardently, ready to give a ten minute speech about sodas, but instead watching as Ryan took his coffee and leaned back against the counter island with his mug. Realising then that it was 2am, neither of them should really be awake, he took the plunge first and asked Ryan outright what the hell he was doing. Brendon had the body clock of a teenager, but Ryan? Brendon guessed vampire. Close to mentioning that, he was cut short when he saw Ryan grinning at his hair- the hair he knew was probably sticking up everywhere, unfortunate evidence that Brendon was not 100% princely and angelic all the time. A wave of self-consciousness hit him and he looked away. Brendon never got self-conscious.

You think too highly of me if you think I’m currently, or ever, doing something important. Still recovering from his knock in confidence, Brendon folded his arms across his chest and leaned back to try and consider him fully. ”Shut up,” He said finally, glancing over towards where Ryan kept all the expensive shit longingly. ”You’re the hardest worker I’ve ever met.” He had an admirable work ethic, but Brendon saw that he tended to push himself too hard, and that’s why writing wasn’t really enjoyable for Ryan any more. Had it ever been? There was that, working too hard, not giving himself a break- and then there was something else underlying that he couldn’t quite figure out. ”Then there’s me, ranting about Dr. Pepper.” Although, watching old documentaries and chainsmoking indoors is very productive. Brendon stared as Ryan took a sip of his black coffee, and wondered how he drank it; Brendon loved coffee, but had to take it with a lot of sugar. He liked everything sweet. Anyway. ”You’re so easy to make fun of,” Was a musing that left his lips, but no actually mocking left after it- he just let a grin play at the corner of his mouth.

”By the way,” Brendon began, combing a hand through his hair, now hyperaware it was untidy; ”I’ve been here a week and you haven’t once offered me a single smoke. Bad hospitality.” Honestly, Brendon had been trying to quit back in the city, almost as a show of support to Spencer. He felt guilty about it, but Ryan’s frequent habit had reignited the desire to do so again. Spencer didn’t have to know, he thought mournfully, dispelling the guilt from his mind. And you? Finished my books yet? Shit. Brendon’s eyes widened and he bit his lip, clearly thinking fast for an excuse, but in the end he let his shoulders sag and shrugged only barely. ”Uh, like, three-fifths through the first one. I’m not very good at concentrating for a long time, alright?”

stardust in my eyes ;; b&r

When Brendon first arrived at Ryan’s gorgeous house in the countryside, he had no idea what the fuck he was doing there, and felt largely like a fish, gasping, stranded out of the water. He was out of his element and surrounded by furniture and clothes that cost more than his rent, or even his entire goddamn apartment. He was staying in a room bigger than his home back in the city. He was sleeping on Egyptian cotton (Brendon didn’t know what the difference was apart from that it was more expensive and was admittedly for comfortable), and stealing from the cupboards very expensive liquor. Ryan hasn’t noticed yet- or else, he didn’t care, and hadn’t said anything. It might be absurdly expensive to someone like Ryan, used to mooching off Jon for cheap beer, but to Ryan he supposed it wasn’t even that big a deal, he could just buy more to shove in his cupboards and never drink. Wait, no. This guy had a wine rack. A wine rack. Brendon was more than impressed- it was his second favourite feature of the house, his favourite being the pool, where he spent most of his free time, and a lot of the time he was supposed to be doing actual work.

What made the unfamiliar surroundings worse was that he and Ryan didn’t really see eye to eye, and were awkward around eachother at first- even when Ryan recognised him as a musician, and told Brendon he played as well, Brendon was weirded out by how he had grabbed onto his arm, and sort of defensive of his own severely limited access to instruments nowadays; his music degree had been a godsend, but only because it made everything at the time a little more bearable. Now, it did nothing for him, except impress this rich guy who literally had a Steinway in one of the many rooms, and a dozen different guitars that Brendon fawned over for a whole day and yearned to take home with him. Still, they bonded over this mutual love of music, even if both of them rarely got to express that nowadays- it seemed that Ryan’s wealth gave Brendon the means to do what he loved, and Brendon’s passion and talent reignited the enthusiasm of a man who had all of his time taken up by writing another novel in a series he despised. Brendon never would have expected it, but in about a week, they were much more comfortable around eachother, able to back-and-forth jokes and teasing with ease, spending most of their time dicking around rather than doing actual work, excusing it as ‘letting Brendon settle in’. Which he did, quickly, once he could navigate the way to the kitchen and back.

It made being a little peckish a lot easier, even at 2am- a time when he thought even Ryan was in bed, and their rooms were on completely different floors, so it wasn’t like Brendon’s rooting about would wake him up. Unfortunately for Brendon, he hadn’t yet learned that writers stayed up until the early hours of the morning most nights, fuelled mostly on coffee and an ever-dwindling willpower to stay awake. Either away, when he walked into the kitchen and found that the light was already on, Brendon froze, caught in the act, only to find that Ryan had extended over to him a soda. Dr. Pepper. Ryan had picked his favourite out of the endless options available, and Brendon wondered distantly whether that was an accident or from memory. Deciding he was dwelling too much, he smiled in relief that Ryan wasn’t, like, disturbed by Brendon wandering the halls at night, and took the soda from his hand, cracking it open and taking a swig. Damn it, He thought suddenly, staring belatedly at his soda can. This would mean he couldn’t replace some of the expensive shit with water.

Morning. Ryan’s voice was welcome on an evening where he’d mostly been listening to bullshit music, and now the constant hum of the coffee machine. It was rough from tiredness, but soft and almost warm. Brendon wondered for a speculative moment if he had any singing ability, like himself- an ability he had hinted at but not yet given Ryan the privilege of witnessing for himself. ”Morning, honey,” He joked, glancing over at the coffee machine, distracted because it was loud as fuck. Suddenly, he remembered what he was wearing- literally just his underwear, and then Ryan’s hockey jersey- a sort-of hand-me-down that Ryan offered to him to wear, and what he wore in the mornings and evenings most days. Ryan didn’t see how much he wore it- Hey, it was comfortable- so he was kind of sheepish, folding his arms across his chest. He was so distracted by the jersey that he forgot he was also in his underwear. This would be a learning curve- don’t wear just underwear, ever, Ryan is a vampire and will most likely be lurking somewhere.

I could also make you coffee, if you like. Or you never made the twenty-something switch from energy drinks to espresso? Brendon was still grinning, eyes crinkling at the corners as per usual, and he shrugged a shoulder helplessly, finishing the can in just one more swig before moving to put it in the trash, turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter. ”Hey, I don’t mind coffee, but nothing beats Dr. Pepper. Let’s be real.” His eyebrows were raised, gleeful despite the time, and the calm weariness that was settling in his bones, willing him to go to sleep. It’d go away when the caffeine and sugar kicked in, he was sure. Now, usually, Brendon didn’t have a self conscious moment in his life, but he realised he’d been lying on his back against the cushions for the past three hours, so his hair was probably everywhere, and here was Ryan. Maybe Brendon just had a thing for guys who looked like they hadn’t slept in years- Ryan probably hadn’t. And he definitely had a thing for Ryan, he’d accepted that now. He’d even spoken to Spencer about it, who sort of groaned and then hung up, but Brendon was never one to deny himself any free thought. He wore the jersey because it smelled like Ryan, nothing less.

”So, why are you awake?” He asked finally, folding his arms across his chest against the jersey that was too big for him. It smelled faintly of vanilla, fresh cotton, and pine, and Brendon’s eyelashes were skimming his cheeks as he looked up through them at Ryan, because he imagined how much stronger that would be if he was closer, maybe, perhaps closer than an employee and an employer should be. It wasn’t a big deal, though- Brendon had, somewhat unromantically, accepted the fact that- quote- ‘I’d let Ryan dick me down, I guess’. Spencer didn’t appreciate that information. Jon just sort of judged him in silence. ”Important author stuff?”

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

When he thought about it more, he realised he knew shit about how and where Jon and Spencer had grown up. He’d been the newcomer of the group- they were from Colorado, he knew that, and Brendon was born and bred in NYC- and though he fit into his rightful place amongst them pretty fast, none of them really talked about their past. They knew he was raised a Mormon, but not that his parents were lowkey incredibly homophobic, they knew he had adhd and anxiety disorder and had suffered from depression, but not the extent it actually affected him, because he was pretty good at looking like he swimming when he was really sinking, stuck in a hopeless rut. Brendon was nothing if not a fighter- and a selfless one, taking in Spencer, who could offer nothing in return for Brendon’s money and hospitality. Poor Spence- he’d had it rough with addiction, and they spoke about it a lot, but Brendon knew he’d never mention it if he and Jon hadn’t picked up on it anyway. Jon was probably the most functional of them, misleadingly- though he drank constantly, he had it a bit more together than the others, and always somehow seemed chill, like he had a plan. Brendon adored them both, so he distrusted Ryan for apparently abandoning who were meant to be his friends and leaving them struggling in the city.

But Brendon didn’t really know what happened. Clearly Ryan and Jon weren’t on awful terms- he called him about distributing a job ad, of course- but when Brendon called Spencer outside of the bar and mentioned Mr. Ready by name, there was an obviousness terse edge to Spencer’s voice, like it was painful just to hear his name. If Brendon knew better, if Spencer had told him, he’d be aware that Ryan ran away at the sight of his blossoming addiction, sort of leaving him in the dust to protect himself from being reminded of old traumas, therefore leaving Jon in the process. If Brendon knew, he’d confront him, of course. But Spencer knew Brendon was set on his job- he knew it was Brendon’s funny way of coping, running away for a while, and he accepted it, even if he felt kind of stabbed in the back. Ryan had run away from Spencer because he was a problem, and now Brendon had done the same, run off to Ryan. It was painful, and Spencer wanted to unload everything off his chest right then on the phone, but Brendon sounded adamant, so he accepted he’d be staying with Jon for the foreseeable future.

So, yeah, his two closest friends that he met in university had told him jack shit about their famous ‘friend’, just that they were childhood friends linked only out of Ryan’s convenience- he called Jon when he needed something done in the city, because he was more reliable than his own production team. Jon was too chill to mind, apparently. Brendon wondered if Ryan knew about his close friendship with Spencer. Funny, he thought; he was the replacement in the end- replacing Ryan, the successful, smart one, who had run off at the first sign of trouble and the first glimpse of a life better than the one he had. That’s what Brendon presumed had happened, and, almost guiltily, he saw Ryan’s side of the story with clarity; Brendon was a young man with high hopes and strong ambitions, and if he saw even a chance at a breakthrough, he’d take it without thinking about the repercussions of dropping everything else around him. But he’d accepted at this point his dream wasn’t going to be realised, and he’d be skipping from job to job for the rest of his life. He tried not to think about it much, or it overwhelmed him.

I don’t mind at all. Really? Brendon exhaled a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to be immediately fired for not brushing up on his employer’s work, but he was also confused; surely it was a necessity to be familiar with what he’d be critiquing. For lack of a better word. I’m not a huge fan of my own work, anyway. A very brief pause was taken to process this. Brendon couldn’t imagine putting something out there that he wasn’t happy with- he was something of a perfectionist, became completely absorbed in his interests, fixated on his passions... the idea of offering something incomplete or what he deemed imperfect to the world was alien. Even if he’d never experienced it before. He would have brushed it off as Ryan being put under pressure by a pushy production company, but Ryan had basically already said that they bowed to his every whim. So it was something else. Was he just that self-critical? ”Definitely a Virgo,” He commented absently, thinking out loud. Sort of glad you haven’t read it before- even I can make a better first impression than that garbage. ”It can’t be that bad. It gave you the means to buy this fuckin’ mansion,” He shot back, somehow feeling like he had to defend this guy’s own work... from himself. ”And everyone seems to love it.”

Brendon’s curiosity about Ryan’s self-directed, heavy criticism of his work was swept under the metaphorical rug to think about later when the forefront of his brain was taken over by the introduction into this hopelessly pretty guest room. He was a very visual person, and the light lavender and the cream and the rich colour of the pine would made him feel calm- like he could breathe here, even more so than in the fresh country air outside. Mine. Ryan designed this? Brendon looked over at him, interested. Thank you. No one's ever stayed before, so... good thing my first guest comes with a note of approval. Oh, so he was gay, too. Or gay-ish. Brendon smiled, hoping there was now a mutual understanding between them, and flung his hands out gesticulatively as he turned his attention to the room again. ”Seriously, this is tight. Hey, if your writing career crashes and burns- become an interior designer.”

He was semi-comfortable now, but he’d expected for Ryan to go away and do whatever he did at eleven in the morning (smoke on his back porch, apparently), so a silence settled and he felt like actually just asking him whether he planned on leaving, or if he wanted Brendon to start right away. He hoped not- more than anything, he wanted to curl up in those sheets, forget about everything, and sleep for a day. Something told him that wasn’t on the agenda, but he could sure dream. When Ryan finished his apology of sorts (Brendon thought that was the goal of the little parting speech, anyway), Brendon extended a hand automatically, and Ryan eyed it like he’d grown an extra one and thrust it in his direction. For a mortifying moment, Brendon was sure he was going to be left hanging, but then Ryan took his hand and shook it with a surprisingly strong grip. Admittedly glad this was all over with, he went o pull his hand away; what he didn’t expect was for Ryan to take hold of his wrist and turn his hand over, and Brendon instinctively almost jerked back, yanked his hand close to his chest, a typical New Yorker in that he didn’t like being grabbed by strangers, even if Ryan wasn’t really a stranger any more. He was his boss. That almost made it worse- but he just watched, vaguely uncomfortable, but fascinated to say the least.

Oh, Brendon thought, his tattoos. They were, at most, a colourful collection of things he’d regret, not because of the content of the art on his skin, but because he spent money on getting ink and not actual necessities. Still, he liked them, and was glad they were usually universally admired. Some hibiscus flowers, a nod to his Hawaiian heritage; some piano keys, naturally indicating his love for music; a portrait of frank Sinatra, his idol; his upper arm homage to one of his favourite bands, and on his other arm, a yellow rose. He wasn’t done yet, and he had plenty of ideas for new ones, even if he told himself that was stupid, save your damn money. He knew he’d impulsively get them done anyway. You play piano? Brendon pulled his hand back as Ryan let go, and folded his arms across his chest again, nodding. And other instruments, I take it. ”I have a music degree,” He offered, but nothing more as of yet. He wasn’t about to spill his dreams to someone he barely knew. You should’ve said so. I’ll show you where all of mine are sometime. Brendon was unashamed to admit that he lit up instantly- Ryan played? Played what? All of his instruments? So, a lot, he glanced at Ryan’s hands before he folded them behind his back again, and yeah, he had guitarist’s hands. ”Sweet,” Was all he could manage, grinning with his eyes again.

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

Honestly, Brendon didn’t really like Ryan; at least, not right away, else maybe he just didn’t feel strongly enough either way. To him, a struggling native New Yorker who had about ten minutes ago been unemployed for the umpteenth time in three years, and had the responsibility of not only supporting himself, but a friend recovering from addiction, Ryan was privileged, and rude, and a straight-up asshole. He wasn’t being entirely fair when he sneered about him in his mind; this strangely dressed and annoyingly handsome recluse of an author never spoke to anyone, didn’t interact with other humans enough to know what was rude or not. Brendon was a cynic, but in the back of his mind he told himself he was being presumptuous, and knew he’d be mad if Ryan thought him some kind of stereotype. What was interesting to him was how Ryan came to be alone in this mansion of his, with scarcely any visitors besides members of his production team- was he born into privilege, did he know nothing besides wealth and isolation? Was he self-made? The latter was more likely, as much as Brendon hated to admit, because hell, he’d been friends with Spencer and Jon back in Colorado. Brendon knew better than anyone that Jon and Spencer certainly hadn’t been born into the high life, and doubted they ever got opportunity to mix with people who were- they often didn’t want to. Maybe that’s why they never spoke about Ryan, Brendon mused. Maybe they felt betrayed in some way by his success.

So, Brendon wasn’t overly fond of this strange author, but it wasn’t like he could pick and choose who he’d be working for any more. Not that he ever had. Blue-collar construction work hadn’t exactly been his first choice of career, but before the company let him go because they didn’t want to pay for his jacked health insurance, he’d been getting better at it, like Jon said, on the road to a promotion. He brought himself back to those brief weeks of calm- he’d been planning on what he could do with the higher wage, maybe fix the shower, double glaze the windows, and save the rest up. He’d never had the opportunity to save money for himself- so Brendon was happy, Spencer was happy, Jon had been doing well then, too. But, like always, things went wrong for Brendon, and he was back at square one. And, he realised guiltily, he’d run away from it all. Sure, it was to get a job, but he knew in his heart he could’ve found a more convenient one back in the city- but Spencer, New York, Jon, everything that reminded him he was nothing was wearing him down. This was almost an escape plan, a chance to breathe some new air, even if the unfamiliar was frightening to Brendon, who had hardly ever even been out of the city. He reflected on this guiltily for a second- damn it, Spencer. He’d promised he’d call Spencer when he got there. He told himself he’d remember, knowing full well he’d forget.

Asking for the WiFi password was a precursor to everything if he wanted to survive in this mansion, which was, now he looked at it, kind of minimalist and bare behind all the expensive ‘necessities’ like a sofa and a TV that was clearly never switched on, and had an ambient mode that let it blend in with the wooden panels of the wall. Brendon planned on spending a lot of time in his room, scrolling mindlessly on his phone, and a lot of time in the pool he’d seen out back, but he kind of new deep down that Ryan would want his money’s worth, and authors apparently took their shit really seriously. Who really cared about realism? Who wanted to read about real life? Brendon was sick of that anyway. He had a feeling he wouldn’t enjoy Ryan’s books if he read them- which was unlikely to happen, considering he had the attention span of someone constantly on a sugar rush. Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he signed up for this- a job that would involve a lot of reading. He almost felt like asking Ryan to read it out for him, but that would a) be very awkward, and b) Brendon would tune out in the first thirty seconds. Fuckin’ adhd did a number on him.

I suspected you hadn't read my writing before, but now if you're calling me a genius then you really must not have. Brendon looked alarmed, scratched the back of his neck awkwardly- but then he looked affronted. Suspected. He straightened up a little, defiant. ”Whaddya mean, suspected?” A pause, and he relaxed his shoulders. There was no point in pretending- besides, that would be awkward later on when Ryan asked who was his favourite character, or something, and Brendon would inevitably reply ‘the main one- protag- protagonist, was it? Fuck, what was he doing here? ”Okay, yeah. Sorry, don’t get a lot’a time to be reading. I’ll once-over the synopsis on Wikipedia, though. Don’t stress.” Brendon wondered if Ryan could tell he was joking, and then wondered to himself whether he was actually joking. Like he said earlier, reading entire novels? Not his thing. He purely didn’t have the attention span to sit still long enough and not get distracted. To reassure Ryan, he flashed him a grin.

Worries about his qualifications (or lack thereof) for this job were quickly cast aside when Ryan showed him the room he’d been staying in for an undetermined amount of time. Right now, he was hoping forever was on the table, and was wondering whether he could realistically live here after he was dismissed without Ryan noticing. Probably quite easily- the guy didn’t even hear him knock, quite loudly, on his front door. To be fair, there was a long distance between the front door and his back porch, but Brendon was being liberal with his realism. Fuck, he’d gone off topic, again. He moved his attention back to the room. You like it? Brendon’s grin was wide, his eyes were glinting, and for a moment he wondered whether he was overreacting. It was just a guest bedroom. But fuck, it was so pretty... ”It’s deadass, like, the prettiest room I’ve ever seen. Was the decor your choice, or do you leave it to someone else?” Probably someone else, he thought absently. Like this guy had time for- or interest in- interior design.

It got a little too real for Ryan, apparently, when Brendon made an offhand comment about his living conditions back home. He didn’t sound very sympathetic, but Brendon didn’t care. How would he know what that was like? Or maybe he did. Brendon had no clue about this guy’s background. Apparently nobody did. Oh. Well. Yeah, Oh. Brendon raised an eyebrow as he looked away. Well, I used to be the same, so. Really? Brendon’s interest was piqued and he looked back around at Ryan, suddenly disliking him a little less. Don’t worry. Hopefully when it’s time to for you to go, you’ll be able to afford an upgrade, if you want. That was the dream. He imagined it, wistfully, living in a place like this. That would never happen, but he sure could upgrade from his place back home. Clicking his tongue, he nodded, as if to say ‘yeah, I hope so’, and left it at that, not wanting to discuss his home much anymore- even if that was literally going to be his job. Telling Ryan about his whole damn life. Shit, maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew with this one.

Hey, Brendon. In a way he hadn’t heard it said before, Ryan said his name. Brendon replayed his voice in his head, and blinked slowly. Brendon, right? ”Charming,” Came his immediate response as his eyebrows lifted- okay, yeah, people called him Brendan and Brandon pretty often, but he’d told Ryan less than five minutes ago, and his still wasn’t apparently sure, said it speculatively like he’d read it backwards from a smudged nametag, or crudely written on a Starbucks cup. Not Brandon. He didn’t grace that with a reply. I don’t talk to people much, obviously. Sometimes I can be a little too- direct. I’ve been told. Trying to stop himself from jumping to agree, Brendon bit the inside of his cheek and held his tongue, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, sleeve of tattoos now visible since he’d shrugged off his jacket. I'm sorry about earlier. I hope you know you're totally welcome here, especially considering you came all this way, and everything.

This was a far cry from the ‘What the literal fuck are you doing on my back porch at eleven in the morning’, Brendon considered, noticing Ryan’s nervous tics because they mirrored his own. He seemed geniune- like he regretted being an asshole, was really just really bad at talking to anyone, never mind strangers- and Brendon found that he didn’t dislike him anymore. He even thought he could grow to like him in more ways than just thinking he was really, really attractive. Yeah, he hadn’t forgotten about that part. Exhaling, breaking the quiet between them for a moment, his mouth curved up into a half-smile, and he finally stepped forwards and offered Ryan his hand. A handshake. Probably what they should’ve done when they first actually met, rather than staring eachother down on the back porch. ”Thanks, man.”

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

Though Brendon had known Ryan for about ten minutes, he could tell that there was probably more to this guy than being a socially inept asshole- he was an assertive socially inept asshole, clearly used to taking care of himself, doing everything independently, and holding some kind of not-official but definitely-there authority over everyone he worked with. That distinctive energy- that Ryan was unassuming, but did command some obedience even if he didn’t explicitly ask for it- was interesting, and since Brendon was often intentionally disobedient, stepped out of line, caused trouble (read: all of his short jobs in the last three years, save the last one- that was just unfortunate timing and bad luck), he hoped that Ryan would keep him under check more than others had. It was strange to think about it like that- he knew he should be responsible for his own behaviour and actions, but when somebody was as impulsive as he was, he needed some kind of failsafe to stop him doing dumb shit and fucking everything up again. Ryan was also relatively irresponsible to Brendon’s constant jokes and sarcasm, so great. That meant he’d probably think Brendon was being serious. Things weren’t looking great.

He wondered what kind of qualities the ideal ‘source’ should have- the only requirements Jon had mentioned were ‘born in NYC, over eighteen at least’. At 23, maybe he was on the young side, but Ryan looked about the same age as him, even if he was annoyingly over two inches taller. But Brendon was used to being shorter than everyone else, so it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. So, Brendon was born there, to the south in Brooklyn, had lived there his whole life. In fact, this was probably the furthest and longest he’d ever been away from the city, and the city kid was feeling completely out of his element in a country house overtaken by nature. It was refreshing, but alienating. NYC might be chaotic and merciless and unforgiving for the most part, but it felt like Home, like somewhere he belonged. So stepping in through the door of Ryan’s pristine wooden mansion made him feel like a fish that had flung himself out of the water onto the land, that he could enjoy the heat and the view for a while, but eventually he’d suffocate because he didn’t belong. Or maybe he was being fake deep. It happened a lot.

He didn’t know why he was revealing that he was fired literally yesterday to somebody who hadn’t even hired him yet- it probably wouldn’t sound very impressive, would raise some questions, usually- but Ryan didn’t say much the entire time he was explaining he’d been fired- just a neutral, kind of vague I see- in fact he turned away, started rooting through the drawers and the sofa with no explanation, leaving Brendon standing there awkwardly, taking the chance he was given to gawk around the room. When he turned back around, and Ryan handed him the money, he immediately wondered whether this was Ryan telling him to get a cab all the way back home, and looked dejected, trying not to panic. But no dismissal came, and instead Ryan gave him a funny look when he thanked him for giving him five hundred dollars. So this money really was nothing to Ryan- he wished he could give money away that easily. If Brendon could, he’d tip every street musician he passed by, supporting their dream, the one he’d never even had the chance to try and follow. But he couldn’t. Ryan could- but apparently he chose to not even help his friends. Spencer.

Since Ryan hadn’t kicked him out yet, Brendon was beginning to trust that maybe he got the job, and Ryan was just unintentionally- or intentionally, it didn’t matter- vague. As long as he got to stay here, and earn what he hoped would be a generous amount for his troubles, it didn’t matter. Deciding to test the water, he carefully placed his bag down like the sofa was fragile and would break with ease- he really had no idea how to behave around such extravagance and wealth, and this particular sofa was probably worth more than his entire apartment. He sensed Ryan’s eyes on him and felt uncomfortable, scrutinised- so he turned around, looked at him questioningly, almost pleadingly, asking him how the hell he was supposed to behave at a place like this. Ryan didn’t seem to respond to his silent calls for help, and just carefully took his jacket away, hanging it on a hook nearby. Brendon dropped his arms down by his sides, freed of his load, and then loosely crossed them over his chest, because he had no idea what to do with them. He then launched into a brief description of himself, all the while wondering why Jon didn’t take the initiative and help him out by actually telling Ryan who he was and that he was coming. It was sort of frustrating how Ryan asked all this questions but never reacted to his answers- he only said one thing about his entire brief self-description. Kinda pretty? Brendon blinked, meeting Ryan’s eyes when he looked over his shoulder, was thrown for a loop. He’d mentioned the ‘pretty’ thing as a joke, but Ryan seemed to more than agree- and Brendon was stumped by this guy. One moment he was a distant, pretentious asshole, and suddenly he seemed to be hitting on him. Was he hitting on him? Brendon wasn’t even sure if he was gay. He just stared back, and shrugged a shoulder, simply offering a nervous half-smile.

Yeah, man, I've got WiFi. It didn’t sound right, Ryan saying man. Maybe he was trying to pick up on Brendon’s dialect, or whatever. Who knew. This guy was full of surprises. Still, whatever, he was just glad this guy wasn’t a technology-free advocate or anything. That would be hell on Earth, even in a place as nice as this. He was taken by surprise again when Ryan leaned over, way too close for comfort, and though Brendon was a physical person with his friends, he realised he’d have to teach Ryan that New Yorkers, though packed together most of the time, strongly appreciated and advocated for their own personal space. He was uncomfortable, unused to a stranger being this overbearing, but he knew Ryan had no idea, so he just let him do his thing. That one. The password's just, uh, 'password.' To be honest, I'm not sure how I survive, 'cause technology is beyond me. Brendon nodded, but raised an eyebrow, typing in the very inventive password. ”Interesting choice of password for a literary genius,” He mused, smiling, and then nodded when Ryan admitted he was inept with technology. ”I’m not surprised. No offence.”

Once he had successfully connected to the surprisingly fast WiFi, Brendon had to hurry to catch up to Ryan, because he’d already started walking and his legs were a lot longer than Brendon’s. They stopped outside a room and Brendon almost ran into him, but successfully steadied himself. He waited for Ryan to open the door and then followed him in. He tried not to let his jaw hang open when he saw the room he’d presumably be staying in- it was beautiful, pristine, and he already mentally confirmed it was bigger than his whole apartment back home. Brendon wondered if you could fall in love with a house, a room, because if you could, Brendon was having a full love affair with the decor of this guest room- guest room! What did Ryan’s bedroom look like? He’d ask, but it might sound unintentionally suggestive, so he stayed quiet, just moving to the centre of the room and moving in a slow circle to look around. ”Wow,” He said out loud, running a hand through his hair when he looked at the bed because it looked incredibly comfortable and he kind of wanted to just nap right now. Turns out four hours of sitting in a cab really took it out of him.

Also, I think the Internet made people read a lot more, actually. What? Brendon glanced over, wondering what the hell he was talk about and also wondering when Ryan thought he actually cared. Writing is more readily available, most everything is public domain... it's kind of incredible. Wow, okay, nerd. Brendon raised an eyebrow as he looked away, back at the bed and then to the lavender of the walls. I hope this is okay. The guest rooms all sort of look the same, so... if you need anything, just say so, no problem. Brendon nodded enthusiastically. ”This is tight as fuck,” He commented, grinning in the genuine way that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners, finally looking back over at Ryan. What's your place like back in the city? I could try to get the same stuff here. He almost laughed, and just shook his head dismissively. There was nothing at his own place that could improve this. Brendon was a fan of new starts, and this clean, luxurious room was a good place to begin. ”I mean, this one room is bigger than my apartment,” He commented absently, then finally tore his eyes away and looked back at Ryan expectantly.

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

Some people got all the luck, Brendon had thought as soon as the cab pulled up in front of the wooden mansion, extravagant even when half-claimed by nature, occupied by an undoubtedly pretentious asshole who was way too young to have so much money. Brendon was bitter about it, because although he knew Ryan wasn’t a fluke, Jon said he was smart, his writing was apparently incredible, he was successful and rich in his early twenties, Brendon had been a prodigy, a talented vocalist and musician with a music degree and nothing to use it for. Life had thrown him in at the deep end and it went to show that sometimes you could have all the talent and ambition in the world and life would just be cruel, give you the short end of the stick, and you’d wind up in a tiny apartment in New York he could barely afford with an unemployed roommate and a habit of being hired for about six months before inevitably fucking it up. As far as Brendon knew, this job was definitely much shorter than even that, so he’d have to constantly be thinking about where his next paycheck came from. He just hoped this guy- or his publishers- were generous to a Brooklyn kid who definitely looked out of his element and completely unprepared.

Spencer was at the forefront of his mind a lot of the time, and on the way there, instead of brushing up on the apparently amazing book series, he had been distracted by his doubts about this Ryan character. When Brendon made that phone call to Spence after a while evening of trying-not-to-get-wasted-but-getting-wasted-anyway with Jon, he’d sounded worried, weary, but then that was just his voice nowadays. His chest tightened with worry- and then anxiety, confusion, because when he mentioned Ryan, Spencer went quiet, seemed liked something was bothering him. He wouldn’t say what it was, and if Brendon had the choice, he’d go with his gut and not even go upstate to even meet Ryan- but he didn’t have that kind of freedom, that kind of leverage. He was embarrassingly desperate, and he hoped it would show around this young man who had everything he could ever want already. Brendon tried to convince himself not to despise him just for being successful- so he found another reason to distrust him; if he and Spencer had really once been so close as Jon had told him, why was he letting Spencer rot away in a tiny apartment? Clearly he never meant that much to him. Or maybe Spencer was too proud to accept help. It sounded a lot like him.

It’s my air, on my back porch. Brendon nodded, eyebrows raising, distracted from his mental tangent as he looked around, mockingly pretending to agree that this was indeed Ryan’s air. ”I’m honoured you’re even letting me breathe it,” He said quietly, tilting his head and exhaling pointedly. It was a strange mixture of fresh country air and the smoke from Ryan’s apparent frequent habit, and though he was more than used to the constant smell of cigarette smoke in the city, out here, it was more obvious, because everything else smelled so sweet and clear and clean. Who was he to judge, though- if Ryan had offered, Brendon would have taken the opportunity instantly to finish one off with him, join him in tainting the air. Look, nature and I have a deal. I let it eat at my house if I get to fuck up the air quality. He shrugged, couldn’t argue, followed Ryan’s gaze to the all manners of plant life that seemed to quite enjoy springing up where it wasn’t supposed to, flowers between the cracks in the wood, moss and ivy climbing up beams and walls. What a strange man, he thought again, distantly, and suddenly he wanted to know more about him, but then he remembered he didn’t really care.

Brendon tried to gain an upper hand, play on the possibly-false information Jon had given him (that Ryan was already kind of behind schedule and he needed somebody by the weekend), but Ryan didn’t seem shaken, just irritated and adamant, clearly offended that somebody somewhere thought he was desperate. Brendon wondered how many other New Yorkers he’d seen and turned away, and wondered how he was going to make himself the exception. Not necessarily. Fuck. He’d fucked up. Brendon was thinking grimly about the very real possibility of having to hitchhike all the way back to New York City. But the sooner, the better, I suppose. He even spoke pretentiously. Must be the life of the party. With my job, deadlines are pretty flexible. Oh, fuck you, Brendon thought, feeling defensive, expendable, hopeless. It wasn’t like there was anything he had to make him stand out prior to now other than a rapidly approaching deadline, and now apparently that wasn’t even a think in the first place. Four hour journey home, here we come, he thought distantly, and figured he’d already fucked this up, he had nothing else to lose. So he kept with the attitude.

I am. Certainly didn’t look busy. Brendon was about to semi-seriously insult him further, out of amusement more than anything, but suddenly Ryan was inviting him inside, and Hope swelled again inside his chest- maybe Jon was right, maybe he was secretly stressing about his own personal deadlines, never mind the production company’s. Or maybe he was a good fit. Fuck, he didn’t care, he just wanted to job- so, after a moment of hesitation, apprehensive about being amongst such luxury, he stepped inside, feeling like a fish out of water. But then, he’d felt like that since the cab pulled up in the enormous driveway. Brendon was so enthralled with the minimalist but clearly wildly expensive decor, he barely even heard Ryan’s low voice asking him an actual question, so there was an obvious pause as he orientated himself, turned around and processed his request. Talk about himself- okay, not a big deal- but how much depth did he want? Brendon decided he’d go surface level- if he wanted more, Brendon could face that later, decide how much he wanted to tell this stranger.

It would have been irrelevant to tell his possible future employer his star sign if he wasn’t just trying to establish whether he had to read about boring, completely forced straight romance subplots, or whether he and Ryan shared some ground. Nothing changed in Ryan’s expression when Brendon casually dropped the fact he was an Aries, and he waited impatiently for a few beats- nothing. Frustrating. How was this guy straight? Brendon shook his head, knew he was basing this off nothing but speculation (as he often did, but granted, successfully), and it wasn’t a big deal. So he said nothing, eyed Ryan (who he now thought was definitely a Virgo), and then shook himself out of his brief daze, moving on to talk about how broke he was. That was impressive to an employer, right? Oh, trust me, I feel awful. You must be pretty confident, if you spent that much without even calling before coming here. ”Less confident, more like running out of options,” Brendon shrugged, clearing his throat but trying to sound as lighthearted as he could. ”Got axed, like, fuckin’- yesterday.” He frowned. It felt like longer. Suddenly, he was embarrassed, and ran a hand through his hair. He was joking, mostly, when he mentioned making Ryan feel bad, and though confused when Ryan started rooting around his own couch, he was even more confused when he was handed a wad of money.

Confused, maybe, but not stupid, he took it before Ryan had a chance to backtrack, second guess himself about paying this kind of ratty-looking Brooklyn kid before he’d even done anything worth paying for. For your trouble. And, in the future, don’t waste your money on cabs. I have a car you can use. A few, actually. Jesus. Brendon nodded, folding the money away hastily. ”Uh- thanks.” He was grateful, sure, but this was probably fuck all to this guy. God, why was he so spiteful? So, how much did Jon tell you? Brendon slung his bag from his shoulder suddenly, carefully placing it on the nearest sofa, glancing at Ryan to make sure it was okay. Then he straightened up, shrugging his jacket off, and folded it over his arm. ”That he knew you in Colorado, you were an author and you needed a source- a NYC native,” He clicked his tongue, gesturing at himself, ”And I here I am, nothing but a kinda pretty face from Brooklyn. Although- he wasn’t mad specific.”

I'll probably need you around for a few weeks. Don't know if you knew that part. If you need anything, like, clothes or whatever, just say so. Brendon noticed he was starting to walk away and followed him after a moment, not before pulling his phone out of his pocket. ”Um,” He began, checking it before looking up, ”Ryan? So, man, do you have WiFi up here? Or are you a strong believer that the internet distracts us from one of life’s greatest pleasures- reading,” He grinned, but it dropped a little when he realised there was still hardly any signal. ”How do you even survive?”

sheepish wolves ;; b&r

During the arduous, four-hour cab drive, Brendon had used the last of his data looking up Ryan Ready And Fever on his phone. He figured that maybe it wouldn’t go down well with someone that Brendon predicted had his own head up his ass if he admitted that he hadn’t actually read his dumb book series, so he attempted to familiarise himself with what the fuck they were even about. The first in the series was just called Fever, and Brendon had frowned; surely a guy so supposedly intelligent and talented could think of a better title for a novel than one unassuming word. Fever, Brendon mused to himself in his head, sitting back and thinking about the connotations- flashes of hot and cold, sweating, illness, going from one extreme to the next. Maybe it was fitting- but he still didn’t know what it was about. The second novel in the series (he’d always assumed pretentious and successful authors never wrote sequels or prequels or whatever, that it somehow ruined the quality of the original- but from what he’d heard, Ryan sounded strange anyway) was titled Camisado, again, one word. He didn’t even know what that one meant, so he googled it.

Camisado, an attack made under the cover of darkness, or something. Nobody used that word- the dictionary even said formerly. This guy was pretentious or something, because god knows what the fuck he was talking about in the transcripts of the few interviews he could actually find. Under Ryan Ready, he found next to nothing; apparently he wrote under a pen name, which Brendon also didn’t get- why wouldn’t he want all the recognition that came with writing a wildly successful book series? Then again, he didn’t seem like the kind of person who particularly enjoyed the limelight. He lived upstate, in the middle of nowhere, for god’s sake, and Brendon assumed he lived by himself. It would be kind of awkward if he had to dodge around some lover, and Brendon didn’t do well in awkward situations. He had texted Jon about it just to make sure- Does ryan live alone- and he received a fruitful answer that mentioned Ryan was a recluse, always had been, preferred to be alone, and didn’t exactly get out much, never mind date. Where would he even meet anyone? Brendon had grinned because Jon said it how it was, and he sent a text in reply, but his bars of signal had run completely out. He sat against the seat, wondering how Spencer was, making himself worry about his oldest friend. He brushed it off, somehow- after all, worrying about Spencer never seemed to help him.

Brendon was a little annoyed that his knock wasn’t immediately followed by the door opening and Mr. Ready declaring he was instantly hired. Instead, he hung around on the porch, staring distastefully at the dying potted plant, listening to the birds overhead and wondering again how he wrote such dark shit when he was surrounded by such a lovely atmosphere, such calmness. Admittedly, he still wasn’t sure exactly what he wrote about, because Brendon became bored instantly a few sentences into the synopsis of Fever and then his phone promptly died, reflecting how he knew nothing about literature and he didn’t have much writing ability himself. Then again, he never got time to write anything- disappointing, for a lover of music, who, when he was younger, was always scribbling down lyrics that he thought were profound but were really cliche and cookie-cutter and unoriginal. That’s what his dad had told him, he remembered grimly, but then decided it was too nice a place to be miserable, even if he was kind of expecting a vampire to turn up at the door and invite him inside. But no- nobody invited him inside. So he took initiative- Ryan Ready, apparent self-made literary genius, didn’t seem to be.

So, he went around the porch, marvelling at how even though everything looked vaguely overtaken by nature, the wood didn’t creak under his feet as he walked carefully, not sure what to expect when he walked around. There were flowers blooming wherever there were cracks and dirt, and when Brendon inhaled, the scent was strong and heady and intoxicating- but even that was overpowered by the scent of cigarette smoke, which he detected before he even saw that Ryan was smoking. He eyed the frequently used ashtray and then Ryan’s cigarette enviously, before looking up to make eye contact with his unexpectedly handsome author. It was a surprise- he’d expected someone messier, somehow, who didn’t take care of themselves- Ryan wasn’t exactly dressed smartly (it was eleven in the morning and he was in his own home, Brendon couldn’t blame him), but his hair was curly and his eyes were bright and he was tall and well-built. It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. He looked back at Ryan’s cigarette, and realised he had an explanation to make. Ryan, thankfully, didn’t look pissed, Just a little uncomfortable and confused.

He stuttered out a quick summary, but he still didn’t look wholly convinced, or impressed. Brendon was about to get defensive- what did he imagine a New Yorker looked like? He paused. There was a silence. He remembered Ryan’s affronted questioning from just moments before. ”Why are you smoking on your back porch at eleven in the morning? Ruining the air, man,” He said, raising an eyebrow, but he still kind of wanted a cigarette. Even when Brendon mentioned he was a friend of Jon’s, Ryan looked at him like he was an alien. The job. Right. The city thing. Brendon was honestly shocked at how blunt this man was, but then he imagined he didn’t talk to people much. Maybe this was acceptable in his perfect little word of no people and a fuckton of money and time. Some had it all, he thought sourly, then shrugged a shoulder. ”Sorry to disappoint,” He said finally, sarcastically, but he was smiling, amused- and then he told himself to shut the fuck up, he couldn’t fuck this up as well. He was running out of other options, he couldn’t be picky about his employer.

Sorry. Wasn’t expecting anyone. ”Oh, yeah?” Brendon drawled, a glint in his eye, ”From what I hear, you’re on a deadline. Didn’t you need someone by today?” He squinted, tilted his head, examined his clothing choice. ”You certainly look busy. Do people from New York usually bypass doors? Brendon looked sheepish; staring at his feet, he tried to conjure up a good excuse, but in the end he just shrugged. Couldn’t be helped, right? He was here now, and he hoped Ryan’s neutral, resigned acceptance was a job guarantee. He was kind of desperate to hear some kind of confirmation, maybe find out what he was being paid for his trouble. Brendon eyed him still as he turned and opened his back door fluidly after stabbing out his cigarette, and paused for a second. It seemed otherworldly in there, like he didn’t belong. He certainly felt out of place. Feel free to use this one. Brendon nodded and walked inside first, still uncertain, trying not to seem too entranced by all the luxury.

The interior of the house was no less grand than the outside, and he proceeded to remember exactly what he had been thinking when he first stepped out of the cab. This guy was filthy rich. Brendon wanted to ask if he was really the only person living in this lavish palace, even though Jon had already told him, if he was that selfish to keep this much space to himself, but that was just the pessimistic side of him pushing itself to the forefront. Everything was tidy, clean, almost empty- it looked like Ryan had half-moved in and not bothered to do the rest. He wondered how Ryan gained inspiration from a place that seemed so soulless to him. I don’t think Jon told me about you, so why don’t you do the honours? Brendon wasn’t really paying attention- he was glancing around the house, amazed by its extravagance, and compared it to his apartment back in the city. Depressing. He turned around as Ryan closed the door behind them.

”I’m Brendon Blake,” He managed, though he was distracted, because he was offended that Jon hadn’t actually mentioned anything to his supposed ‘friend’. Maybe he used that term for lack of a better word- Ryan looked like he had lots of ‘friends’, but not a lot of real ones. Or maybe he did. Brendon had no idea, and he wasn’t going to judge until he knew the guy properly. ”Twenty-three, bork in New York City, if you couldn’t tell,” He laughed, referring to the accent that none New Yorkers tended to make fun of. ”Uh, I’m an Aries.” Brendon wondered if Ryan cared much about astrology. He entertained himself briefly, wondering what his star sign was- most likely Virgo, or Libra, something. ”...And I used, like, five hundred dollars to get here. Not to make you feel bad or anything.”