Neve

if you're going, then go || b&r

It was so strange, to see Ryan mostly curled up in the corner of his hotel room couch, or as much as he could be with his ridiculously lengthy legs. A few hours ago Brendon had been laughing to himself at all the pictures and videos all over various social medias, and now here was the man of the hour himself, Ryan, clearly still not having a very good night. Brendon could tell he wasn’t enjoying it just from his expressions, when he dropped his guard for a second and the obviously fake smiles became frowns or looks of plain horror. Still, he hadn’t imagined it was this bad- bad enough that he left his own birthday party that his girlfriend of a year had thrown him, caught a flight from NYC to Seattle, all just to see Brendon- presumably. It wasn’t like Ryan didn’t have anybody else who wasn’t at the party. Jon didn’t go, and Brendon was sure Ryan had a other few friends who couldn’t make it who lived in Seattle. The point was, he’d picked Brendon. His supposed arch-nemesis. In fairness, Ryan was more than a little tipsy- maybe the tense flipside of their relationship surfaced as he became more intoxicated, and it just lead him from one impulsive decision for the next that ended up with him at Brendon’s hotel room door.

If Ryan hadn’t ducked through immediately, Brendon liked to think he’d have just turned him away and locked the door in his face, but really, he wasn’t completely heartless, he’d probably grudgingly let the mess of a man crash on the couch. That was probably what was going to happen anyway, unless he was sober enough to leave and find somewhere to stay and actually get there safely. Brendon was almost willing to just tell him curtly he could stay til the morning and turn in to bed, sadly abandoning the skittles he’d left on the table, but not before grilling him about everything, because this series of unlikely events was the most amusing and baffling thing that had happened to him all week. Plus, it would probably lead to future material to use against him. He already had the sturdy skeleton of a possibly frequent mockery in his arsenal; Ryan had left his birthday party and flown across the country to get to him. That was mortifying in itself, especially for Ryan, who claimed to detest Brendon just that much. Honestly, that’s why he was so confused. Though the party was shit, he was there with his friends and his girlfriend- surely even that would be miles better than being alone with the one person he hated more than anyone else.

None of it made sense, and Brendon didn’t care enough yet to do anything more than mock him at every opportunity he was given. Ryan wasn’t exactly making it very difficult, handing Brendon content on a silver platter just by sitting there rather sadly in the couch corner, a line of little alcohol bottles growing in length along the table. He better reimburse, those shitty things were expensive for what they were. Hilarious. Dickhead. Brendon clicked his tongue, ran his hand habitually through his hair just as Ryan shoved both of his hands into his own and leaned back to regard the ceiling with some kind of drowsy absent-mindedness. That, or he was deep in morose thought. With Ryan, it was hard to tell which was which. ”Well.” He said, smoothly, though his voice was a little rough from sleeping in late and then napping and not talking at all for the entire day. Brendon hadn’t even seen another human for the past couple of days, and this human wasn’t exactly his first choice to bring him back into the world of people. Brendon rubbed his eyes and then spoke up again. ”I wasn’t joking.”

He didn’t show any more mercy, because apparently he had to flex just how more controlled and put together he was right now in comparison to the drunk birthday boy in his hotel room. Yeah. Maybe. Brendon paused, admittedly a little surprised, and he shifted on his feet just a little, not sure what to say. It was no fun if it didn’t affect Ryan, or he had nothing to say back, and clearly Ryan just didn’t have it in him right now to be malicious. That... Basically never happened. So something really was up. He thought for a moment about being gentle- well, as gentle as he could be with this annoying tightass- but couldn’t quite figure out how, it had been so long since he’d been even vaguely nice and supportive to his bandmate. They really were fucked up, and Brendon looked remorseful for a split second before he steeped himself and set his expression to stony, and his tone to matter-of-fact as he cut right to the point. Dancing around the truth wouldn’t get Ryan out of his slightly pathetic all time low. He met Ryan’s eyes even as they flashed with suspicion, then watched as he looked down, shrugged a shoulder, chewed on his lip. Maybe they were on the same page. I know.

Huh. Brendon had figured he wouldn’t convince him so easily, and here was saying he didn’t even need convincing. Brendon thought that over as he went and sat on the opposite end of the couch, scratching absently at the back of his neck and then loosely crossing his arms again. I have known, I just- Brendon watched carefully as Ryan drew his legs in, and noted how he looked increasingly vulnerable- and he tried not to betray any reaction. It makes you feel important, you know. Something connected in his head, then, as he wondered why Ryan needed that kind of attention to feel important. Maybe Brendon taking his place was still a root for insecurity. Ryan was a naturally insecure person, sure, but- when Brendon stepped into his shoes and fit them even better than he did, it was a huge blow to his already fragile ego, and knocked him down the ladder more than just a couple of rungs. Brendon tried to imagine how he felt, tried to emphasise- yeah, it would make him feel unvalued too. But he couldn’t feel sympathy for him- not yet. He could have taken it gracefully. Instead, he’d been a dick, way too arrogant for someone supposedly so insecure.

Less damaged, being idealized like that. Damaged. Brendon supposed that was a reference to his shaky childhood and then the dealings with his dad a year back. He clicked his tongue, not sure how to respond- what did Ryan expect? A hug? Some reassurance? Brendon didn’t have it in him to offer Ryan any friendship, because they weren’t friends. ”What’s the big deal, just break up with her,” He said, finally, his voice still harsh and careless as he picked up Ryan’s last stolen mini bottle and finished it for himself. He’d need it if Ryan started crying, or something. After he placed it down, assembling it into Ryan’s little line, he cleared his throat and sat back, but inclined his body only slightly towards Ryan’s to finally ask him what the fuck he was really doing here. He could’ve complained about his girlfriend to anyone. Suddenly, Brendon narrowed his eyes- Ryan was predictable, he used Keltie as cannon fodder to get under Brendon’s skin. Was this all some kind of elaborate plan to humiliate him? He ground his teeth, suddenly much more distrustful, which was saying something.

I don't know. Actually, fuck, I should just - I can go. I don't know what I'm doing here. Brendon exhaled, thankful, but he was also unsure that Ryan would even be able to leave. He watched, concealing his amusement by biting the inside of his cheek as Ryan tried to stand and almost instantly collapsed back into the couch. On second thought, I might not be able to go. ”You think?” Brendon sounded thoroughly unimpressed. I shouldn't've come. I'm... I'm sorry, whatever. I didn't think it through. I just couldn't be there anymore. A pause, and he looked up, letting a moment of silence settle over them that wasn’t awkward, per day, but it was far from comfortable. Ryan apologised. To him. He wasn’t even doing it sarcastically. Brendon felt a little triumphant. ”You’re what? Can’t hear you,” He drawled, resting his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, smirking a little. But- it felt a little wrong. If he continued with this, Ryan would never shut up, so he swallowed his smiles and bit his lip hesitantly, thoughtful. ”Look, You’re obviously upset, I just don’t get why. You and Keltie were never meant to be together forever or some shit like that. Just be thankful it’s earlier on. It’ll hurt less.” A pause, and he sighed. ”Anyway, you’re here now. There’s no point apologising.”

if you're going, then go || b&r

Brendon had seen glimpses of undoubtedly mortifying photos of Ryan posted everywhere in the background, on the walls, on people’s shirts, and he only wished he was there to mock him. He’d have a field day with all the ammo provided at Ryan’s hellish birthday party; and though he knew Ryan was probably having a shitty time anyway, he didn’t much care. It had gotten to a point in their more than dysfunctional relationship (or lack thereof) that neither of them had any mercy anymore, but then similarly neither of them really took anything the other said to heart, because they’d heard every insult under the sun from eachother before. Time hadn’t turned them sweeter, either, like everyone hoped would happen, so life would be easier for everyone else; in fact, they were both so stubborn that he grudges they bore for eachother had only strengthened even as they spent more and more time on the road, every waking moment spent within twenty feet of eachother, much less when they were in the bus. Was Brendon going to wish him happy birthday? Acknowledge it besides making fun of how old he was getting? Of course not. Would Ryan do the same on Brendon’s birthday? Undoubtedly. They’d fallen into loathesome step with eachother, forever wanting to get closer, but when they did, they moved away from eachother in a heartbeat, in some sort of dicey dance routine.

Not to say Brendon hadn’t entertained the idea of them being friends. Familiarity often sweetened a sour taste, and though Brendon would never admit it, he did wonder whether they would get on if Ryan didn’t think Brendon shouldered in without warning on his not even coveted spotlight, and Brendon wasn’t fiery and argumentative and headstrong, more of a speaker than a thinker, always saying the first thing that came to his mind and in the process, fanning the flames of a confrontation up into a malicious inferno. So, though he thought about it fleetingly, their prospects weren’t looking good. He’d entertained it firstly earlier in the year when Ryan’s dad became terminal, when he’d surprised even himself by shutting up when he saw it necessary and even offering slightly awkward but sweet words of support because in his eyes, he might want to throttle Ryan and throw his body off the side of the tour bus most of the time, but nobody deserved to go through what Ryan was going through. He’d even hugged him that one time. He sneered at the thought, now, though he felt a little warm inside at the same time.

So it wasn’t like Brendon was evil. He had a conscience, and he could be observant when he wanted to, so he knew that Ryan would probably be having a shitty time at Keltie’s tone-deaf and completely nonsensical party- and his point was proved when a slightly tipsy Ryan turned up at his hotel room door in Seattle when he was supposed to be in NYC. Understandably, he was stunned- even if they had been close friends, he’d be taken off guard by Ryan flying across the country to see him, but what made this all the more baffling was that they weren’t. They weren’t friends. They weren’t acquaintances, either- they knew too much about eachother for it to be that. They were bandmates, with a strong mutual dislike for eachother, and it was equal parts aggravating and confusing that Ryan would show up on his temporary doorstep in the middle of the night when he was supposed to be across the country, with the rest of his friends, his girlfriend, and at his birthday party. Brendon trailed Ryan over to the couch and stood on the other side of the coffee table, folding his arms across his chest because he suddenly realised he felt a little exposed.

Though still intensely baffled and curious, he was now amused, the full absurdity of the situation realising itself in his mind; Ryan fucking Ready and abandoned his birthday party and his girlfriend of a year in favour of crashing the hotel room and raiding the minifridge of the bandmates across the country that he supposedly hated. More material. Ryan was making it too easy. Fuck you. Brendon blinked, bit his lip, tried not to giggle, because clearly something was up, otherwise Ryan wouldn’t react so animatedly. He watched, clearly judgemental, mock-pitying, as Ryan sat up and crossed his legs. Fuck you, okay? ”You were the one who came here, Ryan,” Brendon interrupted, sounding bored until Ryan became a little more hysterical. All you ever do is whine about Keltie. Brendon raised his eyebrows, clenched his jaw. Like he was the only one. Maybe it’s not your fucking business. Ryan was right, it wasn’t, but did Brendon care? Not much. ”Hey, I haven’t got a problem with Keltie, she seems nice. Bad taste in men,” He mused, seriously trying to control his face to stop himself from smirking as he stared at all the little bottles lined up on the table.

A year, and she has no idea who I am. There was a pause while Brendon processed Ryan’s words, noted the swift change of his tune, and realised that yeah, this was all definitely to do with Keltie. He saw that Ryan was upset, but he didn’t feel any sympathy yet. ”Maybe that’s why she’s still with you,” He suggested helpfully, chipping at his nails as if none of this really mattered much to him. Looking up, though, he figured that sad Ryan would be even more annoying than usual, so he physically strained to try and be actually of assistance, in the driest way possible. ”You’re a dumbass, you know that? She’s always looked at you like you’re some kind of weird zoo animal. You’re her... Objective eye candy. A talking point in her circle.” Harsh, maybe, true, yes. Brendon felt a little bad, now, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe seeing Ryan all vulnerable like this again brought back the sweetness he’d displayed once before. I should’ve broken up with her a long time ago.

Oh. Brendon clicked his tongue, didn’t want to voice his agreement but agreeing with him anyway. He didn’t care, of course he didn’t, not like he actually, you know, worried about him sometimes, but he knew Ryan would be better off without Keltie. Brendon walked around after a moment of hesitation and sat down on the other end of the couch, still examining his hands. He said nothing, just tried to seem a little disinterested. I feel like shit. Brendon eyes the little row of mini bottles and then glanced at Ryan, but said nothing for a moment, before shaking his head.. ”Seriously. What are you even doing here?”

asked if i meant it

At first, Brendon had felt well and truly lost in Ryan’s home. Well, it didn’t actually feel much like a home- it was just a house, a shell of a home, half moved in to and kind of void of any coziness or comfort. Everything was expensive, obviously, why wouldn’t it be; but nothing had any sentimental value. Sure, Ryan had creative direction over certain rooms, like the guest room, his own bedroom- and then his private study, the one that was barely used, but Brendon was still banned from going on. It made some kind of sense to sober Brendon- personal space, boundaries, all that- but Brendon got bored, very easily, and after a while, this huge mansion felt small because he’d been around it dozens of times, nothing was new anymore. Most of his free time was spent in the pool- thankfully very drunk Brendon hadn’t gone for a swim, because that could end- badly. Instead, curiosity got the better of him and he gained access to Ryan’s super secret study, which turned out to be- kind of boring. But what else did he expect from some brooding author. Everything he felt went onto the page, not into his surroundings, not to other people. Brendon was a little bitter about it.

And yet, though the room was average apart from a few journals and a computer, Ryan was pissed at him for going in. All this secrecy, to protect what? The musings of thirteen-year-old Ryan Ready? Maybe sober Brendon would tease him about that, but drunk Brendon? He didn’t care at all. His attention span was even shorter when he was intoxicated, so even as Ryan was talking, he stopped listening a couple of seconds in and instead started marvelling at how pretty he was, even this late at night, half-asleep, his hair tousled and curling endearingly, his eyes pretty and honey-coloured, though clearly tired- Brendon glanced, no, stared, at his mouth, blinked slowly as he listened to his low, rough voice but not the words he was saying. I want to kiss him, He thought to himself, the wish innocent and chaste for the most part, born from a genuine affection and closeness he’d started to feel with a man whose heart he assumed was protected by a few hundred metaphorical walls. That chaste attitude, though, didn’t last long, because Ryan was annoyed with him, and Brendon thought that was hot. And he had no problem telling Ryan this.

Brendon was smirking, and he wet his lips a little, sucking in a breath as he watched Ryan gape like a goldfish for a good few seconds. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. Well, I’m not mad. Pathetic argument. Brendon thought he was cute when he was all flustered, too, and now he really just wanted to weave around the desk and kiss him against the wall and though he’d had thoughts like this before, it was now harder to curb is impulses. ”If this isn’t mad,” -He reached over and clumsily snatched back the bottle Ryan had taken from him- ”I’d love to see what happens when you are.” Fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he carelessly sat back in the chair, grinning mischievously, tipping the bottle jerkily to the side just to try and make Ryan sweat. Defiantly, he took another swig from the bottle and swallowed, before winking at him charmingly and leaning over to very indelicately place it back on the desk. Brendon had- some kind of death wish. Watching closely as Ryan folded his arms, almost in some kind of subconscious self-defence. Brendon was having a great time. He wanted to make Ryan sweat, just like Ryan had made him sweat just moments before.

He was waiting for Ryan to say something back, but instead he was a little startled when Ryan suddenly turned around and grabbed a chair to pull up close to the desk. Brendon his blinking himself fully awake so he could watch as Ryan picked up the bottle and seemingly tried alcohol for the first time in, like, his entire life. Clearly he wasn’t a fan- Brendon giggled at how Ryan’s face changed. Apparently everything was now a hundred times funnier. Brendon picked up the bottle again when Ryan pushed it back across the desk, and saw there was only a little left- so he knocked it all back and then put it back down after regarding the bottle with some curiosity. Wondering how much that cost, and how much liquid money he’d just drank away in a single night, he swallowed, deciding that it didn’t really matter. Like Ryan said before, he could quite easily just restock and replace everything that Brendon had drained dry from his usually untouched cupboards. Brendon leaned back, not taking his eyes off Ryan, still displaying that constant drunken half-smile and not being subtle about looking him up and down every couple of minutes, as if to check if anything had changed since the last time, and it never did. He’d still do whatever Ryan asked of him in a heartbeat.

So you know about two rooms. I take it you couldn't figure out how to get into the studio? Brendon paused, looking up to meet Ryan’s eyes, putting hold on his rampant imagination and suddenly looking intensely interested. ”Studio? You have a studio?” His eyes lit up like it was christmas. ”You’re fuckin’ kidding. Why haven’t you shown me?” That’s a shame. You’d probably really like it. Well, Yeah, duh. Brendon was pouting a little, but he was also verging on smiling because now he had the motivation to break into that room even if Ryan didn’t directly let him in. And I'd probably have shown you if you didn't already disrespect all my boundaries. Sucks. Brendon’s face fell, and he immediately fast forwarded through a few stages of grief- denial, then bargaining. ”How do I make it up to you? What do I have to do?” -He glanced down at Ryan’s hands as he tapped against the desk- ”What do you want? My firstborn? A blowjob? My left arm? You have pretty hands,” He rambled, leaning excitedly on the desk, biting his lip and fully willing to sacrifice his soul just to see the kind of room he’d dreamt about having since he was just a little boy.

if you're going, then go || b&r

Brendon wasn’t 21 yet, but it wasn’t like he didn’t drink as much, if not more than his older friends- he thought the whole thing was stupid, because who really waited until their 21st birthday party to drink for the first time? Obviously, though, Ryan’s birthday party was at a 21+ venue, and since Brendon was only 20, he wouldn’t be allowed in even if he wanted to go. Luckily for him, he definitely didn’t. Sure, he was the frontman of the band that Ryan was in- they probably spent more time together and Ryan did with his girlfriend (definitely not out of choice)- and ideally, they’d be very close friends, but no, Ryan hated Brendon’s guts and Brendon hated his right back. He was an entitled, pretentious, demanding, over-critical, self-pitying, stubborn asshole, and Brendon was at the petty point that just hearing Ryan breathe set him off. He imagined Ryan had some choice adjectives about him, too; Brendon had literally knocked him down a tier in a band that he started, but hey. Brendon’s answer to that was ‘get better at singing, then’. Ryan could sing, but- Brendon’s voice was much more powerful and his range was astounding. In short, he was the stronger choice, and Ryan hated that because it wasn’t like he could really argue, no matter how much he tried to find fault with his notes.

That was one of Ryan’s issues. Brendon was amazingly, undeniably talented, and even the filter that was hatred that made everything Brendon did a hundred times worse still left Ryan jealous of his multi-instrumental prowess and his incredible vocal talent. Brendon’s issue with him was that he couldn’t even admit it. Brendon was under the impression at first that Ryan just wanted to see the band succeed- which would mean falling into place as lead guitarist and lyricist and allow Brendon the freedom to embrace the role as a frontman, a job that Ryan despised anyway- but now he thought that he just wanted to see Brendon fail, and was critical at every turn, shut down his ideas and threatened to, like, kick him out, even though he was now a major key in keeping the band successful and relevant. The appreciation for Ryan’s voice, still a little rough around the edges, was relatively niche, but now it was a novelty, a bonus, whenever it turned up in live performances. Spencer and Jon had even negotiated that Ryan take backing vocal duties on future records. Brendon wasn’t happy with that- he was wary that Ryan was shouldering in and trying to toss him to the curb, like some kind of bizarre Shakespearean power struggle- but he accepted it. Maybe it would get Ryan off his back for two seconds.

But it didn’t. Even when Brendon wasn’t around, Ryan was asking where he was, presumably so he could rock up and ruin his day. It was the same the other way round. Brendon hated it when he was around, but hated it when he wasn’t there, either- he missed him, and it drove him crazy, because he didn’t know why. Sure, there was all of that tense subtext, but that alone didn’t equate to Brendon actually missing his presence. Maybe it was just odd to have him not around, because they were together so often. Not as often as they used to be- Ryan’s girlfriend of a year or so took up most of his free time- but still, it was an odd feeling, simultaneously detesting a person and feeling lost when they weren’t around. It didn’t make sense and Brendon didn’t try to make sense of it. He just ignored it, excused his constant enquiries about Ryan’s location, and got on with it. He’d put up with it all for a long time, and it was apparent that nothing was going to change any time soon- even, now, the presence of Keltie, who initially Brendon thought was a temporary thing, and he was proven wrong. Which was embarrassing. Brendon still stood by the whole ‘Ryan hasn’t a hetero bone in his body’ thing.

Besides sexuality, Brendon just thought Keltie was a little... Much. She seemed sweet, but Brendon watched their relationship turn sour in real time, even if only subtly. Speaking of Keltie, she was the one who tasked herself with throwing Ryan a birthday party- and Brendon was out before anyone could tell him he wasn’t even invited. He saw it all over social media, though, when the night came around, and spent most of th night vagueing about it, laughing at all the pictures of Ryan, and posting every twenty minutes about what he was doing (watching TV and eating takeout). He kind of wished he’d snuck into the party, now, because the whole theme was embarassing Ryan, which sounded like his own personal heaven. That was okay for an enemy to think, but a girlfriend? Brendon wasn’t sure why he even cared, but thinking about it, did Keltie even know Ryan at all? She looked at him like a weird zoo animal, fascinated but not understanding, like he wasn’t her boyfriend but a novelty for her to parade around. Yeah, okay, Brendon was observant. And he knew enough about Ryan that he could see the absolute horror on his face in some photos, and clearly it wasn’t a great night for him. Brendon relished that idea. It was the least he deserved.

So, once he got bored of watching for updates about Ryan’s birthday party across the country, he raided the minifridge for a few snacks and those mini bottles of alcohol, downing a couple pretty quickly and breaking into a bag of skittles. He was on the hotel couch, wearing pyjama pants and no shirt. He’d grown a stubble- mostly out of not bothering to clean shave. His hair, though, had been cut a little shorter, styled more than usual, even if at the moment he was sporting a semi-bedhead, locks falling into his eyes. He had a bag of skittles nestled in his arm and a few tiny, empty bottles lined up on the coffee table. His phone was charging in the corner, on silent, and the TV was on, some eighties music channel that Brendon was half paying attention to; It was late, his plan was to pass out watching it. His night was already planned out- and the last thing he expected was a knock on his hotel room door. Cleaners? At this time of night? Sighing, he unfolded his body from the couch and crossed the room to the door, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair and pulling the door open, hanging onto the doorframe.

Hey, what’s up, is this the hotel bar? What- what. Brendon blinked, blinked again. Was he hallucinating? He did a double take, a triple take, went for a fourth look, but Ryan was already weaving around him to get into his hotel room. Brendon turned around, baffled, shut the door behind him, taking a moment before he finally realised that Ryan fucking Ready was in his hotel room. The same Ryan Ready who was supposed to be at his birthday party right now, in New York. Brendon leaned against the door, almost not knowing how to react, and then he followed Ryan, lost for words. I’ll reimburse you. Brendon frowned when he saw the bottles Ryan had in his hands. ”You fucking better, what the fuck are you-” So, what does the famed Brendon Blake get up to on a Thursday night? Brendon was still coming to terms with this as Ryan collapsed onto the sofa. It took him a moment to formulate a sentence. ”...What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room on a Thursday night when you’re supposed to be at your birthday party? In New York?” Brendon exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair and then crossing his arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed. But then a smirk crept up to his lips. ”Did you fly across the country to see me instead of your girlfriend?” A pause. ”Fuckin’ loser. Does she know you’re here?”

if we go on || b&r

So, yeah, he’d made an ass out of his boyfriend at a party that he’d chosen to attend over going on an actual date with Ryan, taking the side of a group of people who were probably just hanging around him for the popularity points instead of the side of his boyfriend. He’d been drunk, but he had still consciously made the decision to completely brush him off and almost encourage his departure, when he could have been civil, nice, understanding, turned around and kissed him goodbye and asked him to text him when he got home. Yeah, his home, not Brendon’s apartment. Brendon had apparently ruined that by being so rude to him at the party. He wondered absently, his brain not fully focused, whether or not if he’d behaved differently- like a lover was supposed to- Ryan would have been here waiting for him and he could have just fallen asleep in his arms rather than be lying on his bed, alone, swearing at him and telling him to leave him alone and that he wasn’t welcome over the phone. It wasn’t ideal, and if Brendon had been sober he’d have forgiven Ryan and apologised for his own mistakes by now, but Brendon was intoxicated and he wasn’t exactly thinking logically. Enter Brendon, cussing up a storm down the line at someone who just wanted to make sure he was okay.

There he is. Apparently his drunken aggravated state wasn’t enough to put Ryan off giving up and staying at home, because Ryan was at the doorway and then at the end of his bed. Brendon turned over, looking expertly sulky. Like he was moments away from just pouting and having a tantrum like a child. He scowled in contrast to Ryan’s smile and moved pointedly backwards as Ryan walked around to his nightstand, holding water and what he assumed to be painkillers. Brendon’s back was pressed against the headboard and his limbs drawn up close to his body, his legs bent, only half extended, and his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. He glowered at Ryan and only received a calm look and a cool tone in return. I’ll go if you do as I say. Brendon paused, met his eyes for a long pause. That kind of language and tone triggered something in him and it always had- he was used to responding to requests, or more appropriately commands, from Ryan in particular, and he was moments away from doing so. But no. He was also an Aries, he was also pissed, and he was also drunk. Uniquely, those qualities took a step over his almost embarrassing submissiveness for once.

Deal? Brendon shook his head, adamant, but peculiarly he didn’t resist much when Ryan undid his sleeve clasps apart from attempting to weakly tug his hands away in turn. ”I know what you’re trying to do,” Brendon declared, almost triumphant, mostly accusatory. ”You’re trying to exploit whatever power you think you have over me.” He was slurring, and probably didn’t make much sense, but in his head, he was a genius, a detective, he’d figured Ryan out. ”Well, for your fucking information, I wouldn’t do anything you asked me to if you paid me. The idea repulses me.” Brendon let out a noise close to a whine when Ryan then pulled him closer by the front of his shirt, but was too disorientated to actually physically protest. I brought painkillers. Take them and finish that water. “No.”Brendon glared at him defiantly as he started to unbutton his shirt, and for a moment he was confused. What was Ryan doing? He glanced down at Ryan’s hands as he worked quickly, thought absently about how nice his hands were and then pushed the thought away, then raised a curious eyebrow.

And, I’m not letting you sleep in a full suit, so hold out a little longer, ‘kay? Brendon was stubbornly quiet, but didn’t have the energy to protest or pull away like he wanted to. Ryan had finished unbuttoning his shirt, he realised after a few seconds, and he automatically shrugged it off his shoulders, then collapsed onto his back so he was lying flat along the horizontal of his bed, and dropped the shirt unceremoniously off the opposite side onto the floor. Brendon then lay there, staring groggily at the ceiling, blinking because it was dark and he couldn’t really see. Ryan was sat on the bed near his feet and he lifted a leg and pressed a foot against his chest, pushing backwards as if trying to get him to go away. ”Leave me alone,” He muttered, fumbling to fold his arms behind his head. He inhaled and exhaled sharply, wondering whether it would be a good idea to stay in the bathroom all night, but then the nausea passed again and he just closed his eyes, dropping his foot back down.

Did you really come home early because you missed me? Brendon lifted his head up to regard him, suspicious, and then he sat up, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the bed and chewing absently on his lip. ”If I knew you were fuckin’- gonna be such an ass about everything, fuck off home, I wouldn’t have bothered,” He said in a low voice, still slurring every now and then, clearly not able to string coherent sentences together anymore. ”I missed you, and I just wanted you to be here, and you- you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me you went home instead.” He went sullen, quiet, fidgeting and looking down at his hands before unsteadily rising from the bed and steadying himself against the nightstand before leaning over and picking up his shirt. Against the presumed wishes of Ryan, he wandered around to his bedroom door and leaned down to pick up his suit jacket, heading then over to his wardrobe and making a drunk, half-ass attempt at hanging them up, almost falling into the wardrobe in the process. ”It’s not like I didn’t care about the date. I got that suit just for it. I thought you’d like it. I just-“ Brendon frowned. ”Whatever. Will you go away now?”

in the sickness of you ;; b&r

If Brendon had never been curious about it all, or exposed to the ‘sin’ of homosexuality, he doubted that his parents would have even mentioned it at all, or provided him the apparent divine wisdom of God, which was just code for horrendous bigotry he was supposed to live his life by and not question. They’d have preferred that he not even know what being gay was- but he did, he’d been told about it at school, he’d been called certain slurs, and he’d asked what they mean. He would go home, curious, uncomfortable but fascinated, and ask his mother- mom, can men marry men? Can women marry women? And of course the reaction was discomfort and awkwardness from his parents, followed by Brendon being told to go upstairs for a bit, your father and I need to talk. And then he was called down and told that though people might try to tell him otherwise, homosexuality was a sin, marriage was for a man and a woman and for a man and a woman only. ‘Hate the sin, not the sinner’, he was told- and at first, that made sense to him. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt distant from the idea of marrying a woman and having kids, the less he understood. When he was still religious, he’d pray, ask God why, exactly, being gay wasn’t allowed, but he’d also reassure God that he wasn’t. After that, he began to listen more in church (when he was younger he’d fidget and become distracted even more easily, and he barely understood what was being said to him anyway), and he payed attention when, during sermons, the sin of homosexuality was mentioned, how traditional families and their values were the only way to live a life without sin. Brendon’s initial curiosity and fascination grew into a deep discomfort he felt within himself. Something wasn’t right with this whole picture, and he knew it.

So, he knew he was gay. It was easy to say that, but it took him a long time to accept- and even after that, after he and Ryan decided with excited, teenage, lovestruck grins that they were boyfriends, they both felt inward shame, and for Brendon, it was deep-seated, because everything he’d ever been taught told him that this was wrong, against God, even disgusting. Funnily enough, though, Brendon became increasingly comfortable a lot faster than Ryan did, who didn’t even really know exactly what his dad thought about it and hadn’t been raised on such bigotry. Even so, he still wouldn’t hold Brendon’s hand in public. He’d still sometimes make it just a little awkward, reject any of Brendon’s affection, even platonically motivated, that could he interpreted as romantic. It didn’t really help Brendon’s internalised sense of guilt and shame that resurfaced every so often to make him miserable, but Brendon understood. Of course he did. Better than anyone. He was just more reckless, defiant, began to care less what his parents thought and played dangerously with fire, risking being discovered by making suggestive comments and picking sensitive fights and questioning what his parents and pastors said. Of course, it terrified Ryan. He had more than a few bruises on his legs and shins where Ryan had kicked him under the table.

They were okay, though. It became easier and felt more natural with every passing day, and today, they had Brendon’s house to themselves- for a little while, anyway. Brendon intended to take full advantage of that- and apparently, so did Ryan. Yes. Brendon grinned. ”Well, you read my fuckin’ mind. He closed his eyes when Ryan ran his fingers through his hair, before turning onto his back to tease Ryan irritatingly in a way that clearly Ryan didn’t find amusing. Hey, gross, that hasn’t actually happened. Don’t abuse your power over me. Brendon giggled when Ryan shoved his shoulder, and turned onto his side. ”Gross? Really? And, is that a challenge?” A pause for effect. Brendon’s voice was equal part teasing and serious- Ryan could never really tell whether he was totally serious or just having him on. He was just that unpredictable. ”I wouldn’t say I have a power over you. When I can turn you on in Church, that’s when I’ll be sure.” He was laughing to himself when Ryan climbed over him onto the bed. Yeah, fine, you’re worth everything. I hate it.

Brendon seemed very pleased with himself, relaxing easily against Ryan’s chest and into his arms, happily greeted by Ryan’s arms looping around his waist and his hands flat against his chest. Brendon passed his boyfriend the remote so he could focus more on him and not what movie they were going to pretend they wanted to watch and then just play as background noise to them making out. Classy. I see, you never had anything in mind in the first place. Brendon smiled when Ryan kissed his cheek, then tugged a little harder at his hoodie toggle. ”Actually, I had you in mind,” He corrected, voice a little softer. Hm. He turned around, barely kissed him, searched his face while Ryan half-heartedly searched for a movie. He watched as Ryan dropped the remote and paused for a second to listen out for his choice- Ferris Bueller. They’d watched this a thousand times. Perfect. Brendon shifted closer as Ryan fit his hands around his waist, leaning up. So you've said. I wonder if we'll ever be the kind of people who can go a whole day not seeing one another and be fine. Brendon highly doubted it.

Brendon didn’t stop looking at him when Ryan lifted his hands to frame his face and pushed some hair back out of his eyes, just sort of leaned forwards and up as if waiting for Ryan to kiss him. But, I missed you too. Obviously. Brendon grinned, infatuated. ”Kiss me like you missed me?” Ryan probably wasn’t listening, but Brendon received his kiss anyway, moving his arms to throw over his shoulders and chasing his mouth when he pulled back, trailing off distractedly towards the corner of his mouth and his jaw when Ryan began to speak again. I'll just move in here and we won't have this problem again. Look, your twin bed perfectly fits both of us, it's fine. Brendon nodded, kissed him again, not too urgent, but not exactly leisurely. They were teenagers, lovesick, and impatient. Brendon, for once, wasn’t really a fan of excessive talking. ”That sounds like a great idea. We can ‘watch movies’ every night.” Brendon grinned against his skin, then moved his hands, one curling around Ryan’s upper arm, the other hanging on to the zipper of his hoodie and playing with it absently. ”How aren’t you, like, dying?” He asked between kisses, even deciding to bite gently on his bottom lip. ”It’s warm as hell in here.”

in the summertime

They married three months after Brendon proposed at the cabin they’d fallen in love at, and it was, as cliche as it sounded, the happiest and most fulfilling day of his life. Before he was standing there, saying his vows, he laughed off the notion that this single day would top all of others- it was marriage, it was wonderful, yeah, but it was one day that began a whole new chapter of life. Yet, when he stood in front of his husband-to-be, looking ridiculously handsome and characteristically nervous, there was a sense of joy settling in his chest that was like nothing he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t passion, or fire, or urgency; it was a soft, gentle feeling, pure and wholly intense, it was a surety, adoration, love. This was the man he would spend the rest of his life with- and that was overwhelming. Especially since they’d decided to tie the metaphorical knot at that iconic cabin; the memories and nostalgia settling in every bedroom and written on every wall choked even Brendon up- Brendon, who was romantic, charming and effortless even in the most intimate of moments, starting to tear up when he relayed to the guests a very shortened but impassioned version of how they fell in love at this very location by the lake years ago. He tried to bare his heart as much as possible, be transparent- but they’d never really understand. It didn’t matter. As long as Ryan did. And maybe Spencer and Jon, who sat there looking a bit sick of them.

Ryan was a fantastic writer, so Brendon could never understand why he often couldn’t form a coherent sentence, especially in front of large groups of people- but he expected it, and when Ryan’s vows were short and earnest, his voice raw with emotion in a way he hadn’t heard before, Brendon fell in love with him a little more. If that was possible. Once they’d said their vows, Ryan took Brendon’s last name- that was inevitable- and they kissed for the first time as husbands, gentle and brief and humming with a thousand feelings that no words could ever fully describe. They walked back down the aisle together, hand in hand, and when they were alone for a few brief moments, Brendon cried, happy tears that Ryan wiped away, and then they told eachother things that were too intimate, too special to share with anyone else. They kissed, Brendon stepping forward and throwing his arms around his neck, Ryan wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. It was comforting, familiar, but different- Brendon was dizzy with affection, ecstatic, passionate, head over heels in love. Their moment was only brief, and then they headed off to the wedding reception, though both of them secretly kind of wanted just to go home and be with eachother. Brendon outshone everyone by singing a song to Ryan he’d penned especially for the wedding, Ryan looked like he was trying not to be overwhelmed, and they flitted between guests, always hand in hand, fingers intertwined, not breaking for even a second.

The day after, they headed off to Cape Town, South Africa, for a three week long honeymoon that Brendon had been the mastermind of. Ryan would have been happy just going back to their apartment, but Brendon was extra and romantic and he wanted a break away from everyone but the one person who mattered the most. Plus, he wanted an excuse to wear as little as possible- not that he ever usually cared whether he had an excuse or not. The villa he picked was huge and luxurious, and Ryan had argued that they didn’t need one so big and fancy; but Brendon had an expensive taste and insisted that yeah, they did need four bedrooms, why wouldn’t they, look at how pretty it is, Ryan, its right by the sea, has a private little beach, a fantastic pool. Clearly he won him over, because they were a week into their honeymoon and they had only left their villa so far to get food or to take the 30 second walk down to the beach. Brendon hadn’t worn a shirt in five days. Ryan was supposedly halfway through his book he’d wanted to read for ages. Brendon had gone through a chronological list with Ryan of where in the house they should, as he eloquently put it, ‘do it’ next. Ryan was exasperated, but not mad about it. Mostly, they just relaxed, sometimes barely speaking, just happiest in each others company until Ryan the goddamn vampire got too hot and had to go inside for a bit while Brendon soaked up the sun like a cat.

Brendon was lying down on a beach chair and Ryan was sat beside him on a more upright deck chair. Brendon was in his swimming trunks, Ryan was wearing those plus some white v-neck t-shirt, which was disappointing because then Brendon couldn’t do that married couple thing of applying sunscreen for the other on their backs. Brendon had just put his playlist on shuffle, when ‘from a mountain’ decided to come on and he grinned, lifting his sunglasses into his hair and sitting up, poking Ryan’s leg with his foot. ”This sounds familiar,” He said, as if considering the tune, tilting his head thoughtfully to one side. Brendon then stood up from the sun bed and headed over to the cheap wireless speaker he’d bought while they were out- he’d forgotten to bring their own- and picked up his phone from beside it, turning it off before Ryan complained. ”That’s a good song, though. Heard some guy wrote it about him and his boyfriend.” Grinning, Brendon took off his sunglasses from his forehead and rested them by his phone as he set it back down by the speaker, turning and pausing for a second before deciding that he was getting too hot, he needed to cool down in the pool.

So he didn’t let Ryan know, just sat on the pool ledge and then pushed himself off into the water, sinking comfortably down to his waist and then swimming across to the other side, resting his back and his elbows against the poolside and tilting his head back to admire the sky. It was the evening, but just the beginning- the sun was a vibrant orange-gold, painting the pristine villa, skimming over the pool, glossing over Brendon’s wet skin. He closed his eyes after admiring the sun-streaked sky and the horizon line over the sea, tilted his head back, savoured a warm breeze that played through his damp hair. He couldn’t have been more relaxed if he tried- there was the faint sound of birds, but save that and the lapping of the sea on the white shores of their little beach, it was all quiet. Brendon opened his eyes to locate Ryan- he hadn’t moved, but when he met his husband’s eyes, he quickly and almost sheepishly looked away from how he’d obviously been staring at him, lovesick, moonstruck, rendered dumb and speechless by love, just like Brendon was.

Brendon was very amused, flashing Ryan a smile even though he was clearly looking away, unnaturally interested in his book for once. He dived under the water and swam leisurely back to the other side, climbing out, dripping wet, looking around for a towel and then using it to half-ass drying his hair. Still pretty much entirely wet, his even skin slick and reflective from the water that was, admittedly, evaporating fast, he wandered dutifully over to Ryan’s chair and stood in front of him. ”Come in with me, baby.” No response, Ryan just kind of looked at him funny, then went back to reading, obvious suppressing a smile. Brendon didn’t take no for an answer and took the book off Ryan- so surely that he didn’t even have time to react and resist- and moved in, very inconsiderately, to sit on him, legs thrown over one arm rest and his arms wrapped loosely around his husband’s neck. This happened a lot when Brendon wanted attention- which was always. Still soaking, brendon kissed Ryan gently on the neck. ”Hi. I’m your husband, not that book. Love me.”

in the sickness of you ;; b&r

After their first kiss, that had consisted of Brendon spontaneously leaning forward after vaguely asking for permission, it was terrifyingly awkward. The immediate aftermath was, after a few moments, draw back on both sounds, Brendon making quick excuses, even apologising to his friend because god, what was he doing. Brendon wasn’t usually one to get flustered, but the bewildered/frightened expression on Ryan’s face wasn’t exactly reassuring, and he moved back to the edge of the bed, half ready to stand up and completely change the subject. After a few silent seconds, Ryan had just smiled weakly, and they both mutually agreed it was time for Ryan to go home, they’d speak tomorrow. They didn’t- there was a short span of silence from Ryan that Brendon didn’t try and break, but he sat at his window sometimes, elbows resting on the windowsill, watching Ryan’s window morosely, wondering whether he was ever going to open his blinds again. Brendon was used to just looking over and Ryan was, more often than not, looking back, or he appeared in a matter of moments. He was terrified that he’d ruined his relationship with his best friend.

Ryan seemed to come around, though, and asked Brendon if he could come over a few days after- obviously, Brendon eagerly agreed, and minutes later they were both sat on Brendon’s bed again, awkwardly talking about it. They came to the earnest and slightly petrifying conclusion that they both liked eachother, they’d enjoyed that brief kiss, they wanted more where that came from. So they did it again, a little more sure this time. They were still skittish- Brendon’s family was in a time, but for a few moments, Brendon felt a new swell in his chest, a new relationship, the joy of a teenage crush. From that, it wasn’t easy, but it became easier; they were more or less completely comfortable with eachother, despite Brendon’s semi-frequent sense of guilt and shame that he, at first, didn’t mention. There was also the problem with their parents- Brendon’s parents opinions on it were obvious, they weren’t reserved about sharing their bigoted views with their children, and as for Ryan’s Dad, Brendon really didn’t have any idea. Ryan didn’t talk about him enough for Brendon to have a good enough picture, but from the way that Ryan was even more strict about having Brendon over, he could make a good guess that it wasn’t exactly positive. So they snuck around, made it work, even if Brendon was more inclined to risk it these days and make casual euphemisms and pointed comments just to watch his boyfriend squirm.

Ryan squirmed a lot- he refused to hold Brendon’s hand in public even where nobody could possibly know who they were; he was always looking over his shoulder; he elbowed Brendon in the ribs when he made any kind of comment with particular subtext; even now, when Brendon assured him that they were home alone, he was glancing around, paranoid. Brendon knew how he felt, but he cared less and less these days- so when he reached for Ryan’s hand at any time they weren’t alone and Ryan sort of swerved him completely, he did feel a little hurt. But he couldn’t say much- so he just grit his teeth and moved on, wondering when the hell- or if the hell- Ryan would ever be comfortable with such displays of affection, even after they were independent adults. He tried not to think about it too much. Drama Queen. ”Says you,” Brendon accused quickly. Vengeful, he behaved melodramatically when Ryan went to lightly brush his hand, and snickered at the expression of terror that crossed Ryan’s face. He watched his boyfriend tense up and then relax, and felt a rush of affection, because he was a dumbass. Driven by this, he followed Ryan to the stairs and leaned up to press a quick kiss on his cheek that was obviously received well, from the look on Ryan’s face and the red flush rising against his cheekbones.

Quit. Brendon grinned, and then sidestepped past him to race up the stairs. Once in his room, he dropped on the bed and manoeuvred so he could watch Ryan shut the door. He lifted his eyebrows suggestively, teasing. ”Wow, want some privacy?” His eyes followed Ryan as he paced across the room for a little while, and then they lit up along with his smile when he dropped down by the bed next to him. He closed his eyes when Ryan reached out and started carding his fingers gently through his hair. Why? So you can make more nasty comments under your breath during a whole sermon? Honestly, I’ll just go and sit with another family. Brendon clicked his tongue, turning onto his back and considering the ceiling. ”Okay, but then who else would give you a boner during a sermon?” He laughed, joking, towards the end of that, not bothering to look for a reaction from Ryan because honestly, he could already picture his face in his mind. One day you’re gonna get caught making, like, a dick joke ‘cause you have no volume control, and we’re both gonna get kicked out.

Brendon couldn’t argue with that. He just turned back onto his side and shrugged. ”Worth it, though, huh? Say yes.” And you know what, babe, I’m so ready to take that step with you. I’ll come this Sunday. Brendon smiled triumphantly and moved so there was a little more space for Ryan on his bed. Brendon watched with raised eyebrows as Ryan searched for the remote, and then blinked when it was pointed commandingly at him. What’s on our watch list? A pause, and Brendon took the remote, turning on the TV and sitting up, leaning his back against Ryan’s chest as he waited for Netflix to load. Giving up a few moments later, he handed the remote to Ryan and shrugged his shoulders. ”I’m not sure. Decidedly, he settled back further against Ryan’s chest, started absently playing with the strings of his hoodie, clearly disinterested in what they were going to watch- or rather, let play in the background. He wished he could steal one of his hoodies, but that would be way too obvious. ”Put on whatever you want.” Turning around, his eyes searched Ryan’s face and he leaned in to kiss him, but barely, lips just brushing against his. ”You’re cute. I missed you.”

let’s pick up, pick up

Maybe if their introduction had gone better, Brendon and Ryan’s relationship would be completely different- much more positive, and since the electricity between them apparently wasn’t hindered by mutual hatred, it was likely that it would be present. Then again, there was something about the angry tension between them that fired them up even more; Brendon tried not to think about it, tried not to think about how it would be if things played out differently. There was no point- Ryan was a pretentious motherfucker with a bruised ego and Brendon had a sense of arrogance, embers of overconfidence that had been tempered into an inferno by Ryan’s constant attempts to antagonise him. Now, Brendon had no desire to try and ‘fix’ their relationship, or try and create some kind of friendship, because his distaste for the guitarist was now so strong. In the beginning, Spencer had told Ryan to stop (Jon wasn’t around til later- their original bassist had nothing to do with any of it and eventually got fed up of the constant bickering), but now there was no point. Musically, the band functioned, and they put on good shows. In the end, that was what was important.

Brendon was no longer guilty, either, because in his eyes, Ryan was just completely full of himself; always criticising Brendon about everything- his skills (or lack thereof, according to Ryan) on the guitar, his lyrics (Ryan had written all of them for their only album, and whenever Brendon tried to contribute creatively he was shut down, like Ryan was scared of losing that area of control), even his vocals when Ryan was feeling particularly confident and sure of himself. Brendon never took it to heart for the latter, because he had the perfect retaliation. Sorry, Ryan, who’s the lead vocalist? Who’s the frontman? He would say, and Ryan would shut up and just continue glaring at him, clearly burningly envious of his talents. It wasn’t like Ryan couldn’t sing, and Brendon knew this, no matter how much he said otherwise; his voice just wasn’t as powerful, as confident as Brendon’s, and it just didn’t really fit with the overconfident lyrics that Ryan had written about infidelity and religion and jealousy and revenge. Brendon secretly thought they were brilliant, if a little over the top. For songs such as Lying Is the Most Fun, when he performed live he would almost mock them with his tone, flashing amused looks over at a clearly irritated Ryan.

Is it still me that makes you sweat- Brendon would pointedly send a look over at the disgruntled guitarist, and usually Ryan was intentionally looking away, clearly sick of Brendon’s playful attitude. Haven’t you heard that I’m the new cancer- Brendon would slyly throw smirks at Ryan- Never looked better, and you can’t stand it. He hammed it up as much as he could, because even if these weren’t lyrics, they weren’t even written about him, it was funny how they related to their situation, and Ryan needed no prompting to understand that a lot of the time, Brendon’s smug vocals were directed towards him. After shows, Brendon would be riding the adrenaline rush and Ryan would have his back up, defensive and ready to snap at even the slightest indication that Brendon was mocking him. At this point, though Brendon could be equally malicious, he never really started it. He just sure as hell tried to finish it, and if the opportunity arose, he’d take it.

It was difficult to make fun of him, though, when he had his new girlfriend held close to his side, his elbow hooked around her waist. Brendon had narrowed his eyes just a little and examined the way they stood together. He wished it was just a way to make him jealous, he hoped Ryan wasn’t actually that into her, but unfortunately, it seemed to him that they did like eachother. She barely took her eyes off him, and Brendon felt a little sick with jealousy, then with anger. Son of a bitch. Even though he knew it wouldn’t really last long (Ryan had a pattern, and they were both young with no real intention of settling), he was achingly jealous, and it made him so mad. He hated Ryan, but- somehow, he felt betrayed, because he knew just how much Ryan wanted him. It was obvious. So why the hell was he with Keltie? Brendon’s jaw set through the initial introductions, but now he felt like he was about to snap, and tried to keep his comebacks sharp and short as possible. Not desperate? Weird. I've always thought you acted about as desperate and petulant as humanly possible. God, that motherfucker. Brendon remained looking nonchalant, but his teeth were clenched together as he flashed Ryan a fake smile. Is it just your personality? Brendon paused, shifted, tilted his head. ”Maybe you just want it to be.”

Maybe you're only like that around me, though. Brendon’s gaze flickered over to where Jon was leading Keltie wisely away from the scene and out of the crossfire. He then looked back at Ryan, suddenly without his girlfriend stuck at his hip. He tried not to look too amused, and said in a hushed, knowing voice- ”You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Brendon bit his lip, sitting up a little and pushing his hair back out of his eyes to regard his bandmate more critically. Who was he even kidding? ’Cause clearly it’s killing you to see me with her, right. Brendon’s stretched his mouth into a thin line, and scowled for a split second before he decided not to grace that with a reply. Breezy, he stood up suddenly, taking the few short steps to close the gap between them, stepping by at the last minute to walk past him, hand brushing against his side- definitely accidentally. He turned at the door, tilting his head a little to look up at him. ”Seeing as you’re so concerned, maybe I’ll start dating. Not like I don’t have options. Have fun with your girlfriend, dickhead.”

let’s pick up, pick up

Though it was hard to believe when you looked at them now, always tense and argumentative, theirs backs always up defensively around eachother, Brendon hadn’t immediately hated Ryan for no reason. Spencer, their mutual friend, had approached him because of his knowledge of his skills as a vocalist and proposed that he joined their increasingly successful but still small-time band, and Brendon had, of course, agreed; he was young, he had always dreamed of a career doing music (he didn’t know what he’d do otherwise), this was his opportunity. What Spencer didn’t tell him was that he’d be replacing somebody- he just figured they didn’t have a permanent vocalist- and when he practically crashed into Ryan head-first (Brendon was hyperactive and generally unaware of his surroundings at all time), it was an awkward conversation, because Spencer and Jon hadn’t even brought it up to Ryan beforehand. Under the pressure of his bandmates, Ryan very reluctantly caved and then immediately stormed off; the whole time, Brendon had hung around awkwardly after apologising profusely for almost knocking Ryan over. So they didn’t have a very good start on Ryan’s end- Brendon almost floored him and then immediately after he was informed that there was a plan to replace him behind his back. Sure, he was still lead guitarist- but it wasn’t the same, and Brendon did feel guilty, and awkward, for a long time.

But it wasn’t really Brendon’s fault, in his eyes, so eventually he became sick of Ryan complaining and started snapping back, becoming a little arrogant about his new placement as frontman and the band’s correlating increased success. This, in turn, rubbed Ryan the completely wrong way- if Brendon had been a little more considerate, maybe apologised, worked things over and out, they wouldn’t be in such a bad place, but Brendon was fiery and stubborn and would never admit that he was wrong. So he became cocky, and overconfident, and similarly, Ryan’s bruised ego managed to superficially inflate and they locked horns all the time over lyricism, musical talent, popularity, even petty things like accusations about misplaced items on the tour bus. It all escalated from there, and soon after they first even met, Brendon and Ryan absolutely despised eachother, to the despair of Spencer and Jon, their long-suffering, completely innocent bandmates. Brendon had spoken to Spencer in private, he said he had no regrets due to their success with Brendon as the frontman; but then he’d also spoken to Jon, who said that Ryan told him that Spencer was talking about how he ‘missed the old times’ when it was just the three of them. That alone made Brendon prickle with insecurity- the feud between him and Ryan was almost a power struggle, and for some reason he believed that only one of them could remain in the band long-term or else it would all fall apart.

Alongside this bad blood born from an unfortunate introduction and unfortunate circumstances was something else, a distinctly different side of their relationship, though the lines were blurred; a magnetism, a strong subtextual hint that the fire and passion between them wasn’t always an angry one, even if that was the most obvious conclusion to make. To outsiders of their personal relationship (they tended to have good chemistry on stage) it would just seem like anger, frustration, irritation- but to those who knew them better, who looked a little closely, who spent most of their time with them, like Spencer and Jon, it was laughable how obvious they wanted eachother. Brendon vehemently denied it, spat insults at Ryan, hackles rising whenever somebody even slightly suggested that they thought something was going on- defensive behaviour of someone who had something to hide. Luckily, he knew that Ryan felt pretty much the same (he wasn’t stupid, and Spencer and Jon, who were always honest, kept their mouths suspiciously shut whenever he talked airily about it), so it wasn’t all bad. Alone, they still bickered and argued about everything under the sun, but the tension between them was electric and different and exciting.

So it wasn’t all bad, even if they still despised eachother most of the time- Brendon was the frontman of an increasingly successful band, his relationship with Jon and Spencer was strong and they were close, it wasn’t like he was lonely or upset that Ryan clearly wanted little to do with him. Actually- that wasn’t right. Ryan wanted everything to do with him as long as it was to drive him fully around the bend, get on his nerves, rile him up. And Brendon knew that was exactly what Ryan intended to do now, using his new girlfriend as a chess piece to provoke a reaction from Brendon, some kind of anger or jealousy that would be, in a word, humiliating. It worked. Ryan swanned in with his pretty, blonde girlfriend (he definitely had a type when it came to women, even if Brendon knew that he wasn’t even with women that often, comparatively, which he immediately wanted to point out), and Brendon bristled immediately even though he knew about it, he prepared himself. But there the fucker was, arm around Keltie, holding her close against his side, and he was mad at her, because the way she reacted to Ryan’s pointed, barbed introduction lead him to believe that Ryan had already fed her Poison, mocked him beyond redemption. Brendon stared at Ryan, fully unsurprised that he’d gone to these lengths just to get Brendon’s back up.

He watched sullenly as Ryan pleasantly introduced her, and picked at the upholstery of the chair he was slumped in, before straightening up almost defensively and not wasting any more time in stirring up trouble. If Ryan wanted a reaction, he’d he one. Well, are you worried you missed your chance? Brendon scoffed- because even if that was true, he knew Ryan better than Ryan thought he did, Keltie and him were clearly a temporary thing, it was obvious. ”You have no idea,”- He draped himself dramatically over the couch- ”How much I wish it were me in Kelties shoes. He’s all bone, darling, watch yourself.” Brendon sat up straighter, crossed one leg over the other, and flashed Ryan a malicious grin, waiting for his inevitable next dig. Sorry. You don’t seem like you would’ve been my type, anyway. Faux-woefully, he shook his head again, and sadly shrugged a shoulder. Was this the best he could do? Brendon caught Ryan’s eye, his own glare glinting with something like amusement, telling him silently that he knew all of that was bullshit, Ryan wanted him. And yet, he was still hellishly jealous.

Actually, Brendon, are you anyone’s type? He looked up sharply, his muscles tensing. You haven’t dated at all since you joined. Inhaling, Brendon curled his hand into a fist and dragged his other one stiffly though his hair, before he let go of it and relaxed his muscles with an exhale. ”I haven’t dated, no,” He said delicately, attempting to look bored. ”I don’t feel the need, because I’m not fucking desperate.”