Neve

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

Brendon had actually intended, after sating whatever embarrassing thirst that apparently could never be fully quenched and kissing Ryan until he couldn’t, to detach himself from Ryan, untangle their limbs and fingers from hair and his mouth from Ryan’s lips, or his skin, the faint bruise starting to form on Ryan’s neck- and for a moment after he stepped away, all smug like, it looked like he was going to succeed. Brendon wanted to be the winner, he wanted to seize control of this entire situation. He already had the advantage in that Ryan had literally flown across the country to his hotel room and kissed him with prompting so aggressive and vague it couldn’t possibly be excused as entrapment. Sauntering back across his hotel room after leaving Ryan standing there, grasping at nothing, anger and frustration stiffening his posture and creasing his face, Brendon was fully ready to turn in for the night and leave his guitarist standing there breathing pathetically hard- but apparently, everything aside from the common sense part of his brain wanted otherwise. He paused for only a split second in the doorway as he turned, and Ryan was there, shoving him back with considerable force considering how goddamn skinny he was and giving Ryan no time to react or resist.

He was trapped against the edge of the bed and the tension between them, however high it had been before, rocketed and Brendon found himself quickly dropping the smug, in-control countenance in favour for what was most likely his only entirely genuine reaction. His hasty nod was obedient, embarrassingly so, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to actually duck out of Ryan’s grasp or actually tell him to piss off, because he wanted him and suddenly Brendon’s evening had a goal. But then, Ryan was grinning, smug and ripe with mockery, and Brendon felt another surge of defiance, speaking out in his frustration but not getting very far because Ryan decided he’d heard enough and dragged him in to continue their one long, broken kiss, letting his eyes flutter shut acceptingly and resigning- no, warming up to- the idea that he maybe wouldn’t be sleeping alone. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself there, but something about the way they fit so ironically together and seemed so physically in tune despite the bad blood was intoxicating and Brendon could hear his own heart hammering in his chest as his brain switched off for a second and he relied entirely on instinct and heat to fist a hand into Ryan’s shirt and drag him with him as he moved fully back onto the bed.

He started to follow his impulses and not think about tactics or power play- and his first was to move a hand to the exposed skin between Ryan’s jeans and his shirt, trace his fingers along the area and then move his hand underneath his shirt and push it up towards his sternum, exploring the area like it was simultaneously the first and last time, and something told Brendon it would be. So he made the most of the opportunity as Ryan did the same, his hands leisurely and simultaneously urgently exploring Brendon’s sternum and his skin. There was an extended pause between their gradually less frantic string of kisses, though not much space was made between them. Ryan stayed close, speaking against Brendon’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered as Ryan’s hands ran with suspicious relative gentleness through his tousled hair. If you wanted to be nice, you would have been there. Laughing lightly against his bandmates mouth, he went to bite down again on his bottom lip in an attempt to rekindle the fire from moments earlier but Ryan was clearly slowing down. Suspicious, and definitely not yet willing to steady the pace, he made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, moving a hand to curl tightly around Ryan’s hip, digging his blunt nails in as he waited impatiently for Ryan to get over whatever small breakdown he was having so they could get back to what was really important.

Brendon had latched his mouth back over where the bruise was forming and he let his eyes fall half-shut as he waited for a few heartbeats for Ryan to get back into gear, but he didn’t. Frowning, he wet his lips and collapsed fully against the bed, his back pressed against the sheets. ”First of all, you hate my guts, why would I go,” He pointed out, still breathless, raising a judgemental eyebrow. ”Secondly, I wasn’t even invited. Neither was Jon. Jon. What the fuck has Keltie got against Jon? He turning you gay too?” Okay, so Brendon was attempting to goad and mock him into anger so they could start over and stop Ryan launching into some pity party. Unfortunately for Brendon, it seemed they were all past that point now; Ryan’s kisses had become more gentle, softer than what Brendon was comfortable with, kisses for a lover that he hated but they were the only kisses where he noted exactly what kissing him was like, how soft his lips were, what he tasted like. Quickly dispelling his fascination, he frowned as Ryan moved and kissed along the side of his mouth off towards the side of his face and half-heartedly cling onto Ryan’s hips.

I still have a girlfriend. Brendon closed his eyes. Maybe a few short minutes ago he’d have expected this from Ryan, but in the midst of angry passion, seemingly mindless intensity, it came as something of a shock. Ryan looked like he was just recalling his relationship status, and Brendon was, too, suddenly belatedly remembering that Ryan and Keltie were still together. Great. He said nothing as Ryan pushed himself up a little, just eyed him flatly, considering that he was actually pretty annoyed that Ryan’s thoughts were anything but about him in those particular moments. ”Uh-huh.” He looked sullen, and he was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling and that sheen of sweat shining under the dim light. Barely. But. He bared his teeth in a sneer, suddenly vindictive and stupidly jealous because yeah, Ryan had a girlfriend, probably not for much longer at all but he still had one. Brendon had almost intended to kiss away her memory from his mouth, and he’d failed. Annoyed with himself, and with Ryan, he surged upwards suddenly and drew back away from Ryan to the other end of the bed, his chest still heaving as he wiped the back of his hand over his reddened mouth.

”You’re really something,” Brendon murmured, and he didn’t mean it as a compliment, just folded his arms loosely and almost defensively over his chest, trying not to stare at Ryan’s mouth and long too much and/or too obviously that he was kissing him again, Keltie wasn’t in the picture. ”You can’t go all righteous now. Not like you can take any of that away.” The words coming out of his mouth, the vindictiveness and selfishness- it wasn’t Brendon, not really. He just really, really wanted to keep kissing him, and at this point it was more than just an outlet for anger. It was an outlet for the lustful subtext they’d had going on basically since they met. ”Look, whatever. Go back to your girlfriend, play happy families with her for a bit.” A sullen pause, followed by a gradually appearing smirk as he lost the energy to sit up and rested back against the bed, leaning onto his elbows and looking equally nonchalant and seductive. ”Do you think she’s better than me, Ryan?” Anything for a reaction at this point, he thought, feeling his hands twitch because he wanted them back in Ryan’s hair and at the back of his neck and curled around his waist.

i sit around and want you

Brendon had, in a sense, always known that he would be successful in some way. It was just a feeling he had, a vitality- not in that he ever particularly wanted to be famous, but he knew he was going to be someone, do something worthwhile, that would be remembered. It had been difficult to convince himself at first, while he was en route to becoming a cosmetologist and working at smoothie bars and balancing his relationship with his Mormon family and his lust for an alternative lifestyle, but everything changed when he was invited into some juvenile band amongst three other kids his age, all of them in it for different reasons. Spencer, he just went along because he enjoyed playing the drums almost as much as he enjoyed spending time with his best friend; Brendon had been invited along and he’d always had a talent for anything and everything to do with music, having self-taught himself how to play several instruments already, so he was on board before he was even affirmed into the band; Brent was there because he had nothing better to do with his time and Ryan, well, Ryan just needed an outlet for everything he had to say but couldn’t say aloud. It shouldn’t have worked- Spencer and Ryan were childhood friends, sure, but Brent and Brendon turned up almost out of the blue. Brendon just happened to have the skills on hand to step into Ryan’s unsteady, uncomfortable shoes (he was never meant to he some kind of charismatic frontman).

After some drama with Brent, Jon turned up- Jon, the chillest guy that Brendon had ever met (Ryan was too high-strung, and Spencer had some kind of quiet unrest about him), and to that day the only one who really ever talked about the existence of the two albums they made together in their youth. Brendon did sometimes yearn to get back into contact with Jon- Spencer remained a close friend throughout the years, Ryan was a complete no-go- and it turned out he was given this opportunity sooner than he thought, though maybe ten years down the line from the split wasn’t exactly soon. Brendon had just been under the impression that he’d never see him again, because of how busy Brendon was, and they’d just. Drifted. It was difficult to connect after so long a silence- but Jon managed, god bless Jon Walker, he convinced Brendon to come down and see him and though at first he was doubtful and fully convinced that this would all be an awful idea; it would be too awkward and uncomfortable, there would be some kind of bitterness between them over the staggering differences in success, but then, Brendon realised. It was Jon, the easy-going one, Jon only had well wishes for Brendon. More than he could say for other ex-band members.

Though maybe Brendon would be eating his words, because he arrived at the venue, which was all purple and silver and splashed with stars, small and cluttered and homely but also fascinatingly ethereal and otherworldly, Jon was nowhere to be found and Brendon had to hang at the back awkwardly as he searched the crowd for a familiar face. Or unfamiliar. Though he couldn’t imagine that Jon would have changed much- a decade was a long time, sure, but they’d run into eachother a good few times earlier on, and as long as he had known and loved Jon Walker the only recurring difference was the cycle of beard/no beard. Other than that, he was instantly recognisable and comfortingly familiar. Or, he would be- if Brendon could fucking find him. It didn’t help that Brendon was a less than average 5’9; he couldn’t even see over some of the kid’s heads and he wasn’t willing to stand on his tiptoes and lose any dignity just to find his bastard of a supposed friend who had decided to drag him all the way here and not even turn up to greet him. Despite himself, he was smiling almost affectionately.

Luckily for Brendon, Jon did eventually make an appearance by his side, not saying a word but smiling at him almost knowingly and bumping their shoulders together, turning Brendon’s body with his as if trying to direct his attention to the stage. Reluctant, Brendon blinked at him- as much as Z or whatever was killing it up there, he’d much rather catch up with an old friend than stand around listening to love songs he didn’t relate to. He almost spoke up, but Jon wasn’t having it, and anyway, there were people in the crowd murmuring, and he caught fractures of sentences, mostly excited utterings of his name under excited breaths, and Brendon realised he was being recognised. It was astonishing- there probably wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t know who he was. Maybe it was something to do with Jon, who had been tagged on to Brendon’s life for over a decade and still didn’t seem to mind. Either way, Brendon shrunk away from the growing attention, shy in a place where he felt very alone aside from Jon’s reassuring presence beside him. He clicked his tongue and looked up to the stage, deciding that this probably wasn’t going to be a particularly long show and he and Jon could talk properly afterwards.

He wished he’d gone with his gut and left the venue before fan attention became too much to control, because when he looked up, staring right at him was a certain Ryan Ready, and Brendon felt his throat start to close up, anxiety start to set in, a cocktail of emotions like recognition and anger and sadness and shock swimming around his head and crossing his face in seconds. He wondered whether Ryan could see his reaction in the dim mood lighting- he hoped to god that he didn’t, Brendon didn’t want him to see him vulnerable, he needed to control his emotions before this became too much. It wasn’t even that big a deal, it’s just Ryan, just an old bandmate, just like Jon except this one had broken his heart and left him to pick up the pieces without pausing to give a proper goodbye, this one was beautiful and boyish and Brendon felt his heart ache with a unfamiliar yet nostalgic agony, like a mixture of the anguish he felt when Ryan attempted a very messy version of a ‘clean break’ and the moment when Ryan proposed, earnest and nervous and gorgeous and Brendon was there, his breath knocked out of him. This sensation was bittersweet- there was his ex-lover, the bastard who brought him all the way up then let him crash and burn all the way down, he ought to storm out, yell at Jon, never look at Ryan’s face again; but there was his ex-lover, his ex-fiance, and he looked so beautiful in the light and Brendon was transfixed, a deer caught in headlights, though he was shrinking again from all the attention.

Brendon finally remembered to breathe, exhaling an unsteady breath, and he closed and opened his eyes just in time to catch Ryan’s tentative smile, and how dare he, fuck him, Brendon wanted out. But, again, he couldn’t motivate himself to get the fuck out of there, so he just stood, tense, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, right next to Jon, and watched as Ryan and Z started to play. It was a familiar sight, and a familiar voice- but Brendon was shocked by how much more refined it was, how smooth and gentle compared to a rougher tone that Brendon grew to know all those years ago. For a moment, he was so astounded by his vocal performance that he barely heard the lyrics until he actively listened. It sounded like a love song. Since we met I sit around and want you... It was a love song, from the Young Veins record, Brendon recognised it because he had listened to Ryan’s music when nobody else could see, tried to dissect them and find secret messages to him in the words. But these words were clearly meant for somebody else.

I don’t do the things I oughta do; I’m so in love I let the world go by me. It was a love letter to someone else. And yet, Ryan kept looking at him, and Brendon lowered his gaze every time, before it was inevitably drawn back. Nothing matters but you, nothing matters but you... Brendon looked down at his hands for the rest of the song, didn’t see Ryan leave the stage, didn’t notice Jon mysteriously leave his side like some kind of omniscient phantom, he just wrung his hands together, terse and anxious and he needed to leave and get drunk or do something to make him forget tonight. He stayed still for a few more beats before he moved to turn around, but then he felt a light brush at the back of his arm. Expecting a fan, he composed himself as much as possible and turned around with as bright a smile as he could muster, one that immediately faltered when he realised that the one trying to get his attention was Ryan. He really thought Brendon wanted to talk to him, even after all this time? Brendon. Okay, yeah, he did. Brendon met Ryan’s eyes searchingly but said nothing. It’s great to see you, man. I would’ve never thought I’d see you here. Sneering internally, the muscles of his jaw stiffened- was it really great to see him, Brendon thought that was a lie- and he forced a small smile. ”I didn’t know you’d be here either.”

Thank God for Jon Walker, right? Offering only a shrug, he turned mechanically to search for Jon to save him from this situation, but that fucker had upped and left and Brendon was now alone with the one person he wanted to kill and embrace with equal ferocity. ”I’d say he’s a bit of a liar, really,” He muttered, biting his lip, a nervous habit, and tentatively looked Ryan up and down if only to survey if anything had changed. He seemed taller, but he probably wasn’t. He certainly looked handsome, less in a boyish way after all these years. He didn’t look like a liar- but he was, and Brendon didn’t trust his nervous smile. Hey, listen, do you want to come backstage? Alarm bells went off in Brendon’s head and he ran a hand shakily through his hair. What was he supposed to say to this? He was conflicted before he even thought about it; here was an opportunity, to talk to one of his oldest and formerly best friends, to repair a broken relationship- or to go off the rails at him and tell him about every agony he had put Brendon through, detailing every individual piece of his shattered heart. The latter looked much more appealing during the initial stages of anger and shock, but he allowed himself some time. Get over yourself, Brendon. It’s been a decade. Don’t ruin it.

Brendon blinked, relaxed his jaw and his hands and his shoulders with a steady exhale, and offered Ryan the smallest of side-smiles, the corner of his mouth curving up and wavering. ”Uh, yeah, sure.”

a therapeutic chain of events || b&r

Brendon tried not to think about everything he was leaving behind, everyone. He’d shut out memories that choked him up and made it difficult to find peace when he was on his deathbed, lying there and practically counting the days. The difference between him and Ryan was that Brendon had already accepted that there was no coming back from this- he needed surgery, and for the right surgery he’d need to be clean for a long time, and he knew when the doctors told him that he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t manage. And he felt guilty, useless, awful, because other people did it, why did it have to be so hard, he was young and there were alcoholics who died at near normal ages and why couldn’t that be him? Ryan’s dad- Ryan’s dad succumbed to his addiction a few years ago, and he was much older than Brendon. It wasn’t fair. And it was ironic- the person he’d started drinking to try and forget was the one by his side in his last months, weeks, days, the one who had sworn to love him in sickness and in health, until death do them part, and Brendon was at least comforted to know that he meant what he said. He just didn’t think their vows would play out so soon, and he knew that Ryan would love him far beyond death. There was a comfort in that, but also an ache in his heart- people did say that death only really hurt those that were left behind.

As much as he loved and valued and needed Ryan’s presence to stay sane, there were times when he went through periods of being repulsed by anyone’s touch, be it the nurses, doctors, even Ryan, and he felt awful, but his whole body felt disgusting and he was too hot and then too cold and he couldn’t bear being around anyone. He just shut his eyes and tried to zone out but everything was so loud and jarring, noises scraping at his skull and nothing would let up and allow him to rest. Ryan was so patient- he waited, sat far away from him if Brendon asked him to, or even if he didn’t and he could just tell. This had turned into their norm and Brendon hated it. It wasn’t living- it wasn’t even surviving, because every day brought him closer to the end. He supposed that happened to everyone, but Brendon’s end was much sooner than it should be. He had so many plans, so much he wanted to do, and some fucking disease had taken that from him, and it was his fault, his own stupid fault, he sabotaged his own life and there was nobody to blame but himself-

Ryan, He thought suddenly, weakly, his husband’s name cutting through his downward spiral of self-accusatory thoughts. Ryan was with him, as long as he was, It’d be fine. Brendon wished he could turn, wrap his arms around him tightly, but he was too weak and hooked up to too many machines so he just stayed quiet as his throat closed up, trying to calm himself down because he was scared, he needed comfort and Ryan was there and his mouth pressed against Brendon’s temple and Brendon felt his heart flutter uneasily, hearing the reflection of that from the beep of his heart monitor. His breathing slowed, though, coming down from his anxiety, and he felt his fingers twitch. Being confined in bed like this was his own personal hell- somebody as active as he usually was needed to roam and move and even though he was too weak to be as energetic as he was maybe a few months back, he needed to at least walk around, feel his legs again. But he couldn’t, and he tried not to focus on the bad, he thought about Ryan, he felt a little calmer, easy enough to make jokes.

Not funny. Brendon shrugged one shoulder, and the effort it took to do that was alarming. ”I think it’s pretty funny.” Smiling even so at the ceiling, he felt Ryan turn his head and do the same, four eyes trained at the bright ceiling, Brendon’s view for the past few months, the first thing he saw when he woke up, the last thing he saw when he went to sleep. Would it be the last thing he saw before he died? No, no, It’d be Ryan. What if Ryan wasn’t there? Panic set in again, his thoughts a chain reaction that grasped violently at his throat, tightening his airways and closing around his lungs and Brendon moved his hand to find Ryan’s, tangling their fingers together, seeking reassurance. Brendon, if they’re right, I don’t know, um. Brendon bit his dry lips, closing his eyes to listen, feeling close to pessimistically correcting the if Ryan used but he felt the strange need to protect him. I don’t know what I’m supposed to... do. Oh. Brendon swallowed, because- he knew Ryan felt a little hopeless, he knew it would be difficult for him, but he didn’t realise he felt so lost that he had to ask Brendon, the one dying, for help.

Brendon saw Ryan from his peripheral and he knew that he was crying, heard the unsteadiness of his breath and the shakiness of his breathing. He swallowed the lump in his throat, tried not to cry himself, just intently listened to what his husband had to say. It wasn’t all about Brendon, after all. He only had to live with his for a month. Ryan had to live without him for the rest of his life, Ryan would remember Brendon in his final days as malnourished, deathly thin, sickly, weak. That wasn’t the Brendon either of them knew, and Brendon hoped that Ryan would always think of him instead as he was in his finest days, vitalised and happy with bright eyes and a wide, showstopping smile, soft, healthy hair, smooth pale skin and actual muscle definition he’d been so proud of. Not this shell that he’d become. He felt bitter, thinking about everything his disease he taken from him. I mean, I don’t even know what to do when I’m at home now. Brendon didn’t know what to do when Ryan was at home, either. He felt lost amongst the nurses and machines, only vaguely happy when his husband was by his side. Brendon squeezed his hand with all the strength he had left, which was startlingly little. Like. What would you do if I- like, after. How would you go on?

That was a strange question, because Brendon was the one dying, it was weird to think of other hypotheticals. He decided to try and lighten the mood as much as possible. ”That depends,” He mused, gracefully pretending still that he didn’t notice that Ryan was crying. Brendon had seen him cry maybe five or six times the entire time they’d known eachother, including happy tears. It meant he was truly overwhelmed, and Brendon made it his mission to calm him down as much as he could. ”What are you dying of?” He grinned, nudged his side gently with his bony elbow, then exhaled gently, stroking his thumb across Ryan’s hand. ”I think I’d, like, be really bummed, because I wouldn’t get dick anymore.” Brendon couldn’t help but splutter with laughter because it was so inappropriate, but that was Brendon, Ryan couldn’t really be surprised. ”In fact, that’s what’s so lame about this whole thing. I’m too sick for sex.” He was laughing again, and it hurt his throat because it was so dry, but he felt momentarily distracted. He hoped Ryan was, too. Brendon calmed down, but he was still smiling gently, and he turned his head to look at Ryan, consider him. ”You know, I don’t know. It’d be difficult, but. I know I’d- I know you’ll get through it, you know? You better.”

in the summertime

Brendon knew from the first moment he started considering the possibility of the two of them wedding and tying the metaphorical knot that Ryan would not be comfortable with baring his heart for the whole world to see- and though it wasn’t even the whole world, really, it was just their friends, maybe some friends of friends- but to someone like Ryan, it would be. And Brendon was okay with that. Brendon didn’t need to hear it all in some grand speech at the altar- in fact, that would feel wrong coming from Ryan, the hopeless romantic who, rather aptly, always chewed up the only words he ever really meant. Brendon knew that Ryan loved him with his entire being, he didn’t need to be told in front of an audience- he didn’t even need to be told at all. Their strongest mutual confessions of love came along with the littlest things- Brendon resting his hand on Ryan’s thigh when he was driving (usually never the other way around, mostly because of Ryan’s half-recommendation, half-commandment, and Brendon’s awful driving) and Ryan resting his hand on top of that whenever he could; gentle kisses in the morning along skin bathed by the early golden glow of the sun; featherlight caresses of the jaw and cheek and gentle kisses to the corner of the mouth; embraces from behind, arms wrapped firmly around the waist and slow, familiar kisses pressed along the neck. They could be curled up, watching a movie, and Brendon could drift off. Ryan wouldn’t wake him, or even try to move. He’d stay with him until morning.

Brendon was a fan of grand gestures, like an elaborate ceremony, because he was romantic and exuberant and one might think those qualities would make an excellent wedding planner. Those traits, though, coupled with hyperactivity and a very short attention span, spelled otherwise, so Brendon provided a lot of the creative input, and Ryan’s job was sorting all of the business and technical side out and making sure Brendon’s vision was translated into real life. And it was. The ceremony was perfect- Ryan had given a sweet, concise and very short insight into their perfect little world, and Brendon knew there was so much he meant behind that that nobody else in the audience could even try to pick up on- and Brendon had, naturally, been a little more elaborate, his voice soft but more stable, sure of every word he said and by the end of it sounding longing, wistful, like he wished he could stay up there forever just telling Ryan exactly what he meant to him. But some emotions were so strong that they couldn’t be expressed by words alone, or even actions. So, he used his sweet speech and coupled it with a chaste, brief kiss at the altar, hoping the simplicity of it made it easy for Ryan to understand that Brendon loved him for than anything else in the world. The weight of that hit him first when he was standing there, gazing at the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen, and second when they had a brief moment of privacy after the ceremony and before the party to tangle together and make sure neither of them cried. That would be embarrassing.

So, there it was, the happiest day of their lives so far. When Brendon thought about it, he wasn’t sure why— they’d told eachother they loved eachother and kissed a thousand times before- but this whole marriage thing really was something. For a while, it had been more of a technical leap, the natural and almost compulsory next step of their relationship. Now, it was something more intimate, it spoke for something more, and Brendon was in love with love and everything about it. He got to call Ryan his husband- people called Ryan Me Blake, he couldn’t get over that- he woke up and next to him in bed lay his husband, his lover, his soulmate, and sometimes it overwhelmed him. But in the end, the truest love he felt was a soft, gentle feeling settling in his entire body, deep and resounding, from his heart and his gut all the way to the ends of his fingers. Love was a soft thing, he found, it wasn’t all passion and fire and grand gestures and intensity. The strongest love was feeling just as strong for someone when they were at their worst as when they were at their best. Love was an emotion just as fierce for someone when they were lazing around the house in their pyjamas as when they were dressed up perfectly in a suit. It was wonderful, and gentle, and Brendon couldn’t get enough of it. He couldn’t get enough of Ryan.

Luckily, he had their honeymoon to spend an extended period of time with his favourite person, uninterrupted, unhindered by responsibilities, in gorgeous Cape Town, in a Villa right by the sea. So, maybe it was a bit excessive- but they could afford it, so what did it matter? Brendon spent whole days just drifting around the pool, or stretched out on a deck chair, Ryan nearby at all times apparently reading this book that he’d been on the same page in for the last week or so. He thought he was slick. They were sitting close by the pool right then, listening to music quietly playing on shuffle, and Brendon rose to turn it off because he intended on catching his husband’s attention. Interesting. I hope they ended up getting married. Seems like he was pretty happy. Brendon grinned, charmed. ”I hope so.” He then crossed over to the edge of the pool and slipped into the water, and Ryan was definitely staring at him, was he really dumb enough to think that Brendon didn’t notice? He spent a very short time swimming from one end to the next and then figured run wouldn’t come in without coaxing, so he climbed back out, and headed over to disturb Ryan’s ‘reading’. They automatically relaxed together, and Brendon kissed his neck gently, almost apologetic for taking his book and getting him a little wet, but not really.

You’re right. Brendon nodded, confident and sure. ”I am. I’m also pretty. Look at me.” He turned Ryan’s head and kissed him just as Ryan held onto him tighter, and he intended to pull back to speak but he was rendered silent with surprise for a moment when Ryan abruptly stood up, Brendon still in his arms. He felt himself melt a little, pausing and letting his eyelids drop, looking up at him. ”I think I just fell in love with you again.” Well, maybe he jumped the gun a little there, because moments later, Ryan kissed him quick and then suddenly they were both in the water and Brendons eyes widened, clinging onto him, arms around his neck and his legs wrapping automatically around his waist like some kind of lemur. He closed his eyes and slowly opened them again. ”Y’know, you’re evil. But at least you’re in the pool now.” He ran his hands through his own damp hair and then draped his arms again over Ryan’s shoulders. How about that? Sorry about the book. Brendon offered him a shrug, pressing a few absent kisses along the side of his face. ”I just hope it was a good one.”

Thought it was a pretty good cover for me staring at you all day. Well, at least he was honest- but it wasn’t like Brendon already knew that this same dumb book had been Ryan’s cover the entire time they’d been at Cape Town. Brendon wasn’t as oblivious as he seemed, especially when it came to Ryan’s habits. He tilted his head, though, as if considering the ‘reveal’ that Ryan’s only real interest so far on their honeymoon had been Brendon and not some probably average book (everything that wasn’t Ryan’s writing was average to Brendon at this point), and then graced him simply with a kiss, smiling against his mouth before drawing back to frame his face with his hands. ”Why have you been staring at me?” A baited question. Brendon admittedly didn’t mind excessive compliments. It wasn’t a secret. ”And, what are your plans for this evening? It’s getting on in the afternoon.”

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

Brendon was, unsurprisingly, a strong believer in fate. Maybe not destiny- he didn’t believe everything was set out before you, he believed that a combination of talent, luck and hard work brought him to where he was today and would carry him into the future- but as far as relationships went, he did believe that certain people and their relationships were already set out from the beginning, no love could be artificially forced where the true emotion wasn’t there. Similarly, he believed that some people just didn’t get along, despised each other’s very presence, and no matter what other people did or no matter how much either or both parties tried to change that, if the hate was so strong and ingrained, those people couldn’t be forced to like eachother. When it came to him and Ryan, though, interestingly, that wasn’t what he thought. He believed that if things had started out differently, if the circumstances at changed, if there was more honesty and open communication within the band before and just after Brendon joined, that maybe their relationship would be different. But the cards hadn’t been dealt that way. Their introduction was tragically and openly hostile, and so was the rest of their personal relationship. Professionally, they managed to mask it, faked the existence of a friendship so no stupid rumours arose and their feud didn’t disrupt the band more than it already did. It worked- to an extent.

But nature had pulled a cruel joke on them, and aside from their strong mutual dislike (understatement of the year), they were both also attracted to eachother with an intensity neither of them anticipated at first but quickly arose without warning. One day, Brendon had been glaring at Ryan while he was playing guitar, at first being internally scornful, but suddenly noticing how pretty his hands were- what?- how the colour of his eyes was basically rich honey; he was strikingly endeared by the curls at the ends of his hair and he was so tall, his voice so rough and attractive, his smile boyish and- god, Brendon was floored, and then he was angry again. It was embrassing- but it was mutual. If it was unrequited, it would probably be easier for one of them to just shut up and get on with it- but no, it was obvious, they both knew about it, just never spoke about it properly besides the odd barbed comment or venomous remark. They used this odd twist in their relationship as a double-edged sword in arguments- when, say, Brendon mocked Ryan about the way he always stared at him when he was shirtless in a way that definitely wasn’t platonic, it was a completely valid point, but Ryan just turned it right back on him and snapped back at him, sneering about the way Brendon gazed at his hands or lost himself in Ryan’s eyes when they were supposed to be having an argument. Neither of them could win on that front, they were stuck in a rut, every comment a hypocritical one- but it didn’t stop them trying.

Their habit of testing the waters there had lead them right to where Tebet were now, tangled together and kissing heatedly, Ryan backed up against the wall, holding Brendon’s body flush by the small of his back and curling locks of his hair around his fingers roughly. Brendon was sweating already- embarrassing- and his breathing had quickened then slowed, unsteady and not in control anymore. Neither of them were. They were both slightly buzzed- Ryan much more, he was drunk- and the rush of heat the came with finally addressing the subtext physically and rectifying the undisclosed desires they had tried so hard to suppress. All they needed, apparently, was a little alcohol, and a hotel room far away from anyone who might find out, and they’d be hungry for eachother, sounding almost desperate and wanton and Brendon tried not to care but it was all so telling. His body, apparently, wasn’t capable of telling lies. He growled in frustration against Ryan’s mouth as they pressed together, and twisted his fingers into his hair, pulling hard to try and spend this heated energy.

Right, sure, and you didn’t kiss back at all. Brendon narrowed his eyes, wet his lips and clenched his jaw as Ryan straightened up, clearly trying to drag his attention to his height, and it was working. To counter, Brendon dragged him down, closer, wanting to continue whatever they were doing before Ryan had a chance to be a smartass. Or, even more of one. Oh, oh, Ryan... Brendon almost snarled,and he lunged in suddenly to bite at his neck, just over his pulse, latching his mouth roughly onto his skin and using his other hand to press him into the wall by his hip, attempting to ignore him even when he pulled away and leaned up, searching to kiss him again. He wasn’t making a very good case for himself. Yeah, fuck you. The infuriating thing was, Brendon had no argument- Sure, he could say all he wanted that Ryan initiated, Ryan kissed him first, but he’d have so many more bragging rights if he had rejected his advances and pulled away. He just had to kiss him back, didn’t he? Good going, Brendon. He growled low in his throat again, clearly frustrated, and moved on to try and regain the power here.

So, he pulled Ryan in for what he decided would be their final, licentious kiss, moving a hand up to hold onto his jaw in a way that was almost normal, and Ryan’s hands fit around his hips easily as they pulled eachother close, and they fit in a way that was unexpected and strange. It was still charged, angry, desperate, but this was the most normal and comfortable kiss they had shared so far. Brendon intended it to be their parting kiss, and kissed him in until he needed air, at which point he pulled back without warning, out of his tight grasp, dropping his hand from the line of his jaw and stepping back all in one fluid motion. A smirk wavered along the curve of his mouth, swollen and reddened by vicious kisses, and he turned around and all but strutted away, feeling a sense of victory because Ryan had started it and now Brendon had finished it. This made Ryan look like the desperate one, the one that wanted this more than Brendon did. That was how he wanted this to go, and he carried on towards the bedroom until he was hanging around the doorway. To his surprise, he turned around, and Ryan was there, close again.

What the fuck. Brendon’s breath hitched as Ryan shoved him backwards and he hit the mattress hard, disorientated, not given much time to steady himself before Ryan was on him, over him, and Brendon’s heart was beating wildly in his chest. You think that’s it? He liked this. Brendon did. He enjoyed having the upper hand simply because he wanted to see Ryan squirm, but this- someone else being in control- he enjoyed it, but Ryan was the last person he wanted to give that sense of power to. He did it anyway. Brendon shook his head quickly in answer to his question. No, fuck you- you started this, too, so fucking finish. ”You started this, dickhead, you fucking-” Not even given chance to take in air again before Ryan tangled his hands in his hair once again and they crashed together to kiss, Brendon returned the kiss with an angry enthusiasm, moving himself further and fully onto the mattress and dragging Ryan with him by his shirt, then resting one in his hair and trailing the other from his hips up under his shirt, pulling the fabric up to his sternum, splaying his hand.

‘Happy birthday’, god, asshole. Brendon laughed breathlessly, almost more delusioned and nonsensical than out of mirth, and breathed out a reply- ”What, I’m just being nice, birthday boy,”- then tilted his head back and continued their biting kiss, his bottom lip starting to feel sore, but he didn’t care. Instead, he wrapped a leg loosely around Ryan’s waist, arched his body up from the mattress. At this point, all common sense had gone out of the window.

if we go on || b&r

Usually Brendon was easily won over. For somebody so used to getting his own way, with Ryan, he was uncharacteristically obedient, more likely to listen when he was spoken to. Mostly it was because he was gross. When Brendon was drunk, though, anything usually compelling him to listen and do as he was told was thrown out of the window in some bizarre perceived act of rebellion. Brendon proudly announced that he had Ryan ‘figured out’, all the while grudgingly allowing him to undo the clasps of his sleeves because he was tired but this was a nice shirt, and even when he was drunk he had some appreciation for fine clothes (read: every piece of clothing he owned, save maybe Ryan’s assortment of hoodies and jerseys. Those held a different value). Apparently, Ryan found this amusing. Brendon was taking himself too seriously to notice. Oh, yeah? What’s that? Taking it as a genuine question, he tilted his head and pursed his lips as if thinking deeply about it. Then he answered, announcing it with a sense of triumph, and Ryan evidently didn’t appreciate his perceptiveness.

Brendon, what power am I supposed to have over you that I could exploit? He blinked, like it was obvious. ”You fuckin’ think you can just give me commands and I’ll go all pliant and willing. Well. You’re absolutely right,” He half-slurred, grinning- but that was literally the opposite energy that he wanted to convey here. So he straightened, tried to fix his mistake, cover it up. You pay me. I’d say that puts you a few steps ahead of me. A pause, because that was true; Brendon paid Ryan to basically run his life, both personally and professionally at this point, way too personally that was appropriate for an employer and their employee; but they were dating. Ryan was his boyfriend, Brendon was his. They had the kind of relationship that Brendon had never once in his life anticipated having. Even that sentiment wasn’t enough to stop Brendon blurting out the first thing that then came to his head as he thought about their whole financial situation. ”Doesn’t that make you a hooker?”

He had great timing, too, because Ryan was currently unbuttoning his shirt, but for once Brendon didn’t much care about it and made no attempt at some appropriately nasty joke- he just sat there and sulked like a champion until Ryan unfastened the last button of his shirt, and then he seemed to forget about his supposed appreciation for fine clothes and chucked his shirt over his shoulder off the bed, moving to lie on his back and then press his foot firmly against Ryan’s chest, using all of his strength (not much) to try and get him off the bed and prompt him to just leave him alone. It didn’t seem to work. Ryan just hung onto his ankle and Brendon yanked it out of his grip and drew his whole body up and back into a sitting position, regarding Ryan almost doubtfully, still wanting him to just go away and let Brendon pass out peacefully in his slacks and shoes. I’m sorry, baby. Brendon huffed, full of scorn, and unsteadily rose to his feet, artfully dodging any gentle attempts at apologetic physical contact- he ignored the basic longing to just go back and let Ryan hold him and busied himself picking up his discarded suit pieces.

Crossing his large bedroom, he reached the wardrobes and hung on, clumsily trying to fit the suit pieces onto the correct hangers and stubbornly going at it until his effort turned into something... functional. His scarlet suit hung rather sadly in the closet and Brendon shut the door with a sigh, turning around just as Ryan got to him, instantly reacting by stepping aside as if to move away. Brendon was too uncoordinated, though, and Ryan evidently had too much purpose now to give up and let Brendon stumble away like a child for the rest of the night until he passed out from exhaustion on the carpet or something. Brendon didn’t have the energy or fire in him right then to resist when Ryan fit his hands over his hips- he just looked down, blinked slowly as Ryan ran his thumbs along the sharp lines, then looked up from under his eyelashes at his boyfriend, suddenly feeling less like he wanted to protest and more like he wanted to curl up in his arms and go to sleep. I did like it. Brendon supposed he could forgive him now- but he was still the expert at sulking, and he needed to maintain his reputation, so he tried his hardest not to return Ryan’s smile. ”Go away. I don’t- I don’t require your services. You overcharge.” Brendon was trying not to grin. He gave up quite fast, and then offered him a sheepish, sleepy smile.

I’m sorry. I should have been there, then, but. I’m here now, okay? He felt a sense of comfort and warmth settle in his chest. Ryan was here now, what else mattered? He wanted Ryan to be here always. Brendon was dazed, suddenly, by the intensity of his emotions. I just wanna be sure you’re all right. He nodded, closed his eyes as Ryan kissed his cheek. So I needyou to drink some water for me. Yeah? Will you do that? Another pause, and Brendon glanced over to the nightstand at the glass of water, and the painkillers, and after a second he seemed to give in, nodding. But he didn’t actually do anything, just buried his head into the crook of Ryan’s shoulder and leaned against him, apparently too tired to support himself anymore. He exhaled, content, murmured into his shoulder. ”I love you.”

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

Somewhere in his head, somehow, Brendon had known, since he opened the door and Ryan immediately weaved around him to get inside, exactly what Ryan was there for. Exactly what he wanted, even subconsciously. It was a subtext they didn’t notice, or rather, tried to ignore. And here it was, surfacing fully for the first time- Brendon had touched him along the waist or ran his hands down his chest in the past just to mock him, just to get him wound up, but they’d never- Ryan had never. Brendon was, for a good few seconds, stunned. He knew what Ryan really wanted from him, but whether he’d actually go through with it and take it? That was a different story, and the aggression and forcefulness with which Ryan kissed him caught off guard, not quite throwing him off balance, but certainly changing things around in his head. It did take a few moments for Brendon to process what was happening, decide what action to take (be that shove him off or kiss him back), and then carry out his decision, which in the end was to just as eagerly and heatedly kiss him, blunt fingernails digging into his shirt and chest and clutching at the material to drag him closer, close enough that he forgot that this was an awful idea and instead was fully driven by something other than his head.

He stared at Ryan’s mouth when he pulled back after chasing their kisses for a few embarassing moments, his heart thudding under his chest as he didn’t bother trying to look away, instead almost marvelled at the redness of Ryan’s mouth and wet his own lips again, swallowed, his mouth dry despite everything. Brendon ignored the way Ryan’s expression changed as he leaned in bodily to trace a stripe along his jawbone with his tongue, hoping to coax whatever he could from Ryan’s boring, vanilla ass and satisfy whatever suppressed and undisclosed desires he had swimming around in his head, shut away until now when they were being slowly released, crowding Brendon’s mind, shoving our any remaining common sense. Though Brendon was sort of lost in the moment, he was more in control than Ryan was. It was different, taking the reins- the hatred he had for Ryan meant that he felt some kind of grim satisfaction, a dark triumph, because Ryan kissed him, he might’ve been drunk, but it just went to show. That had been what he has wanted for god knows how long. Brendon spoke softly, smug, into his ear, curled a hand around Ryan’s wrist again, reminding him of the moments before any probably reigniting any desire in Ryan to just punch him and be done with it.

He almost expected Ryan to hit him, he had ever since Ryan got here with his angsty air and his easily aggravated personality. Upset Ryan and intentionally provocative Brendon didn’t mix- and that was saying something, because even normal Ryan and Brendon didn’t mix. Instead, there was a pause, Ryan’s breathing slowed, Brendon’s own chest was heaving up and down, and there was a sheen of sweat over his skin, which was hot to the touch. He looked up, defiant, victorious, at Ryan’s face, grinning at the sheen of his mouth, taking the moment of suspension to meet his eyes and try to figure out what the hell he was thinking about. Not much of an opportunity to think was given to either of them, though, because Ryan was kissing him mindlessly again, and Brendon welcomed it, moving one hand to hang onto the neckline of his shirt, pulling him down, and curling the nails of his other hand into Ryan’s corresponding hip. Apparently Ryan had the same idea, but he expressed it borderline viciously- In seconds, his hands were in Brendon’s hair, pulling hard, and Brendon made a soft, strangled noise in the base of his throat, pressing his hips against Ryan’s just as Ryan pressed a hand against the small of his back.

About to speak up, defend himself and withhold his dignity before he became the submissive mess he tended to quickly morph into no matter how confidently he started, Ryan interrupted his train of thought by biting into his bottom lip and Brendon had to choke back some kind of juvenile groan, lifting the hand at Ryan’s hip up and curling it roughly around the back of his neck, attempting to press even closer when it was literally impossible, but it was like Brendon was starving and it was embarrassing but he found comfort in knowing that this wasn’t one-sided. Brendon heard the noises he was trying to suppress- he wasn’t easy to fool, nobody was, in such an intimate situation. Brendon was close to regaining control and pulling back, aiming to leave him hanging, but Ryan was talking against his mouth and he had to pause to listen, or try to, over the sound of his own breathing. Like this is my fault. Honestly, he didn’t particularly care whose fault it was at this point, but he sneered, the competitive streak strong, especially against Ryan. ”Can I remind you,” He bit back, twisting the fingers he had around the back of Ryan’s neck into the longer locks of his hair, ”That you kissed me?” And he wasn’t lying. Sure, Brendon had arguably done everything in his power to lead him to this action, but who initiated? Ryan. He’d hold that above him until the end of time.

You’ve been begging for it since we met. I’m not fucking blind. ”You saying you haven’t? You’d do anything to have me, wouldn’t you? Want me so bad.” A scornful pause, a seconds-long sneer, and Brendon cut through the limbo and used both of his hands to fist into the front of his shirt yet again, pulling him down closer, slipping his tongue into his mouth and freeing one hand to curl around his jaw, letting his eyes fall shut as he tried to dispel every last lustful thought from him with a long, lecherous kiss, so he could step away with no problems. And after a few long counts of Mississippi, he pulled back, untangled his hands from his shirt and hair. Brendon stepped away, breathing hard. He ran a hand automatically through his hair and let the corner of his mouth quirk up into a smirk. ”Happy birthday.” Feeling like he’d suitably triumphed, he turned around easily, though his breathing was still slow and laboured, his heart thudding away at speed. Once he was a distance across the room from Ryan, hanging onto the doorframe to the bedroom, he paused as if considering turning around. But he used every ounce of common sense he had and decided that letting him stay there, unsatisfied, in the living room would be much more satisfying for Brendon in the end.

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

Brendon wasn’t used to behaving like this. Out of the two of them, during arguments he was surprisingly the one that was usually more meek, Less intimidating and more just persistent and stubborn. Ryan usually became genuinely angry faster, and Brendon supposed that was a reflection on their relationship. They were only like this because Ryan decided he was going to hate his guts from the very beginning, and Brendon just generously followed suit- it wasn’t like he could even pretend to like him or be civil for the band’s sake, because Ryan was just that antagonistic and they both just wanted to see eachother shrivel up with embarrassment, crack under pressure or explode with some kind of held-back rage. If it meant the other was experiencing any kind of intense negative emotion and it was completely obvious, they treated that as a victory. Brendon didn’t think about it all too much, because he worried that if he did, he’d feel some kind of remorse, wish he could turn back time and fix their relationship, make peace and get rid of whatever vendetta Ryan had against him. Maybe compromise more, criticise and insult less- Brendon knew how to be nice and he knew how to collaborate, but nobody saw that, because he wrestled with the duty of primary creative input in the band with the most insufferable man in the world.

So, usually, he’d be the one shoved backwards, if they ever even came to blows. Though their arguments were often heated and intense, it surprisingly rarely ever became physical, mostly because Brendon sort of knew that Ryan would have the advantage there (though it didn’t look like it), partly because they were worried that rage expressed in such an ungoverned and freeform way would morph from frustrated energy into something else. It was like that now- Brendon became so aggravated with Ryan’s absolute inability to be civil or polite even when Brendon did something arguable hospitable or even nice that he pretty much went for him, using some unknown strength (he wasn’t scrawny, but he was small and not muscular) to hold onto Ryan’s wrist as he shoved him backwards, not really caring at this point if he fell over or something. He just needed to get his point across, and apparently, this was the only way he could get through to somebody so stubborn and currently so drunk. Through yelling at him, tightening his grip on his wrist, ignoring his weak protests and shutting out thoughts of confusion as to why he wasn’t resisting very much aside from light tugs. Ryan was admittedly stronger than him, or at least taller, more physically imposing in that way. If he wanted to, he could gain the advantage- Brendon passed the missed opportunity off as Ryan being too drunk.

Don’t fucking touch me. Brendon sneered, and now he was breathing heavily because he hadn’t moved much in the last few days and this was probably the most physical excursion he’d done. Shoved his bandmate against a wall. He tried not to think about the connotations too much there and also ignored how close they’d been to being functional together as people for a second there earlier, and how maybe Brendon jumped the gun and ruined it, Ryan was drunk and sad and he just needed to come round a little. Instead he ignored the half-hearted tugs at his restraint around Ryan’s wrist, and noted for the first time the lack of any real bite to his tone, despite it being a situation where typically, Ryan would usually yank his hand free and either retaliate or just spit insults at him and leave before either of them did something they were going to regret. Not immediately, obviously. They’d probably be triumphant and satisfied at first, but when they were being kicked out of the band for taking their ridiculous feud too far, they’d probably wish they had been a little more agreeable for once. ”What are you gonna do about it? Cry?”

He pulled back and let go of Ryan’s wrist, wringing his own hands as he crossed the room to get to the fridge, hanging on to the door even though he wasn’t drunk or dizzy, glancing inside, realising Ryan had generously taken and downed all of his little alcohol bottles and slamming it shut, endlessly irritated by this guy waltzing into his world and doing whatever he damn pleased, and he’d get away with it because he was Ryan and he was important to the band. Was he? Anybody could play guitar. His lyrics were unique, sure, but they made no sense- Brendon had admittedly less master of language in some ways, a less extensive vocabulary, but in his head, that just meant he was less pretentious, made more sense, wrote actual discernible lyrics rather than fucked up poetry that people pretended was profound and it was actually up-its-own-ass garbage. Yeah, Brendon wasn’t having a very good night. Newly frustrated, he crossed the room again, clutched at the front of Ryan’s shirt, brought their faces close together and snarled out his provocative insults. He wanted Ryan to come undone, one way or another. Watching Ryan’s face intently, his jaw clenched, he noticed his eyes flicker around his face, and wondered what the hell he was thinking. Why wasn’t he saying anything back? Brendon opened his mouth to speak again, try and provoke a better reaction.

Before he could, Ryan was raising his arm and Brendon was almost prepared for him to hit him, or something, but then suddenly his hand was curled around the back of Brendon’s neck and he had closed the gap and their lips were together and Brendon felt a rush of heat and confusion- what’s happening? He didn’t resist or pull back, but he didn’t return the kiss for a good second, until Ryan was tilting his head back and kissing him like he was starving and Brendon dug his fingers into Ryan’s chest through his shirt and returned the- favour?- allowing Ryan’s tongue into his mouth, then meeting it with his, his eyelids fluttering even when they were shut and his heart racing in his chest. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt. He imagined Ryan could actually hear it. Suddenly, though, Ryan pulled himself backwards like he’d been slapped, and Brendon leaned forward uncontrollably to continue their kiss. Then there were a few brief moments of silence, where they stared at eachother, weighing up what the hell just happened. Ryan’s hand curled over Brendon’s hand in his shirt at the same time that Brendon offered him a breathless, triumphant grin. ”So you didn’t come here just for me, right?”

Fuck this. Brendon didn’t say a word- Ryan was the one who kissed him, after all. I’m leaving, alright? Like you want. Brendon wet his lips, stared at Ryan’s. He wasn’t sure he wanted that anymore. Unless you want to give me more shit, then by all means, prolong your misery. I can’t stand you, either. Brendon rolled his eyes, tugged a little on his shirt as if attempting to get Ryan’s attention actually down to what was happening. ”Shut up for one second, will you?” He asked sarcastically, and he leaned up, merciless, to trace his tongue across his jaw and then talk into his ear. ”You can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. I won’t let you.” He then drew back for a second, but only a few inches. His heart was racing, he could feel Ryan’s going at a similar pace beneath his shirt. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back, removing the locks that had fallen over his eyes, and greeted Ryan with yet another challenging, but this time heated, glare.

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

Brendon hadn’t intentionally been avoiding people, and therefore he guessed he wasn’t intentionally alone- he just was. Since the unfortunate fact was that a lot of his friends were mutual with Ryan (neither of them had any clue how, and probably, neither did the friends), a large portion of them were in NYC for Ryan’s party- the one that Ryan himself decided to ditch not even a couple of hours in, when Brendon thought about it and worked out flight times and recalled when it was all supposed to start. So, yeah, he’d been on his own in a hotel room for a few days; so what? He didn’t care. Brendon was a social creature, but he enjoyed being his own company sometimes. It meant he could eat as much candy as he wanted without being called a five year old by certain people. Well, one certain person, to be exact. He’d created his own solitary entertainment, alternating between channels every fifteen minutes because that was when he usually became bored of one activity, seeing how far across the table he could throw a skittle and land it in a solo cup. Singing in the shower. Almost falling asleep in the shower. Passing out throughout the day on the couch, even scribbling down the odd lyric that somehow came to mind in a place that wasn’t exactly inspiring.

It wasn’t all bad, and Brendon had mixed feelings about the next few days where the whole band would arrive in Seattle for the show they were playing. For one, he missed Spencer and Jon (the latter of whom hadn’t even been invited to Ryan’s party), but for another, he’d have to put up with Ryan again for god knows how long. It seemed Christmas came early for him that night- the world famous Ryan Ready graced his presence sooner than he had to and Brendon was predictably thrilled by the one person he actually genuinely hates crashing his peaceful night in and being a dick to him in his own hotel room. Brendon honestly couldn’t have been happier. At least this was a fantastic opportunity to mock him until he curled up into a ball and cried, which, the more Brendon observed, the more he wondered whether it was actually likely, and he started hoping that Ryan didn’t get too upset because then he’d be sad and drunk, and that would be almost too pathetic for Brendon to bear. So he told himself it would be better in the long run if he quietened for a while, obeyed his own common sense for about two seconds before being tempted by Ryan’s vulnerability and giving in.

Forget it. Yeah, he wasn’t expecting Ryan to stick by that half-ass attempt at an apology. He wasn’t even sorry for Brendon- he was sorry for himself, sorry that he had nobody else to go to other than the person he claimed to hate with his entire being. And he was sorry he had to say sorry, because for once Brendon hadn’t been aggravating, he’d been in a different state, and all of this was the result of Ryan’s consecutive shitty decisions. Brendon was finding it hard to be sympathetic- he was just sick of Ryan’s whining and wanted him either gone or so silent that he forget he was there so he could finally go to bed and enjoy his final days of peace and quiet. Watching as Ryan tried to stand up, swaying slightly, Brendon smirked cynically, because this was all so stupid. Why couldn’t Ryan just stay at his stupid party and break up with his girlfriend there? Why did he have to follow the astoundingly apparently irresistible urge to fly across the country to see Brendon and Brendon alone? It was too much for Brendon, for whom the idea of passing the fuck out was becoming more and more favourable with every passing second of watching Ryan struggle to balance even when holding on to the back of the couch.

Even so, he tried to control his temper and his voice, sounding as flat and nonchalant as possible, soft enough to stop Ryan from getting angry, firm and emotionless enough to stop him being all weird and in order to shut down the idea of Ryan maybe unloading any other personal shit onto him that Brendon really didn’t care that much about right now. First of all, he was too tired. Second of all, it was Ryan. His compassion only went so far for a man who had never shown similar support to him. ...I was going to come to Seattle, anyway. Brendon rolled his eyes, regarding Ryan judgmentally and clearly not buying his excuses. For the show later. Did he mean the one that wasn’t even tomorrow? It wasn’t just you. Brendon clenched his jaw, closed his hands into fists, and exhaled. ”Oh, it wasn’t just me, was it?” He stood up suddenly, animated, agitated, and took a few intentional steps forward towards Ryan, curling his hand around the wrist that was steadying Ryan against the couch and shoving him bodily backwards, his grip surprisingly strong enough to keep him more or less upright more out of necessity than caring whether he fell over. ”Not just me, huh?”

Brendon tightened his grip on Ryan’s wrist, recalling how they’d done this a year ago when Ryan had been angry enough to shove him out of the bus. ”You’re a fucking joke. You can’t fly across the country like some lovesick dumbass and then turn on my doorstep, complaining about your girlfriend. Oh, Brendon, my girlfriend doesn’t even know me.” The room was small enough so that when Brendon took another few steps forward and shouldered Ryan along with him, Ryan was more or less against the wall and Brendon was glaring up at him. ”Oh, Brendon, what should I do, I’m so pathetic that I can’t even talk to her. I tell you what I fucking think, try to at least make you stop being pathetic on my hotel room couch, and you turn around and tell me you came here because of the show. You’re a lot of things, dickhead, but you’ve never been a good liar. So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

There was a silence, and Brendon let go of Ryan’s wrist, and turned around, swearing. ”Fuck.” Half-stumbling, though he wasn’t even really drunk, Brendon went back over to the minifridge and opened it, slamming it shut again when he saw it was empty. I don’t know, just. I knew I was going to have to break up with her, but hearing someone say it out loud... thanks, whatever. Brendon honestly couldn’t believe his ears. Inhaling sharply, he dragged his hands through his hair and down his face, and suddenly he was unbelievably warm, from anger or tension or whatever else. This is not the night he wanted, but it was the night he got. ”You’re a real fucking piece of work. I let you in my hotel room, I dare say give you advice, And you can’t even properly thank me.” With purpose again, he headed back over to Ryan and fisted a hand into his shirt. ”What do I have to do to make you thank me, huh?” He leaned in close, waiting for Ryan to shove him away, but he was close enough now that he was speaking inches away from his mouth. ”Is this what you want, birthday boy? Is this why you’re here?”

i sit around and want you

A lot had been going on in Brendon’s life over the past few months alone- no, the last few years, in fact, much more than Brendon could realistically juggle and a lot less than the ambitious side of him wanted to take on. He was successful, nobody could doubt that; he sold out shows around the world, people loved him, people who had never even met him, they figured that they knew so much about him that they were in love. Brendon adored them all right back, honestly, even though there were thousands that were nameless and faceless to him, as much as he wished he could meet and remember every single one. Most of the fans he did meet were sweet, adorable shy and nervous, sometimes they were hyperactive and giggly, sometimes frozen by anxiety (Brendon could relate and usually suggested a hug to calm them down), and some even cried, that overwhelmed by emotion that they couldn’t handle it anymore. Brendon wasn’t sure why, even to this day, ten plus years into his music career. The landscape had changed drastically in the business, his music was almost unrecognisable save his distinctive, powerful voice, and yet here were all this fans, the diehard fans that were around back for the first album and the new ones that were attracted by his handsome face and his refined, yet bunny and hyperactive personality.

Brendon understood why people liked him, appreciated his music, but some were so obsessed that he felt the need to remind them that it was okay, he wasn’t, like, some kind of God, some mystical deity too far above anyone else to approach. At the end of the day, he was just a man, only human, who was talented enough to climb the difficult rungs of the ladder that was the music industry and almost ensnare legions of new fans with every new album. Well, there was his own talent, then there was luck, then there was the input of past members, especially the original four. Brendon was the only one remaining. It wasn’t a very consistent musical venture, really, so he was grateful he had such consistent fans; new lineups almost every record (Brendon was now used to being virtually alone, it was more liberating for him, and that was worth the loneliness), completely divergent sounds and content with every new song. His latest record wasn’t his best, in the eyes of many, but Brendon tended to rank his work by how recent it was, as he believed that reflected his growth. And some of those old records bore painful memories. Not that he wasn’t still projecting those into his work- they just hurt less, stung but in a dull way and less in a sharp, violent way. Still, the ones that were more raw and emotional, from the first two records in particular, he avoided like the plague. Some things felt too personal now to share with the world, which was a strange way of thinking, because everything was on the internet anyway. It was just his way of staying mentally healthy.

That had been difficult, recently. He has broken up with his last serious relationship over a year ago, and though he was more or less over it now, numb to the once-fresh pain, the split had been jarring and it wasn’t the first difficult breakup he’d been through in his life. Brendon’s love life just couldn’t catch a break, it seemed, but time was a healer, and he moved on, shut it out, like clockwork. Embraced his past, held it near, but not close enough to hurt him. Just close enough to remember. Even if he did try to forget about it completely, it would be more or less impossible; the songs on his new record had been greatly inspired by the love of the last few years of his life, written at a time he thought this was it, they were going to be together forever. That didn’t happen. Other songs were inspired by former loves- people he’d known before, long before, ghosts of his past that he couldn’t shake- he took the skeletons out of his closet, dressed them up almost beyond recognition, and put them into songs, his heart on his sleeve but so small it couldn’t even be seen unless somebody was looking.

So, the new record was a bittersweet thing, but he liked to think it was mostly sweet. He’d built a line up now he was confident with, that he felt almost like a family with, and it looked like nobody was planning on leaving anytime soon. He was happy with that. The album was successful- maybe not as much as the last one as far as sales went, but his last album had been clear about what it wanted to be. This new one wasn’t for everyone- not exactly polarising, but it wasn’t universally adored, either. Brendon was okay with that. He was proud of his work, it wasn’t his choice if people enjoyed listening to it as much as he enjoyed writing and recording it. Aside from his career, his personal life- well, it resolved around the band, really. He was living on his own in a house in LA, but he wasn’t really lonely. Brendon has plenty of friends, plenty of dogs, he was outgoing enough to make connections with people he’d only just met. Nothing was falling apart. He’d grown over the past decade, and he liked to think he was a much better person than he was back then- sure, some cracks were visible, there was emotional wear and tear and some heartbreaks had been so devastating that he still hadn’t fully healed or let go, but he was happy. Even if he wasn’t entirely whole.

He’d just finished the first leg of the American tour, and he was back in LA- he intended to spend it relaxing, recalibrating, but apparently some old friends that contacted him out of the blue had other ideas. Their messages took him by surprise, but it was a good surprise; he was still fond of them, wondered how they were doing, checked out how they were doing when they came to his mind. And now Jon was contacting him- Jon, one of his original bandmates, was inviting him to some prom night event where he and ‘some other friends’ would be performing. Initially a little doubtful of dropping himself amongst all the ‘other friends’ (that was too vague for him) right away, Brendon’s outgoing nature triumphed over his anxiousness, and he agreed to go when Jon gave him the date, time and location. He hadn’t read up on the event, checked out who was going, even if he’d told himself to a million times- adhd did that to a guy. So, Brendon went, but he was completely in the dark about what it would even be about. He assured himself it would be fun- Jon would be there, of course it would. Jon was the best.

His first thought upon arriving was, wow, this is a small venue, but maybe the stadium tour had gotten to his head. His second thought was, wow, this is pretty- the whole room was flowing purple, strings of lights pinned along the wall and hanging at the back of the stage. The stage itself was smallish, two mics set up near the centre, various other instruments propped up against amps all over the stage. It looked sort of cluttered, but the whole place was homely, sort of ethereal, little silver stars glinting as the deep purple neon glow bathed the audience in light. Brendon had arrived a little later than the start time, so he wouldn’t be noticed by anyone. He stood close to the back, and luckily, everyone was entranced by the person on stage- someone he didn’t recognise. She was dressed in white and gorgeous in an otherworldly way, and Brendon was somewhat entranced by her manner of moving and speaking. She was talking into the mic- he wasn’t really listening, he was now looking out for Jon- and after a moment, she strummed on the guitar as the rest of the band assembled and she started singing.

Jon was nowhere in sight, and Brendon had been searching with his eyes for a good thirty seconds (the length of Brendon’s attention span, usually), so he gave up and turned his attention to the girl singing on stage. He didn’t know her, that’s for sure, but she was definitely talented, with a strong stage presence even though she looked so angelic and gentle. Her voice was smooth and light and Brendon found himself working out how they could harmonise in his head. Brendon clicked his tongue and looked the the row of heads before him, the last row of the audience. He quickly tried to figure out which was least likely to know who he was, and tapped them on the shoulder, looking apologetic when they turned around. And then he instantly regretted it, because immediate shock and recognition crossed their face and Brendon couldn’t help but smile as they struggled to find words. He was used to it, but it was still endearing. ”Hi, darling, shh, sorry, I’m interrupting the show here,” He whispered quickly, then indicated towards the stage. ”I know this is a stupid question, but who is that?”

The audience member looked at him with a combination of adoration, shock and fear, and they were still smiling stupidly when they spoke. ”Elizabeth, Z Berg. This is her event, Brendon.” Brendon nodded, thanked them quickly, didn’t notice their eyes widening again. ”Wait, did you come to see-” They were interrupted when Brendon was tapped on the shoulder and he spun around to see Jon, who he immediately embraced, grinning his winning smile. ”Hey, man,” He muttered, and Jon smiled back, but nudged him, as if to tell him to pay attention. Brendon pressed his shoulder against Jon’s, trying to listen to Z sing, but too many questions were running through his mind. How was Jon? How were his wife and his daughter? Was his solo music project up and running yet? Did he still speak to Spencer? Was he still working on music with Vicky? His mind was racing, but in a good way. He felt the joy in his heart increasingly swell the more he thought about his old friend. There was no bad blood there, there never really had been between him and Jon.

Eventually, he managed to focus on the performance, but unfortunately she was finishing as soon as he turned his attention back to the song. Thank you, everyone, Z said into the mic, strumming again on the guitar and glancing off to the side of the stage as if waiting for someone. Brendon followed her eyes, and from the side of the stage, like some kind of fucking ghost, walked the darkest fucking shadow from Brendon’s past, the one who had once been his light. He was stunned, speechless, and then he was angry at Jon for not telling him, and then he was delighted with Jon for not telling him because if he’d known beforehand he wouldn’t have turned up. He should have suspected it, really. Anyway- god, he looked good, his hair was shorter than he remembered but styled, he was dressed in some typically quirky, tight-fitting blue suit with red trimmings. Brendon forgot how to breathe, because there was a former lover, the former lover, Brendon’s heartbreaker, stood up there and greeted by an eruption of cheers and hysteria. He heard one person shout his name, tell Ryan and Z how beautiful they were. Brendon couldn’t even think straight.

So, this is Ryan, I’m sure you all know,” Z said into the mic, and Ryan just strummed at his guitar. Brendon’s eyes were drawn to his hands. They were adorned with rings. And we’re going to play a song from The Young Veins record. Brendon looked at Jon, who looked a little sheepish, but was smiling all the same. Brendon just stared dumbly back at him, not sure whether to yell or cry or ask him why he wasn’t on stage singing that Young Veins song. He didn’t have chance to decide. The Young Veins, formed by Ryan here and a certain Jon Walker... who is... there! Over there. Z indicated with the neck of her guitar and all eyes were suddenly on Brendon and Jon. Including Ryan’s. Brendon seriously forgot how to breathe, and shrank a little. This was not what he had expected when Jon had said ‘and some other friends’. He bowed his head, heard some excited and confused shouts of ‘Brendon’ and ‘oh my god, it’s brendon’, and tried to disappear.