Neve

catch me like a cold

At Ryan’s immediate recoil and disdainful, almost sickened scowl, Brendon came to the conclusion that Ryan would really not enjoy the show. Brendon tilted his head and tried to follow his thought process- he had assumed that Ryan was just had a perpetually high sex drive (definitely not a quality he would have pinned on him before their relationship turned this way), but if he didn’t just want to be a part of it, that meant the common denominator here between his jealousy and his anger was that he wanted Brendon, no one else, and he didn’t want anybody else to have Brendon, either. Curious, and somewhat smug, he watched as Ryan stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. He wasn’t fooling Brendon, who knew he had the advantage here. Ryan was the jealous one. I’d rather die, thanks. ”Hey, your loss,” Came Brendon’s reply, and he mockingly mirrored Ryan’s defensive stance. ”He looks great naked.” Okay, unnecessary. But the spitefulness that they hadn’t managed to eradicate between them was still a strong driving force, and admittedly, he enjoyed it when Ryan was so frustrated like this. And Brendon could resolve that or make it worse at his own will.

Their relationship had been a rocky one since they met- first very negative for years, with an undercurrent of something else, then that surfaced for the first time properly, like, a month ago and from that, something they didn’t even know existed reared its head, a softness and a gentleness they would have never anticipated feeling for eachother in a million years. What happened between then, with them calling eachother baby and curling hands around hips and arms around waists and kissing not to start something but just because kissing was nice and the enjoyed being that close to eachother, without all the heat and anger. Brendon imagined that sleeping with Ryan would be angry, some kind of bitter release, and that when they woke up it would be dispassionate and all the want and desire they ever felt for eachother would be fulfilled, and they’d never have to speak of it again. But no. They felt fulfilled, yes, not only physically but emotionally- Brendon’s relaxation that morning and Ryan’s receptiveness to such tender treatment was alien, unexpected, but welcomed with literal and metaphorical open arms. Brendon had been under the impression that maybe, just maybe, their relationship could grow from this mutual vulnerability into something more stable- what had happened? Brendon supposed old habits died hard, because they were back to fighting over stupid shit the same evening after a show.

Now driven again by the bitterness and spite that had been his main driving factor in his relationship with Ryan before all this, Brendon made a stab at him by accusing him of jealousy, possessiveness. He expected a blatant rejection. Yeah. He did not expect that, and his mouth quirked, confused more than anything. Yeah, I do. There was honesty in his tone, and Brendon believed him. He just cynically smiled, not believing that Ryan’s problem was derived from anything but lust and a stupid sense of ownership. ”Would you mind telling me why?” Brendon asked faux-delicately, though it was less of a request and more of a demand in a misleadingly soft, gentle voice. They could have got somewhere, then, but Brendon had to run his big mouth and be all typically vulgar and childish. Ryan wasn’t impressed- he never was. Brendon had given up trying. What makes you so sure he was gonna put out? A pause, and a smirk slowly crept up at the corner of his mouth as he let out a breathy, almost exasperated but pleased exhale, turning around to station himself in front of a mirror and fix his reflection.

His eyes fixed the reflection of Ryan’s in the mirror as he moved his fingers deftly to fix his collar and then straighten himself out fully. ”Have you seen me?” He inquired, cockily raising an eyebrow, and turning around to face Ryan himself rather than his reflection. It was almost alarming to see the cocktail of anger and hurt and jealousy staring him back in person, but if Brendon felt nervous or apprehensive, he didn’t show it. ”Anyway, who said anything about putting out in the first place? You put those words in my mouth. You don’t know what we were going to do. Maybe I’m allowed to make out with people, and it not be a prelude to anything else.” His words were delicate but pointed, and he watched Ryan’s gaze move to the floor. Again, it’s not like you picked the best venue. That only earned him an eye roll- hypocrite. ”I think you’ll recall a few times that we have, Ryan,” He pointed out, exasperated, disappointed but not surprised, ”But, you know, you probably forget. All blends together for you.” Maybe he was showing too much face here, revealing too much about his own problems. So far, most comebacks had been thinly veiled jabs at their own messed-up relationship. If it could be called that at all.

Brendon was tired of Ryan’s judgement, and him acting like he owned the rights to him for some reason, when all he’d done was hate his guts and berate him, but not enough so that an encounter afterwards couldn’t fix that bad blood. He was almost surgical about it. I don’t need to know him. Probably better that way, really. I don’t need to know anyone to know that they’re- Eyes narrowing dangerously, warningly, Brendon dared him to finish that sentence. ...Not supposed to be with you. His fists clenched in frustration and disbelief at his sides, and he turned his eyes skywards to fix on the roof. He held his tongue, though, because Ryan wasn’t finished. Better let him finish before he ripped into him like he wanted to. What happened to us? Am I boring you, or something? Fixing his eyes on Ryan again, he considered his guitarist for a moment, in all his jealousy and entitlement. It could have been so different, yet, here they were.

”There is no us,” He started suddenly, scathingly, ”There is me and there is you and sometimes, we fuck. And, yeah, it’s good. That doesn’t mean there is an us. Nor does it mean that we are exclusive,“ -Brendon glanced towards Ian’s jacket, that he had put back on the couch- ”Or that I am here to relieve your permanent boner whenever you feel like it. I’m a human being, you know, and I know you’re capable of treating me like one.” A pause. The hurt in his voice was starting to show through stronger, the anger and fire slowly draining away. ”You just- you just won’t.” Brendon sighed, looking at his feet. ”You fooled me in Seattle for just a second that you cared about me.”

i wandered through the sunshine

I’ve been spending so much time with Ryan, the extraordinary lead guitarist and lyricist for my band (who also happens to be my boyfriend) and yet I can’t seem to translate any learned literacy into my own work. Though never one confident in his own abilities- or just with himself in general- enough to give himself any credit, the words he manages to write down on paper (Never aloud, he’d never make himself vulnerable that way) are frequently whimsical and complex and genius, though. Maybe I’m biased. It’s hard to pretend that I don’t adore everything about the man I love- because of his flaws, his rough edges, the imperfections that make him perfect, his damned honey eyes. I drink up every lyric he dares to show me, fall in love with the way he half-turns away as I’m reading, sheepish, and feel my heart swell indescribably as I turn him back towards me with a gentle hand on his jaw, and pull him into an embrace, my head buried in his shoulder as his long arms wrap comfortably around my waist. It’s the only reaction he ever needs. If I try to launch off on some pretentious tangent commenting critically on his work, he’d take it personally, especially coming from me. So I express my appreciation through silence and touch, just as he expresses his through the words he scrawls down en masse, covering piles of notebooks that are strewn across his room, open at various pages, a visual picture of his mind. I adore him.

The downside of having such an eloquent and literate boyfriend is that I can’t match his way with words, even if I can imitate it pretty well. I try my hardest, and somehow can’t find a way to convey what I want to. I sometimes want to go to him, ask him how he does it, how he translates his thoughts onto paper with relative ease- but I know Ryan would say something akin to ‘it isn’t easy, it’s difficult, most of my work is terrible, I only show you things after I’ve edited and drafted it like fifty times-’ and I would cut him off, curl my fingers with his to catch his attention before he can wind himself up with his own self-slander, tell him it’s okay; that I just want to know how he comes up with the original line. Entire, made-up conversations have been entertained in my imagination many times, and the Ryan in my head would tell me that it just came to him, he didn’t know how, but it was mostly me that brought it on. Yeah, baby, I made it that far, I’d tell him. Then we’d get distracted, I by his hands strumming absently at the strings of his guitar, him by my smile, flashing effortlessly because when I am around him I don’t have to think of an excuse to do so, and the conversation would effectively be over.

Lost in thought, again, I realise that I’ve been staring at the blank, mocking pages of a notebook, dwindling down to the last sheets from the amount of times I’ve ripped one out and crumpled it up. Glancing at my watch, I curse under me breath. We’ve been living in the same cramped quarters for months now, never more than shouting distance away from eachother, and somehow I am late to meet him outside. Slamming the accursed notebook shut, I stand and push my hair out of my eyes, spinning around on my heels to quickly survey the not-so-organised chaos of my room. I don’t use it much, anymore; most of our time is spent in his bedroom, because, for some reason, the fucker managed to bag the biggest one. I even pulled out the ‘I’m the frontman’ argument (and Jon and Spencer, who had initially been on my side, quickly decided that I no longer deserved it).

For this reason, I have no idea where anything is. My eyes almost skim past a hoodie that is strewn over the unmade sheets, and I dodge dirty laundry to reach out and pick it up, establishing immediately that its Ryan’s, or, well, was. When I pull it over my head, the sleeves are too long, hiding my wrists and the beginnings of my hands, and I roll them, then stoop to pick up my boots from where they were stood against the wall, hopping and trying to keep balance as I pull one on, them the other. Glancing at my watch again, I decide that I have approximately thirty seconds before Ryan comes looking for me, and pull open the door and shut it behind me decisively.

...He’s not in the lounge. Fucker lied- No, wait, he’d never said he was going to be in there, he said he’d be- I click my tongue, disappointed, as if I’ve been beaten in an argument by myself, and head towards the front door, having to forcefully push the handle down as age has stiffened it up almost fully. Stepping outside, it is late, unusually bright afternoon, the sky is a light, icy cornflower, and an unexpectedly chilling breeze sweeps into me as I exhale and my breath spirals off into the air. Hugging the hoodie closer to my body, I stamp my feet on the ground and glance towards the lakeshore reflexively, the wind wrenching locks of my hair from their natural position and hanging them untidily across my face, so I squint and I recognise Ryan’s form, hunched over, undoubtedly focused on some notebook, in an instant.

We’re all so busy these days that Ryan and I have resorted to scheduling time in which to enjoy solely eachother’s company. Most of the time the band spends working together, writing and recording what we can before Spencer accuses me of being ‘too distracting’ (not my fault Ryan is weak and has an even worse attention span than me), and I am kicked out. Another large portion of the time we spend alone, conjuring up individual ideas to bring to those sessions. The rest of my time I spend vying for Ryan’s attention just as Ryan spends it vying for mine.

Stopping beside him, I immediately lower myself into the ground and draw myself close to his side, enamoured suddenly by memories of that fateful night by the lakeshore where I told ryan that I loved him. The connotations from that are so strong that I know that for as long as I live, no matter what happens, if I ever return here, I will be floored by the lingering sense of intensity and raw emotion. Closing my eyes, I exhale again, suppressing a shiver. I’m cold, but I say nothing.

”You should’ve brought your jacket,” He says, lifting his head up from where he was concentrating on some line or other and shutting it with one hand, setting it down on the ground beside him.

”I did,” I protest, waving my now fully unrolled sleeve in front of his face to make my point.

”That’s mine,” Ryan replies, and I grin. He is now fully focused on me, regarding me with wide, warm eyes and a soft smile. We fall into place automatically, one of my hands finding its place with fingers curled into the steadily growing curls of his hair, the other against his waist. I feel his feather fingers at the back of my neck and at my own waist and we both draw eachother in, meet in the middle in a simple, gentle kiss. His hands feel like home.

Straight ahead are treetops, leaning over the lake and beyond, for as far as I can see, an ocean of leaves and branches in which I wouldn’t be able to drown even if I tried to. Maybe if I get irremediably lost in the mountains, a wood nymph will take pity on me and pull me into a tree to live there forever. It’s cold, dry, late evening, and when I look up, the impressiveness of the streaks of orange and pink and gold take my breath away for a second before I look to my side at that familiar spot and there is nobody there to catch the horizon, nobody there who was always so much kinder on my eyes.

A slight breeze makes me shiver, and I catch myself wishing I’d brought a jacket with me. I told you to bring your jacket, He would say, if I complained about being cold- of course my jacket, of course not his, we aren’t together anymore, and it’s not like I still have hold of a few of his hoodies that smell like him and I just can’t bring himself to take them back and have to face him, look him in the eye, because I know I’d become overwhelmed just as I am now, by the intense nostalgia and painful reminiscent memories that flood my mind as I stand here, a few feet back from the shore, staring at the water. I’m not allowed to be sad, to be in pain about it. I broke up with him, not the other way around- it was my decision- and yet, here I am, having returned to the place it all began in an effort to accept my past and therefore be able to move on with it, finally.

For a while, I’d been thinking- I can now hear Ryan’s name without feeling sick and guilty. I can now think about him without feeling an empty pain and longing, or a lonely hand by my side with no other hand to hold. I’d been focusing on getting a new band together- after our split, the band split also, Spencer and I soldiering on and continuing with the name and Ryan and Jon going off on other ventures that I couldn’t allow myself to be interested in. Last I’d heard, everything was at a standstill for them, content was dry and infrequent- that was until about a week ago, when I was sent the same fucking soundcloud link by dozens of fans until I caved and followed it. When Ryan’s name flashed before me on my phone screen, my stomach flipped over, and then my whole body stiffened when I read the title of the song. If I knew what was good for me, I’d close it, not bother listening, I’d come too far to just regress into sadness that I brought upon myself to begin with anyway.

But I’ve never had any impulse control, and nobody was around to stop me, so I pressed play and felt myself unravel. His voice was always so beautiful, but, more important than that- the lyrics themselves, so blindingly obvious and heavy-handed about the subject matter, made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut and winded. I found myself blinking furiously, Ryan’s voice resounding deep in my bones, creeping into the marrow along with the guilt I’ve been carrying around with me for months.

I’m back in the present, and blinking furiously again at the ground, trying to gain control of my breathing. I stop blinking, letting my eyes dry out before welling up, because my body knows how to take care of myself better than my brain does. I feel the tears in my eyes, let them overflow and run down my cheeks. Some of them drip off my face, landing on my clothes. One lands on my hand, warm for a second before turning ice cold. I don’t bother to look. Don’t wipe them away, either; they can stay where they are. Dry out where they fell.

Lonely moonlight. Fuck, what about the guilty sunshine? I have been wrestling with my guilty and remorseful consciousness since the breakup, a breakup I still can’t justify, having gotten over my initial panic about the weight of commitment. Ryan, clearly, if judged by this recent song, had not. As I listened to Ryan’s voice come softly through my headphones, declaring that someone he loved someone else, I wondered- who did he think I was in love with? My eyes turn upwards from the ground to the horizon and then I turn slowly, resignedly, back to face the cabin, clenching my shaw and shivering from the cold. Upon hearing that single, I felt the need for closure. I thought that coming back here would allow me to accept the past and move on. Instead, I feel the ghosts of his hands at my hips, his lips at my jaw, my cheek, my temple, the corner of my mouth. I feel him hook me in and dig his claws in from hundreds of miles away. He may have left my life, but he stubbornly clings onto my heart, and as I walk back towards the cabin, I wonder if I’ll ever get chance to tell him I’m sorry that the end of our love story wasn’t as picturesque and fairytale as the start. If I meet his eyes again, he’ll know.

...I’ve never been a patient man. Who knows when, or if, I’ll get a chance to even see Ryan again in passing, never mind approach him and apologise and ask him about this song, this beautiful, painful song that makes me ache because I was the one who caused the hurt to show obviously through his translucent, soft voice. I head back inside, the cold having chilled by bones but the sun conversely warming my skin, reminding me of gentle touches, kisses, warm embraces- things I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Maybe the reason I found it difficult to start dating or even feel something for anyone else was because I was too busy being his to fall for someone new- no, that was jumping the gun, I broke up with him, it’s final, not going to change.

Still, I have to say something, even though I don’t know whether it will just make things worse. We had, surprisingly, spoken since the breakup; mostly about picking up things, the issue about the band name, talking casually but all strained and awkward about music and how hard it was to find good producers. That’s it. When I scrolled up too far back, and I started seeing the messages sent between two people in love, not two people both unwilling to let go of the other from their lives. I spent the whole following afternoon deleting them all, removing the evidence it ever existed. Any pictures, though- no, I wasn’t going to delete those. Maybe there would come a time where I could say ‘this was me with my friend, Ryan’. Not ‘ex-boyfriend’. Maybe.

I’m at an impasse, standing in the hallway of the cabin when I shut the door behind me and debating which room to head into. I take a step automatically in the direction of Ryan’s, then check myself, turn, and head towards my own. It’s been used by so many other people since I last came here, and it is strange to see the room so empty and bare, the bed made and everything pristine, if a little dated. Trudging across the wooden floorboards, I sit down at the end of the bed, feeling the mattress depress, and I find Ryan in my contacts, now saved simply by his full name. Too formal. Unnatural. I swallow any emotion threatening to throw off the steadiness of my hand and I type out a message.

Hey.

Too ominous, I have to follow it up.

I heard your new song. I bite my lip, hard, and continue with, It’s great. Your voice sounds so different. Beautiful, harrowing, heartbreaking. I have too many words to say and no guts to say them.

Hit pretty hard, I gotta admit.

nothing friendly at all

Brendon wasn’t sure exactly what happened between now and last night that allowed him to not just tolerate Ryan’s presence, but in fact enjoy being this close to him, but he wasn’t complaining. Well. The obvious answer to that question was staring him right in the face- they’d slept together, maybe they were still basking in the afterglow, too relaxed and satisfied to go at eachother’s throats right away- but for some reason, he couldn’t put it just down to that, Brendon had slept with a good number of different people and that didn’t make him want to spend the entire day in bed with them just lounging around, all gentle touches and languid stretches- Ryan had done that to him, and it was even more bizarre than it would be with some stranger because he hated Ryan. Or so he told himself. Thinking about it now, pressed against Ryan’s back and then pulling away slightly to entertain himself by dragging his blunt nails gently down the sensitive, sore skin, trying to coax a reaction, he couldn’t even bring himself to hate him then. Usually, just his name set Brendon off, ruined his mood. Now, curled up against him in the strange hotel limbo, all he felt was a rush of unfamiliar affection.

It was unusual, but not in a bad way- strange, but not uncomfortable, and when he let his hands uncurl from claws and flatten against the small of his back, and moved them along to hold tight onto his hips, the low, gentle sound that Ryan made had Brendon’s eyelashes fluttering, trying to dispel distracting images and sounds from the night previous. Embarassing. You’re corny as fuck. Was Ryan- laughing at him? Brendon, not wanting a bruised ego and definitely not prepared to take any shit (however serious or lightheaded it was in nature) from Ryan of all people, clenched his jaw, prepared to argue- you can’t call me corny, you flew across the country to tell me you wanted me, or don’t take that tone with me, I literally sucked tour dick and don’t deserve this kind of treatment. Thankfully, before he could launch into some bitter tangent, Ryan’s genuine, soft laughter lulled him away from the temptation of jumping the gun and to conclusions. This was helped by Ryan’s long fingers toying absently in his hair- Brendon found it difficult to be mad when Ryan was treating him with such gentleness. It was alien, and wonderful, and Brendon decided he never really wanted to leave Seattle, this hotel room, Ryan’s side. Though maybe that was just momentary, whimsical fantasy.

When Ryan flipped them into a position where he could straddle Brendon in order to keep him restrained, he was disappointed, because though it was a similar picture to the one featuring in the permanent montage of images flashing through his mind, this recreation was chaste, though not exactly innocent, and the fact that Ryan had his phone in one hand and was now talking to Keltie was a real mood-killer. It got even worse when the pet name that Ryan used for his girlfriend (ex-girlfriend? The lines were so blurred that Brendon had stopped bothering to keep up until now, where it was very important)- Brendon had bit down hard on his lip until it bled and then let his lips part with something akin to surprise, even betrayal, even though he knew Ryan didn’t owe him anything- he just felt cheap and dirty trapped beneath someone potentially about to rekindle a relationship with someone else in the same breath that he’d laughed at Brendon with gentle amusement, exhaled a satisfied sigh at his touch. He wasn’t saying that he wanted to be in a relationship with Ryan, or anything. But it stung, and obviously it showed on his face, because Ryan was drawing his thumb reassuringly across Brendon’s chest as if to try and soothe the hurt, lessen the blow. He remained this sullen until the first signs showed that Ryan didn’t intend to keep going with Keltie.

Typically, Brendon went from cold to hot in a matter of seconds- his mood tended to change as unpredictably as the weather, and sometimes just as harshly. He felt comfortable enough to comment about how this method of breaking up with someone was thoughtless and distant, leaving no room for genuine conversation, just causing hurt and confusion for the other party. Brendon honestly couldn’t bring himself to care. It just meant he got Ryan all to himself, at least for a little while, and he didn’t have to worry about being called a homewrecker. Ryan and Keltie’s relationship had been on the way out anyway, he told himself. He was in the clear. He continued to be irritating, egged on the more Ryan sent him silent but genuine threats, intending to speak even louder but cut off when Ryan wisely moved a hand to clamp over his mouth. Brendon’s eyebrows shot up but he stilled, made placid by the silencing gesture. Not for long, though- Ryan only covered his mouth for a second and when he pulled his hand away, Brendon sprung back into action, hand searching for the sharp angle of his hip and the other folded comfortably behind his head, fingers toying with his own hair. Unfurling that arm after a moment, he half-heartedly swiped for Ryan’s phone in vain.

Brendon swatted out randomly in the hope to grab on to Ryan’s phone again, but failed, his coordination apparently completely off. Fuck off. ”Fuck you,” He replied lazily. How was Ryan besting him here? He’d drunk so much last night he was probably still intoxicated right now- he questioned his sobriety himself. Well, James Blake seemingly raised a quitter, and Brendon dropped his arms back down, defeated, but returning Ryan’s grin as he watched him bring his phone back to his ear and uncover the receiver. I'm in Seattle, in a hotel. No - don't come, just. ”’Cause he has sex hair, god, what a mess,” Brendon piped up helpfully, his voice raising towards the end of his sentence. Ryan soldiered on. We can talk more in person later, but I know you're done with this, we've been practically done for months, so. I'm sorry. Brendon, ever the supportive type, just mouthed a cynical ‘no you’re not’, quirking his mouth up at the corner and breathing out a laugh as Ryan covered the receiver yet again.

This happens, like, every night. Brendon winced and whistled, turning that over in his mind, feeling a rare rush of sympathy. But mostly amusement at Ryan’s misfortune. ”I don’t get why you didn’t just break it off earlier,” He admitted, mostly as an afterthought- Ryan had said himself that they’d practically been done for months. Why stay in a joyless relationship? Brendon smiled cynically to himself, as if he knew he’d be eating his words sometime in the future. Wanna order room service? My treat. Was that even a question? Brendon propped himself up on his elbows and arched himself up a little so he could plant a few aimed kisses at the junction between Ryan’s neck and jawbone. ”Thought you’d never ask, baby.” Uh-Oh. That was meant to stay private, in his head. Panic alarm going off, Brendon stumbled on, drawing Ryan closer by the back of his neck, fingers curling gently in the longer locks of his hair as he spoke softly into his ear. ”Though I did already have breakfast planned.”

catch me like a cold

Brendon remembered the morning after they’d first slept together as well as the night itself- he remembered waking up to a room bathed in light slicing in through the open blinds, pressing himself flush against Ryan’s warm, scratched-up skin, wrapping his arms comfortably around him and trailing kisses wherever he could reach. He remembered watching as Ryan called Keltie, remembered blinking up at him, amused, as he tried to break up with her over the phone as Brendon was being as distracting as humanly possible. He remembered them both trying and failing to shift and stand up- Ryan’s hips were sore and his back was stinging, Brendon was aching all over and even sitting made his body protest. He remembered spending the entire subsequent day curled up together in bed, all hatred somehow dilapidated for those brief, sunshine-y hours, a tantalising glimpse into what could have been if they’d just tried a little harder to make it work. But no- after the famed show that night in Seattle, they got into an argument about guitar straps and regressed back to their usual antagonistic relationship. The difference this time was that, instead of settling it with a shouting match and then trying to ignore eachother for the next 24 hours, they slept together, funnelling the angry energy into some kind of remaining wanton. Brendon had been sure that one night was all he needed, then he could stop thinking about it. Apparently not.

And so they settled into that routine again, all thoughts of soft kisses and touches and gentle caresses in a bed that wasn’t theirs forgotten, left discarded and shut away in a bed in a three star hotel somewhere in Seattle. Nothing of that remained- their subsequent frequent sexual encounters were coarse and tense and mindless, and they remained that way for most of a month, until their ‘sessions’ almost dropped out of fashion in a way and Brendon was ignoring every pass that Ryan made, almost in an effort to fix himself from feeling so- well, expendable. Ryan might have been possessive, the bruises and the bites were evidence of that, but that didn’t mean Brendon felt desired. He felt like Ryan’s dirty little secret- maybe the feeling was mutual, who knew, but he found eventually that he didn’t like it, he wanted their kind of physical and intimate connection along with an emotional one, an actual caring relationship, someone he could call a lover, not someone who wasn’t even his friend. They were enemies with benefits, rivals who regularly fucked to relieve tension, satisfy, whatever; nothing more. That could be different. But it wasn’t. So when Brendon met Ian and they hit it off and by the end of the night they were kissing, and it felt good, not just in a physical way, but it was actually nice, Brendon didn’t think of Ryan at all.

He felt no guilt when he faced Ryan then, either, just exasperation. He was wary, sure- Brendon knew from experience that Ryan was more than capable of physically moving or overpowering him, and there was a chance that would happen if he or Ian made the wrong move or said the wrong thing- but overall, he just wished that maybe Ryan had gone out with Spencer and Jon, or maybe stayed wherever he was, probably at some hipster cafe somewhere, drinking coffee alone and stealing the wifi so he could passive aggressively tweet and write down little snippets of lyric ideas that he came up with on the spot. Brendon was surprised with himself for a moment, how he conjured up that perfectly accurate picture without even thinking about it too hard. Brendon defiantly met Ryan’s glare for as long as it took for Ian to move and wind an arm around him comfortably, and then his attention shifted to his favoured companion, as they agreed that maybe him being there wasn’t exactly the best thing for any of them right now. Ryan looked smug as he left- Brendon wanted to wipe it off his face. Maybe Ryan won the battle, but Brendon knew he would win the war.

There was a brief, tense period of silence between them, and Brendon knew what they’d be doing usually, but somehow he felt that wasn’t going to happen in this situation, if Ryan really was as pissed as he seemed. A shame, really- Ryan had ruined his chances for the night elsewhere. Brendon blinked and raised his eyebrows as Ryan laughed, a harsh, short sound. My fucking problem is that anyone could have walked in. He rolled his eyes, thinking back to all of the times that they had done exactly the same on the bus, and how Ryan had no such concerns then, when it was him with Brendon in his lap and Brendon’s mouth on his. ”Oh, please,” He replied scornfully, ”Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have enjoyed the show.” Quirking an eyebrow slightly, trying to regain some footing in a situation that was quickly slipping out of Ryan’s control. Ryan, who seemed less sure of his own reaction with every passing second. ”Besides, we weren’t even doing anything. Just kissing. You got a problem with me kissing other men, Ryan?” Of course he did, that was a rhetorical question. Brendon’s mouth was parted, he was still trying to repay the oxygen debt from when he’d been, admittedly, kissing Ian breathless.

You’re being an inconsiderate asshole. ”And you’re being a cockblock, what gives?” Brendon turned, evidently bored of him, and glanced at the couch where Ian had shrugged off his jacket. He’d left it there, evidently forgotten in his rush to get away from this awkward situation. Brendon moved over and bent to pick it up, folding it over his arm and then crossing the floor towards a crookedly fixed mirror so he could examine his reflection, fix his appearance, run a hand through his dishevelled hair, study his growing number of visible hickeys and consider his own reddened lips. He tried to imagine exactly how Ryan was feeling, how it had been someone else to do this instead of him. What, everytime you reject me lately you’re going to that asshole? What is it? Enlighten me. Brendon huffed, turned around. ”Yeah. I have. If you have a problem with that, please, by all means, let me know. But I have been going to him. He’s good. And- give him a break, you don’t even know the guy.”

nothing friendly at all

When Brendon wrapped himself comfortably around Ryan’s back and saw that he was trying to call Keltie, he did wonder what the intentions were there- an apology for leaving the birthday party that she had thrown for him, an attempt to start patching up an increasingly unstable and flawed relationship? Brendon exhaled cynically, supposing any relationship was more functional than the one he and Ryan shared. Still, he remembered their conversation about Keltie last night, before the quick and sudden escalation that lead them to being side by side in bed this morning. He secretly hoped that Ryan was calling Keltie to break it off with her, try and make this whole thing a little less morally ambiguous. Brendon remained with his chest flush to Ryan’s back for a few moments, saying nothing, just staring at the phone in Ryan’s hands and eventually deciding to greet him in a way that could be either teasing or antagonistic. Ryan apparently didn’t take it either way. Shouldn’t I be saying that to you. Brendon noticed it was more of a statement than a question, so he didn’t respond immediately (he couldn’t find a response anyway), just grinned almost sheepishly, dumbfounded, not at all expecting that kind of reaction. “I dunno, should you? Your call. I’m the princess here.”

Brendon hooked his chin on Ryan’s shoulder and finally expressed an interest in who he was calling and why he was calling them. He hoped Ryan thought carefully- the wrong answer here could get him physically shoved off the bed and smothered with a pillow. And he’d be telling Keltie exactly what happened himself. Ryan didn’t reply, though, because as Brendon found himself unable to keep his mouth away from his skin, Ryan’s breath hitched audibly and he dropped his phone, goals apparently momentarily forgotten. Good. Brendon hoped to distract him enough that he didn’t make the call entirely, still apprehensive about what he was calling for. Not like I had much of a choice. Brendon exhaled upon hearing Ryan’s breathy voice, suddenly motivated and excited by his tone, his muscles tensing to hold him tighter as he listened. I didn’t realise you had fucking claws. Brendon, listening intently, all but growled delicately into his shoulder and then drew back, hands sliding from Ryan’s chest, under his arms and up his back to rest at his shoulders, where he positioned his hands to drag his nails lightly down his back, teasing more than anything, resting his forehead against the back of Ryan’s neck. ”You asked me to,” He mumbled, hands unfurling at the base of his spine and moving back under his arms to wrap around his waist. ”And, besides. I think you bring out the animal in me.”

He was allowed to be cliche, because nothing about their relationship was normal. Brendon pressed decisive kisses up along his neck and watched with one eye as Ryan called Keltie yet again just as he curled his fingers through Brendon’s hair. Turned out his plan hadn’t worked, he was still dead set on reaching his- girlfriend? Technically? Had Ryan technically cheated? Did it count? It was morally ambiguous at best, straight up betrayal at worst. Brendon didn’t really care enough to be concerned- it was Ryan who had strings attached elsewhere. He didn’t. Brendon wasn’t guilty, as far as he was concerned. Still, he dryly suggested that Ryan’s heart still lay with Keltie, and Ryan twisted to look at him, almost confrontional, as if he had something to say. Brendon had pulled his head back, levelled his gaze challengingly, waiting. But nothing came, and Brendon huffed out another passive aggressive insult. This was apparently Ryan’s tipping point, because he immediately turned around like he was set on a hair trigger, not giving Brendon enough time to react to and resist Ryan moving over him, straddling his hips not suggestively but more as a restraint. Brendon struggled in vain, went to try and sit up but was stopped by the forceful hand against his chest. If you don’t shut the fuck up-

Brendon was about to ask him what, demand to know what he was going to do about it, but then- Keltie, baby, good morning. Ouch. Brendon physically felt the sting, like he’d been slapped in the face- that sweet tone, that sickly use of baby after demanding Brendon’s silence- Brendon’s jaw hung open, shocked by the way he addressed Keltie, his only basis of how their relationship was going from last night, where Ryan had just complained. Suddenly, he was nervous that he really was going to try and make amends, patch things up. Brendon tried not to let it show on his face, but he stilled, obviously sulking and looking up at Ryan like a kicked puppy, meeting his eyes with some defiance. If Ryan really was about to kick him to the curb after what happened last night, he didn’t want to be here when he did. Yeah, I - listen, Kelts, I had to leave early, we have this show in Seattle, I should've said something, I know. Brendon snorted. So did Spencer, and he didn’t leave, did Ryan think Keltie was an idiot? Or did he just not care if his story checked out, because what he was actually doing was that unbelievable? Brendon wondered what Ryan had told Keltie about him, and started to chew on his lip, becoming bored by their domestic exchange. Keltie didn’t sound happy.

Just, for the past few months, we haven't been our best, and. Oh, fuck. Ryan really was breaking up with her over the phone. Brendon smirked up at him, no sympathy for neither him nor Keltie. Dickhead, he mouthed, starting to busy himself with idle thoughts about how they’d spend the rest of their morning. He shifted, then winced- maybe not. Last night... I appreciate it, you know, but it was so far off base, I feel like... Brendon was laughing, not trying to silence himself, one arm folded behind his head, the other teaching out over Ryan’s shoulder and tracing over the scratches on Ryan’s back. ”I appreciated last night, too,” He piped up. Inconsiderate. That was the final straw, you know? I feel like we're both- over it. Brendon moved the hand on Ryan’s back down to curl around one of his hips, distracted from their ridiculous phone conversation. Even so, he heard Keltie’s response, and raised his eyebrows, watching as Ryan helplessly covered the receiver. “Go on, player, tell her where you are,” He said in a lilting voice, nails digging into his hipbone. ”I’ll tell her if you want.” He made a reach for the phone. Am I still drunk? What the fuck. Brendon shrugged, moving both of his arms to raise above his head as he stretched out lithely, evidently above all of this. ”Maybe. Let me talk to her,” He demanded again, going to swipe his phone.

nothing friendly at all

As Brendon slowly came to, the light from the blinds they’d not thought to shut streaming through the window dragging him kicking and screaming into consciousness, it initially took him some time to figure out exactly where he was. He registered he was in a bed, it wasn’t his bunk, and it was too big to be his own bed. For a few moments as he struggled to get used to the light, he wondered whether it was somebody else’s bed, but he didn’t remember going out last night, didn’t remember meeting anybody- and usually he did. He’d always forget the night and remember the people. Brendon sighed and turned over, burying his face into the rough pillowcase and inhaling slowly, willing himself to go back to sleep after he decided that where he was and who or who he wasn’t with wasn’t really important. Unfortunately, he was awake now it was light, and he couldn’t sleep unless there was total darkness. To achieve that, he’d have to stand up and cross the room to close the blinds, and by then he’d be up and there’s be no point going back to bed. Mulling this over in his head, he forgot to care that he had no idea where he was, and didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone.

He wasn’t alone. Brendon felt the presence of somebody beside him, and apprehensively turned his head to the side where it was shoved into the pillow, wincing to try and shield himself from the knowledge of who it was that was in bed next to him. Brendon blinked open his eyes reluctantly and saw- an arm, a side, a waist. Whoever it was, they were sat up and leaning against the headboard, a pillow shoved between their back and the wood to prop them up. Remarkably calm for such a disorientating situation coupled with a background, full headache, Brendon slowly let his gaze travel up from the person’s waist, to their arms, shoulders, neck. He registered the fresh bruises splashed sparsely on his skin and suddenly was hit with a rush of memory- making those marks himself on somebody he actually didn’t really want to associate with. Brendon had a sick feeling in his stomach that he already knew where he was, and who he was with- he just didn’t want to admit it to himself, didn’t want it all to be real, didn’t want anyone being able to ever say that happened.

But it did, and Ryan was sat next to him in the unsteady bed of Brendon’s hotel room, and all he could do was internally groan, frozen watching Ryan calibrate himself. His hair was messy and Brendon watched as he ran a hand through it, stayed still as Ryan appeared to reach to his side’s dresser and pick up his phone, stare at it for a few seconds before he shifted away and from the headboard and half-turned away from Brendon. He would have been offended, but a) Ryan didn’t know he was awake, presumably, and b) it meant he could see the red scratches decorating his back, from his shoulder blades down to just above his waistline. Brendon’s fists curled and his fingers twitched as he tried to suppress memories of the exact circumstances in which Brendon gave him those scratches. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, though, as Ryan’s muscles stretched and shifted under his skin, pulling it taut as he seemed to stretch, sigh, prepare himself for- something. Brendon still had half of his face shoved in a pillow and one eye on Ryan, so he saw him on his phone, dialling a number, even from this angle. He waited until the first ring to finally decide that he should sit up and let his consciousness be known.

Even then, though, he waited, counting the rings and clicking his tongue when whoever Ryan was trying to call went to voicemail. After watching Ryan curse and go to try again, he finally shifted over, moving delicately to trace a hand barely along the scratches on Ryan’s back, trailing up to his shoulder. He then pressed his chest against Ryan’s back and dug both of his hands mildly into his hips, looking over his shoulder at his phone. Keltie, read the name, and Brendon smirked, hooking his chin in Ryan’s shoulder and moving his arms to wrap loosely around his waist, palms flat against his skin. It seemed gentle, but there was nothing tender about it- Brendon’s neck and mouth were stinging, his touch more a reminder of what they’d done than any show of affection. ”Morning, tightass,” He chided, speaking into his shoulder, concealing a smug half-smile by burying it against Ryan’s skin. ”What are you doing? Feeling a little delicate?” Brendon punctuated his teasing greeting with a small bite to the join between his collarbones and his neck. ”Didn’t forget about me, did you?”

Brendon remained how he was, limbs wrapped around Ryan and chest pressed against his back, wondering how exactly they’d gone from Ryan turning up on his doorstep and raising his minifridge to them waking up together with bruises and scratches and a plethora of memories and imagesI they’d probably both be much better off just shutting out and forgetting. Brendon wondered whether they’d just go on as normal, confrontational and cruel and dysfunctional as ever. That would probably be the best idea. Maybe Ryan should have upped and left by now, if they really wanted to change, but from what Brendon could gather, he’d only just woken up himself. Brendon trailed kisses him along his neck to his jaw as Ryan brought his phone to his ear again, having dialed Keltie. ”Rude,” He remarked after a second, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then the top of his spine. ”You wake up and you think about her. Flattering.” Again, Brendon has no intention of being gentle- he was just tired, having still only just woken up, and he was cold, and Ryan was warm, his skin somehow radiating heat. ”Are you gonna tell her you prefer sleeping with the person you hate the most rather than her?” A pause, and he moved in close to his ear. ”Some boyfriend.”

catch me like a cold

Brendon would have never in a million years pinned Ryan as being possessive in anyway. He tried not to care or notice, but he was unfortunately around his guitarist and several of his admittedly long string of girlfriends enough to know that, in a typical relationship, Ryan didn’t have a possessive bone in his body, he was relatively relaxed about it. Brendon often thought back to their conversation on the night of Ryan’s birthday party- how Keltie looked at him more like a rare caged bird than a human, and how the awe that she and other girlfriends regarded him with made him feel better about himself. Brendon, on the other hand, saw him for what he was- when he’d hated Ryan the entire time he’d known him, it was hard to look at him through the rose-coloured glasses that everyone else seemed to. He was childish, selfish, insecure and yet somehow had an ego more than capable of being bruised, and he was spiteful, having been the one who had started this whole mutual hatred thing in the first place. Ryan was human, not some fascinating zoo animal, and maybe because Ryan knew that Brendon wasn’t completely smitten with him was why he was so possessive and intense.

Ryan thought he didn’t notice- he did. But it wasn’t like he really minded. The bruises pressed and bitten across his collarbones, neck and throat could be covered with makeup- luckily they always had it on hand for shows- and as for Ryan leering at anyone who even dared look Brendon’s way, clearly interested, Brendon shrugged that off, to. For the better part of a month, he’d been fine with their- unspoken arrangement, whatever. Everything was the same- they still argued viciously, albeit a little less; they just had another way of resolving any issues that arose. He had no desire or intention to be with anyone else in that way. What he and Ryan had going on- he liked to put it down to convenient opportunism, paired with the fact that they were both tragically atttacted to eachother and had been pretty much since they met, even considering the immediate conflict that arose between them. Two relationships existed in parallel- the dominant one, fuelled by mutual hatred, and then a subtextual one they’d only managed to address a month ago, with the failing of Ryan’s relationship with Keltie. Brendon wondered whether Ryan regretted it, wished he’d tried to make it work with Keltie- then he decided he didn’t care.

Eventually, though, he stopped being so readily available, started actively dodging and rejecting any passes that Ryan made at him, at first pretending he didn’t notice and later straight-up denying any propositions Ryan offered his way. It was amusing, really- he tried so hard to seem above it all, shrug it off like it was Brendon’s loss, and yet he tended to disappear more often, sulking somewhere Brendon couldn’t see. He couldn’t see, but he knew. And Ryan couldn’t stay out forever- Brendon, Spencer and Jon would be chilling on the bus and Ryan would walk on, Brendon would look innocently his way as Ryan avoided looking at him, Jon would invite Ryan to hang with them but he’d manage out a sullen ‘okay’ and sit at the edge of the couch as far away from Brendon as possible. Other days, he’d reject the invite entirely and retreat to his bunk at, like, eight pm. Brendon tried desperately not to laugh. The inner arch enemy in him found satisfaction in keeping him hanging like that, clearly bothered and too proud to admit it. At this point, too, he had met someone else one night that the three of them (Ryan naturally not included) had gone out, this guitarist called Ian, and Brendon had been talking about him loudly when they got back to the bus, hoping Ryan was still awake to heat him gush about some other guy.

Soon, though, if was less about making Ryan jealous, more that he actually liked this Ian guy, they hit it off really well, Ian didn’t instantly hate his guts. They weren’t official yet, per say, since it had been such a brief time, but Brendon felt strongly enough to want to bring him back to the tour bus to kind of solidify his presence among them for the time being. They’d picked a bad time, though, apparently, and the bus was empty. Brendon paused in the doorway, and then suggested to Ian that they stay anyway, wait for them to get back. Fast forward again, and they were passing the time as well as the situation allowed. Brendon kind of forgot about Ryan, and the fact that maybe he wouldn’t have gone out with Spencer and Jon, he’d instead be sulking at some cafe and stealing their wifi for as much time as possible before he had to go back. Brendon had no idea what the time was when he heard the tour bus door open, but he registered immediately that it definitely wasn’t going to be Spencer or Jon, it couldn’t be that late and they usually didn’t come back til early morning. The driver had probably gone too, so- it was Ryan. Sighing inwardly, he half-shifted off Ian’s lap and turned, meeting his eyes, a little alarmed even though he knew it was going to be Ryan standing there.

He did not look happy. Brendon bit his lip to hold back a smirk, and to stop himself saying something unwise. Yeah, you fucking can. Brendon sucked in a breath, a little taken aback by his immediate aggression, and he shifted fully off Ian to sit beside him, one arm wrapped around the back of the couch, hand resting on Ian’s far shoulder, and the other raising to absently stroke through his own hair. ”Calm down, Princess,” He said, mock-soothingly, retracting both his arms to fold loosely across his chest, all relaxed and innocent. He did tense a little when Ryan stepped forwards, kind of apprehensive of how exactly Ryan’s anger would unfold, but quickly relaxed again, keeping an eye on where his hands were buried in his pockets. He glanced at Ian quickly- Ian, who looked incredibly confused and wary, having shifted and moved quickly to fix his disheveled appearance. Ian turned his head and met Brendon’s gaze. Brendon offered him a relaxed shrug, as if to say, it’s okay. I’ll handle this, it’s fine. He’d mentioned Ryan before, but he felt obliged to do introductions- he opened his mouth, but Ryan interrupted before he could speak.

Who is this? Funny he should ask. Brendon cleared his throat. ”Ryan, this is Ian. Ian- this is Ryan.” Reminiscent of Brendon’s first meeting with Keltie. Brendon caught Ryan’s eye, hoped he got the reference. Ian seemed to recognise Brendon’s tone of voice and looked at Ryan, openly judgemental, and with recognition. Brendon stood up and took a step closer to Ryan, challenging. He saw Ian stand up too in his peripheral, a pressing his shoulder against Brendon’s from just behind him. It's generally agreed upon that we being our cheap fucks to hotels. It's just more considerate that way, yeah? Offering only a shrug, Brendon turned his head to look at Ian, who had wrapped an arm around his waist innocently. ”Who said anything about cheap?” He remarked, quirking an eyebrow at Ryan and flashing him a grin. This only earned him Ryan stepping closer again, this time directing veiled threats in Ian’s direction. Feel free to get the hell out. Brendon, we need to talk.

Feeling Ian’s grip loosen at his waist, Brendon clicked his tongue, wondering whether he really wanted to have to deal with Ryan being all pissy at him by himself- but what he did know was that their night was ruined anyway, and he didn’t want Ian to be dragged into their messy feud. B, I’ll leave, if- Brendon looked from Ryan to Ian and then back to Ryan, and then he nodded reluctantly. ”Okay, babe, call me.” He said finally, turning his back smartly towards Ryan as he leaned up to kiss Ian, finding and squeezing his hand apologetically before he stepped back and regarded Ryan, exasperated and apprehensive. Great, now he’d have to deal with this jealous idiot by himself. Ian weaved cautiously past Ryan, not saying a word, and both of them were silent until the door shut on Ian’s way out. Brendon dragged his hands through his messy hair before he stepped back, lifted the hem of his shirt up to wipe his face and then folded his arms across his chest, defensive. ”What’s your fuckin’ problem, huh? Can’t stand missing out?”

i sit around and want you

The initial moment where he had seen Ryan illuminated in purple on the stage had drugged Brendon with a confusing cocktail of emotions, recognition and heartache, shock and resounding fondness that apparently never went away. Maybe it’s because Ryan left him high and dry, no time to recondition themselves from romantic to platonic and repair their (needlessly, in Brendon’s opinion) fractured relationship. Ryan had just disappeared from his life leaving no sign he was ever there in the first place except the shattered state of Brendon’s heart and that damn engagement ring that he loathed with a passion but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of, so he kept it shoved and hidden at the bottom of a drawer and tried to keep it out of sight, out of mind and out of his heart. Now, when he set eyes on this apparently upgraded Ryan for the first time in a decade, his heart still fluttered like it did when he looked upon a lover, his chest tightened and his features, though initially the picture of surprise, softened for a few moments right until Ryan looked his way and suddenly he was out of the brief moments where he could pretend that ten years hadn’t passed, they were still engaged, Brendon was just watching his fiancé perform on stage.

Ryan looked at him, and that desperately hopeful mirage had fallen away to ashes, leaving Brendon winded, looking at the man who had broken his heart and never even seemed to care that much when he did. It was like the moment before a tsunami- the waves drew back and all Brendon saw was the sand, the long beach of affection and love they had once shown eachother. It blindsided him. Then, though, all the anguish and shock and grief of their sudden and unprecedented breakup swept him up in a crushing wave and he barely knew what to do with himself, struggling to breathe as the full force of the emotions he felt ten years ago when Ryan almost nonchalantly told him that their engagement was off hit him with just as much power, like it was yesterday. Brendon felt sick, and as well as that he felt anxious when he realised he was being slowly recognised in a ripple of murmurs amongst the modest crowd, and his throat started to close up. He was moments away from bolting, but Jon’s steadfast presence beside him as well as how frozen he felt by Ryan’s gaze on him kept him in place, struggling to regulate his breathing and hearing his own pulse thumping. He’d just wait until this song was over, and then during the applause he could sneak out, maybe curse Jon out for leaving out a very important detail about this evening and never accept his invite anywhere ever again.

The song ended, though, a love song written by Ryan that wasn’t about him that made Brendon feel sick to his stomach and completely undesirable, and the man himself was walking through the crowd heading right towards him. Huh. This was his worst nightmare come alive. Brendon closed his eyes, counted to ten in his head and told himself it wasn’t a big deal, it’s been ten years, get over yourself, why are you intimidated by this guy. You’re successful, you’re talented, you’re Brendon. Stop freaking out. He’s just an old friend. Brendon opened his eyes and Ryan was before him, and his first thought, of-Fucking-course, was that he was somehow prettier, the years had done him well, matured him, goddamn what a couple they’d be if they were still together. They’d have been married for ten years by now. Brendon clenched his jaw, after being initially relaxed by the familiar face. Except it wasn’t familiar. The eye contact Ryan made was surprising- he’d never been one for any kind of social situational confidence- and Brendon felt like he should be looking away, but he forced himself to keep his gaze fixed on him, relaxing his shoulders and taking his time to drink in exactly what kind of man Ryan was now. How he presented himself. It was all different. Brendon shoved his hands into his pockets to hide the fact they were trembling slightly, concealing that this was really too much for him.

And yet, he agreed, like a dumbass, to go backstage with him, and he couldn’t even think of a logical reason why he said yes. He thought about withdrawing his acceptance hastily, saving himself from some sort of panic attack. Great, just... Well, too late now- and Jon was gone, so he couldn’t plead silently with him to make him up an excuse on the spot. Brendon just nodded curtly, looked towards where Ryan had come from, backstage, and almost jumped a mile when he felt a hand on his shoulder, a hand he knew was Ryan’s but wasn’t willing to look for himself to confirm. Brendon felt bitter, stiffened at his touch though his body was willing him to relax because of how familiar it was and what the connotations were. He was still tuned into devoted fiancé mode, and he tried stubbornly to suppress it. Instead of, like, jerking away, he let Ryan guide him, unsure he’d be able to walk himself without doubling back and bolting before Ryan even noticed. Looks like a lot of your fans are here tonight, huh? Brendon blinked, looked around, barely listening, smiling distractedly to appease the people he assumed were the fans Ryan was talking about and internally wincing whenever he heard a camera or saw the flash. He’d never get away from this. He didn’t- couldn’t- have the kind of secluded life that Ryan did. I guess that’s probably the norm by now, though.

”Yes, I’m very successful, let’s all blow steam up my ass,” He muttered dryly, mostly to himself, hoping Ryan didn’t, like, hear that. He was proud of how far he’d come, and here was Ryan, a reminder that it all started with four of them and now he was alone. It hadn’t bothered him, but there he was trying to forget the past, and here was Ryan, hand on his goddamn shoulder, ready to ruin it all. They were backstage, finally, and Brendon took a step back from him, dragging his hands through his hair and down his face, nervously chewing on his lip for a moment before he told himself yet again that he needed to get a grip. Brendon tilted his chin up slightly and met Ryan’s eyes with some newfound, mostly fabricated confidence, attempting a fake-it-til-you-make-it type tactic. It seemed to work, but most of that bravado was borne of bitterness. How have you been, anyway? Brendon crossed his arms loosely across his chest, subconsciously defensive. ”Really great, actually. New album an’ shit, going on tour next month.” He wondered if Ryan had listened to any of it.

You look so different. Like someone else. And how the fuck would he even know? Lots of people told him he didn’t look the same. But those people had known him maybe a couple of years. They had no idea the kind of change that Brendon had made from his youth to adulthood. Maybe he had changed a lot recently, but when he looked in the mirror, sometimes he saw the same anxious, hyperactive kid that was in same band he was in ten years ago, except now he was alone. His mind drifted momentarily to his last relationship, the shadow over this new album release, an album with songs dedicated to that person. Brendon sucked in a breath. ”A decade does that to a person.” He said finally, not concealing the dryness of his tone, shrugging his shoulders. ”You look different too. How’ve you been?”

catch me like a cold

It had been little over a month since Brendon and Ryan had mutually, albeit drunkenly, broke the metaphorical ice about the intensity between them that had they never directly addressed or dicussed. The evening had started with a melancholy, confused Ryan, struggling with the remnants of a critically failing relationship, staggering into Brendon’s hotel room in Seattle after flying from NYC from his own birthday party. Somehow, from Brendon’s own living nightmare, they ended up kissing, then they were on the bed, still kissing, and Ryan confessed all of this shit that Brendon definitely wasn’t planning on using against him at a later date. Then, somehow, they had slept together (Brendon had liked to pretend he didn’t remember in the days afterwards, even though he limped everywhere for days afterwards, winded when he sat down, and looked away, flushing furiously when Ryan smirked at him and tried so desperately not laugh). Brendon intended it to be a one-time thing- at first, he hadn’t intended for it to be a thing at all- but, after Ryan found the guts to officially break up with Keltie, they were both single and both on the same page. So one time turned into two, then three, then four, and so on. They went at it like- for lack of a better phrase- rabbits. Well, it couldn’t exactly be described as making love.

They were friends, no, enemies with benefits, or whatever, and surprisingly, it worked out pretty well. Now, to defuse the situation after an argument and preventing themselves from throttling eachother, they beelined for the most simple and enjoyable solution they knew of. They argued noticeably less, and Jon and Spencer noticed that, but they had absolutely no idea why. And Brendon and Ryan had an unspoken oath to never tell anybody, especially not those two. That would ruin everything, the whole setup they had going on. Spencer would disapprove and look disappointed but not angry, Jon would clearly be surprised but probably wouldn’t have much to say other than maybe, ‘it’s better than them trying to kill eachother’. And then it would all be really awkward, and shake up the whole dynamic, and none of them wanted that. They’d become comfortable with a familiar routine- arguments between the frontman and the guitarist, tense and temporary truces between the frontman and the guitarist, pretending to get along on camera and on stage. It had worked so far- why fix something that wasn’t even broken? Oh, and, they hadn’t really tried to become friends, or tolerate eachother on any personal level. Both of them had he fleeting idea of what it would be like- but individually decided it was impossible. That was fine. Brendon couldn’t mourn a friendship that never existed.

It had only barely been a month, and Brendon came to notice quickly that Ryan was surprisingly possessive. It had originally been Ryan using scarves to hide his hickeys, but now, Brendon had to cover his neck in makeup to try and conceal the marks that Ryan had intentionally left too high to cover with anything else. And no way in hell was he using a scarf. It was great, really, but everything was becoming a little too real for Brendon, who was worried the next step was being exclusive or something, or even attempting some kind of friendship. They weren’t technically exclusive, neither of them had brought it up or even really thought about it, but neither of them ever saw someone else, be it from lack of opportunity or lack of desire to do so. They fell into a semi-comfortable routine very quickly, and everything was great apart from the fact that Brendon was bruised, stiff, and aching all the time. On stage, he struggled between not visibly wincing and trying to use up as much energy as possibly, feeding off the adrenaline. Ryan noticed, of course he did, he sent him glances across the stage and Brendon could barely look at him. It was all so messy, they were so obvious, what were they doing?

Brendon didn’t have any regrets about the whole thing, but he was scared it was all starting to become much too real for him to be comfortable with it all- because it was Ryan. What if they both got too attached in an unhealthy relationship based on equally strong amounts of hatred and wanton attraction? That wouldn’t work. So, in an effort to evade that happening, Brendon decided he was going to take Ryan’s advice from forever ago and start actually dating. He didn’t say anything to Ryan, obviously. It would not go down well. So, he started rejecting Ryan’s offers to hang out or whatever excuse he had this time, and went out, met people, specifically this one guy Ian who was cute, tall, curly brown hair... fuck. Oh well. They hit it off well, and, after no time at all, they were ‘boyfriends’. He used the term lightly. They were the same as Brendon and Ryan had been, except they actually enjoyed eachothers company when they weren’t undressed or intending to undress. Neither of them had told anyone, Brendon didn’t feel the need to- the guys would just all meet Ian, Brendon would say ‘hey, this is my boyfriend’, Jon and Spencer would greet him graciously, Ryan would- huh. What would ryan do?

He hadn’t spoken to Ryan about Ian even existing. But he’d started actively rejecting every advance with lame excuses. Luckily, Ryan was out a lot, and one evening Brendon decided to take Ian on board the tour bus to introduce him, all casual-like. Lucky them, nobody was on the bus, they settled on the couch and Brendon, ever the romantic, moved after mere minutes into Ian’s lap and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, kissing him lazily and carelessly because he kind of forgot they were in the main area of a bus shared between four guys. Well, Brendon didn’t forget. He just didn’t care. ”Baby, I don’t know if we have time for this,” He murmured into his ear, and just as he spoke, he heard the door open and internally groaned. They should goddamn knock. Maybe invent a system. Brendon punctuated it by giving Ian a firm kiss before turning his head around, breath immediately hitching. Fuck. Well. At least Brendon didn’t have to tell Ryan anything. ”Oh, hey, buddy,” He grinned, shifting half-out of a very confused Ian’s lap but not fully committing, half expecting Ryan to leave. ”B, maybe you should-“ ”Can we help you?”

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

Brendon’s current situation, being one where he was sat on Ryan’s lap on his hotel room bed and one where he had just broken apart from kissing him, might be misleading in that it might seem Brendon didn’t still absolutely hate Ryan’s guts. He still did. He was intolerable, and arrogant, and childish, and- he was so, so, pretty, and he was a good kisser, and Brendon liked the feeling of his hands tangling in his hair and holding onto his hip. He still wasn’t fond of him, per say- but he wasn’t thinking about that right now, he was thinking about how he felt a strong desire to be close to him, closer than this, and how he wanted Ryan wearing less clothes and he wanted to kiss him until they were both breathless. In that kind of situation, there was definitely room for aggression and bad blood- they’d proven that with everything they’d done so far, ripped hard at eachother’s hair, bit down hard on eachother’s lips, both unwilling to relax because they had been so high-strung and petty and the apprehension for this had been building for years. It felt like they had one night to get all of that in the air so they could forget about it and move on, back to the familiar pattern of hating eachother’s guts in comfortable way everyone understood. That wasn’t complicated. They could handle that, they had for a long time.

The magnetic pull Brendon felt towards Ryan was familiar, but not welcome. Extremely welcome but unfamiliar was this so entire evening so far, but they’d gone too far now to ever go back, and once the outburst and surface negative emotions had been drained away, energy fuelling passion, they were left with an odd, uncomfortable feeling, like they were both more vulnerable, Ryan having just admitted everything Brendon wanted him to and yet Brendon didn’t feel fully satisfied. He doubted he ever would. That being said, he still felt some kind of triumph, like he had the upper hand by such a margin that Ryan could never hope to regain it, not tonight, not ever. Intending to keep that imbalance in the power dynamic in place, Brendon shifted in Ryan’s lap, clearly very comfortable, and asked him outright what he thought about when he said that this kind of situation between them had ‘crossed his mind a lot’. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting much- some kind of backhanded comment that swept everything he’d said before aside, a dismissal. But Ryan met his eyes and Brendon stared back, intensely curious, apprehensive. His eyes were dark and he kept his eyes trained on him as he glanced down from their eye contact to focus on his chest. Maybe that would jog his memory. Brendon didn’t even bother biting back his smirk.

Scratches down my back, you on your knees- you know, the works. The works. A rush of air left Brendon and he didn’t look away, just searched out his gaze and locked eyes with him again, only closing them briefly to allow his imagination to take the reins for a few moments. ”What a pretty picture,” Brendon teased after a moment, letting his jaw hang open slightly and his lips remain parted. All of his muscles felt taught and apprehensive, and though this was just surface level, he felt hot and bothered and though he’d been shirtless basically the entire time he’d been in this hotel room, he felt like he needed to lose some more layers. His skin, if he had to- scratches down Ryan’s back. The implications there were clear and Brendon couldn’t stop replaying his words in his head, wondering what the hell had happened between Ryan arriving and now to get them to this point. He replayed it in his head, dumbfounded, still not fully understanding. ”You know,” He said suddenly, surprised by the lowness of his own voice, ”That’s pretty vague. And that’s okay. I’m a visual learner.”

He wasn’t mad that it took Ryan being wasted and basically newly single to admit that he was even a little bit attracted to him. Always before, he’d been criticised for being too done-up with his hair, too narrow, too small, Ryan had mocked the formation of his sternum, or something, but Brendon couldn’t be mad because now Ryan’s hands had now travelled everywhere his skin was exposed and he could never go back to pretending he didn’t find him breathtakingly attractive. That was another victory. You’re stupidly gorgeous. Gorgeous? That was a strong word, perhaps too strong for them. Brendon still appreciated his ego being stroked, though, so he smiled. ”Thank you, darling.” A mockery of what they could be if the blood between them wasn’t so toxic and seemingly irreversibly fucked up, Brendon made a show of leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. He felt a fleeting moment of wistfulness as he pulled back, but it passed as quickly as it appeared. It’s not like I have to admit something obvious. ”You know what, you’re right. Your thirsty ass is always very happy to see me whenever I’m shirtless on the tour bus.” Ryan wasn’t subtle, but it wasn’t always his fault. Brendon held in a laugh.

He thought he was having a winning streak of holding onto the upper hand, but when Ryan decided to straight up tell him that he was the most obvious bottom ever to exist, he felt like he’d been knocked down a few rungs on the ladder, no, kicked off the ladder completely. Shoving his head to hide his embrassment in Ryan’s shoulder, he cringed at himself, how obnoxious he must be about it. He didn’t even protest Ryan’s fingers playing in his hair. You’re sort of a princess. Brendon lifted his head up, and he was pouting, giving up before he even started on being defiant about it. What was the point? Ryan had, annoyingly, hit the nail on the head. ”And I deserve to be treated like one,” He said finally, deciding to own it. Why, would you have it any other way? That wasn’t a question anyone had asked him before, now that he thought about it. Maybe it was just so unlikely that people didn’t even bother asking. Now given time to reflect on it, he moved back in to Ryan’s neck and latched his mouth onto the skin over his pulse, one hand digging into his opposite shoulder and the other resting on Ryan’s thigh. He decided that lack of an answer was equivalent to one, and decided not to elaborate on that, just shifted again, not pulling away from his neck where he was determined to leave him bruises that he couldn’t hide.

If you’ve thought about it at all, that is. Your take is probably a lot more interesting. If only Ryan knew the half of it. He delivered one last fairly forceful bite to where he’d left a bruise, merciless, and then he pulled back and moved both his arms to drape over Ryan’s shoulders, pushing them both closer to the headboard, Ryan’s back and head pressed fully against it. Brendon rested their foreheads together, strangely intimate, but it was mostly so Ryan couldn’t look away. ”I think I’ve thought about it more than you’ve actually done it with Keltie,” He grinned for a moment, giggling, but it faded fast when he remembered what Ryan had said before. Scratches down his back. He wondered what Ryan wanted to hear and decided he didn’t care. ”I want to be feeling it for days afterwards.” His voice was so low and quiet it started to break between words. ”I quite like the position we’re in right now.”