Neve

catch me like a cold

Brendon had been cocky, mostly just to rile Ryan up further- but when all he heard was a geniunely harsh laugh, like the idea of Brendon being attractive, as he was implying, was a joke, Brendon’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Ryan’s reflection in the mirror, wondering how the hell he hoped to pass off this feigned disdain as genuine when moments ago he’d been fuming because Brendon was with some other guy. He was unbelievable, and Brendon was beginning to recall all the reasons he stopped being so up for getting into bed with Ryan at a moment’s notice. Yeah, getting sick of it, too. Though he was expecting some kind of offhand, dismissive comment, that was a little too far for Brendon’s liking, and it was his turn to laugh, confident after the briefest scowl took over his surprisingly placid expression. He turned around, and when he did, his face was written with distaste and vague amusement at how bad a liar Ryan was. ”Oh, really?” He challenged, one eyebrow arching. ”Can I ask, Ryan, what were your plans, assuming you and I would be alone on the bus?”

Shut up. Brendon did, not out of submissiveness or giving in, more because Ryan was exhausting him by now, his endless, fucked up game where sometimes he’d brush past Brendon a little too gently and then go white as a sheet, he’d curl a hand around his jaw and trace the corner of his mouth with his thumb delicately and then flinch away as if he’d been burnt, looking guilty, as if he’d done something wrong, disgusting. Their relationship consisted solely of fights and then sleeping together not to resolve those fights, but to spend the angry energy and convert it into something else. It meant they didn’t throttle eachother, but- even beforehand, they didn’t. They could have gone on just fine and released that tension by getting into shouting matches, but no, neither of them could help themselves, and so here they were, still spiteful towards eachother only now they knew what the other looked like naked. Funny how that changed their relationship completely and yet somehow, it was exactly the same. Brendon was sick and tired of feeling sub-par, like he was there for Ryan’s convenience and pleasure only while it mattered to him and afterwards, Ryan would remember that, wait, we hate eachother, and get up and leave. To be fair, Brendon never protested, in fact, turned to offence to defend his own fragile reaction to such abandonments by spitting out venemous parting comments. Upon reflection, Brendon decided that things had gotten worse.

Brendon would’ve even retired to his own bunk, or something, shut Ryan out until he stopped having a tantrum, like a toddler who didn’t want to share a toy- but he knew Ryan probably wouldn’t leave him alone. That’s different, it’s not like we have anywhere else- Brendon snorted, as if to try and cut him off, but Ryan was trailing off anyway, as if struck by a sudden thought that made his comment less important. He noted the present tense that Ryan used- ‘its not like we have anywhere else- and
pursed his lips cynically, tipping his hand back slightly and drawing his hands from the top of his head through his hair and down his face, before crossing his arms tightly across his chest- he didn’t know what else to do with them, feeling awkward and under scrutiny even if he knew that it was Ryan being the child, being unreasonable, making a scene because he didn’t get what he wanted. His thoughts drifted to Ian- who was a nice guy, genuine, sweet, funny, didn’t hate his guts and put him down at every opportunity. Ian, who Ryan had ordered out, probably waiting for a message from Brendon to check he was still living. With purposeful brazenness, he pulled his phone out of his jean pockets and checked his notifications- yeah, a text from Ian; Have you defeated the evil? Brendon smiled, made a mental note to reply when he actually had defeated the evil, and shoved his phone back out of sight.

When he looked up, Ryan looked compelled by something, and this was after Brendon had let himself be vulnerable for a few fleeting moments by expressing visible disappointment from the idea that Ryan didn’t care about him. Instantly he regretted saying anything- Ryan wouldn’t feel any sympathy or compassion. If anything, it would be pity, and it wouldn’t even be geniune. Brendon started dejectedly back at the ground, wishing he’d gone out with Spencer and Jon. He knew he’d be having this conversation with Ryan anyway, but- he was big on procrastination. I do care about you. Brendon looked up, betraying vague surprise that instantly morphed into visible cynicism in real time. Yeah, right. Brendon was staring at Ryan’s feet when he saw him move forward, and then he looked up warily, though surprised himself by not moving back. I have a problem when you’re with other guys because I care. Well, forgive Brendon for finding that hard to believe. ”You sure you’re not just worried they won’t save a piece for you?” He retorted, his tone bitter and barbed and undercut with vulnerability he desperately tried to hide.

I want there to be... I don’t want there to be anyone else. All very sweet, whatever, but Brendon really was having a hard time not thinking that every word that passed his lips was a malicious lie. ”Funny how it took you seeing me making out with some other guy to even say that to me,” Brendon murmured, looking past Ryan and at the wall, zoning out for a second. He was tired. Suddenly, his bunk seemed very inviting again. ”You’ve actually met Ian before. I introduced him. I hung off his arm and he touched my waist and you didn’t even notice because you don’t fucking care if there’s anything emotional going on, as long he doesn’t take your fucking fuck buddy away from you, it’s fine.” His tone was cold and pained, because honestly that’s what he felt like- disposable, throw-away entertainment, just Ryan passing the time before he found the next girlfriend who idolised him like some kind of minor diety. Brendon knew better than they did, knew they Ryan was human and made of blood and bone and bad decisions. Lots of them. I do care about you. Yeah, Brendon thought. You said.

This isn’t just... fucking, okay? It’s not that. What was it, then? it certainly wasn’t affection or fondness. The angry bruises on Brendon’s neck and collarbones got that message across clear enough for him. ”Yes, it is,” Brendon corrected after a pause, wondering what the hell Ryan’s thought process even was at this point. ”Because we don’t do anything else but that.” I get freaked out and I make it seem like I think that, whatever, but I don’t, that’s not what this is to me. Understatement of the century. Brendon decided to voice his thoughts from earlier. ”What is it to you, then, Ryan? I’m all ears. Got all night. You ruined my original plans.” he backed up where he stood and collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted, though he was still watching Ryan attentively. When you let me stay, that night. That morning, even. That meant everything. I'm never going to- not care.

Brendon said nothing, was just inwardly bitter about how Ryan expected him to believe all this bullshit when his behaviour spoke so much loudly than this half-assed attempt at keeping hold of his favourite fuck. He glared at him from under his eyelashes, almost unwilling to look at him unobscured. So don't say I don't care about you, or any of this bullshit about it all blending together, because you're wrong. What a compelling speech. Brendon’s skin was itching and he was still convinced that this was all some manipulative ploy to convince Brendon to crawl back into bed with him. He was fed up of being lead on. ”Moving fucking speech, but forgive me for not believing you. Why the fuck should I not think you’re just doing this to do your permanent hard-on a favour? Speaking of which, will you leave me alone in return for me sucking your dick? ‘Cause that’s clearly all you want.” He tried to sound scornful, but there was no bite. He’d lost the energy to put up a real fight.

seal it with a kiss

When placed perpendicular to everything Brendon had got up to and achieved in the past few years, Ryan’s life seemed much more lowkey, infinitely less pronounced, and could be perceived as a failure (due to his small but dedicated remaining fanbase, whittled down when Brendon suggested they split the band for the good of every member)- but Brendon knew that Ryan measured his own success as to what he was happy with, not that he had hundreds of thousands of fans or earned as much money as, say, Brendon did. Which almost made it more difficult- Ryan was an overly self-critical cynic who found difficulty being proud of any of his work. It wasn’t like he was risking financial stability by being complacent with his subtle lifestyle- Brendon and Ryan were married, coming up to maybe their second anniversary, and as far as Brendon was concerned, Ryan deserved to be paid and revered for his original role in getting panic off the ground and into the headlines- beyond that, he treated his paycheck as both of theirs. They had individual careers at varying levels of commercial success, but they were one, and that’s all that mattered. There was no jealousy or haughtiness, and although the initial split had been difficult (Ryan had vehemently rejected the proposal, feeling as if he was being kicked out of his own band, and was even more pissed when Brendon told him they were going to keep the name), they were mature and reconciled and quickly fell into this new routine, none the less close because of it.

It was strange at first, when Brendon called in people to their own home to interview them to take Ryan’s place as guitarist and Jon’s place as bassist, and Ryan had been testy and short with them, his back raised as if he had to defend himself, his integrity. Every time Ryan (who had built up a considerable amount of muscle over the last few years, and was now geniunely somewhat physically imposing) scared a potential touring band member away with his bad attitude, Brendon had been patient with him, though he honestly just wanted to kick him out of the house. It probably wasn’t a nice feeling. All throughout the process, Brendon had constantly told him it wasn’t about his guitar playing- he was effortlessly good at it, Brendon envied how naturally his (gorgeous) hands fell into position every time with no thought or effort- or his lyrics- exceptional, enchanting, consistently more ethereal and complex than anything Brendon could ever hope to write- it was just a matter of conflicting musical taste and desired direction for the band. Brendon desired something like a polished, pop style, while Ryan cling on stubbornly to rock n’ roll and the abstract sound of their first records. Every session tended to end in an argument, and if it didn’t, it was usually because Brendon and Ryan, ever the lovebirds, couldn’t take their eyes off eachother long enough to concentrate and formulate a coherent, relevant thought.

They hadn’t been getting anything done. Brendon and Spencer, who had similarly aligned views about band direction, sat down together to talk about it, and it was Brendon who suggested splitting off down the middle. Spencer had agreed, but was also apprehensive- ’what about you and Ryan, how will that work?’- and that was the first time that even came to Brendon’s mind. It didn’t worry him much, though- they were in love, whether in the same band or not, nothing would change between them. Even so. He dressed initially telling him. Spencer had tasked him with breaking the news that he wanted to break up the band (using the reasonable excuse that it was Brendon’s idea) and when he approached it, one afternoon while they were lying side by side in bed, legs tangled comfortably together, it felt like he was about to break up with Ryan for real, or something- so he was nervous, and as expected, Ryan had something of an outburst, expressing his frustration and how he felt neglected by the band he had been the primary creative force behind for a very long time. Brendon tried to keep it civil, but he fed off of Ryan’s passion about it and said some things he didn’t mean about Ryan’s contribution towards the band. It was a sour argument and for a while Brendon felt awful- but they reconciled pretty soon, never able to remain angry at eachother.

It was normal, now. Brendon hired some new strictly tour musicians, continued playing with Spencer for a while until he backed out for his own reasons. Brendon felt the loss- just like he’d felt so lonely on stage without Ryan just a glance to the right away- but he also felt the freedom of taking the reins by himself, not having to compromise, doing everything by himself and in his own way. Brendon now prided himself in his independence and Ryan was equally proud of all he had achieved, content with watching fondly from the sidelines as Brendon’s successes piled up and he gracefully met his every personal goal. They were now officialy separate as far as careers went, but nothing really changed offstage. Brendon still went to his husband for his opinion on lyrics and tabs, they still made music for themselves in their free time, they still texted eachother lyrics and scribbled them on sticky notes for the other to see. There were obvious downsides- Brendon had to go on tour and it was torture for them both to be apart for so long. Even the odd visit from Ryan when time and place would allow, constant messaging and regular FaceTimes weren’t enough for them both. Every time he went to bed, either on the tour bus or a hotel, he was unfairly aware that Ryan wasn’t beside him, trying to annoyingly cuddle him like he always did, no matter how much Brendon protested.

Point was, they adapted, because everything paled into insignificance behind their strong, unshakeable love for eachother. Brendon loved the lines of Ryan’s face when he smiled with his teeth, his sweet, sincere nature, his rough, somehow gentle and calming voice, how his hair curled at the ends when it grew past a certain point (even though Ryan’s hairstyle was currently more modern and swept over), the familiar callouses of his hands, his arms that had grown stronger with time, and were Brendon’s favourite place in the world. When Ryan held him, he felt safe and loved and secure. Brendon could go on forever about the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed curve of his mouth, his unhealthy obsessions with leather jackets, the way he came up behind Brendon and wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close and swaying them just so. And- his eyes. Brendon was a broken record, always going on about his honeycomb eyes, pale honey gold in bright light and a deeper, richer colour otherwise, but every time brendon looked for too long he was charmed. The effect hadn’t faded with time.

Brendon firmly believed that Ryan was both breathtaking and harbouring an annoying amount of unused potential. He never said anything directly- it would be hypocritical of him, since he took Ryan’s main medium for creative output away- but he always encouraged Ryan to pick up a guitar, sit at the piano, even sing when he was particularly convincing, usually using a bribe of some kind. He had talent that needed some kind of better outlet, because as sweet and romantic as it was, scrawling tiny love letters onto fluorescent post-its wasn’t exactly an overly productive way of using his time and skills. He figured that after the band he had with Jon didn’t do as well as they’d hoped, Ryan had lost heart, confidence and motivation to carry on, writing and leaking only unfinished solo songs. And Ryan had never been overly sure of himself anyway. Brendon knew how captivating his singing voice was- it deserved an audience again. Brendon considered inviting him to come back and play with panic, but figured he deserved something better than very unequally sharing the spotlight with Brendon for the thousandth time.

Enter stage right, Z. More Ryan’s friend than Brendon’s- they had developed distinct circles with few overlaps since the split of the band- Z was arguably Ryan’s best friend, besides maybe Spencer, and they’d only recently become close again. She was a talented musician herself and Brendon respected her for that- they could talk about such things for hours- and importantly, she put on shows starring herself and her many musician friends. Brendon hatched a plan with her and asked her to proposition Ryan about performing there (Ryan was a sucker for Z and could never say no), and it had worked. Ryan accepted, and turned up at the event in all his glory with Brendon watching adoringly from the sidelines as his husband took the stage for the first time in forever and absolutely killed it. Once he knew Ryan was open to the idea of playing live for audiences again, Brendon almost instantly asked Z if she was planning on holding another event and, heaven above, she was. Typically, Ryan only found out maybe a week in advance, and was subtly stressing about it (Brendon could tell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it). By Sunday, though, he had more or less geared himself up.

Brendon was waiting in the living room, sprawled out carelessly across the couch, dressed simply in jeans and what was definitely one of Ryan’s jerseys. He was flicking through channels with the remote in one hand, and his other was taking turns stroking Penny, Bogart and Dottie, who were all curled on or around his lap. Ryan, surprisingly, was taking forever to get ready. Usually he just threw on the first thing he pulled out and refused to put in any more effort than that. Brendon fondly remembered his fashion sense (or lack thereof) back in the early days of the band, and smiled to himself as he flicked to the next channel, some game show. Nah. The next channel. Friends. Satisfied, he put the remote down and shifted to settle, disturbing a very sleepy Dottie in the process and irritating a comfortable Bogart and Penny, who fully stood up to shift around and lie down again. He murmured an apology and scratched Dottie’s ear, before he heard Ryan approaching from behind the couch and turned his head to look around.

Immediately, embarrassingly, his jaw dropped a little until he had to consciously close it. Swallowing, a slow smile crept up to his mouth and he focused his attention on the dogs again for a few seconds just to shift them aside before he stood up and weaved between the coffee table and the couch to stand and regard his husband properly. Fuck. ”Fuck,” Brendon repeated out loud, but it was extended as an appreciative sigh. ”Oh man, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” He bit his lip to suppress his dumb affectionate smile and closed the space between them, reaching to wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders and extending himself upwards to meet Ryan in what was barely a kiss and more a faint brush of the lips. ”You look so good,” He admitted, moving one of his hands to comb through Ryan’s hair and the other to cradle his jaw briefly. ”We’re running late, but...” Brendon clicked his tongue. ”I’d say let’s jusy stay home, but I want to hear and see you be wonderful. God, you’re so handsome.”

stay afloat || b&r

Brendon was already half-consciously imitating Ryan- because he had her little experience in the complex delicacies of human communication and conference (where he came from, everyone just tended to be in perpetual, harmonious understanding with little miscommunication or confusion), he was adapting as he went along, picking up queues like a smile he imagined was rare for Ryan and returning one of his own, almost as an encouragement. He did belatedly realise that he was probably being too warm and forward and betraying too much by using Ryan’s nickname literally fifteen minutes into meeting him (Brendon knew enough to know that most humans found such immediate kinship and relaxation strange, almost unnerving), but he realised too late. Luckily, Ryan didn’t seem too perturbed- though, when Brendon leaned a little closer to analyse his expression the best he could with his extremely limited social skills, he figured that the smile wasn’t an effortless one- and most of that guess was from everything he knew about Ryan before he even met him. Brendon figured that he wasn’t generally a very cheerful person- he looked unused to smiling so consistently, Brendon liked to think. He said nothing, just let his own, relaxed smile remain to keep the atmosphere light-hearted.

That’s... Brendon found the surprise in his voice and demeanour endearing- humans were so earnest and they could never conceal anything, their emotions showed so plainly in their eyes even when they tried to keep their expressions straight. They were- human, and that was much more than Brendon could say for himself. If he wasn’t deliberately being so transparent, aiming to seem trustworthy and pleasant, Ryan would think he was some kind of robot. Thanks, I don’t hear that very much. He raised an eyebrow. ”Then you don’t get out very much,” He reasoned, closing his hands together and intertwined his own fingers as he shifted with his chair closer to the table. His voice wasn’t judgemental at all, simply honest, gentle- like he was trying to ease Ryan into reality, even when he knew he probably didn’t have to do that, and Ryan was all too frighteningly aware of everything that Brendon was picking up as time went by. Ryan was steeped in reality, buried to his neck- Brendon reflected for a moment that, if all else failed, he could galavant (maybe more gracefully than that) back up to heaven knowing he’d done his duty and tried his hardest. Ryan only got one shot here, and- there went being light-hearted. Brendon frowned, the tiniest, barely noticeable quirk of his mouth, but then he straightened his expression. ”You’re welcome.”

Brendon unlaced his fingers and started subconsciously drumming them on the table, a sense of nervousness he wasn’t at all used to rising in his gut and closing his throat- this was probably nothing, what was it around being so close to a human that made everything effect him so much? Usually, he was untouchable, compassionate but unable to experience empathy, as he was gifted- or cursed- with an immunity to emotional pain. At least, in heaven. Down here, he was vulnerable. Anyway, luckily, he regained his footing in the conversation with grace, conjuring up the first believable profession that came to his mind and exhaling a small sigh of relief when Ryan nodded, not questioning it at all. Again, he was grateful that Ryan didn’t ask many questions after he ran through his semi-biographical fake life story. Thank god for humans and their blind naivety. Brendon glanced up once he came to a vague close on his brief backstory, and was interested to find that Ryan had clammed up, trying not to betray his own sore spots but leaning closer across the table to seem attentive. Brendon was almost too busy appreciating the effort and feeling a strange sense of fondness for his charge to realise that he needed to flesh himself out a bit more to seem believable. His entire character was built on half-truths- but if he used the lies to be able to reach and help him in genuine ways, what did it matter?

I’d love to hear sometime. Brendon nodded slightly, all the while wondering how the hell he’d pass off the kind of songs he was capable of singing for human music. Still, he smiled with subdued enthusiasm. I play guitar, when I can find the time. That piqued his interest- he’d heard about guitars, heard guitars being played, but they were an earthly instrument and Brendon had no idea how to play them, even if musical talent was one of his (unironically) divine skills. It was just subjective, and very specific. ”I’m not much of an instrumentalist myself,” He returned cautiously, as though admitting a deep-set flaw. ”I hope you can find the time to teach me,” Was added as an afterthought, punctuated with a non-threatening smile. It was a suggestion, a request, not a demand or order. No pressure on Ryan- though Brendon was very keen on learning how to play these fascinating instruments. Brendon was going to continue, keep up their conversation about music so they found authentic common ground and he didn’t have to rely on his own ethereal charm to make Ryan comfortable in his simultaneously overpowering and immensely relaxing presence. But Ryan, apparently, had other ideas, and Brendon fell silent instantly to allow him to continue.

I’m sorry about your dad. Brendon blinked, and subconsciously pressed his palms together, silently apologising to his own Father- forgive me, I was not being truthful, I told lies to allow my charge to trust me. I repent this action but not the consequence. Just as fluidly, he separated his hands and let them move off the table and into his lap. ”It’s okay.” I have a... complicated relationship with mine, too. So I know what you mean. ”I know,” Was Brendon’s automatic response, and he immediately froze, shoulders going stiff, thinking fast to try and fix that mistake. ”I mean,” He began, flustered, visibly losing composure for the first time since he met Ryan, ”I think I can just, tell. Kindred spirits, in that- area.” Brendon swallowed, inhaled, exhaled, allowed serenity to settle around him again. If he was nervous, flustered, it affected those around him- and that was the last thing Ryan needed. ”It’s difficult, but we’re still here, right?”

Right. Brendon realised that was a poorly thought out choice of words and closed his eyes briefly, berating himself for poor form this soon into his embassy. It was always difficult to settle in, but- maybe it was Ryan. Maybe Ryan made him lose concentration. He considered this as Ryan continued to speak. The good news is, if you're looking for a found family, Vegas is a fine place to start. Lots of weird characters to make friends with. Brendon nodded. ‘Vegas’ was... Certainly a change of scenery. All humans were weird characters, to him. So he believed it when Ryan hyped up his hometown. Out of curiosity, are you, like, religious, or something? Brendon’s eyebrows raised, surprised, and then he looked a little sheepish, like he’d been caught out. Is it really that obvious? I mean- yeah, you could say that.” Not that I mind. I'm more asking for your sake... I don't know how, um, open-minded you are. For a good few seconds, Brendon was the picture of confusion- eyebrows furrowed in a frown that said he hadn’t put the pieces together, his lips parted as if he was searching for the words. Slowly, though, not suddenly, it fell into place. ”What do you- mean?” It took him even longer to click on exactly what he meant. ”Are you..?” He trailed off, wishing he’d known- Whatever the answer would be before he got here. Brendon supposed he’d just presumed. None of this was discussed in heaven, amongst angels. He was clueless, knowing of the existence of certain groups of people and nothing more. It wasn’t a taboo, but- it was.

nothing friendly at all

Brendon hadn’t been in a serious, committed relationship during his time in the band, and, if he thought about it- at all. Not as long as the other members, and especially not as long as Ryan, who was kind of infamous for having an eyebrow-raisingly long string of girlfriends. It wasn’t like he wasn’t attractive or ‘boyfriend material’, and it wasn’t that he wanted to stay single, he just- he didn’t know. When Brendon thought about it now, lying there on his back with Ryan comfortably straddling him, with a soft, gentle mood in the air, as they behaved like lovers- maybe he was too busy being Ryan’s to fall for someone else. His mouth quirked as he played with that theory in his mind; last night, he wouldn’t even have admitted to himself that he was even attracted to Ryan, let alone that he was capable of feeling this kind of fondness towards him. For a second, he considered bringing up reasons to loathe Ryan in his head, but miraculously, he couldn’t. His head was in the clouds, in some kind of unearthly place that rendered him unable to criticise Ryan at all. Some remnants of stubbornness stuck to him, though, and his mind intrusively dismissed that as the afterglow from the night prior. To admit anything else was too large a leap right now.

The light atmosphere was persistent, though, not at all unpleasantly. Brendon was playful, teasing, and watched with some mix of amusement and affection as Ryan raised his own hand to draw briefly through the chestnut curls of his hair. He was- beautiful. The sun was still streaming in, and though he had to squint sometimes, it flushed Ryan’s skin golden, and his eyes a rich, dark honey, illuminated. Brendon’s eyes trailed slowly to his hands and suddenly he had new associations with them he knew then he’d never be able to let go or forget about. He felt a strong urge to draw him down and kiss him, but he managed to resist it, just let himself look obviously distracted by his mouth as he spoke. So do you. Brendon automatically struggled to reach up and check the truth of the statement just as Ryan did, but the other beat him to the chase and ruffled his hair up further, to which Brendon responded with a low, puppy-like whine of complaint, batting Ryan’s hand away and shaking his head to let the locks fall out of his eyes, one pesky curl falling completely over his face. He gave up on trying to fix it and just looked up, unimpressed, at Ryan. See? ”I can pull it off.”

Brendon wondered in passing what would have happened if Keltie had broken it off with Keltie a lot sooner like he should’ve, at the first signs that he was more her per project than committed partner, or the love of her life. He pursed his lips, considerating berating him for it again- but he’d said his piece, he said it last night. And that had lead to this morning. That lead him to believe that if he had broken it off months before, neither of them would have the guts nor emotional awareness to admit their feelings for eachother, buried deep, deep underneath the outer shell of aggression and vindication. Again, he supposed it didn’t matter much now- they were here, tangled with eachother at late morning in Brendon’s hotel room, together. And it was nobody’s busisness but there’s. The very thought made Brendon’s heart flutter ridiculously, made his stomach turn over and his mind crowd with butterflies, unable to focus on any one coherent thought but Ryan for more than a few seconds. It was nobody’s business but theirs. Brendon caught himself before he got too emotional and reminded himself that until late last night, apparently, they loathed eachother entirely, attracted or not. Maybe this was temporary. It was no use to think too deeply about it- Brendon had always lived in the moment.

For a moment he was morose, thoughtful, but then there was the potential of food being delivered to them, and he was suddenly very aware of his empty stomach. In record time, he propped himself up on his elbows and then struggled to a sitting position and rested his back against the headboard, dragging Ryan with him as he leaned in simultaneously to plant appreciative kisses along any skin he could comfortably reach. He inhaled sharply- almost nervous, apprehensive to observe Ryan’s reaction to his pet-name slip up- as Ryan turned his head and pressed his lips against the side of his face. Baby. Brendon held his breath, closed his eyes, ready to formulate some bullshit excuse, or apologise, or something. I like that. An exhale of relief, and Brendon wrapped an arm around the back of Ryan’s neck, bent and hooked at the elbow, hand resting on his opposite shoulder, drawing him even closer. Maybe this was a little impractical, since Ryan was still mid-conversation with Keltie. ”Me too,” Came his barely audible response. He was almost nervous.

And - you're funny if you think we'll be able to bend enough for that. Seriously, rein it in. Was that a challenge? ”Hey, where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?” Experimentally, Brendon shifted suddenly where he sat, and attempted to extend his legs out further. Turns out, Ryan was right, and after he’d recovered from wincing at the strain of his muscles and the amplification of his dull, constant ache, he nodded sheepishly. ”I don’t think I’ll be able to bend enough for anything,” Brendon mumbled morosely, clicking his tongue and glancing thoughtfully at the bedroom door and then at the blinds. ”That means you’ll have to go and meet room service. And close the blinds. Bottom privilege.” Grinning, he rested his head with a slight thud against the headboard, and watched with a raised eyebrow and a slightly parted mouth that was twitching at the corners as Ryan uncovered the receiver of his phone and reluctantly decided to pay attention to Keltie.

I’m making a decision. I don’t want to do this anymore. That’s all. I’m sorry. Brendon opened his mouth the very moment after Ryan hung up and let his phone bounce on the mattress, but he didn’t even get a chance to speak, charmed speechless as Ryan wrapped an arm comfortably around his waist like it was the most natural thing in the whole world. Lifting his head up slightly from the headboard, he remained enamoured and silent- Ryan was so close, and Brendon never realised that being this close to him made it so difficult to breathe. Hi. I’m sort of an awful person. His voice, too, it was low and rough and- god forbid Brendon admit it- sexy, and he could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, a million witty comments on his tongue silenced. That was a dangerous power to have over him and Brendon wasn’t sure he even cared. “I-” He had to look away and stare past Ryan briefly to find his words, ”I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Which do you prefer, pancakes or waffles? His eyes lit up and he moved both hands to curl naturally around his hips, lying back again against the headboard, considering his options. Thoughtful, he tilted his head back, exposing his neck and throat for a few moments before he pressed flush against Ryan’s chest; tightening his grip on Ryan to keep him upright and not dependent on the headboard, he leaned in to trail kisses along the side of his face, making a path towards his mouth and speaking inbetween pauses. ”Why not,” He murmured, pausing right before he leaned in to engage him in a warm, happy kiss, ”Both?”

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.”