Neve

seal it with a kiss

Brendon missed Ryan, a lot. He missed his own husband for a sizeable proportion of time- he figured it was because he was on tour a lot, but even then, a lot of the time Ryan could come with him, and would be backstage for every show on a certain leg, or something. Even then, singing up there, with his now closely-knit group of touring members, he felt a loss, becayse the first (and best) guitarist, who also happened to be his husband, was back there when he should be up here. No offence to Mike, or anything, but he sorely missed the feeling of playing live together and doing what they both loved, what they had originally bonded over, in a band that was originally theirs. That Brendon had decided would be better off with just him from the original lineup. Everyone else had left for their own reasons or moved on, which was difficult sometimes, he was the common denominator after all- but he couldn’t feel any regret, that would be unfair. Half of the departures had been encouraged or even initiated by Brendon- the one that stung the most when he thought back to it was when he had to have the awful conversation with his own husband about how he thought he wasn’t a good fit for the band creatively any more. It was ruthless, in some respects, and when Brendon looked back he saw someone prioritising his already successful career over the man he loved, but. It had made everything easier, even if only in that Brendon had nobody to argue with any more. So he tried not to look back to much.

Anyway, Ryan was happy, now, having accepted and even embraced the fact he just wasn’t playing in that band anymore. They were mature enough and sure enough of eachother that they could have separate lives (overlapping extremely, but, still, as far as individual careers went), and Brendon was fortunate enough that Ryan even decided to pick up music again with Jon. He supported that fully- he didn’t always have time to be around, to go to every show, but when he did it was incredible and refreshing to see him up there- but after that, their band sort of went into a permenant hiatus, and Ryan’s creative juices stopped flowing. Or, they did, but he had no outlet, and Brendon knew that and felt guilty for taking that platform to express himself like that away from him. For that selfish reason, to protect himself from that kind of guilt, he distanced himself from trying to be involved or encourage Ryan anymore, because he never seemed to listen anyway. There was also the matter that he simply didn’t have enough time to be around him as some of Ryan’s new close friends- for example, Z.

Z, who Ryan had met in the Young Veins period, had taken up the mantle of being Ryan’s best friend, and Brendon, though infamous for being unpredictable and eternally temperamental, was intensely grateful for her being there, in ways that Brendon maybe couldn’t. And that was initially an intensely painful blow, the idea that Ryan had someone he might go to before he go to Brendon- whether that be because he knew Brendon would be busy, he’d been brushed off too many times in favour of working (Brendon’s work ethic had shot through the roof recently), or it was simply something that Ryan would prefer to talk about with Z- sometimes, Brendon wasn’t Ryan’s immediate answer to everything, and as ridiculous and selfish as it may sound, Brendon had to learn something he should already know- that he was not the single central figure in Ryan’s life, he wasn’t, say, the ultimate priority, his world didn’t revolve around Brendon and it never should. Though he was trying his hardest, it was difficult for him to see, for example, Z and Ryan playing in the living room when Brendon had to go to the studio and do some work. It got on his nerves sometimes when Ryan gushed about her to him, or started to write solely in sessions with Z, apparently the ultimate inspiration-giver. Brendon would never admit it, though, because it was embarrassing to be insecure about something so ridiculous, and he was convinced that if he mentioned it to Ryan, he would just be exasperated. So he stayed quiet, and learned to get used to it.

Besides. What did it matter who convinced Ryan to write and play and perform again, as long as he did it? Z had already dragged Ryan along for a show a few months back, and here they were, the night of another one, and Brendon was endlessly excited, though at the moment, vaguely jealous again that it would be Z playing up there with his husband, not him, like they used to, what used to be so important to them. Their relationship had changed, almost- not dramatically, but tangible enough for Brendon to notice. And not in a bad way. They weren’t any less close. And although Brendon was particularly a creature of habit, he found himself sometimes wishing that things could just be the same as they were when they first fell in love and got to go on tour and play together every night, when their tastes aligned and the only creative differences that existed were whether or not Ryan really wanted to reference the sun in yet another song. He still did that. Brendon’s heart swelled to think of it because even after all this time, Ryan still wrote love songs, and Brendon dutifully wrote them back, even though they were often scarce or subtle, amongst party tracks and disguised by grandeur.

So, Brendon couldn’t wait for tonight, but apparently Ryan, who was taking forever to get ready, could. When he finally did prove that he hadn’t, like, fallen over and broken his neck or something, by walking out into the main room, Brendon’s heart surged and he hurried to rearrange the dogs so he could stand up and weave around the couch, moving forward into his arms easily. I feel stupid. Brendon just shook his head and grinned, wrapping his arms around him and letting his eyelids droop slightly, useless, as Ryan in turn held onto him as they simultaneously leaned in for a gentle kiss. They pulled back, and Brendon still looked up at him adoringly. We’re married. Excellent observation, baby. You have to say that. It's, like, the law. Doesn't even need to be true. Brendon lifted an eyebrow, challenging. ”Even if it is the law. There’s yet to be a day when I would be lying to say that you’re fucking astounding.” He curled a hand seriously around Ryan’s jaw. Shut up, I love you. I love you too, baby, he replied in his head, automatically, because it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Still, he visibly pouted when Ryan moved back, folding his arms sulkily across his chest. You shouldn’t have your expectations so high. It's been a minute since I performed, you know.

Brendon did know. And it’d been a minute more since they had performed together. He felt his heart sink slightly, but he kept up a brave, proud smile. ”You’ve never disappointed me before. You never could. And everyone there, like, worships you, so. No worries.” Brendon cleared his throat and looked at the ground, scratching his neck awkwardly because he no longer knew what to do with himself. There was his husband, looking gorgeous, but they had to leave. Fun.

riches all around

Usually, when people approached Brendon to try and flirt with him in places such as bars, he would accept the drink and play along for as long as it was entertaining, but politely decline any further interaction- he just didn’t have the time or energy for a serious relationship, and since Brendon hasn’t experienced proper romance in years, all of that had faded into a vague and impossible future, unachievable while he stayed on his current course. Ryan’s advance was no different, a handsome man clearly picking up some kind of cue (or just gambling and being extremely lucky) and trying his luck. Brendon had seen and met many attractive men in his life, and when he first turned his head to see who he had the honour of speaking to, it wasn’t like he was swept away. At first glance, he looked young, and Brendon squinted a little (he wasn’t wearing his contacts) to study him a little closer, only then realising from his height and finer details that he was probably maybe a year, a couple of years older. They were around the same age, and get this guy looked so annoying worldly-wise, like he’d seen everything. This both made Brendon envious and endlessly curious, so he shifted his body round to face Ryan and decided after a few beats of looking him quickly up and down and registering his face to memory that he was- gorgeous, in some boyish, semi-uncertain way, not arrogant, but not nervous or shy either. He was tall, wonderfully tall (though everyone was when you were Brendon’s stature), not muscular but defined enough for Brendon to be impressed, with broad shoulders and long legs and Brendon found himself to be more interested by the second.

And, so, fooled by his unconventional, untouchable presence and his melty honey-gold eyes, Brendon, against his better judgement, decided that this vaguely familiar looking man was worth waiting around for, especially if he got a free drink or two. It wasn’t like it would go any further. Brendon’s unannounced rule was unbiased no matter how attractive or interesting somebody was- he simply wasn’t in a place where he could keep up with that kind of relationship. Hell, he didn’t have time to even see his friends. However, Brendon semi-lived in the moment, willing to waste away his evening with this gorgeous stranger, and go home later and fantasise about how they’d date and fall in love if only Brendon was in the right place. What he didn’t know was that Ryan was thinking the same thing, jumping the gun and paving out their unlikely romance before they’d even learned eachother’s second names- and another think he hasn’t quite clicked on was that he was speaking with- no, flirting with- Ryan Ready, frontman of an extremely famous, like, crazy famous band. He would’ve been embarrassed that he didn’t recognise him without being prompted (Brendon’s music taste was often strange or niche, so he didn’t follow the Young Veins and only saw Ryan the odd time on talk shows or heard him talking on the radio), but, really. It was Ryan who should be embarrassed. It wasn’t like Brendon had his head buried in the hypothetical sand of current pop culture.

So, he wasn’t as dumbfounded or floored, or freaking out, as he imagined Ryan expected. As such, he responded simply, only betraying that he was impressed by his success, if a little bitter because here was one of those people, those stupid famous people who probably had no more talent than him but they were up there and he was... Down here, in this admittedly shitty bar. Suddenly, his biggest claim to fame was catching the eye of Ryan. Brendon frowned down at his whiskey briefly, but then he remembered that he should be flattered, and sunk easily into their relatively relaxed back-and-forth flirting. A little of it would do nobody any harm. No problem at all. Brendon’s eyebrow quirked in an instant, betraying thoughts he didn’t make known. Yeah, I bet it isn’t a problem for you, he thought, but he was smiling, because Ryan Ready wasn’t kidding about wanting to take him out for dinner. This really didn’t happen to him every day, he swore- most days he’d finish the one drink he allowed himself, two if he was feeling particularly careless and too apathetic to care about the cobwebs and crickets chirping in his bank account, and then go home, binge watch some shit tv show and go to bed to start early again in the morning. Just the thought made him shudder- how he’d probably be doing the same thing every day for a very, very long time. Lack of variation drove him mad. ”I mean, I’m not easy. Y’gotta, like, chauffeur me. Court me, all traditional. I have religious parents, so...”

Wow, now he was talking family with Ryan Ready, infamous for his father tragic childhood and young adulthood. Even Brendon knew that, from snippets of articles and casual gossip. He pursed his lips, took another sip from his glass- he was trying to suppress a charmed smile as Ryan mirrored his actions by taking a sip of his own whiskey and flashed him an oddly alluring half-smile. Hey, I’ve got all night. Interesting, but Brendon did not, and he had to constantly remind himself that before the evening took an unexpected turn. Order as much as you want. Brendon laughed, gentle, and planted one elbow on the wood, propping his head up with his hand and tilting it to the side with a smile, like an adoring puppy. Unlawful locks of hair sprung out of place over his eyes, but he just let them remain. ”Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Brendon advised, nodding solemnly as if this was was undoubtedly the wisest insight anybody had ever given Ryan in his entire life. ”If you won’t buy me the whole bar, I don’t wanna know.” Wow. Excellent flirting, Brendon. You just sound like a textbook gold digger. Then again... Maybe he was. Brendon had to admit, having everything bought for you did sound like the dream.

Oh, Brendon, trust me, it’d be nice. His name from Ryan’s mouth sounded so different, he said it in a low, careful voice, clearly not wanting to mess it up like so many others did even after years of knowing him. He’d given up correcting even the regular clients at the salon who still insisted on calling him Brandon. ”It can be arranged,” He batted back in his direction, all casual, like a cat playing with a ball of string that it didn’t really want to keep, but he didn’t want it to roll too far away, either. Maybe it was unfair of him. Maybe he was leading him on, somehow. Brendon shut himself up before that thought process went too far off the rails. But since you aren't a serious fan, I could definitely convert you with some private shows, how about that? His eyes raised from studying the numerous rings adorning Ryan’s fingers and he broke into a wide smile, exposing his bright teeth as the corners of his mouth and his eyes crinkled up, somehow his mood uplifted just by that ridiculous offer. Ryan had met him under, like, ten minutes ago, and Brendon’s every sense told him that he was being serious. This was too good. ”Sounds good, too. How private are we talking?”

What about you? Oh, no. This was where it all got real- he knew he should be fair and shut this down, but he was finding it difficult to even tear his eyes away from Ryan for too long. It wouldn’t hurt. What do you do? Wasn’t like it was very impressive, either- imagine revealing to somebody who has your dream job that you’re something lowly and insignificant. Uncomfortable for the first time, he shrugged one shoulder to brush it off. Wasn’t like he’d ever see Ryan again, anyway. ”I’m a stylist,” He settled on eventually, avoiding Ryan’s eyes for a split second. ”I make people look pretty, and, as you can see from my example- me- I do an alright fuckin’ job.”

nothing friendly at all

Though the suggestion that Brendon made about Ryan maybe listening to his input every once in a while was a joke (Brendon could hardly imagine being angry with Ryan ever again at that moment), it was more than just a breath of truth- Ryan had always, no matter what, deflected any and all of Brendon’s suggestions, for the band or otherwise- and if, on the off chance, he ever secretly agreed with Brendon’s viewpoint, he’d speak over him, propose the point himself, take all the credit. The man was ridiculous, frankly, and any other time just thinking about how petty and critical Ryan could be would set Brendon off- but it was difficult to feel any emotion but some kind of unusual but not unwelcome affection towards Ryan in their current situation, tangled up together in a hotel room in Seattle, bodies pressed close, lips ghosting against skin, and everything was warm, and gentle, and unfamiliar, and Brendon just kissed him (barely) to banish his train of thought before it got too sappy. Yeah. Brendon inclined his head slightly to meet Ryan’s eyes, silent. You’re right. He broke into an amused smile just as Ryan leaned in to kiss him properly, and he only just managed to control his smile in order to return the slow kiss before Ryan was up and off him, arms outstretched towards the phone.

Brendon felt a little cold and lonely when Ryan moved away, ever the dramatic, and he tugged the sheets up his body where they were wrapped around him as much as he could now that the warmth from Ryan’s skin was no longer beneficial. He turned his head to stare at Ryan, intending it to be defiant, or sulky, or pleading, or anything in between, but he quickly found there was a benefit to his bandmate lying beside him a little ways away- bandmate, shit, he hadn’t really thought about how the band would respond to this, but no, shut up, that’s irrelevant, look at him. And Brendon did, catching his bottom lip firmly between his teeth for a few moments and letting out an involuntarily sigh of enjoyment before the corner of his mouth turned up into a geniune, dumb smile, provoked by Ryan when he nudged against his temple, acknowledging Brendon’s lack of subtlety. For a few moments, his mind was wandering as he thought about how they still had the entire morning to just lie around in bed together, but Ryan’s next words snapped him out of his fanciful, domestic daydream, into reality. Brendon knew that Ryan was probably kidding around, but still, he had to make sure that he knew that just because they’d slept together or whatever, it didn’t mean he was automatically and permenantly in his good books. It’d take a little more.

And Ryan was smiling, and Brendon tried to be irked by it, but he just couldn’t be, his smile was contagious and Brendon resisted moving over to meet him in a kiss again. It seemed that Ryan got the message, but he still eyed him carefully, posed to shoot down any far-fetched fantasies of suddenly being Brendon’s favourite person in the entire world. Then, Ryan was laughing, and Brendon felt like a pitifully lovesick teenager as his insides heated up and his heart began to melt. His laugh was just as contagious, and Brendon cracked a wide smile despite every attempt at stopping it. Hey, That was my cover. Brendon shifted to get comfortable and tilted his head to listen as Ryan curled an arm around his waist and pulled them both closer together. Really I appreciate your ass that won’t fit into normal jeans. Wow, predictable- but Brendon was disappointed at his lack of foresight. He’d noticed nearly every slip-up Ryan made, especially when he caught Ryan checking him out, but he’d never noticed that kind of attention before. Brendon closed his eyes briefly, considering, then opened his eyes and raised a single eyebrow. ”You know what, that’s understandable,” Came his response, finally, as his smile broadened to try and coax Ryan’s fading grin back to the surface. ”Thank my mom, I guess.”

Brendon gazed up at Ryan like some kind of awe-inspired and adoring puppy, eyes drifting from feature to feature, his mind drifting somewhat as he wondered what the hell people would think of this if they ever found out- key word ‘if’, and the most likely outcome would be that they never did. Keltie- Keltie would flip, accuse Brendon (rightly, Brendon thought, amused) of turning Ryan gay or something- Jon wouldn’t care much, Spencer would disapprove due to the change of the internal structure of the band. It was unstable enough as is. Brendon wondered what Ryan was thinking about absently, and lifted his arms to hook one around the back of his neck and the other loosely over Ryan’s waist to hold him closer, propping himself up slightly against the cushions. Ryan, in turn, lifted himself onto an elbow and they were back where they started, Ryan hovering over Brendon’s form and Brendon clinging on to him somewhat hungrily, like he was being fed a meal but the person who gave it to him was constantly threatening to take it away and not give it back. They were on borrowed time. Realistically, what could come of this? Brendon made himself a little exasperated thinking about it, so he switched his brain off and let the slight feeling of Ryan tracing tenderly over his skin flood his senses. Ryan smelled good, he decided, of something typical like vanilla, and the beach. Okay, then, tell me, how can I make it up to you.

Brendon said nothing for a moment, just let his head tilt to the side, as if considering. That was a dangerous statement to make- If Ryan was as open to making it up to Brendon as he seemed, he fully intended to make the most of that, push him as far as he could, see if he could wrap his guitarist around his little finger like he always fantasised about doing. A pause, and Brendon let the arm be had angled around the back of Ryan’s neck fall and then move into his hair, tangling locks around his fingers and using the leverage to pull him in for a punctual kiss, mostly to give him more time to think about what it was that he wanted. Thoughtful, he sunk his teeth as gently as possible into Ryan’s bottom lip, more a nibble than anything, and trailed off to the side before letting his head fall back into the cushions, muscles going slack and arms dropping down by his sides. ”That’s a tricky one,” He murmured, finally, tilting his head and staring at the ceiling, wincing as the bright light from through the blinds hit his face directly. Lifting an arm to cover his eyes, he gestured with the other towards the window. ”First of all, close the blinds? I’ll think better without a headache.”

riches all around

When he was younger, Brendon would, similarly to Ryan, have never anticipated what his life had come to now- but unlike for the talented and successful musician, Brendon’s life hadn’t turned out so fancy and steeped in sex, drugs and rock n’ roll, although he doubted that somebody like Ryan (even if he did look slightly intimidating, but that was mostly because Brendon was so short compared to him) partook in any of that. Actually. Well, what did he know- Brendon envied the success of celebrities and despised serving them when he knew he was meant for something greater; and though by no means was Brendon arrogant or fame-hungry (he just wanted lots of people to hear what he could do), he was confident and sure of himself. Well, he had been. It’d been literal years since he picked up or sat down to play an instrument, and though he was a talented singer, he supposed he’d be incredibly rusty. Life had just dealt Brendon a bad deck of cards and he was just endlessly unlucky- it wasn’t the worst life by any standards, especially in comparison to others, but it wasn’t the life he wanted. Wasn’t the life he was meant for. Wasn’t the life he deserved.

But there he was, anyway, and he could see no way out- for someone like him, with boundless energy and high ambitions and endless talent, being stuck in the same role with the same pay and nowhere else to go was a living nightmare. He’d move heaven and hell to get out of there- if someone would just show him how he’d get out of there, get out before he was stuck permanently and he grew old and got arthritis and couldn’t cut hair anymore or something. Brendon was spontaneous and liked to live in the moment, not plan every step of his future- and when he was in his late twenties and it looked like his entire life really was paved out in front of him perfectly, it set off his anxiety and his nervous energy and instead of being a motivator, that immobilised him. A hopelessness had started to settle on Brendon’s bones- it wasn’t catastrophic, but it was slowing him down, it was draining away at the Brendon he used to be. Overtime, inadequate pay and even loneliness (he didn’t have a roommate, or a significant other, and he couldn’t afford to look after a dog) had reduced his overall enthusiasm for life, and it sucked. Surface level, though, he knew he looked fine- he had stood in front of the mirror, he had studied his face, he hadn’t aged much in a decade save a few harder lines and the startlingly darker shadows under his eyes. He was still youthful, when he dressed as nice as he could afford he looked put together, handsome, even desirable. That was all he had going for him right now. It seemed material pleasure and the condition and desire of being beautiful had now taken over his entire life and career- he worked in a salon, after all.

He wondered if Ryan saw exactly what Brendon saw in the mirror when he looked at him. Brendon met his eyes, and imagined him thinking wow, this guy looks tired- Ryan’s eyes fell briefly to his mouth and the corner of it quirked as he shifted on the barstool and thought back to all the lovers he’d had (though the last one was a while back) who had obsessed over his full mouth and identified it as his best feature. Brendon wondered whether his hair looked good- of course it did, he was a hairstylist, if it was ever otherwise he’d quit the job himself- and then turned his attention to the stranger instead, eyes naturally going up to his hair. It was too long, yeah, it needed cutting shorter, and styling differently. Brendon then allowed himself to look the man up and down, before shifting his stool sideways so Ryan could sit beside him (his legs were long and Brendon imagined he needed extra floor space). So- he had accepted the offer of another drink. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, somebody offering, and it wasn’t often that he rejected it, either. The main appeal was a free drink, it was just a bonus if they were cute. It usually always went the same- someone approached, bought him a drink, Brendon flirted a little to keep them happy and then blew them off gently as he could at the end of the night as somebody stared after him like he was the one who got away. Lucky that Brendon wasn’t some kind of prize or conquest. That was usually why he never took such encounters further- it was kind of shallow. Though. Brendon was one to talk. He judged Ryan immediately based on his appearance, before even hearing him talk- but he was glad once he did, hearing his gentle, sexy-in-a-rough way voice and letting his eyelids droop because wow, he already knew he could listen to him talk forever.

Unfortunately, he seemed, though clearly confident and sure of himself (judging from his stance), a man of few words. We could do that, too, sometime. Go for dinner? Sure. Only Brendon’s wallet was empty and just the thought of spending money on eating out made him shudder. So, he nodded, but shrugged one shoulder simultaneously- ”Sure, darlin’, but you’re paying.” There was a playful glint in his deep brown eyes and he struggled to contain an enchanted smile at that little head tilt Ryan just pulled, staring down in concentration into his empty whiskey glass before he pushed it a little further along the bar. As he did that, the glass was taken away almost immediately and two others were pushed towards them. Brendon lifted his head to thank the bartender silently, then arched an eyebrow at Ryan.

”Two drinks? Someone’s thirsty,” He commented, smiling and taking the one he assumed to be his, straightening just as Ryan planted his elbow on the wood and leaned slightly over the bar. Now that he looked at him, yeah, his face was familiar, Brendon’s eyebrows rose in something like recognition, but he couldn’t link the name and the face with anything famous, and it was on the tip of his tongue- clearly Ryan had been waiting for that, because he jumped on it immediately when Brendon mentioned that he knew his face. I'm a musician, might be it. I lead The Young Veins. The Young Veins, yeah, that’s it, he knew them. Who didn’t know them? Brendon nodded and took a sip of his drink, not wanting to be one of those dumbasses who overreacted when they spoke to someone famous. He was still a man, still a relative stranger- or was he, if Brendon already knew who he was? His full name, in fact? It was a little surreal. He wasn’t exactly sure how to play this. Heard of us? He imagined how funny it would be if he said no, and he took another sip of his drink before setting it down, shrugging off his jacket fluidly and draping it over his stool because he figured he might be here for longer than he anticipated. ”Yeah, I have,” He confirmed. ”Who hasn’t? Lucky for you, I’m not some weird fanboy. I’m not gonna jump you. Unless you want me to.” He winked, effortless, half-joking, but Brendon was naturally charismatic. It probably looked as smooth as it felt. Probably.

What was he doing? Seriously, what the hell did he think he was doing? He usually had a little more restraint than this. And the last thing he needed right now was to get involved in any way with some rockstar, probably used to getting whatever he wanted. If he played hard to get... No, seriously, stop it, he told himself. Besides, Ryan looked and seemed sweet enough. Brendon had never been a massive fan, but he’d read interview transcripts, heard and watched live interviews, and he seemed the same in both, so far. Brendon turned his body towards Ryan, crossing one leg over the other, but he was looking past him at a small group throwing suspect glances in Ryan’s direction. Brendon raised his eyebrows at them, as if to say, ‘really?’, then just shrugged a shoulder and looked let his eyes drop down to where one of Ryan’s hands was wrapped around his glass. On basically every finger was a ring- Pretty stereotypical, but Brendon was fascinated anyway. Mostly by his hands, his long fingers, and Brendon glanced briefly at his own, turning his palm over and grimacing because whatever callouses that should be prominent of a guitarist were practically non-existent. He slid his hand off the table and into his lap.

riches all around

Three jobs in three years, hundreds, no, thousands in debt from both his student loan and the rent he couldn’t afford to pay on time- the life Brendon had was far from the one he planned when he was young, a little more fragile and a little less worldly-wise (though it be a stretch to describe him as ‘wise’ even now), but Brendon had made it for himself and he’d learned recently there was no room for regret or remorse or wondering how things would have turned out if he’d done certain things a little differently, jumped for every opportunity, connected to the right people and stayed away from the wrong ones. There was no harm in wondering, he used to think- but it just made him upset, made the tiredness in his bones resonate deeper, a deep-set exhaustion from overtime and underpay that sleep couldn’t fix. Brendon was ambitious- but when he was in a position where he was now almost certain he couldn’t get any further in, the lack of paths his career could take from there drove him crazy. He was a hairstylist, which would never, ever be his first career choice if he did it all over again, it never had been in the first place. Brendon was talented, sure, in fact he wasn’t just a hairstylist, he was a cosmetologist and a general stylist and he had an eye for aesthetic appeal that was practically unmatched. Unbelievably, that didn’t help him at all. He was stuck working in some salon where he was underpaid but couldn’t complain about because he hasn’t found another job to fall back on if he was fired. On the side, he was hired by private clients- C-listers and the odd B-lister- and though that was fun and all, Brendon wasn’t paid much, and all he got in return for his services was a bitter taste in his mouth as he styled the hair of someone who was well on their way of living Brendon’s dream.

It didn’t help to feel sorry for himself, but sometimes, it got to him. The only time he forgot how broke he was and how broke he had been and how broke he will be for the foreseeable future was payday; he lived like Gatsby for one day, never able to stem his impulses to buy and spend uncontrollably until he had next to no disposable income left. Every time the date rolled around, Brendon vowed he’d just put the cash he didn’t need to pay bills away in his account (which was currently collecting cobwebs), but that amount was getting less and less these days as chunks of his salary was taken away to repay his debts or catch up with his rent. Brendon wasn’t exactly in a crisis; in fact, he knew for a fact if he had a little more impulse control then he’d be much more stable. But he didn’t. So he wasn’t.

Today was payday, so when Brendon left the salon at around seven, having worked something like a ten or eleven hour shift, he went home to his tiny apartment (living in downtown LA was ridiculously expensive, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to move anywhere else) and sat back on his uncomfortable sofa to buy shit online that he knew he didn’t need, but money, even though it was short, burned a hole in his pocket and although he didn’t strictly need a new button-down shirt, that black one would look great on him, it’d accentuate the narrowness of his waist and hug his chest and shoulders and he could leave the buttons open and damn, yeah, he needed that. If there was one thing that Brendon had an appreciation for, it was fine clothes. If there was another, it was himself, and that was lucky because he spent most of his entire day in front of a mirror, and although he was meant to be focusing on the customer, often he found his eyes drifting to his own reflection or his hands running through his own hair. Conversely, Brendon knew he was attractive, and though he loved the attention and never exactly became tired of hearing it, it kind of sucked that that was the only thing people ever really noticed about him. It was flattering, really, when customers blatantly ignored his attempts at conversation in favour of staring, unsubtle, at Brendon’s reflection, but it was also really fucking rude. Whatever. He was used to it.

After he’d ordered what he wanted (some girl’s jeans, yeah, he couldn’t fit in normal ones, that black shirt, some grey sweatpants because he had decided to prioritise comfort for once, and a red sweater), Brendon paused for literally moments to decide on how he was going to spend his evening. It didn’t take him long, because typically, the answer was the same- go to a club, or a bar. Usually a bar. The only deviance was that, maybe, it’d be a gay bar. Tonight, though, he just wanted some fucking whisky and he wanted to drink it in peace, so he dropped into the most uninteresting bar he knew of that wouldn’t be full of assholes and sat down at the far end of the bar on a stool, furthest away from the door. Brendon was something of a regular and the bartender just offered him a nod of acknowledgment, opening his tab and getting him his usual without Brendon even opening his mouth. He was disappointing predictable these days, and his routine barely deviated. For someone like him, it was torture, plain and simple.

Brendon had nobody around to tell him he was being dramatic- he didn’t need anyone to, honestly, he knew it already, he had owned being melodramatic and hard work a long time ago. Brendon closed his hand around the whisky glass and dragged it over the varnished wood, closer to himself, before he lifted it and sipped. It was unremarkable, but it was still whisky. Unremarkable was a word that could be applied to many things about Brendon’s life, but he knew for certain that he himself wasn’t unremarkable and he was meant for remarkable things. It was just a matter of getting there before the urge to, like, become a stripper or something took over. It’d probably pay better than what he was doing now. He shifted closer to the bar on his stool and rested his elbows against the wood, watching absently as the bartender cleaned glasses at the far end, and held the whisky by the top of the glass with his fingers, flicking his wrist barely so to swirl the liquid around, watching as it settled when he stilled his movements. His mouth twitched and he sighed for no particular reason, taking a sip and realising that he was running low, but he probably really shouldn’t buy another one.

He was about to ignore his better judgement (as he often did) and order another whisky, but someone caught his eye, somebody beside him. Brendon put his glass down carefully and then turned his head, honestly expecting anything. This was L.A., and though it was an uninteresting neighbourhood as far as LA went, he was still used to the out of ordinary and wasn’t about to be phased by this guy. Even if he was- damn, okay, that’s a man right there, he- Brendon shifted, embarrassed by his own thoughts, and he tried to not so blatantly look him up and down but he was tall and dark and slightly intimidating, wearing leather in this damn weather and standing a good few inches over Brendon, he could tell, even sitting down. Still, he didn’t get any urge towards this guy. He wasn’t in the mood for anything tonight, and dating was pretty much out of the question, he was too exhausted and too broke to make time for anyone else like that. Besides, this guy probably wasn’t even- Brendon did a double take at the way he stood, side pressed against the wood, body cocked confidently, and then his eyes drifted to his hair and just... everything, and his eyebrows lifted minutely. Yeah, okay. Brendon cleared his throat, wondering how to play this. He decided he was going to wait for this guy to speak and then make his decision.

Hey, there, can I buy you a drink? I'm Ryan. Brendon blinked upon hearing his rough-smooth voice, glanced at his drink, then back at Ryan, then picked up his glass and downed the rest of it, not breaking eye contact with Ryan as he did- then he put it back down decisively and slid it away from himself, before flashing this Ryan guy a half-grin. ”Absolutely,” He said finally, quirking an eyebrow as his smile faded. Hey, when an opportunity presents itself... ”I’m Brendon. I’d usually prefer dinner, but y’know, for you I’ll make an exception.” Oh, he was flirting now. Good going, Brendon, he couldn’t really go back from that- but he was bored, and this stranger was handsome, and- the more he looked at him- Wait. ”I recognise you from somewhere.”

nothing friendly at all

Funny how the same man that had once mocked him mercilessly for his every trait- say, how much he gestured when he spoke, any new haircut he might be premiering, the way he sang, or even his harmless snacking habit and love of food- was now straddling him with a strange innocence that was precedented by the strange... Definitely not innocence of the night previous, and was offering to order them both room service, waffles and pancakes and everything. If Brendon had been wiser, he would have doubted how genuine this extended olive branch was. He might’ve thought back to every time ryan sneered or snickered when he was, maybe, speeding through a share bag of skittles, and brought it up, demanding to know why he was suddenly being so nice and feeding his ‘unhealthy’ habits- did it take just one night for Ryan to not care about that anymore? Or did he never really care to begin with, he just looked for every available opportunity to pick on him? Thinking about it, Brendon didn’t fancy that Ryan ever actually cared about his health. This was all a distant reflection, though, and in the instant, Brendon just peeled up like a puppy and propped himself up against the headboard, wrapping his arms around Ryan to pull him along into a similar position. To show his appreciation, he decided on the embarassing path of sucking up to Ryan, pressing gentle, barely-there kisses, like brushes from a butterfly’s wing, across his skin.

At this point, Brendon had given up being bothered by Keltie, who, if all went well and she actually accepted the breakup, would be out of the picture soon enough. He wasn’t about to hold his breath that things would be smooth sailing from here, though- he knew from being (unfortunately) around Ryan all the time that several of his ex girlfriends in the past have looked for every excuse to come round to a hotel, the bus, wherever, to ‘return’ something or to ‘pick something up’. He imagined it was likely Keltie would do the same, and that would be awkward. Anyway- smooth sailing? What did he even want to go smoothly? It wasn’t like they were automatically boyfriends, no, what they were doing was out there as it was but that would be too our there, until under twenty four hours ago they had been unable to stay alone in the same room together without wanting to kill eachother within thirty seconds. It was unrealistic, if Brendon wanted to think practically, but- he didn’t. Right now, Ryan was smiling down at him in a way he was so unused to that it floored him, and he was hit with a sudden surge of a certain type of motivation that, admittedly, quickly died away when he realised he wasn’t actually able to move very much. He settled back into a relatively comfortable position, disappointed, and wanted to be irritated when he saw that Ryan was holding back laughter, but he just- couldn’t.

Although, being almost-immobile did have its benefits. Yeah, Yeah, fair enough. Okay, so maybe he was being a little dramatic about it, but he had decided that it was his god given right. Then, when Ryan finally turned his attention back to what should be the central matter at hand, Brendon lost interest immediately and resting his head with a gentle thud against the wooden headboard, which in turn made a dull noise as it hit the wall. His hands slipped from Ryan’s skin and he reached behind himself, half-extending his arms and hanging on to the top of the headboard, stretching his torso out and then moving his arms to fold comfortably behind his head. For the next few moments he wondered how long he would take to break it off with Keltie, how long she’d uselessly protest against the end of an admittedly ridiculous relationship, and then he was pleasantly surprised when Ryan hung up, cast his phone aside somewhere he immediately focused his full attention on Brendon. Attention, of any kind- Brendon lived and breathed it, but this was next level. As Ryan wrapped his arms tightly around him, he tipped his head back to meet his gaze, and when he tilted it further, he let out a content sigh as Ryan pressed his lips delicately against his Adam’s apple for a few fleeting, gentle seconds.

Damn. Should’ve listened to your insight. Brendon hummed in agreement, eyes shut, but then they snapped open when he saw the opportunity to turn that around on him. ”You know,” He began, speculative, raising his eyebrows as Ryan drew his thumb across his temple, ”I think a lot of things would turn out better if you listened to my insight a bit more, y’know?” A pause, and he raised both eyebrows, finishing his tangent before leaning forwards to pepper kisses along his jaw and then, despite himself, planting a firm, appreciative one against his lips. ”Just- in general.” After that intitial kiss, their first of the morning, strange considering how sickeningly domestic and sweet they had been behaving, Brendon was receptive when Ryan leaned in just moments after to meet him in another one. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the comfortable weight on his hips was gone because Ryan had rolled sideways so he was lying beside Brendon in his back. Close beside, sure, but he still felt the loss, pouting visibly for a second until he saw Ryan reach for a dial the hotel phone. In the meantime, he pulled the sheets up and over his hips, so they were tangled tightly around his waist.

Hi, can I get pancakes and waffles sent up to 203?... An order of everything, that'd be great. Yeah- every flavour. Thanks. Brendon wasn’t listening to the specifics- he was just admiring the view since he’d got a proper look at Ryan stretching out beside him, all lean and gorgeous, his curly hair (Ryan was dragging a hand through it and Brendon desperately wanted to do that for him) a mess that spoke for itself. His eyes lingered, enthralled, as if he’d seen for the first time how flooringly pretty Ryan was. They’d slept together, sure, but they had both been drunk and driven by angry energy- this was maybe the first time he had properly seen Ryan. Still gazing, his eyes travelled from his honey-hued eyes to his mouth, to his jaw and pale, delicate throat and his stark collarbones, his deceptively strong arms and then his hands, all long fingers and callouses and spidery veins- Brendon let out an extremely appreciative sigh and was so distracted by his waist and his pretty hips (who knew they could be pretty, this could be ridiculous) that he barely heard Ryan when he spoke next.

Am I your favourite yet? I got you all the flavours. That includes chocolate chip, man. Brendon, who was lying on his side facing Ryan, propped up with one elbow, grinned and went to thank him for the surplus of breakfast food- but that first part just processed through his mind and his expression changed, a small but visible frown furrowing his eyebrows for a second before he simply raised them. ”Don’t push it,” He warned. ”You’ll have a lot of making up to do if you want to be my ‘favourite’. You’ve insulted me so many-“ Brendon scoffed suddenly, remembering a specific example mid-sentence and shifting so he was on his back again, propping himself up with both elbows. ”Remember all the times you made fun of me ‘cause I have to wear girl’s pants? Yeah, I remember shit.”

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?”