Neve

searching for a feeling

Brendon, too, wasn’t happy about this hyped-up, money-making scheme of a ‘reunion tour’, but after initially defiantly lashing out and protesting against the whole thing, his label cracked down and he figured he should have probably seen this coming, considering that when the band initially split, Ryan and Jon were picked right back up by the label in the form of a new band. He wasn’t really following how they were doing- he heard songs, but rarely voiced his approval directly or indirectly to them. It was as if Brendon was an ex, wanting to stay as far away from Ryan as possible but not wanting to be completely in the dark about what was going on in his life. They were still- friends, he supposed, though they’d never really been just friends; they skipped over that and instead went directly from passionate hatred to physical intimacy, which, in hindsight, was definitely not the way to go. Reflecting on it all, Brendon wasn’t sure what He and Ryan ever were, if anything. They certainly weren’t boyfriends, but they were more than just friends- enemies- with benefits. There was a softness there, an affection that neither of them anticipated, and when it became too intense and neither of them could cope, plus the band was becoming more fragile over creative difference and tensions, it ultimately tore them apart.

The split was a huge blow to all of them, though Brendon was reliably back on his feet with Spencer pretty soon, faster even than Ryan and Jon, who, though they’d said they were dead set on a direction for the band, spent a suspicious amount of time in production and writing. Meanwhile, Brendon and Spencer organised auditions for a new lineup- they needed a bassist and a guitarist, which would be difficult shoes to fill, Brendon secretly thought. No matter their differences in what direction they wanted to go in, there was a general mutual respect and agreement that they were all very talented musicians and it would be hard for all of them to find people that could fill those empty spaces on stage and be even half as good as their predecessors. Brendon’s ex-sort-of-boyfriend (he had quite a few of those), Ian, was the sensible choice for guitarist- they ended things in a very good place and though he imagined it would be slightly alarming for Ryan that he had been replaced by Ian of all people, they did audition some others, but nobody fit as well as Ian did. Spencer has joked, rather darkly, than maybe Brendon just always had a thing for his guitarist. Brendon was disgruntled, but couldn’t exactly argue- of the two he’d played with as part of an official lineup, he’d hooked up with them both.

Then there was the matter of a bassist. Brendon and Spencer has already been writing and recording their new album and were done a few weeks before they even found Dallon, who was, in fact, their only hope, because after months of not being able to find anyone, Dallon come along in the nick of time so they could actually perform on tour. The downside to Dallon was that at the first audition, it quickly became apparent that he hadn’t learned any of the songs. Not one. Brendon, who was letting label and time pressures get to him, had snapped and demanded that Dallon actually learn the songs next time, you fucking moron. Of course, Dallon did, and after that Brendon realised he was a sweet guy, kind of odd, but a talented musician and almost as theatrical and over-the-top as Brendon was while they were on stage even just in soundcheck and practices. The first night of the tour, though, was when the onstage chemistry between the three front-of-house band members (Spencer was too confined to his drums to join in) became obvious- Brendon, with his new haircut, in the new bowtie/suit/suspenders getup that he’d forced the rest of the band to wear, had seemingly evolved from the sweet, geniune, hyperactive frontman he’d once been- he became more bold, chaotic, perhaps even explicit, which was maybe understandable given the nature of the songs he had written lately- but it both stunned and riled up the crowd, especially when Brendon stores across stage towards Ian and pressed up against him, sans innocence or affection, or when he got down on his knees in front of Dallon just for the hell of it. It was all a spur-of-the-moment thing, and by the end, Brendon was impressed with himself for not just stripping off onstage.

Afterwards, he was content, cooling down in the air-conditioned rooms backstage and then flitting between people, accepting compliments about the show and engaging in conversation with the stage manager about how things could be improved, being all giddy and excited with Dallon and Ian and Spencer but deciding, to everyone’s surprise, he was just going to go back to the hotel tonight, not go drinking anywhere. Therefore, he was pretty much the only one left after everyone else dispersed into the city or back onto buses and away, so he went back to his dressing room (unfortunately not air conditioned) and began to undress, realising belatedly as he did so that he’d probably have to wear the same clothes over and over again before he got a chance to wash them. He only had so many changes of costume and Brendon was adamant that he’d stick to the theme all the way through and not end up in, like, jeans and a t-shirt like he often had in his previous band when he was too laid-back to care about whether he matched the show or whatever. Brendon was much more of a showman now, and it was obvious in the way he talked, performed and sang. The change in him was evident to those who knew him well and those who didn’t.

Turns out, though, Brendon wasn’t the only one left behind after everyone else had filtered out and left. He saw Ryan in the mirror and blinked, a rush of emotions hitting him that he couldn’t quite describe, so he didn’t try and read into it too much, just exhaled silently from his parted lips and offered Ryan’s reflection a small, tired smile. Hey. It hit Brendon then that they hadn’t had a proper conversation in person for a while, especially not while alone. It’d been too hectic so far, Brendon didn’t even remember seeing him before the show. ”Hey,” He returned, casual, stepping aside slightly as Ryan moved to stand by him so there was more room by the mirror. Automatically, he gave Ryan a quick once-over, then looked back dutifully at his reflection. You guys sounded... just. Amazing. You killed it. Not to state the obvious. Brendon grinned, glancing down as he finished the last of his buttons and let his hands fold over his chest. ”Thanks, man, you too,” He murmured, but then he quirked an eyebrow as he remembered exactly how he behaved on stage, cringing not from embarrassment but more for Ryan’s sake. ”I’ve been told that sometimes I’m too much, but. Good to know you approve.”

Brendon cleared his throat and hesitated for a second. He’d been in the middle of changing, but now Ryan was here, he put it on pause, and after a second he turned to glance at the closed door. You okay? ”Yeah, I’m great, how are you?” A pause. ”Are we the only ones here? How come you stayed back?”

stay afloat || b&r

Brendon was having a hard time pretending that everything Ryan told him was completely new information, had a hard time talking to him like a near stranger when he felt, strangely, like he’d known Ryan for his entire life. In a way, he supposed, he had- indirectly. He knew details about Ryan’s history and habits that even Ryan himself will have partially or wholly forgotten- talking to him and asking these questions, engaging in this casual conversation wasn’t just a way to slowly begin to earn his trust, but it was absolutely necessary. Brendon still didn’t know much about the human world, but he was educated and wise enough to realise that if he started asking Ryan why he’d never met his half-brother before, it wouldn’t go down well and would probably secure Brendon never being allowed within fifty feet of Ryan again. He didn’t seem like a particularly open person anyway- Brendon could only imagine his reaction if he started recalling obscure details about Ryan’s life like he was the expert. Even though he likely was. It was a strange dynamic, and one that Brendon wasn’t used to- he was used to assisting from a distance. Being up close and personal with a human like this was groundingly intimate.

When their conversation crossed into mutually common territory, about their musical abilities, Brendon found himself becoming more and more fascinated, wishing Ryan was more talkative because he could listen to him speak for hours, especially about something for which he held passion- and he could tell music was one of his. When he showed interest in learning whatever Ryan knew about it, it wasn’t a cheap trick to gain trust- Brendon had always been genuinely interested in human music and instruments, but it had obviously never been available for him to learn. He distantly recalled some rule forbidding engaging or interfering with human arts, including music or simple things like attempting to play a manmade instrument, but chose at this moment to ignore it, feigning ignorance to such a (in his opinion) ridiculous commandment. Brendon watched carefully as Ryan looked past him, at the wall, and he felt a strong twist in his stomach at the slight sadness he could detect on his face. His expression remained neutral, unrevealing, when inwardly, he was bracing himself in preparation in case they ever came into physical contact and Brendon would feel whatever Ryan felt. I will. Brendon nodded, offering what he hoped was a vaguely comforting smile.

Nothing would come of avoiding such subjects, or treating Ryan like a delicate child, as God seemed to see all humans as- Brendon saw them differently, regarded Ryan face to face and decided that they were not so unalike as he had been lead to believe. Everything Ryan held over him was associated with free will and liberty and Brendon felt intensely envious even though he imagined that, if Ryan knew of Brendon’s true nature, it would be the same the other way around. Yeah, I’m still here. Despite Brendon feeling no apprehension as he spoke, it was still unnverving to see Ryan’s secret smile after he accidentally mentioned that he already knew about his dad- mostly because he wasn’t educated enough to know what that mysterious, mirthless smile went. He thought about just straight up asking but decided against it, accepting, albeit belatedly, that he’d just have to figure all of this complicated human emotion stuff out as he went along. Brendon exhaled finally, not realising he’d been holding his breath. ”I can tell that was a sore spot for you, I’m sorry. Not something you want to be discussing with a potential roommate, I’m sure.”

He attempted to settle the situation and lighten the mood as much as possible and, thank the lord, it worked. Just like his mood dropped substantially when Ryan was even faintly unhappy, Brendon skyrocketed just at that little grin he coaxed from his charge. He could already tell that he’d be experiencing a heady cocktail of intense emotions in a very short period of time and wondered how on Earth humans did it, how their mortal bodies didn’t get... Overwhelmed. Though, he supposed that a lot of the time, they did. Anyway. Being obviously religious wasn’t a bad thing to Brendon, of course, but being so easily ‘clocked’ or whatever set him off wondering whether he had to be more subtle. Maybe not that obvious until you told me God spent extra time on me. Brendon opened his mouth but couldn’t find an answer, just shrugged sheepishly and felt his face heat up. ”I- It does happen with some people,” He said, his expression earnest. It’s fine- not like that’s something I’ll forget. Well. Brendon shifted in his chair, this time noticeably less graceful; admittedly, he was still rather perturbed.

The mood, though, was still light, until a subject that Brendon had absolutely not been informed about came up and he was now a deer caught in metaphorical headlights, having no idea how to react or behave to whatever was about to be revealed to him. It wasn’t like there was a manual, and such things were rarely, if ever, discussed. Gay? Brendon had been expecting it, but still, the word alarmed him, and consequently a deep shame and he knew where neither emotions came from. He hoped neither were obvious on his face. Sure. Feel free to take back all of the ‘'I'll help you with your debt,' 'we're still here despite everything' bullshit. Visibly recoiling at the harshness of his tone, Brendon looked something like a kicked puppy, unable to cope under even a little pressure before he buckled, and he had no idea how to claw himself out of this one. It wasn’t like he thought anything was wrong with it, he was just- he wasn’t allowed to think anything about it, and the panic of not knowing how to respond set in immediately. Not knowing what else to, Brendon stood up suddenly from the chair, sending it screeching along the floor.

He knew he was making it worse, but was lost for what to do, just stood there, his heart hammering and his stomach turning and he felt awful. And you act a little fruity yourself, so I'd advise not being a total asshole about it.For some reason, after that, panic mode stopped and time felt like a thick jelly, like he had time to formulate some sort of response just because he was so baffled by that ‘fruity’ comment. ”Fruity?” He echoed, arms crossing his chest nervously. He shook his head, dismissive. ”Listen, Ryan, I think you-“ Deep breath. When he spoke next, his voice was harsher, more eloquent. ”I was just asking. Let me respond before you jump to conclusions. I’m not sure anymore I’m welcome, so if you want to show me the door.”

dance in the rain

So, yeah, Brendon didn’t get up unless weed was promised- and not some half-assed ‘you’ll get it after, Bren’, or a sweeter, more manipulative ‘but you do your best work when you’re not high’. Brendon, frankly, vehemently disagreed- Jon came up with that line when he was high, that working title literally just meant ‘weed’, and that lyric was about being high. He strongly believed that this new ‘pipes afterwards’ rule was just to punish Brendon and Brendon alone. So, in rebellion against the dictatorship of Spencer, Brendon decided he wasn’t going to get up- in fact, he’d stay in bed, preferably asleep, unless someone physically dragged him out. And he was a dead weight when he wanted to be, despite being considerably small. Not only was this effectively an efficient protest, it was a clever excuse for Brendon to just be lazy and not have to do any work for once, like they did every day without fail. He was sure they could handle it without him, and he stuck by that even when his three bandmates argued that he was the lead vocalist, he needed to tie up loose ends. Ryan even promised him more writing liberty if he didn’t sleep in so long. Brendon, apparently, could not be swayed.

What helped was that not everybody was on board to drag him out of bed first thing in the morning- Ryan was his guardian angel of sorts, his saviour, defending his honour against the wrath of Spencer and the passiveness of Jon, he supposed. Thank god for Ryan fucking Ready. That particular morning, Brendon had been in and out of consciousness a considerable amount of times, and he happened to be half awake when Ryan (he knew by his gait; you live long enough around someone...) entered his room, hovering by the doorway. Brendon mentally dared him to even think about trying to get him out of bed. To his surprise, he was better at telepathy than he had initially believed, and he heard the door shut and Ryan’s footsteps retreating. Brendon, safe in the knowledge he wouldn’t be disturbed for some time (unless Spencer got particularly annoyed by his absence, but Brendon had a death wish), drifted off right away, enclosed in his fluffy mountain of blankets. It was way too warm in there to even consider going out into the relative cold so he could listen to Jon play the same bass tab fifty times in a row.

Unfortunately, Brendon’s good fortune didn’t last him long, and when Ryan came hunting for him next, he had just finished kicking his blankets aside, deciding that he could only cope with so much cosiness. He was half-awake, and this time Ryan seemed adamant, approaching his bedside and just leaving the door wide open, letting more light stream in from the window in the hallway opposite his door. Letting out a quiet noise of complaint, Brendon turned over and groped to find himself a pillow, pulling it over his head. Brendon. He faintly heard his name and decided quickly after smothering himself with a pillow that it was really too hot for this, so he pushed it off the bed with a sleepy growl of sorts, resting his head against the remaining pillow again and willing Ryan to go away. Unfortunately, he didn’t heed his pleas, and Brendon sighed inwardly when he felt Ryan’s hand against his temple, cracking one eye open and pouting at him. Bren, hey, wake up. ”Go away,” He protested immediately, mumbling, letting his eyes shut tight again. Brendon really hated him right now. ”I really hate you right now.”

In obvious distaste, Brendon batted Ryan’s hand away, pushing it off his temple and then fully turning over onto his other side, facing away from Ryan, the traitor who was supposed to be on his side. Check it out, I got you breakfast. He didn’t care. If it wasn’t weed, he wasn’t interested right now. Though... he imagined he’d be hungry later. Brendon stirred, partway convinced. We gotta practice. Do we, though, Brendon thought; maybe you guys need to, I don’t. If you don’t wake up, Spencer’s gonna come in here. Brendon’s opened quickly and he let out a deep sigh of disappointment before he turned over again to face Ryan, propping himself up on one elbow and snatching the muffin with his free hand, turning it over, considering. He then sat up, resting his back against the headboard, eyeing Ryan, clearly irritated. ”You’re dead to me,” He announced, crossing an arm over his bare chest and narrowing his eyes, shaking his head to get some curls of hair out of his eyes. This morning, the last thing on his to-do list was ‘fix his hair’. ”You’re like, Spencer’s little lackey.”

nothing friendly at all

It was easy to put all of their complex problems down to Ryan’s bruised ego, back when Brendon was recruited to take his place by Spencer and Jon in a not-quite-majority vote (Ryan wasn’t really given a choice), but it would be unfair of him, he thought now, to blame their messed-up relationship and consequently toxic band atmosphere on Ryan alone. Initially, Brendon had been cocky and full of himself to counter Ryan, riling him up for his own amusement because it was so easy and he felt Ryan deserved it for treating him like dirt on the bottom of his shoes. He criticised his singing ability, his lyrics (Brendon deemed them ‘pretentious’ and ‘nonsensical’, amongst other things) and his misfortunate love life. Ryan was, fortunately for Brendon, a serial monogamist who couldn’t quite hold a relationship for longer than, say, six months. Brendon couldn’t say much considering he hadn’t been in a relationship since the band started, not a proper one, but that was out of choice. Ryan just seemed to fuck up every romance he was ever ‘swept away’ on, and Keltie, though more significant and longer lasting than any of his prior relationships, was just another in a long line of failures, and towards the end when this became apparent, Brendon relished in mercilessly mocking him for it. Ryan gave back as good as he got, but Brendon seemed to have the general upper hand recently, until last night happened and suddenly everything was levelled out.

Funny how someone he always wanted as far away from his as possible was so intoxicating now he was finally this close. When Ryan left the bed and headed off towards the window, Brendon had initially reached out as if to, regretting his request, drag him back down, but then he settled as comfortably as he could and let his eyes flutter shut and his vivid memory take him through the events of last night. There was when Ryan first arrived, and Brendon’s initial emotions were just- shock, surprise, what the hell was he doing here, so on and so forth. Brendon had been a mess, appearance wise- shirtless, pyjama pants, his hair a mess, he was all stubbly and rough around the edges, the opposite of the clean-cut, shaven, tidy individual he presented himself to be. A reflex triggered by his though process, Brendon’s hand lifted to scrub over his jaw, grimacing slightly when he felt the stubble against his palm. He reminded himself to shave, them settled back into his memories. Ryan had been drunk already, but had raided the minifridge nevertheless- Brendon reminded himself then, sex or no sex, Ryan still needed to reimburse him for that- and they came to an awkward arrangement on the hotel room couch, Brendon on one end and Ryan steadily going through the tiny bottles on the other.

Brendon had questions, but Ryan just went off on a tangent about Keltie, full of remorse and regret and confusion and Brendon was deeply uncomfortable, preferring Ryan angry than upset, because he could only deal with the former. He uneasily offered some vague insight- which, though not sympathetic, was honest as possible- but then things quickly escalated, as it tended to do when it was Brendon and Ryan, and Brendon was intensely angry at Ryan’s sheer audacity, forcing himself into Brendon’s hotel room, whining about his relationship troubles and still treating him backhandedly, like he was lesser, or something. Brendon’s patience wore thin and it brought him to a seething life, forgetting his inhibitions and, driven partially by alcohol, pushing Ryan practically against a wall with some newfound strength, daring him, challenging him, asking him to take what he really wanted, what Ryan knew he wanted since his even thought about flying to Seattle. And Ryan, to his complete surprise, accepted the dare, surging in to close the minimal space between them and catching him in an angry kiss. It all escalated from there, and everything after that in Brendon’s mind were just hot flashes, skin, recollections that sent shivers down his spine and intensified the ache in his muscles just from the memory.

He was distant, now, and though his eyes were open, he was looking almost distantly at Ryan, coming to the conclusion that he would never look at him the same again. Pointers? Really? Slowly, the animated smile creeped back to Brendon’s face, and he shrugged one shoulder carelessly, still playing with the creased sheets, playing uninterested. ”Hey, don’t worry about it, I don’t judge.” He lifted his head and finally met Ryan’s eyes. In that case... Brendon lifted his eyebrows right back, mind clouding at the mere suggestion of a ‘next time’. He wondered what the circumstances would be then. Next time. Brendon replied with an affirmative nod. ”Anytime, baby.” Ryan then crossed the room and pulled him into a kiss, relatively and regrettably brief before he climbed over Brendon and settled there. He wondered how Ryan could manage the distance when Brendon felt drawn to him. He missed his skin, after mere moments. Embarassing. He resisted following for a while, though, both of them considering Keltie, Brendon with something akin to disdain and disbelief. Probably hypocritical considering he was the ‘other man’ on Ryan’s side, he supposed. So am I. Fair enough, but Brendon was suspicious at how that almost seemed like Ryan jumping to her defense. He looked at him sharply, critically, feeling suddenly the urge to move back and away and demand he leave, what was he doing, this was Ryan. But it passed. Uneasily, he stilled.

But you probably knew that. He nodded. ”You’re pretty, but you’re really, really dumb,” Brendon added on, something almost like affection edging into his low, sleep-rough voice. Finally, he decided he could no longer handle the distance and moved despite the pain to settle beside Ryan, cursing him for making him move instead of having mercy and settling beside him in the first place. Brendon felt despicably childish, like he was tugging on the sleeve of somebody for attention, but the gentle touch against his chest calmed him and he decided against complaining about it. His attention was drawn towards Ryan’s hands, and he knew he was being infuriatingly tactile but he allowed himself to indulge, sighing deeply when he traced his thumb across his calloused guitarist’s hands and came to another realisation; he’d never be able to innocently watch Ryan play guitar ever again. Brendon then went to reluctantly let go but Ryan was interlacing their fingers together and he felt his heart rate spike- He watched, in awe, as Ryan kissed his hand. Brendon. Yes, baby, anything. Thank you. Brendon blinked back at Ryan, unsure, until he looked away. He took the opportunity to lean in and press a kiss against his neck, tucking his head into Ryan’s shoulder.

You could've told me to fuck off at any point, you know. Endless patience. Brendon had since moved a hand to hold his jaw and tilt Ryan’s head back towards him so he could meet him in a kiss, and when he pulled away to hear him speak, he replied by leaning in to kiss him again, smiling against his lips before pulling away. ”Maybe I should’ve told you to fuck off.” Another gentle kiss. ”I’d be able to like, walk, then.” He shifted as if to demonstrate his point, wincing. ”You’re trouble.”

nothing friendly at all

Brendon’s traditional speech before Lying wasn’t written intentionally to annoy Ryan or get on his nerves, but when it was performed, Brendon named the drama and played the part, fully getting into it every time without fail. The crowd loved it- the rest of the band thought it was silly, but Brendon was theatrical and shameless and he loved milking the shock factor of his promiscuous onstage persona almost as much as he loved stringing along Ryan, casting him as the ‘lover’ in his dream, a harsh, cold irony that tasted like metal in both of their mouths when Brendon almost spat out the gentle words and imagery like poison, but subtly enough that only Ryan would understand he was saying never in a million years to that whimsical dream. Now, though, when they were pressed close, when all Brendon could feel was the intoxicating combination of the bedsheets and Ryan’s warm skin, and instead of tasting harsh copper from spitefulness he was getting drunk from kissing Ryan, from the heady situation situation or from the strong alcohol he could taste on Ryan’s lips, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was a joyously far cry from when Brendon would talk about that perfect, passionate kiss, and would hunt Ryan down onstage, enjoying how uncomfortable he made Ryan feel and how much he affected him when he either kneeled down and hung onto his legs or his clothes or his waist, or leaned in dangerously close as if to take that kiss. He never did, but every time he came closer, toed the line, tested how far he could go before he pushed Ryan over the edge.

Many times after shows like that when Brendon was particularly rowdy, Ryan exploded into anger and frustration afterwards, and Brendon then saw that as a success- He flinched, now, recognising the toxicity and realising that they were still, effectively, like that. Sure, they were all sweet and tender now, but relationships couldn’t just be fixed like that, especially when their relationship was broken to begin with- as in, they wanted nothing to do with eachother, but being stuck in that situation they had become reliant on eachother’s presence and felt lost when the other wasn’t there. That feeling alone made them even more angry. Thinking about it in reflection, it made sense why Ryan had flown all the way across the country to see him even though they were supposed to hate eachother’s guts. Brendon would have done the same if he were in the same shitty situation. Lost mostly in his head, he continued matching Ryan’s gentle behaviour, savouring each soft kiss because they were both volatile in nature and each could be their last if one of them even barely said the wrong thing- And, the awful thing was, they knew exactly what buttons to press if they wanted to send the other one over the edge.

Brendon was self-sabotaging by nature and the longer the quiet stretched out, the more his mind wandered to damaging places, considering how just earlier this morning Ryan had been calling Keltie ‘baby’, and even if it was reflex, it hurt. Brendon reprimanded himself for feeling any vague spark of jealousy, because that would mean he was jealous of Ryan’s lover, and he didn’t want to be Ryan’s lover. Sure, Ryan had told her it was over for good, but Brendon couldn’t count on all of his fingers how many times he’d witnessed Ryan and Keltie have a fight, swear that they’d never see the other again, call it off, and then get back together the next day, clinging embarrassingly to eachother like it never happened. Brendon, at the time, found a sick joy in watching Ryan’s fucked love life pan out, watch it fuck with his head, but now, he recognised it as awful and draining and it made him reject serious relationships for even longer than he already had been doing. It wasn’t a commitment thing, he just- the job he had now, the band, they were still near the beginning, he had to work hard. He had a lot of love to give but didn’t want to half-ass it with anyone, be that referring to time or priority. Brendon was the kind of person to prioritise people over work, even though he had a startlingly strong work ethic- he was worried he wouldn’t be able to equally distribute his passion and therefore just dodged every opportunity to stop the dilemma occurring the first place. Plus- he hadn’t found anyone worthy of that yet.

Strange to be thinking about that now. Brendon felt the loss when Ryan arose and wrapped himself in the comforter, but said nothing, just shifted slightly, watching him intently as he moved, smiling slightly. I’m cold. Uh-huh. Brendon glanced towards the window, straining a little to look outside and squinting in the sunlight that bathed him in warmth. Cold, sure. Again, he said nothing, just clicked his tongue knowingly. As he readjusted, he teased Ryan about this whole ‘was last night cheating’ thing, and though he kind of immediately regretted it, Ryan seemed to take it fairly well. Whoa. Brendon picked up on his tone and grinned, tilting his head. So you didn’t enjoy it? Brendon swallowed thickly at that fucking smirk, one he’d seen so many times but in a cruel context, not one like this, nothing like this. Trying to relax, he stretched his arms above his head languidly, knuckles turning white as he gripped onto the top of the headboard to anchor himself. He returned the smirk, but yawned, all casual, before he responded. ”Of course I enjoyed it,” He reasoned, ”But I could give you some pointers.” A pause. ”Maybe next time I can show you..”

But no, probably not. He let go of the headboard and let his taut muscles go slack, expression softening, but he couldn’t conjure any comforting words, so he remained quiet, still with that little helpless smile that broadened as he heard Ryan’s slow, unsteady exhale. He became even more excited when Ryan came over and placed their drinks down, about to reach up and tug him down, but Ryan beat him to it, basically lifting him into a kiss that Brendon immediately melted into despite the loud protest of his muscles, digging his fingernails only slightly into Ryan’s hips before Ryan let go and he settled as tenderly as possible back onto the mattress. I love when you call me that. Brendon’s eyes glittered, because that was dangerous, vulnerable territory, but it was so tempting to take the plunge into treacherous waters with someone like Ryan- which was strange to say, because twenty-four hours ago, ‘someone like Ryan’ meant ‘someone he wanted to skin alive’. Anyway. ”Anyway,” Brendon replied huskily, trailing off. Anyway.

Moving as much as his aching body would allow, he settled back down against the headboard as Ryan climbed into the bed and lay horizontally, their legs crossing over. Brendon was blatantly staring, seemingly deep in thought. You're probably wrong. I think she was definitely seeing other people, so clearly I wasn't doing enough. Oh? Brendon’s eyebrows lifted, intruiged, and also surprised. What more could she want than that? Brendon figured he was being obvious, but at this point, couldn’t care less. He just shrugged a shoulder, but was still staring at Ryan, fascinated, until Ryan turned his head to look at him and he quickly glanced away, picking at the sheets again to busy his hands. ”She’s crazy,” He announced, as if fact. The quiet they were in was surprisingly comfortable, and Brendon’s eyelids started to droop, dangerously close to drifting off now the offending light had been blocked by the blinds and curtains, courtesy of Ryan, who was the one who spoke up and caught his attention once again. You think anyone would notice if we just never left this hotel room? I kinda prefer it here. A long sigh escaped Brendon’s lips and he stared at Ryan again for a few beats before he made his decision and moved- again against the vehement protests of his own body- to collapse and lie next to him, planting an elbow by his head and resting his chin in his jaw, using his other hand to idly trace Ryan’s side. He was enthralled, and his voice when he spoke was distant. ”I...” Brendon curled his fingers around Ryan’s wrist and lifted it, tracing his thumb along the spidery veins of his hand. ”I wish.”

nothing friendly at all

When Brendon actually thought about it, the idea of Ryan sitting around at his own birthday party, already drunk, and then deciding he wanted to go and see Brendon of all people was hilarious in itself- but now it was out in the open that clearly Ryan’s subconscious had goals rather than just sitting around and stealing all of the drinks from his minifridge, it was a hundred times funnier. Sure, so, he found it difficult to even begin to believe that Ryan wasn’t entirely motivated by alcohol and drunken fantasies, at first, but somehow they’d ended up like this- wrapped around and with eachother amongst crumpled sheets on a surprisingly comfortable bed in a second-rate hotel in Seattle (the label paid for it, but they weren’t exactly lavish spenders). It was bizarre, and twenty four hours ago, if somebody had told him he would be sleeping with Ryan on the night of his 21st birthday, he’d have either laughed in their face or, like, mimed throwing up, funnt considering it was up in the air now that Brendon thought about such things much, much more than he cared to admit. Now that it had happened, he felt no sense of satisfaction; though an afterglow has settled in his bones and an alien affection for Ryan had gripped him by the throat out of nowhere, he didn’t feel fulfilled by one night, instead felt a drive for more, more, more, even as they were pressed together and exchanging frequent, uncharacteristically gentle kisses.

It wasn’t them, but it was, it really was, and as Ryan moved to bracket his hands around Brendon’s narrow waist, holding onto him tight and sure, Brendon felt safe and comfortable, two emotions he never expected to associate with Ryan. Similarly to Ryan, his head was being invaded by pesky fantasies, but less the ones he saved for nights alone- instead, he played with the words ‘boyfriend’ and ‘ryan’ in his head and pondered the possibility for mere seconds before he shut himself down because that was ridiculous. One amazing night (well, considering they were both drunk) and one deeply and oddly affectionate morning didn’t equal the potential for a relationship when all of their past and consistent hatefulness was added to the equation. They were probably still just basking in the afterglow, Brendon convinced himself, even as he stared dotingly into Ryan’s honeycomb eyes, moved a hand to trail down his chest and concentrated briefly on the soreness he felt throughout his body in juxtaposition to that softness. It was an odd feeling, and one he was sharing with- he’d said it enough, but it was still shocking- Ryan, of all people. He imagined Jon and Spencer’s faces if they ever found out. Which they wouldn’t. Unless Brendon and Ryan became anything serious. Which they wouldn’t.

Anyway. Brendon wasn’t completely smitten with Ryan even now, when they were tangled together and Ryan had just ordered them both waffles and pancakes. He swiftly warned Ryan of pushing his luck- he might be in Brendon’s temporary good books at that moment, but Brendon was nothing if not wary and Ryan was nothing if not predictable. His pessisimistic side told him that this peace they’d found, this solace in Seattle, was temporary. But he tried not to thinks about it, half-heartedly warned Ryan not to be presumptuous about his place, and was then immediately won over by Ryan offering to make it up to him. Embarrassingly, he was on board right away. Brendon tilted his head and looked off into the distance as if to think, but was distracted when Ryan leaned in close against him and he turned his head just enough to catch him in a lecherous kiss on impulse. After that, he pulled back with a shaky, satisfied breath, and his eyelashes fluttered as Ryan started pressing painfully gentle kisses against his cheek. He needed words, couldn’t comprehend words. Luckily, he managed, drawing back so the sun was out of his eyes and freeing an arm to shield his face from the light streaming in through the open blinds. Ryan seemed reluctant- Brendon almost wondered whether he had any ideas about how to make it up to him already- but he was obedient, and that was all that mattered. Sure.

”Thank you, sweetheart,” Brendon mumbled, his voice rough and lilting from sleepiness. Though he had asked for Ryan to stand up, he still made an involuntarily whine of protest when he actually went to do so, reaching out as if to yank the comforter off of him and then thinking better of it, instead gently hanging onto the end and tugging it, playful, one eyebrow twitching mock-suggestively. He let go with a rush of air as a laugh, pressing his back against the cushions and waiting as Ryan wandered over to the curtains, wrapped in his shawl. What, was he shy? Brendon laughed to himself. ”What’s with the blanket? Can’t get all shy on me now.” He was still grinning as Ryan reached the window and shut both the blinds and the curtains. But it made you look so pretty. I’m almost grieving. ”Almost,” He echoed. He looked at him pointedly even as he moved towards the minibar and turned on the kettle. ”I’m sure you’ll survive, somehow.”

As Ryan started messing around with mugs and cocoa and coffee, Brendon himself kicked off the sheets and sat up to readjust his position, shifting down the bed and then drawing the covers up so they were taught across his hips. He planted his elbows behind him into the cushions and when he tipped his head back, he could rest the crown of his head against the headboard. The whole motion was not fluid, but it was painful. Intoxicatingly so. I'm making you hot chocolate. We should just start a list of my good deeds. Brendon lifted his head and opened one eye just to judge him before he rolled both and closed them again, his head thudding against the headboard. ”Does fucking your supposed arch nemesis while you’re still technically with your girlfriend count as a good deed?” It was in jest. Mostly. Brendon was trying to stifle a laugh even as Ryan started talking. Remember we’ve got a show coming up? ...Unfortunately. Cursing, Brendon sat up straighter and pressing his back against the headboard, flinching as he did so. It had been a while, alright. Are you gonna be able to, with, uh. Absolutely not. Your ass? As if it were the most tragic thing in the world, Brendon grimaced.

Every step is hell, over here. You might die. Experimental, he moved again, and this time he let out an involuntarily noise of pain, trailing it off into colourful curses. Not looking good. ”Whose fault is that, huh? Like, jesus, baby. You really had been thinking ‘bout that for a while.” He smirked, picking at the sheets. ”I’ve solved the mystery of Keltie staying with you, anyway.”

riches all around

As the corners of Ryan’s mouth curled up into a helpless smile, Brendon’s own trademark grin only grew wider. It wasn’t a rare sight, Ryan would be glad to know, and it was often near-constant when he was working and tried to keep customers occupied and comfortable. He was a social butterfly of sorts, warm and friendly and sweet, able to get along with nearly everyone- though he both suffered from sometimes intense anxiety and had very, very little patience for idiocy. He was never intentionally avoidant of company, which is why he never rejected the offer of a drink being bought for him- that, and the fact that he was broke enough to always want another drink he couldn’t afford. Ryan, it seemed- he had mentioned it already, plus Brendon knew anyway that he was rich and famous- could afford anything he wanted. Could probably buy the bar if he wanted to, he mused silently with a quirk of the eyebrow. Brendon tried to convince himself he was unimpressed, but really, it was envy that occupied the back of his mind- the yearning desire to be in Ryan’s shoes, even for a day. Have crowds sing your songs back to you, shout your name, cheer deafeningly for an encore. Brendon was so caught up fantasising that he took a few seconds to process Ryan’s words. You underestimate me.

Brendon rested an elbow against the counter and snickered shortly at Ryan’s faux defiance, derived from his previous geniune, animated laughter. ”Oh, please,” He tilted his head in counterpoint, and as he did, longer whisps of hair tipped over from one side of his head to the next, falling over his face and giving the appearance of an enthusiastic puppy. ”Let’s be realistic.” Leaving that open-ended, he drew his fingers through his hair at the roots, pushing it back and out of it eyes. Of course, strands rebelled and collected, falling over the front and just brushing his forehead in the form of a thin curl. For a hairstylist, he really had trouble in keeping his hair tidy- it had a mind of its own, and unless he used a questionable amount of gel or hairspray, it was inevitable that something would fall out of place. From this problem arose the habit of constantly touching and playing with his own hair- a hypocrite in the making, really, since he always advices clients to leave their hair alone as much as possible once it had been styled, for fear of making it greasy or messing it up. As he regarded Ryan, not upholding eye contact for fear of seeming a little creepy (what, Brendon, he approached you), he entertained the idea of playing with his clearly unkempt curls and taming them into something that screamed ‘rockstar’ and not ‘twelve year old’. He almost looked wistful, drumming his fingers agitatedly against the table.

As someone who had desperately wanted to break into the music industry when he was younger (his dream had been trampled and crushed so many times it had kind of killed his hope, though some always remained, he was a natural optimist), how Ryan coped with his personal life being the public’s business. That was something he wasn’t sure he’d be happy with at all- saying that, he didn’t imagine anybody was ever happy about being public property. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d get much more elaboration than a neutral shrug. Yes. Brendon pursed his lips, nodded understandingly, relating in a way but also unable to imagine what it would be like, really. Yeah, it is. I mean- I date girls, too, it’s not so bad. Brendon felt something faintly akin to surprise, though he wasn’t sure why- he’d seen the tabloids, and by ‘seen’ he meant briefly glanced at a paparazzi photograph of Ryan and an apparent ladyfriend. Jesus, the guy couldn’t go on a casual date without people speculating as to whether he’d met the love of his life. Brendon nodded after a moment, still strangely surprised. But if I'm ever interested in a guy, you know. He did, but he also didn’t, so he just sort of nodded to show he was listening, figuring it wasn’t exactly fun for him to talk about. So he dropped it, but stored it away to mull over later.

Settling back into comfortably flirting was easy, and Brendon felt like he was speaking to an old friend, that they went years back and were only just realising feelings for eachother, or something cringey like that. Either way, he felt a definite spark that he hadn’t anticipated when a handsome stranger offered to buy him a drink (because, Brendon wasn’t trying to brag, but that happened a lot). They were keeping it relatively tame, though, until Brendon has to go and run his mouth and say something stupid and impulsive and- oh, Ryan didn’t seem to mind that much, but Brendon was already in the middle of being flustered and attempting to start over to backtrack yet again. Ryan was smiling and Brendon was tentative, grinning but flushed with mortification at how desperate he sounded. Hand offered out towards him, Ryan took it and they shook once, firm, mostly as a joke, partially so Brendon could salvage his first impression out of the ashes of his thirsty, impulsive comment. He wished he could say it was a rare occurrence. Sure. Hi, Brendon, I’m Ryan. God bless him, at least Brendon wasn’t being teased about it. He was pretty sure he’d just crawl underneath the bar stool and stay there until he died. He was ready to withdraw his hand once his heartrate had calmed down, but then he was being pulled forwards with considerable but gentle force. Brendon looked down, confused, at their joined hands, then his eyes flickered up to meet Ryan’s, unexpectedly close to his, and he drew in a breath.

I’m just glad we’re on the same page. Are we? Brendon’s heartrate spiked again, his mind whirring, his temperature high. ”Are we?” He eachoed his own thoughts, wondering whether had actually heard what he said. Admittedly, he knew little about Ryan Ready, but never took him as someone so receptive to forwardness or this kind of heavy flirting with barely any subtext whatsoever. It was all surface level for Brendon. Brendon searched for a reply, but could only achieve sharing dumbly at his mouth while Ryan let go of his hand. Retiring it to his lap, he shifted on his stool, still recovering when Ryan started to tug on the short, tight sleeves of his ancient jacket. Everything- the hair, the old jacket, was pointing towards Ryan not having fully grown up on the outside yet. On the inside, maturity wise, of course. It just wasn’t reflected in how he presented himself and Brendon saw him as a kind of blank canvas. Of course I’d pay! Yeah, you’ll pay extra, Brendon muttered to himself, and he was smirking. He could afford it, after all. I'll pay you to follow me around and correct all my mistakes, matter of fact. If only. Brendon bit his lip to withhold a teasing smirk. ”It’d take more than me, darlin’, I’m sorry to say.”

Once Brendon had fulfilled his impulses to touch Ryan’s hair (not quite play with because that really would be weird, even though he wanted to), and they were close, slotted together, he started distantly considering exactly what could come of this. A client, apparently. Hmm. Forever and always receptive to touch, when Brendon was prompted to lift his chin, he did so obediently, brushing his fingers casually against Ryan’s knee. Could you handle it for me? Brendon laughed distractedly, keeping his eyes trained down at his own hands, occasionally studying Ryan’s, eyeing them with interest as he curled his long fingers around his whiskey glass. ”I’ll style it for you initially, I don’t think you’re too helpless to style your own hair every morning. Takes five minutes, tops. Maybe.”

riches all around

Though he could’ve probably fooled people with his behaviour at that moment, Brendon, too, wasn’t one for hookups or casual flings- maybe when he was younger, when he had a little more life in him (it wasn’t like he was old by any stretch of the imagination, but his series of bad hands drawn from the decks of life has seemed to dull him, so he was a rough diamond, or a blunt knife), but now, the idea was- kind of exhausting. Even if it was supposed to be the opposite, the prospect of sleeping with a stranger then having to a) uncomfortably excuse himself and leave or b) ask awkwardly for somebody to get out of his house was mortifying, and again, Brendon wasn’t easily embarrassed, but he drew lines, and there was less he could cope with these days. Ryan, however- no, he didn’t want to say however, that sounded like some kind of promise, but the more Brendon looked at him the more drawn to him he became. He wondered, absently, whether it was because he had found out the guy was famous- like, super famous- and his ego had just been stroked because his gorgeous rockstar had decided he was worth approaching. Compliments weren’t scarce for Brendon, but he supposed it meant more coming from Ryan, for some reason. Which was ridiculous. He was just a man, at the end of the day- who happened to be tall, pretty, and charming. Who was Brendon Kidding?

I see what you mean. And he was playing along with the religious parents joke, but asked no questions. It was usually Brendon’s go-to first reveal to strangers, or new acquaintances- which was odd, and nobody ever expected somebody like Brendon to have ever been to church in his life. He had left it all behind, now, but it was a big part in shaping him, for better and for worse- mostly for worse, though, he often thought bitterly, remembering barely veiled homophobia and parents pushing him away from what he loved and into something more ‘reliable’. Here he was, working backbreaking shifts at a salon, and all the worse for it. Brendon did keep some contact with his family, mostly to try and guilt trip them- he expected an apology for their bullshit behaviour, but his family seemed to be experts at brushing problems under the rug and not dragging up the past in what they said was ‘healing’. Whenever he called his mom, she tried to convince him to come visit, said ‘honey, we miss you’; his dad would be blunt and civil but not warm, clearly still holding something against Brendon (wonder what that could be); his siblings were all surface-level nice to him but he knew he was something of an outcast, the youngest and the most deviant. It was a pretty rough thing to bring up all the time, but Brendon embraced his history no matter what. Even if he did sometimes wish it had been different.

I could get one. And, as I assume is necessary, wear a button-down shirt and khakis or whatever so that I look like your straight friend. See, I'm good. Brendon laughed warmly, glad he was catching on. ”Does that come naturally to you?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow and pausing, a playful smile still on his face and his eyes lit up with good humour. ”Something tells me it doesn’t. And, uh, you’re gonna need a little more than some khakis to convince anyone that you’re straight.” No harm in a little passive critique, Brendon thought, looking Ryan up and down again, but this time more from a professional perspective rather than ‘damn, okay, he’s fine’. He was about to speak again but he stopped, restarted, his eyebrows raising sympathetically. ”You poor thing,” Brendon sighed, tapping his fingers against his glass steadily, his lips pursed for a moment. ”You’re in the music industry, and- well. Is it a nightmare?” Or maybe Brendon was being cynical. He was something of a stereotype himself, in that he was a hairstylist, he supposed- but being in the public eye like that, being scrutinised completely no matter what you did- he wondered how Ryan coped, especially when the whole world was so critical.

With that out of the way, he could go back to thinking damn, okay, he’s fine, and he started rethinking his whole ‘buy me dinner first’ schtick, watching Ryan’s mouth as he talked and sucking in a breath embarassingly when Ryan bit his lip. He wasn’t usually this easy, he swore- he blamed it reliably on the fact that Ryan was famous. Nothing more, nothing less. Damn, was he really that shallow? I’ll hold you to that. ”You can hold me against anything you want,” He burst out immediately in response, then pled, because even for him, that was bad. Brendon, luckily, recovered quickly with a laugh, able to laugh at his own expense. Internally, though, he was cringing at his own impulsivity. Shaking his head, he outstretched a hand as if offering it for a handshake. ”Hi, I’m Brendon Blake,” He began, still giggling. ”And I have no brain-to-mouth-filter. Can we, uh, start over?” Fuck his life. Brendon, Though endlessly mortified, regained composure, hoping they could pretend that never happened- and, in order to move on quickly, he switched back to professional, where he wouldn’t run his mouth and embarrass himself. Well. Silencing his own doubts, he reached out towards Ryan’s hair, noting his nod of consent and then running his fingers through, keeping his eyes trained there and not to Ryan’s face now that his eyes were closed. He withdrew his hand after a few beats, then his jaw dropped slightly in horror at the mention of a decade old jacket.

Wait, no, go back to a second ago when you still liked me, pretend you didn't hear about the jacket. Brendon’s face lit up with laughter, not because of the jacket thing, but because of the casual squeeze of his arm- he was grateful Ryan would even touch him after he was so fucking weird. ”I’m surprised it still fits you. Well- actually- it doesn’t.” So, hypothetically, if I were to schedule an appointment with you sometime, you'd make me look like a functioning person? Tell me your professional opinion, what would you do to fix this. Hypothetically, sure. Brendon imagined bringing this guy to the place he worked, the looks he’d get, the jaws that would drop. ”I mean, only if you’re a paying customer. I’m not cheap, y’know.” He said finally, and then he withdrew backwards slightly as if to get the full picture, then back in, dragging his stool close enough together with Ryan’s so that Brendon had one knee between Ryan’s legs and the other was skewed off slightly to the side. Comfortable, brought a hand up at the side of Ryan’s jaw, turned his head to the left, then the right, gently. ”Well,” He began, biting his lip, ”Your curls are cute, but like, five years younger cute. You need it shorter, but styled so that- if weight is taken away, it won’t just curl even more. Which means you’ll have to take care of it, style it every day, and have regular upkeep.” He lifted an eyebrow. ”Think y’could handle that?”

catch me like a cold

As far as Brendon was concerned, Ryan could lie, lie, lie all he wanted about his intentions- be it tonight, given the bus had been empty and they’d had the night to themselves, or in general- as Brendon could effectively see straight through him. He was transparent. When he straight-up accused him of initially having very specific intentions, Brendon knew he could be accused of being unfair. After all, there had been times where Brendon had done the same, he’d intitiated, not Ryan; say, they were practicing, Ryan would be sat playing guitar, for once concentrated, and Brendon would watch him in silence, hoping that when Ryan looked up the expression on his face would be enough. That’s how they communicated now- it was safer and somehow less real than actual flirting. When they did that, Brendon could treat it like it was nothing to him. He had also come to believe that Ryan didn’t have to. Anyway, he wasn’t a hypocrite, not really, only kind of, because as of recently Brendon had been frequently and reliably rejecting any of Ryan’s advances- at first he had pretended he didn’t notice when Ryan tried to catch his eye, then he’d make sure ryan knew he had blatantly refused, by shaking his head or arching a judgemental eyebrow or smirking mockingly in his direction. This, apparently, wasn’t enough for Ryan to get the message, and he was nothing if not persistent and stubborn about it, which was unusual because Ryan had always been someone less inclined to chase, more inclined to settle and give up. That’s what Brendon thought, anyway.

Brendon thought a lot of things about Ryan- some things had he felt sick to even entertain now- and currently, colourful expletives cursed him in his head as he stared at his dumb, gorgeous face. Frowning at that thought, he looked down stonily as he felt Ryan’s eyes on him, careful and searching and remorseful and Brendon didn’t want Ryan to be sorry, he just wanted him to fuck off permenantly so they could go back to the way they were- high-strung, confrontational, all the anger but none of the unbearable subtext. That would be much less complicated and much safer, and it wouldn’t lead to Brendon whining about Ryan not caring about him emotionally. Of course he didn’t. Why would he? Why did Brendon ever, even subconsciously, expect that from him? And even if he did miraculously care about Ryan, why would he ever admit it, when every occasion that Ryan had ever been minutely personal (say, about his dad, or his deteriorating relationship with Keltie) Brendon had been harsh and critical, not cruel, per say, but not exactly willing to sympathise. Brendon looked back up, and Ryan glanced away. Brendon felt a sick sense of triumph. Don’t make assumptions if you’re going to be that far off the mark. That’s funny, Brendon thought, as he curled his hands into fists. He thought all the intitial anger and fire had drained out of him.

”Sorry, yeah, I didn’t realise you had feelings for me, I can’t believe I didn’t get that message through all the yelling, that’s insane,” Brendon spat, closing his eyes tightly and watching scenes flash through his head that made anger surge into him again- not just anger, but dejection. He thought back to that one time where Brendon’s room had been on a different floor to the rest of the band’s by mistake, and they’d taken advantage of the time and been together effectively til the sun came up, after which Ryan abruptly excused himself, getting dressed half with his clothes, half with Brendon’s, which was funny, Brendon’s mouth twisted as his own tight blue v-neck rode halfway up Ryan’s back- there hasn’t even been a ‘goodbye’ or anything, just a cleared throat and a ‘be there for soundcheck’. Another memory was of before that soundcheck, alone in a hallway backstage and they’d been laughing, talking, uneasily easy with eachother, and Brendon, in this rare harmony, had tried his chances to lean in for a kiss. Ryan had cut it all off short and pulled back, looking panicked, rambling excuses and backing away down the corridor, back the way they’d come. Brendon felt that sting of shame now. He recalled every time, feeling cheap. He didn’t want that anymore.

I didn’t know. His voice was unsteady, and Brendon felt another twisted sensation of victory from having reduced Ryan to that, minutes after the motherfucker had been vehemently jealous and in denial about his own jealousy. Brendon’s eyes narrowed as he leaned against the back of the couch, crossing his legs, the picture of composure even though he still felt the sting of Ryan’s callous actions to his core. I didn’t know how badly I misled you. Misled- what? Brendon’s brow furrowed, and he wondered what the hell Ryan had intended to lead him believe. Because if everything was just Ryan pretending to be a dickhead, it was extremely convincing and realistic and somehow even worse than if he just hated Brendon’s guts. If you really think I'm like that, then I fucked up beyond belief, Brendon, and I'm sorry. An apology, then. Brendon wanted to be bitter, snap at him to keep his name out of his mouth, but he just sat, uncharacteristically quiet, wondering again what the hell Ryan thought his shitty behaviour would achieve as far as Brendon’s good graces went. If he had some ulterior motive, Ryan didn’t know about it.

I thought- I thought I was being convincing for other people, I didn't think it was- I didn't mean to hurt you. Brendon glared at Ryan, sullen. He found it hard to believe any word that left his lips, even if he knew what Ryan looked like when he was lying, and there were flashes of geniuity in his somber, remorseful expression. Brendon, stubbornly, tried not to notice, just pursed his lips. ”Why do you have to be a dick to me in private to convince other people that you hate my guts? Everyone already knows you do,” Brendon murmured, and he cringed at how pathetic he sounded, how vulnerable, as his voice faltered and broke towards the end. He looked down, subdued, as Ryan did the same. I’m sorry about Ian. Brendon’s eyes flicked back up to Ryan’s face, and he leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in one hand. ”What’re you sorry for? Being a dick to him, or being a dick to me because of him? And- are we done here, can I ask him back over,” Brendon mumbled, leaning back and reaching into his pocket for his phone, wiping his face by lifting up his shirt, pretending his eyes hadn’t welled up.

riches all around

I didn’t think you’d be easy. You’d think so, wouldn’t you, you really would- but Brendon, after telling himself that he’d politely reject any further flirting, was sitting there uselessly, trying not to stare uselessly because he was so, so pretty, and it wasn’t like Brendon hadn’t seen his face before (he was just that famous, his and his band’s likeness online all the time and plastered everywhere to advertise an upcoming tour, or album, or something), but he’d never really noticed, even though he really was and always had been Brendon’s exact type- tall, dark, handsome, well-spoken, obviously intelligent, he was even extremely talented. Here, now he was sat right beside him, obviously into him, Brendon tried not to let it go to his head. He wasn’t even particularly starstruck, he just had an ego that, though frequently stroked, was always looking for new ways to be inflated. And here was Ryan, all flattery and charm he didn’t expect from someone that was so humble and quite mild from what he’d seen, and Brendon couldn’t bring himself to tell him that he had to go. Because he didn’t. He just knew that there was a point of no return with guys like this and Brendon was edging dangerously close already, and he’d only bought him one drink.

He realised he hadn’t spoken, and snapped out of his lapse in focus, regaining his easy smile and meeting Ryan’s eyes. ”You’d be surprised.” His voice was earnest as he tightened his grip on his glass and lifted it to take a sip, mostly trying to convince himself that after this one drink, he’d make his excuses and leave. He wouldn’t, obviously, but it was fun to fool himself. Hey, I can do all of that. And parents love me. Brendon smiled cynically, because it could be anyone, and he knew his parents wouldn’t like the guy he brought home. He said nothing, just cleared his throat and placed his glass back down on the wood. I'm sure I have a Bible, like... somewhere in Hoarder Hell. Hoarder hell, did he say? Unable to relate, the corner of Brendon’s mouth twitched and his eyebrow quirked in acknowledgement- Brendon thought about how though he was a messy and disorganised person in general, he didn’t have enough stuff to hoard. He imagined Ryan’s house was huge and he had more money than he’d ever know what to do with- and wondered whether or not he was feeling particularly generous. ”Any chance you’ve got a Book of Mormon kicking about anywhere? Are you god-fearing, Ryan?” Light and charming, Brendon’s tone had a teasing lilt, and he was even able to imitate the voice of his parents that he remembered so vividly when he was young. Ryan’s name rolled off his tongue like some kind of revelation, and he leaned forward slightly when he said it, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge.

That’s good advice. Was it? If it was, it was a rare occurrence to hear good advice coming from Brendon’s mouth. All the more reason we should hang out more often. He was so hard to refuse. Brendon answered with a faint nod, unable to really think sensibly. During his silence, he was trying desperately to formulate a reply, not usually this stuck in social situations- god, he wasn’t that pretty (he was), get a grip of yourself, Brendon- but Ryan saved him and kept talking. He blinked gratefully as he did so, and then his uncertain half-smile spread into a blinding, geniune grin, ear to ear, eyes scrunching up. It wasn’t a rare sight; for all of Brendon’s hardships, he was an admirably cheerful person, with an easy sense of humour and an approachable nature that made him a hit with clients where he worked. Well, there was that, and. Just you and me, unless that poses an issue for you? Like hell it did, Brendon was past the point of no return, even if he displayed remarkable willpower and went home now he’d still be thinking about Ryan for weeks and how he’d maybe missed the love of his life, or something, or at least a very enjoyable fling of sorts. He figured Ryan, the famous musician, was more a guy to engage in the latter.

”I bet nobody’s turned down that offer before,” He remarked, smirking, tilting his head minutely to the side and willing his eyes to remain making contact, not drifting down to Ryan’s mouth like they had started to naturally do. It wasn’t helping with the upkeep of the image of being not easy. He allowed a pause for effect, for anticipation. ”And, darlin’, I’m not about to be the first.” Maybe the pet name was overkill, but it wasn’t like he was using it especially for Ryan. It was his go-to general term of endearment, even if in this instance, if wasn’t exactly wholly innocent. Back at the salon, though, he referred to the more pleasant clients as ‘darlin’, which, looking back it it now, probably wasn’t helping with the whole issue of being flirted with while he was trying to work. Now, Brendon was a natural, but he was easily distracted, and not only was this behaviour exhibited from clients inappropriate, it was immensely distracted. After a while, he’d stopped telling them to stop looking at him in the mirror. If the haircut turned out shitty, it was their fault, not his.

Speaking of the salon. Ryan wanted to know about his job. Brendon didn’t know how to tell them that he was crushingly unsatisfied with and overqualified for his work, so he kept it neutral, lightening it with a joke. Ryan, who he wrongly and bitterly assumed would look down on such things, seemed geniunely interested. ’All right’ is an understatement. Flattery. Brendon felt himself flush and then felt wholly mortified. He wasn’t some useless teenager, and here he was, blushing after one little direct compliment. I need you. Look at me. ”What do you think I’ve been doing,” Brendon instantly replied, but he laughed and looked him over anyway, looking from his eyes to his hair and back down again, extending an arm and hand towards Ryan’s hair and searching his face, asking for silent permission. Brendon was an impatient man and didn’t bother waiting for a response, just ran his fingers hesitantly through Ryan’s hair. It was soft, was clean, he obviously took care of it in that respect, but. It was too long, did him no favours. Brendon curled a finger around a lock and dropped his hand down to his lap. I don’t know how to dress myself or anything. ”What you’re doing works for me.” Brendon nodded to his general person. I've had this same jacket since I was seventeen. That was a step too far. Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, and that said more than any words could.