Neve

cherries, cherries

Though Brendon really did initially (and, blindly, still to this day) believe that Bogart was an angel of a creature, perfectly well behaved and easy to manage, obedient, the whole package- Bogart had repeatedly proved him wrong. He was hyper and wriggly and never stayed still (people do say that dogs are like their owners and vice versa)- far from a lapdog- and though he tended to calm down for Brendon only, even then he only begrudgingly settled into his arms or collapsed down by his feet after a little coaxing and a whole lot of treat-fuelled bribery on Brendon’s part. Because of this defiance he tended to display with anyone else, he was, in short, difficult. Difficult to train, difficult to calm down, difficult with other dogs, difficult to find a groomer for, one who could actually do the job properly while he wriggled around and tried to escape with all the energy of a firecracker packed into his little jack russell body. Brendon had carried him to plenty of places but they either couldn’t control him or the cuts ended up looking ridiculous- and he only ever asked for a trim. It wasn’t much. And he only wanted the best for his little angel dog, who was perfect, everyone else was just stupid.

As weird as it sounded, Brendon found a kindred spirit in Bogart, but then again, it was probably a direct result of Brendon’s inherent hyperactivity and awkwardness that made him into the dog he was today. Brendon’s entire personality tended to resolve around his interests and since they were usually relatively obscure- he was unnaturally obsessed with Frank Sinatra, for god’s sake, and his only real talent was anything to do with music, particularly singing- so because of this, he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Not out of choice- his nervous energy and anxiety just got the better of him whenever he tried to step out of his comfort zone. This made it very difficult for him to believe that he’d ever actually achieve his dreams or do what he wanted to do in life- both of those being to become a musician, a famous one that people admired, looked up to. To do that, he needed confidence, and it wasn’t like he was horrifically insecure or anything like that, but he lacked the charisma he knew was vital if he wanted to achieve anything close to what he fantasised about. Anyway. Pretty heavy stuff to go into considering he was literally just taking his dog for a trim to a groomers he hadn’t tried before, but honestly, the difficulty Bogart had in succeeding to fit in and be well behaved like all the other dogs when he went to be groomed made him think about his own general ineptness in academia and beyond.

Before he walked inside, he hesitated, Bogart safely under his arm and looking up at him quizzically as he took a deep breath, running his free hand firmly through his own hair to push it back, trying to at least pretend to believe that this whole thing would just be normal, nothing embarrassing would happen and he’d drop his dog off, then come back later to a clean, trimmed, nice-smelling Bogart, eager to see him, jumping straight into his arms like he was spring loaded. Grimacing at himself, he pet Bogart absently on the head and then shouldered the door open, holding his dog’s little body close to his chest to shield him from coming into contact with the door. His footsteps slowed to a stop in the middle of the reception area and his eyes were immediately taken ahold of by the surroundings, easily distracted as he was. Almost involuntarily he started moving again, slowly walking forwards, his eyes trained on the walls, so distracted that he walked straight into another customer. Apologising hastily he ducked his head, clicked his tongue at Bogart to get his attention and then made his way over to the front desk. Hi. Brendon didn’t look up, pretended to be fascinated by the pen that was attached to the reception desk, reaching out to toy with it automatically. ”Hey, this is Bogart, he’s here for-”

Right on time. Brendon swore he’d heard his voice somewhere before, and finally looked up to see who the receptionist was. What happened next was like he was suddenly the star of some embarrassing romcom- time stopped momentarily and his breath hitched in his throat, grip slackening on Bogart and only tightening again when he felt the dog notice the temporary weakness in Brendon’s grasp and tried to wriggle away. He knew this guy- Ryan- well, not exactly, but they were in the same music course and Brendon stared wistfully at him enough to recognise him immediately as his hopeless, foundationless crush, one harboured for someone in the year above him that he’d literally never held a full conversation with in his life. Brendon gulped, and realised suddenly he’d been staring, like, directly into his eyes for too long for it to be normal. He couldn’t help it, they were the exact colour of honey, Brendon’s heart was literally fluttering and it was juvenile, he’d never said more than three words to Ryan in his life. He willed himself to calm the fuck down and put on his signature, slightly skewed and nervous grin.

If you have somewhere else to be, we can just take him to the back, and call you when he's ready. Even if Brendon did have particular plans in place while Bogart was being taken care of, he would have cancelled them by now; some things were just so important and Brendon absokutely was not going to pass up on the opportunity to spend even a little time alone with Ryan Rowe, even if he knew deep down he’d only end up being deeply mortified by the end of this whole thing. That being said, Brendon was a risk taker and an opportunist and this was definitely worth it. ”Nah, I- I’d rather be here, honestly. With Bogart,” He added hastily, biting his up and looking down at his dog, who was surprisingly lax in his arms, looking up at him curiously. ”He’s a little difficult. I might need to calm him down, or, hold him, or something.” Or something. Brendon watched as Ryan moved out from around the counter, glad that he’d barely even looked at him yet. He was worried that if he did, he wouldn’t even know who he was. Taking a breath and a pause before he followed, he squeezed Bogart reassuringly and then trailed behind Ryan to the ‘bathroom’ of sorts.

We start by cleaning with an all-natural tearless shampoo, then a cream rinse conditioner. After that we clean ears, nails, maybe brush out the coats. Brendon nodded quickly along as he spoke, but was honestly barely even listening, and he could feel Bogart’s judgemental eyes on him when he heard his little growl of complaint and impatience. Brendon shushed him and scratched behind his ear with his free hand. Sound alright? You're not one of those people that's, like, 'Fido needs a special oatmeal bath, only the best for my dog,' right? Brendon scoffed, raising an eyebrow and miraculously managing a smile in front of the classmate he was infatuated with. ”First of all, I’d never call my dog ‘Fido’... Though I do think Bogart deserves only the best.” By the time he’d reached the end of his sentence, his voice had dwindled off, unsure, and he cleared his throat, looking up to try and meet Ryan’s eyes properly, catch his attention for longer than a few moments. ”Hey... You’re- in my class, right? Ryan, is it?” Of course it was. Brendon knew it was. But that would be weird.

if it's a dream, don't wake me

Brendon was lucky enough so far to only be a member of the tour crew, and not at all to do with creative sides of things of even the show itself (and that would never change, no matter what how much the stupid amount was that Ryan decided to up his salary by), so he didn’t have to deal with any real stress; in fact, the most pressure he’d felt was literally today, and it wasn’t even to do with the tour itself. Ryan had tried to creep out of the door with his hair an unkempt mess and in a hoodie- Brendon had seized him just in time and dragged him back inside, resting his back against and guarding the closed front door, waiting patiently as Ryan sheepishly slunk away. Once Ryan presented himself in front of the judge (Brendon), and he was approved for appearing in public, he left, and Brendon found himself wishing that he’d maybe been more picky, gone and fussed over his hair trying to perfect it further somehow, pulled together a whole different outfit- but by the time the door shut behind Ryan, Brendon found he missed him already and felt daunted and exhausted with the prospect of having to entertain himself for the entire day. He supposed at one point he could head out somewhere, but a) he didn’t have much money (payday came after tour) and b) it just wasn’t as fun without Ryan around. So, he remained inside, pacing around the hotel room like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Looking on the brightside, it was arguably more enjoyable to be stuck and bored in a luxury hotel room than it was to be at some questionable radio station or photo studio and have to answer borderline innapropriate questions that every just expected you to answer. Ryan had mentioned some of the more bizarre and invasive questions, and the ones that tended to always come up we’re about Ryan’s dad, Ryan’s family and then, naturally, Ryan’s love life- or apparently lack thereof. Suspicions were raised by everyone about Brendon, who was constantly caught in paparazzi photos at Ryan’s side like a faithful puppy dog. Looking at some of the pictures was very telling, and Brendon always thought yeah, I could see why people would think that. Yeah, I mean, if I imagine myself with him, it’s not too far a reach for others to think they were something over than acquaintances/friends/professionals. He didn’t mind as much as he thought he might- in fact, secretly, he savoured the attention- but he felt bad for Ryan, who was now basically public property and he supposed he had been for a long time. Even so, recently it’d been getting even more crazy, his popularity; Brendon tried not to credit himself out loud, but his new look and the band’s new style was definitely doing them all favours. It was okay, he sang himself his own praises and looked proudly on at his pet project from afar.

More than friends or not, Brendon and Ryan were close and everything was so easy now between them, evident in that neither of them thought twice about sharing a room even though the label could easily afford to buy them all separate ones and allow some peace and quiet. Apparently an experience with Ryan wasn’t one that could be matched elsewhere so Brendon, according to brand, stayed faithfully close and by his side everywhere, they had each other’s backs at this point. Save for maybe where it came to food. In fairness to Brendon, whenever he usually ordered takeout, Ryan never usually even wanted anything. And then ended up stealing things from his plate like an ass. So, to stop him complaining too much, he left him a single chicken wing, which happened to be the largest one from the batch, actually. Ryan didn’t seem as appreciative as Brendon would’ve expected. Thank you for saving some. As Ryan revealed the chicken wing and began to pick at it, Brendon grinned and offered a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder. ”You’re very welcome.” Very generous. He nodded dutifully, eyeing Ryan as he took bites from the wing. ”That better not be sarcasm. I spent your hard-earned money on that chicken, Rowe. Don’t complain.” At least he was honest.

Speaking of Ryan’s hard-earned cash, and on the topic of generosity, it seemed that Ryan had spent part of his day going shopping, which was the most baffling image Brendon could have ever conjured up. A little. Brendon smiled as he imagined him wandering into clearly high end stores and being recognised, shop assistants rushing to help him or hanging back, in awe. He imagined him actually thinking about what looked good on him, maybe adhering to Brendon’s quite strict ‘recommendations’ (orders). As he found out, though, Ryan hadn’t even gone for himself. All of this- and it only just sunk in- was for Brendon. He almost didn’t believe it. Dead. Already grinning, it widened until his eyes crinkled up and still glittered and flashed with a cocktail of disbelief and anticipation, almost nervousness. It was all expensive stuff, clearly, but Ryan didn’t have a great fashion track record. Brendon hoped the route he’d gone down fashion-wise wasn’t too off target. He began to root through the bags simply to register the prestigious names emblazoned on the sides. Is that still cool? I thought Gucci lost traction, but apparently it's back. ”Wow, look at you, fashion expert. I’ve taught you well. What happened to trying to seem straight?” A pause, and he pulled out at random some armani jeans. Armani jeans. Brendon shook his head, still in disbelief, and laid them out gingerly across the back of the sofa.

Debatable. How so? Well. He supposed it didn’t really count if Brendon wasn’t actually giving him any sugar in return. It was more like a charity solely for Brendon and solely clothes for Brendon. I’m not cool enough to be a sugar daddy. Brendon was half-listening, because he was still rummaging through, not really knowing where to start- but he raised his eyebrows anyway. ”I didn’t make you ten times hotter for you to start calling yourself ‘not cool’. That’s not just self depreciating- that’s me depreciating.” Maybe a sugar uncle. Appalled, Brendon quickly withdrew and pulled his arms right around his chest in mock defensiveness. ”God, never say that again,” He exhaled, shivering. ”I feel violated. Sugar uncle. Gross.” Brendon was still grimacing about that choice of words when Ryan stood up and walked over, bending to apparently look for something in particular. He stepped quickly to the side to allow him room. There's a, like, jean jacket in there that's really cool. But... if the gay rumors weren't already really bad, they'll be worse now since I got caught buying it. Interesting. Brendon loved it already and he had no idea what it was going to look like.

Here. See? Floral. Only you can get away with that. Like saucers, his eyes widened and shined as said jacket was revealed from the back- it was light blue but embroidered with a floral and butterfly pattern and Brendon was instantly in love. He rolled the sleeves of Ryan’s oversized hoodie up his arms and freed the jacket from Ryan’s hands, drawing his fingers across the shearling lovingly and biting his lip. ”Jesus. Ryan, I love it. Fuck,” He swore, shrugging it with some difficult over the hoodie and turning to face his new apparent sugar uncle, ”You’re the fuckin’ best.”

if it's a dream, don't wake me

Brendon was getting a lot of shit for how he was being treated by his boss. Ryan had arranged for him to make five grand- at least- every tour day that he worked, and that, he learned soon, was just for making up Ryan’s cohort; if an opening band needed Brendon’s expertise, or some dancers came poorly prepared, more was just added on top. Brendon reminded Ryan, when he was being told all of this, that he’d only promised to double what he made at his old job, not- not triple, quadruple, or whatever it was that made up the ridiculous amount he made now. Although, it wasn’t like Brendon was adamantly opposed, and Ryan was determined to pay him an exuberant amount- who was he to refuse? When he accepted the job offer and got to work rooting through Ryan’s sad, outdated wardrobe and the vaguely matching, equally sad wardrobes of the rest of the band, he realised there was more work to do than he had expected, and decided he earned every penny he made. Most of that hard work was convincing Ryan to part with things he’d had since he was seventeen, eighteen- once he’d assembled a casual wardrobe that was both different but still essentially screamed ‘Ryan’, he got to work on his hair, sitting him in front of the mirror and cutting it much shorter at the sides but retaining the length, styling it just so and teaching Ryan exactly how to keep it looking like that. Brendon even managed to convince him to maintain a little facial hair, which he could grow, he just apparently liked looking twelve.

When he had finished his little pet project (Ryan), he realised belatedly that he’d sort of just turned him into even more of his own type, and Brendon loved it because he was immensely attracted to it and hated it because- well, he was immensely attracted to it. When Ryan had first approached him in that shitty bar, he’d expected maybe a hookup, a few dates at most- now he was working for him and that kind of relationship was off the table, unprofessional. He almost regretted taking the job- almost. Brendon really had been struggling to even pay his rent recently, never mind have any disposable income to buy things that made his life drag a little bit less- he literally couldn’t afford to pass it up, as much as he wished that maybe their encounter had gone one way first and maybe turn professional afterwards. Oh well. Brendon surprised himself by quickly settling into his new role- and the lifestyle that came with it. Before, he’d had no money and no hope at all or even taking a week’s vacation; now he was travelling the world over the course of a few months and it all happened so fast but Brendon was nothing if not adaptable- and an efficient worker. Even if, okay, he might sometimes pay a little extra attention to getting Ryan ready, spend a little extra time perfecting his look- that was because, Brendon argued, he was the frontman. Everybody’s eyes would be on him, whether the others admitted it or not.

Brendon’s eyes certainly were. And it wasn’t subtle. This, coupled with the favouritism both Ryan and Brendon displayed towards eachother, had people making comments- passive aggressively talking about how Brendon wasn’t efficient, sarcastically asking him to spend more time on Ryan, you’re neglecting him, asking Ryan to pay Brendon a little extra, he isn’t earning enough. They even got the odd ‘your boyfriend’ joke and Brendon always laughed it off, Ryan protested- but not as vehemently and firmly as someone who wasn’t romantically interested in the person they were being paired with might. All the subtext aside, they quickly became very good friends, spending the majority of their free time on tour together, exploring cities, finding bars and jokingly recreating their meeting, Ryan saying can I buy you a drink, Brendon haughtily retorting that he could buy him dinner instead. And Ryan always did. He took Brendon wherever he felt like going on each particular day without a second thought. They became so close that, when Ryan begged him to share a room with him, Brendon didn’t allow him to try and convince him because he needed convincing- he let him because it was endearing. It was towards the end of tour when Ryan first asked, and they were in New York City preceding their final few shows.

Unfortunately, today wasn’t going to be a day where they’d go out exploring- Ryan had to do shitty interviews for the best part of the morning and early/midafternoon, and as much as Brendon complained, and Ryan tried to convince everyone to let Brendon tag along, his only option was to be confined to the hotel room for the whole day and find ways to entertain himself until Ryan got back and they could talk shit about the worst interviewers, Brendon agreeing with everything Ryan said even though he hadn’t even been there and he knew Ryan was biased anyway, because he hated interviews. Sigh. Brendon stopped whining when he figured it would be worth the wait, but he did try and stall Ryan, all the way up til he’d stepped out of the doorway and Brendon blurted out that he didn’t know how to use a kettle, Ryan, will you teach me. Ryan saw through his lie and left, not without a fond goodbye- and then the door shut and Brendon was left alone to his own devices, a whole luxury hotel room to himself.

First, after making himself some coffee with the kettle he definitely didn’t know how to use, he had a forty five minute shower, experimenting with the hotel shampoo and conditioner instead of the professional recommendation he’d made to himself and using half a bottle of coconut and vanilla shower gel. Wasn’t like he was paying for it- the label could suck his dick. Brendon then wrapped himself in a fluffy towel and lay down on his bed, scrolling through his phone for about an hour and texting Ryan who was already in his first interview. Brendon could only imagine how rude he looked and laughed to himself at how Ryan was starting to cement his image as the typical asshole rockstar. Feeling a little bad, he stopped texting back and rose to wander around some more, ordering the most expensive things from the hotel room service menu and rooting through the minifridge which, to his disappointment, had no good snacks in it whatsoever. In anticipation for room service to arrive he finally got dressed, but it took him a while to decide what to wear. He had picked out his favourite, well-worn pair of jeans, and after a moment of hesitation he found one of Ryan’s hoodies and pulled that over his head without bothering to find a t-shirt to wear underneath. Brendon styled his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror, liking the way Ryan’s hoodie looked on him and not delving deep enough within himself to find out way.

Room service arrived and brought the shitty expensive food which Brendon tried and immediately hated, discarding it on the coffee table and ordering a pizza instead. At this point he again started texting a very bored Ryan until duty called in the form of a knock at the door and he fished through Ryan’s wallet (he’d forgotten to take it with him) for money because he couldn’t find his own, paying the delivery girl and tipping them exuberantly because he could. Carrying the unnecessarily large pizza plus garlic bread and chicken wings was a difficult task in itself and he set it all on the coffee table after a brief struggle, throwing the fancy hotel stuff in the trash. Brendon proceeded to eat everything by himself and couldn’t text because his hands were so damn greasy. After he’d finished and looked slightly remorsefully at the empty boxes before him, he threw all of that in the trash apart from the box that still had a single chicken wing inside. A gift for Ryan, he decided, heading to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face so he wasn’t covered in sauce. Brendon was bored at this point and called Dallon- a friend and old coworker at the salon he used to work at- and rather insensitively gushed about his new lifestyle and how great things were going. Dallon was sweet and patient, so he listened, but Brendon wasn’t an idiot. When he said goodbye and hung up, just as he put his phone in his pocket, he heard the door open.

Happy almost-end-of-tour! Breaking out into a huge grin as soon as he heard Ryan’s voice, Brendon clambered off his bed and stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets and hesitating for a moment before he entered the living room because he was still wearing Ryan’s hoodie. Oh well. ”Uh, thanks?” He laughed, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the great number and variety of shopping bags Ryan had arranged onto one of the sofas. ”Somebody’s been on a splurge.” Funny, he never saw Ryan as someone who actually enjoyed shopping. He stood at the far end of the room, studying with faint amusement how Ryan collapsed, all legs and arms, into the chair, before he moved closer. I bring gifts! His brow furrowed in confusion. Gifts? For who? And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them. Brendon looked to the bags, to Ryan, then to the bags again, and his eyes lit up. ”Are you serious?” He approached the pile and rooted through a little, picking up on some of the brand names, eyes widening. ”There’s gucci here, Ryan,” Came his stunned voice, matter-of-fact as if Ryan hadn’t, like, bought them himself. ”Jesus, okay.” His laugh was disbelieving and he stared at Ryan again, adoring. ”Am i your sugar baby now? God, I almost don’t wanna look at anything, it’s above my pay grade.”

if we go on || b&r

Yeah, but let’s not dwell on that right now. Brendon strongly opposed that suggestion, and made sure Ryan knew this by being extremely tactile in an alcohol-fuelled reconnection with his kinaesthetic senses. It probably wasn’t anything that Ryan want already use to; Brendon was usually a ‘handsy’ (for lack of a better word) and flirtatious drunk, this had just been blocked so far by Brendon’s frustration with Ryan and constant dramatic whining as he complained about being abandoned, Ryan trying to change him, Ryan being an utter tightass who just wanted to ruin his fun. Now, though, since he’d calmed down a bit and was no longer running entirely on pettiness, the true intoxicated Brendon was unveiled, complete with shamelessness and a complete lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. ”I disagree,” He muttered, hands indecisively fumbling with his boyfriend’s shirt buttons, too uncoordinated to actually get anywhere- but it was the thought that counted. ”I’ve been thinking about you all day. Jesus, you do things to me.” Brendon locked eyes with him briefly but his vision was slightly blurred around the edges and he had to blink rapidly to try and keep it at bay. Frustrated, he all but whined, inhaling and exhaling with a heavy, disappointed sigh- it seemed tonight certain wants and/or needs wouldn’t be fulfilled.

It was his own fault, but Brendon wasn’t sober enough to accept responsibility, so he poured as if a toddler and turned on his heel, forgetting completely about the unsolicited information he had given Ryan Shit his sex life prior to them dating. Ryan probably knew all that stuff anyway from being his personal and long-suffering assistant, so he didn’t think it would shock him, believed that he was simply reiterating a well-known fact. That Brendon was- had been- something of a thot. In the words of many, including Brendon himself. However, as much as a Casanova as he believed himself to be, Brendon was close to blackout drunk, completely wasted, and he could barely keep himself upright by the time Ryan had come to his rescue by moving over to him and wrapping his arms around his body to support his weight and make up for his lack of balance and coordination. Luckily for Ryan, this time Brendon was more compliant, burying his head into the fabric of the shirt he’d half-heartedly tried to remove and inhaling his familiar scent- it was comforting and appealing and Brendon wondered whether the next level for them was Ryan allowing Brendon to just rob him of his entire wardrobe. Even if he wasn’t allowed, he’d probably do it anyway.

Brendon really was on the verge of passing out there and then, drifting off in Ryan’s embrace (sometimes he pretend to be asleep just to be carried to bed, so it wasn’t exactly unusual for Brendon to promptly ‘fall asleep’ in Ryan’s arms), but he had one last thing burning on his mind that he wanted to get out fast, considering he was at serious risk of losing consciousness in a very short time- It was a confession, one he’d had whirling around in his head for a while, and Brendon decided that now, when he was wasted and half-asleep, was the best time to tell Ryan that he was in love with him, after a ridiculous argument and an admittedly very messy night. He meant it, though. He meant it- and he couldn’t understand why Ryan looked so shocked, blinking up at him hazily and repeating it like it made more sense to him than anything else in the world, like it was so easy, when really it had taken him a long time to come to terms with it, to understand his own feelings and identify them as love, not lust nor infatuation. Brendon Bellamy had fallen in love- somehow, he couldn’t imagine it as a tabloid headline, but it sure was what he wanted everyone to know. The infamous wildcard of the powerful Bellamy family had found himself a constant besides parties and hedonism.

Brendon leaned up, albeit shakily, and kissed Ryan, a gentle, sweet kiss full of surety and contentment. He pulled back after a few moments and trailed gentler kisses down his jaw, indulging. When he withdrew to look up at him adoringly, Brendon was smiling too as Ryan exhaled, returning to him a happy, extremely tired, crooked grin. Unable to stay anything but fully pressed against him for very long, Brendon tightened his grip on Ryan, hands naturally finding his much more sober other half’s waist as he drew himself closer, close enough so that in the dark, quiet room, Brendon could hear Ryan’s heartbeat and his own leapt. I love you. He closed his eyes serenely and turned his head, pressing his nose against Ryan’s cheek before he slumped a little and his forehead rested with considerable difficulty against his shoulder, just inwards to the join of his neck and collarbone. ”I love you too.” Brendon had apparently forgotten that he was the first one of them to say that. I love you so much. I know, baby, I know, Brendon thought- and he did; never before had he felt so comfortable with somebody, so in tune. The concept of soulmates had been one that Brendon always scoffed at, but now...

And I missed that smile. It returned to his face, and Brendon was laughing, dissolving into giggles and he wasn’t entirely sure why. You forgive me now? Still giggling, Brendon only cut himself off when he caught Ryan suddenly in a much more involved kiss, with enough force so the two of them staggered a little due to Brendon’s almost-reckless abandon, tilting his head and sliding his hands into Ryan’s hair as he tried to coax his mouth open. Unfortunately for him, he again wasn’t really in the right state to be pulling stunts like that, so he quickly burnt out, and it dissolved into more lazy, less ambitious kisses, slowed all the way down to a stop when Brendon really was now mostly asleep and slumped against Ryan with his chin hooked around Ryan’s shoulder and his arms again securely wrapped around his torso. ”Mm,” Came his reply, finally, and he blinked furiously, straining his eyes to try and peer through the darkness. ”Baby, I’m tired,” He complained. ”Will you carry me?”

searching for a feeling

Brendon did have a writing team now, and he surrounded himself by people who were talented at that sort of thing, professionals, who would help him write in a more contemporary way than what he was used to- panic’s writing style was almost entirely the product of Ryan’s vision, and Brendon frequently had to figuratively wrestle with him for the permission to pen down some lyrics that would actually be used, not just sneered at by Ryan and cast aside, forgotten. That had, he supposed, knocked his confidence- Brendon was a talented guy, he was more than comfortable with his musical abilities, like singing and playing instruments and writing music, but when it came to the more intellectual (he supposed, or maybe Ryan had just wanted him to think that) task of writing down words with meaning so the song was more than just a guitar rhythm over a beat, Brendon was more unsure, and though he desperately wanted to do something he could call entirely his own- like the couple of short songs from panic’s second album- he gave Spencer, Dallon and Ian more slack on their leash, willing to listen to suggestions (though not always use them, even more rarely agree with them). However, with the help of his bandmates, and several third party collaborative songwriters, he managed to create an album he was proud of, confident in, musically and lyrically.

Though not all of the words were his own, there were lines and concepts that were unmistakeably his own, and he was almost 100% regretting wearing his heart on his sleeve like that, his emotions just there for everyone to plainly hear, and not just anybody, particular people, like the one standing right in front of him, Ryan, who had undoubtedly heard the whole record. He was sentimental like that. Brendon felt worse for it- Ryan had most likely heard the whole thing, start to finish, maybe even more than once- and Brendon was weak, he couldn’t even get through three whole songs from Ryan and Jon’s album. He couldn’t bear it- and he never saw himself as that sentimental; nonetheless, looking at him now, he felt guilt and shame and embarrassment as he thought about all the self-incriminating lyrics in those damn songs. Fix me or conflict me, I’ll take anything. Desperate. Cold and alone, it suits you well. Well, that whole song was spiteful and pointed- self-confident and cocky and assured. It was Brendon’s favourite to perform but now he wa staring in the face of the person the harsh lyrics were directed to... An obsession called while you were out was about mutual less-than pining, at night your body is a symphony and I’m conducting you spoke for itself. Should have known right from the start you can't predict the end. Yeah, Brendon was more of a literal writer- he didn’t use metaphors and such to hide what he was feeling. Cold hearts apparently really did brew colder songs, and when the split happened, Brendon’s was solid ice.

As cliche as it was, since Ryan had invited himself into his dressing room and stood there, all stupid honey eyes and pretty hands and the sheepish smile and familiar, rough voice that he couldn’t get out of his head, Brendon’s hardened heart seemed to let up, allow him to be vulnerable; even if it was just a little, Ryan disarmed him like that. He hated it- but he wanted more. He was staring now, god. Brendon, get a hold of yourself. Compared to other bands, sure. What bands? They were the only major split happening at the time. Brendon furrowed his brows slightly. Hey, no one went off on a drug binge- Well, Brendon was pretty sure certain members had gotten close- None of us have any sex scandals- ”Hey, I’m pretty sure we counted,” Brendon interrupted, grinning lopsidedly and lifting an eyebrow suggestively. Everyone’s excites to see each other... That, Brendon couldn’t deny, and he smiled earnestly, because he was excited to get the gang back together at some point, just the four of them hanging out like he sorely missed. Funny- if somebody had told Brendon a couple of years ago that he would miss Ryan... I’d say we’re doing pretty good. Brendon nodded, biting his lip briefly. ”Yeah, okay, you’re right.” They were doing well. Compared to these mystery other bands, apparently.

Brendon knew he wouldn’t be able to resist him the second he walked in, but he at least thought he’d last longer than, like, ten minutes. They’d barely greeted eachother properly, not even caught up, and there was Brendon, giving permission for Ryan to make him his. Asking him. Somehow he knew he’d be mortified later, but in Ryan’s arms he couldn’t even register that maybe he’d regret this in some time. It was annoyingly intoxicating, so much so that after their brief, long-awaited kiss, Brendon had trouble collecting his thoughts and translating them into speech. To try and ground himself, he focused on working through Ryan’s shirt buttons one by one, but then he realised that would just speed things along to- wherever this was going- and it had the opposite effect. He felt his pulse quicken and he had the sudden urge, once he had exposed it, to attach his mouth to Ryan’s collarbone. Miraculously, he managed to demonstrate extraordinary willpower and instead wondered why Ryan wasn’t helping. Maybe he was reluctant. Maybe he didn’t want this. Brendon slowed, uncertain, looked up to meet his eyes. ”This is what you meant, right?” When he said that he wanted him.

Finally, he managed to start his piece about them and how an official ‘them’ never was, and still wasn’t, a good idea. It wouldn’t work, Brendon didn’t have to tell Ryan why- but he did notice that quirk of his mouth (Brendon’s eyes had barely strayed from there since they’d kissed), and felt a little unsettled. What was Ryan thinking? He was too afraid to ask. There was a silence suspended in the air for a few beats- then, upon Ryan’s slow nod, a soft, relieved exhale, that in turn hitched when Ryan’s shirt was shrugged from his shoulders. Sure. Brendon was perturbed by the lack of discernible reaction, but said nothing, because Ryan’s shirt had fallen to the floor and he lifted his hands to flatten his palms against his sternum and trail them down, his eyes following, fascinated. Ryan looked stronger, there was a noticeable increase of muscle. Brendon’s eyes went dark suddenly as he twitched away from Ryan’s fingers brushing against the skin of his waist, before relaxing, letting Ryan do as he please, and allowing his eyes to fall shut with a satisfied sigh. Any more of these ground rules? He huffed out a breath and thought for a few moments, mostly stalling so he could search Ryan’s face admiringly. ”Yeah,” He muttered decidedly, lifting his arms and throwing them around Ryan’s neck, drawing their bodies closer together and speaking almost against his lips. ”Nobody can know.” A pause. Brendon tilted his head and let his eyes flutter shut as he met him in gentle kiss, only pausing to speaks again against his mouth. ”And y’gotta let me top you.” So the last one was maybe mostly a joke. Just to see how far ryan would bend over backwards for him. If you caught his meaning.

calendar business

Back in downtown New York, where Brendon lived, he never saw the stars. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that the sea of street lamps and artificial lights was just another expense of the sky close to the ground, more celestial than industrial. But even if he managed to free himself enough to carry himself away in that daydream, sit by the window and gaze out into the dark, he could never keep it up for long. Brendon always had work to go to, and if he wasn’t working, he tended to be drinking, and if he wasn’t drinking he didn’t have the energy to do anything else and passed out early, disillusioned with the ocean of fake stars. Here, though, at Ryan’s ridiculously large house that he absolutely didn’t need (in fact he’d probably be just as at home back at Brendon’s tiny apartment, and Brendon knew that now since he’d learned much more about Ryan’s past), there was little to no light pollution and though Brendon had seen the full, clear, vast night sky the first evening he ever spent here, it stole his breath away anew every time. It wasn’t like he’d ever been much of an astronomer- the fact he knew and preached about his star sign was semi-egotistical, mostly to let everyone know he was flaming- but he was enchanted by them, and the authenticity of the night out here took away any homesickness he might have felt. Which, surprisingly, was a little more than he expected- when he left downtown New York he couldn’t be happier to see it behind him, but now he’d been here so long, he still felt out of his element, and he sorely missed his friends. Luckily, Ryan was good company (though he hadn’t been at first). One exchanged, affectionate glance at him and any longing he felt for his far from perfect home was quelled.

It wasn’t like he had much back there other than friends, and from what he heard from Jon, Spencer was doing much better, which, though Brendon was immensely relieved, ate away at his conscience and left guilt in its wake. What if Spencer had been getting worse because Brendon tried to interfere so much? Or didn’t interfere enough? Back right before Brendon left in the hope of snatching up this fairytale, fake-sounding job hours away, he and Spencer hadn’t been on the best terms due to tensions, with Spencer too sick to work and Brendon dutifully but reluctantly paying his rent when he could already barely afford his own. That kind of desperate life was long behind him, he hoped- Ryan payed him a decent amount, even more than he’d hoped for, and with the money he’d been saving up, he even hoped he’d be able to afford a new, slightly bigger and slightly less dingy apartment when he finally made the expensive taxi journey back home. Though- the idea of leaving wasn’t a fond one. At first, his goal had been to see Ryan through to the end of this book, make shit up about New York that sounded interesting so maybe he’d get a generous tip or something, then go back home, find a new, better-paying job and regain his autonomy. He hadn’t liked relying on one person to pay his bills, still didn’t. But Brendon and Ryan’s relationship now was much more fond than that of an employee and an employer.

The biggest reason Brendon hadn’t packed up and left yet was because of Ryan. Technically, he’d given Ryan all he asked for- the book was finished. At first, Brendon had suggested he stay until it was published; that milestone passed and he still didn’t feel entirely ready to leave. And so Brendon kept coming up with excuses to extend his stay, until he was worried he was finallyoverstaying his welcome and mentioned quietly one day that he should probably get going soon. Ryan, to his surprise, seemed just as reluctant to let him leave, stumbling awkwardly over his words, though Brendon got the gist of what he was saying. He wanted to start a new book series as soon as possible, he didn’t like the time between writing where he had absolutely nothing to do save chainsmoke in his bedroom, or something. Brendon had, embarrassingly, immediately agreed that he’d stay, not even needing to be won over by Ryan’s flattery, which consisted of ‘I write better with you around’ and ‘you make living in his stupid house a little more bearable’ and ‘I like myself better when you’re here’. However, Brendon was extremely homesick at that point, moreso than ever, and Ryan seemed to catch on. He offered to pay for a trip back home for, say, a week- Brendon, over the moon, had invited him along, but Ryan politely declined. He knew why. Ryan, Spencer and Jon still hadn’t resolved whatever had happened. Brendon had given up asking at that point, but he had a strong idea of what could have taken place.

It was only for a week, and all Brendon did was go back to his apartment to check it hadn’t been broken into or something, then visited Spencer and Jon and spent the whole time with them, using his saved money to take them out places, a silent apology to Spencer and a silent thanks to Jon. It was a sorry I left you, thanks for being so great kind of trip- and the whole time, he and Ryan messaged back and forth, mostly Ryan sending him ideas about his new book series and Brendon giving his severely underqualified but apparently highly valued two cents. Then, suddenly, he was back with Ryan, and he felt satisfied with where he was. Even if the future was still completely uncertain, he felt confident that with this new series (even though he was sure it wasn’t even set in New York, Brendon would be of no practical use) he would be allowed to remain without it being awkward for another hopefully long stretch of time. But then, after that- Brendon knew there was this unspoken subtext between them, and it was difficult to navigate because Ryan was still so closed off. The only time Brendon had alluded to this was when he was wasted and Ryan had been mad at him for, like, infiltrating his study. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said and he was glad for it. Brendon didn’t embarrass easily, but he couldn’t quite handle that kind of mortification.

He’d been back at Ryan’s for about a week and a half- when he first arrived back Ryan had been, typically, smoking on his back porch. Brendon had offered him a fond grin and referenced their first meeting, apologising for being on his back porch at eleven in the morning. It wasn’t quite eleven, but, still. It made Ryan laugh. They stood there somewhat unsurely for a few moments, hovering, when Brendon stopped hesitating and moved in to catch him in an embrace, inhaling against the fabric of his shirt and telling him softly that he’d missed him. Ryan said nothing, but at this point he didn’t need to. They’d walked inside and Brendon had asked him how things were going, book-wise. Ryan admitted sheepishly that things hadn’t been going at all. A week and a half later, and it seemed he still had writer’s block- Brendon tried to stay away as much as possible as to not distract him, but it was difficult because there was only so much backstroke he could do in Ryan’s pool before he exhausted that form of entertainment for the month. There were a few days where they just played around in Ryan’s studio, and Brendon had finally sang for Ryan, like he promised he would but never actually followed through with until then. Everything was kind of serene, time felt thick and slow, and Brendon swore he could stay in this peaceful limbo with Ryan forever, even if what he really wanted- whatever that may be- was just out of his reach, tortuously close but he didn’t know how to close the final gap.

Such things were evident when Brendon was sat on the steps of Ryan’s back porch in the evening, drinking in the sky, still as disarming as when he’d first seen it like this. Beside him, Ryan was sat, just out of reach. They’d been quite for a while- previously, Ryan had been writing something, but the notebook had been closed and settled on the wood between them. Brendon’s eyes fixed on it for a few moments and then he looked over at Ryan. ”Any luck, then?” He murmured, as if to not disturb the comfortable atmosphere too much. But his voice sounded too rough and loud and he cringed at himself, picking at his sleeve. ”With writing, I mean. I see you writing constantly but you never seem to actually get anywhere, y’know?”

searching for a feeling

The first of the three and only songs Brendon had heard from Ryan and Jon’s new record (he knew there were other members but he had never cared enough to find out who the other guys were) was titled ‘the other girl’, and when Brendon first read the title, his stomach had turned over. Before he listened, he asked himself over and over, did he really want to know what, who this song would be about? Brendon was more than aware that Ryan tended to reliably change pronouns in songs so that real life situations seemed more like fiction. ‘The other girl’ could be Keltie- it could be Brendon- or it could be some other girl Brendon didn’t know about, maybe Ryan had been with other people since then, but that was none of his business anymore. After he wrestled with himself to make a decision, he told himself to get over it- not everything is about you, Brendon- and pressed play, sitting back and gnawing on his lip, memories of arguing with Ryan over who should sing certain parts of the song flooding back to him once he heard Ryan’s voice. It was largely unchanged and Brendon thought it was charming, sweet, somewhat unassuming. Even though he knew Ryan was capable of more powerful vocals, he figured Ryan had stuck with what he was comfortable with. Brendon listened dutifully even when certain words cut into him in terrible, specific ways, just like he’d expected.

Don't wait around for love, you're not what he's thinking of, when he's with the other girl. Brendon tortured himself over this line. It could be Ryan, singing to Brendon about himself, telling Brendon not to wait around because he loved Keltie- though, Keltie had been gone from Ryan’s life for a while, as far as Brendon knew. Another theory he played with was that he was ‘the other girl’- Ryan was singing to Keltie, confessing that he’d picked out of the two of them, but still referring to him simply as an affair that went to far. Or maybe it was Ryan singing to himself, reflecting on his feelings when he’d discovered Brendon and Ian had something going on. It was a nightmare to listen to even though the song was objectively good- Ryan and Jon had, admittedly, done a good job there. Brendon, though, bitter about it at the time, had angrily and hastily scribbled down a song of his own, passionate and spiteful, mixing up their ‘affair’ as Ryan seemed to see it, and his distaste towards Jon and Ryan’s new band. They know, I know, they don’t look like me, they don’t sound like me. He calmed himself down almost immediately afterwards, but the lyrics grew on him fast and it became a song. Hurricane. It only just made it on their final album and Brendon wondered now whether Ryan had heard it.

The next of the three songs Brendon had heard was dangerous blues, a song that compared love and drugs and almost linked them together. It was less of a love song and more of a lament about how said love could hurt. Brendon didn’t know what to think about this one, because they’d never been in love, that was never a word either of them had dared to even think about, it was just mutually and silently agreed that whatever was going on between them was far from love. It was an excellent song, though, and it was Brendon’s favourite of the three, musically at least. The final was ‘lie to the truth’ and a standout lines from that less-than-a-love-song were I know I broke your heart, mine is broken too; Now if we're even, then why are we both blue? and again, Brendon wondered whether what they had for a relatively brief period of time was more to Ryan than he had thought, meant more to Ryan that it did to Brendon. He found that hard to believe, but- they were both blue, and Brendon only realised he’d been so sad about the split this whole time now that Ryan was standing before him, tall and gorgeous and astounding.

I know I’ve finally had enough of you. After hearing that line, Brendon decided he couldn’t physically sit and listen through any more, it would be too painful and he wouldn’t be able to just enjoy the music, he’d have to dissect every line and try and link it back to their own messy relationship, or lack thereof. So, when he said he loved their new record, it wasn’t a complete lie- but the full truth was that Brendon found it agonising to listen to the three songs he’d heard and didn’t even attempt to get through any more. Sure- but give it a night, you’ll be able to tell him yourself. Shit. Jon didn’t deflect and brush off compliments like Ryan could be relied on to do. He supposed he’d have to analyse every song thoroughly by tomorrow to be able to convince Jon that he’d been a fan from the start- Jon night have been easygoing and usually the epitome of relaxed, but he wasn’t stupid and he knew Brendon well enough to know when he was lying through his teeth. Brendon smiled, but it was strained, preoccupied, because he wasn’t looking forward to subjecting himself to forty five minutes of emotional turmoil.

Yeah, I did too. Jokes on them - guess they weren't expecting us to have had a clean split. Brendon exhaled a sigh of relief that they were on the same page, but then he quirked an eyebrow hesitantly, considering his wording. ”A clean split?” He echoed, thinking sheepishly about how he’d lifted Ryan’s lyrics right from the demos of their planned album while they were all still a band and turned them on Ryan in order to mock him, and thinking about the bitterness and angst that was a common theme throughout the entire album. Maybe Ryan really was just oblivious, or maybe he hadn’t heard anything at all. Brendon couldn’t help but feel annoyed by that, hypocrite that he was. ”Is that what we’re calling it now?” Grinning, but completely serious, he shrugged a shoulder dismissively and then decided he wanted to stop dwelling on the nature and length of the split and now focus on that they were back together in the same place and they had a long time to catch up. Creative differences or not, Brendon was closer to those three guys than he was anyone else. Even Ryan. Especially Ryan, in a figurative sense and now in a physical one, because they were suddenly pressed together, Ryan’s shape and feel so familiar, and he was breathing him in, everything was heated and confusing and Brendon’s only coherent thought was Ryan’s name for a long few moments until he grounded himself.

Miming wasn't exactly what I had in mind. We've got plenty of time to make up for, may as well do everything. Breathless, but laughing anyway, Brendon’s mind filled up with a heady mix of visual and kinaesthetic memories as he pressed his palms against the line of Ryan’s jaw on either side. ”Everything, anything, make me yours,” He was saying, but it was half mumbled and he cut himself off when he leaned in for that sweet kiss, one that gave him time to set himself straight and think about the possible repercussions of his actions here. Spencer wouldn’t- oh, fuck, Spencer would not be happy, but that was admittedly at the bottom of the list of problems here, and Brendon managed to stop kissing Ryan long enough to pull back and think carefully about what could happen if they took this any further and didn’t excuse it as a mistake fuelled by post-show adrenaline. They had a chance to be friends, real friends, but- Brendon didn’t really want that. He didn’t know what he wanted, so it all befell on Ryan.

He distracted himself by working on Ryan’s buttons as he waited for a response. Just you. That could be arranged, Brendon thought, blinking serenely as he tilted his head back to meet Ryan’s eyes. I'm not saying boyfriends, I know, it doesn't work. He felt his heart sink and he couldn’t quite figure out why. I just want you. Whatever you can offer. See, I'm not picky. Brendon laughed softly, but it died quickly and he looked stonily at his own hands as they slowed to stop with his self-given task of getting Ryan out of his shirt. ”That’s fine, but- I think, that, uh, we need some ground rules.” A pause, Brendon resumed his work at a more leisurely pace, reaching the bottom and punctuating his words by unfastening the last one. ”To stop us fucking shit up again. Like- we can have our steamy second love affair but this time, only for this tour. No longer.” It felt so surreal, trying to be serious when they were both in such a state.

seal it with a kiss

Brendon, especially now and a lot more than in his youth, came across as confident, self-assured, fully comfortable with himself and able to navigate most situations, be it coping with awkward interview questions (usually about him and Ryan) or commanding the attention of a crowd of thousands so that they hung onto his every word, with relative ease. It was true, at least, that he made it look easy, but like many who had to frequent the stage and put themselves in the spotlight over and over again he suffered from anxiety and because of his naturally outgoing personality people often doubted whether that was true. Though Brendon was used to it, now, sometimes it felt like he was under a microscope as soon as he stepped into the spotlight, standing there where thousands were scrutinising him, not worshipping him as was probably more close a definition. It was a lot of pressure, and even though Brendon coped now better than ever (even with the large setback of Ryan no longer performing by his side), his nerves still often got the better of him. He was just now better at hiding it. Hand in hand with all of this came insecurity- Brendon craved attention and when somebody (Ryan) he loved didn’t shower him with constant praise, or somebody (Ryan) he prioritised was often busy with someone else, it did affect him. Again, though, he was good at hiding it.

He never said anything about Z because he knew Ryan well enough to script the two of them an entire conversation-borderline-argument about it (Brendon would complain that he felt left out, Ryan would counter with ‘we could still do this if you hadn’t kicked me out of the band in the first place’, et cetera) that just ended up with Brendon feeling worse and consequently making Ryan feel like shit, too, and he didn’t want that- so Brendon stuck with silence, quietly brewing in his own jealousy; not jealousy because of insecurity about their relationship (it was one of the only constants in Brendon’s life at this point), jealousy because Z was effectively filling his shoes, writing and playing music just for fun and not because of some label deadline or because it had been a while since he’d put something out and he needed to do something quick or the fans would lose interest. Though he had a strong work ethic and could quite easily cope with that kind of workload and schedule, he missed the times when writing was more relaxed and laid-back and they wrote songs just for themselves, for nobody else to hear. They still wrote eachother musical love-letters, still scribbled down lyrics on sticky notes and stuck them in the first place they knew that the other would look. They had less time for eachother mostly due to Brendon’s tight schedule and him being away a lot on tour, but he knew that even if they lived on other sides of the world nd could only communicate with their phones they wouldn’t lose any love for eachother.

They’d been married, now, for- Brendon couldn’t quite remember the exact amount unless he asked Ryan to make sure- a good few years, they’d been together for most of their lives, known eachother even longer, they should be past their honeymoon phase by now and everyone around them seemed to think the same, baffled that they were witnessing the same levels of adoration now as they did, say, five years back. Brendon couldn’t imagine anything else, couldn’t imagine being one of those couples that kissed just because it was muscle memory, held hands out of obligation, didn’t hate eachother but didn’t exactly worship the ground that the other walked on. Even though they were both very generous with their compliments, neither of them ever got used to it. How could Brendon, when he was married to the most talented writer he knew, who came up with new and different praise every day even if it was just in the form of little notes and the odd text- each made Brendon’s day every time when they were apart, and when they were together, nothing ever really needed to be said because there was a surety and comfort that had settled in their bones that they were still ridiculously and wholly in love with eachother and that would remain the same for as long as they lived and onwards into forever.

A little dramatic, but such were the thoughts that sprang to mind when Ryan looked this handsome, that and other things for which his cursed his brain- noW wasn’t the time, but it was Ryan’s fault for looking so damn good whenever they had to actually go somewhere and do something. To try and occupy himself when Ryan stepped back and out of their embrace, he fidgeted awkwardly- he wanted to get his hands all over him, possibly ruin that outfit but it would be worth it- no. Brendon cringed at himself for having the worst possible timing and kind of glanced off into the distance, disappointed with himself but also actively avoiding looking directly at Ryan, like he was the sun for once. Yeah, yeah, sure they do. Brendon nodded vigorously, still unsure as to how to occupy his hands, so he shoved them into his pockets. ”Really,” He persisted, and he knew that Ryan did actually look on Instagram sometimes, he just know about the almost cult following he’d assembled even since retreating almost fully from the public eye. Brendon let almost sorry for those fans, because Ryan really was now a recluse. He served them by putting Ryan on his snapchat and Instagram as much as was possible without Ryan calling him out or something. ”They’re obsessed with you. I think it even rivals my love for you, y’know?”

Ryan was walking back over and Brendon sighed with relief, smiling softly as his husband held him close. Could they not just stay like this? So, any requests? Brendon’s expression was serene and adoring as he searched Ryan’s honey eyes and thought back to the last show, when Ryan had performed a very private love song for everyone else to hear, a window into their relationship, almost. Maybe Z will let me throw in another impromptu love song. He hummed absently, only half-listening, mostly preoccupied by Ryan himself. [b]”I bet she just loved singing a duet with you about me.”/b] Honestly, it was if they enjoyed watching other people gag at their sickly sweetness. Or maybe I’ll just surprise you. Brendon’s eyes were lidded, as Ryan had started to play with his hair, but still he managed a nod, opening them again to straighten up and move his hands to rest comfortably at Ryan’s waist. ”Surprise me,” He repeated, and he knew that Ryan would do so dutifully. You could join me onstage, too. Little bit of a reunion. A gentle laugh, and Brendon moved his hands to smooth down Ryan’s chest. ”And steal your thunder? I can barely restrain myself right now, I really won’t be able to cope up there. You’re so gorgeous. Fuck you for making me want you especially at a time where we have to be somewhere.”

searching for a feeling

Brendon did have a thing for tall guys, even though he refused to admit it, and furthermore he knew that Ryan had clocked him on that- so when he mentioned Dallon, whom Ryan had seen in all of his six foot four inch glory, he imagined how that would seem, especially when he had to go and run his mouth and say my bassist. He didn’t mean anything by it at all- though the debauchery onstage might suggest otherwise, there was nothing other than a friendship between Brendon and Dallon, and he wasn’t even sure why he was worrying about it, second-guessing his phrasing for Ryan’s benefit, when he was unsure whether Ryan would even care. Why would he? It had been a significant amount of time since they’d even spoken, it’s not like what they had had been a real relationship, or anything. If Brendon had read into his own thoughts a little more, he would have come to the realisation that he wanted Ryan to care. He wanted there to be jealousy, he wanted to be the object of Ryan’s attentions. It was just hard to admit to himself, especially after all this time when he should be well and truly over him now. No, I haven’t, not yet. Seemed pretty nonchalant. Brendon’s smile wavered desperately, as he considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe the reason that Brendon hadn’t fallen for Dallon as everyone around them sort of expected was that he was too busy being Ryan’s, even now.

He looked cool, though. He’d play along. Brendon nodded, tilting his head just barely and allowing the little smile to return comfortably to his face as he recalled their less than innocent antics on stage, tonight and shows previous to that. ”He is,” Came his affectionate response, because Dallon was. A little whiny, sometimes, maybe, but had a flair and showmanship that came close to rivalling Brendon’s. He turned a little more towards Ryan, lifting an eyebrow sharply, suggestively. ”And yeah, he would. Sometimes we don’t know when to stop. And we wonder why people think we’re dating,” As Brendon spoke, he chuckled, shaking his head as if bemused, like everything he did up there when the lights came on wasn’t completely intentional and every move was manufactured for a purpose, to start rumours, cause controversy, fuck with people- Brendon was at the stage in his life where he was fed up of strumming serenely at an acoustic guitar and singing nonsensical love songs (no offence to Ryan)- he now savoured the spotlight, made the most of the attention he got and reinvented himself completely. He’d grown leaner, his hair had gone through a dramatic revamping, his voice had improved and he was more bold, less reined in by the past, much more sensible members of the band (they were virgos and he was an aries, that’s all anyone had to know).

It was a new era, and he’d hoped to wipe a slate clean, start afresh with new people and new music, but here was Ryan, and he was desperately trying to cling onto that past even if on the surface he seemed relatively nonchalant about this whole reunion. Ryan’s company brought Brendon’s head and heart back to the original lineup, to Spencer and Jon, and nostalgia he’d mostly quelled, an emotion like grief he’d almost overcome both resurfaced again for brief, bubbling moments before they evaporated into a vague, wistful, more manageable sensation. He missed them all, but he couldn’t let that hold him back. I'm sure he'll find you first. He's been gushing about both of you and your new music ever since the label told us we'd be on this tour together. Brendon allowed himself to grin affectionately, pleased by the knowledge that Jon, one of the most talented and multifaceted musicians he knew, had praised (apparently endlessly) his new music. It meant a lot because Jon meant a lot to him, no matter how long it’d been since they last spoke. That distance would be resolved soon, though, so all would be sound. ”Tell him the feeling’s mutual,” He replied, though that was mostly a lie. Brendon hadn’t heard enough to pass his judgement properly. He wasn’t sure what was stopping him listening to their new record- maybe the knowledge that Ryan put all his feelings into song, and Brendon was terrified that he would hear a reference to himself in the music, and also terrified that he wouldn’t.

”I’ll admit, I had my doubts about this tour. Seemed like the label wanted to feed off the ‘drama’ or whatever they fuckin’ hoped would happen.” Brendon murmured, then glanced carefully at Ryan. When he looked back, that’s when it hit him square in the face that Ryan was hitting on him, less than ten minutes since they’d reunited after months of nothing at all, radio silence. At least it solved the mystery of whether Ryan cared about him at all in that way anymore, and the answer was yes, he did. Though this was the outcome that the most carnal parts of his brain wanted, the logical parts didn’t know what to think. Brendon was uneasy, but not uneasy enough to tell Ryan to back off, which everyone knew that he would have no trouble doing if that’s what he felt was necessary. He was intensely curious about what turns this encounter would take. I’m predictable. Not exactly, but Brendon released a rush of air from past his lips as a sort-of laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking affectionately. ”God, I wish you were.”

Things accelerated from there and suddenly Brendon was actually going along with Ryan’s sudden advances, even inviting him to stay while he got undressed. Brendon didn’t recall smoking or drinking anything recently, but still he felt like an outsider watching his body make bad, bad decisions. He just couldn’t help himself, and apparently, nor could Ryan, whose eyes he felt trained on him, drinking him in, almost, as he shed layers. Brendon suddenly felt paranoid that he’d misread the situation, as Ryan hadn’t moved since he invited him to stay, so he hastily offered him a way out in case he felt trapped, or something. There was a suffocating moment of hesitation and silence between them and then Ryan was close, so close, and his hands were at Brendon’s waist and he only glanced up at him once before he stared back down and Ryan’s hands were already deftly undoing the clasp on his belt like it was second nature, muscle memory neither of them were in a hurry to forget. He supposed they were past the point of return and sucked in a breath. I’d be pretty stupid to stay. Brendon’s eyes were wide- don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. Ryan was right, but had it ever stopped them before? But I’d be even more stupid to leave. Brendon felt breathless, and he draped his arms over Ryan’s shoulders if only to ground himself from swaying.

Hey, what you did up there, on stage... I'd be pretty interested to see how that'd look with me. Brendon’s eyes, though dark since his pupils had dilated almost completely, glittered, and he raised his eyebrows, tilting his back and meeting Ryan’s gaze. ”Y’gotta be more specific,” He pointed out, moving his arms so both of his hands now cradled either side of Ryan’s jaw. ”I do a lot on stage. Better tell me straight, or I’ll end up miming blowing you and call it a day.” Brendon was on the cusp of a laugh, but then he met Ryan’s eyes again, reading his expression, and it faltered. Giving the slightest nod of consent, Brendon’s hands slid down to hang onto the front of his shirt as he met Ryan in a kiss, so unlike the first one they’d shared, he thought with more clarity, couldn’t get out of his head enough to enjoy it- but he saw it through til the end, stirred by memories of Ryan’s taste, before he pulled back, and his eyes were wide. ”I- Ryan,” He said, quietly, start-stopping because he wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted to say. ”I- I missed you. But, baby, I don’t know what you want. What is it that you want from me this time?” His words were gentle, not accusatory, just- searching. He wasn’t sure he could provide whatever it was that Ryan was looking for- they’d already proven to themselves a relationship wouldn’t work. There was a beat, and Brendon figured he’d been too serious too soon.

”If it’s just the late nights,” He started, hands moving to the collar of Ryan’s shirt to start moving down, pulling it apart button by button, eyes focused on his task, ”I think we can work it out.”

searching for a feeling

Brendon supposed that he missed the band, and by that he meant the original lineup- after all, he and Spencer had kept the name and carried the torch onto something new, they’d just had a few swaps of other members, that’s all. Though- he couldn’t look at it like that. Brendon hadn’t even been there as part of the original lineup- Panic first belonged to Ryan, Spencer, and Brent, of all people, then Jon replaces Brent, and Brendon was only taken on board a reasonably significant period of time later- but then, they all regarded the four of them to be the most significant members, because. They were there during the height of Panic’s fame- at least, before the split. Anyway, he missed a lot, even the arguments they’d have over lyrics and musical arrangements and ‘should Ryan sing this part or should Brendon’, but what he didn’t miss was the disaster of a relationship (or lack thereof, rather darkly, towards the end) he had with the original guitarist and lead singer, Ryan, who had practically bullied him since he joined the band. It was a mutual bullying, to be fair, a toxic dynamic that, at first, Jon and Spencer desperately tried to stamp out, or at least quell, or minimise the damage that it could do to the band so a whole. Though, considering Ryan and Brendon were the two primary creative forces behind everything, he supposed they were doomed from the start, with the integral workings flawed as soon as Ryan decided he had a vendetta against who replaced him.

That was until Seattle, though, a major marker in both Brendon’s personal life and his career, and ultimately the fate of the band. After they’d drunkenly (but not without some feeling, as buried as it was) hooked up in Brendon’s hotel room on the night of Ryan’s 21st birthday party, their relationship became softer, something was just below the surface, deeper even then the almost carnal desire they harboured for eachother; but there was a limit. They weren’t friends, it never went that far, but they began a brief affair after Ryan broke it off with Keltie. Things just... Didn’t work out. They had damaged the prospect of an actual relationship beyond repair and no amount of physical intimacy could hide that, brush over it, sweep it under the rug. In fact, they fought almost as much as before, they just had a very different outlet, so it never got close to actual fistfights ever again. Anyway, though the ‘original four’ of them had issues right at their core that made the whole structure of the band unstable right from day one, the nostalgia still hit him had. He felt wistful when he thought back to their original recording sessions, all the fucking weed, even Brendon and Ryan had their geniune gentler moments, like when Ryan’s dad died, or things less serious but probably monumentally hard to cope with at the time, like when Ryan stumbled into his hotel room and was all kinds of torn up because he realised Keltie didn’t, like, love him. Even if he didn’t love her at that point. Brendon understood the feeling now.

But, after initially struggling to get over it (both the breaking off of his and Ryan’s kind-of relationship, one that was actually steadily improving, they actually had started to like eachother and seek out eachother’s presence, and the split of the band), Brendon came to realise that things changed, it just happened, and he was more than capable of taking that and running with it, and he and Spencer sure as hell did. The lack of contact between the two halves of the band wasn’t even intentional, Brendon had grown up and grown past holding grudges. He and Spencer were just so busy that they barely got time for themselves, nevermind for trying to reconnect with friends that would probably be just as busy as them or even more so, considering they had arguably more work to do to try and promote themselves and make an impression. Brendon had the safety net of the original name- it set them up for success no matter what they put out, whereas Ryan and Jon had to start almost entirely from scratch, even if they did retain a good percentage of fans. In that area, Brendon admired their work ethic- Ryan’s rivalled his own and Jon was also an ardent, passionate musician. He admired them from afar, but only in theory. Honestly, he never allowed himself to be interested enough to actively check out their stuff, ask how they were, organise something, even just have a conversation.

Even on tour, Brendon hadn’t run directly into Ryan until right now; though it was less running into him and more Ryan actively seeking him out, which interested him in a way he couldn’t quite specify. In the back of his mind he realised contently that it was good to see him again. He looked good. Brendon was as casual as possible when addressing him, though, neutral conversation and ‘man’, though in his head he annoyingly still thought baby. It was almost difficult to know how to behave, how to navigate this, but they were never really subtextual and subtle for very long. Ryan’s intentions would be aired soon enough. Hey, 'too much' is what you do best. Stick with it. That earned him a slight laugh, but Brendon wondered exactly what he meant by that. ”I intend to,” He replied, taking off the loose bowtie draped around the back of his neck and over his shoulders and tossing it carelessly in a random direction, deciding that he could hunt for it again tomorrow, or something. ”Maybe I’ll even take it a bit further. I’m thinking: fully just- make out with Dallon onstage.” Chuckling to himself, he looked down reflectively at his feet for a moment before he lifted his head, eyes shining. ”Have you met Dallon? You know Ian, but- Dallon, my- our bassist.” Not just his bassist, that would sound strange, Brendon corrected himself mid-sentence.

Fine. Good. Good, Brendon thought, regarding him for as long a time as he would allow himself. I think we are. Oh. Well, Brendon almost gulped, felt a little shiver, recalling what used to happen whenever they had an extended amount of time alone, but he shut himself down quickly, knowing the dangers of carrying down that mental highway. Spencer and Jon are apparently reconnecting. Just as Ryan smiled, Brendon did, mirroring him in his fondness for the two. ”Remind me to reconnect with Jon. Everything’s so hectic, I hope we all get to hang out more.” When Ryan stepped forward to speak again, Brendon was busy dusting down his slacks, and was rather startled when he looked up and Ryan was closer than he remembered last. I stayed for you. Why else? Well then. Brendon’s eyes widened for a split second and then his expression settled into yet another content smile, almost flattered if he hadn’t already kind of expected that. ”I dunno, I was just trying not to jump to conclusions,” He joked, flashing him a grin before returning to trying to somewhat clean his trousers, not daring to maintain eye contact because suddenly this was very real.

I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you again. ...Okay, that was cute. The corner of Brendon’s mouth quirked up slightly and he allowed himself to meet his gaze, blinking at with almost apprehensively because though clearly affectionate, that was such an open confession. Was it just platonic? Brendon didn’t think so, but he had a history of jumping to conclusions too fast and overreacting, making a fool of himself until he usually quickly fixed his mistake to minimise embarrassment, so. He made no grand statement in return- but what he did make was an honest one. ”I missed you too, Ry. We’ve got all tour now, though s’awesome.” They were going to be together in relatively close quarters for an entire tour. Brendon’s mind drifted. Old habits died hard, it seemed, and old thought processes didn’t die at all. He was about to speak again, voice his enthusiasm about it, but without much warning Ryan was in close quarters and Brendon’s eyes darted down to watch his knuckle brush against his chest. And I guess I missed this too, but that's not all that surprising.

For a moment, Brendon was truly floored by how quickly Ryan had accelerated an innocent reunion into something with this much underlying subtext- and now it wasn’t even subtext, Ryan was hitting on him, he was staring and touching and his interest was plain as day and Brendon felt the breath had been knocked out of him. At first, before conjuring up a reply to this, he eyed Ryan suspiciously. He didn’t seem drunk, or high- so this was sober Ryan, coming onto him like this within ten minutes of reuniting. Brendon couldn’t help but smirk. It played on his mouth dangerously, and he finally came to a plan of action, stepping in just a little closer and tilting his head back to look up at him. ”Not at all surprising,” He replied, unbothered about seeming haughty or full of himself. At this point, he deserved a little self love. ”Luckily for you,” Brendon started, stepping back and resting his lower back against the dresser in front of the mirror, ”I was getting changed anyway. Feel free to stay, I’ve done this in front of thousands.” Somehow, he managed not to be too explicit about it, and instead he pulled his suspenders from his shoulders and let them hang by his sides, then shrugged off his shirt and dropped it onto the floor in a similar fashion to his bowtie. His hands came to rest at his belt and he finally looked up. ”Or leave. Up to you.”