Neve

cherries, cherries

Brendon was already having a difficult start to his day. In fact, he was still recovering from the arduous ordeal of catching Bogart in order to finally attach him to his leash and bundle him out of the door. At first it seemed to be going well- he almost had the dog convinced that he was just going for a walk, don’t worry, boy, you were hearing things when you heard me say ‘groomer’- but Bogart was no idiot and scrambled around the living room until Brendon finally caught him and scooped him up into his arms, deciding that just carrying him would probably be less bother in the end. After this exhausting trouble with his boisterous puppy, finding out that the groomer was the kid from school that he was useless for- the one he sighed and gushed wistfully about to his friends even though they had barely exchanged a few words- didn’t exactly brighten it. For others, running into a crush unexpectedly might be a good thing, an opportunity; for Brendon, always anxiously excited and wired and awkward to the bone, it was just a window of time in which Brendon would make a fool of himself and never live it down, Ryan would always think he was that weird kid whose dog he groomed that one time. Worse still, they’d be in class and Ryan would look straight through him like he did anyway, not even remembering him.

Shut up, Brendon, you’re being dramatic. He reached the reception and put on his best smile, hoping to good he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Luckily for him, Ryan took charge of the situation massively but gently, so brendon didn’t have to do much talking other than making passing comments if he so wished. He was even offered the option to leave and simply come and collect Bogart later- and though previously it was true that he’d said this was his personal nightmare scenario, he seemed to have a rapid change of heart now that Ryan’s calming presence has relaxed him a little, even if his heart was still going much faster than usual. He told himself it was mostly because Bogart was a little shit and he didn’t want him to cause trouble for Ryan; Ryan, the classmate he thought was so achingly pretty that he couldn’t look at him directly for long and he often found himself staring wistfully at his hands as he played during class and- Oh, sure. A lot of people do that. Brendon nodded, in a daze, still stood at a cautious distance away. ”Yeah, I’d rather stay. He can be a nuisance- can’t you, Bogart?” Automatically he launched into baby talk, scratching under his dog’s chin absently and smiling.

But don’t be too worried. Wow, why hadn’t he thought of that before? I’m good with them, y’know? Dog whisperer, for sure. Suddenly hyperaware that his insistence on staying with Bogart while he was groomed might seem like he didn’t think Ryan was qualified, or didn’t trust him, or something, he quickly shook his head. ”Oh, I don’t doubt you’re good with dogs,” He said hastily, trying for a nervous laugh, ”Otherwise I’d be concerned as to why you were working here.” A pause. Brendon felt like an idiot and looked down again at Bogart- who was definitely judging him for being so useless and gay, but it wasn’t his fault that Ryan’s eyes were so fucking gorgeous. This was the closest he’d ever been to Ryan, really, he could really see his eyes when their gazes met, and since he knew if he looked for too long them it would be hard not to blurt out some impulsive compliment, something about honey and gold and the embodiment of fall. He spoke again, still not risking it and keeping his eyes fixed determinedly on his dog. ”He’s just- disobedient, to, like, everyone, apart from me.” A hesitant smile broke into his face. Talking about Bogart affectionately calmed him down and he suddenly gained the courage out of nowhere to find out whether Ryan recognised him or not. Maybe it would be rude to ask. As the words came out of his mouth, he had immediate doubts.

Yeah, strings. He was so close to saying ‘yeah, I know’- so close- but even Brendon wasn’t oblivious enough to say very stalker-ish things and not see anything weird about it. Instead he nodded in acknowledgement and smiled like an idiot to himself after Ryan placed his hand over his chest and turned around to carry on rooting through the cabinets. Bogart squirmed impatiently in his arms. And you’re Brendon. Okay, so brendon was ridiculous, he really was, he knew he was, but the fact that Ryan knew his name made Brendon flush completely, his stomach even fluttering like he was in some goddamn teen romance movie. To stop himself breaking into an atrociously and embarrassingly happy smile he bit down on his lip, hard. Ryan knew his name. This was the best news he’d heard maybe all year. You’re a good singer, you know. Great, actually. I’ve heard you during breaks. Never mind, that was the best news he’d heard all year, and Ryan thinking he was great at singing was and would be the best compliment he’d receive all year, too. Considering he’d heard Ryan sing at the odd occasion but only in a low-key voice and only those immediately around him could hear so Brendon wouldn’t be able to say this unless he wanted to blow his cover so- ”So are you,” He blurted out, and Bogart seemed to detect that he was being extra and let out a little growl. Brendon quietened. ”Thank you.”

Bogart agrees, he just told me. Brendon grinned, briskly brushing over his conversational faux pas. ”He’s a little bitch,” He said, fondly, stroking his ears. Bogart! You want a treat? Of course he did. Brendon watched as Ryan offered his dog a biscuit and again scratched behind his ears to calm him down a little. ”Y’see Ryan, buddy? He’s gonna make you nice and pretty again, you’ll match,” He mumbled, almost entirely to himself. Suddenly, though, he felt Ryan’s eyes on him and he looked up to see him leaning against the counter. You're not one of those people in band just for the credits, right? You don't seem like it. Why'd you sign up? Eyebrows furrowing, Brendon adjusted his hold on Bogart so he supported him with one arm, and lifted the other to run through his hair. ”I enjoy it,” He said vaguely, then shrugged a shoulder. ”And, I’m not really good at anything else...”

searching for a feeling

Brendon often wondered whether or not anybody actually knew about the two of them. There had been that first night in Seattle, when Ryan flew across the country with the intention of heading directly to his hotel room, for what reason he wasn’t, at the time, sure of- and he was pretty sure nobody suspected a thing, the level of hatred they displayed to eachother was so great and incontestable. The next morning and the day of the first Seattle show he had earned some funny looks- Brendon didn’t blame them, he had a limp in his step that was mortifyingly noticeable- but other than that, nothing. They’d never been meticulously careful in covering their tracks, but they were, to an extent, cautious. They’d never hear the end of it if anybody found out within the band- if anybody outside of the band and the close crew found out about Brendon and Ryan’s peculiar new relationship, they’d never recover from that kind of scandal. As far as he knew, it was still their secret, their mutual burden to bear, though it didn’t feel like much of a burden when Ryan was standing this close to him and he was smirking and Brendon could vividly recall the racing thrum of his pulse beneath his lips and the warmth of his skin under his fingertips. It was all a long while ago now but it was tantalising and painfully fresh in Brendon’s mind, too overwhelming for him to be able to go with his gut and back out of this before he became ensnared with Ryan again, before their hypothetical cars collided in the same lane yet again. It wouldn’t be pretty, Brendon knew. It never was with them.

Brendon was fully aware of the gamble he was making even as he worked on the buttons of Ryan’s shirt, but he decided that even though the odds were stacked against this ending even neutrally, Ryan was worth the risk. Still, he was hesitant. Brendon had an unfortunate history of greatly misreading situations and Embarassing himself, so halfway down the front of Ryan’s shirt, he stopped, tilted his head up at him slightly, and made double sure that they were on the same page here, or at least the same chapter. Of course. He exhaled a sigh of relief and carried on, trying to ignore the embarrassing dilemma of his rapid heart- though all he could feel was it beating insistently in his chest and the only things he could tangibly focus on were the sounds of his and Ryan’s unsteady, urgent breathing as they celebrated their reunion in their own apparent special way; the familiar softness of Ryan’s skin; his gentle, dulcet tone. It was all music in his ears and at his fingertips. At night your body is a symphony and I’m conducting- an apt lyric then and now. It was terrifying how little exposure to Ryan it took for Brendon to unravel at the seams and come apart at the edges. If I ever change my mind about that, then I've gone crazy, believe me.

”You never know,” He mumbled, impatiently unfastening the final button at the bottom of Ryan’s shirt and feeling a sense of triumph when it dropped from Ryan’s shoulders and crumpled onto the ground. ”Y’could’ve gone off me or something.” ...Brendon didn’t believe that for a second even as he himself made the suggestion; Ryan had written songs about him, for god’s sake, it was highly unlikely they’d just reunite and go on as friends considering they had never just been friends before. They didn’t know how to make it work, just like how they didn’t know how to make the faraway concept of ‘boyfriends’ work- they made everything up as they went along and hoped it didn’t all fall apart into ruin, even though by now that was their trademark- it had happened with with everything since their first meeting when Ryan immediately decided to hate Brendon’s guts, then it had happened with their brief fling, and then the band had split and though neither of them mentioned it they both knew part of the blame could be attributed to the fact that they’d complicated things beyond repair. At least their mutual hatred was accepted and manageable and they each knew their place with the other- add in romance, even in its most watered down and dirtied form, everything became a whole lot harder to handle. And so, predictably, reliably, they ruined everything with admirably consistency.

They weren’t stupid. Brendon wasn’t an idiot. Again, he knew exactly what the consequences could be if this turned sour. He just- didn’t particularly care. It was so hard to care about anything or think beyond the present when he had the permission and time to explore as he pleased, hands visiting the same territory and familiarising themselves with the differences, the slight but noticeable increase in definition. It was be so easy to leave his inhibitions and common sense behind when he was in Ryan’s arms. But- Brendon wasn’t an idiot. Though he was beyond caring about the potential consequences for the two of them as individuals, he did genuinely care about Spencer and Dallon and Ian and Mike and Jon, who had nothing to do with the mess they’d made and didn’t deserve to suffer when the fallout inevitably came. So; the solution. To soften the blow, he threw his arms around Ryan’s neck, stated the rule as plainly as possible and then leaned in to catch him in an apologetic kiss, fingers curling into the back of his hair. With the more serious request out of the way, Brendon drew back to propose a second deal.

You’re cute. So was Ryan’s fucking laugh, but Brendon’s expression turned stormy and his hackles raised, hyperconscious of the possibility of being mocked- until Ryan dated him quickly by drawing his thumb gently over his temple, and he settled like a content feline, blinking up at him affectionately. Sure, if you’re up for the challenge. Challenge. Challenge? Brendon scoffed, pulling back and puffing our his chest, the confidence of a peacock but no substance to back this assuredness of himself and his completed untested abilities. ”Maybe it’s a challenge for you. Just you wait, Rowe, you’ll feel me for days.” That last comment was a joke, alluding to their first encounter of this nature, but even still, he trailed off towards the end, suddenly realising that Ryan had agreed and he’d never expected- or wanted- to get this far. However, because he had more pride than sense, he supposed he’d have to go through with it. Anything for you, baby. His eyes glittered and he surged close to kiss him hastily- that had always been Brendon’s thing, but when Ryan made use of the pet name, it made his heart swell and he finally realised why Ryan always used to looked so affected when he used it.

But... you’re right. Yeah, Ryan, he usually was. You’ll learn someday. Nobody can know, sure. Brendon inhaled, content, then leaned to meet Ryan in the middle, allowing him to take the lead of the kiss and sighing hitchedly when he felt Ryan’s teeth sink gently into his bottom lip. Hey... Brendon made a curious noise but let his eyes fall shut as Ryan pressed kisses along the side of his face. I have... My own rule. Interesting. You have to try not to make me too jealous onstage, ‘kay? Brendon sighed again, deep and breathy, but he was half-laughing until Ryan caught onto his earlobe and leaned them both back. ”Sorry, it’s just me acting out,” He explained. ”See, I’ve just missed you so much.” Pointedly, he pressed his hips forward and grinned, hanging off Ryan’s neck by his arms. ”I really have missed you. Don’t be too jealous of Dallon, he’s too sweet for me anyway.”

nothing friendly at all

Whatever you say. Brendon arched an eyebrow at him from where he lay, trying to occupy his hands with something else now that they couldn’t be on Ryan’s skin, feeling the heat and thrum of his pulse and tracing the muscle definition he’d never really noticed until twenty-four hours ago when worked desperately to get Ryan’s shirt off and had the pleasure of being able to indulge his kinaesthetic senses. Not that he’d never seen Ryan like that before- they were in a band together on a small tour bus, for god’s sake, he’d seen more of band members than he wanted to- but that was obviously different. Last night he’d had the freedom to satisfy close to every single closely hidden and guarded carnal urge he had regarding Ryan and now it was impossible to think of him in any other way- especially because the bruises (they were dark and plentiful- damn, Brendon really went for it, didn’t he) were plain to see and when he turned, there were scratches down his back; those he’d asked for and Brendon had been all too glad to deliver. Brendon wasn’t sure what he looked like but he imagined he was in a similar state. Ryan really was gorgeous like this. Brendon picked at the sheets, sighing. I don’t need any pointers.

Lifting his head again to laugh softly, Brendon pretended to consider this, but pretending quickly lead to actually thinking about it, and the more he did, the more he realised that he really couldn’t fault Ryan for much. It was slightly ridiculous, almost grading Ryan based on last night. ”Actually, you do,” He countered, voice all matter-of-fact, ”But you know what, I’ll let you off. I’m gonna assume it was because you were drunk and therefore not at top performance. If you catch my meaning,” His last sentence trailed off into barely concealed laughter and he waved a dismissive hand, biting his lip to prevent himself from breaking out into a Cheshire grin. You’ll feel me for weeks. With that, he immediately opened his mouth and moved to try an sit up so he could protest, but the immediate pain he felt coupled with a visible cringe made him check himself and pause for a second, begrudging. I can’t argue with that,” He muttered, sliding back down against the headboard. ”Oh, fuck, I’ll have to walk like a dumbass for days. Will people be able to tell? I can never- tell if they can.”

Brendon wasn’t usually one to get embarrassed or be conservative or bashful about these kinds of things, but the situation made it a little more vital that he could figure out how to walk normally and be as mobile as usual on stage. The timing- if anyone saw straight through him, they might then suspect Ryan, who also had a very slightly off gait- he shook his head, told himself he was being ridiculous, it was fine, nobody would ever expect Brendon and Ryan because they were supposed to hate eachother, be disgusted by eachother. God, Spencer and Jon would have a field day if they found out about this- so they couldn’t. Brendon hoped that was a given and he didn’t have to have such a conversation with Ryan- ‘Hey Ryan, you know how we kind of had sex? Just saying, don’t tell anyone’. Either he’d be weirdly offended because Ryan was a Virgo and just like that, or he’d be disgusted at the prospect of anybody even knowing about it anyway. Brendon knew he shouldn’t care about the latter outcome but somehow he was frightened of it. That being said, it was hard to worry when they were in their little fantasy world in Seattle, and Ryan had kissed the back of his hand like some kind of prince, and Brendon had moved in to comfortably settle his head in the crook of Ryan’s neck after pressing insistent kisses everywhere he could reach.

This was a lot. Brendon tried not to think about it, tried to get out of his head by dragging Ryan into another kiss, but then they were settling comfortably, Brendon’s head resting on Ryan’s bicep. He exhaled, feeling both suffocated and completely at home in Ryan’s arms. Oh, yeah? Brendon nodded without question. You’re kind of trouble, too. They were both nothing but trouble for the other but at this point both of them clearly thought it was worth it. Brendon smiled, small. You're kind of trouble, too. I'm sure I won't have a Brendon-free thought for a while. Meeting his eyes seriously, Brendon searched Ryan’s face. Not that I mind. He laughed, moving his free hand and letting his fingers dance over Ryan’s collarbone and up to his neck, tracing bruises and then moving up to curl affectionately into his hair. ”I should hope not.” His voice was soft, oddly gentle even though they should be used to that kind of tenderness by now, having overloaded eachother with fine feelings in a very short space of time. Brendon reckoned it was only a matter of time before one of them cracked under the pressure and this promise of a new foundation crumbled.

But, whatever. There was no use in worrying, right? Brendon sighed and as Ryan’s eyes dropped down to his mouth, the corner of his own mouth quirked and he dutifully did the same, eyeing Ryan’s mouth and considering going in for another sweet kiss but he could tell Ryan unfortunately had something to say. What could possibly be more important than- What now? Oh. Brendon’s eyebrows raised after he processed this, and he laughed, disbelieving, shifting so he was slightly more on top of Ryan and leaning in to catch his bottom lip between his teeth for just a second. ”I dunno, how much time we got before took service gets here?” I know it's stupid, but. I can't see myself acting the same. Huh. It seemed he had drastically misread the subtext there. Disappointed, Brendon moved off and sat cross-legged beside Ryan now, poking him absently in the side with his foot. ”Yeah, me neither, but- I don’t know, I’m not sure, I’ve not had much time to think.” He paused, eyes lifting from where they were fixed on the sheets and looking Ryan quickly up and down before he met his eyes. He laughed hopelessly. ”I thought this-“ He gestured vaguely to Ryan, to them, to the bed, to the room- ”Would be all that we wanted.” He dragged a hand down the side of his face, no longer sure of himself.

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

True, so maybe Brendon could’ve easily asked for, like, extra chicken with his order, but it was too late to focus on the past now, he decided, however recent that past was. Besides, whenever Ryan was around and he asked whether he wanted anything, he always said no. Apparently it so happened that it was this one particular instance where Brendon hadn’t bothered to order him anything was also the one instance where Ryan was actually hungry. To be fair to Brendon, it took a lot of willpower for him to leave that tantalising last piece of chicken- it was, for Brendon and those who knew him, a grandiose expression of love and appreciation. Ryan was probably entitled to said chicken, anyway. It was his card that he sneakily noted down the details for, stole and used to order it. Brendon didn’t have much slack to complain with. My- damn it, I knew I left one of my cards here. Lucky for Brendon, yeah. He shrugged casually and unapologetically because he knew Ryan didn’t have it in him to be mad for long- or at all- at him. It incited a real sense of power in Brendon to know that he could probably shatter Ryan’s kneecaps and steal all his belongings and Ryan would thank him for it- especially considering his supposed ‘rockstar’ status. Brendon had come to find he didn’t quite live up to such a heavy title; he was less ‘rock’ and more ‘small stone’ or ‘pebble’.

Not sarcasm, not complaining. Brendon’s eyebrows lifted and dropped quickly. “Yeah, I get enough of that from your entourage.” Eyeing the box sat on Ryan’s lap, he tried to conceal a smile and instead of showing on his mouth it burst out and shone through his eyes as they squinted up with amusement. I’m truly grateful. I don’t know what I’d do without you, etc. As Brendon moved forwards to start rooting through the bags, he laughed, looking up at Ryan every so often, his attention endearingly divided between the expensive and lavish gifts piled on the sofa before him and the man sat a little further away who very arguably owned his ass. ”I know exactly what you’d do,” Brendon said, pausing to admire a printed shirt, ”You’d set out to flirt with some other poor, blindsided gay man, at a shitty bar downtown, but end up hiring him, much to his disappointment.” He trailed off there, thoughtful, losing focus, before he snapped himself back into it and moved a hand to drag back through his hair. “Of course, he wouldn’t be as good as me. I saved your career, Ry. Never forget it.”

Okay, maybe not saved; and, come to think of it, not exactly revitalised, either. Ryan had been and still was incredibly famous- but he liked to think he’d polished him up a little at least. Brendon regarded him for a moment doubtful, but was distracted as soon as Ryan started rattling off random fashion trivia at random, apparently in order to impress. You have! I also know that 'FW' means fashion week, and who J. Alexander is. Feels pretty good to be a parrot. Nodding along to humour him- mostly so he could attempt to focus on which item of clothing out of the ridiculous selection Ryan had gifted him to try on first. ”You’ve surpassed me already.” Brendon was no longer fully listening, because it was hard when there were so many things right in front of him that he desired to instantly wear all at once. However, when he did lift his gaze up from the large hill of shopping bags, Ryan caught his eye in the way only he really could and Brendon paused, tilting his head as if in anticipation of something. I met you and decided that was impossible. Oh. Even if that was just teasing, it was sweet, and Brendon furiously looked back down and hoped the flush on his face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Today some interviewers showed me, like 'receipts' of how I look at you in photos, and it's bad, Brendon. Once he’d recovered and the pink dusting of colour on his cheekbones had more or less faded, he glanced up, curious. ”First of all, is that really all that gets brought up in your interviews these days? Second, man, I need someone to send me those fuckin’ photos so I can make fun of you. Love ya. Please don’t take my Gucci away.”

Prepare for some unsavoury Instagram comments. Brendon knew for a fact that Ryan wasn’t kidding because his Instagram comments and messages were like some kind of online battleground, fought by three drastically different main armies; Ryan stans and the general public who thought Brendon was, to be frank, some kind of gold-digging whore; chaotic good people who shipped them together as some kind of golden couple despite no relationship ever having been confirmed or even directly hinted at by Brendon or Ryan; and those who discovered Brendon via Ryan but were now obsessed with Brendon and fell victim to every single thirst trap he ever posted. There were other denominations and subgroups, but those were the three Brendon saw the most. The former was, unfortunately, a significantly large proportion. He made a note to himself in his head to turn off comments for a while or something as damage control. ”Thanks for the heads up,” He said finally, but he was smiling, used to it all at this point.

Hotter? Almost startled by how quickly Ryan straightened up, Brendon broke out into a grin and nodded affirmatively, impressed and amused by his lightning quick reaction to a compliment- even more amusing because Brendon had seen Ryan he complimented by others many times before and in all those instances he just kind of withdrew, sheepish, unbelieving. Brendon spared him the embarrassment of pointing that out. Okay. I'm totally cool enough on the outside to be a sugar daddy, thanks to my very talented stylist, Brendon Blake. ”That’s better, thanks.” So, where's my personality makeover? I need some neuroses concealed. Immediately, Brendon rolled his eyes. ”I’m your stylist, not your therapist. Don’t hold y’goddamn breath.” This was all good-natured, even when Ryan cursed his ears by using the phrase ‘sugar uncle’, which, in Brendon’s opinion, was an arrest-worthy crime. Say what again? Sugar un... ”Oh, fuck off.” He winced, tightening his arms around his chest. Somehow, it was just so much worse than the original.

Either way, I eventually deserve some sugar in return, that's how it works. Sagely, Brendon nodded, smirking as he took the jacket from Ryan’s hands, fingers brushing against Ryan’s for a moment before he held it up to admire it. ”Sure, baby, just say the word,” He muttered, and looked up at Ryan from beneath his eyelashes. ”S’only fuckin’ fair.” At this point, he was way too enchanted with the jacket, that was probably worth more than his whole life, and that he shrugged on after another moment, tracing the appliqué on one of the sleeves, in awe. I like it more on you. I knew it’d look good. Shut up, Ryan, god, you’re so sweet and boyishly charming and insufferably, tormentingly pretty. Brendon resented himself for reinventing his employer’s image so that he was literally his cookie cutter perfect man and then more. Much more. He was grinning when Ryan placed his hand on the shearling, and stared at his hand for a second before he curled his own hand deftly around his wrist and moved Ryan’s hand up to feel the material on the inside of his collar, as if to show him how soft it was further up where it made contact with the skin. He dropped his hands and then turned to search for a mirror somewhere, conveniently stopping in front of the one above the fancy decorative mantelpiece and fully checking himself out in the mirror.

Did you know your ass is impossible to shop for? A pause. The corner of his mouth twitched. He slowly turned around. ”What?” I made these employees who looked the same size as you try on jeans to figure it out, but no one came quite close. Laughing, he stared at Ryan with something akin to part disbelief, part delight. Mostly disbelief. ”Oh yeah? Is that a testament to me?” Trust me! I’d know. Brendon was truly floored; which was strange, considering how stupidly obvious the two of them tended to be. ”You do, do you? I didn’t- I didn’t realise you payed some much attention, I gotta say.” Brendon bit his lip to suppress a smirk and twisted his fingers into the finer locks of the longest part of his hair and rugged slightly, thoughtful, distracted, flattered. He lifted the one pair of jeans he’d freed from the bags and held them up, eyebrows raised. ”So, uh, these are gonna- accentuate?”

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?”