Neve

sorry to get sentimental tonight

Yeah, so maybe they’d only been officially dating for six months, they’d been practically boyfriends for a long time, way too close for two people who were apparently ‘just friends’, and in a situation where one of their paychecks depended on the other. It was, in many ways, not an ideal situation- things had started out in a semi-awful downtown LA bar, one that seemed to be going for some kind of vintage vibe but only achieved a ‘hasn’t been dusted in a year’ look, and from that meeting Brendon had so far earned a new job, a salary multiple times higher than the one he had been earning prior to accepting the offer, and if he fast forwarded through more significant lifestyle changes, he had now ended up with a fiancé. They were- unconventional, to say the least, and Brendon supposed he was just trying to reason with himself that getting engaged after six months really wasn’t that far out considering some of the other shit he’d done since meeting Ryan Rowe. What was so bad about it, really- they were in love, lived together, we’re both definitely in it for the long run- even if this was some kind of honeymoon phase, he wasn’t too worried about leaving that phase because things were so overwhelmingly good with Ryan he couldn’t ever imagine them being bad or even just mediocre. In his arms Brendon felt safe, comfortable, at home. He’d never been so sure of something or someone in his up to now chaotic life.

So, yeah. Brendon wanted to marry him. He imagined others would have something to say about their quick engagement- fans of Ryan, people who definitely weren’t fans of Ryan, Ryan’s questionable number of exes, Ryan’s friends, Brendon’s friends. Maybe even Ryan’s management. Brendon and Ryan’s relationship was public, yeah, but many saw it as some damaged rockstar going through a phase. He’d had so many girlfriends, what else could it be? A marriage might shake up his image. Brendon knew Ryan wouldn’t give a fuck, but, still. It had the possibility of turning their lives and careers upside down, at least for a little while until the ‘adoring public’ settled down with the idea that Ryan had settled down and wouldn’t be marrying them instead. Brendon blinked and then closed his eyes, reminding himself that he wasn’t even sure if Ryan had been serious when he asked, he shouldn’t get so far ahead of himself. After all, the two of them were often nonsensical and incoherent during the heat of the moment, this could just be another one of those incidents. He knew he had to make sure but he also knew Ryan would be thinking the same thing, wanting to clarify things, so he stayed silent. Ryan was more likely to confront it first anyway.

As if on cue, Ryan spoke, and Brendon felt a surge of affection, immediately moving up and pressing himself comfortably against Ryan so he could easily reach his jaw where he then planted a kiss. They locked eyes for just a second before Ryan looked away and Brendon smiled. You’re beautiful, you’re incredible. You’re the most astounding thing I’ve ever seen. You’re telling me. Laughing, he silenced himself only by attaching his mouth softly to different points along Ryan’s collarbone, simply tracing over the lovebites he’d already left there, dark against Ryan’s pale skin. He couldn’t help his subsequent affected, audible inhale, and had to close his eyes for a few seconds to compose himself before they fluttered open, wide and innocent and amused by Ryan’s painfully obvious nerves. He was so fucking cute. Brendon hoped to god that had been a legitimate proposal. However, he had no mercy, and intended to make his boyfriend/fiancé squirm- and squirm he did; Brendon repeated more explicit things that were said and Ryan reacted with blatant mortification. My poor baby, Brendon thought, and decided to cut him some slack, it was the least he could do after Ryan had dicked him down wonderfully and proposed at the same time. He couldn’t ask for a better man.

Still, he had to make sure Ryan meant it, and it was his turn to be slightly apprehensive. He let Ryan manoeuvre them both to a more comfortable position (haha, funny, Ryan was an expert at that by now, yeah, yeah) and met Ryan’s earnest, searching gaze carefully. I meant it. His heart soared and it was embarassing but Brendon grinned like an idiot, dropping his chin to his chest and looking down, as if incredibly distracted by the rise and fall of Ryan’s chest. ”You just officially made that the best sex I’ve ever had,” He declared, surging in for a brief kiss before pulling back and letting Ryan speak. I didn't exactly... I mean, in all of my dumb imaginary scenarios, this was not one of them, but I meant it. A shrug from Brendon. ”Hey, it worked for me,” He reasoned, dancing the tips of his fingers lightly across Ryan’s skin, ”And at least it wasn’t cliché, right?” Another damn smile. He couldn’t stop smiling. This was so ridiculous, but then, he supposed, so were they. So was love. It was all so goddamn wonderful and maybe the afterglow kind of contributed but Brendon was positive he’d never been so happy in his life.

I’ll get a ring, even. Brendon raised his eyebrows and snaked a hand to close his fingers around one of Ryan’s wrists, holding it up in the space between them, indicating Ryan’s numerous rings that they apparently didn’t wish to waste time taking off. ”You’ve got enough, I think,” He grinned and stuck his tongue out slightly between his teeth, eyes squinting up at the corners as he kissed the back of Ryan’s hand and then let go of his wrist. They were relaxed and earnest and though Brendon adored it, he still delighted in changing the mood by pressing his hips down without warning, studying Ryan’s face for reaction. ”So, I’ll think about it,” He teased, leaning forward to catch Ryan’s bottom lip in his teeth, hands curling through his hair. ”If you propose to me again, in a different position.” He was joking. Kind of. They were... A little too much sometimes.

sorry to get sentimental tonight

So Ryan had proposed.

Brendon, honestly, was trying not to give it too much thought for fear of beginning to regret saying yes already. It was- a peculiar proposal, to say the least, the last situation wherein he’d ever expected to get engaged. The words had tumbled from Ryan’s lips after a punctuating, drawn-out breath- ‘will you marry me’- and he had looked into Brendon’s eyes, dazed but obviously completely enamoured and impassioned. His voice had been low and husky, it was all so quick and almost jarring, and Brendon, in a similar state to his lover, no coherent thoughts occupying his mind besides ryanryanryan, had almost immediately accepted. There were a few heartbeats that passed, time that he took to process Ryan’s words, and then Brendon had exhaled out an excited ‘hell yeah’. That was- technically- saying ‘yes’. They were- technically- now engaged. Brendon was lying with his head pressed comfortably against the warm skin of his fiancé’s chest. Fiancé. At first, when they’d just collapsed boneless into the sheets, they basked in an air of affection that would be expected after a copulation-marriage proposal combination; but even as Brendon started to drift off, he started to doubt it all just a little.

The first thing was, it clearly wasn’t planned. There was no ring, and, more obviously, it had taken place in the heat of a very intimate moment, where emotions were heightened almost irrationally. Not like Ryan would ever set out to propose specifically during that. Knowing him, he’d make it an entire event, romantic and sweet, some grand gesture even though he wasn’t even that fond of such things, but he knew Brendon was, so he’d do it for him, and- well. To be honest, Brendon wasn’t sure why he had even been thinking about that as much as he had, in reflection. They’d been dating for about a half a year, maybe a little more, and though they were quite clearly and openly in love, most people would agree that six months was not a very long time and not long enough at all, not even close, to consider ‘tying the knot’, so to speak. But. They’d always been unconventional. Their relationship had started out as a potential hookup gone wrong (or gone right, depending on how badly either of them really wanted it that evening), turned suddenly into a job opportunity, and out of nowhere, Brendon had then started falling for his boss, the frontman of one of the most popular bands in the world. And then they were dating. And now- engaged.

Brendon was relaxed against the mattress and was listening to Ryan’s steadily slowing heartbeat, thoughts racing despite the apparent surface level peacefulness, and he cursed the situation for a second because usually afterwards they just cuddled and fell asleep, sweet and gentle. Now all he could do was stare off slightly distantly at the wall, his cheek pressed against Ryan’s chest, too distracted to properly come down. It wasn’t all bad, though. He was certainly comfortable and it wasn’t like he was totally freaking out and wanting to backpedal immediately- it was just so out of the blue. And they were both yet to mention it. And Brendon sheepishly recalled that he may have been so enthusiastic about something Ryan did, not something than said, like, ‘will you marry me’. Okay. He was slowly starting to panic. That said, when he heard Ryan’s voice and felt his hand sliding across his skin to curl into his hair, he remembered that he was completely enamoured with the man and- he wouldn’t mind marrying him. Not at all. Hey, Bren. With almost obedient punctuality, Brendon lifted his head and shifted up a little, angling his head to nip playfully at the edge of Ryan’s jaw, soothing it with a quick kiss. He propped himself up on one elbow and moved the other to curl into Ryan’s hair after he ran through his own with his fingers, trying to tame it somewhat. ”Hey, baby.” His voice was somewhat raspy. So. Oh. Knowing what was coming, Brendon quirked an eyebrow and swallowed. This could be interesting.

”So.” Patient, he studied Ryan’s face closely, having memorised every detail anyhow, but, still. He was art. ”Before y’say anything. You’re fucking astounding.” His laugh came out almost as a hiss. ”That was, uh, incredible.” Brendon sucked on his teeth and let his eyes drop down to Ryan’s mouth but he didn’t make any moves, just waited dutifully. So, uh, what I said. An innocuous twitch of the eyebrows followed. Some... Things were said. As if oblivious, Brendon’s eyes were open endearingly wide, innocent, like he had no idea what Ryan was so hesitant about. Did you... Did you mean. That?

A laugh from Brendon and he shrugged a shoulder, dipping his head to trace a few featherlight kisses on Ryan’s collarbone then moving up and making space for himself in the crook of his shoulder, hiding his face there mostly so Ryan would hurt him instantly. [b]”Y’gotta be more specific, babe. Things were said, but are you referring to [i]fuck me harder[i]- he replicated that with jarring accuracy- or will you marry me?

Yes?

Brendon swallowed. So, they were really actually gonna have this conversation now. Turns out a great way to ruin what was supposed to be post-coital bliss and then a long, long sleep was for one idiot to propose and the other to say yes. Why couldn’t he have waited? ”Well. Did you mean it when you asked me?”

old fashioned

Brendon came to this bar relatively often, funnily enough, considering he could more than afford to frequent more upscale establishments. Such speakeasies were specially tailored towards those of perceived higher class and/or wealth- so, just for Brendon, except. They weren’t. Funnily enough, the richer the folk, the more intolerant they tended to be- so when Brendon has ascended to his certain level of fame (which he was kind of certain had plateaued in a musical sense, but his reputation could only spread further based on his personal and social life and... preferences), and he began trying to fit into classier speakeasies (something of an oxymoron in itself), he found that at the top people were just shittier. Wasn’t like there was a bar somewhere made specifically for rich gay men- usually because openly gay men never had the opportunity to make their fortune due to an unfair society unless they wanted some kind of career in entertainment. So, Brendon had lucked out, in a sense, and quickly learned his place- which was back in these places, smaller buildings with a closer knit pool of customers and a friendly owner he could become fond enough to call a- treasured acquaintance. Hey, Dallon knew he used the place to pick men up, sometimes, and he hadn’t yet said anything. So. Brendon felt comfortable here, safe.

Not that he wasn’t still careful, because being as he was, if he was recognised by some closed-minded individual or he misread the signs and hit on someone who didn’t swing his way, there could be- usually would be- consequences. That was a hard lesson he had learned with time. In the beginning, he had been proud and spiteful and he had felt invincible, starting fights with anyone who dared call him some hateful name or taunt him for how he was. As he grew older and was thrust into a modest spotlight, he didn’t become any less proud, he just learned when and where was a good place to show that pride. When he glanced over at the tall man sat beside him who had offered to buy him a drink, he had been cautious, because who knew if it was just some guy wanting company, and not in the way Brendon hoped- but after he caught his bootlegger in the act of fully letting his eyes drift to his mouth, Brendon relaxed his shoulders and eased himself into charming fluidity. He watched and tilted his head with interested as Ryan straightened up and he not very subtly admired his height. He was taller than Brendon, which meant he was in with a fighting chance. Lucky him.

Almost didn’t recognise you, sir. Brendon laughed, and stuck his tongue out between his teeth slightly, his eyes crinkling up fondly at the corners, visible through the slightly too-large eye holes of the mask he was still wearing. Then- that wink- Brendon had gone to speak but the words became stuck in his throat and he cleared it by coughing, flustered, holding a hand up to excuse himself and wrapping his fingers around his glass with the other, bringing it to his lips to take a hesitant sip. Pull yourself together, Brendon. You’ve seen him before. You knew already that he’s gorgeous. But- okay, now you know he plays for the same team. Interesting development in their professional relationship, but- Brendon could live with that. He studied him further, his countenance, and entertained the idea of referring to him by ‘Sir’- sure, Ryan worked for him, but. He looked like he was... Powerful. In a different way. If he handled all his transactions like he’d handled them with Dallon and then Brendon himself, well. He was now a strong admirer of the man and was intensely interested in getting to know him better, in perhaps more ways than one. I’m flattered. Brendon raised his eyebrows quickly and took another sip from his glass before setting it back down, readjusting his mask absently. ”Should be.”

You succeed. Brendon flashed him another enigmatic grin, winking to return Ryan’s from just before. ”Grand of you to say, sport,” He rested his elbows on the counter and then gestured towards Dallon, suddenly distracted once the owner of the speakeasy had drifted into his peripheral vision. I wouldn’t worry too much about his attendance. Brendon lifted the elbow closest to Ryan from the wood and turned himself bodily to face him more fully, one arm still braced casually on the surface. Even more casually he reached out with his foot, nudging Ryan’s while he made eye contact and pulling it back after a few seconds. He is known for being the ‘discounted’ bar in town, after all. Brendon laughed openly, and obviously at Dallon, and Dallon noticed and stared at him suspiciously for a second before he gave up, clearly too patient or not caring enough to bother finding out what was so funny. ”He absolutely is,” Came Brendon’s firm agreement, ”And what’s even better is that he doesn’t even know it.” A sympathetic but amused shake of the head follow and Brendon yet again lifted the half-full glass to his lips, before circling it and setting it decidedly down. After this, Brendon’s interested was swerved away from Dallon and the alcohol and he was instead intent on getting better acquainted with this handsome criminal sat beside him, and close beside him, might he add.

He tried not to let his breath hitch when Ryan moved closer, failed not quite miserably. Appreciate it, Sir. Brendon really wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to stay sensible for, as much as he managed to keep his head about him these days. He managed to compose himself fairly quickly, though, and simply nodded graciously, waving a hand as if it was nothing. It wasn’t like that was to butter him up, or anything- Brendon did like the way he managed his business affairs. He was clearly intelligent, but from what he’d gathered from the brief two instances that they’d encountered eachother, Ryan hadn’t been originally inclined towards breaking the law habitually as a career. That was true for many bootleggers, honestly, but- Brendon recognised a pianist’s hands anywhere. Interesting. Said hands distracted him as Ryan moved his foot to rest between Brendon’s on the rung of the stool, and it took him a second before he realised they had little distance to speak of between them now. Brendon swallowed.

I’ve got all night, Mr. Blake, I don’t intend on spending it alone. Brendon pressed one of his knees against the side of Ryan’s leg, regarded him intently. That was the best news he’d heard all night, and a proposition if he ever heard one. ”Wonderful,” He said huskily, his voice dropping an octave. You don’t have any plans yourself, do you? Well. Not until about five minutes ago. He shook his head maybe a little too fast. You seem like a busy man. ”I make time.” A brief pause, and then Brendon suddenly shifted in the stool and turned fully around to face the counter, picking up his glass and downing the rest of the drink before he stood. ”Apologies, old sport, I’m just going to the restroom. I won’t keep you waiting long.” He brushed against Ryan as he walked past but didn’t even look over his shoulder to check they were understood. Brendon could already tell. He pushed through the men’s room door and glanced around. Empty. It was turning out to be Brendon’s lucky day.

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

Ryan had sort of been a rockstar before, but a fledgling, awkward and not quite sure of himself yet. Brendon had just stripped all that away and found everything underneath that he could work with- no, not in that sense, though it would be a lie to say he didn’t often entertain that train of thought when he was alone- and now Ryan had grown into the title, with a new haircut (that made him look frustratingly hot, Brendon had to admit, he hated himself for styling it just the way that got him going), a new wardrobe courtesy of Brendon’s exceptional sense of style and expensive taste, and with it a new air of confidence. He had already been smooth and charming, that was obvious from their first meeting, Ryan was clearly used to all kinds of people and how to treat them at this point in his career- but hadn’t fleshed out into the full-blown rockstar he was today. Brendon could just- well, Brendon was weak. Ryan clearly had an endless supply of compliments and if he kept them coming Brendon wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep these new ridiculously expensive clothes on. No problem. He bit his lip to suppress a grin and pleaded with himself not to flush. He did anyway.

The funny thing was, Brendon had never even been a massive fan of Ryan’s band. He knew of them, sure, who didn’t, but he wasn’t some crazy groupie, not even a casual fan. But now he’d become more acquainted with the music- particularly who wrote and sang it- he was a diehard, endlessly supportive of anything Ryan readily showed him. Plus, when he saw Ryan sitting there, concentrating, playing guitar, his gorgeous hands and long fingers strumming away at strings- it was hard not to become enchanted with everything to do with and around Ryan Rowe. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to get too attached- he was a musician, for god’s sake, Brendon had been warned about them before- but Brendon preferred not to listen to common sense and instead let his poor little heart, which sped up whenever Ryan was within a certain distance of him, do his decision making for him. It hadn’t failed him so far- it’d earned him a well overpaid job, new friends, a new lifestyle, and lots of followers on Instagram and Twitter. Plus a possible love interest. Possible. Brendon was far from regretting anything.

Oh, please. What content? You ever seen me take a picture of myself? It doesn’t happen. Brendon held his hands up, but looked wistful, fading off distractedly for a moment. ”I know,” He murmured, vaguely, and he bit his lip for half a second. ”It’s a damn shame.” Clearly, Brendon’s thoughts had taken an imaginative turn, but he wasn’t so distracted that he didn’t hear Ryan’s apt warning about Spencer. The drummer scared him, no matter how harmless he seemed on the surface. Be glad he didn’t hear you say that. You’d be dead for real. Brendon nodded doubtfully and brought a hand up to his own neck, rubbing it like he was subconsciously protecting the vulnerable area from an attack. From Spencer. Hey, you could never be too careful. ”I know. I’m trying to stay in his good books, but- hey, it’s your fault. They all think you give me special treatment ‘cause you’ve got a constant boner for me or something.” A splutter in an attempt to breeze past that comment passed Brendon’s lips and he looked away quickly, stifling a grin but raising a knowing eyebrow.

Whoa. Who said I thought you were cute? ”See: my last comment,” He suggested, folding his arms. ...Alright, I can't get away with that. Anyway, I'll take both. You're worth a little bit of scandal. That earned a laugh. ”Yeah, you think you’re slick. You need to find a better resting place for your line of sight than my ass.” Just a suggestion. Brendon busied himself then by checking the sizing of the jeans, amused but not surprised by the intentionally tighter fit Ryan had apparently gone for when deciding what to buy for him. What? Uh- maybe a little intentional. Hey, nothing wrong with them being a little snug. It's complimentary. Tilting his head to the side, considering, Brendon nodded, noticing but having enough mercy to not comment on how distracted Ryan was yet again. Well. Since they were both being open now, apparently, tired of subtext and dancing around obvious attraction, Brendon made a proposition, open-ended just in case he’d overstepped. But something told him that wouldn’t be a problem as Ryan ‘Oh’d’ twice in quick succession.

Right, right, I mean... If I didn’t I’d Be skipping a few steps. Brendon’s mouth quirked with amusement. ”You’d be skipping all the way to the best part, though,” He reasoned, feeling his heartbeat annoyingly quicken as Ryan stepped closer. Stupid dumb Ryan with his stupid haircut that Brendon had styled that way himself. He really wanted to mess it up, maybe tangle his fingers into it a little. Funny how things changed. Or I could take the first one. ”Holding hands?” He laughed. A joke, but. That would be nice, really. Did I win you over yet? I could burn few a through more paychecks.” Brendon’s smile faltered and he folded the jeans, placing them over the back of the sofa. ”Y’know you could’ve had me from day one right? Of course you’ve fucking won me over. Dumbass.”

you and i will always be my dream

Though to many I’m aware that I seem a free spirit, eccentric, unpredictable, only Ryan knows me well enough to have figured out that I live by a rhythm and I put all importance in having control over everything. It is from this that sometimes in the past we have argued; I felt threatened later into our joint musical careers and due to feeling an intense need to be in control of the music as we grew older, it caused a rift in the band and that is why, for years, I have worked alone. Or, I did work alone- I can’t remember the last time I sat down to write or play the piano or even dared to sing a note for fear of it not sounding like the voice I am used to.

I am terrified, because I am not in control. I have never really been in control. Every time I seemed to be getting better I was just fooling myself when really it was just my addiction creeping into the shadows for a while, pulling me into and uneasy security, until it crept out and took its tight hold on me and decided to go back to ruining my life.

And Ryan’s life. I glance at him almost distantly, feeling my throat close up. He deserved- deserves- someone so much better than me. His entire life has been spent looking after me, walking on eggshells around me like I’m some kind of helpless case. Which- well. I suppose I now am. Inhaling and exhaling shakily, I feel my heartbeat quicken only slightly and I make a move to hide my face in Ryan’s chest but he holds me before him and I hesitantly meet his eyes. But only for a second. I know what I look like. I don’t like that he can see me like this, I’m sick and ugly and though I avoid my reflection these days it is all I am aware of when I gaze into his- gorgeous eyes. Honey-gold. They are the last thing I want to see before I die, I decide, not that I had ever considered anything else.

He pulls me in and I choke back the feeling of being close to tears against his shirt, wrapping my arms desperately around his waist, clinging to him like he is my lifeline. My heart only beats for you, I think, and he is breathtaking enough then to stop me from being all somber and depressing as I am all the time now. Instead I grin, stay stood there swaying slightly as he shrugs of his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. He always did this, even when I didn’t visibly show signs of being cold or ask for his coat. He just knows. I remember what I look like and drop my eyes to my feet, but I am still smiling. Despite all the songs about it. ”Well, you always were a romantic,” I offer, raising an eyebrow just a little as my fond smile wavers gently.

And growing up on the West Coast. I’m a walking contradiction. Laughing, I shrug one shoulder weakly and lean into his side as he wraps his arm around my waist, and we fit together so naturally, so easily, we’ve walked like this thousands of times before. ”I’m just proud to say that I’m the one who took your ‘seeing the sea in real life’ virginity.” I try to joke but it’s lame and I shake my head, smiling at myself all the same. At least I haven’t lost my shitty sense of humour yet, right?

We aren’t really- both walking. I thought I was strong enough for this and I grow frustrated that I have to lean most of my wait into Ryan, but I say nothing, unwilling to show weakness even now as I stand, a dead man walking. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I begin to taste blood and it is like metal on my tongue, bitter and sharp. I grimace at the sand but then Ryan is kicking his shoes off and I realise we are by the shoreline and Ryan brings us to a stop. Watching as he stoops and rolls our pant legs up in turn, when he finishes I seek his hand and lock our fingers together, butter again that I must rely on him so much. He is the only person I would let take care of me like this and even with the only man I have ever loved it is mortifying.

I stare at him until he looks away and we walk on a little, stepping into the wet sand and then into the shallow line of water is it ebbs up and down the shore, the tide soft and gentle on my skin. It’s cold. I’m so cold. I say nothing, I suppress a shiver and grit my teeth and stop again when Ryan comes to another halt, leaning into his side. I barely notice the birds, or the people further along the beach. He is all that matters to me. He is all I have left.

Brendon. I know what’s coming and look sharply at him, my eyes narrowing, still somehow mustering up some defiance. I don’t need his pity or misplaced guilt. I just need him to be with me. ”Don’t.” My voice is not as harsh as I intended it to be, more hoarse. Brendon, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything sooner, I just. I let go of his hand and move to stand in front of him, the water now lapping at our ankles and the light breeze stirring his hair. My eyes search his face intently. He is so beautiful. I need him to know that this isn’t his fault. ”Stop,” I insist, pressing my hands against his chest and leaning against him again, tilting my head back slightly to look at him. I let you down, baby.

”No,” My voice is faint, distant. I’m tired, weak, I can’t muster any more fire than this. Instead my voice is hushed, but pleading. He can’t watch me die thinking it is his fault. ”I have nobody to blame but myself.” I can’t die knowing he blames himself. ”All you’ve ever done is love me, and- and you stuck to our vows, can you believe it, in sickness and in health- I love you-“ I start to choke on my words and to try and suppress that I lean in, moving my arms to wrap desperately around his neck, and kiss him. Gentle. He is so, so gentle. He can’t live the rest of his life after I die thinking what if, what if. I won’t let him. I pull back and rest my forehead against his. ”I love you.”

old fashioned

Since the prohibition, Brendon’s parties had become increasingly in demand- and though he used to operate on an open-invite basis, where anybody who knew about the event could attend, these days he was more careful about who he let in through his grand front entrance, and consequently into his expansive garden to enjoy music and hors d'oeuvres with good company (he wouldn’t settle for anything less) in the moonlight under fancy verandas. And, of course, everything was spiced up by the lingering promise of alcohol- and not cheap shit, either, Brendon made sure of that, he spared no expense and expected only the best from whoever he worked with- drinking had been perceived as a nationwide problem before but now it was just the nation’s guilty pleasure and that made the prospect of Brendon’s parties all the more exciting. Still, it was risky business. Though he was somewhat of a star and popular in the wider-than-local music scene, definitely talented and respected for this talent, but he wasn’t some Hollywood untouchable. Even if times had changed and people had become more tolerant, he was still likely to be treated with immense bias if people ever did want to prosecute. Luckily the police force was incompetent and he didn’t waste the valuable time he had in worrying about whether his next party was going to be stormed by a police raid.

Instead, he spent his valuable time doing a multitude of other things- being as rich as he was had his perks, in that he could do absolutely nothing for an entire year and not even come close to drying out his bank account, unless he was feeling particularly indulgent. He spent entire days just sat at his grand piano, composing or just plunking on the keys for inspiration, sitting there all pristine in his silk robe, the very image of obscene luxury as he sipped on champagne from crystal glasses and was effortlessly, effortlessly beautiful. It seemed he went about life like it was just one huge show and even if he had nobody to impress or put on a show for- he put on a show. Other favoured pastimes of his were singing- though he never treated his party guests with a free show- and going out where nobody would recognise him. Funny, considering he was more than inclined to be in the centre of attention. He was born spotlight-ready. But being so subject to that scrutiny made it difficult for Brendon to make real, tangible connections- in fact, the only one he’d come close to making recently was with the bootlegger he’d recently employed, of all people. Really, Brendon, you do chose the best people to take interest in.

Funnily enough, here was this bootlegger, in this place where he wasn’t recognised. Not that it would matter much if he was- it was Dallon’s, so if there were any bigots around anywhere that expressed any of their bigotry towards Brendon, Dallon would deal with it. But the whole bar had an unintentionally fruity vibe, anyway. Dallon was entirely unaware of his accidental pansy club, Brendon was sure of it- but he wasn’t about to let him know. It allowed him to feel comfortable when Ryan bought him a drink and moved along the bar to get closer, at ease rather than like he had to watch his back before he did anything vaguely suggestive, like, make eye contact for too long, or something. He was smirking as he leaned closer, looking at Ryan wondrously, a little offended that he hadn’t been instantly recognised but- oh well. The mask did it’s job, he supposed. Yeah? Brendon nodded, and then rested his elbow on the bar to bring his finger to his lips, smirk still pulling at the corner of his mouth and only faltering when Ryan reached out to straighten his mask. Some cover. What- Oh. Shame. Brendon laughed, and drew back slightly though he didn’t particularly want to. Almost didn’t recognise you, Mr. Blake.

”That’s sir, to you, Mr. Rowe,” Brendon replied faux-haughtily, raising an eyebrow though he knew Ryan couldn’t see. ”And, frankly, I’m offended, old sport, I really am. Here I was thinking I was... well... unmistakeable.” He shook his head sadly and took a sip of his drink, looking through his eyelashes and over his glass at Ryan, who he suddenly realised he had definitely been into from the start. He would’ve done something about that, but- for one he wasn’t a big attendant of his own parties, and for another, he couldn’t just go around flirting with whoever he took a shine to, no matter how fruity they seemed to him anyway. It was different now, though. Ryan had come onto him. He swallowed and put his glass down, clearing his throat. ”I recognised you. Some faces are difficult to forget,” Grinning, almost mischevious, he winked and then found his eyes gravitating towards Ryan’s hands, as he unwrapped his fingers from around his glass and instead used them to hold his chin as he propped up his head using his elbow. Almost flustered, he reached up to run a hand over his slicked-back hair, making sure it was still pristine. He noticed Ryan was going for a less controlled look, cowlicks sticking up and strands falling over his eyes. Brendon pursed his lips.

Never got to catch up with you, after that soireé. It was just incredible. Brendon lifted his glass again graciously as if in toast and then took another sip before putting it back down. ”I try, Mr. Rowe.” You were tellin’ me you host every weekend? He nodded, adjusting his own mask again slightly and looking distantly at Dallon for a second, who was pointedly not paying any attention. ”Did you know that he,”- He then gestured towards the bar owner- ”Is invited. He just thinks he’s too good for me.” Brendon tutted but his tone was easy and carefree. Thinking of keeping me as your supplier? Brendon figured there was no point in holding back, so he sidled a little closer, tilting his head to one side. ”I’m thinkin’ of keeping you, alright,” He said smoothly. ”I like the way you operate.” He made a show of letting his eyes sweep over Ryan, drinking in this close to six foot of man that he had allowed to get away. ”We’ll have to get better acquainted sometime, though.”

old fashioned

Brendon knew the owner of the club well enough that he received a loyalty discount, but not well enough that they would ever disclose anything about business to eachother, more specifically the identity of their suppliers. Both of them employed the services of bootleggers but it was generally known but not spoken that the one thing they didn’t talk about was business ventures- it was just safer that way. Even if it wasn’t as dangerous as everyone had at first made it out to be, with most of the police force corrupt anyways and the rest left to deal with crime empires and an illegal trade of an unmanageable scale, there were still some righteous officers out there and every so often there was an incident where a speakeasy would be charged and everyone inside would be arrested that kept the rest of the underground community less complacent, on their toes, cautious. It paid off to be wary. To be honest, it was probably more of an issue for vendors like Dallon, who ran a reasonably fancy relatively secret establishment but was at full risk from being caught by someone sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, whereas Brendon, a near-household name, had the privilege and fame and the immunity that came with it. He was no national superstar but he was rising up on his way to becoming the revered prince amongst men in state-specific music scenes. This more or less granted him guaranteed protection but there were always people who hated his guts enough to want him going under.

It’s not like he ran any speakeasies like Dallon did, acting all hush-hush and his business only being advertised by word of mouth- he was, arguably, playing a much more dangerous game in that everything he did was public and infamous- namely, his parties, thrown often and each time more lavishly than the last; they were invite-only and guests were carefully selected but he was taking a gamble every time as he hid the gallons and gallons of alcohol he offered at the party in plain sight.

These events weren’t a new thing or an act of rebellion against the Act on Brendon’s part- these parties had been a regular thing even beforehand. The only thing was that, hilariously, prohibition had popularised drinking even more, taboo becoming sought after in a period of rowdiness and overindulgence and rebellion against what was considered social norms. Brendon’s parties were of even more interest since prohibition and for this reason, he actually supported the ban- controversy and rumours about his supposed ‘illegal drunken escapades’ were publicity, and any publicity was good publicity, especially when the image Brendon was going for wasn’t exactly straightedge and traditional. He was openly gay, for god’s sake- and this was another reason that many didn’t care as much about the very suspicious secrecy of his house parties, they were more obsessed with who he fucked and why. Brendon thought it was hilarious- the most old-fashioned, traditional people were the ones that thought about gay people and gay sex the most and in an increasingly accepting society it became easier to laugh at them than to be afraid. Especially when Brendon was in that strange position of immunity as a public figure.

Even still, it wasn’t like he could just drop into normal bars and flirt with whoever he saw fit, because he could still end up dead. Many wouldn’t care if he was famous or the goddamn president, it was a dangerous lifestyle Brendon was leading in many ways and most of these were by choice, but this was a way he wished he didn’t have to. He figured they’d probably peaked as far as liberalism went- there was nothing to do but to get on with it.

Luckily, he wasn’t yet instantly recognisable and what he liked about Dallon’s place was that there was a fancy- if slightly ridiculous- dress code, which highlighted the necessity of a burlesque-style mask. He wasn’t sure where Dallon got that idea because he tended to be the only one who didn’t wear one- everyone there knew who he was anyway, and he knew who everyone was because he asked every new mask to show him their identity before he ever relaxed. By that way Dallon had recognised Brendon and was incidentally a fan of his music, and they immediately got on- they were in similar business and Dallon was a decent enough man that he didn’t care about Brendon’s sexuality. It wasn’t like they’d had a direct conversation, but Brendon had often risked his neck trying it with who he presumed to be like-minded at this very establishment and Dallon had never even thrown him a second glance. He appreciated that. Brendon knew it wasn’t normal, but people really didn’t need to be assholes about it.

Brendon had come to O’Leary’s tonight for no particular reason other than maybe encounter some new people he liked enough to invite to his parties (the ones that he rarely actually attended, much to the new guest’s usual surprise. He much preferred to remain alone and simply watch what was happening like observing animals in a zoo, or something). Due to his friendliness with the owner he managed to get in early before the next increase in the surge of customers and take a seat at the bar, and for about twenty minutes he’d just been talking to Dallon- until, from the side door, he heard and then saw activity, turning his head and automatically pulling his gold-accented mask over his eyes as who he identified immediately as bootleggers move another keg in and behind the bar. From his peripheral he saw somebody sit down but wasn’t interested enough to look properly, instead looking out at the costumed people drifting in. Over the noise he heard a voice but paid little attention once he realised it was just some business transaction. He’d heard a thousand beforehand, nothing interesting.

However, thought the speakeasy scene quickly bored him and he chanced a look over at who he presumed was the leader of the operation, interested. He wondered if he knew this one- but the mask made it difficult to tell, until... Whiskey with Mint? Huh. He met his eyes and identified from this and his voice that this was who he worked with for his own supply- Ryan Rowe, he recalled. Was he propositioning him, or just being polite to a client? He didn’t see any recognition in his eyes and was admittedly slightly offended. He nodded, though, watched as Ryan’s business partner poured them drinks, and caught his glass when it was slid down the bar to him, shifting in his stool slightly when Ryan moved into the one next to him. You look like you belong in West 58th Brendon smirked, because he knew he did- he upstaged this whole place just by sitting at the bar. What brings you here?

Brendon picked up his drink and took a sip, then flicked his wrist slightly in a circle and watched the liquid move in the glass. He placed it back down and clicked his tongue. ”Illegal activities,” He said in a hushed, secretive voice, leaning in closer to Ryan as if it was classified information. ”I’m undercover, y’know.”

you and i will always be my dream

Sometimes, I open my eyes, stare right at the blinding light above my head, and wonder if I’m still alive. I always hope so. If I am to go I don’t want to go unexpectedly and quietly in my sleep- I want to know so he can be there, so I can be in his arms, so I can look up into his eyes and he will be the last thing I comprehend before I die.

Sometimes I adjust to the light and realise I am still seemingly in a hospital room, the steady drone of machines and a constant beeping surfacing, but sounding as if drowned, underwater. And then I see him- sat beside me, like always- and sometimes, this is not enough to convince me that I am still living. When I am delirious and numb and tired he is my angel, gorgeous, astounding, and I am ready to go with him, but then- I hear my own laboured breathing and a familiar voice and I connect the voice to my angel and suddenly everything is harsh and real and I’m alive and I’m in pain.

But it’s okay, as long as he’s with me. He always has been. He’s been through so much because of me, because of my disease, and he promised when we married that he’d stay with me in sickness and in health and he kept his promise but I’ve made so many and broken them all. I’ll stay sober, I promise. I’ll try, I promise. I haven’t had a drink, I promise. I promise I’m not drunk. I promise I’m not lying. Addiction has made me a liar and either I was a damn good one or Ryan so desperately wanted to believe that I was telling the truth that he didn’t pry any further and took my word for it. And why wouldn’t he? A man should be able to trust that his husband wasn’t continuously and habitually lying to him.

Ryan is sat to my left and he catches the light, illuminated, celestial, and I cannot look at him directly. There are a lot of things I can’t do now, at least without assistance- walk for a long time, sometimes I can’t walk at all, have showers, go anywhere by myself. If it were anyone else looking after me like this- anyone else saw me so vulnerable but fully conscious of my terrifying fragility- I’d have broken down by now. Being helpless is the worst thing about this and he makes it so much easier and I couldn’t love him any more than I do. I have never deserved him and nothing I can do in the remainder of my life will ever make me deserving of him and I consider and accept this as I stare out of the window quietly, too tired to sit up but more or less fully conscious.

What could have been minutes or hours ago, for I have lost track of time completely due to an immobilising fear that I will start counting down the hours and days until I am no longer here, Ryan told me that he wanted to take me somewhere and elaborated no further- at first I thought he meant, like, the hospital visitor’s café, or something, and therefore I was both reluctant (because the food there was depressing) but simultaneously eager (I’d finally get some time in surroundings that weren’t so jarring). Not bothering to ask questions I agreed and he helped me out of my hospital bed because though I am ell enough to walk today I still need assistance just in case. My condition is not exactly stable, and the doctors take great care in telling me this pretty much whenever I’m conscious- and since Ryan never leaves my side, he hears it to and is therefore extra paranoid, holding me like I am glass and I will shatter if he handles me too roughly, which I always try to reassure him that he has never done. Ryan has always been gentle with me when I needed it and he is always in tune with me and knows exactly what I need- and this is why I have faith he is taking me somewhere I will like when, to my surprise, he leads me out of the hospital and into his car.

This short journey takes it almost completely out of me and I am now slumped in the passenger seat, slack but with my jaw tense, eyebrows twitching as if about to raise but then giving up halfway through when I expect Ryan to take the exit towards home but he doesn’t, we carry on. ”You missed your exit,” I murmur, blinking at him and finding it in me to smile, but I’m confused and I feel my blood pressure begin to rise from the disorientation, but as his hand tightens only gently on my knee I exhale, relax, trust him. I always trust him. I let my eyelids droop and for the rest of the journey I lapse in and out of consciousness, and I have no idea where we are going until I feel the car pull to a stop and I open my eyes.

The sea. I smell it before I see it- the first thing I see is the dashboard of Ryan’s car and I ease myself up properly against the seat, turning my head to smile at him as he squeezes my thigh to get my attention. We’re here. ”Where’s here?” I ask, blinking rapidly- then I glance out of the window and see sand, hear the tides, see them lap against the shore. My breath hitches. I know this place. I feel my throat begin to close from the association. Before I realise Ryan has even gotten out of the car he is opening my car door and I immediately try and do it without any assistance but he evidently has no faith in my independent motor skills (I don’t blame him) and helps me out of the car, his arm- so, so strong, now, or maybe since I’ve lost weight it’s all relative- wrapped around my waist to steady me. I lean against his side and I breathe, trying to time it with the ebb and flow of the tide.

Thought you might like some fresh air. Damn right I do. I spend 95 percent of my time stuck in that stupid hotel room- 4 percent other parts of the hospital- the remainder of my time I spend supervised just outside, on the grounds but outside of the building just so I can get some fresh air. Except, it’s never fresh, because people smoke outside anyway. Nobody listens to the signs. Out here, though, I look around and we are the only ones at the beach; I recognise it as the one I brought Ryan to for his nineteenth birthday and I automatically go to bury my face into his chest but he holds me at a certain distance, safe and close in his arms but far away enough so he can frame my face with his hands and I meet his eyes, immensely thankful that he would do this for me. Of course he would. ”Thank you.”

Remember my birthday, a few years back? Immediately, I nod, but I don’t look around and drink it in, I am fixated on my husband and I figure that he could have taken me anywhere and I would still be just as choked-up-emotional. ”Yeah,”, I breathe, returning his gorgeous smile with the brightest one I can manage, completely disarmed. Suddenly I am a teenager back on the beach with the love of my life and I am strong and healthy and I have been sober for some time and things are looking up. Then I shiver, despite it not being cold, and suddenly I am again sick and weak and reliant on my lover. Oh well, I tell myself. There’s nobody else I’d rather be reliant on. ”I remember, you’d never seen the sea before.” A fond smile briefly crosses my face. Mourning the loss of being able to stare into his stupefying golden-brown eyes, I bite my dry bottom lip and feel the skin crack but I don’t react, just stare out at sea. I guess I missed it.

Nodding slightly, I follow as he leads me across the sand and suddenly I am eighteen again, head over heels, willing to do absolutely anything for him within or without reason. My fingers intertwine with his as tightly as I can. I still barely look at the sea. If my days are numbered I want to fill them with the most beautiful things on the planet but I am yet to think of any more than one.

”I missed it too.” A pause. ”I miss everything.”

your way

Feeling nostalgic? Well, yeah. In what universe would Brendon not? The familiarity of the evergreens springing up around them at all sides was close to haunting- the trees definitely had eyes and Brendon could feel them trained on him, urging him to remember. It wasn’t like he needed any reminding, he told them silently, slightly bitter that it would always be impossible for him to come even vaguely close to Seattle and not think of Ryan. The whole place was ruined for him and he couldn’t even hear it’s name without being immediately dragged back to that stupid hotel suite that he sort of wished they had never left, because that’s when everything started to go wrong. Brendon often fantasised about them just staying there, exchanging inexhaustible kisses and pretending they’d never been unimaginably cruel to eachother. Wishful thinking- but anything would be better than now. Brendon was at the point of not wanting to open texts from Ryan out of fear that he would have sent a message breaking their arrangement off- and out of fear that he wouldn’t. It was messing with his head and it was intoxicating, Ryan was intoxicating and it was embarassing, how quickly within their first ever encounter on this damned tour that Brendon had effectively crawled back to him. They had crawled back to eachother and neither of them could really explain why. These days it was easier to just avoid him, telling himself it was so he could figure it all out. But it wasn’t that deep, sometimes. Often, Brendon just found himself amused and drawn to Ryan’s persistence.

He was proud of himself for having the willpower to reject Ryan’s advances, actually, considering how much his ex-bandmate affected him. It was strange- somehow, Brendon felt more vulnerable when he was with Ryan and fully dressed, like the times they just sort of sat around and played video games and made jokes and were frighteningly similar to just- a couple. But that would never work. It hadn’t before, and it wouldn’t. Though admittedly they’d never really tried- common sense just told them that they’d end up ripping eachother apart. Anyway, he had found that he could resist it all if he tried hard enough, and turned down Ryan more and more- seemingly without purpose, but as chaotic as Brendon seemed to many, he rarely did things without reason- especially concerning his actions towards other people. This unresponsive behaviour was partially self-defence- and partially because Brendon was bored and figured if he kept Ryan tightly wound and wrapped around his little finger, eating out of the palm of his hand, the next time he did accept Ryan’s propositions would be- well. He busied himself thinking about it a lot, but kept it to himself. Which, if you knew Brendon, you would know was very difficult for him to do. Telling Ryan, of course, was out of the question- he’d seen Ryan angry. He didn’t particularly want to ever again, they were past maliciousness now.

Demonstrating this mock ‘frigidity’, he ignored Ryan’s text, and just sat with his temple rested against the cool glass of the window, his eyes only barely following the constantly changing blurring of colours outside- green, white, brown, blue. Even still, Ryan occupied his thoughts, all the way up until the reached their hotel- all of the bands on the tour were staying in the same place. Usually, once their bus had pulled up and parked, Brendon was one of the first off and into the fresh air, no matter the heat or cold- he had an excess of energy and found it difficult to stay in the same confined space for long, needing movement and activity to stay sane. This time, though, he was slightly more hesitant- he his unreliable behaviour towards Ryan was getting to him, making him antsy, and though this was his his intention, he didn’t quite want to face confrontation because of it. He knew Ryan would be waiting outside of the bus, lingering until he stepped off. In fact, he spotted him through the tinted windows and exhaled, leaning and slumping back in his seat, dragging his hands through his hair and down his face, preparing himself. Easing himself off the chair he stood up, cracked his neck both ways and walked towards the doors of the bus, cracking his knuckles habitually as he went and shoving his hands into his pockets when bothbhus feet were planted on the solid concrete of the parking lot.

It was freezing. Brendon was even more poorly prepared than Ryan- he was in a overized but thin t-shirt and ripped jeans that he was 90% sure weren’t meant to be ripped. His hair was unkempt from five hours of pressing it into the seat and the windows, and it had been a while since he had shaved so he had a slight stubble that he grimaced at when he touched, hand scrubbing over his jaw. He was a long shot from the immaculately dressed, over-the-top persona he had adopted for this new era of Panic, but Brendon was a chameleon at best and fairly decent with stage makeup at worst, so it wouldn’t be a big deal once he got into the dressing rooms. He was shivering when Ryan nudged him with his elbow, and his first reaction to encountering him was to stare enviously at his hoodie. It wasn’t like he hadn’t stolen clothes from Ryan before- but he reminded himself he was supposed to be driving him mad by acting distant. But being completely detached was boring. He had to be somewhat sultry for this to work. Hey, hey. The corner of brendons mouth pulled up slightly as Ryan stepped back, and he followed his eyes towards where Ryan was watching his bandmates leave the bus. He looked back at him, expectant. ”Hey, man, what’s up?”

Think you’ll be free tonight? There it was. Brendon had been expecting this, but so immediately- it seemed that this tactic was working even better than he’d hoped. Even so, he was surprised and a little apprehensive, and reluctant to just flat-out refuse, so he tilted his head as if considering and parted his lips as if about to speak. I just got a Netflix. It’s gonna be wild. Wow, okay, so Ryan was so out of loop that he couldn’t even see the loop. Brendon grinned. ”I, uh- do you know what you just asked me?” Maybe he didn’t, maybe he did and was just playing dumb, maybe he did and was just being subtle- either why, Brendon’s first impulse was to just immediately say yes, he was free, because it was true, he had nothing planned for tonight- but he controlled himself and bit his lip, scrunching up his eyes a little as if weighing his options. He planned to drag it out- but Ryan evidently had other ideas. Or are you gonna bail like you have been?

Brendon’s eyebrows rose but even so he backed up against the bus automatically, freeing his bottom lip from between his teeth and resting the back of his head against the metal so he could tilt his chin up slightly towards Ryan. He knew his angles. ”Bail?” He echoed, folding his arms loosely across his chest. ”Bail from what?” Laughing, he shook his head. ”As much as I want to Netflix and chill with you, baby- I gotta raincheck.” A pause. ”You’re looking a bit wound up. You feeling alright?”

a song of pure romance

Brendon was often tired these days- between working tirelessly in their studio at home, collaborating with songwriters, going to other studios, going to interviews, doing photoshoots and showing up to meetings, he didn’t have much free time anymore, definitely not as much as he used to because he’d blown up so much and now had so many more people on board rather than just the label and the band members and maybe the bodyguard. He had so many people surrounding him and though he was immensely grateful for the talent he surrounded himself with- it didn’t make anything any easier. In fact, he had to work even harder to try and impress everyone- he even gave his input on the merch when he could finally find some time to look design ideas over. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being busy or anything; having a lot to do and being motivated to do it was his Brendon wanted to live, because he was full of energy and could usually handle that. It was just- there were downsides, like the fact it did sometimes take a toll on him; lots of shows and recording meant his voice suffered and he was sometimes put on vocal rest by his own husband, and all the travelling and work he had to do meant that sometimes, a lot of the time, he did get tired. Even being an Aries couldn’t save him from that.

Another thing, the main thing, was that he didn’t see as much of Ryan anymore- since Ryan’s departure from the band (which, yes, was suggested by Brendon himself) they didn’t work together anymore and rarely even sat down to play music or write songs because they both had their own separate ventures now and that was okay, he just... Missed it, desperately. Performing with him, bickering with him over lyrics and chords, their lives completely intertwined, work and all. So maybe it was cringey and he was being slightly dramatic- they were still married and still lived in the same house, for god’s sake, they still slept side by side and Ryan still carried Brendon to bed when he fell asleep on the couch- their lives were just so drastically different now that things had changed and Brendon still wasn’t okay with that yet. He didn’t consider the fact that all of this was his fault anyway- he had practically kicked his own husband out of the band he had started, citing- creative differences, of all things. In fairness to Brendon, though, their music tastes had diverted considerably from the similar path they had stayed down for a long time and had done so in opposite directions. Not only this, but Ryan came round to the idea eventually anyway. He refused to accept all the blame- though Brendon suggested it, the agreement had to have been mutual.

They still wrote eachother love songs and Ryan still attended his shows and went with him on tour, and Brendon still attended every rare live appearance Ryan made no matter his schedule (some things were more important)- they were very much in love, but Brendon was kind of worried, irrationally so, that they were at the tail end of their ‘honeymoon phase’ so to speak. Theirs had been an extended one that had lasted for years but now they had individually gained increased levels of independence and confidence (Ryan in particular), that codependency was melting away, he could see it, and Brendon wasn’t quite ready to let go. Of course, they’d always be each other’s priorities, but they’d found that their worlds were capable of not quite revolving around their significant other and the sky wouldn’t even fall down. Even so, he was- admittedly- apprehensive. Brendon had a bad habit of making everything a hundred times more emotionally jarring than it should be and the slightest neglect he perceived from Ryan could turn into a full-on cable drama- and this became most obvious when Ryan started to expand his circle of friends. This by itself sounded awful, like Brendon didn’t want Ryan to have a wider social circle, wanted to keep him to himself. It wasn’t that- he was just jealous they got to spend time with him doing stuff they used to do, writing songs and recording music. He was wistful, and also worried that maybe somebody more talented than him would come along and suddenly he wouldn’t be special in Ryan’s eyes anymore, or something. Brendon’s overactive imagination would be the death of him.

One of these new friends, a stand-out one, was Z. Ryan absolutely adored her- he gushed about her all the time and Brendon thought it was endearing and was immensely happy that Ryan found a creative outlet when writing with Z, but- he was also soulcrushingly jealous because writing songs was always their thing, did Ryan think Z was more talented than he was? Did he enjoy it more? Z was incredibly talented and ethereal and Brendon loved her too, even he wasn’t petty enough to dislike her just for being good friends with his husband. But he was petty enough to be snarky with Ryan about it on the odd occasion when he felt particularly neglected. But- he could never complain properly about feeling this way, because it was usually times when Brendon was incredibly busy that Ryan hung out with Z the most, and he’d just seem unreasonable. But unreasonable was Brendon’s middle- or it could be. That was about to become very obvious that morning- one after a night in that had followed a very long and tiring string of meetings all day, pretty much back-to-back.

He and Ryan had just curled up on the couch together looking for new Netflix shows to watch but they never ended up deciding and just sat laughing at their own inside jokes and holding hands, Brendon pressed into his side so closely it was like he just wanted to become part of him. By Ryan’s side was where he felt most at home and he’d felt deprived of such a feeling lately. Eventually, though, they’d both given up with Netflix and decided to go to bed. Ryan had been quite productive that day, he had decided to clean their studio and cook them both dinner because they finally had the time to eat a proper meal together like that. Brendon, though, was exhausted. He passed out curled against Ryan’s side almost instantly and remained that way until Ryan got up, to which he responded by semi-unconsciously whining in complaint and pulling the blankets closer to him to make up for the lost sensation of Ryan’s skin. It didn’t compare at all but he was so tired that he lapsed right back into deep sleep until hours later.

When he woke up he immediately rolled over with a groan of complaint as the sun hit his eyes. Squinting, he scrambled at the bedside table for his phone, taking it and checking the time. Fuck. It was way past noon already and- oh. He smiled slowly, putting his phone back down and shutting his eyes, exhaling. He had a day off, for once, which meant he could spend his day with Ryan. Maybe get the guitars out, who knew. Go for lunch- okay, late lunch. Suddenly invigorated, he sat up, stretched, and swung his legs over to rest his feet on the floor, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. He pulled on some pyjama pants he was pretty sure were Ryan’s because they were- uh- too big, too long, what have you, not the right size, and then stood up, finding a sweater (one of his own for once) and pulling that over his head as he blindly moved in the direction of their bedroom door. When he finally managed to get the sweater on properly, he was walking out into the living room, smiling brightly. ”Hey baby, It’s so late, how come you didn’t- Oh.” Brendon’s eyes widened and then narrowed ever so slightly but he recovered quickly and flashed Z a welcoming smile. ”Hey, Z. Didn’t know you were coming. Ryan forgot to tell me.” He looked at Ryan doubtfully and just nodded at him. There was a moment of silence. Brendon sullenly stared at the guitars in each of their arms, then turned around to drift into the kitchen. ”I’m getting coffee.”