The hours between arriving at the venue and walking on stage were, to Brendon, a time to hype himself up, make sure he was ready, and in theory, do some vocal warm-ups so he didn’t lose his voice during the performance, hit the wrong note and let it fall flat, or, god forbid, miss a high note that he was regretting putting in the song. This was, of course, in theory- in reality, he spent his time bothering his boyfriend/fiancé/husband (depending on what era of his life it was) by saying ‘they had an hour left before the show’ and hurrying to say he was ‘just making sure Ryan was ready in time’ when he was called out, or more often than not, getting stoned just because he could and there was nothing else to do. In the past, he had just gotten drunk. Some of his worst shows he began when he was hammered, and those memories were to painful to even think about, never mind relive in a video sent to him by a ‘fan’ that found them funny. Anyway, none of that was really relevant anymore; because backstage many people used to drink, oblivious to Brendon’s problem, Ryan had requested that it be just not present at all (by then, they were famous enough to command such influence, so it fortunately worked).

The next particular show was to a crowd on the larger side, so Brendon spent a good portion of his backstage pre-show downtime consoling Ryan, who was pretending he wasn’t still anxious every time they walked on stage. Brendon, in contrast, was self-described ‘born for the stage’ and a natural, charismatic frontman. In other words, he had enough stage presence and charm for the both of them- sometimes too much, though the audience always tended to lap it up, screaming praise that brendon in turn basked in, completely at ease in spotlights and confident enough in his own talents that he would attempt and often succeed to hit such ridiculously high notes live on stage. His coaches often told him not to work so hard, but he respectfully ignored them, trading common sense for the thrill he got out of hitting that perfect note, the praise of the audience, and the dumbfounded, often exasperatedly affectionate and awe-inspired looks that Ryan shot him right after, as if to say ‘that was amazing, but you’re so dumb and extra’. Brendon adored it, adored him. He was sort of daydreaming about the experience when Ryan popped into his head and he wondered absently where his husband was. Usually, they didn’t stray too far from eachother. He glanced around, but was distracted by a mirror, stepping closer to turn his head to the side and try to inspect his profile.

His hair was, as usual, perfect, and when he ran a hand through it, he mentally nodded to himself. Brendon was wearing his usual tour attire, a black shirt and his leather pants, which happened to be his only pair of pants period. This was opposed to last night, where he randomly paired a leopard print shirt and a aqua blue jacket just for the hell of it, much to Ryan’s amusement and Dallon’s disdain. Once he had finished shamelessly assessing his reflection, he stepped back, clicking his tongue and finally spotting Ryan in the corner, tuning his guitar for the fifth time. Smiling, he all but bounded over like an excited puppy, filled with nervous enthusiasm, stocking all his energy to be released on stage. He tilted Ryan’s head up by his chin and leaned in to kiss him rather firmly on impulse, half-smiling when he pulled away. ”Excited, baby?” Brendon asked, but wasn’t expecting an answer. ”I’m so fuckin’ ready. How long do we have?” Again, rhetorical. ”We have, like, twenty minutes.” Brendon wasn’t sure he could wait that long, and bit his lip impatiently as he stated towards where they would go to climb up the stairs out onto the stage. He could feel the electricity and anticipation of that sensation coursing through him. Brendon felt like some kind of live wire.

Distracted again, he left Ryan somewhat in the dust, rushing over to different stage crew and guitar techs and band members. Dallon had been ready an hour and a half ago, while Spencer (recently added as the drummer, only because of Ryan’s constant pestering and Brendon’s impatience when trying to find a suitable replacement for their last one) was drumming the air, clearly occupied with some kind of weird personal rehearsal he had going on. Brendon managed to fill twenty minutes, but they felt like hours, and by the time they were being gathered together to get on stage, he felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. He was at the bottom of the stairs, Ryan, Dallon and Spencer behind him, and when signalled by the stage managers and crew, he bounded up the steps out into the bright lights, greeted by a chorus of screams and cheers and general appreciation for his presence. Brendon was beaming, drinking it all in, as the rest of the band entered after him and took their respective positions- Spencer behind him, to the drumkit, Dallon to his far left, and Ryan the closest, to his right. Brendon took centre stage, gripping on to the mic stand, still grinning. He took the mic from the stand and glanced over at Ryan, instinctively wandering over just as the crowd was dying down, and reaching out to turn his husband’s head towards him, dragging him in for a passionate kiss, fuelled by his excitement and energy, further encouraged by the erupting screams of the crowd, just what Brendon expected, because his fans were weird and excitable like that.

Apologetically, but not really, Brendon pulled back, smiling affectionately at Ryan and mouthing ‘I love you’ before turning completely on his heels and heading back to centre stage. “Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, he just looks so gorgeous tonight, doesn’t he?” Laughing at the chorus of general agreement, Brendon looked down at his feet when he fixed the mic back onto the stand. ”Anyway, what’s up, fuckers? Love y’all. This first song’s called LA Devotee.”

Obviously perfectly rehearsed and timed (Brendon said that in his head as it happened), the band started playing, and Brendon was still holding onto the mic, hanging off it for a second before taking it off the stand and starting to sing, alive with energy. “You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, o-oh-” he was grinning between words, alive with energy, as the crowd sang back at him. ”Oh, the neon coast was your sign, and the Midwest wind with Virgo rising, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no-o.” Upon singing ‘virgo’, Brendon glanced over at his husband, wandering a little closer until he had caught his attention, upon which he brought his free hand to the front of his own shirt, unbuttoning it as he continued to sing (partly because he was sweating already, mostly because he wanted a reaction from Ryan). “Static palms melt your vibe, midnight whisperings...” He shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, and all but jumped into the air as he kicked off into the chorus.

While everyone else was relatively productive, more specifically the crew than people like Brendon, Ryan was hunting down a place to isolate himself and/or fall asleep before the show. He never had coffee or energy drinks beforehand for this exact reason - he totally preferred passing out in a jumble amongst stage clothes and unused amps. It didn't happen all the time, especially not in the beginning of their career. Back then he couldn't even speak to anyone; he was busy roaming about making sure everyone else's job was done perfectly just because he had this compulsive need to ensure his New Shiny Band would make it without any messy stage shows. It was worth it 'cause his efforts were never for naught, but still, a little ridiculous. Over time he realised it was an annoying habit that probably made him seem super condescending, so he started to only obsess over his own preparedness, then gradually scaled it down to not obsessing so much, and these days his main goal was avoiding the panic attack that, before, would happen every other time. Locking himself up in the bus or the van bathroom rather than the venue to avoid everyone while his brain calmed down had never been a particularly fun experience.

It didn't really make sense to get so nervous when he didn't feel really uncomfortable playing, and in fact was confident with his abilities when it involved nothing but playing guitar (these days he didn't have to do so much backing vocals, anyway). Still, thinking about dropping every single spare pick lined up on his mic stand, or strings breaking and crew not bringing out a second instrument fast enough, or some much more fatal disaster happening was bound to destroy his confidence at any given time; then when he got on stage and actually faced the sheer amount of people there it was worse. For whatever reason, Ryan had issues looking even individual people in the face, couldn't look directly at interviewers unless he had a double dose of Valium or something in his system. Generally, though, when he was trying to stray from the prescriptions, he could look to his left and see the person he was most comfortable with in the world, and usually it was easy to pretend everything else wasn't there, just background noise in the distance. Nevermind the fact that Brendon was talking to them, always appealing to them; somehow his incredibly sensitive internal panic button didn't react to that.

On shows like this one, where the venue was an arena and not a little club or converted bar, Brendon somehow sensed that he had to come deal with Ryan. Which, y'know, incredibly fucking sweet and thoughtful, but mostly Ryan wished he didn't have to do that, wished he could enjoy the little downtime they got beforehand. So he just acted like nothing was wrong. Ryan prepared himself for Brendon's eventual approach by very faux-calmly going through the motions of dressing for the show, something not quite the frontman's look but close enough to look like his sidekick as the rest of the band was wearing, which ended up just being black pants and a black button-up, all in such smooth material that you could almost fool yourself into believing it was silk and most importantly not leather. Very much Brendon's trademark, that was. Ryan struggled with his hair in the mirror for a while, wondered at the heaps of makeup that were in front of the mirror and decided that trying anything for his skin would just look shitty by the end of the night and any of the old eye makeup would be too cringey by now. Finally he settled on a corner to hide in, his guitar almost concealing his body if only he weren't so damn long, phone in his hand with his tuner open.

Brendon did eventually find him, moving so quickly over that Ryan didn't look up before he was an inch away with a finger under his chin. A little taken aback but not about to deny the approach, Ryan tilted up in counterpoint, trying his hardest to give back as good as he got but only managing the faintest of kisses. To compensate he just grinned back up at him reassuringly - more of a "I'm fine you don't need to worry" than anything else - and ran his knuckles over the material on Brendon's thigh, rolling his eyes at the consistent choice of leather. He had no idea how Brendon, the god of overheating, hadn't died yet in that stage outfit. Excited, baby? Finding that his throat felt tight, but Brendon was probably not really asking anyway, Ryan just nodded shortly, his smile still going strong. I’m so fuckin’ ready. How long do we have? We have, like, twenty minutes. Ryan didn't bother that time, instead just gazed up at him wonderingly. Odd how his mind worked that fast without it taking a turn for the negative. Again, he was stuck in this loop of admiring Brendon; he just never got old, was the thing.

He was expecting the bursts of energy to carry Brendon off anyway so wasn't too shocked when he disappeared off somewhere; instead he tuned his guitar for the sixth time, stood around with the smokers outside without actually taking any offers, then hung around at side stage where he could see the front few rows of the audience holding on to the barrier impatiently. They must have been there for a while - there were already rows, still people filing into place, and the security roaming between the barrier and the stage actually had a job to do already. Not usually the case. Ryan was spotted but his all-black attire wasn't an immediate giveaway, his face blended in with the crew around him. He waved at those who looked over anyway, though, listening to people already calling requests despite none of them being onstage except for roadies putting out his stand and testing the gear last-minute, taking some into consideration. Interesting how pretty much all of said requests were old stuff. Personally, Ryan was almost past that point; it was all a little too personal, a little too nostalgic.

Ryan barely heard his cue when it was called but bounded over right on time, hanging on to one of Brendon's belt loops for a moment so he knew he was there before letting go and travelling further to the right of the stage. He forgot to smile, just kept his head down for the first breaths of them being on stage, then while lugging a guitar over his shoulder handed to him by crew he chanced a glance towards Brendon, who was wearing the easiest grin of all time. It was enough for him to reflect the exact same one on a relative scale, although his own was directed mostly towards Brendon, maybe the front row if he angled just right for a second. It happened every time but still never failed to amaze him - Brendon travelled over to his side of the stage, pulled him in to a kiss usually reserved for late nights or passing incredible moments, and everything else went silent. It's like he did it on purpose so Ryan forgot every fear sensation, every pinprick of anxiety that still got to him after all this time. Call it fanfare or what you will, he was pretty grateful for the comfort, even if it was a little public. He mouthed 'I love you' at the same time Brendon did, fingers drifting over the strings inadvertently to play a long, contented note.

Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, he just looks so gorgeous tonight, doesn’t he? Ryan turned meekly away, instantly looking taken aback. His support mic was quieter so he waited a beat for the approving coos to almost cease before turning back to his stand and responding, angling towards Brendon. "All right, but Brendon's our frontman for a reason, no? Always beautiful," he said in a playful tone, grinning when he heard another upheaval of agreement. Their bandmates just looked a little sick of them. Ryan gathered himself enough to actually look at the faces in the crowd, tried to recognise who'd been to shows before and who was chasing every date they could. Actually, there were a few - Ryan tried to catch their eye and smile knowingly, try to ignore the warmth in his chest that remained from Brendon addressing him. Anyway, what’s up, fuckers? Love y’all. This first song’s called LA Devotee.

He and Dallon, naturally, had some weird fucking mind meld, didn't even need the cue in their ears to be virtually right on beat with Brendon. You got two black eyes from loving too hard, and a black car that matches your blackest soul, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, o-oh- This song was easy, fast-paced but rhythmic enough and without too much conflicting sounds that Ryan wasn't on edge the whole way through. This way, he could veer towards his husband, play towards him and just add to everything that pointed to the main attraction. Oh, the neon coast was your sign, and the Midwest wind with Virgo rising, I wouldn’t change ya, o-oh, wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no-o. Ryan had, like, a skipped heartbeat when he thought Brendon actually messed up, then he pieced together the joke and rolled his eyes as emphatically as possible, turning away to give up on playing to him although it really was the cutest thing ever. When he glanced back Brendon was waiting for him to look and so Ryan obliged, eyeing him and starting to help close the gap bryween them until he realised Brendon was just de-clothing again. Ryan tilted his chin up in an 'oh really' sort of motion, grinning modestly, then shook his head at Brendon.

Static palms melt your vibe, midnight whisperings... Shirt came off, people lost it, of course, and Ryan had naturally been nearing Brendon as he prepared to launch into the chorus, ending up just a handful of feet away when he got there. He was wary - whenever he got too close Brendon found a fitting point in whatever song was on to hold the mic between them and share their voices - but he figured if Brendon really did want a reaction he'd get it anyway, and here he was showing ample interest, letting his gaze roam over him calmly as if the song hadn't just entered the fastest pace it could.

In direct contrast to Ryan, Brendon got himself dosed on caffeine through frequent energy drinks and coffees, and ate way too much candy than was healthy in order to keep himself energised. Well, that was his excuse- his own anticipation kept him running for the entire show and long after, when in the evenings in the tour bus he was too over-anxious from all the caffeine and sugar that he couldn’t sleep and had to climb into Ryan’s bed just because it helped him settle down. This usually happened anyway, because the two of them both hated sleeping alone when they had years of getting used to falling asleep intertwined or waking up curled together. To be alone was alien and strange and even trying to fit into single beds was more comfortable than having one to themselves (as it didn’t come conveniently with the love of their lives). Dallon and Spencer often refused to go and wake the two of them up, ‘just in case’. Ryan sort of defensively questioned this, but Brendon knew exactly what was happening and informed them that, rather unfortunately for him, that didn’t really happen on tour. They were always tired, and felt filthy, and just wanted to go to bed. Ryan did, anyway. Brendon always said he wasn’t tired and then passed out instantly without warning, usually having taken up all the room in Ryan’s bed after Ryan had gone to the bathroom for two seconds or something. That got him rather grumpily chewed out in the morning.

Though Brendon was fully aware of Ryan’s anxiety, and as supportive as he could possibly be, he didn’t really relate or understand, because the stage was his comfort zone, and where he felt most natural (besides, of course, in his husband’s arms, a fact which he never failed to remind Ryan pretty much every time he declared his ‘second love’, ‘the stage’. He tried to be as helpful as possible, and was always asking Ryan whether he was okay, checking up on him at every spare moment, approaching him during song intervals just to make his hopefully comforting presence known. Brendon didn’t know how much he helped, if at all, but it always made him feel more calm just by saying something (because if Ryan was having a rough show, that was all brendon could think about. It was kind of a knock-on effect). He often wondered if his own perceivably obnoxious behaviour on stage and to the audience contributed towards this, and sometimes kind of asked the question as subtly as possible, to which he always received a rather obvious ‘no, You’re doing nothing wrong’. It didn’t show up on stage, but Brendon was an anxious person to when it came to things he couldn’t control, like crowds not separated by the stage and the barrier, or not being able to understand or help his husband.

Back in their early days, it had been even worse; because it was a new thing to both of them, neither of them had any calming pre-show ritual, nor did they understand how to help eachother (for example, how Ryan now made sure Brendon didn’t consume an excessive amount of caffeine and sugar, and Brendon trying to be as reassuring a presence as possible). Ryan had panick attacks a lot, and Brendon’s voice suffered. Neither of them knew what they were doing. Now, they thought themselves experts, even if it was really Dallon behind the scenes, keeping them both in line and in check, long-suffering, mostly thanks to Brendon and his lack of both shame and sense of appropriation when it came to how he behaved with his best friend on stage. Their exaggerated caricature of intimacy (Brendon called it that intentionally) used to really irk Ryan, but now, he kind of just brushed Brendon and Dallon’s antics off, rolling his eyes at Brendon’s childish behaviour. It was kind of funny, he came to realise.

One of Brendon’s favourite pre-show pastimes was irritate their dad friend, and Dallon just kind of tolerated it, half amused and half exasperated. Luckily for him, Brendon didn’t get long to nag him, as it was time to go on stage literally as soon as brendon approached. Metaphorically saved by the Bell. Brendon came alive, springing into action, activating his tunnel vision to the stage. Of course, he still registered Ryan hanging on to his belt loops and felt his heart swell dramatically, just at the gentle reminder of his presence. He got to do his favourite thing in the world- sing- for a living, and he got to do it with the love of his life. If that wasn’t what he was singing for, what was it? He was happy, genuinely happy, and unfortunately for Brendon, in the past, his geniune happiness had been rare and hard to find. He was about to turn and say something to Ryan, but he was being urged onto stage, and he immediately bounded up the steps, feeling a new kind of love fill him- his great appreciation for his fans, which he talked about too much and too little. He often got emotional just thinking about how many people loved him (though they didn’t even know him). He tried to be as geniune as possible with people, even if his stage personality was definitely amplified. For example, he didn’t usually go around stripping in public, or imitating making out with his best friend while his husband stood meters away.

Caught in the passion of the entire moment, he made a beeline for Ryan, as if he had unfinished business, and just kind of dragged him in for the kind of kiss that felt way too intimate to be sharing with these practical strangers, but Brendon couldn’t wait and he liked showing his appreciation and kissing was easier and more fun than launching into some speech. He got so involved that he almost felt a loss when he pulled away, leaving him with the mental promise that that kiss wasn’t finished and they’d pick it up later. Brendon grinned almost dizzily, walking backwards back to his stand as Ryan spoke. All right, but Brendon’s our frontman for a reason, no? Always beautiful. He laughed, and splayed a hand against his chest, feeling another swell of affection and then some rare bashfulness when the crowd called out in agreement to Ryan’s words. ”You guys are too nice. Love ya.” This was greeted by a hundred ‘I love you Brendon’s’, and he just kind of winked, before announcing the song, because he could almost hear Dallon and Spencer gagging in the background.

The song was quite easy, no particularly difficult notes yet, and everything was going amazingly. Brendon was energised, electric, alive with enthusiasm and enthralled by the passion of the crowd even though they were only just getting started. He was heating up already- time to lose another freshly ironed shirt onto the stage floor as a hazard for Dallon to almost trip over fifty times, as was what usually happened. Vying for ryan’s attention (a rather frequent venture for Brendon), he caught his husband’s eye as he unbuttoned it with muscle memory skill, still singing as he did so and shrugging it off just as he reached the chorus. ”...The black magic of Mulholland drive, swimming pools under desert skies, drinking white wine in the blushing light- just another LA Devotee.” That line always kind of made him internally cringe for his own sake. Most of the album he’d written as an ode to drinking and parties, and though he still appreciated all of his work, some of it was tied to painful memories. He quickly pushed the thoughts away, in favour of turning to Ryan to gauge his reaction.

Nothing. His husband was close to him now, a few feet away, but he was just eyeing him calmly. Brendon was somewhat offended. ”...Sunsets on the evil eye, invisible to the Hollywood shrine, always on the hunt for a little more time- Just another LA Devotee.”As the sang, he made his way over to Dallon instead, presenting him the mic to share which the bassist accepted and sang into. The rest of the song he remained largely to the left of the stage, intentionally stretching and hovering around Dallon, just to mess with Ryan. He knew he wouldn’t really care, but it was still funny. By the time they reached the end, Brendon had a sheen on his skin from sweat, and his hair was beginning to stick to his forehead, and his lips were parted. Luckily, he wasn’t tired. ”...Fuck, thank you so much,” Brendon grinned, folding his arms behind his head and wandering to fetch his water bottle from where Ryan was standing, as he’d left it to the right of the stage. Moving his mic away, he spoke just so Ryan could hear, barely inches away from him. ”C’mon, baby, you usually get a little more excited.” Grinning, he moved away back to centre stage, pausing. Next up was Victorious. He waited.