Ryan had wanted to get an English degree out of high school. Actually, he had a lot of plans. Ryan was an excellent student, realizing early in his academic career that he'd kind of be on his own through all of this and therefore had to build up some kind of work ethic. That work ethic was to study endlessly, pour his heart into the subjects he was best at and guaranteed full marks and beyond on, do his best in those that he didn't understand as easily but could still scrape the bottom of the top-grade barrel if he tried hard enough. He took all the college courses offered that he could fit into his schedule so that he wouldn't have to pay them off later, get the credits while they were free and looked impressive on applications. He took extracurriculars like band and volunteered (well- irregularly, and fairly rarely, but still notable) and did anything to get ahead, ever-ambitious because he needed to forge his own opportunities, here. And he had a full-ride scholarship to UNLV on his hands by the end of junior year while most others still weren't sure what they wanted to do with themselves.

But Ryan had something of a unique situation. At this point he didn't bother feeling sorry for himself about everything because the story was a broken record, and probably fairly cookie-cutter as far as sob stories went; he hadn't seen his mother since he was a toddler, and after she disappeared, his father's drinking gradually got worse. Through grade school he could actually delude himself into thinking everything was normal, because his dad still made an effort to recycle all the glass bottles before he could see them, still bleached the smell out of the air, still came to school for the occasional parent-teacher meeting or to sit in the audience for the spelling bee. Then in middle school his grandmother started sending money to help with the rent checks because his dad was having trouble getting to work regularly, and when he did he was reprimanded for his erratic behavior. High school, Ryan was the one putting him to bed and cleaning him up (and the entire house, for that matter, because he'd be damned if social services stopped by and whisked him away) and driving him to medical appointments and, once it was bad enough, providing his treatment with the help of a nurse that came by monthly. 

The thing was, his life revolved around his father. When he got the scholarship he knew he couldn't afford housing or any of the other bills alongside all of the books and materials university required of him, even if tuition was covered, especially not when his father's medical bills fell into his hands as soon as he turned eighteen. The most independence Ryan could get was moving into an apartment, which was of course the least frugal option and probably unwise in the long run, but the house carried a little too much baggage for him. He couldn't stand more nights lying awake listening to his father practically suffocating in the next room. Also - in all honesty - if he was still there, the whole suicide thing probably would've already happened. Ryan may feel hopeless now, but he definitely knew that there were times in his life where he'd been worse. Dark things to think about, nothing he wasn't used to. Of course, it's not like he could blame his father for everything - Ryan probably had a whole mess of mental issues and complexes completely separate from his upbringing, but for the most part he tried to focus on the stuff he could find a reason for. Honestly. He should just write a book.

Ryan didn't have many friends, either, and didn't interact much with his coworkers or anyone at all. So, with this new roommate, he wasn't totally sure how to act - not that it would matter for long anyway. He answered the door a little hesitant, not quite anxious because it'd been a while since he had the capacity to really sweat small stuff like social situations but certainly concerned enough about how to present himself. Luckily, he apparently didn't have to do much to make an impression. The guy was [i]obviously[/i] staring. Endlessly flattering, moreso than it would be with just anyone, because the applicant himself was probably the most perfect person Ryan had ever seen: he was untouchable, just. Arresting. If Ryan wasn't pretty much numb at this point he'd probably be begging Brendon to date him if he wasn't planning on moving in. It was that extreme - he just didn't need to know any more information. Gorgeous was an understatement. And still he was looking at Ryan like [i]he[/i] was the one who fit that description... but also at his hand like he'd done something offensive in going for a handshake. So maybe he'd scored another weirdo. Whatever, [i]this[/i] weirdo could get away with it. 

Finally Brendon took his hand for a shake and Ryan forgot his usual firm grasp, suddenly feeling odd and otherworldly, less present. He could feel the tension leave his body, all the wear and tightness in his shoulders drawing out until he was standing somewhat straighter, the stiff and resolute frown on his face loosening while his muscles relaxed. Ryan was a little unsettled, but. He'd probably just gone for way too long unbelievably touch-starved. [i]God spent extra time on you.[/i] Ryan's brow furrowed minutely again and he let his hand drop, feeling the loss noticeably, his mood swooping low, low, low once more. That was... quite possibly the weirdest thing anyone had said to him. Religious? Well. A religious male model was way better than the other guy. Ryan forced himself to smile a little, although he quirked his face somewhat that probably gave away how bizarre he thought Brendon was. [b]"Um, thank you..."[/b] There was a hint of a question mark there. Yeah, he wasn't cut out for this. Ryan definitely should've warmed up into socializing beforehand, something.

[i]Yeah, hi, I’m Brendon. Nice to meet you.[/i] Brendon's name played on repeat in his head, a mantra, suddenly so much nicer than any name he'd ever heard before. Fuck, if he changed his mind and wasn't interested in the apartment at all, Ryan was so screwed. This was setting the bar unbelievably high. [b]"Ryan. You, too."[/b] When he stepped aside and watched him move through the door, Ryan noted the easy and effortless way he went about everything, somewhat fascinated - and the... feather?... he was apparently shedding? Fuck the 'religious male model' thing, was he a religious stripper? Leftovers from a boa? It all made so much sense. But so little. Ryan withheld all of his concerns for now - clearly he made enough money if he was applying, it didn't matter what the hell he did. [i]Yeah, you could say that.[/i] Ryan cared about the ominous undertones to that for one moment before he didn't have the energy to, standing there thoughtfully before decisively shutting the door behind them and wandering after Brendon.

[b]"Feel free to look around,"[/b] he offered, voice calm but gaze careful on Brendon. He was beautiful, sure, unspeakably so, but still a little peculiar, who knew if he was a klepto or not? Regardless Ryan started guiding him around, holding a hand out behind him vaguely in a 'follow me' gesture. The place was kind of sad, especially for something he could hardly afford, three rooms total: a bathroom, a kitchenette that connected directly into the main room where he'd made himself a bed out of the futon, and a separate room that'd obviously been cleared out in anticipation for a roommate. [b]"I'm, uh, not home that often, so you don't have to worry about it being crowded around here. I work a lot."[/b] Ryan paused, stopped and turned to face him. [b]"Actually - that's why I needed a roommate: I'm not working as often anymore, hours got cut. I'll be honest with you, I kind of owe the landlady a lot right now."[/b] He laughed a little, almost cynically, and looked somewhat distant for a few moments, attention flickering off to the wall absently while numbers rolled through his head.

[b]"So, anyway, that's why it's important that if you move in here you can... hold up your end of the deal, and all."[/b] He gestured to his wobbly dining table, a tiny circular thing just outside the kitchenette with three equally wobbly chairs, for Brendon to sit down. Absent-mindedly, Ryan started toying with the various things he ended up throwing onto it each day - keys, wallet, so forth - while he spoke, curling his legs beneath him when he took a seat. [b]"Do you have a job? Tell me about yourself. Oh, um - do you want water, or... coffee?"[/b] That was kind of all he had. And the coffee was black, stale. God, this probably wasn't a great first impression, especially the whole topic-jumping situation. He hoped freaky religious guy at least could follow his always-derailing trains of thought.