When placed perpendicular to everything Brendon had got up to and achieved in the past few years, Ryan’s life seemed much more lowkey, infinitely less pronounced, and could be perceived as a failure (due to his small but dedicated remaining fanbase, whittled down when Brendon suggested they split the band for the good of every member)- but Brendon knew that Ryan measured his own success as to what he was happy with, not that he had hundreds of thousands of fans or earned as much money as, say, Brendon did. Which almost made it more difficult- Ryan was an overly self-critical cynic who found difficulty being proud of any of his work. It wasn’t like he was risking financial stability by being complacent with his subtle lifestyle- Brendon and Ryan were married, coming up to maybe their second anniversary, and as far as Brendon was concerned, Ryan deserved to be paid and revered for his original role in getting panic off the ground and into the headlines- beyond that, he treated his paycheck as both of theirs. They had individual careers at varying levels of commercial success, but they were one, and that’s all that mattered. There was no jealousy or haughtiness, and although the initial split had been difficult (Ryan had vehemently rejected the proposal, feeling as if he was being kicked out of his own band, and was even more pissed when Brendon told him they were going to keep the name), they were mature and reconciled and quickly fell into this new routine, none the less close because of it.

It was strange at first, when Brendon called in people to their own home to interview them to take Ryan’s place as guitarist and Jon’s place as bassist, and Ryan had been testy and short with them, his back raised as if he had to defend himself, his integrity. Every time Ryan (who had built up a considerable amount of muscle over the last few years, and was now geniunely somewhat physically imposing) scared a potential touring band member away with his bad attitude, Brendon had been patient with him, though he honestly just wanted to kick him out of the house. It probably wasn’t a nice feeling. All throughout the process, Brendon had constantly told him it wasn’t about his guitar playing- he was effortlessly good at it, Brendon envied how naturally his (gorgeous) hands fell into position every time with no thought or effort- or his lyrics- exceptional, enchanting, consistently more ethereal and complex than anything Brendon could ever hope to write- it was just a matter of conflicting musical taste and desired direction for the band. Brendon desired something like a polished, pop style, while Ryan cling on stubbornly to rock n’ roll and the abstract sound of their first records. Every session tended to end in an argument, and if it didn’t, it was usually because Brendon and Ryan, ever the lovebirds, couldn’t take their eyes off eachother long enough to concentrate and formulate a coherent, relevant thought.

They hadn’t been getting anything done. Brendon and Spencer, who had similarly aligned views about band direction, sat down together to talk about it, and it was Brendon who suggested splitting off down the middle. Spencer had agreed, but was also apprehensive- ’what about you and Ryan, how will that work?’- and that was the first time that even came to Brendon’s mind. It didn’t worry him much, though- they were in love, whether in the same band or not, nothing would change between them. Even so. He dressed initially telling him. Spencer had tasked him with breaking the news that he wanted to break up the band (using the reasonable excuse that it was Brendon’s idea) and when he approached it, one afternoon while they were lying side by side in bed, legs tangled comfortably together, it felt like he was about to break up with Ryan for real, or something- so he was nervous, and as expected, Ryan had something of an outburst, expressing his frustration and how he felt neglected by the band he had been the primary creative force behind for a very long time. Brendon tried to keep it civil, but he fed off of Ryan’s passion about it and said some things he didn’t mean about Ryan’s contribution towards the band. It was a sour argument and for a while Brendon felt awful- but they reconciled pretty soon, never able to remain angry at eachother.

It was normal, now. Brendon hired some new strictly tour musicians, continued playing with Spencer for a while until he backed out for his own reasons. Brendon felt the loss- just like he’d felt so lonely on stage without Ryan just a glance to the right away- but he also felt the freedom of taking the reins by himself, not having to compromise, doing everything by himself and in his own way. Brendon now prided himself in his independence and Ryan was equally proud of all he had achieved, content with watching fondly from the sidelines as Brendon’s successes piled up and he gracefully met his every personal goal. They were now officialy separate as far as careers went, but nothing really changed offstage. Brendon still went to his husband for his opinion on lyrics and tabs, they still made music for themselves in their free time, they still texted eachother lyrics and scribbled them on sticky notes for the other to see. There were obvious downsides- Brendon had to go on tour and it was torture for them both to be apart for so long. Even the odd visit from Ryan when time and place would allow, constant messaging and regular FaceTimes weren’t enough for them both. Every time he went to bed, either on the tour bus or a hotel, he was unfairly aware that Ryan wasn’t beside him, trying to annoyingly cuddle him like he always did, no matter how much Brendon protested.

Point was, they adapted, because everything paled into insignificance behind their strong, unshakeable love for eachother. Brendon loved the lines of Ryan’s face when he smiled with his teeth, his sweet, sincere nature, his rough, somehow gentle and calming voice, how his hair curled at the ends when it grew past a certain point (even though Ryan’s hairstyle was currently more modern and swept over), the familiar callouses of his hands, his arms that had grown stronger with time, and were Brendon’s favourite place in the world. When Ryan held him, he felt safe and loved and secure. Brendon could go on forever about the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed curve of his mouth, his unhealthy obsessions with leather jackets, the way he came up behind Brendon and wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him close and swaying them just so. And- his eyes. Brendon was a broken record, always going on about his honeycomb eyes, pale honey gold in bright light and a deeper, richer colour otherwise, but every time brendon looked for too long he was charmed. The effect hadn’t faded with time.

Brendon firmly believed that Ryan was both breathtaking and harbouring an annoying amount of unused potential. He never said anything directly- it would be hypocritical of him, since he took Ryan’s main medium for creative output away- but he always encouraged Ryan to pick up a guitar, sit at the piano, even sing when he was particularly convincing, usually using a bribe of some kind. He had talent that needed some kind of better outlet, because as sweet and romantic as it was, scrawling tiny love letters onto fluorescent post-its wasn’t exactly an overly productive way of using his time and skills. He figured that after the band he had with Jon didn’t do as well as they’d hoped, Ryan had lost heart, confidence and motivation to carry on, writing and leaking only unfinished solo songs. And Ryan had never been overly sure of himself anyway. Brendon knew how captivating his singing voice was- it deserved an audience again. Brendon considered inviting him to come back and play with panic, but figured he deserved something better than very unequally sharing the spotlight with Brendon for the thousandth time.

Enter stage right, Z. More Ryan’s friend than Brendon’s- they had developed distinct circles with few overlaps since the split of the band- Z was arguably Ryan’s best friend, besides maybe Spencer, and they’d only recently become close again. She was a talented musician herself and Brendon respected her for that- they could talk about such things for hours- and importantly, she put on shows starring herself and her many musician friends. Brendon hatched a plan with her and asked her to proposition Ryan about performing there (Ryan was a sucker for Z and could never say no), and it had worked. Ryan accepted, and turned up at the event in all his glory with Brendon watching adoringly from the sidelines as his husband took the stage for the first time in forever and absolutely killed it. Once he knew Ryan was open to the idea of playing live for audiences again, Brendon almost instantly asked Z if she was planning on holding another event and, heaven above, she was. Typically, Ryan only found out maybe a week in advance, and was subtly stressing about it (Brendon could tell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it). By Sunday, though, he had more or less geared himself up.

Brendon was waiting in the living room, sprawled out carelessly across the couch, dressed simply in jeans and what was definitely one of Ryan’s jerseys. He was flicking through channels with the remote in one hand, and his other was taking turns stroking Penny, Bogart and Dottie, who were all curled on or around his lap. Ryan, surprisingly, was taking forever to get ready. Usually he just threw on the first thing he pulled out and refused to put in any more effort than that. Brendon fondly remembered his fashion sense (or lack thereof) back in the early days of the band, and smiled to himself as he flicked to the next channel, some game show. Nah. The next channel. Friends. Satisfied, he put the remote down and shifted to settle, disturbing a very sleepy Dottie in the process and irritating a comfortable Bogart and Penny, who fully stood up to shift around and lie down again. He murmured an apology and scratched Dottie’s ear, before he heard Ryan approaching from behind the couch and turned his head to look around.

Immediately, embarrassingly, his jaw dropped a little until he had to consciously close it. Swallowing, a slow smile crept up to his mouth and he focused his attention on the dogs again for a few seconds just to shift them aside before he stood up and weaved between the coffee table and the couch to stand and regard his husband properly. Fuck. ”Fuck,” Brendon repeated out loud, but it was extended as an appreciative sigh. ”Oh man, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous.” He bit his lip to suppress his dumb affectionate smile and closed the space between them, reaching to wrap his arms loosely over his shoulders and extending himself upwards to meet Ryan in what was barely a kiss and more a faint brush of the lips. ”You look so good,” He admitted, moving one of his hands to comb through Ryan’s hair and the other to cradle his jaw briefly. ”We’re running late, but...” Brendon clicked his tongue. ”I’d say let’s jusy stay home, but I want to hear and see you be wonderful. God, you’re so handsome.”

It was no secret that Ryan lacked confidence and self-assurance. It had been that way through a very successful run with an incredibly well-known band, so how could he feel better about himself without the support of hundreds, thousands, millions of people? That was the most bizarre part: once the band split, something he'd initially hated and refused to believe was 'for the best' or even real, the pressure started fading away to be the very best, and thus his subconscious relieved pressure on him. It made sense once he got down to the middle of it. When all he'd been doing for years, since his formative years, even, was focus on criticism and try to work with it constructively, always bettering himself to match the tastes of others, always trying to make a living off of something that he'd originally started just to enjoy doing, it preyed on his psyche. When the band or even the production was judged harshly, he took it to heart, as if he was fully responsible for all downfalls the group had. When they didn't have as many hits as they'd expected or a song he poured his entire being into didn't get as much attention as he thought, it killed his spirit, mentally maimed him.

Ryan wasn't built for it all. Not like, say, Brendon. Maybe that's why they made such a fantastic team; they were opposites, nearly. Brendon was the passionate, lively, charismatic frontman, with a tangible spirit and a presence to light up a room. Ryan was quiet, reserved, standoffish, sticking solely to his side of the stage and often so closed off that it came off as rude or abrasive. Brendon, although he did have his moments where he became anxious and truly overwhelmed with it all, could handle fans finding him on the streets, could handle the bountious amounts of post that reached them when their address was leaked, was confident enough in his abilities to up and start singing in the middle of a crowded mall or something. He knew how to handle people, be it on an individual or large-scale level, and he knew them so well that he got along with just about anyone. It was actually fascinating to see him at work. Here was a multi-talented, musically genius, incredibly young and therefore presumably naïve man, who had the whole world around his finger, could make anything happen with the snap of his fingers because he was either that ambitious or that influential.

He was born into the lifestyle, had always been ready. While Brendon had moments of debilitating nerves, every waking hour of Ryan's life had become dominated by them. In the beginning he was more exhilerated than anything - he and his friends were going to start a band! Then, hey, his favorite musician ever had contacted them about a record deal! They had their own apartment (even if it was shitty)! They were making an album! And then the public eye came into play, and everything was suddenly far too real for him. His first actual show was the worst and best day of his life simultaneously - and it went downhill from there, for his mental situation anyway. As for the band, they got better and better, because all of the stress and anxiety fueled his perfectionism as much as it dampened his creative spark. It was probably obvious, come to think; he might not have been so shut off to people and shy if he hadn't felt like the world was on his shoulders, and maybe he would have been so much less controlling of the band and what they put out into the world if he didn't feel like everything would be fucked without his masterminding the situation. It was the most fantastic time of his life, definitely his wonder years without a doubt, but behind the scenes, he was in an incredibly dark place.

In a way, the split was a blessing. It lifted a gigantic burden from his shoulders and relieved all the built-up fog that clouded his life. At the time, though, all he did was snap at Brendon as if it was his fault, like he could control them all going in different directions idealistically, as if he wasn't saving Ryan from a very real and massively self-destructive breakdown that had been in the works for a long time. He couldn't see that Brendon's idea was good for all of them... at first. Over time he became resigned to the thought that maybe this thing he'd poured his heart and soul into was hurting him, sort of his own Frankenstein monster - and he was about as afraid of this ever-growing monster, too. He wasn't angry at Brendon anymore, but at the people who came to audition who clearly understood what they were getting into potentially, who would be able to handle the fame and the responsibility and the troubles that came with all of this. He was jealous that he couldn't do it himself, that he couldn't keep being on stage and in creative control with the love of his life forever all because of his own neuroses.

After a long time of screwing around being sad that the best/worst part of his life had officially ended, moping about that he couldn't do what he was used to anymore, Ryan knew he had to find an outlet again. Naturally he went to Jon who he'd bonded over about new music before, when the band was close to splitting and they had already written half a record and made the music for it. They continued their work and an album was out surprisingly fast for someone in his headspace - or maybe not so surprising. After all, there were certainly many expecting fans waiting on him (which he was grateful for, considering he'd anticipated people to abandon him as quickly as his initial success had picked up), but no producers were breathing down his back to get something amazing and showstopping out as fast as possible. No one was waiting expectantly for singles to drop just so they could write scathing reviews, throw 'constructive' language over what was clearly just a critical piece on his work. Even more than all of that, no one had heard any of this before, and no one was trying to spoonfeed him a genre to work in. He had complete freedom, and almost total support for whatever was to come.

That album did not take off with light speed like his first ever, but it didn't come close to failing or even doing poorly. Despite this, the band behind it just... never continued, went on indefinite hiatus. It wasn't the fact that it hadn't been a Panic!-level success, but he knew he didn't want to be part of a group anymore. Ryan's goal to just put something out and be heard was met and exceeded, and it fueled his desire to start working again - though, this time, it was a much more personal venture, excluding Jon and requiring weeks of introspection. He rarely released his solo work, and if he did, it was shabby tracks on SoundCloud (which eventually became less and less habitual, then was deleted entirely), or snippets on Instagram. He sort of fell off the face of the Earth, actually, spending time in his own head and workspace, or with Brendon when he had time off. On occasion they still got to work together and functioned just as well, and truthfully, Ryan owed a lot of the fact that he even continued focusing on music to Brendon. Even if his and Jon's band had made him realize what he really wanted to do, it wasn't motivation enough. Moreso than Brendon, though, Ryan had a new friend: Z.

She'd taken a daily role as his best friend, whereas Brendon had tours to go on and Spencer and him had been growing distant for a very long time and Jon was, well, growing up, too busy for all of this. Z had been making music for about as long but was one of the best he'd ever seen, had mastered her craft and was skilled beyond her years, was more enthused than any creator Ryan had met in his life - arguably even his own husband, who had a hired team to care about all of the things she still cared about. It was probably why Ryan got on with her so well. She revived the ambition he had when he was younger, the ambition that got his first band known by one of the most famous creators in his genre, the ambition that built the foundation for his ultra-successful ex-band. But she was also genuine, down-to-earth, utterly charming, the kind of person he actually wanted to be around constantly, just like his original bandmates (and he'd fooled himself into thinking that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing). She inspired him even more than his own husband to keep creating, keep making, and a large part of that was stringing him along to her shows.

People called it something like abusing a power, as if she really only wanted him there because he had a niche crowd that followed his every move. It was definitely not that - had he not come along she'd have just as many people around, because her career was truly succesful as well, and she'd garnered such a large group of equally taented friends that Ryan was pretty easily replaceable. Honestly, the idea of playing live again even though it'd only been a handful of years terrified him. He had gotten better at his craft on his own, had honed lyric-writing (though that wouldn't come into play here anyway) and sharpened his voice, made a mistake about once in a blue moon on his guitar and could improvise as if he'd tabbed out the song beforehand. He was even better than the Ryan people knew. But the scary part was what if maybe he was fooling himself into thinking that, what if he'd actually gotten worse, what if he looked too different now or acted stupidly in front of everyone, what if no one even fucking came. It was harder to let all of that get to his head, though, when he knew in the forefront of his mind that he was doing it all for Z, and, better yet, she'd be up there onstage with him. He wasn't going to be alone, and he trusted her and her gifts so, so much.

Anyway. Apparently it worked out, because the next time she had a show planned, he was invited along again - with short notice. Having a long resume of working well under pressure, though, Ryan panicked in silence, learning her songs (or re-learning in some cases) quickly, perfecting every single tiny note and figuring out how to twist his voice this way and that, which parts he couldn't quite make the right sound and finding a way around it. He picked out outfits, found one that wouldn't conflict so much with Z and her setup and the theme, one that he wouldn't look too ridiculously goofy in and didn't magically uglify him. Even so, when he'd had it picked out an entire week beforehand, he was still freaking out in his and Brendon's room, staring in the mirror and adjusting everything and rethinking every choice he'd ever made. It wasn't just how he looked - though he definitely wasn't pleased with it, still - it was the fact that people would be there, maybe, and there might be pictures, and what if he'd have to talk to people, what if they asked the wrong thing, what if, what if, what if. It was all very unnerving when, these days, he hardly went out unless it was absolutely necessary.

But he couldn't hide here forever. Brendon was probably worrying. Ryan made his way out of the room a little sheepishly, going to the main room and still tugging his sleeves down self-consciously before he lifted his head and realized Brendon was staring dumbfoundedly. Yeah, yeah, shut up, he'd married the most ridiculous man ever. Ryan let his arms drop to his sides and looked slightly embarrassed, tilting his head up to the ceiling while Brendon shifted about to come to him. Fuck. Okay, so maybe it wasn't so bad. But this was Brendon. He'd probably lose his mind over Ryan wearing some white T-shirt that comes in a Wal-Mart 4-pack. Oh man, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. "I feel stupid," Ryan mumbled compulsively, but he couldn't help smiling back at Brendon's contagious grin, letting himself lean into him while he wrapped himself around Ryan. In turn, Ryan let his hands slip into Brendon's back pockets, pulling him close as they barely kissed.

You look so good. "We're married. You have to say that. It's, like, the law. Doesn't even need to be true." But Ryan was cracking up, so clearly he was flattered, his mortifications from moments previous dying out. He shut his eyes serenely when Brendon's hand curled around his jaw, feeling so at peace he'd rather be here than at the ultimate stress show (even though he knew that last time it was 10,000x better than he'd anticipated). We’re running late, but... I'd say let’s just stay home, but I want to hear and see you be wonderful. God, you’re so handsome. Ryan's eyes rolled to the ceiling again and he detached from Brendon, backing away with a stupid grin on his face. "Shut up, I love you," he said, exasperated, running a hand through his hair and feeling the pressure melt away. "You should've have your expectations so high. It's been a minute since I performed, you know."

Brendon missed Ryan, a lot. He missed his own husband for a sizeable proportion of time- he figured it was because he was on tour a lot, but even then, a lot of the time Ryan could come with him, and would be backstage for every show on a certain leg, or something. Even then, singing up there, with his now closely-knit group of touring members, he felt a loss, becayse the first (and best) guitarist, who also happened to be his husband, was back there when he should be up here. No offence to Mike, or anything, but he sorely missed the feeling of playing live together and doing what they both loved, what they had originally bonded over, in a band that was originally theirs. That Brendon had decided would be better off with just him from the original lineup. Everyone else had left for their own reasons or moved on, which was difficult sometimes, he was the common denominator after all- but he couldn’t feel any regret, that would be unfair. Half of the departures had been encouraged or even initiated by Brendon- the one that stung the most when he thought back to it was when he had to have the awful conversation with his own husband about how he thought he wasn’t a good fit for the band creatively any more. It was ruthless, in some respects, and when Brendon looked back he saw someone prioritising his already successful career over the man he loved, but. It had made everything easier, even if only in that Brendon had nobody to argue with any more. So he tried not to look back to much.

Anyway, Ryan was happy, now, having accepted and even embraced the fact he just wasn’t playing in that band anymore. They were mature enough and sure enough of eachother that they could have separate lives (overlapping extremely, but, still, as far as individual careers went), and Brendon was fortunate enough that Ryan even decided to pick up music again with Jon. He supported that fully- he didn’t always have time to be around, to go to every show, but when he did it was incredible and refreshing to see him up there- but after that, their band sort of went into a permenant hiatus, and Ryan’s creative juices stopped flowing. Or, they did, but he had no outlet, and Brendon knew that and felt guilty for taking that platform to express himself like that away from him. For that selfish reason, to protect himself from that kind of guilt, he distanced himself from trying to be involved or encourage Ryan anymore, because he never seemed to listen anyway. There was also the matter that he simply didn’t have enough time to be around him as some of Ryan’s new close friends- for example, Z.

Z, who Ryan had met in the Young Veins period, had taken up the mantle of being Ryan’s best friend, and Brendon, though infamous for being unpredictable and eternally temperamental, was intensely grateful for her being there, in ways that Brendon maybe couldn’t. And that was initially an intensely painful blow, the idea that Ryan had someone he might go to before he go to Brendon- whether that be because he knew Brendon would be busy, he’d been brushed off too many times in favour of working (Brendon’s work ethic had shot through the roof recently), or it was simply something that Ryan would prefer to talk about with Z- sometimes, Brendon wasn’t Ryan’s immediate answer to everything, and as ridiculous and selfish as it may sound, Brendon had to learn something he should already know- that he was not the single central figure in Ryan’s life, he wasn’t, say, the ultimate priority, his world didn’t revolve around Brendon and it never should. Though he was trying his hardest, it was difficult for him to see, for example, Z and Ryan playing in the living room when Brendon had to go to the studio and do some work. It got on his nerves sometimes when Ryan gushed about her to him, or started to write solely in sessions with Z, apparently the ultimate inspiration-giver. Brendon would never admit it, though, because it was embarrassing to be insecure about something so ridiculous, and he was convinced that if he mentioned it to Ryan, he would just be exasperated. So he stayed quiet, and learned to get used to it.

Besides. What did it matter who convinced Ryan to write and play and perform again, as long as he did it? Z had already dragged Ryan along for a show a few months back, and here they were, the night of another one, and Brendon was endlessly excited, though at the moment, vaguely jealous again that it would be Z playing up there with his husband, not him, like they used to, what used to be so important to them. Their relationship had changed, almost- not dramatically, but tangible enough for Brendon to notice. And not in a bad way. They weren’t any less close. And although Brendon was particularly a creature of habit, he found himself sometimes wishing that things could just be the same as they were when they first fell in love and got to go on tour and play together every night, when their tastes aligned and the only creative differences that existed were whether or not Ryan really wanted to reference the sun in yet another song. He still did that. Brendon’s heart swelled to think of it because even after all this time, Ryan still wrote love songs, and Brendon dutifully wrote them back, even though they were often scarce or subtle, amongst party tracks and disguised by grandeur.

So, Brendon couldn’t wait for tonight, but apparently Ryan, who was taking forever to get ready, could. When he finally did prove that he hadn’t, like, fallen over and broken his neck or something, by walking out into the main room, Brendon’s heart surged and he hurried to rearrange the dogs so he could stand up and weave around the couch, moving forward into his arms easily. I feel stupid. Brendon just shook his head and grinned, wrapping his arms around him and letting his eyelids droop slightly, useless, as Ryan in turn held onto him as they simultaneously leaned in for a gentle kiss. They pulled back, and Brendon still looked up at him adoringly. We’re married. Excellent observation, baby. You have to say that. It's, like, the law. Doesn't even need to be true. Brendon lifted an eyebrow, challenging. ”Even if it is the law. There’s yet to be a day when I would be lying to say that you’re fucking astounding.” He curled a hand seriously around Ryan’s jaw. Shut up, I love you. I love you too, baby, he replied in his head, automatically, because it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. Still, he visibly pouted when Ryan moved back, folding his arms sulkily across his chest. You shouldn’t have your expectations so high. It's been a minute since I performed, you know.

Brendon did know. And it’d been a minute more since they had performed together. He felt his heart sink slightly, but he kept up a brave, proud smile. ”You’ve never disappointed me before. You never could. And everyone there, like, worships you, so. No worries.” Brendon cleared his throat and looked at the ground, scratching his neck awkwardly because he no longer knew what to do with himself. There was his husband, looking gorgeous, but they had to leave. Fun.

Ryan hadn't thought about how essentially having a new best friend would affect Brendon, not at all, good or bad. He didn't think it would even have an effect - it was his change, not Brendon's, because in his eyes she only really took up the time that Brendon wasn't around (and that wasn't to say Z was only around to take his place; they played their own separate roles in Ryan's life, and Z conveniently made time for him when he had a free schedule). Admittedly it was a little inconsiderate. Ryan knew Brendon arguably better than anyone and therefore probably could have guessed Brendon would take offense of some kind to someone else stepping in - or, well, maybe not offense, but he'd at least be hurt in a way - and it took him way too long to remember that, yes, he definitely had to reassure his sweet Aries boy that he still loved him most dearly and no one would ever come close to that and there was nothing he'd bring to Z that he wouldn't bring to Brendon first. Brendon had reason to be concerned, anyway, this wasn't just something childish or immature. He was gone a lot, didn't have any scope into what was going on while he was on tour.

Anyway, Brendon never mentioned it, never came close to openly complaining although Ryan caught glimpses of him looking vaguely insecure when Z was the one by his side penning new songs and toying with chords being his collaborator. It was a far cry from Ryan just playing with Jon; they'd all worked together at one point, and Z was completely new. It didn't change anything, though. Neither of them mentioned it because it wasn't something that needed to be 'worked on' - just a bit of a learning curve is all. They didn't work together publicly, rarely released joint songs or featured each other in tracks, but they sure as hell kept writing the love songs that played out their story in pretty words and modelled metaphors. From the perspective of someone like, say, Spencer or Jon, who'd witnessed it all coming together, it was probably a little cringey and played out. But Brendon and Ryan never got sick of it, clearly, or else they'd have run out of material already. Evidently, loads of dedication to one another was ground for endless creative energy.

Even after years, though, Ryan was still never prepared for his bountious amounts of compliments, and kind of lifted his chin to avoid looking flattery dead-on. Even if it is the law. There’s yet to be a day when I would be lying to say that you’re fucking astounding. Ryan grew quiet, leaning his jaw easily against Brendon's hand and shutting his eyes slowly. And then he moved away, because performing again was kind of freaking him out and nervous energy was getting the best of him. Again. He hadn't had that in years officially, but it came back in tiny waves, and Ryan was convinced he'd be stuck with the anxiety forever. He supposed it wasn't such a big deal. Even Brendon, the best stage presence he'd ever known, the most natural frontman to exist of all time, occasionally got it. Nothing to worry over... and yet he still sort of beat himself up about it all.

Ryan watched the proud smile take up Brendon's face, though, and suddenly it didn't seem so bad. He smiled right back, soft, and wondered for the millionth time how he was so lucky to find someone that could see the best in him. You’ve never disappointed me before. You never could. Ryan tilted his head to the side a bit, charmed, and studied Brendon, like he was the one who was going up on stage to please an audience of people tonight. Seemed they both held each other in way too high esteem. And everyone there, like, worships you, so. No worries. Ryan watched him bumble about awkwardly for a second before sighing inwardly, knowing exactly what was on his mind. "Yeah, yeah, sure they do," he murmured, although he supposed he kind of believed it. He'd seen Instagram. God knows why people continued to tag him in ten year old pictures when he did absolutely nothing with himself these days... well, close to it.

Brendon looked like he really didn't know how to hold himself without Ryan's arms securing him there, so Ryan came back to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and a hand around the back of his neck before walking him slowly to the couch again, leaning them against the back comfortably. "So," he said, maybe stalling a little bit, "any requests? Maybe Z will let me throw in another impromptu love song. Or maybe I'll just surprise you." He curled his fingers through his hair a few times, settling a few locks set astray by Brendon lying on the couch with the dogs moments before. "You could join me onstage, too. Little bit of a reunion." Maybe Z wouldn't be so open to that. Brendon was, in comparison to the other acts, huge. Actually, he was even without comparison. It was a little unbelievable. Despite Ryan's best wishes that he could play on equal grounds with his husband, they were sort of different worlds by now, so much so that Brendon may be something of a distraction to Z's show's original intent.

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

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

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

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

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

/so I Know