Ryan didn't know what he was expecting when he applied at the local shelter. He wasn't qualified for much so maybe just walking the dogs, cleaning the lobby, what have you - and it started out as that, yeah, but things were getting a little too real. The other day, when they were short-staffed, he came to help give vaccinations. Okay - just holding each dog that came through still and helping them calm down, but even then, it felt like a lot. Ryan figured if he didn't have a degree then he basically contributed about the same as a bulldozer passing through the veterinary offices. Alas, his supervisors trusted him way too much, and as such his responsibilities had increased drastically and all he thought about all day was what he'd be doing when he got to work. It was troubling when he was a senior in high scool and should probably be focusing on, say, getting every grade up to par with his English marks, but whatever. As busy as he became (and overwhelmed by the fact that he was actually doing important things, not just the whole food service worker/cashier deal half of his classmates got), Ryan loved animals, so. It was a pretty sweet gig.

And, four to nine, that gave him time away from home. He was sick of the extremes. Complete, deafening silence, or indiscernible crashing and distant swears at... the world, dad's boss, the couch for being in his way. There was always something. And no longer did he have to rely on maybe being able to sneak some cash from his dad's wallet for groceries, or new clothes, or gas. Ryan didn't make a lot, but he made enough to rescue his dwindling pride. Who knew - eventually he might be able to afford a place of his own... but maybe that was ambitious thinking after only a handful of months. He liked the job for now, knew it wasn't his career (Ryan had that all mapped out - he'd be making music and no one could convince him otherwise) but if he was going to have it for a while, maybe that initial like would go away. People got stuck in deadend jobs for years, started being assholes because they were sick of it but needed the guaranteed pay. So help him if he ended up like that.

Anyway. He'd been tasked with grooming. It was hard to do something wrong there - and if there were qualifications he was supposed to meet, apparently he came closest out of everyone else around. Pretty simple, really. He knew how to shave, and evidently that translated into how to trim a dog's coat. Or do the 'trim everything but the head, tail, and paws' look some people asked for, leaving the poor animal to look like a goofy lion. And to think these were once predators. Anyway, after a couple of weeks he was getting the hang of it, coats looking shiny and blown out upon leaving, absolutely no weird dog smell to hear of. It was a weird accomplishment to brag about - which Ryan didn't, and he showered constantly lest he come to school evidencing the smell of a dog shelter, god forbid his group of friends call him out in the middle of a cafeteria for his silly part-time - but, seriously. This was all making him very excited for the day he could actually get his own job.

The downside: he had to actually take the appointments at the front desk. Ryan was anything but happy to talk to clients, even if he'd mastered the 'customer service smile' and learned the classic politeness script. Hi, how are you, who's this with you, how can I help you... if all else fails, ask them about their dog, everyone loves to brag about how well-trained they are or show off their goofy name, whatever. Ryan was running through all of this when the next client came through the door - actually, he sort of recognised this kid, he was a year younger but in the same band course anyway. Some kind of advanced student in that respect. No offense, seeing how he behaved when there wasn't an instrument occupying his hands, he doubted he'd be advanced elsewhere. Anyway. Ryan kept his head down most of the time, not out of shyness or an unwillingness to participate, but at this point in senioritis he didn't wanna fucking talk to anyone, so he didn't know his name right out. Brandon? Sounded about right, but not totally. Brandon-whatever was holding his Jack Russell terrier like a baby, close to his chest, and Ryan became a little worried that maybe he was hurt, couldn't walk or something. But the dog was wiggling around happily, clearly uninjured and just graced with an owner who spoiled him.

Ryan pushed all of his homework assignments aside and glanced over the line of appointments, finding a 'Brendon/Bogart grooming@11:30.' Brendon. That's what it was. "Hi," Ryan said as Brendon got to the counter, Bogart still squirming enthusiastically in his arms, trying desperately to give him kisses. Ryan stared for a second, because usually dogs got this sense of dread about shelters, but apparently Brendon had avoided whatever trauma instilled that in them with his dog. Worked out well for Ryan. "Right on time. If you have somewhere else to be, we can just take him to the back, and call you when he's ready." Ryan was moving out from behind the counter, gesturing Brendon along while he went down the hallway to their room with standing baths, shower heads galore. He tapped at one of the baths, retaining the friendly customer service smile. "We start by cleaning with an all-natural tearless shampoo, then a cream rinse conditioner. After that we clean ears, nails, maybe brush out the coats. Sound alright? You're not one of those people that's, like, 'Fido needs a special oatmeal bath, only the best for my dog,' right?"

For a moment it was bizarre to be almost-bantering with a classmate he'd probably said three words to before. Actually, images of Brendon getting snapped at for being fidgety or awkwardly, unsubtly chatty popped into mind and he hoped he wasn't just stirring the pot, but then again this was all only when he wasn't otherwise being stimulated by the coursework. The guy seemed to genuinely pour his soul out into band. Still, not sure about other classes, but he was talented - and that was pretty much the extent of Ryan's knowledge on him. Years of keeping to himself really hadn't helped this first official conversation, if you counted it as one.

Though Brendon really did initially (and, blindly, still to this day) believe that Bogart was an angel of a creature, perfectly well behaved and easy to manage, obedient, the whole package- Bogart had repeatedly proved him wrong. He was hyper and wriggly and never stayed still (people do say that dogs are like their owners and vice versa)- far from a lapdog- and though he tended to calm down for Brendon only, even then he only begrudgingly settled into his arms or collapsed down by his feet after a little coaxing and a whole lot of treat-fuelled bribery on Brendon’s part. Because of this defiance he tended to display with anyone else, he was, in short, difficult. Difficult to train, difficult to calm down, difficult with other dogs, difficult to find a groomer for, one who could actually do the job properly while he wriggled around and tried to escape with all the energy of a firecracker packed into his little jack russell body. Brendon had carried him to plenty of places but they either couldn’t control him or the cuts ended up looking ridiculous- and he only ever asked for a trim. It wasn’t much. And he only wanted the best for his little angel dog, who was perfect, everyone else was just stupid.

As weird as it sounded, Brendon found a kindred spirit in Bogart, but then again, it was probably a direct result of Brendon’s inherent hyperactivity and awkwardness that made him into the dog he was today. Brendon’s entire personality tended to resolve around his interests and since they were usually relatively obscure- he was unnaturally obsessed with Frank Sinatra, for god’s sake, and his only real talent was anything to do with music, particularly singing- so because of this, he wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Not out of choice- his nervous energy and anxiety just got the better of him whenever he tried to step out of his comfort zone. This made it very difficult for him to believe that he’d ever actually achieve his dreams or do what he wanted to do in life- both of those being to become a musician, a famous one that people admired, looked up to. To do that, he needed confidence, and it wasn’t like he was horrifically insecure or anything like that, but he lacked the charisma he knew was vital if he wanted to achieve anything close to what he fantasised about. Anyway. Pretty heavy stuff to go into considering he was literally just taking his dog for a trim to a groomers he hadn’t tried before, but honestly, the difficulty Bogart had in succeeding to fit in and be well behaved like all the other dogs when he went to be groomed made him think about his own general ineptness in academia and beyond.

Before he walked inside, he hesitated, Bogart safely under his arm and looking up at him quizzically as he took a deep breath, running his free hand firmly through his own hair to push it back, trying to at least pretend to believe that this whole thing would just be normal, nothing embarrassing would happen and he’d drop his dog off, then come back later to a clean, trimmed, nice-smelling Bogart, eager to see him, jumping straight into his arms like he was spring loaded. Grimacing at himself, he pet Bogart absently on the head and then shouldered the door open, holding his dog’s little body close to his chest to shield him from coming into contact with the door. His footsteps slowed to a stop in the middle of the reception area and his eyes were immediately taken ahold of by the surroundings, easily distracted as he was. Almost involuntarily he started moving again, slowly walking forwards, his eyes trained on the walls, so distracted that he walked straight into another customer. Apologising hastily he ducked his head, clicked his tongue at Bogart to get his attention and then made his way over to the front desk. Hi. Brendon didn’t look up, pretended to be fascinated by the pen that was attached to the reception desk, reaching out to toy with it automatically. ”Hey, this is Bogart, he’s here for-”

Right on time. Brendon swore he’d heard his voice somewhere before, and finally looked up to see who the receptionist was. What happened next was like he was suddenly the star of some embarrassing romcom- time stopped momentarily and his breath hitched in his throat, grip slackening on Bogart and only tightening again when he felt the dog notice the temporary weakness in Brendon’s grasp and tried to wriggle away. He knew this guy- Ryan- well, not exactly, but they were in the same music course and Brendon stared wistfully at him enough to recognise him immediately as his hopeless, foundationless crush, one harboured for someone in the year above him that he’d literally never held a full conversation with in his life. Brendon gulped, and realised suddenly he’d been staring, like, directly into his eyes for too long for it to be normal. He couldn’t help it, they were the exact colour of honey, Brendon’s heart was literally fluttering and it was juvenile, he’d never said more than three words to Ryan in his life. He willed himself to calm the fuck down and put on his signature, slightly skewed and nervous grin.

If you have somewhere else to be, we can just take him to the back, and call you when he's ready. Even if Brendon did have particular plans in place while Bogart was being taken care of, he would have cancelled them by now; some things were just so important and Brendon absokutely was not going to pass up on the opportunity to spend even a little time alone with Ryan Rowe, even if he knew deep down he’d only end up being deeply mortified by the end of this whole thing. That being said, Brendon was a risk taker and an opportunist and this was definitely worth it. ”Nah, I- I’d rather be here, honestly. With Bogart,” He added hastily, biting his up and looking down at his dog, who was surprisingly lax in his arms, looking up at him curiously. ”He’s a little difficult. I might need to calm him down, or, hold him, or something.” Or something. Brendon watched as Ryan moved out from around the counter, glad that he’d barely even looked at him yet. He was worried that if he did, he wouldn’t even know who he was. Taking a breath and a pause before he followed, he squeezed Bogart reassuringly and then trailed behind Ryan to the ‘bathroom’ of sorts.

We start by cleaning with an all-natural tearless shampoo, then a cream rinse conditioner. After that we clean ears, nails, maybe brush out the coats. Brendon nodded quickly along as he spoke, but was honestly barely even listening, and he could feel Bogart’s judgemental eyes on him when he heard his little growl of complaint and impatience. Brendon shushed him and scratched behind his ear with his free hand. Sound alright? You're not one of those people that's, like, 'Fido needs a special oatmeal bath, only the best for my dog,' right? Brendon scoffed, raising an eyebrow and miraculously managing a smile in front of the classmate he was infatuated with. ”First of all, I’d never call my dog ‘Fido’... Though I do think Bogart deserves only the best.” By the time he’d reached the end of his sentence, his voice had dwindled off, unsure, and he cleared his throat, looking up to try and meet Ryan’s eyes properly, catch his attention for longer than a few moments. ”Hey... You’re- in my class, right? Ryan, is it?” Of course it was. Brendon knew it was. But that would be weird.

Some people, you could tell they were nervous. Not about anything in particular, just still unable to talk to a cashier without sounding uncertain, lacking any conviction. Ryan didn't really pay attention to these kinds of behavioral patterns before it became his job to interact with clients; now, he did it just to pick up on when to be extra nice to reassure people, make them a little less scared of the worst happening to their pet during some insubstantial shot appointment. His new customer, Brendon, was one very specific type of awkward, he could tell almost instantly. He stopped still in the middle of the room just to look around (and, yeah, Ryan remembered something like that in class), and while taking in his surroundings ever-wondering, Brendon moved forward. Ryan wore a tiny smile, leaning against the counter in patient wait for him to get there once his homework was cast to the side and replaced by a roster. At least, as odd as he was, Brendon was one of those people that came in a little earlier. Made things go more smoothly around here.

After running into someone else - and Ryan pointedly did not laugh, even acted like he hadn't seen - Brendon made his way over, very clearly avoiding eye contact. Ryan watched the pen spin between his free hand's fingers for a moment, wondered distantly what exactly he could play with these obviously practiced hands, then looked back up, where he might if they were both equally comfortable socializing. Alas, Ryan was stuck looking at his hairline rather than being able to meet his eyeline. Hey, this is Bogart, he’s here for... Yeah, Ryan knew, and was quick to reassure him that he was on time. Immediately after, he was met by a very... Ryan wasn't sure. Weird look? Sure. He supposed Brendon must have recognized him from class, and whoa, shocker, people from school exist elsewhere in the real world; he supposed he was just glad that now he didn't have to pretend he didn't know him, just in case it was weird that he did remember Brendon. That was something pretty complex to be worried about, come to think of it. Maybe Ryan was a little awkward, too.

His smile was a little offset, endearing, once he'd recovered, and Ryan returned it softly, not just the customer service beam he'd perfected. Ryan had passed judgment before from not knowing him at all, assuming Brendon didn't know him, either, but he seemed sweet. Nah, I- I’d rather be here, honestly. With Bogart. Ryan gave him an odd look, looking down at Bogart with him. It's like Bogart just inherited his entire personality. Funny. He’s a little difficult. I might need to calm him down, or, hold him, or something. "Oh, sure. A lot of people do that." Ryan started guiding them back, talking absently now that he was running through the motions. "But don't be too worried. I'm good with them, y'know? Dog whisperer, for sure." Ryan glanced back, grinning, to back up his joke. Not totally a joke. Ryan was sure he had superpowers - when he could get his own dog, he swore they'd be the happiest pet on the planet.

First of all, I’d never call my dog ‘Fido’... Though I do think Bogart deserves only the best. Ryan laughed softly, hearing Brendon's voice trail and feeling the need to reassure him that, yes, Ryan appreciated the good humor, usually people only nervously rambled off their pet care routine, didn't actually talk to him. He was setting up the bath, placing various soap bottles alongside it, when he felt Brendon's gaze and looked up to catch it. Hey, maybe this whole 'make him more comfortable' endeavor was working. ... You’re- in my class, right? Ryan, is it? Ryan was a little surprised he knew his name. He didn't even have a nametag (which he was a little offended by, by the way, this place was great except for that). "Yeah, strings," he said after a moment of calibration, placing a hand over his chest virtuously upon announcing what section of band he was usually herded into.

Ryan smiled to himself, going back to diving into cabinets and pulling out clean grooming supplies. "And you're Brendon." He paused, hanging a towel over the edge of the tub and then placing his hands over the rim, lifting himself a little in thought. Was it weird to say... nah, whatever. "You're a good singer, you know. Great, actually. I've heard you during breaks." He circled around and scratched behind Bogart's ear fondly, smiling at him, trying to get him to warm up to him. "Bogart agrees, he just told me." Ryan switched to the natural puppy-talk voice, the kind that, despite being so beyond obnoxious, tended to make every dog wag their tail excitedly. "Bogart! You want a treat?" He dug into a bag on the sidetable and pulled out a bone-shaped biscuit, offering it to Bogart, then turned to the faucet and turned on the tap for warm water. While he waited he stood back again, leaning against the counter and redirecting his attention to Brendon interestedly. "You're not one of those people in band just for the credits, right? You don't seem like it. Why'd you sign up?"

/

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

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

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

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

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

Ryan was maybe slightly concerned that this may end up more of a conversation with Brendon than an actual grooming session for his dog. Truthfully, Ryan was one of the most on-task people who worked here - and now here was a threat to his productivity streak. Not that he particularly minded. Brendon was funny, a bit antsy and anxious, and admittedly cute this close up. In a room full of other kids, his personality could come off almost obnoxious, but Ryan was now convinced that that was only his outlook in school when he was perpetually annoyed anyway. Right now, he was charming as ever. Yeah, I’d rather stay. He can be a nuisance- can’t you, Bogart? Ryan's easy laugh came almost immediately, grinning at Brendon fondly at his use of the classic baby talk. He heard it from others and tended to rolled his eyes, but really. Brendon pulled it off.

Oh, I don’t doubt you’re good with dogs. Ryan smiled breezily, feeling very aware of the pawprint embroidered on his work shirt. Ridiculous. Otherwise I’d be concerned as to why you were working here. He shrugged. "Just wish I had one. My, uh..." Ryan paused, wondering why he'd even got as far as 'my' when usually he was all right at dodging the subject. He maintained a cheery smile regardless, just tilting his head to the side. "My dad doesn't want one." Well, it was true. For whatever reason his mind drifted, and he wondered what kind of family Brendon came from. He somewhat knew already - had heard all of the 'big Mormon family' stuff, something like five kids running around that house and all of them were religious. Which was funny, 'cause Brendon really didn't act like it. In fact, Ryan was pretty sure he'd also heard something about weed in correlation to little, innocent Brendon, but maybe that was wrong, too. He was just... interesting. If they ended up friends, Ryan wouldn't mind that. He’s just- disobedient, to, like, everyone, apart from me. Ryan nodded understandingly, was almost excited to prove him wrong on that, 'cause he did it ninety percent of the time with other patrons. It made sense, anyway; dogs caught on to vibes fast, and Brendon had such a good energy about him. Not that Ryan would say that weird shit out loud.

Maybe Brendon was self-conscious, but Ryan felt no qualms with complimenting his singing. It was incredible. This he was self-concious about saying out loud: that Brendon could be a star, looked like he was born to perform, deserved to be doing something more meaningful than high school band. No one else he'd observed in class, not even their instructor, was as good as him at any one of his given specialties. Ryan had seen him sing, seen him play the drums, seen him on the guitar and the bass, even on the piano. Plus a few of the wind instruments - but everyone got forced over there at least once, so. It didn't hold up to much. But he was good at it all. (And Ryan had witnessed firsthand Spencer grimacing at his drumming talent, because Spence was trying to practice on his own with some yard sale drum kit he'd found for cheaps and he was definitely not that skill level.) Anyway. Yeah. Maybe he'd tell Brendon all of that someday, but not right now, where even looking his direction seemed to take him off guard.

So are you. Ryan stopped, looked up from all the supplies he was laying out and curiously searched Brendon's face. It was... flattering, that he'd even listened, let alone liked it. Ryan barely ever sang, and it tended to only be to his immediate friend group, which was... well. Spencer, usually. Some new lyrics, poetry he'd written he was trying to make marketable, whatever, and he never thought he was particularly great but he could sort of carry a note and he wanted to work on it. And Spencer wasn't the type to go on with compliments about his abilities - plus his uploads on LiveJournal never got attention - so this, just three little words, was sweet. He finally smiled, genuine and honest, at Brendon. Thank you. "Thank you," Ryan returned, hesitating for a moment before continuing on to Bogart.

He’s a little bitch. Ryan laughed openly, shaking his head sportively before offering Bogart a treat. He watched Brendon mumbled something to Bogart, heard his name in there, and figured it was just something comforting to keep him from panicking. I enjoy it. Ryan waited. He'd seen him in there. Had to be something more - related aspirations, something. And, I’m not really good at anything else... Apparently not. Ryan looked almost affronted, like Brendon had told Ryan he wasn't good at anything else. "Don't say that," he said, groundingly, catching Brendon's gaze and holding it. "Even if it was true, you fucking kill in there, so. I mean, you're the best in the class. I'm not kidding. It wouldn't be the worst thing to 'only be good at.'" He cracked half a smile again, less serious looking. "I joined 'cause I thought it'd get me into a real band, somehow. I'm an idiot. So far I've got Spencer and he can only kind of play drums. You know him?"

Brendon had no idea how much Ryan knew about him- though in his experience, everyone at least knew of him. He never used to be quite sure why, and neither did he even care- but as he got older he realised that his energy and hyperactivity wasn’t normal, being physically unable to sit still in his chair or focus on some kind of task without being completely overloaded wasn’t just a regular teenage thing. It was stressful and he had mixed feelings about attracting so much attention- in a way he liked it, being noticed, but then it was only surface level, ‘noticing’ as in ‘that guy is so fucking annoying’- and that made him very insecure. The idea that Ryan just thought he was weird was scary and he wasn’t really helping himself by staying with him while Bogart was being groomed, or being so antsy and anxious, or speaking to his dog in such a stupid baby voice. Brendon never used to get this anxious around people until his habits began to get pointed out by those around him- now he did everything he could to suppress it, struggling even then, tapping his fingers nervously, rhythmically against his thigh.

Just wish I had one. Snapped out of his train of worry, Brendon smiled slightly, shrugging a shoulder. “Surely you could get one? You know enough.” My, uh... My dad doesn’t want one. For once, instead of launching immediately into a mini inquisition about a veiled detail or subject, Brendon actually took heed of the discomfort in his voice and just nodded, vaguely, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t occupied with fidgeting to card through his hair, self conscious all of a sudden. He hadn’t known his- it seemed juvenile to use crush, but it was the only fitting word- would be here, he hadn’t given a shit about how he looked just taking his dog to be groomed, so his hair was a mess, but luckily, thank fucking god he was recently clean shaven. His self consciousness continued even when Ryan complimented him, his singing; Brendon didn’t think himself anything special, so hearing this from someone who wasn’t just a teacher who had to say that made him embarrassingly happy, but he tried to play it off. Return the compliment. Draw attention away from himself because he didn’t think much was appealing other than his appearance- which today wasn’t too impressive either.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realise until too late that complimenting a near-stranger on their singing was odd, because he really shouldn’t have heard enough to make that call, especially considering Ryan very rarely sang. Thank you. He swallowed, wondering if Ryan was making fun of him and mumbling his thoughts accidentally aloud to Bogart, luckily under his breath and thankfully too quietly for Ryan to hear him. Don’t say that. The command in Ryan’s voice straightened his spine a little, and he looked up from his little dog, and was met by Ryan’s startlingly level gaze, stuck in his thoughts between ‘they’re so pretty’ and ‘I’m a little intimidated right now’. Even if it was true, you fucking kill in there, so. I mean, you’re the best in the class. I’m not kidding. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to ‘only be good at’. They hadn’t broken eye contact the entire time and Brendon was halfway ecstatic with the attention, halfway terrified by the plainness of his tone, like it was so easy to say. Brendon felt himself relax, his jaw soften, his shoulders drop- and he grinned, fully, starting small and understated but growing quickly, bright with appreciation and newfound confidence.

Brendon folded his arms across his chest, holding onto his own bicep with one arm, almost grounding himself. More brazen now, rejuvenated by positive response, he felt that odd little bud of narcissism open a little. “You really think so?” I joined 'cause I thought it'd get me into a real band, somehow. I'm an idiot. So far I've got Spencer and he can only kind of play drums. You know him? Almost immediately, Brendon’s eyebrows rose, as he looked down at Bogart, petted his head gently and scratched behind his ears. A real band... he was familiar with the passing fantasy. “I know of him,” He murmured in a low voice, wondering suddenly whether Spencer could provide some insight, maybe tell him if Ryan even. Played for his team, so to speak. There was no point getting so flustered over him otherwise, he told himself... “You have a name? For your. Two man band.”