NOTICE TO PAY RENT OR QUIT. Three months. Every time Ryan came close to coming up with his rent money he had to use it on something else: gas money to drive to his dad's (where he would stay if he didn't absolutely have to go to work), or hospital bills for the same man, or to pay off some other bill that took priority, like insurance or the cell bill. His landlord wasn't particularly nice but she also wasn't particularly aggressive, so every time the check was due, he gave some excuse and puppy-dog eyes. A slightly older than middle-aged woman, she always bowed to it - I just need another week, my hours got cut at work, I promise I can make it, plus his chronic babyface to match - but three months was a long time to wait, and every missed check added up. He was over a grand in debt to her, now, and he had no idea how he could come up with that and another month.

What was the point? He'd come to the apartment two years ago with plans to save up some cash, take a gap year, then go to college, either paying fully for himself or finding a full ride somehow. Surely it couldn't be that hard... he'd been a contender for valedictorian in high school, his grades were that good. He'd worked for it because he knew he'd need the help financially, but now it wasn't helping him in any way. At twenty, he was still working two jobs, both of which had drastically cut the lengths of his shifts and now he couldn't come up with the usual bottom-of-the-barrel amount he made to survive, and his dad was still hanging onto life an hour away from him where he still had to take care of him just like he was a teenager again, and he wasn't studying anything at all, hadn't even gotten through registration before he realized he couldn't afford it. That's the thing: there was no point. At all. Ryan was cutting it close to the line every day and he was getting sick of it. This wasn't living, this was existing, and... nowadays, half of his time was spent trying to figure a way out of it all.

It was dark, and sometimes he thought maybe it was selfish, but. Honestly, when his father finally gave in (he knew it was going to happen, yeah, he'd come to terms with it a while back), and when he gave the landlord the money so that she wasn't screwed over by some dead kid, what else was there to stay here for? He didn't see any way out of this hole, so... yeah, Ryan was sort of saying his goodbyes in general. Giving away anything he thought had value, trying not to talk to people much lest he make a connection or whatever, god forbid. Any real plans were curtailed in order for him to have time to make up that money, though, and to see his dad off first of all, because really as much as he so desperately wanted to go and escape all of this, he would rather not pass his debt on to his poor landlady and he wasn't particularly a fan of his father but he didn't want him to be alone in his last days. Which it was coming up on, he knew it.

There was no telling when that would happen exactly, though, so, eviction notice in hand - if you fail to pay the above mentioned rent due within the month, the tenancy will be forfeited and you must vacate and surrender the premises to the landlord - Ryan put out an ad for a roommate, too cheap to afford a spot in the paper and just throwing up some printouts on telephone poles and poster walls. Maybe if he got lucky the applicant would be, like, someone super well-off just looking for a steal on their place to live and Ryan's life would suddenly be so much easier. But maybe not. He got two responses total: one guy who called in and then met him only to be extraordinarily creepy and perhaps a weed dealer, which would be nice if he actually made money from his deals, and then some e-mail scheduling a meet-up. Really weird. It was fairly ominous, so vague and surface-level that all he knew was that the guy's name was Brendon, and whatever, Ryan would take whatever he could get at this point.

Ryan dropped down to his dad's place before the interview was supposed to happen, make sure the daily nurse was still keeping him breathing. All looked well - he was in bed, television on, his dialysis set-up trapping him in place from the nightstand. Ryan hovered near him for a few moments, hesitant in case he was no longer an unresponsive case, but he didn't even look at him. Ryan ignored any emotion that came from that, fluffed up his pillows, and promptly went exploring through the house, digging through his childhood room to find all of his emergency cash he'd hidden for when he couldn't steal grocery money from his dad's wallet in high school, all of the savings from shitty part-time summer jobs. Not much, but. It helped alleviate the debt a little. He came up with a couple hundred before finally slinking out of the house, back to his apartment, mentally adding to the stack of money he'd made up for his landlady.

Minutes after he came back, though, weirdly conveniently, a knock came at the door, and Ryan had only just been unwinding from being out. He threw his keys on his wobbly table and answered the door tentatively, looking curious at who he supposed was his roommate applicant. And, fuck, if it was, then... no questions asked, he's in. Ryan was strapped for cash, sure, but they could get a third person here, no problem. The guy was just. Perfect. "Um," Ryan said first, eloquent, standing there for a moment before remembering to be normal. He shook his head and then opened the door fully, holding out his hand as friendly as could be. "Hey, hi, how are you, you must be Brendon." Ryan smiled as good-naturedly as he could muster, stepping back. "Come on in. Did you just get to town?"

So, Brendon’s job wasn’t really as glamorous as it might seem to be- as selfless as it was to throw your entire body and soul (wait, no- Brendon didn’t really have either) into helping another person, no, a human being on earth, one that was struggling so much they needed direct intervention. God was fickle, though, because Brendon was told about people that the others had seen, homeless and starving, struggling with addiction, in their darkest hours, their final days; and yet nobody was sent to help them. Brendon wondered what made one human’s life worth more than another- he’d assisted some train wrecks throughout his existence, but the worst of the worst seemed to be left unnoticed. He did wonder why- but only for a fleeting moment of curiosity- an emotion that quickly faded away. They weren’t meant to be curious, inquisitive, ask questions. They were supposed to serve, unquestionably, loyal to the end and to a fault. Brendon’s mind was overactive for an angels- but even if he wanted to confront the one who commanded all of the entourages of angels around, he couldn’t. Free will, away from earth, where they were temporarily granted that concept of rules and breaking them, almost as a test, was just not a concept or a freedom they had in the first place to be taken away.

So, Brendon’s job was selfless, but it wasn’t like he had a choice whether to do it or not. And he had nothing to give up and nothing to lose- if the rare occasion arose where he failed, he was shielded and protected from any feeling of pain or remorse. As an angel, his basic function was to be a vessel for whatever God wanted to do but couldn’t be bothered doing. So, in order to best fit that function, God took humans and removed their senses of pain and suffering, took away their physical bodies so they were left with heavenly ones, they were granted wings, but not all of them halos. They weren’t all the same age, either; though most of them old as creation, some were created at a later date, and Brendon was one of the more recent ones, maybe a thousand years old. Nothing but a blink of an eye up there- none of them had any concept of time, or age, and many of them saw the signs of aging as suffering. In a way, it was- growing old and dying was punishment for the original sin, carried on the backs of the descendants of the sinners. If Brendon had been anything but a servant with no purpose but to carry out God’s command, he would have questioned why these people were still being punished for the mistakes of two people a few thousand years ago. But, he was a servant. So he simply folded his wings, about as naive and childlike in attitude to the workings of the world as he was spiritually intelligent and ethereal, and listened to what God commanded.

It wasn’t even like he could say he enjoyed What he did, because similarly to how he wasn’t capable of feeling sadness or anger or pain, he was restricted from any sensation of great joy or fondness of anyone but his fellow angels. Brendon was supposed to do anything and everything in his power to assist his charge, to try and repair their life, to view the human as his priority- but he was never to care about them on a personal level. Usually, the best thing to do was to act from afar, interfering when necessary, and never even letting the charge know that anyone was there. With his next assigned person, though, it seemed that wouldn’t be an option. He didn’t take commands directly from God, funnily enough; another angel in charge of distributing cases of struggling humans briefed him about- well, anything and everything there was to know about- ‘Ryan’. Basic details first, name, age, where he lived, family- and then it delved deeper into interpersonal relationships (most of Ryan’s were strained) and his faults, most prominently his self-isolation and reclusiveness, which would make helping him from afar practically impossible. He regarded everything calmly even as a full picture of this man cane to light, a human slinking towards the end of the line. Clearly, god didn’t think it was ‘time’ for Ryan yet. After learning everything he needed to know, he thanked the angel, then, needing no time to prepare (everything would work out once he touched down on the earth), he spread his golden wings and set off immediately, having only really just gotten back from a different charge.

He never had to think about where he was going- when he landed, mere seconds later, in a conveniently empty alleyway, he folded his wings behind his back and they disappeared. Brendon now looked like an ordinary human, having taken on his favoured physical form- maybe otherworldly pretty, but believable, maybe. It wasn’t his choice what he appeared as on earth; he automatically chose a form based on what would best work in association to the charge. He wasn’t sure why this guy needed someone so untouchably beautiful, but he brushed it off when he realised this body was probably about the same age as Ryan was. And it was his favourite, anyway- this was what he felt the most comfortable in. He even secretly used the name that went with it outside of earth- though his name in heaven definitely wasn’t Brendon, he used it in his head. Freedom of thought existed, just not the capability to physically resist orders. Straightening up, he wandered out into the Main Street, not quite sure where he was going- but the first thing he saw was a streetlight post, and to it was stuck a piece of paper- he moved forwards, wincing as he adjusted to the noise of whatever city he was in and pulled the paper- an ad- from the post. Well, this was easier than he thought it would be. This was an ad by Ryan Ready, his Ryan, and he needed a roommate. Well, if that’s what he needed, Brendon could deliver.

His feet knew where to take him once he read the address- even though he was certain he’d never been in this city before. The apartment was, predictably, close by- from what Brendon knew about this guy, he didn’t have the energy or time to go wandering across the city to put ads out all over the place- and once he planted both his feet before the door, he quickly ran over in his head everything that he knew about him. George Ryan Ready, goes by Ryan, early twenties, single, lives alone, works two jobs, couldn’t afford to go to college, 1k in debt. He supposed money was the most obvious material problem, and he hoped that if he sorted that out for him, his work would be done before he had to go into all the proper guardian angel stuff. Well, it wasn’t like they had a guidebook. He knocked on the door tentatively and waited, feeling a little awkward in his body and without his wings. The door opened and Brendon put on his most charming, unintimidating smile, and it faltered a little when he finally met his new priority.

Most humans, Brendon thought, were kind of- boring. Boring looking. The conventionally attractive ones didn’t interest him, others were just plain and didn’t catch the eye of an angel so used to beauty beyond coherency to the human eye. This man, though, made him do a double take- and for a moment he wondered if he’d been sent to the wrong place, was this guy an angel too? A few seconds, though, and he realised that no, he wasn’t, he was just gorgeous, and Brendon marvelled at him openly, looking up to meet his honey-gold eyes, a similar shade to the feathers of his wings. Um. Brendon’s soft smile persisted, as he looked at Ryan like he hung the stars in the sky for them all to appreciate. He liked this guy already. Hey, hi, how are you, you must be Brendon. What? How did he know his name? He hadn’t even called- well, who cared, like he said, everything had a way of working out in his favour. Brendon nodded after a moment, looking down apprehensively at his hand. What was he supposed to do with that again?

Brendon racked his brain through some customs he should probably know by now and after a pause he lifted his arm up to grasp his hand and shake it, all the while staring wondrously at his new favourite human and the most beautiful one he’d ever met. ”God spent extra time on you,” He said after a moment in a soft voice, though he was surprised by his own accent. Anyway. Enough fawning over the charge. ”Yeah, hi, I’m Brendon. Nice to meet you.” Come in. Did you just get to town? He stepped gracefully through the doorway, picking a feather off his shirt and letting it spiral to the floor. ”Yeah, you could say that.”

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 obviously 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 he 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, this 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. God spent extra time on you. 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. "Um, thank you..." 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.

Yeah, hi, I’m Brendon. Nice to meet you. 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. "Ryan. You, too." 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. Yeah, you could say that. 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.

"Feel free to look around," 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. "I'm, uh, not home that often, so you don't have to worry about it being crowded around here. I work a lot." Ryan paused, stopped and turned to face him. "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." 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.

"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." 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. "Do you have a job? Tell me about yourself. Oh, um - do you want water, or... coffee?" 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.

In a completely different and oddly similar way, Brendon’s life revolves around his father, too. His entire job description involved carrying out exactly what he told him to, and it wasn’t like there were many other career options for an angel in heaven even if they were allowed or capable of taking them. None of this was a bad thing for the throes of angels, of course- they were loyal and subservient to their Father, who treated them with general benevolence, though sometimes more of an indifference. How a master would view a servant- and that was fitting, because that was their arrangement. Brendon wasn’t exactly suffering- that just didn’t happen in heaven- but when he really thought about it, which was rare, he was too busy to stop and consider his environment and where he would spend the rest of eternity, the started to feel entrapped, restless, like a smaller set of angel wings was fluttering furiously in the cage of his heart, desperate to break free. The concept itself felt like a sin, and he immediately came before his Father and confessed feelings of entrapment, boredom, even bitterness towards his life in heaven. He had reprimanded himself for being selfish and self-centred and disrespectful and he swiftly repented, swearing he’d never feel like that again and going back to his duty. Of course, it was easier to say than to do, and every time he went back, letting his wings droop and drag on the ground as a show of subservience, and prayed for forgiveness.

No matter how many times he went back, returning thoughts just seemed to get worse. Ryan’s situation was, again, oddly and eerily similar, though literal worlds apart at the same time. Ryan, from what Brendon knew (which was everything), had a difficult upbringing and an odd family, if his alcoholic and detached father could even count as one. His mother left when he was just an infant and he hadn’t seen her since. Brendon didn’t have a mother either, funnily enough- he hadn’t actually thought about that before now. God, though, was father and mother and brother to them all, so he supposed that was too different a circumstance to compare. Ryan’s father had many flaws, flaws that God apparently didn’t have, but as for being detached and distant, Brendon silently thought about how his Father presented himself, high above his children, above criticism, distant and commanding and severe unless someone bowed their head in prayer. Only then would he take on some of his famed patience and benevolence, when shown the utmost respect and surrendered to completely. Brendon thought about Ryan’s dad, how he’d tried in the beginning, but things had slowly gone downhill until Ryan didn’t have much of a father at all. He wasn’t religious, Brendon knew that- he wondered if converting was on the agenda, then realised he should probably focus on saving his life before he started preaching God’s message all Gabriel-like.

He arrived on Ryan’s doorstep, his head swimming with thoughts about their contrasting and oddly alike situations, trying to dispel the correlation between Ryan’s dad’s downfall and God’s recent shortness of temper from his mind. Brendon felt something odd- a twinge of worry, maybe, that was the word- and he felt his stomach turn over, unused to even the slightest negative emotion, only capable of experiencing neutral or positive ones up in heaven. The slightest thing on earth that caused him pain or suffering felt like a stab in the chest rather than a pinprick, and he wasn’t looking forward to potentially experiencing more of that. He knocked on the door after he contained himself, relaxing his shoulders even though they felt weird without his wings. As soon as Ryan appeared there where the door had been, he felt a surge of affection for not him, but for God; he really had done something different with this one, and Brendon was enamoured with all things aesthetically beautiful. This was next-level for earth, this was striking. He stated obviously, forgetting or just not knowing to experience embarrassment or sheepishness, just blatantly admired him, the line of his jaw, the rich colour of his eyes, the slight curls of his chestnut hair. Brendon’s eyes followed the curve of his mouth and he was still smiling, somewhat taken aback.

Fully distracted, it took him a moment to notice Ryan’s hand held out in front of him, and it took him even longer to know what to do with it. Quickly running through his mental list of human customs that started like this, he rapidly crossed the ones out that didn’t fit the situation. He wondered whether it would be appropriate to take his hand and press the back of it to his mouth as he’d heard of humans doing before when they greeted someone of importance. Ryan was important to him, now, sure, but maybe not important enough to warrant that kind of greeting. He landed unsurely on a handshake, extending his own hand and grasping Ryan’s as firmly as he could. As he did, he looked up curiously to watch and see how his posture changed. Stress in his muscles seemed to melt away as he visibly relaxed. He looked unsettled by the sudden sensation, but Brendon just offered a knowing, mysterious and encouraging smile, mentally noting that frequent contact would probably be good for him. Brendon, angels in general, had the strange and useful ability to calm people down by just being close, relax them completely with the lightest brush of contact. They both dropped their arms back down to their sides and then Brendon delivered his earnest compliment- well. It was more of a statement, coming from an angel, and he wasn’t aware enough to realise he just sounded like an overenthusiastic preacher or a middle-aged religious woman paying compliments to the nice young man who held the door open for her.

Um, thank you. Again, it was more of a statement, so he offered simply a shrug of one shoulder, and then greeted him properly for the first time in like, five minutes of him standing there in the doorway. Ryan. You, too. Brendon stepped past Ryan through the door and into the apartment- it was small, exactly what he expected, but kept in relative good condition considering everything going wrong for Ryan. He figured it was his way of trying to pretend his life was somewhat together. Feel free to look around. Brendon nodded, already doing so, moving to the table and noting the things strewn across it, keys, wallet, et cetera; Ryan was clearly too busy to be that tidy, just clean. Maybe it was a habit picked up from when he was a little younger and he was self-assigned the task of cleaning the entire house. Brendon purses his lips, considering. I'm, uh, not home that often, so you don't have to worry about it being crowded around here. I work a lot. And yet, he still had time to keep this whole place clean- or maybe he just didn’t interact with anything enough for it to become untidy. He turned around to face his new roommate. ”Where do you work?” He already knew that, but. It seemed the reasonable way to respond.

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. Brendon ran a hand thoughtfully through his hair, pushing it back out of his face and pretending that he was thinking about that predicament, looking sympathetic. But then he shrugged, smiled a little. ”Don’t worry, I’ll have enough money to help with that.” Hopefully that gave him some kind of peace of mind, or whatever- truth was, Brendon had that all covered from the start. He just hoped Ryan would actually believe him. Ryan didn’t seem to listen at first- he had laughed, but not out of humour, and looked away, zoning out for a few seconds. Worried he was stressing himself out or whatever, Brendon ignored the harsh feeling that resonated through his body and spoke up again. ”Just tell me how much you need.”

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. Nodding understandingly, hoping his comments from before were reassuring enough, he followed Ryan’s gesture to sit down on a slightly unsteady chair and sat down gracefully, pushing his chair back from the table so he could cross his leg over his knee elegantly, composing himself in this unusual environment. He tilted his head back to gaze around the room, his lips slightly parted, his expression neutral and earnest before he watched Ryan start to toy with his keys. Do you have a job? Tell me about yourself. ”Well, I-“Oh, um- do you want water, or... coffee? He waited for more options, but none came, and he wasn’t really surprised, just giggled a little and rested his elbow on the armrest and his chin in his hand, regarding Ryan with a gentle amusement. ”No, Ry, I think I’m okay.” Shit, maybe he wasn’t supposed to know that he liked to go by that. Shit, he had forgotten to make up his life story and occupation. For a moment he looked distant, racking his brain. ”Uh, I- model. Yeah.”

There was something off about Brendon. Or just... something off about Ryan when he was around the guy. He'd only basically learned his name thus far, and roundabouts what he could afford, maybe, but still in the short time he'd been on Ryan's doorstep he somehow changed Ryan's countenance drastically. Usually Ryan was distracted, focusing on finding something to live for for the next five minutes, something to keep him invested in whatever the activity at hand was, or maybe trying to come up with alternative ways to make ends meet. On the odd occasion he'd let himself daydream about what his life could be, what he could be doing - what if he'd accepted the audition from those two guys in band club, what if he'd ended up in their band, what if he had his degree, what if, what if, what if. Brendon, though, commanded his attention and all his curiosity, and made him feel a bit more in the moment than normal, made him care a lot less about everything falling apart around him in the background. Maybe just... talking to someone friendly, bizarre but sweet, was touching enough to Ryan who rarely interacted with anyone at all to make him feel different for a few passing moments.

It wasn't an extreme change, or anything, but Ryan was still starved for something, anything that wasn't how he usually felt, so he stayed considerably close to Brendon, subconsciously afraid if he went too far then he'd get away. Fortunately for Ryan, Brendon had given him this omniscient smile, soft and serene, when he dwelled half a second too long on their handshake - like he just. Knew. Ryan supposed he must be easy to read these days; maybe after a lifetime of keeping everything under lock and key, now his feelings were starting to show on his face. He hoped not. He was definitely feeling a lot of things about someone whose name he learned to properly pronounce five seconds ago. While he followed Brendon into the apartment he was almost concerned for his judgment, wondering what he thought of it all, whether it was up to standard. Weird, he didn't even give a fuck what the landlord thought, usually. He didn't have the time or energy to care. Now, though... somehow different.

He kept it clean, a force of habit. Even if two jobs could consume up to fifteen hours of his day he still found time to tidy up. While he sometimes left belongings strewn around for convenience there was still no dirt or dust to be seen, cleaner than it was when he'd moved in, and every light remained bright and unflickering once he learned to keep them fixed up. His meager amount of furniture was arranged in a way that made the place look at least mostly inhabitable - his 'dining table' matched the cabinets of the kitchenette, his futon, dragged out of his father's house, remained the same as it looked the first time he built it from the box, the box television he'd found on the curb a year back had been fixed up to the best of his ability, the coffee table free of mug rings and adorned with newspapers only slightly out of date. There was no point in maintaining it, he knew; he was leaving soon, anyway. In the back of his mind he knew he should keep his exit as not-messy as possible, make it easier for whoever had to pick up the pieces. As little marks left on the world as possible. He hadn't made much of a dent yet, anyway.

And maybe since that was his plan, he should be sparing Brendon, but. He could always just move to his father's shortly beforehand, whatever. He could work out the details when he actually had a confirmed roommate. If he was becoming easy to read, Ryan hoped none of this was too painfully obvious. Where do you work? Ryan paused, not super excited to admit he wasn't doing anything truly important at all for the world, but. Whatever. Brendon was evidently still emitting that weird calming effect. He didn't dwell long. "Mornings, I work in this book shop in the city. Customer service. At night I wait tables. It's all very glamorous." He didn't mention how his tip rate had steadily dropped since he lost the will to smile all sweet for people. When he wasn't guaranteed even, like, four dollars, it was hard to muster all of that up. Even now Ryan had to remember to wear at least a pleasant, neutral smile, instead of letting his face rest in some brooding flatline. (Brendon, he noticed, had mastered that pleasant neutral smile, and he wasn't exactly surprised).

Don’t worry, I’ll have enough money to help with that. Ryan considered him seriously for a moment, vaguely confused- why would he take that stress upon himself? Ryan hadn't really asked... although he was planning on maybe asking for a deposit, at most. He searched his face - perfectly crafted, the fucker - for the punchline. Nothing. "You really don't... have to... It's my debt, you know? Don't worry about it." A rare occasion, Ryan felt something frantic in his chest, couldn't put a name to it. He had a personal deadline aside from the eviction notice, and here it was, speeding closer. If he took Brendon's money it'd be like he was tossing it in the trash - in fact anything he took from anyone would be a waste now. Just tell me how much you need. What could only be loosely described as panic surged then faded a little the longer he looked at Brendon, taken aback by his generosity. He tried to take it casually rather than outright deny his help or accept it. "Uh, well - let's not get ahead of ourselves, just... make sure you even want to live here first, yeah?" He smiled, forced, trying to joke around and failing for the most part. Honestly. Couldn't take anything gracefully.

When Ryan sat across from him he noticed, with even less surprise because now this was becoming slightly predictable, how much Brendon contrasted with the rest of the place. Sure, he could keep it as clean as he wanted, as neat and orderly as ever, but everything would stay subpar and dingy and slightly off - Brendon, however, floated through the apartment with ease, took a seat at a rickety chair with one slightly shorter leg than the others and didn't even seem to be off-balance. Practiced, poised, all of that. Maybe he came from a rich family and that's why he was so ready to take someone else's debt. More importantly something in his neutral expression was comforting, naïve, and after Ryan became bored of his keys he let his gaze rest on his face, forgetting that there was something of a time limit to eye contact (face contact?) and simply watching him for some time.

Ryan cut him off before he got into answering, too afraid of being a bad host, and Brendon seemed amused by his limited options. Maybe just him in general. Ryan sat back, an eyebrow quirked barely, wondering whether to be offended - but it was hard to be when Brendon regarded him so earnestly, openly. No, Ry, I think I’m okay. Ry? Were they there yet? Ryan paused, smirked. "Suit yourself, Bren," he returned easily, smiling genuinely for the first time in some time. Uh, I- model. Yeah. Ryan raised one shoulder. "I could've guessed. Considering you look like that, it must be a reliable income, so. Fine by me." It was barely even delivered like a compliment or flattery. Just plain truth. He waited, wondering if that was the end to the story, then leaned forward on his elbows. "That's all? No backstory? Where were you before Vegas? Do you do anything else besides modelling - any hobbies?" Ryan wasn't sure how else to go about ensuring your new roommate wasn't some kind of crazy runaway inmate, whatever, and Brendon definitely wasn't that but he was definitely odd.

Without his wings, in this corporeal form, Brendon was indistinguishable from ordinary human beings. He was, perhaps, a little too untouchable beautiful to match the criteria of what it was to be human- flawed, not perfect, rough around the edges. They were rough diamonds, quality with a lot of work and dedication, and Brendon was already flawlessly cut. However, despite his astounding appearance as a human, and maybe his odd, slightly unusual and socially inept behaviour, he had half-mastered customs and speech patterns that sounded at least vaguely realistic. He didn’t realise that people thought he was odd when they spoke to him, that he didn’t really fit in- even if he did realise, he wouldn’t mind. As long as they didn’t suspect anything (which was almost impossible, humans were too oblivious, absorbed in their own little bubbles, and/or just simply would never comprehend things beyond their own understanding), it was fine, if when he was walking down the street, all he did was turn a few heads.

Actually- aside from appearance and behaviour alone, an angel’s presence was generally sweet and calming, almost magnetic, and people subconsciously wanted to remain as close as possible without passing the normal human boundaries of personal space. Brendon had no concept of that, so he didn’t mind and in fact understood that Ryan seemed to be inching absent-mindedly closer, towards the source of the calm feeling settling in his bones. Brendon imagined he hadn’t felt like that in a long time, and considered that maybe once he stepped away and the intensity of it faded away, it wouldn’t be of any benefit. It would be like coming down from a high, and he’d feel a million times worse. In an effort to lessen that blow, he remained close, under the guise of friendliness. He stepped past Ryan into the apartment, brushing intentionally against his side and moving as if he weighed nothing, which, even in this body, he probably hardly weighed anything. Ryan was taller than him, he noted, but wasn’t sure why that was relevant. He supposed he just had to note down everything he realised and inferred about him, in hope it might be useful later on. Or something like that. Brendon temporarily got distracted by his own thoughts and hesitated in the middle of the floor, staring off into space.

Mornings, I work the in this book sho in the city. Customer service. Brendon looked surprised for a moment, because why was Ryan telling him this, he already knew- oh, Ryan didn’t know that he knew. Turning to look at Ryan curiously, he then remembered that he had asked the question in the first place, because he had to organically regain this information or Ryan would be tremendously freaked out when he started asking if his dad’s condition was getting worse without even asking him about his family. He nodded after a second, and he didn’t even have to pretend to be interested. This man was the only reason he was present, this man was his new priority, and he planned on giving him full, undivided attention. He was already- fond of him. That was the strongest positive emotion he had probably ever experienced. Still, the strength of it on earth surprised him, and he was still smiling comfortably. At night I wait tables. It’s all very glamorous. Brendon nodded again, attentively. He knew that being stuck in those jobs forever was Ryan’s idea of hell. He knew that if nothing changed about his situation, he probably wouldn’t be on earth to be helped for much longer. He felt an odd feeling in his throat and swallowed, before quirking a brow and keeping up his persistent smile.

Brendon had sat down, poised and somewhat out of place in the remarkably ordinary apartment, and he was still watching Ryan, having probably not taken his eyes off him for more than thirty seconds the entire time he had been here. To be honest, there were worse people to have to constantly pay attention to. Ryan was nice to look at. In fact, he could barely tear his eyes away even if he wanted to. A moment after Ryan uneasily mentioned his debts, Brendon paused to pretend to consider his response when he already knew what he was going to do long before he arrived. The confusion on his face confirmed for Brendon tat he wasn’t use to being offered- or accepting- any form of help. You really don't... have to... It's my debt, you know? Don't worry about it. He shrugged one shoulder, rested his chin in his hand and blinked slowly, earnest amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. ”If I move in here, consider it my debt, too.” Uh, well - let's not get ahead of ourselves, just... make sure you even want to live here first, yeah? Well, he definitely did, no doubt about that. ”Whatever you say. It’s really not a problem.”

As Ryan sat across from him, he removed his chin from his hand and instead draped himself back over the chair, somehow still perfectly balanced despite feeling very uncoordinated and clumsy in this earthbound form. How did humans do it all the time? Suit yourself, Bren. That smirk. Brendon’s lips parted a little as he examined the change in expression, one he wasn’t used to seeing, one he definitely didn’t expect from Ryan. Mentally copying it, he fabricated and returned the smirk, the corner of his mouth tilting up and his eyebrows quirking. Bren, he repeated in his head. He decided he liked it. ”I like that. You can call me whatever you like.”

He didn’t have the foresight to think of a job, or a backstory. Rookie mistake- even if he was a relative rookie compared to some. Brendon wondered for a moment if he was the right choice to help somebody so at risk. Coming out with the first job he could think of that didn’t require set hours that he had to disappear for, he landed on model, the word more of a question until Ryan confirmed it was believable. I could've guessed. Considering you look like that, it must be a reliable income, so. Fine by me. Brendon laughed, a gentle sound, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. ”Thank you, but if it were based purely on looks, you’d be as well off as me,” He remarked, not aware that what he was doing was accidental flirting. Brendon was just being honest- honesty was a virtue. That’s all? No backstory? Where were you before Vegas? Do you do anything else besides modelling - any hobbies?

Too many questions that he didn’t have answers to. Brendon started, a little concerned he’d be denied the opportunity to live here, and rapidly designed himself a believable backstory that was based on his own, scaled down considerably. ”I came from up north,” He began, drumming his fingers distractedly on the table, the first sign that he wasn’t always so composed. ”To get away from my dad. He’s really controlling, y’know? Sometimes it’s better to be by yourself. Well. Away from family, anyway. You don’t get to pick your family, so you get what you’re given. And it doesn’t work out for everyone.” Brendon was looking down, now, at his feet, as he tried to think if that needed any more elaboration. ”Oh, and- I sing.”

Many would find it easy to jump at the opportunity of taking Brendon's monetary offer and rolling with it, a get out of jail free card. He was certainly something of a blessing, conveniently generous in Ryan's biggest time of need, but Ryan honestly just... couldn't do that. He had to earn it himself - the furthest he'd go was maybe accepting the help with an extremely strict repayment deadline, because, sure, if he was getting that much closer to his eviction date and he still had nothing solid to give to his landlady, maybe he'd take Brendon up on his strangely forward kindness. But right now he was already drowning anyway. If it was the three months' rent that Brendon helped with, there, that was one thing, but he feared it spiralling into other problems - in Ryan's worried fantasy, he believed he could grow complacent concerning all of his other bills, too, and start accepting help on all ends. He wasn't a charity, and he didn't need anyone feeling bad for him; that was final.

But it was harder to say that when it didn't seem at all like Brendon just felt bad for him. Brendon knew nothing about him, practically, even if he knew slightly more than Ryan was able to eke out of him at this point. Rather, Brendon's kindness just seemed to come from a genuine place, and Ryan couldn't comprehend that. In fairness he had made that weird God comment earlier, whatever it was - 'God spent extra time on you'? It was so, so sweet, something he was entirely not used to at all, and if Brendon was the type of person to say that then seconds later offer up his assistance in answer to a one-grand-plus debt, maybe he was strongly religious. Ryan respected that, really, he did, just couldn't relate, and therefore it was harder to believe he was serious. He was nothing if not the most honest looking person Ryan had ever seen, though, so it's not like he was suspicious about the matter. Just so... bizarre. Ryan wasn't judging. He'd been considered pretty freaky all his life, so. May as well give Brendon the benefit of the doubt.

If I move in here, consider it my debt, too. He made it seem like the simplest thing in the world. The table wasn't big, but it still put more distance between them than there was while standing, and Ryan mourned it. Brendon acting so nonchalant about one of the hugest sources of stress in Ryan's life was just... it made him want to calm down, too, made him feel like he had when they shook hands in greeting, and it was just a taste of the same thing but left him wanting to move inches away again. Man- maybe Brendon wasn't the weird one. Ryan was the touch-starved freakshow who wouldn't give him any space, apparently. He lowered his gaze, self-conscious, and didn't argue even though he would probably never, ever consider it Brendon's debt as well. He hadn't made the mistake of prioritizing his bills like Ryan had, hadn't forgotten to factor in the unexpected medical bills, so forth; he shouldn't be the one punished. Whatever you say. It’s really not a problem. Ryan was grateful, really, but he was this close to telling Brendon to back off about it (when that was the farthest thing from what he wanted his new guest to do, actually). So he moved on.

He noticed Brendon had another funny quirk - he sort of mirrored Ryan, at times. When Ryan tried for his first genuine smile in a long time, Brendon almost instantly picked up on it, and Ryan decided he liked how his potential new roommate wore it better. He was a little stunned, actually, how it added to his sort of fuzzy-at-the-edges, glowing mystique, probably something Ryan was making up because he was so easily taken by attractiveness, as was becoming evident to him. He'd never experienced it like that. And he still barely knew the guy, fuck, he really should've considered how lonely he was before inviting people around expecting to act like a normal person. I like that. You can call me whatever you like. Well, he was messing with him, but alright - and if this meant Brendon was going to call him Ry... very nice. He liked the way his name sounded coming from him, particularly the nickname he'd forgotten anyone ever used with him. He nodded slightly, at this point smiling consciously to avoid killing the good-natured air about them but still appreciative nonetheless.

Predictably Brendon's laugh, modest and in response to his comments in regard to Brendon's job, was just as disarming as everything else about him. Ryan blinked, endeared by the way the rest of his face became animated with it, the squint of his eyes and the light in his smile. His chest, always hollow and vaguely wistful, felt a little warm, like he'd seen an old friend or something along those lines, and he mentally chided himself for his dramatics. Thank you, but if it were based purely on looks, you’d be as well off as me. Was this total altar boy flirting with him? Ryan sat back, regarding him with something like surprise, and pursed his lips tightly before they could betray him into a smile. This was just... a lot. "That's..." He trailed off and was startled by himself - he hadn't been rendered speechless in a long time. Not much moved him these days, not in any direction. And he wasn't very good at saying thank you, either, so he struggled for a moment before landing on it, his tone quieter. "Thanks, I don't hear that very much." Why not just say thanks? Christ. Actually he was adding a lot of unnecessary details with little prompting here - he still wasn't sure whether it was Brendon or if he was just off his game today. Whatever it was, he didn't know how to feel about it.

Because apparently every force within Ryan gravitated towards him and made subconscious changes to accomodate him, Ryan tried to learn as much as he could. I came from up north - Ryan's eyes drifted to his drumming fingers and wondered if that was a nervous tic, was he nervous, was this a difficult topic -to get away from my dad. He’s really controlling, y’know? Ryan's face had grown carefully blank and he nodded slightly, reserved but understandingly, searching Brendon for a sign of his content countenance breaking. He really didn't want to see that happen, if it ever did, so he figured he wasn't going to push on this subject for his own gain. Sometimes it’s better to be by yourself. Well. Away from family, anyway. You don’t get to pick your family, so you get what you’re given. And it doesn’t work out for everyone. Fuck, Ryan knew, knew better than anyone, and he drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his own nervous habit. Brendon's gaze had fallen to the floor but Ryan still nodded sympathetically, leaning closer to the table again and looking attentive. He could listen to the guy speak for hours, even though he really didn't have that kind of time on his hands.

Oh, and- I sing. A pause, then Ryan smiled a little, amused by how fast he jumped between subjects. "I'd love to hear sometime. I play some guitar, when I can find the time," he said, trying to ground Brendon again after he'd detailed a little of his life and it didn't seem all sunshine and daisies. Now that he mentioned it, he could kind of tell Brendon was a singer, that distinctive controlled way he spoke and the levels to his voice he was sure would be there if he tried building notes. Ryan himself hadn't touched his guitar more than maybe three times since he'd graduated high school. It was such a neglected hobby of his that he was afraid he was no good at it anymore, all of his bragging rights squandered. In fact, maybe he shouldn't've mentioned it at all if he'd just lost the ability. "I'm sorry about your dad." He stopped, thinking, and it was his turn to let his attention fall, back to a bit of chipped wood at the table. He picked at it absently, wondering if this was what oversharing was, but he hadn't even normal-shared anything in, like, ever. He felt a strange sort of kinship with Brendon now that made it seem like he had to comfort him with the knowledge that he understood what he was going through, though.

"I have a... complicated relationship with mine, too. So I know what you mean." A moment of quiet passed and that was all that he was comfortable saying on the matter, really; it was the most he ever had, actually. He changed his tune, trying to sound more enthused. "The good news is, if you're looking for a found family, Vegas is a fine place to start. Lots of weird characters to make friends with." He grinned, mostly forced, but it was true - even if he hadn't built up any kind of 'found family' himself. He just imagined other people were living the life of the Friends cast. "Out of curiosity, are you, like, religious, or something? Not that I mind. I'm more asking for your sake... I don't know how, um, open-minded you are." Hint hint, I'm a heathen, I have no virtues, whatever. It's not like he did anything seriously unacceptable. He was too broke to afford weed anymore and that was about as scandalous as it got, so.

Brendon was already half-consciously imitating Ryan- because he had her little experience in the complex delicacies of human communication and conference (where he came from, everyone just tended to be in perpetual, harmonious understanding with little miscommunication or confusion), he was adapting as he went along, picking up queues like a smile he imagined was rare for Ryan and returning one of his own, almost as an encouragement. He did belatedly realise that he was probably being too warm and forward and betraying too much by using Ryan’s nickname literally fifteen minutes into meeting him (Brendon knew enough to know that most humans found such immediate kinship and relaxation strange, almost unnerving), but he realised too late. Luckily, Ryan didn’t seem too perturbed- though, when Brendon leaned a little closer to analyse his expression the best he could with his extremely limited social skills, he figured that the smile wasn’t an effortless one- and most of that guess was from everything he knew about Ryan before he even met him. Brendon figured that he wasn’t generally a very cheerful person- he looked unused to smiling so consistently, Brendon liked to think. He said nothing, just let his own, relaxed smile remain to keep the atmosphere light-hearted.

That’s... Brendon found the surprise in his voice and demeanour endearing- humans were so earnest and they could never conceal anything, their emotions showed so plainly in their eyes even when they tried to keep their expressions straight. They were- human, and that was much more than Brendon could say for himself. If he wasn’t deliberately being so transparent, aiming to seem trustworthy and pleasant, Ryan would think he was some kind of robot. Thanks, I don’t hear that very much. He raised an eyebrow. ”Then you don’t get out very much,” He reasoned, closing his hands together and intertwined his own fingers as he shifted with his chair closer to the table. His voice wasn’t judgemental at all, simply honest, gentle- like he was trying to ease Ryan into reality, even when he knew he probably didn’t have to do that, and Ryan was all too frighteningly aware of everything that Brendon was picking up as time went by. Ryan was steeped in reality, buried to his neck- Brendon reflected for a moment that, if all else failed, he could galavant (maybe more gracefully than that) back up to heaven knowing he’d done his duty and tried his hardest. Ryan only got one shot here, and- there went being light-hearted. Brendon frowned, the tiniest, barely noticeable quirk of his mouth, but then he straightened his expression. ”You’re welcome.”

Brendon unlaced his fingers and started subconsciously drumming them on the table, a sense of nervousness he wasn’t at all used to rising in his gut and closing his throat- this was probably nothing, what was it around being so close to a human that made everything effect him so much? Usually, he was untouchable, compassionate but unable to experience empathy, as he was gifted- or cursed- with an immunity to emotional pain. At least, in heaven. Down here, he was vulnerable. Anyway, luckily, he regained his footing in the conversation with grace, conjuring up the first believable profession that came to his mind and exhaling a small sigh of relief when Ryan nodded, not questioning it at all. Again, he was grateful that Ryan didn’t ask many questions after he ran through his semi-biographical fake life story. Thank god for humans and their blind naivety. Brendon glanced up once he came to a vague close on his brief backstory, and was interested to find that Ryan had clammed up, trying not to betray his own sore spots but leaning closer across the table to seem attentive. Brendon was almost too busy appreciating the effort and feeling a strange sense of fondness for his charge to realise that he needed to flesh himself out a bit more to seem believable. His entire character was built on half-truths- but if he used the lies to be able to reach and help him in genuine ways, what did it matter?

I’d love to hear sometime. Brendon nodded slightly, all the while wondering how the hell he’d pass off the kind of songs he was capable of singing for human music. Still, he smiled with subdued enthusiasm. I play guitar, when I can find the time. That piqued his interest- he’d heard about guitars, heard guitars being played, but they were an earthly instrument and Brendon had no idea how to play them, even if musical talent was one of his (unironically) divine skills. It was just subjective, and very specific. ”I’m not much of an instrumentalist myself,” He returned cautiously, as though admitting a deep-set flaw. ”I hope you can find the time to teach me,” Was added as an afterthought, punctuated with a non-threatening smile. It was a suggestion, a request, not a demand or order. No pressure on Ryan- though Brendon was very keen on learning how to play these fascinating instruments. Brendon was going to continue, keep up their conversation about music so they found authentic common ground and he didn’t have to rely on his own ethereal charm to make Ryan comfortable in his simultaneously overpowering and immensely relaxing presence. But Ryan, apparently, had other ideas, and Brendon fell silent instantly to allow him to continue.

I’m sorry about your dad. Brendon blinked, and subconsciously pressed his palms together, silently apologising to his own Father- forgive me, I was not being truthful, I told lies to allow my charge to trust me. I repent this action but not the consequence. Just as fluidly, he separated his hands and let them move off the table and into his lap. ”It’s okay.” I have a... complicated relationship with mine, too. So I know what you mean. ”I know,” Was Brendon’s automatic response, and he immediately froze, shoulders going stiff, thinking fast to try and fix that mistake. ”I mean,” He began, flustered, visibly losing composure for the first time since he met Ryan, ”I think I can just, tell. Kindred spirits, in that- area.” Brendon swallowed, inhaled, exhaled, allowed serenity to settle around him again. If he was nervous, flustered, it affected those around him- and that was the last thing Ryan needed. ”It’s difficult, but we’re still here, right?”

Right. Brendon realised that was a poorly thought out choice of words and closed his eyes briefly, berating himself for poor form this soon into his embassy. It was always difficult to settle in, but- maybe it was Ryan. Maybe Ryan made him lose concentration. He considered this as Ryan continued to speak. The good news is, if you're looking for a found family, Vegas is a fine place to start. Lots of weird characters to make friends with. Brendon nodded. ‘Vegas’ was... Certainly a change of scenery. All humans were weird characters, to him. So he believed it when Ryan hyped up his hometown. Out of curiosity, are you, like, religious, or something? Brendon’s eyebrows raised, surprised, and then he looked a little sheepish, like he’d been caught out. Is it really that obvious? I mean- yeah, you could say that.” Not that I mind. I'm more asking for your sake... I don't know how, um, open-minded you are. For a good few seconds, Brendon was the picture of confusion- eyebrows furrowed in a frown that said he hadn’t put the pieces together, his lips parted as if he was searching for the words. Slowly, though, not suddenly, it fell into place. ”What do you- mean?” It took him even longer to click on exactly what he meant. ”Are you..?” He trailed off, wishing he’d known- Whatever the answer would be before he got here. Brendon supposed he’d just presumed. None of this was discussed in heaven, amongst angels. He was clueless, knowing of the existence of certain groups of people and nothing more. It wasn’t a taboo, but- it was.

Ryan wondered how he could get closer without it being too unforgivably weird. Maybe he could hand over the renter's paperwork, sit beside Brendon while they went over it, play off the bumping shoulders by a purely coincidental need to conduct business. More than that he was still baffled by how different Brendon was. It's not like Ryan lived under a rock - he worked with people, had customers who were his type, saw people he thought were drop-dead gorgeous and only really thought that before moving on with his life. And it wasn't just interacting with Brendon that made the difference, he knew; even when he talked to those people, he didn't feel any urge to pursue anything, he knew he wasn't going to be around much for whatever came from it, and he didn't get enjoyment out of anything for longer than a few fleeting moments these days. Basically, anyone he found interest in, he just as quickly lost it. Nothing was good enough to capture his attention and make him want to stick around to learn more about it, or anything like that. His main goal on a day-to-day basis was to go through the motions.

But Brendon had this weird, innate allure, some air and energy about him that made Ryan want to be as close as possible just to feel that fantastic calm feeling he'd felt again, even if for a second. Everything he said was soothing - like the premise of him helping Ryan with his debts. Ryan didn't want his help, he even sort of felt bad when he thought about it actually happening, but the thought that he had that cushion to fall back on and the thought that someone gave enough of a shit to offer was... unspeakable. And Ryan wasn't even sure that he'd feel that way had it been someone else, say, the bizarre fucking weed dealer who'd applied the other day. Maybe this was some kind of model thing. All along he'd thought they needed no qualifications other than 'be beautiful or at least impressively photogenic.' No, apparently these people had to have something otherworldly and arresting about them. As much as Ryan was scared of the effect Brendon had, so much so that he sort of didn't want to mess with whatever supernatural force was at hand, he also never wanted him gone, didn't want to risk him leaving the apartment and that good feeling to never come back again.

It was dramatic as hell. But Ryan hadn't felt anything other than flat for a very, very long time, so maybe dramatic was better than nothing at all. Then you don’t get out very much. Ryan looked at him in a slightly worried way, flattered again, but. The way he was acting... it sounded like he was flirting, or at least interested. Maybe it didn't mean to be and that was just how he spoke - fuck's sake, he seemed incredibly religious, so it's not like he'd be intentionally trying to win Ryan's favor. But on the off-chance that was in fact the case, and Brendon thought maybe they could have a future, Ryan was deeply concerned for him. He couldn't let him stay if he was going to get attached to a hopelessly lost cause. After a moment Ryan had to look away, couldn't say anything more to that; he hadn't felt much more than resignation when he thought about his impending disappearance before, but now he felt awful, almost guilty facing Brendon when it was on his mind.

I’m not much of an instrumentalist myself. People who said that usually were. When Ryan could drag his attention back to Brendon, he looked dubious, but nodded nonetheless to show he was listening. I hope you can find the time to teach me. Ryan's mind drifted again. Sure, if he could find the time. His face betrayed him for a second again, looking vaguely upset and off to the wall past Brendon, and he played it off as thoughtfulness. "I will," he promised, knowing it was one he couldn't fulfill, but empty promises were sort of his specialty anyway. Everything was starting to drag him down now, although moments ago he'd been better than he had been in weeks just thanks to Brendon being here - still an unknown phenomenon he was starting to lose interest in figuring out - so he risked touching on the subject of Brendon's dad anyway, since it's not like he had a mood to kill.

He watched Brendon's reaction carefully, how he clasped his hands almost subtly and quickly. It was just as smooth as every other thing he did, just as fluid and seamless as his usual motions. Ryan didn't wonder much, kind of getting used to his oddities by now. It’s okay. Was it? Honestly? Sometimes Ryan questioned whether everyone brushed as many things off as he did, huge things that couldn't be brushed off but had to be for the sake of comfortable conversation. Or maybe other people really did just have relatively bad stuff happen to them rather than earth-shatteringly awful things. Nothing to play off, nothing to hide. Maybe he was being overdramatic - but he wondered what it was like. I know. Ryan stopped and looked at him somewhat seriously - was he that obvious, did he give himself away that easily, did everyone pick up on his deepseated issues as quickly as Brendon did - but he saw Brendon trying to correct himself and remained quiet, clammy. Something about him seemed suddenly panicky, though, and Ryan would be questioning it if it didn't freak him out a little. He'd only seen the guy be effortless and elegant about everything thus far - this was new, uncharted territory.

I mean. Somehow, despite his empathy failing him in every other situation, Ryan was unsettled by Brendon's sudden loss of composure, a strange feeling bubbling in his throat. I think I can just, tell. Kindred spirits, in that- area. Ryan nodded, hesitant, and something told him he should be calming the fuck down but his thoughts were still whirling, thinking about people 'just telling' and about IV drips and broken glass and opaque orange pill bottles. He shouldn't have cut his visit to his dad earlier so short, fuck. And he didn't even know why that was back on his mind now, of all times. It’s difficult, but we’re still here, right? Ryan stared at him for an extended moment, all of the nerves suddenly settling into one cynical feeling, something he was used to. He could've 'tch'ed and said 'yeah, right,' if he really wanted to. It was about how he felt on the matter, truthfully. In the end he nodded slowly, a small, private smile on his face. "Yeah, we're still here." Just maybe not for the long run, all of us.

The quick shift made it easy to act a little more cheerful again, sorting out his stupid wishy-washy emotions that were, for whatever reason, making a fun comeback. He finally addressed his curiosity, and Brendon looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, a bit. Is it really that obvious? I mean- yeah, you could say that. Ryan grinned, shrugged a little. "Maybe not that obvious until you told me God spent extra time on me. It's fine - not like that's something I'll forget." Really. Most weirdly flattering thing ever. But he seemed to sabotage himself moments later, probably too revealing about his personal life - and sure Brendon probably would've figured out sooner or later, but the picture of him trying to puzzle it together was deeply uncomfortable. Ryan shut his eyes and willed his heart to stop, like, now, so he wouldn't have to deal with repercussions. What do you- mean? Sounded like it was on the tip of his tongue. Ryan stayed quiet. Are you..? Not really. Maybe half, or three quarters. But still. "Gay? Sure. Feel free to take back all of the 'I'll help you with your debt,' 'we're still here despite everything' bullshit. And you act a little fruity yourself, so I'd advise not being a total asshole about it." An invitation to go if there ever was one. He'd jumped the gun somewhat - but it's not like Ryan ever had much patience with more negativity these days, even the possibility of it, so he was trying to nip this in the bud before it hurt more to think that Brendon might hate him for something out of his control.

Brendon was having a hard time pretending that everything Ryan told him was completely new information, had a hard time talking to him like a near stranger when he felt, strangely, like he’d known Ryan for his entire life. In a way, he supposed, he had- indirectly. He knew details about Ryan’s history and habits that even Ryan himself will have partially or wholly forgotten- talking to him and asking these questions, engaging in this casual conversation wasn’t just a way to slowly begin to earn his trust, but it was absolutely necessary. Brendon still didn’t know much about the human world, but he was educated and wise enough to realise that if he started asking Ryan why he’d never met his half-brother before, it wouldn’t go down well and would probably secure Brendon never being allowed within fifty feet of Ryan again. He didn’t seem like a particularly open person anyway- Brendon could only imagine his reaction if he started recalling obscure details about Ryan’s life like he was the expert. Even though he likely was. It was a strange dynamic, and one that Brendon wasn’t used to- he was used to assisting from a distance. Being up close and personal with a human like this was groundingly intimate.

When their conversation crossed into mutually common territory, about their musical abilities, Brendon found himself becoming more and more fascinated, wishing Ryan was more talkative because he could listen to him speak for hours, especially about something for which he held passion- and he could tell music was one of his. When he showed interest in learning whatever Ryan knew about it, it wasn’t a cheap trick to gain trust- Brendon had always been genuinely interested in human music and instruments, but it had obviously never been available for him to learn. He distantly recalled some rule forbidding engaging or interfering with human arts, including music or simple things like attempting to play a manmade instrument, but chose at this moment to ignore it, feigning ignorance to such a (in his opinion) ridiculous commandment. Brendon watched carefully as Ryan looked past him, at the wall, and he felt a strong twist in his stomach at the slight sadness he could detect on his face. His expression remained neutral, unrevealing, when inwardly, he was bracing himself in preparation in case they ever came into physical contact and Brendon would feel whatever Ryan felt. I will. Brendon nodded, offering what he hoped was a vaguely comforting smile.

Nothing would come of avoiding such subjects, or treating Ryan like a delicate child, as God seemed to see all humans as- Brendon saw them differently, regarded Ryan face to face and decided that they were not so unalike as he had been lead to believe. Everything Ryan held over him was associated with free will and liberty and Brendon felt intensely envious even though he imagined that, if Ryan knew of Brendon’s true nature, it would be the same the other way around. Yeah, I’m still here. Despite Brendon feeling no apprehension as he spoke, it was still unnverving to see Ryan’s secret smile after he accidentally mentioned that he already knew about his dad- mostly because he wasn’t educated enough to know what that mysterious, mirthless smile went. He thought about just straight up asking but decided against it, accepting, albeit belatedly, that he’d just have to figure all of this complicated human emotion stuff out as he went along. Brendon exhaled finally, not realising he’d been holding his breath. ”I can tell that was a sore spot for you, I’m sorry. Not something you want to be discussing with a potential roommate, I’m sure.”

He attempted to settle the situation and lighten the mood as much as possible and, thank the lord, it worked. Just like his mood dropped substantially when Ryan was even faintly unhappy, Brendon skyrocketed just at that little grin he coaxed from his charge. He could already tell that he’d be experiencing a heady cocktail of intense emotions in a very short period of time and wondered how on Earth humans did it, how their mortal bodies didn’t get... Overwhelmed. Though, he supposed that a lot of the time, they did. Anyway. Being obviously religious wasn’t a bad thing to Brendon, of course, but being so easily ‘clocked’ or whatever set him off wondering whether he had to be more subtle. Maybe not that obvious until you told me God spent extra time on me. Brendon opened his mouth but couldn’t find an answer, just shrugged sheepishly and felt his face heat up. ”I- It does happen with some people,” He said, his expression earnest. It’s fine- not like that’s something I’ll forget. Well. Brendon shifted in his chair, this time noticeably less graceful; admittedly, he was still rather perturbed.

The mood, though, was still light, until a subject that Brendon had absolutely not been informed about came up and he was now a deer caught in metaphorical headlights, having no idea how to react or behave to whatever was about to be revealed to him. It wasn’t like there was a manual, and such things were rarely, if ever, discussed. Gay? Brendon had been expecting it, but still, the word alarmed him, and consequently a deep shame and he knew where neither emotions came from. He hoped neither were obvious on his face. Sure. Feel free to take back all of the ‘'I'll help you with your debt,' 'we're still here despite everything' bullshit. Visibly recoiling at the harshness of his tone, Brendon looked something like a kicked puppy, unable to cope under even a little pressure before he buckled, and he had no idea how to claw himself out of this one. It wasn’t like he thought anything was wrong with it, he was just- he wasn’t allowed to think anything about it, and the panic of not knowing how to respond set in immediately. Not knowing what else to, Brendon stood up suddenly from the chair, sending it screeching along the floor.

He knew he was making it worse, but was lost for what to do, just stood there, his heart hammering and his stomach turning and he felt awful. And you act a little fruity yourself, so I'd advise not being a total asshole about it.For some reason, after that, panic mode stopped and time felt like a thick jelly, like he had time to formulate some sort of response just because he was so baffled by that ‘fruity’ comment. ”Fruity?” He echoed, arms crossing his chest nervously. He shook his head, dismissive. ”Listen, Ryan, I think you-“ Deep breath. When he spoke next, his voice was harsher, more eloquent. ”I was just asking. Let me respond before you jump to conclusions. I’m not sure anymore I’m welcome, so if you want to show me the door.”

I can tell that was a sore spot for you, I’m sorry. Not something you want to be discussing with a potential roommate, I’m sure. Ryan paused and regard him more carefully, wondering exactly how transparent he must be. Well... this was his dad, they were talking about. Ryan couldn't conceal the hopelessness of that situation no matter how hard he tried. Given any other circumstance, he might be all right. For Brendon's sake, mostly, and maybe a little bit to defend his own pride, Ryan quickly replied, waving a dismissive hand just above the table. "No, it's fine," he said, perhaps too strongly, just bordering on argumentative, then looked slightly embarrassed. All right, maybe a lot of it was about defending his own pride, then. Ryan tried again, going for a softer tone, splaying his hand against the wood of the table in an effort to ground both of them, "It's okay. Also, you're less 'potential' and more 'surefire' by the second, trust me." That was proven in the way he smiled almost comfortingly at Brendon right after - he didn't bother with that kind of thing much anymore, didn't have the energy. Somehow, Brendon, like, deserved it, or something. His effect was hard to explain.

Ryan was catching on that Brendon kind of reflected his moods, but the downside to that was that Ryan liked to see him happy, and it was hard to coax that from himself. He watched, awed, while Brendon turned sheepish, timid when confronted by Ryan addressing his behavior. Apparently he was about as self aware as he seemed to be: not at all. It was precious. I- It does happen with some people. He looked so fucking genuine while spouting the habits of God that Ryan just tilted his head in fascination, less like Brendon was an oddity to be observed and more like he was wonderful and needed closer inspection. Really, both were true, but more the latter. Ryan honestly was considering just closing up the roommate search for business here; Brendon was bizarre, vague, and he still didn't know much about the guy at all, but for one thing he was desperate. For another, Brendon was this, so otherworldly and sweet and charming that Ryan didn't really give a fuck whether he was going to loot the place and run or not. If he was a murderer, all the better. He was smart for it, 'cause cute murderers always get away with it.

Anyway. Ryan probably would've preferred Brendon confessing that to thinking that maybe he would discriminate against something completely out of Ryan's control, something he was so used to being met with prejudice for that he was prepared to drop everything he'd previously liked about Brendon. Which sucked, but. Ryan was kind of used to disappointment, and this would probably pass in a couple hours. But Brendon just seemed, like... scared, shocked, or something, as if this had never happened to him, like he didn't even know what anything Ryan was saying meant. What was he, fucking Amish? Ryan had him pegged for pretty religious, not super life-consuming diehard religious. This was worse. But he couldn't be hateful, Ryan realized unfortunately midway through all of his accusations: Brendon looked so hurt that it must not have even occurred to him that any of this was bad in the first place. He'd been genuinely curious, Ryan just wasn't used to that.

In fact, Brendon was weirdly innocent in a way Ryan had no faint clue how to navigate, and after his little aggressive rant, he instantly felt awful. In case what he was seeing was wrong and his initial impulsive, self-defensive reaction had been right, though, Ryan stood his ground, staring up at Brendon as he stood and awaiting his response with carefully blank features. After a pause - Fruity? Ryan smirked cynically, wondering how he was going to survive in this city if he did end up staying. Listen, Ryan, I think you... Ryan's eyebrows were raised daringly, because as fucking horrible as he felt about it, like hell was he going to show that on his face. Everyone's a critic. Brendon's voice changed, though, and Ryan cracked a little, losing the challenge in his expression. I was just asking. Let me respond before you jump to conclusions. I’m not sure anymore I’m welcome, so if you want to show me the door.

Ryan stared at him for a few moments longer, still mean as ever, before his hackles dropped and he blinked at the floor, shaking his head. "Shit," he mumbled after a second, heart sinking lower. The one cool guy he'd ever met recently and he fucked it up that fast. Brendon seemed the forgiving type, though, so Ryan ignored his instinct to just let it go, give up what he'd already messed with too much. He looked back up, meeting Brendon's gaze. "You're right. I'm sorry- sit back down, please, I'm really sorry." He gestured to Brendon's chair pleadingly, then rubbed his eyes tiredly. " I'm sorry, I'm really used to people being assholes. I didn't want to..." Ryan paused, realising he was talking a little much for comfort. He studied Brendon for a moment before continuing, honest. "I didn't want to let you hurt me first. But you're a good guy. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that."

Ryan pursed his lips for a beat then stood, placing a hand on Brendon's upper arm fleetingly, apologetically, before withdrawing and turning to the connected kitchen. Weird - that good-feeling, 'beautiful boy in my apartment' vibe had disappeared. Suppose that kind of disappears when you yell at said beautiful boy for doing absolutely nothing wrong, or when you blow your own mood to smithereens. "I may be broke, but I still have the stuff to make pretty awesome coffee. I'm making you some." It wasn't even a question. Ryan started brewing a pot, then stood between the kitchen and the table he'd been at, shoving his hands in his pockets almost awkwardly. It was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat. "So you're not gay? Wow. Usually I'm the expert on that."

/

As many ‘divine qualities’ Brendon possessed, and however much they were emphasised while he lived amongst the living world, he still found Ryan quite- intimidating. He didn’t know why- considering all he knew about him, like how casually close he was to giving up, on everything, he knew he should feel sympathy, not this faint unsettled feeling he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just his stature, tall and considerably well built considering the struggles he was going through. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, restless, searching, that set Brendon so on edge. He didn’t know. Either way, the faint stubborn tone of his voice made Brendon stiffen a little, losing the effortless way he held himself as his muscles tensed painfully. Although blessed with general elegance it was still always a struggle getting used to this- corporeal form he had chosen. He felt clumsy and overflowing at the seams with energy he had to contain. No, it’s fine. Was it? Brendon met Ryan’s eyes, gentle, unchallenging. It’s okay. Also, you’re less ‘potential’ and more ‘surefire’ by the second, trust me. Well, that was good news. It wasn’t like he just come back later in a disguise in a second attempt at inserting himself in Ryan’s life. He smiled gently, grateful.

Brendon wasn’t completely ignorant- he knew that the intense religious vibe he gave off could be unsettling to some but always forgot that it wasn’t normal behaviour to mention God every two minutes amongst most people, and that honest statements like ‘god took his time on you’ were just seen as weird and oddly specific compliments. As such he shrank a little under Ryan’s gaze, embarrassed, feeling like he was being examined, like an pretty shell on a beach, or something. He wasn’t used to attention, it was an intense feeling he couldn’t process properly, even if it was definitely more a positive thing than a negative. It wasn’t meant to be this way around, Ryan trying to figure him out in silence as Brendon stood there and squirmed, and he wished for a second that the ‘abilities’ he had whilst around people extended to, like, mind reading, which would make his entire job a lot more easy to do. Faster, too, and though the recommendation was absolutely to spend as little time with people as possible, Brendon already felt a little attached to Ryan.

Not seeing it as a huge deal, though, Brendon just pushed on, but was immediately faced by another hurdle that his complete social illiteracy made very difficult to overcome- a mention of- orientation, and in his awkwardness, he stuttered over his words and panicked as Ryan’s expression fell, hardened, like a wall he hadn’t even scratched the surface of yet was reinforced already. Completely without thinking he stood up from the chair and forced himself to speak with a little more sense- he was more than prepared to pass Ryan onto someone else if it meant he could stop feeling this intense anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself to meet Ryan’s eyes, highly confused by his unhappy, tight smile, and shoved his hands tightly in his pockets, feeling very small. Shit. Brendon held his breath, still feeling heavily inclined to bolt. Then Ryan looked back at him and he held his gaze again, feeling himself tremble slightly just from the tension in the air. You’re right, I’m sorry- sit back down, please, I’m really sorry.

As much as he felt relief, Brendon also felt whiplash at the way this entire meeting had played out, and how defensive and confrontational Ryan was when he felt cornered. Helpful to know, yes, but terrifying to experience. He followed Ryan’s gesture, but slowly, still wary, and sat back down. I'm sorry, I'm really used to people being assholes. I didn't want to... A natural empath, Brendon felt a flood of sadness at that, sort of lamenting the prejudice that Ryan had suggested that he experienced. Maybe he was wise, but not worldly-wise, only knowing about the uncomfortable air around discussions of otherness outside of the world where it actually held weight in people’s lives. “That’s okay,” Brendon said, softly, not sure how to comfort him or if this was something he needed to be comforted for. I didn't want to let you hurt me first. But you're a good guy. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” He said, shifting in the chair and trying to achieve a more natural looking position that sitting dead upright like he was at a formal event. Trying to relax, he brought a hand up and dragged it though his hair, holding onto it and tugging as if to try and ground himself. He watched as Ryan stood, and held his breath when Ryan held onto his arm. His touch was warm and reassuring- and Brendon cursed himself because it was his job to be that comforting presence. “I just- Coming from where I do, I’ve never really- it’s not commonplace to talk about that stuff.” Vague, but Brendon hoped desperately that he understood because it was so hard to explain beyond that, especially considering his own internal and currently unaddressed struggle.

Although deescalated, the situation still felt slightly uncomfortable and Brendon closed his eyes, tried to recalibrate and calm down, counting on it being contagious. When he opened them, he saw that Ryan was in the kitchen. I may be broke, but I still have the stuff to make pretty awesome coffee. I’m making you some. Smiling, Brendon let go of his hair and folded his arms loosely, his feet now planted further apart, assuming a more relaxed position, feeling a little more positive about all of this now. “Thank yIu. I can’t usually have a lot of caffeine, but- Well, I think I need the energy.” There was a silence but it was no longer tense, just a little awkward. So, you’re not gay? Wow. Usually I’m the expert on that. Oh, Lord, Brendon thought, looking down at the ground, then guiltily up at the sky. It’s necessary to discuss to succeed, though.

Or so went Brendon’s brief almost-prayer, more a way of lifting some of heaviness away from the complicated cocktail of emotions he felt but didn’t understand. He cleared his throat but looked back down at his feet. “I don’t... I don’t really know what I am. I think-“ Brendon looked up and searched out eye contact, knowing that transparency was the best option here. With Ryan, at least- with God, not so much. “I think you’re very handsome.”