[IC] riches all around

[jakob]

Three albums, three eras, hundreds of songs, millions of fans - Ryan was in sort of an insane place these days. He'd started off slow, a high school band with a shitty name that made about ten different evolutions before he settled on one that was only vaguely cringey over time. Okay- that might be too generous, but. He wasn't going to change something with as huge a brand as it had now. His first album was received with mixed critical reviews, baroque and edgy and sort of poppy when it came down to it, commercially successfuly because that was the air of the time, and as timeless as it was it probably wouldn't sell now if not for the nostalgia of the scene age. The second was Beatles-esque and gentle, although when he was stoned as hell and writing it with Spencer, Jon, and Brent, they definitely thought the album was hardcore and screeching. Listening back, far from it. It was reminiscent of flowers, of fields, of meadows, delicate and nothing like the roughness he thought he'd created. The third was close but not quite; it was beachy and indie-rock, a classic that would stand the test of time in the same way that the second album would but the first definitely wouldn't. So Ryan was sort of an expert by now.

And all of his solo works were just as well-received. Between the hiatus of the second and third albums he'd focused on it more, and officially only released solo work after the third (much to the distaste of his fans, but hey, they weren't the ones holding his contract). That stuff was even more mixed-genre than his official band's albums. He produced dreampop, he made classic rock, sometimes he delved into something beyond soft and delicate, almost the kind of music you'd fall asleep to. Generally, he was reaching so many different audiences that it was hard to know who he had initially started making music for, but in reality it was all for himself. He needed an outlet, and Ryan wasn't shy or reserved anymore but he just wasn't much of a talker, so music became that. When people started listening to excerpts online and his fucking idol even liked the clips he put out, he figured it was time to make that outlet public, to at least be a part of something bigger while doing what he loved.

So that was the success story. He still didn't really believe it. Ryan saw his name on Forbes lists and saw not-outdated articles on Google and was in autocomplete suggestions when you typed out 'Ryan' and still couldn't believe it. People approached him on the street, waited over five hours outside of venues to be first in line for his shows, then had the patience to wait until he could come outside post-show just for the chance to meet him or get an autograph. He had an entire staff dedicated to keeping him safe from bad publicity or invasive paparazzi or rabid fans, paid people to sort out all of his obligations and complete tasks that he couldn't at such a level of fame and to maintain his house when he left for months on end, and all of it was so out of his realm of reality that he wasn't sure he was even in it half the time. After this lifestyle had dominated half of his time on earth you'd think he was used to it, but he was far from it; he still spent days staring in the mirror trying to see what everyone else saw. It was all... so bizarre, and he would never calibrate.

But sometimes he had to escape it. He didn't need a 'disguise' or anything ridiculous like that if he was in the right place. Places like Los Angeles, New York, everyone was so focused on themselves, or if they were paid to focus on famous people they were busy hunting down other celebrities doing different things from him, that they didn't really bother with him. He could go out in all his glory and would maybe get a second glance every couple hundred feet, get the occasional fan too enveloped with his work to pass up the opportunity to say something, and that was okay. It was almost normal- as normal as normal got for Ryan. So whenever he came to L.A. he went to the most generic neighborhoods ever, found the most generic bars and clubs and restaurants, and those were the ways he got out of the house safely without an agent behind him.

Usually he didn't interact; not for his own safety but just because he was sort of aloof by nature. He was beyond social anxiety now, even being vaguely nervous around someone was unheard of at this point. That's what his teenage years and a couple years following were for - now he'd interacted with so many people that he didn't feel the edge anymore, only ever had a physical reaction when he was crowded or overstimulated. But face to face, he'd gotten over it all. In this case, though, in the midst of a half-empty downtown Los Angeles bar, catching a glimpse of someone on one of the barstools looking bored as all hell with what appeared to be a classic whiskey, he was sort of inspired to strike up conversation. Yeah, yeah, he was human, he'd tried to hit on people before, it only went down well half of the time - and half of that time it was only well-received because they knew who he was. But it hadn't been part of his plans tonight, he was just floored by this guy's... general air, how flawless he was.

Ryan spent a few minutes lingering around the bar, directly avoiding looking over lest he look too obviously creepy, but sort of trying to figure out how best to do this. Send over a drink? He had whiskey, a sipping whiskey that would be really weird to have two of. And he probably wouldn't even be... actually, this was downtown L.A., there was a good 99% chance he was at least somewhat gay. And he was too pretty not to be. Fuck it. Ryan waited until he was low on his drink before coming over, leaning against the bar rather than sitting in case he was turned away. Propped up by his elbow, the wood digging into his waist, Ryan put on a winning smile, the kind reserved for red carpet shoots. He was just glad he was actually dressed for the occasion this time - a leather jacket typical of him and slim-fitting jeans, rather than the lazy getup he'd pick on slow nights. "Hey, there, can I buy you a drink? I'm Ryan." His easy countenance helped the line come out all too smoothly, complete confidence and composure. He tipped his head to the side, trying to cue a name in return.

[Neve]

Three jobs in three years, hundreds, no, thousands in debt from both his student loan and the rent he couldn’t afford to pay on time- the life Brendon had was far from the one he planned when he was young, a little more fragile and a little less worldly-wise (though it be a stretch to describe him as ‘wise’ even now), but Brendon had made it for himself and he’d learned recently there was no room for regret or remorse or wondering how things would have turned out if he’d done certain things a little differently, jumped for every opportunity, connected to the right people and stayed away from the wrong ones. There was no harm in wondering, he used to think- but it just made him upset, made the tiredness in his bones resonate deeper, a deep-set exhaustion from overtime and underpay that sleep couldn’t fix. Brendon was ambitious- but when he was in a position where he was now almost certain he couldn’t get any further in, the lack of paths his career could take from there drove him crazy. He was a hairstylist, which would never, ever be his first career choice if he did it all over again, it never had been in the first place. Brendon was talented, sure, in fact he wasn’t just a hairstylist, he was a cosmetologist and a general stylist and he had an eye for aesthetic appeal that was practically unmatched. Unbelievably, that didn’t help him at all. He was stuck working in some salon where he was underpaid but couldn’t complain about because he hasn’t found another job to fall back on if he was fired. On the side, he was hired by private clients- C-listers and the odd B-lister- and though that was fun and all, Brendon wasn’t paid much, and all he got in return for his services was a bitter taste in his mouth as he styled the hair of someone who was well on their way of living Brendon’s dream.

It didn’t help to feel sorry for himself, but sometimes, it got to him. The only time he forgot how broke he was and how broke he had been and how broke he will be for the foreseeable future was payday; he lived like Gatsby for one day, never able to stem his impulses to buy and spend uncontrollably until he had next to no disposable income left. Every time the date rolled around, Brendon vowed he’d just put the cash he didn’t need to pay bills away in his account (which was currently collecting cobwebs), but that amount was getting less and less these days as chunks of his salary was taken away to repay his debts or catch up with his rent. Brendon wasn’t exactly in a crisis; in fact, he knew for a fact if he had a little more impulse control then he’d be much more stable. But he didn’t. So he wasn’t.

Today was payday, so when Brendon left the salon at around seven, having worked something like a ten or eleven hour shift, he went home to his tiny apartment (living in downtown LA was ridiculously expensive, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to move anywhere else) and sat back on his uncomfortable sofa to buy shit online that he knew he didn’t need, but money, even though it was short, burned a hole in his pocket and although he didn’t strictly need a new button-down shirt, that black one would look great on him, it’d accentuate the narrowness of his waist and hug his chest and shoulders and he could leave the buttons open and damn, yeah, he needed that. If there was one thing that Brendon had an appreciation for, it was fine clothes. If there was another, it was himself, and that was lucky because he spent most of his entire day in front of a mirror, and although he was meant to be focusing on the customer, often he found his eyes drifting to his own reflection or his hands running through his own hair. Conversely, Brendon knew he was attractive, and though he loved the attention and never exactly became tired of hearing it, it kind of sucked that that was the only thing people ever really noticed about him. It was flattering, really, when customers blatantly ignored his attempts at conversation in favour of staring, unsubtle, at Brendon’s reflection, but it was also really fucking rude. Whatever. He was used to it.

After he’d ordered what he wanted (some girl’s jeans, yeah, he couldn’t fit in normal ones, that black shirt, some grey sweatpants because he had decided to prioritise comfort for once, and a red sweater), Brendon paused for literally moments to decide on how he was going to spend his evening. It didn’t take him long, because typically, the answer was the same- go to a club, or a bar. Usually a bar. The only deviance was that, maybe, it’d be a gay bar. Tonight, though, he just wanted some fucking whisky and he wanted to drink it in peace, so he dropped into the most uninteresting bar he knew of that wouldn’t be full of assholes and sat down at the far end of the bar on a stool, furthest away from the door. Brendon was something of a regular and the bartender just offered him a nod of acknowledgment, opening his tab and getting him his usual without Brendon even opening his mouth. He was disappointing predictable these days, and his routine barely deviated. For someone like him, it was torture, plain and simple.

Brendon had nobody around to tell him he was being dramatic- he didn’t need anyone to, honestly, he knew it already, he had owned being melodramatic and hard work a long time ago. Brendon closed his hand around the whisky glass and dragged it over the varnished wood, closer to himself, before he lifted it and sipped. It was unremarkable, but it was still whisky. Unremarkable was a word that could be applied to many things about Brendon’s life, but he knew for certain that he himself wasn’t unremarkable and he was meant for remarkable things. It was just a matter of getting there before the urge to, like, become a stripper or something took over. It’d probably pay better than what he was doing now. He shifted closer to the bar on his stool and rested his elbows against the wood, watching absently as the bartender cleaned glasses at the far end, and held the whisky by the top of the glass with his fingers, flicking his wrist barely so to swirl the liquid around, watching as it settled when he stilled his movements. His mouth twitched and he sighed for no particular reason, taking a sip and realising that he was running low, but he probably really shouldn’t buy another one.

He was about to ignore his better judgement (as he often did) and order another whisky, but someone caught his eye, somebody beside him. Brendon put his glass down carefully and then turned his head, honestly expecting anything. This was L.A., and though it was an uninteresting neighbourhood as far as LA went, he was still used to the out of ordinary and wasn’t about to be phased by this guy. Even if he was- damn, okay, that’s a man right there, he- Brendon shifted, embarrassed by his own thoughts, and he tried to not so blatantly look him up and down but he was tall and dark and slightly intimidating, wearing leather in this damn weather and standing a good few inches over Brendon, he could tell, even sitting down. Still, he didn’t get any urge towards this guy. He wasn’t in the mood for anything tonight, and dating was pretty much out of the question, he was too exhausted and too broke to make time for anyone else like that. Besides, this guy probably wasn’t even- Brendon did a double take at the way he stood, side pressed against the wood, body cocked confidently, and then his eyes drifted to his hair and just... everything, and his eyebrows lifted minutely. Yeah, okay. Brendon cleared his throat, wondering how to play this. He decided he was going to wait for this guy to speak and then make his decision.

Hey, there, can I buy you a drink? I'm Ryan. Brendon blinked upon hearing his rough-smooth voice, glanced at his drink, then back at Ryan, then picked up his glass and downed the rest of it, not breaking eye contact with Ryan as he did- then he put it back down decisively and slid it away from himself, before flashing this Ryan guy a half-grin. ”Absolutely,” He said finally, quirking an eyebrow as his smile faded. Hey, when an opportunity presents itself... ”I’m Brendon. I’d usually prefer dinner, but y’know, for you I’ll make an exception.” Oh, he was flirting now. Good going, Brendon, he couldn’t really go back from that- but he was bored, and this stranger was handsome, and- the more he looked at him- Wait. ”I recognise you from somewhere.”

[jakob]

When he was younger, Ryan would never have anticipated what his life had come to now. Of course when he first picked up some hand-me-down guitar from his uncle at age thirteen he'd had passing moments where he thought it might be nice to play in front of people, but he'd never had the self-confidence to even dream or believe that maybe he'd be selling to millions ten years later. When he posted demos to LiveJournal, it was a storage system for himself; when he woke up to 1,000 replays weeks later it was just a nice milestone to have made. At the time he'd figured that was probably it, that was the peak. Music was never going to be a career that he could live off of. He'd get a law degree like his dad wanted, maybe, or join his dad's business if that didn't work out, or if he could completely separate himself from family wishes, maybe get an English degree. That was actually the dream he had, the achievable one. But he never thought music was an option. A hobby at best, not something he was good enough at to be profitable.

Fast forward to now and he knew he was good, had proven to himself time and time again that he could play whatever song he wanted with ease; maybe singing wasn't as much of a strong point but he got around that by making his own songs to work with. He didn't necessarily flaunt the success quite yet because - well. There was no point. He lived alone, didn't necessarily need a mansion with staff and ten cars. Actually, all Ryan needed was a spare studio room and enough space to make noise where it wouldn't disturb other people, some security to make sure no one hung around outside his house in wait to hand over fanmail personally or grab photos that wouldn't even sell as scandalous (considering all he ever did at home was hide inside and binge-watch lame shows from the eighties). So he lived well below his means, still not totally attuned to the lifestyle that he could reasonably have, in a half-luxurious house with mostly thrifted furniture and all of his old recycled childhood belongings. All in all, his personality and outlook had caught up with him in this new life, but maybe not his habits and behaviors.

It's not that he didn't try getting here, but it surprised him that any of his efforts worked. Really, his personal childhood hero probably got hundreds of people reaching out to him on a daily basis, trying to show him their work; Ryan just got lucky that Pete had the time for him. He had the talent to grab attention, sure, but so many others did, too, if only they knew the right place to go. Ryan was ambitious enough, posting demos anywhere he possibly could, advertising locally and faking his age so that clubs might hire his band to play (which definitely did not work fifty percent of the time), and that period of time most musicians suffered through as a 'starving artist' living in their parents' basement subsisting off of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles was just far shorter for him. He, Spencer, Jon, and Brent definitely had rough times in the beginning, but their deal was so much sweeter than what other people went through just because they picked up in popularity faster, had too many gifts to ignore.

Ryan was the endlessly praised lyricist, the perfectionist who made no mistakes, and it translated to his guitar playing. His voice may not be clean-cut and bold but it worked for their music, had an edge that made people keep coming back and that he'd grown into over time. Spencer had picked up drums around the time he got his hands on a guitar and had such a precise rhythm that Ryan never doubted his place in the band, knew he was going to be there from start to finish. Jon joined a little later but still had half the hand Ryan did with lyrics and was fantastic at it - clearly this was his dream forever, he wanted to make it as much, if not more, than Ryan did, and honestly he often shared the spotlight as frontman, a dynamic duo. Brent was... Brent. Didn't really need him, but as much as he was argumentative and difficult to work with, he still fucking killed rhythm guitar, so. They had their faults but they'd earned their place on the top hits list, every time. Their relevance wasn't unfounded at all.

Hopefully they were relevant to a very far-reaching crowd, because, honestly, Ryan wasn't as confident in his personality or interestingness in general as much as he was in his ability to make good music. It made, uh, hitting on people much more difficult. So he had to rely on his talents to be obvious for him. There was no glimmer of recognition when his new bar friend looked at him, though, so that was somewhat disappointing - maybe it'd come to him later, or Ryan would have to make the allusion himself. Absolutely. Only after he'd been looked up and down. That was a good sign. At least he must look somewhat appealing, then. I’m Brendon. I’d usually prefer dinner, but y’know, for you I’ll make an exception. Ryan's smile became a little more genuine, amused, and he pulled up the nearest barstool, silently flagging the bartender and gesturing to Brendon's drink for two of the same. "We could do that, too, sometime," Ryan said, definitely getting ahead of himself but selling it with a tiny, charming tilt of his head.

I recognise you from somewhere. Thank fucking god. Finally some leverage. Ryan propped himself up against the bar on his elbow, looking almost sheepish despite having hoped for this. Was this the day to finally be cocky about it like he'd always joked, say something like 'yeah, 'cause I'm a huge fucking deal'? Maybe not. Wouldn't sound so funny in a real conversation. "I'm a musician, might be it. I lead The Young Veins. Heard of us?" And wouldn't it be magical if the bar's sound system started playing one of their hits? He'd probably run out of luck for that, whatever. Their drinks were pushed toward them and Ryan tested a little, keeping his body facing Brendon, elbow planted on the wood still.

[Neve]

When he was younger, Brendon would, similarly to Ryan, have never anticipated what his life had come to now- but unlike for the talented and successful musician, Brendon’s life hadn’t turned out so fancy and steeped in sex, drugs and rock n’ roll, although he doubted that somebody like Ryan (even if he did look slightly intimidating, but that was mostly because Brendon was so short compared to him) partook in any of that. Actually. Well, what did he know- Brendon envied the success of celebrities and despised serving them when he knew he was meant for something greater; and though by no means was Brendon arrogant or fame-hungry (he just wanted lots of people to hear what he could do), he was confident and sure of himself. Well, he had been. It’d been literal years since he picked up or sat down to play an instrument, and though he was a talented singer, he supposed he’d be incredibly rusty. Life had just dealt Brendon a bad deck of cards and he was just endlessly unlucky- it wasn’t the worst life by any standards, especially in comparison to others, but it wasn’t the life he wanted. Wasn’t the life he was meant for. Wasn’t the life he deserved.

But there he was, anyway, and he could see no way out- for someone like him, with boundless energy and high ambitions and endless talent, being stuck in the same role with the same pay and nowhere else to go was a living nightmare. He’d move heaven and hell to get out of there- if someone would just show him how he’d get out of there, get out before he was stuck permanently and he grew old and got arthritis and couldn’t cut hair anymore or something. Brendon was spontaneous and liked to live in the moment, not plan every step of his future- and when he was in his late twenties and it looked like his entire life really was paved out in front of him perfectly, it set off his anxiety and his nervous energy and instead of being a motivator, that immobilised him. A hopelessness had started to settle on Brendon’s bones- it wasn’t catastrophic, but it was slowing him down, it was draining away at the Brendon he used to be. Overtime, inadequate pay and even loneliness (he didn’t have a roommate, or a significant other, and he couldn’t afford to look after a dog) had reduced his overall enthusiasm for life, and it sucked. Surface level, though, he knew he looked fine- he had stood in front of the mirror, he had studied his face, he hadn’t aged much in a decade save a few harder lines and the startlingly darker shadows under his eyes. He was still youthful, when he dressed as nice as he could afford he looked put together, handsome, even desirable. That was all he had going for him right now. It seemed material pleasure and the condition and desire of being beautiful had now taken over his entire life and career- he worked in a salon, after all.

He wondered if Ryan saw exactly what Brendon saw in the mirror when he looked at him. Brendon met his eyes, and imagined him thinking wow, this guy looks tired- Ryan’s eyes fell briefly to his mouth and the corner of it quirked as he shifted on the barstool and thought back to all the lovers he’d had (though the last one was a while back) who had obsessed over his full mouth and identified it as his best feature. Brendon wondered whether his hair looked good- of course it did, he was a hairstylist, if it was ever otherwise he’d quit the job himself- and then turned his attention to the stranger instead, eyes naturally going up to his hair. It was too long, yeah, it needed cutting shorter, and styling differently. Brendon then allowed himself to look the man up and down, before shifting his stool sideways so Ryan could sit beside him (his legs were long and Brendon imagined he needed extra floor space). So- he had accepted the offer of another drink. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, somebody offering, and it wasn’t often that he rejected it, either. The main appeal was a free drink, it was just a bonus if they were cute. It usually always went the same- someone approached, bought him a drink, Brendon flirted a little to keep them happy and then blew them off gently as he could at the end of the night as somebody stared after him like he was the one who got away. Lucky that Brendon wasn’t some kind of prize or conquest. That was usually why he never took such encounters further- it was kind of shallow. Though. Brendon was one to talk. He judged Ryan immediately based on his appearance, before even hearing him talk- but he was glad once he did, hearing his gentle, sexy-in-a-rough way voice and letting his eyelids droop because wow, he already knew he could listen to him talk forever.

Unfortunately, he seemed, though clearly confident and sure of himself (judging from his stance), a man of few words. We could do that, too, sometime. Go for dinner? Sure. Only Brendon’s wallet was empty and just the thought of spending money on eating out made him shudder. So, he nodded, but shrugged one shoulder simultaneously- ”Sure, darlin’, but you’re paying.” There was a playful glint in his deep brown eyes and he struggled to contain an enchanted smile at that little head tilt Ryan just pulled, staring down in concentration into his empty whiskey glass before he pushed it a little further along the bar. As he did that, the glass was taken away almost immediately and two others were pushed towards them. Brendon lifted his head to thank the bartender silently, then arched an eyebrow at Ryan.

”Two drinks? Someone’s thirsty,” He commented, smiling and taking the one he assumed to be his, straightening just as Ryan planted his elbow on the wood and leaned slightly over the bar. Now that he looked at him, yeah, his face was familiar, Brendon’s eyebrows rose in something like recognition, but he couldn’t link the name and the face with anything famous, and it was on the tip of his tongue- clearly Ryan had been waiting for that, because he jumped on it immediately when Brendon mentioned that he knew his face. I'm a musician, might be it. I lead The Young Veins. The Young Veins, yeah, that’s it, he knew them. Who didn’t know them? Brendon nodded and took a sip of his drink, not wanting to be one of those dumbasses who overreacted when they spoke to someone famous. He was still a man, still a relative stranger- or was he, if Brendon already knew who he was? His full name, in fact? It was a little surreal. He wasn’t exactly sure how to play this. Heard of us? He imagined how funny it would be if he said no, and he took another sip of his drink before setting it down, shrugging off his jacket fluidly and draping it over his stool because he figured he might be here for longer than he anticipated. ”Yeah, I have,” He confirmed. ”Who hasn’t? Lucky for you, I’m not some weird fanboy. I’m not gonna jump you. Unless you want me to.” He winked, effortless, half-joking, but Brendon was naturally charismatic. It probably looked as smooth as it felt. Probably.

What was he doing? Seriously, what the hell did he think he was doing? He usually had a little more restraint than this. And the last thing he needed right now was to get involved in any way with some rockstar, probably used to getting whatever he wanted. If he played hard to get... No, seriously, stop it, he told himself. Besides, Ryan looked and seemed sweet enough. Brendon had never been a massive fan, but he’d read interview transcripts, heard and watched live interviews, and he seemed the same in both, so far. Brendon turned his body towards Ryan, crossing one leg over the other, but he was looking past him at a small group throwing suspect glances in Ryan’s direction. Brendon raised his eyebrows at them, as if to say, ‘really?’, then just shrugged a shoulder and looked let his eyes drop down to where one of Ryan’s hands was wrapped around his glass. On basically every finger was a ring- Pretty stereotypical, but Brendon was fascinated anyway. Mostly by his hands, his long fingers, and Brendon glanced briefly at his own, turning his palm over and grimacing because whatever callouses that should be prominent of a guitarist were practically non-existent. He slid his hand off the table and into his lap.

[jakob]

Something in the way Brendon looked at him made him nervous. Not scrutinizing, really, because when you were in this situation you had to be careful to control exactly how judgmental your expressions became, but... just interested. Maybe he was critical in his head and was just wise enough to not let Ryan bear witness to it. Ryan did that enough for himself - when cameras were pointed at him more often than not, and thousands of eyes were staring up at him from an audience most days out of the week, and too many people than he could imagine were watching all of his social media for new content, he was nitpicky about himself, too. He knew he wasn't the kind of person to stand out in a room, to catch an eye; maybe he was interesting looking in that he was somewhat androgynous if he wanted to be, looked too young for his years, was generally kind of elfin, but he wasn't universally attractive. He could certainly see the incriminating comments that proved not everyone was quite a fan.

It's what made him a little nervous about nights like these, where he'd seek someone out to talk to. Actually - that's just the thing, he didn't do that often. He'd stumbled upon Brendon and decided to, because Brendon, unlike him, had this otherworldly appeal about him, was so easily gorgeous that it could take someone's breath away. And maybe that sounded dramatic, but Ryan sort of had a streak for that. Already he was planning out first, second, fifth dates for them, trying to pick up on everything Brendon perked up at (if at all - he was shockingly lowkey for someone of his caliber) so as to appeal to that bias, working every good angle he had (and there weren't very many, even if he was confident in the few existing) in order to impress. Not to say Brendon would certainly end up even sticking around, but everyone Ryan had previously tried to 'woo' in any way turned into his new life's obsession fairly quickly. An awful, awful habit, that had only started once his career picked up. Maybe there was some psychology to that. Come to think of it, maybe he shouldn't be hitting on anyone until he was over that issue...

Eh. Maybe Brendon was looking for someone prone to endless spoiling. Ryan ignored his better judgment and kept on, finding that Brendon's personality didn't disappoint, either. Sure, darlin’, but you’re paying. One thing about his unique lifestyle - Ryan had grown accustomed to being way more expressive than he naturally was, although selectively. In this case, he glowed, gaze lighting up when he realized Brendon just might actually be agreeing. And, if the sweet glimmer in his eyes was anything to go by, he was content about it rather than going with it to keep Ryan happy. "No problem at all," he replied, breezy, and already his mind was on a roll again. Yeah, yeah, he'll pay for anything, just ask. Really - the guy called him 'darlin',' looks like that, has the disposition to match. Ryan had basically found a Disney prince in some half-decent bar in downtown L.A. Once in a lifetime. Usually if you found a good one, they were all looks, no character, and Ryan wasn't too interested in that.

Two drinks? Someone’s thirsty. 'Funny you should say that' was on the tip of Ryan's tongue, or some comment about irony otherwise, but he contained himself, reminded that they'd only met, like, five minutes ago. "Hey, I've got all night. Order as much as you want." A typical half-smile landed and he thanked fuck that he didn't have some embarrassing reaction to the whiskey. It's not that he didn't drink- just not much. And if he looked like a freshman taking his first sip of god-awful, cheap gas station beer in front of the most stunning person he'd ever seen, yeah, he'd rather just die. Fortunately Ryan withstood his first sip, actually liked it, continued drinking with ease. Less fortunately, Brendon didn't seem to jump with joy upon learning that he was famous (very famous, but Ryan didn't go into it), nor did he do the usual 'oh wow really that's so crazy I heard you on the radio the other day' that every-fucking-one did. All right, the second one was just sort of annoying, considering they'd all repeat his own lyrics back at him as if he wasn't embarrassed of 75% of them over time, but still. No less flattering.

Anyway, he at least didn't look totally lost, so the band name wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Ryan counted his blessings. He watched the jacket come off, taking this as a sign he wasn't going to run off any time soon. Unless this was a Cinderella scenario where he'd have to hunt him down with only a well-kept jean jacket for evidence, in which case, awkward. He didn't have the time. Yeah, I have. Ryan maintained a perpetual friendly smile even though he was literally going to lose his shit over how lucky he was. Who hasn’t? Lucky for you, I’m not some weird fanboy. I’m not gonna jump you. Unless you want me to. Ryan laughed, but almost distantly, realizing that Brendon's half-ignorance to the band was actually a very good thing. Had he been any more invested in who they were, he'd probably have delved into Ryan's Wikipedia page or something, learned all about his tragic backstory and seen every moment his teenage self had, unfortunately, lived in the spotlight. Being very young and famous at the same time meant you were publicly embarrassing, and people were ruthless. And Ryan hadn't quite revealed his own history - people just picked and picked until things unintentionally came out over time.

It was better to be able to have secrets, especially when he wasn't trying to scare away someone who had agreed to a paid-for dinner. Ryan tried to quickly tune back in, keep their back-and-forth going. "Oh, Brendon, trust me, it'd be nice," he joked, definitely serious. "But since you aren't a serious fan, I could definitely convert you with some private shows, how about that?" He laughed again, wrapping both hands around his glass and lacing his fingers together until he could bring it to rest on his knee. Brendon was looking past him, all elegance except for the fact that he was wearing an expression that Ryan already knew too well. He felt a little bad, honestly; Ryan had gotten used to the attention, maybe Brendon hadn't. Actually, he was too pretty to be passed up on. People definitely must have stared before. His gaze dropped to his own hands and Ryan tried to distract him, made curious by the tiniest shift in his energy. "What about you? What do you do?"

[Neve]

Usually, when people approached Brendon to try and flirt with him in places such as bars, he would accept the drink and play along for as long as it was entertaining, but politely decline any further interaction- he just didn’t have the time or energy for a serious relationship, and since Brendon hasn’t experienced proper romance in years, all of that had faded into a vague and impossible future, unachievable while he stayed on his current course. Ryan’s advance was no different, a handsome man clearly picking up some kind of cue (or just gambling and being extremely lucky) and trying his luck. Brendon had seen and met many attractive men in his life, and when he first turned his head to see who he had the honour of speaking to, it wasn’t like he was swept away. At first glance, he looked young, and Brendon squinted a little (he wasn’t wearing his contacts) to study him a little closer, only then realising from his height and finer details that he was probably maybe a year, a couple of years older. They were around the same age, and get this guy looked so annoying worldly-wise, like he’d seen everything. This both made Brendon envious and endlessly curious, so he shifted his body round to face Ryan and decided after a few beats of looking him quickly up and down and registering his face to memory that he was- gorgeous, in some boyish, semi-uncertain way, not arrogant, but not nervous or shy either. He was tall, wonderfully tall (though everyone was when you were Brendon’s stature), not muscular but defined enough for Brendon to be impressed, with broad shoulders and long legs and Brendon found himself to be more interested by the second.

And, so, fooled by his unconventional, untouchable presence and his melty honey-gold eyes, Brendon, against his better judgement, decided that this vaguely familiar looking man was worth waiting around for, especially if he got a free drink or two. It wasn’t like it would go any further. Brendon’s unannounced rule was unbiased no matter how attractive or interesting somebody was- he simply wasn’t in a place where he could keep up with that kind of relationship. Hell, he didn’t have time to even see his friends. However, Brendon semi-lived in the moment, willing to waste away his evening with this gorgeous stranger, and go home later and fantasise about how they’d date and fall in love if only Brendon was in the right place. What he didn’t know was that Ryan was thinking the same thing, jumping the gun and paving out their unlikely romance before they’d even learned eachother’s second names- and another think he hasn’t quite clicked on was that he was speaking with- no, flirting with- Ryan Ready, frontman of an extremely famous, like, crazy famous band. He would’ve been embarrassed that he didn’t recognise him without being prompted (Brendon’s music taste was often strange or niche, so he didn’t follow the Young Veins and only saw Ryan the odd time on talk shows or heard him talking on the radio), but, really. It was Ryan who should be embarrassed. It wasn’t like Brendon had his head buried in the hypothetical sand of current pop culture.

So, he wasn’t as dumbfounded or floored, or freaking out, as he imagined Ryan expected. As such, he responded simply, only betraying that he was impressed by his success, if a little bitter because here was one of those people, those stupid famous people who probably had no more talent than him but they were up there and he was... Down here, in this admittedly shitty bar. Suddenly, his biggest claim to fame was catching the eye of Ryan. Brendon frowned down at his whiskey briefly, but then he remembered that he should be flattered, and sunk easily into their relatively relaxed back-and-forth flirting. A little of it would do nobody any harm. No problem at all. Brendon’s eyebrow quirked in an instant, betraying thoughts he didn’t make known. Yeah, I bet it isn’t a problem for you, he thought, but he was smiling, because Ryan Ready wasn’t kidding about wanting to take him out for dinner. This really didn’t happen to him every day, he swore- most days he’d finish the one drink he allowed himself, two if he was feeling particularly careless and too apathetic to care about the cobwebs and crickets chirping in his bank account, and then go home, binge watch some shit tv show and go to bed to start early again in the morning. Just the thought made him shudder- how he’d probably be doing the same thing every day for a very, very long time. Lack of variation drove him mad. ”I mean, I’m not easy. Y’gotta, like, chauffeur me. Court me, all traditional. I have religious parents, so...”

Wow, now he was talking family with Ryan Ready, infamous for his father tragic childhood and young adulthood. Even Brendon knew that, from snippets of articles and casual gossip. He pursed his lips, took another sip from his glass- he was trying to suppress a charmed smile as Ryan mirrored his actions by taking a sip of his own whiskey and flashed him an oddly alluring half-smile. Hey, I’ve got all night. Interesting, but Brendon did not, and he had to constantly remind himself that before the evening took an unexpected turn. Order as much as you want. Brendon laughed, gentle, and planted one elbow on the wood, propping his head up with his hand and tilting it to the side with a smile, like an adoring puppy. Unlawful locks of hair sprung out of place over his eyes, but he just let them remain. ”Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Brendon advised, nodding solemnly as if this was was undoubtedly the wisest insight anybody had ever given Ryan in his entire life. ”If you won’t buy me the whole bar, I don’t wanna know.” Wow. Excellent flirting, Brendon. You just sound like a textbook gold digger. Then again... Maybe he was. Brendon had to admit, having everything bought for you did sound like the dream.

Oh, Brendon, trust me, it’d be nice. His name from Ryan’s mouth sounded so different, he said it in a low, careful voice, clearly not wanting to mess it up like so many others did even after years of knowing him. He’d given up correcting even the regular clients at the salon who still insisted on calling him Brandon. ”It can be arranged,” He batted back in his direction, all casual, like a cat playing with a ball of string that it didn’t really want to keep, but he didn’t want it to roll too far away, either. Maybe it was unfair of him. Maybe he was leading him on, somehow. Brendon shut himself up before that thought process went too far off the rails. But since you aren't a serious fan, I could definitely convert you with some private shows, how about that? His eyes raised from studying the numerous rings adorning Ryan’s fingers and he broke into a wide smile, exposing his bright teeth as the corners of his mouth and his eyes crinkled up, somehow his mood uplifted just by that ridiculous offer. Ryan had met him under, like, ten minutes ago, and Brendon’s every sense told him that he was being serious. This was too good. ”Sounds good, too. How private are we talking?”

What about you? Oh, no. This was where it all got real- he knew he should be fair and shut this down, but he was finding it difficult to even tear his eyes away from Ryan for too long. It wouldn’t hurt. What do you do? Wasn’t like it was very impressive, either- imagine revealing to somebody who has your dream job that you’re something lowly and insignificant. Uncomfortable for the first time, he shrugged one shoulder to brush it off. Wasn’t like he’d ever see Ryan again, anyway. ”I’m a stylist,” He settled on eventually, avoiding Ryan’s eyes for a split second. ”I make people look pretty, and, as you can see from my example- me- I do an alright fuckin’ job.”

[jakob]

Ryan was very familiar with the 'I don't have time for this, I'll duck out in ten minutes when it's polite to do so' look. The 'I'd really rather be leaving' - or maybe 'I don't want to have to leave, but such is life,' all he'd seen before, and Brendon was fantastic at hiding the fact that he identified at least a little bit with all three, but not enough for Ryan to overlook. Had he been a real rockstar he'd just demand Brendon's time instead of accepting the fact that he'd have to go, say he was more entitled to it than whatever other obligations he had going on as a functioning human being, but Ryan was nothing if not totally out of tune with his job title. He'd lost some of the traits that made him weaker in the industry, yeah, but he wasn't quite a huge asshole yet. Mostly he was just hoping he could get Brendon's number, preferably not a fake one, so that he could take advantage of the clearly limited free time he had in the future. Really - he wasn't a hook-up guy. He wanted to know him.

Maybe vague offers based around money wasn't the best way to go about that, but Brendon seemed to accept his sense of humor (with serious overtones, because honestly, buy the whole menu if you goddamn want), so it must not be a terrible approach. I mean, I’m not easy. Y’gotta, like, chauffeur me. Court me, all traditional. I have religious parents, so... Funnily enough, Ryan's first instinct was to lie, say 'me too' so it looked like they had something in common, start a superficial 'how crazy is that?' moment. He was always forgetting that people could fact check basically 70% of what he said with a quick Google search. Instead of that, he laughed easily, very glad that Brendon was goofier by the second. It bode well for him when someone could just dumbly joke for hours alongside him - he was past all of the intense love affair stuff. "I didn't think you'd be easy," he said, all flattery - and yet still most definitely genuine coming from Ryan. "Hey, I can do all of that. And parents love me. I'm sure I have a Bible, like... somewhere in Hoarder Hell." AKA his house. Maybe not something to admit to your very attractive new pal. He supposed if Brendon traded in a 'religious parent card' he'd have to return it with something equally as personal as that, right? Unwritten social rules, whatever? Totally.

Ryan was entirely serious when he offered to buy anything Brendon ordered, but Brendon simply laughed and propped his head up in his hand over the bar, all sweet as if it was just sentiment. He'd just learned Ryan was famous (or, well, not learned, but realized who he was), why not jump on the opportunity to take advantage of the riches for, like, some shitty bar's mozzarella sticks? Definitely a high roller item. In any case, he looked absolutely precious even when he was presumably doubting Ryan, and Ryan stared back in obvious endearment. He nearly forgot that it was completely inappropriate to just adjust someone's hair for them, but anything to get closer suddenly seemed acceptable to him. Nevertheless he withheld the urge to brush those few rebellious strands out of Brendon's eyes, just met them with his own, in even better humor now. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Ryan copied his ridiculous nod and reflected it right back at him, as if this was undoubtedly the wisest insight anybody had ever given Ryan in his entire life. He was truly floored.

If you won’t buy me the whole bar, I don’t wanna know. Ryan actually opened his mouth, prepared to accept that challenge and show his true, ridiculous, desperate serial monogamist colors, but then he faltered, realizing that was less impressive than it was creepy. He had equal chances of Brendon loving how sadly quick he was to please, or being completely terrified of how much it might make him look as if he was obsessed with Brendon, something like that. Equal chances on such opposition: not a good thing. So Ryan didn't even try, though his intent was probably somewhat obvious. "That's good advice. All the more reason we should hang out more often." There, played it safe, though he was kind of disappointed he couldn't instantly drop a fortune on some beautiful stranger tonight and make his day. Well. Yet. Maybe Brendon would change his mind.

After he'd tested Brendon's name verbally, he was almost nervous - he was a pro at learning by ear, for obvious reasons, but he knew a subtle twist like turning the 'o' to an 'a' in Brendon's name would completely change it all. This wasn't even something impressive, probably, but Ryan wanted him to feel respected, heard, whatever. It seemed like he had a difficult name to work with - at least, he did in comparison to Ryan, probably, like, the tenth most common name ever. After paying close attention, though, Brendon didn't seem to bristle or do a mini eye-roll of exasperation, so he must have done something right. It can be arranged. Ryan was getting a vibe similar to that of 'I don't have time for this,' but he didn't press him. It's not like Brendon was holding a huge 'PLEASE COME HIT ON ME' sign while sitting by his lonesome; Ryan had sort of invaded his space unquestioningly. If he didn't want to talk much longer than a couple of free drinks and half-interested looks, that was his prerogative.

Something about how Ryan had made his cheeky little secret show proposition seemed to get to Brendon, and he earned the truest smile yet, one that made Ryan smile right back in its gleaming glory. Brendon didn't just grin or whatever, his entire face, entire spirit lit up with him, and Ryan felt like he was sitting next to the sun, so eternally grateful he got to witness that, see the ever-charming way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. Sounds good, too. How private are we talking? Ryan had totally moved past what he said, now all he could focus on was what Brendon's real smile looked like, and he had to take a moment to recalibrate. "Just you and me, unless that poses an issue for you?" He was still sort of laughing, stuck in a grey area between banter and flirting. That seemed to be both of their forté, though. Ryan had honestly lucked out.

He needed to know more, though, so he pressed about Brendon's career, truly curious as to what someone like him couldn't be able to accomplish. When he asked, though, Brendon's demeanor shifted, barely noticeable. Ryan became more serious, relaxing his body language and meeting his gaze more carefully. I’m a stylist. Ryan nodded slowly, thinking how he needed one of those bad, look at his fucking hair. I make people look pretty, and, as you can see from my example- me- I do an alright fuckin’ job. Ryan smiled mostly because it seemed like the right thing to do, but a follow-up was on the tip of his tongue; what did you want to be? He was clearly a sort of lost soul, and Ryan was something of a collector. "'All right' is an understatement," he returned, in a very self-assured tone, completely earnest. After a pause he shrugged a shoulder, nonchalant. "I need you. Look at me. I don't know how to dress myself or anything. I've had this same jacket since I was seventeen."

[Neve]

I didn’t think you’d be easy. You’d think so, wouldn’t you, you really would- but Brendon, after telling himself that he’d politely reject any further flirting, was sitting there uselessly, trying not to stare uselessly because he was so, so pretty, and it wasn’t like Brendon hadn’t seen his face before (he was just that famous, his and his band’s likeness online all the time and plastered everywhere to advertise an upcoming tour, or album, or something), but he’d never really noticed, even though he really was and always had been Brendon’s exact type- tall, dark, handsome, well-spoken, obviously intelligent, he was even extremely talented. Here, now he was sat right beside him, obviously into him, Brendon tried not to let it go to his head. He wasn’t even particularly starstruck, he just had an ego that, though frequently stroked, was always looking for new ways to be inflated. And here was Ryan, all flattery and charm he didn’t expect from someone that was so humble and quite mild from what he’d seen, and Brendon couldn’t bring himself to tell him that he had to go. Because he didn’t. He just knew that there was a point of no return with guys like this and Brendon was edging dangerously close already, and he’d only bought him one drink.

He realised he hadn’t spoken, and snapped out of his lapse in focus, regaining his easy smile and meeting Ryan’s eyes. ”You’d be surprised.” His voice was earnest as he tightened his grip on his glass and lifted it to take a sip, mostly trying to convince himself that after this one drink, he’d make his excuses and leave. He wouldn’t, obviously, but it was fun to fool himself. Hey, I can do all of that. And parents love me. Brendon smiled cynically, because it could be anyone, and he knew his parents wouldn’t like the guy he brought home. He said nothing, just cleared his throat and placed his glass back down on the wood. I'm sure I have a Bible, like... somewhere in Hoarder Hell. Hoarder hell, did he say? Unable to relate, the corner of Brendon’s mouth twitched and his eyebrow quirked in acknowledgement- Brendon thought about how though he was a messy and disorganised person in general, he didn’t have enough stuff to hoard. He imagined Ryan’s house was huge and he had more money than he’d ever know what to do with- and wondered whether or not he was feeling particularly generous. ”Any chance you’ve got a Book of Mormon kicking about anywhere? Are you god-fearing, Ryan?” Light and charming, Brendon’s tone had a teasing lilt, and he was even able to imitate the voice of his parents that he remembered so vividly when he was young. Ryan’s name rolled off his tongue like some kind of revelation, and he leaned forward slightly when he said it, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge.

That’s good advice. Was it? If it was, it was a rare occurrence to hear good advice coming from Brendon’s mouth. All the more reason we should hang out more often. He was so hard to refuse. Brendon answered with a faint nod, unable to really think sensibly. During his silence, he was trying desperately to formulate a reply, not usually this stuck in social situations- god, he wasn’t that pretty (he was), get a grip of yourself, Brendon- but Ryan saved him and kept talking. He blinked gratefully as he did so, and then his uncertain half-smile spread into a blinding, geniune grin, ear to ear, eyes scrunching up. It wasn’t a rare sight; for all of Brendon’s hardships, he was an admirably cheerful person, with an easy sense of humour and an approachable nature that made him a hit with clients where he worked. Well, there was that, and. Just you and me, unless that poses an issue for you? Like hell it did, Brendon was past the point of no return, even if he displayed remarkable willpower and went home now he’d still be thinking about Ryan for weeks and how he’d maybe missed the love of his life, or something, or at least a very enjoyable fling of sorts. He figured Ryan, the famous musician, was more a guy to engage in the latter.

”I bet nobody’s turned down that offer before,” He remarked, smirking, tilting his head minutely to the side and willing his eyes to remain making contact, not drifting down to Ryan’s mouth like they had started to naturally do. It wasn’t helping with the upkeep of the image of being not easy. He allowed a pause for effect, for anticipation. ”And, darlin’, I’m not about to be the first.” Maybe the pet name was overkill, but it wasn’t like he was using it especially for Ryan. It was his go-to general term of endearment, even if in this instance, if wasn’t exactly wholly innocent. Back at the salon, though, he referred to the more pleasant clients as ‘darlin’, which, looking back it it now, probably wasn’t helping with the whole issue of being flirted with while he was trying to work. Now, Brendon was a natural, but he was easily distracted, and not only was this behaviour exhibited from clients inappropriate, it was immensely distracted. After a while, he’d stopped telling them to stop looking at him in the mirror. If the haircut turned out shitty, it was their fault, not his.

Speaking of the salon. Ryan wanted to know about his job. Brendon didn’t know how to tell them that he was crushingly unsatisfied with and overqualified for his work, so he kept it neutral, lightening it with a joke. Ryan, who he wrongly and bitterly assumed would look down on such things, seemed geniunely interested. ’All right’ is an understatement. Flattery. Brendon felt himself flush and then felt wholly mortified. He wasn’t some useless teenager, and here he was, blushing after one little direct compliment. I need you. Look at me. ”What do you think I’ve been doing,” Brendon instantly replied, but he laughed and looked him over anyway, looking from his eyes to his hair and back down again, extending an arm and hand towards Ryan’s hair and searching his face, asking for silent permission. Brendon was an impatient man and didn’t bother waiting for a response, just ran his fingers hesitantly through Ryan’s hair. It was soft, was clean, he obviously took care of it in that respect, but. It was too long, did him no favours. Brendon curled a finger around a lock and dropped his hand down to his lap. I don’t know how to dress myself or anything. ”What you’re doing works for me.” Brendon nodded to his general person. I've had this same jacket since I was seventeen. That was a step too far. Brendon’s eyebrows shot up, and that said more than any words could.

[jakob]

Although he'd become accustomed to having to read people rather than them be honest and forward with him, Ryan still couldn't tell exactly how Brendon felt about him in return. Or he was picking up on all the right signals correctly and it wasn't his imagination. Still, Ryan highly doubted all the glimpses he'd been getting of Brendon looking for a few moments too long or the hints of interest in his gaze were real, anything more than his imagination. He wasn't totally hopeless, but he was still not in Brendon's league by any measure of the imagination - first he'd known for sure this was true in respect to their individual appearances, and now, after only a few minutes of conversation, it was true for their personalities, too. For as experienced and worldly Ryan had become over such wide-reaching tours and his touching of so many lives, he really hadn't expanded his character all that much. He was still the same guy, just minus, maybe, five insecurities. Granted, five huge ones that solved a lot of his initial incapability to cope with this life, but the point stood. He just shouldn't have made the cut for Brendon.

And yet, here they were, skipping the usual normal/casual conversation stage and instead incorporating it into a gradually (quickly) heavier flirting session. It didn't feel weird at all, though, because somehow Ryan felt like he'd known him forever, like he was just uncovering some sort of memory of him rather than learning about everything completely new. It had to be who Brendon was, surely, his unique personality and his powerful charisma that Ryan hadn't even seen before in his industry (where 'charisma' and other such Machiavellan subtypes ran rampant) to such an extent. Brendon, fortunately, didn't seem too bothered by it either, but Ryan could tell that despite his clear wish to not let this get past a certain point, he couldn't find a proper way out. Maybe Ryan would just spare him the grief, get a number, call him at some better time... but then that left the chance that he still wasn't hooked, and if Ryan tried calling him later he wouldn't get an answer. Screw mercy, he had to make sure he wasn't going to get ghosted if he left him alone. Was that inconsiderate? Maybe a little.

You’d be surprised. Whoa. Ryan considered himself pretty innocent-minded, especially in comparison to his peers, but at this he raised his eyebrows at Brendon, smiling amusedly at how fast they'd gotten to this point. And, really, he was pretty sure he'd want that dinner first because he was kind of old-fashioned (although Brendon seemed talented enough to maybe have already convinced him otherwise, should the opportunity present itself), but this was very entertaining. Anyway. He didn't delve into the half-joking parents discussion, not because he didn't pick up on it or wasn't interested, but because this wasn't really 'first thirty minutes' conversation and he knew he wouldn't want to talk about it, either, should questions be returned to him. So he saved that look that crossed Brendon's face and his brief change in countenance for later, reminded himself that it was an eggshell subject, filed it away in the new mental drawer he was making for Brendon. He was pretty sure he was going to need a lot of headspace open for him later.

Any chance you’ve got a Book of Mormon kicking about anywhere? Are you god-fearing, Ryan? Ryan perked up interestedly automatically, leaning in just as Brendon did like they were sharing secrets. He wasn't sure what was better- this 'Mormonism' deal or hearing Brendon say his name properly like that, realizing for the first time exactly how effortless and steady his speaking voice was. He'd gotten so instantly comfortable listening to him speak, he could probably do it for days on end. Now, though, Brendon was clearly imitating someone, parodying a speech he'd heard before. "I see what you mean," he said, nodding all faux-sympathy, understandingly at his standup. "I could get one. And, as I assume is necessary, wear a button-down shirt and khakis or whatever so that I look like your straight friend. See, I'm good." Hopefully shedding some light on what was clearly a strained situation was more helpful than it was annoying, but Ryan was rolling the dice here really.

Maybe a bad transition, that to accidentally alluding to a hookup (then embracing his faux pas), but it happened, and Ryan was eternally grateful that it fared well with Brendon. Good thing he was easygoing. Ryan may not be awkward and uncertain anymore, like he used to be so terribly, but he chose the worst moments not to pick up on social cues. I bet nobody’s turned down that offer before. Honestly if Ryan could get way with looking cool about that, he would have tried to, but as it were, he weighed his head to the side consideringly, looking entirely doubtful. Truth be told, his love life was tragic. He never did anything that wasn't at least a little serious, didn't partake in flings or hook-ups or one night stands, and that's, a surprising amount of the time, what people were looking for. So he got turned down quite a bit, yeah, by people who knew that he'd just be a burden or a scandal over a one-sided relationship sometime in the future or who thought he was too much.

Brendon looked serious, though, and he was touched, meeting his earnest gaze with a fond one of his own, speechless. And, darlin’, I’m not about to be the first. Ryan caught his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before deciding this was about time he got back to that drink, and he lifted the whiskey to his lips, taking another extended sip. He still kind of wasn't sure whether they were fucking around with subtext or if Ryan was really going to, like, sit him in a room with his guitar and shabby live unedited singing voice, but either way, it was more time with Brendon, so. He was grateful for the acceptance. "I'll hold you to that," Ryan returned, regaining his confidence and composure, but not quite enough to use a response pet-name for him like he almost wanted to. What the hell could he get away with without sounding stupid? 'Sweetheart' didn't quite roll off the tongue with a stranger, 'baby' was a little serious, something even joking like 'princess' totally sounded as if he was making fun of Brendon's obvious bottom status. Sensitive situation. He wasn't about to take a risk.

He was almost proud that he could presumably make Brendon flattered, if the blushing was any indication, and it was beyond cute. Ryan tilted his head, completely charmed, couldn't help himself. What do you think I’ve been doing? Ryan smiled, reserved, because mostly he'd thought it was something about pity, but he appreciated it anyway. Then Brendon was reaching over unexpectedly, looking at him for permission - for what? - and Ryan was nodding without knowing, his face turning from adoring to slightly dumbfounded while Brendon ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't touch-starved, or anything like that, but he still closed his eyes and had to purse his lips to keep from sighing like it was the first time anyone had come near him in years, ridiculous. It's not like he'd been trying to get Brendon to play with his hair (or in this case 'judge' might be a more accurate word for what he was doing) but, yeah, this was totally cool, a great bonus. It really was too long, honestly. It curled at the ends, made him look at least five years too young - and he didn't have many years to spare.

Ryan let his eyes open again when Brendon's hand dropped, weirdly more comfortable with him. What you’re doing works for me. Great - but Ryan apparently shared too much immediately afterward, because Brendon was looking shocked with him. "Wait, no, go back to a second ago when you still liked me, pretend you didn't hear about the jacket," he laughed, reaching across to squeeze Brendon's arm for a split second as if they were the bestest of friends if only to make the eyebrows go back down. "So, hypothetically, if I were to schedule an appointment with you sometime, you'd make me look like a functioning person? Tell me your professional opinion, what would you do to fix this." Ryan settled in dramatically, already entertained. Maybe it wasn't the best to pick at a job the guy clearly was bored of at the very least, but still. Keeping it light, making the best of a bad situation, that sort of thing.

[Neve]

Though he could’ve probably fooled people with his behaviour at that moment, Brendon, too, wasn’t one for hookups or casual flings- maybe when he was younger, when he had a little more life in him (it wasn’t like he was old by any stretch of the imagination, but his series of bad hands drawn from the decks of life has seemed to dull him, so he was a rough diamond, or a blunt knife), but now, the idea was- kind of exhausting. Even if it was supposed to be the opposite, the prospect of sleeping with a stranger then having to a) uncomfortably excuse himself and leave or b) ask awkwardly for somebody to get out of his house was mortifying, and again, Brendon wasn’t easily embarrassed, but he drew lines, and there was less he could cope with these days. Ryan, however- no, he didn’t want to say however, that sounded like some kind of promise, but the more Brendon looked at him the more drawn to him he became. He wondered, absently, whether it was because he had found out the guy was famous- like, super famous- and his ego had just been stroked because his gorgeous rockstar had decided he was worth approaching. Compliments weren’t scarce for Brendon, but he supposed it meant more coming from Ryan, for some reason. Which was ridiculous. He was just a man, at the end of the day- who happened to be tall, pretty, and charming. Who was Brendon Kidding?

I see what you mean. And he was playing along with the religious parents joke, but asked no questions. It was usually Brendon’s go-to first reveal to strangers, or new acquaintances- which was odd, and nobody ever expected somebody like Brendon to have ever been to church in his life. He had left it all behind, now, but it was a big part in shaping him, for better and for worse- mostly for worse, though, he often thought bitterly, remembering barely veiled homophobia and parents pushing him away from what he loved and into something more ‘reliable’. Here he was, working backbreaking shifts at a salon, and all the worse for it. Brendon did keep some contact with his family, mostly to try and guilt trip them- he expected an apology for their bullshit behaviour, but his family seemed to be experts at brushing problems under the rug and not dragging up the past in what they said was ‘healing’. Whenever he called his mom, she tried to convince him to come visit, said ‘honey, we miss you’; his dad would be blunt and civil but not warm, clearly still holding something against Brendon (wonder what that could be); his siblings were all surface-level nice to him but he knew he was something of an outcast, the youngest and the most deviant. It was a pretty rough thing to bring up all the time, but Brendon embraced his history no matter what. Even if he did sometimes wish it had been different.

I could get one. And, as I assume is necessary, wear a button-down shirt and khakis or whatever so that I look like your straight friend. See, I'm good. Brendon laughed warmly, glad he was catching on. ”Does that come naturally to you?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow and pausing, a playful smile still on his face and his eyes lit up with good humour. ”Something tells me it doesn’t. And, uh, you’re gonna need a little more than some khakis to convince anyone that you’re straight.” No harm in a little passive critique, Brendon thought, looking Ryan up and down again, but this time more from a professional perspective rather than ‘damn, okay, he’s fine’. He was about to speak again but he stopped, restarted, his eyebrows raising sympathetically. ”You poor thing,” Brendon sighed, tapping his fingers against his glass steadily, his lips pursed for a moment. ”You’re in the music industry, and- well. Is it a nightmare?” Or maybe Brendon was being cynical. He was something of a stereotype himself, in that he was a hairstylist, he supposed- but being in the public eye like that, being scrutinised completely no matter what you did- he wondered how Ryan coped, especially when the whole world was so critical.

With that out of the way, he could go back to thinking damn, okay, he’s fine, and he started rethinking his whole ‘buy me dinner first’ schtick, watching Ryan’s mouth as he talked and sucking in a breath embarassingly when Ryan bit his lip. He wasn’t usually this easy, he swore- he blamed it reliably on the fact that Ryan was famous. Nothing more, nothing less. Damn, was he really that shallow? I’ll hold you to that. ”You can hold me against anything you want,” He burst out immediately in response, then pled, because even for him, that was bad. Brendon, luckily, recovered quickly with a laugh, able to laugh at his own expense. Internally, though, he was cringing at his own impulsivity. Shaking his head, he outstretched a hand as if offering it for a handshake. ”Hi, I’m Brendon Blake,” He began, still giggling. ”And I have no brain-to-mouth-filter. Can we, uh, start over?” Fuck his life. Brendon, Though endlessly mortified, regained composure, hoping they could pretend that never happened- and, in order to move on quickly, he switched back to professional, where he wouldn’t run his mouth and embarrass himself. Well. Silencing his own doubts, he reached out towards Ryan’s hair, noting his nod of consent and then running his fingers through, keeping his eyes trained there and not to Ryan’s face now that his eyes were closed. He withdrew his hand after a few beats, then his jaw dropped slightly in horror at the mention of a decade old jacket.

Wait, no, go back to a second ago when you still liked me, pretend you didn't hear about the jacket. Brendon’s face lit up with laughter, not because of the jacket thing, but because of the casual squeeze of his arm- he was grateful Ryan would even touch him after he was so fucking weird. ”I’m surprised it still fits you. Well- actually- it doesn’t.” So, hypothetically, if I were to schedule an appointment with you sometime, you'd make me look like a functioning person? Tell me your professional opinion, what would you do to fix this. Hypothetically, sure. Brendon imagined bringing this guy to the place he worked, the looks he’d get, the jaws that would drop. ”I mean, only if you’re a paying customer. I’m not cheap, y’know.” He said finally, and then he withdrew backwards slightly as if to get the full picture, then back in, dragging his stool close enough together with Ryan’s so that Brendon had one knee between Ryan’s legs and the other was skewed off slightly to the side. Comfortable, brought a hand up at the side of Ryan’s jaw, turned his head to the left, then the right, gently. ”Well,” He began, biting his lip, ”Your curls are cute, but like, five years younger cute. You need it shorter, but styled so that- if weight is taken away, it won’t just curl even more. Which means you’ll have to take care of it, style it every day, and have regular upkeep.” He lifted an eyebrow. ”Think y’could handle that?”

[jakob]

Does that come naturally to you? Ryan was already playing on a laugh, his lips curling relentlessly despite his efforts to look more casually friendly than manic. In his defense, it totally wasn't his fault; Brendon was going to be to blame for when his cheek muscles eventually ached from constant use. It was both just because of his personality and because Ryan had become basically a mirror for him - he had a contagious smile, one that lifted his entire face alongside it, and all of his energy. Actually, Ryan was pretty sure that the population of the bar in full had become more spirited since the first moment Ryan had won a genuine smile from him. But maybe he was imagining things. Something tells me it doesn’t. And, uh, you’re gonna need a little more than some khakis to convince anyone that you’re straight. Ryan waved a hand in front of him to deflect his critical once-over, making a faux disapproving look at Brendon. "You underestimate me."

He knew what Brendon was onto before he started speaking, settling onto his elbow against the bar and raising an eyebrow in preparation. You poor thing. Ryan's gaze drifted down to watch his fingers tap, wondering if the skill in them just came from styling. He could usually tell when someone had his same interests... but surely Brendon would've alluded to it already. Most would've already promoted their SoundCloud, whatever. Then, Brendon wasn't that kind of guy. You’re in the music industry, and- well. Is it a nightmare? Ryan shrugged one shoulder like it was nothing, looking a little ways away, but it wasn't nothing. "Yes," he answered honestly after a tiny pause, then laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Yeah, it is. I mean - I date girls, too, it's not so bad. But if I'm ever interested in a guy, you know." He bit his tongue there, trying not to talk too much considering it was a subject he'd never really allowed himself to ramble about. If he started, he probably wouldn't shut up. But he had to be careful; unless something was actually serious, he'd never let it become public. If he did end up liking a guy enough, though, then his career would come second - Ryan tended to invest his entire soul in a person, no way he'd hide them for the sake of saving sales.

He looked a bit lost for a second, wistful, before reserving that emotion, setting it aside in favor of going back to their easy flirting. Thankfully, Brendon made that simple by being the most tempting place to put all his flirting towards. You can hold me against anything you want. Ryan's breath rushed out in half a laugh, half the wind being knocked out of him, looking awed. Brendon looked almost embarrassed despite covering it up quickly, but Ryan took zero issue with his apparently impulsive comeback. He watched with slightly parted lips as Brendon tried to recover, clearly distracted. Hi, I’m Brendon Blake, and I have no brain-to-mouth-filter. Can we, uh, start over? Ryan's gaze flickered between his eyes and his outstretched hand momentarily before he took hold of it, shaking once, firm, a fond smile on his face again. "Sure. Hi, Brendon, I'm Ryan," he said, then briefly looked thoughtful before pulling Brendon slightly closer by his hand. "And I'm just glad we're on the same page." Wouldn't it be a perfect moment to kiss his cheek, or the back of his hand, or something? Ryan wished he had a complete grasp on the bounds of appropriate social interaction. Then he'd know whether that was weird or not after such intense teasing. Probably very weird. He didn't, and just let go of his hand after a moment, relaxing back against the counter.

I’m surprised it still fits you. Well- actually- it doesn’t. Ryan cracked up, lifting an arm only a little restricted by the now ill-fitting sleeves. He'd grown longer and leaner, but the leather hadn't stretched with him. The sleeves were too short and the coat itself too wide for his admittedly sort of waifish-if-fit figure - but he thought he'd gotten away with it. Damn Brendon for being observant. I mean, only if you’re a paying customer. I’m not cheap, y’know. "Of course I'd pay! I'll pay you to follow me around and correct all my mistakes, matter of fact." There was an idea. He was past the time of needing a crew of makeup artists for tour, but he still needed some professional better than him at making him presentable. It'd been a joke at first, but now he was really considering it; was it bizarre to ask so soon? Should he wait until he'd had an actual appointment with him? Should he even be hiring someone he was so obviously attracted to? Maybe him and Brendon would end up just being friends... but then he felt disappointed even thinking about that, so maybe not really. Quite a pickle, that.

Here was his trial session if he was serious. Ryan straightened up when Brendon backed away, but unexpectedly he returned, pulling his seat closer until his thigh was settled between Ryan's and the other was bracketing. Ryan looked between them with his mouth parted dumbly again, and when his head lifted was caught more off-guard, Brendon's hand landing on his jaw gently and turning him for examination. Ryan promptly shut his mouth but couldn't help his eyelids half-shutting, a little too close for eye contact to be totally comfortable. Well, your curls are cute, but like, five years younger cute. Ryan smiled, finally looking up to meet his eyeline again, and nodding a tiny bit, acknowledging the fact that he looked about twelve readily. He was sort of used to it, saw his ridiculous babyface in the mirror daily. You need it shorter, but styled so that- if weight is taken away, it won’t just curl even more. Which means you’ll have to take care of it, style it every day, and have regular upkeep. Ryan was already cringing. He was impressed with Brendon's quick take, obviously a gift of his, but still. This was bad news. He couldn't even shower regularly. Or pay bills, or buy food necessary for survival, or drink enough water daily.

Think y’could handle that? "Hmm." Ryan's gaze dropped to his lips for a second and he hesitated, then tapped two fingers beneath Brendon's chin endearingly to perk him up before taking his hand back. "Could you handle it for me?" He smiled sweetly, clearly the kind of smile you followed up asking for a favor with, a nonverbal pretty-please.

[Neve]

As the corners of Ryan’s mouth curled up into a helpless smile, Brendon’s own trademark grin only grew wider. It wasn’t a rare sight, Ryan would be glad to know, and it was often near-constant when he was working and tried to keep customers occupied and comfortable. He was a social butterfly of sorts, warm and friendly and sweet, able to get along with nearly everyone- though he both suffered from sometimes intense anxiety and had very, very little patience for idiocy. He was never intentionally avoidant of company, which is why he never rejected the offer of a drink being bought for him- that, and the fact that he was broke enough to always want another drink he couldn’t afford. Ryan, it seemed- he had mentioned it already, plus Brendon knew anyway that he was rich and famous- could afford anything he wanted. Could probably buy the bar if he wanted to, he mused silently with a quirk of the eyebrow. Brendon tried to convince himself he was unimpressed, but really, it was envy that occupied the back of his mind- the yearning desire to be in Ryan’s shoes, even for a day. Have crowds sing your songs back to you, shout your name, cheer deafeningly for an encore. Brendon was so caught up fantasising that he took a few seconds to process Ryan’s words. You underestimate me.

Brendon rested an elbow against the counter and snickered shortly at Ryan’s faux defiance, derived from his previous geniune, animated laughter. ”Oh, please,” He tilted his head in counterpoint, and as he did, longer whisps of hair tipped over from one side of his head to the next, falling over his face and giving the appearance of an enthusiastic puppy. ”Let’s be realistic.” Leaving that open-ended, he drew his fingers through his hair at the roots, pushing it back and out of it eyes. Of course, strands rebelled and collected, falling over the front and just brushing his forehead in the form of a thin curl. For a hairstylist, he really had trouble in keeping his hair tidy- it had a mind of its own, and unless he used a questionable amount of gel or hairspray, it was inevitable that something would fall out of place. From this problem arose the habit of constantly touching and playing with his own hair- a hypocrite in the making, really, since he always advices clients to leave their hair alone as much as possible once it had been styled, for fear of making it greasy or messing it up. As he regarded Ryan, not upholding eye contact for fear of seeming a little creepy (what, Brendon, he approached you), he entertained the idea of playing with his clearly unkempt curls and taming them into something that screamed ‘rockstar’ and not ‘twelve year old’. He almost looked wistful, drumming his fingers agitatedly against the table.

As someone who had desperately wanted to break into the music industry when he was younger (his dream had been trampled and crushed so many times it had kind of killed his hope, though some always remained, he was a natural optimist), how Ryan coped with his personal life being the public’s business. That was something he wasn’t sure he’d be happy with at all- saying that, he didn’t imagine anybody was ever happy about being public property. For a moment, he wasn’t sure he’d get much more elaboration than a neutral shrug. Yes. Brendon pursed his lips, nodded understandingly, relating in a way but also unable to imagine what it would be like, really. Yeah, it is. I mean- I date girls, too, it’s not so bad. Brendon felt something faintly akin to surprise, though he wasn’t sure why- he’d seen the tabloids, and by ‘seen’ he meant briefly glanced at a paparazzi photograph of Ryan and an apparent ladyfriend. Jesus, the guy couldn’t go on a casual date without people speculating as to whether he’d met the love of his life. Brendon nodded after a moment, still strangely surprised. But if I'm ever interested in a guy, you know. He did, but he also didn’t, so he just sort of nodded to show he was listening, figuring it wasn’t exactly fun for him to talk about. So he dropped it, but stored it away to mull over later.

Settling back into comfortably flirting was easy, and Brendon felt like he was speaking to an old friend, that they went years back and were only just realising feelings for eachother, or something cringey like that. Either way, he felt a definite spark that he hadn’t anticipated when a handsome stranger offered to buy him a drink (because, Brendon wasn’t trying to brag, but that happened a lot). They were keeping it relatively tame, though, until Brendon has to go and run his mouth and say something stupid and impulsive and- oh, Ryan didn’t seem to mind that much, but Brendon was already in the middle of being flustered and attempting to start over to backtrack yet again. Ryan was smiling and Brendon was tentative, grinning but flushed with mortification at how desperate he sounded. Hand offered out towards him, Ryan took it and they shook once, firm, mostly as a joke, partially so Brendon could salvage his first impression out of the ashes of his thirsty, impulsive comment. He wished he could say it was a rare occurrence. Sure. Hi, Brendon, I’m Ryan. God bless him, at least Brendon wasn’t being teased about it. He was pretty sure he’d just crawl underneath the bar stool and stay there until he died. He was ready to withdraw his hand once his heartrate had calmed down, but then he was being pulled forwards with considerable but gentle force. Brendon looked down, confused, at their joined hands, then his eyes flickered up to meet Ryan’s, unexpectedly close to his, and he drew in a breath.

I’m just glad we’re on the same page. Are we? Brendon’s heartrate spiked again, his mind whirring, his temperature high. ”Are we?” He eachoed his own thoughts, wondering whether had actually heard what he said. Admittedly, he knew little about Ryan Ready, but never took him as someone so receptive to forwardness or this kind of heavy flirting with barely any subtext whatsoever. It was all surface level for Brendon. Brendon searched for a reply, but could only achieve sharing dumbly at his mouth while Ryan let go of his hand. Retiring it to his lap, he shifted on his stool, still recovering when Ryan started to tug on the short, tight sleeves of his ancient jacket. Everything- the hair, the old jacket, was pointing towards Ryan not having fully grown up on the outside yet. On the inside, maturity wise, of course. It just wasn’t reflected in how he presented himself and Brendon saw him as a kind of blank canvas. Of course I’d pay! Yeah, you’ll pay extra, Brendon muttered to himself, and he was smirking. He could afford it, after all. I'll pay you to follow me around and correct all my mistakes, matter of fact. If only. Brendon bit his lip to withhold a teasing smirk. ”It’d take more than me, darlin’, I’m sorry to say.”

Once Brendon had fulfilled his impulses to touch Ryan’s hair (not quite play with because that really would be weird, even though he wanted to), and they were close, slotted together, he started distantly considering exactly what could come of this. A client, apparently. Hmm. Forever and always receptive to touch, when Brendon was prompted to lift his chin, he did so obediently, brushing his fingers casually against Ryan’s knee. Could you handle it for me? Brendon laughed distractedly, keeping his eyes trained down at his own hands, occasionally studying Ryan’s, eyeing them with interest as he curled his long fingers around his whiskey glass. ”I’ll style it for you initially, I don’t think you’re too helpless to style your own hair every morning. Takes five minutes, tops. Maybe.”

[jakob]

Oh, please. Ryan watched, fascinated, as his countenance changed, looking sweeter by the second. Maybe Ryan had, like, been drunk when he got here already and that's why he was so obsessed this fast. It was ridiculous. Anyway - Brendon was, coincidentally, forgetting that Ryan 'played straight' and got away with it about half of his life. It was a funny joke they were entertaining, but really he knew how to carry himself on red carpets, in front of cameras, when talking to interviewers - if he wanted to. These days he'd begun caring less and less, because the more comfortable he got with the idea of having an image any less than perfect (which he'd sort of fulfilled, what with the 'innocent young man haunted by a troubled past trying to save the world' schtick he'd carried around thus far), the more he let go of the firm leash he had on his behaviors and habits. But, yeah, Brendon was right. Looking at him now, he could never pass for anything other than one-hundred-percent flaming. Let’s be realistic. Ryan rolled his eyes good-naturedly, prepared to argue more on the subject until he was stuck staring at Brendon's hair having a life of his own, livening his already vibrant appearance.

Brendon was right, even if he hadn't voiced his understanding of the situation; not much in Ryan's life went under the radar anymore. Truly, he hadn't had a date where he could sit down and maintain comfortable conversation without the flash of a camera interrupting since at least his first album. In fact, he was pretty sure the hairs standing on the back of his neck a couple of times here were because he'd already attracted attention inside the bar, and if that was the case, well. He needed to figure out a way to protect Brendon from that uproar. The place was seedy, though, and the lighting was questionable in spots, so maybe that was their saving grace: people not actually knowing of him or just outright not being able to see clearly from a distance. Aside from that, things could get much, much worse. He'd moved a few times and still couldn't escape the fact that people kept hunting down his address, usually with good intentions but sometimes just going overboard. People at meet and greets, who were literally face to face with him, forgot boundaries entirely, giving him kisses or otherwise coming way too close without asking, trying to have him sign the most bizarre things or write messages he wasn't comfortable with, so on. He'd lost his personhood, apparently.

And he wasn't even a massive star. He was big, sure, A-lister and everything, but he got off easy with all the bullshit that happened to him. He couldn't imagine progressing further in his career and watching it all get worse. In part, he was glad Brendon didn't press about it, not because he was averse to talking about everything but because he really, really didn't want to scare Brendon off with all of these horror stories. He wasn't stupid, clearly, maybe he understood what he'd be getting into anyway... but Ryan was getting ahead of himself, thinking about all of this. They weren't necessarily even starting anything. He'd bought a guy a drink out of the blue, that was it, no promises made, expectations set low, low, low in case he was hit with a rejection. Lucky for him, despite being, like, otherworldly beautiful, Brendon was probably the friendliest, most charming person Ryan had met in a long time. Usually if you had one of those blessings you were running low on the other, but nope; Brendon could both be stunning and the exact opposite of an asshole to Ryan.

As a matter of fact, because he had no filter, Ryan was pretty close to addressing how perfect he was out loud. It was definitely weird, sure, but when it was a compliment, who cared? The stakes were high here, though, because even if they didn't somehow settle on going to one or the other's place tonight (not likely - seemed like neither of them were the type to do that), Ryan wanted to keep contact somehow. Didn't matter how they were involved. Hell, if they were just friends, he was fine with it; whatever the case may be, Brendon still eased the weight off his shoulders and made his mind slow and narrow down, was such a bizarrely calming presence that Ryan knew he'd misse him when he was gone. And maybe that was the first impression talking, blowing everything out of proportion, but... he didn't think so. Brendon didn't seem to totally hate him, thankfully enough. After all, he wouldn't have cared so much about Ryan's reaction to his little slip-up if he hadn't already invested something in this, too. His embarrassment was adorable, but really, Ryan appreciated the honesty.

Are we? Ryan studied him for a second, wondering why he looked like he was very subtly freaking out. Well- Ryan was used to people looking like that around him, but the effect had been splotchy on Brendon up until now, who seemed pretty tame about the circumstances. He supposed maybe he'd been too forward. Whatever- as long as everything was out in the open, on the table and plain to see. As for 'were they,' Ryan hesitated; was clarifying out of the question? He could go the overly confident route and claim, without knowing, that Brendon really was with the same mindset as him, and that could be potentially mortifying. Because what Brendon most likely didn't know was that Ryan was already sort of daydreaming about kissing him, the best way to naturally go about it here, how he'd fit him into his everyday life once they were both out of here, how he imagined that everyday life to be. All right, all of that considered, maybe they weren't one hundred percent on the same page because Ryan was a theatrical motherfucker, but still, the future looked bright. "'kay, I might be a few chapters ahead, but that's just 'cause I like you." Ryan smiled easily when he took his hand away, figuring fuck it if that was too forward, at least it was out there.

The 'blank canvas' image he presented was one hundred percent from this life, again - he had to grow up fast to cope with the very quickly changing world around him, but it was hard to know how to look. In the beginning it worked that he looked so youthful (was so youthful), because that was his fanbase anyway. One fault with his career, though, was that people grew up and moved on with their lives, but he had to maintain a certain image and appeal to ensure his music wasn't so radically different that it became hard to follow. That became what he knew, staying the same, and it translated to his real life outside of professional as well - he dressed the same as he did in high school, basically, except a) now he could afford the stuff he looked on at with admiration in shops as a teenager and b) he wasn't 'emo' anymore. So there were less bulk packs of plain V-necks and more vintage, thrifted or thrifted-looking things. And because there'd never been any indication that he had to or any push from his producer to look different or age himself, he never really did; just kept clean-shaven and long-haired and forever young.

So he had to fix that. What a perfect opportunity. It’d take more than me, darlin’, I’m sorry to say. Ryan relaxed if only to regard him more fondly, a tiny amused smile playing on his lips. He had no idea how serious Ryan was, clearly. And here Ryan sat, totally thinking about setting him up with a team for him to boss around, supplying him with everything he needed, taking him around the world with him free of charge... obviously Ryan knew little about him, but a gut feeling told him he just deserved it, that he needed this - and if not this specifically, then it was a step closer to whatever was better. When Ryan just lightly grazed Brendon's chin he lifted it promptly, obedient, and Ryan was almost impressed before being distracted by the brush of his fingers over his knee. It would be so damn easy to just, like, hold his hand. Ryan distantly wished he knew how to read palms or how to pretend to just to get away with that. I’ll style it for you initially, I don’t think you’re too helpless to style your own hair every morning. Despite him looking down Ryan kept searching for his gaze, smiling without realizing it. Brendon already knew him too well. Takes five minutes, tops. Maybe.

Though Brendon thought himself the impulsive one, Ryan was definitely coming for his branding, because in the next moment he was letting his hand drop from Brendon's jaw to cover the one Brendon held over his knee. Probably too comfortably for how long they'd known each other, Ryan gently took hold for a few moments, running his thumb over the back of Brendon's hand at a serene pace while he shrugged and continued on. "If that's what it takes to keep you around..." Ryan laughed, short and soft, mostly to punctuate than anything else, then released Brendon's hand to go back to holding his whiskey. He drank momentarily, considering, before looking carefully back at Brendon, his expression thoughtful. "This is weird, but I feel like I've known you forever. Really." He stared into his drink for a few seconds before glancing back up. "You know, I was serious about all of that. Most musicians have stylists or makeup artists following them on tour if they aren't hiring locally at every stop. I'm just saying, whatever you make now, I'd double it. At least."