[IC] if it's a dream, don't wake me

[jakob]

Ryan was getting a whole lot of shit about how he treated his new stylist. He'd arranged for Brendon to make at least five grand every tour day that he worked, and that was just for making up Ryan's crew - if another band that might accompany their show needed him, or a dance crew didn't come prepared, they were a whole other cheque to deposit. And his label did not like that. At least, not until they saw what a good job he'd done, mostly in ensuring that Ryan was actually presentable to the public eye and no longer looked like a homeless little newsboy, forever young and jaunty and awkward. Now he matched somewhat more to his personality; Brendon assembled him a wardrobe of leather and more casualwear and the occasional homage to his old, offbeat style, with the old-fashioned coats and often bizarre footwear. He'd changed his hair, too, made it less boyish and helped reduce the endless youthfulness of his face, added an edge that he didn't quite have before. And the dumb (but, at the time, very popular) makeup he used to do on himself was fully out of the question, whereas he'd only been sort of weened out of the habit when Brendon came into the picture.

So the pay was special treatment, sure, but Ryan was a bit too inappropriate. He couldn't help it - they met at a bar, and if Ryan hadn't learned first of Brendon's work and wanted to throw him a bone so badly, he might've asked him to be his forever rather than work as his stylist. It didn't matter much; Ryan figured eventually he could have both. But Brendon was special, in his eyes, required a lot of charming and attention that he was more than willing to give. Ryan still flirted with him when he could get away with it, cast careful glances at him in his reflection when he was sat backstage being made into a whole new person, left him little personified lyrics all about how much of an effect he had on Ryan and how stunning he was, made fleeting touches that looked overly fond. He'd been playing this game for a strong three months, never outright trying to ask Brendon for any commitment or put a label on them just because he'd never been given any surefire, definite signs that his interest was as strongly returned. He was dumb, but not dumb enough to start something where he'd be unbelievably more invested. And also it was probably not best to start a relationship while on tour, so. He waited.

Ryan promptly ignored all of his label's complaints or otherwise deflected them - 'you can't give your boyfriend more money than the rest of the crew, Ryan,'; he's not my boyfriend, he's a highly qualified stylist, so fuck you, he'll make what he earns - and continued on with his reckless behavior, because whatever, he was a goddamn rockstar, had been since he was a teenager, and he could do what he wanted. Yeah, that totally justified it. That and the fact that he really was awed by Brendon. He could tell even people who might otherwise be put off by the fact that Ryan was treating him differently didn't mind much, all because they eventually met Brendon and realized that, yeah, it made sense. Yeah, we'd probably give him special treatment too. Ryan was glad for that, but of course ensured people kept at a distance. Not to be a cockblock or anything, but none of these assholes were good enough for his maybe saved future boyfriend. Bookmarked, if you will. Maybe he was being a little too ambitious... but that was his entire career, he knew no other way to approach things, and if Brendon minded, he hadn't seen any evidence.

In fact, Ryan was more forward and enthusiastic about it all in his head than he really was in person. He knew if he was coming on too strong he'd scare off not only an employee but also someone he considered a good friend, so. Ryan spared him very honest compliments, cast flirty glances, sang him songs, but he never overstepped boundaries or tried anything particularly scandalous. He was sweet. If he freaked Brendon out he'd feel guilty about it for life. Anyway, he was realizing what kind of thing Brendon liked most, if only to score some more brownie points with him - and he happened to be very easy to please. For Ryan, anyway. Anyone else might go bankrupt. Typical to his job, Brendon was very into fashion, or at least into getting fashion onto himself; he was somewhat hedonistic, maybe not entirely materialistic but he appreciated a shopping spree. And Ryan could totally do that, hell yeah.

They were coming off of their brief tour, finally, after those couple of months, and in wide open New York City, where any store was available to him. He'd been waiting for a big city. They'd been to a handful, but this was the jackpot. Ryan stopped into Prada for a few jackets, some shoes, all things he'd seen similar styles to on Brendon's Instagram feed, and he definitely didn't know his size for certain but his best guess was based on the fact that he was little. Adorable, really. And, 'cause it sounded vaguely like a place he thought he'd heard rich people shopped at, Ryan popped by Dolce & Gabbana, grabbed some sunglasses for him, too. Tom Ford, more jackets, some suits. Chanel, though he'd honestly never, ever heard Brendon say anything about cologne or anything - he picked up something in far too decorative a bottle, vanilla-scented purely for the in-joke. More suits from Armani, bullshit from Gucci that looked like it appealed more to a very rich teenager, and, well. This wasn't high-end clothing, but he knew Brendon fairly well, so he grabbed candy and a couple of video games he knew absolutely nothing about, too. Maybe he was going a little far here. Whatever. Brendon's first tour coming to a close, he deserved a gift or fifty.

In his early days, Ryan's band couldn't even afford one room for all of them, but now everyone did whatever the hell they wanted - if you didn't want to bunk together, then you didn't have to, get your own room. He'd, quite literally, pestered Brendon about sharing a room, not totally out of any lustful intentions but because he did enjoy his company anyway. Lucky for him, Brendon was patient. With arms stacked with all of these shopping bags, some bizarre rainbow of wealthy brandnames (and a nondescript thankyouthankyouthankyou for shopping with us one from the corner store candy distributor), Ryan trekked up to their room, bursting through the door and opening his arms. "Happy almost-end-of-tour!" he proclaimed to what appeared to be an empty living room, pausing when he realized Brendon had probably trailed off to a kitchen or bedroom or something. Well. Did not go as planned. He gingerly started arranging the bags on the nearest couch so they wouldn't fall off and figured Brendon would come to the sound of Ryan raising hell, didn't go looking. "I bring gifts! And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them." Ryan collapsed on a separate chair, splaying out all his lankiness lazily.

[Neve]

Brendon was getting a lot of shit for how he was being treated by his boss. Ryan had arranged for him to make five grand- at least- every tour day that he worked, and that, he learned soon, was just for making up Ryan’s cohort; if an opening band needed Brendon’s expertise, or some dancers came poorly prepared, more was just added on top. Brendon reminded Ryan, when he was being told all of this, that he’d only promised to double what he made at his old job, not- not triple, quadruple, or whatever it was that made up the ridiculous amount he made now. Although, it wasn’t like Brendon was adamantly opposed, and Ryan was determined to pay him an exuberant amount- who was he to refuse? When he accepted the job offer and got to work rooting through Ryan’s sad, outdated wardrobe and the vaguely matching, equally sad wardrobes of the rest of the band, he realised there was more work to do than he had expected, and decided he earned every penny he made. Most of that hard work was convincing Ryan to part with things he’d had since he was seventeen, eighteen- once he’d assembled a casual wardrobe that was both different but still essentially screamed ‘Ryan’, he got to work on his hair, sitting him in front of the mirror and cutting it much shorter at the sides but retaining the length, styling it just so and teaching Ryan exactly how to keep it looking like that. Brendon even managed to convince him to maintain a little facial hair, which he could grow, he just apparently liked looking twelve.

When he had finished his little pet project (Ryan), he realised belatedly that he’d sort of just turned him into even more of his own type, and Brendon loved it because he was immensely attracted to it and hated it because- well, he was immensely attracted to it. When Ryan had first approached him in that shitty bar, he’d expected maybe a hookup, a few dates at most- now he was working for him and that kind of relationship was off the table, unprofessional. He almost regretted taking the job- almost. Brendon really had been struggling to even pay his rent recently, never mind have any disposable income to buy things that made his life drag a little bit less- he literally couldn’t afford to pass it up, as much as he wished that maybe their encounter had gone one way first and maybe turn professional afterwards. Oh well. Brendon surprised himself by quickly settling into his new role- and the lifestyle that came with it. Before, he’d had no money and no hope at all or even taking a week’s vacation; now he was travelling the world over the course of a few months and it all happened so fast but Brendon was nothing if not adaptable- and an efficient worker. Even if, okay, he might sometimes pay a little extra attention to getting Ryan ready, spend a little extra time perfecting his look- that was because, Brendon argued, he was the frontman. Everybody’s eyes would be on him, whether the others admitted it or not.

Brendon’s eyes certainly were. And it wasn’t subtle. This, coupled with the favouritism both Ryan and Brendon displayed towards eachother, had people making comments- passive aggressively talking about how Brendon wasn’t efficient, sarcastically asking him to spend more time on Ryan, you’re neglecting him, asking Ryan to pay Brendon a little extra, he isn’t earning enough. They even got the odd ‘your boyfriend’ joke and Brendon always laughed it off, Ryan protested- but not as vehemently and firmly as someone who wasn’t romantically interested in the person they were being paired with might. All the subtext aside, they quickly became very good friends, spending the majority of their free time on tour together, exploring cities, finding bars and jokingly recreating their meeting, Ryan saying can I buy you a drink, Brendon haughtily retorting that he could buy him dinner instead. And Ryan always did. He took Brendon wherever he felt like going on each particular day without a second thought. They became so close that, when Ryan begged him to share a room with him, Brendon didn’t allow him to try and convince him because he needed convincing- he let him because it was endearing. It was towards the end of tour when Ryan first asked, and they were in New York City preceding their final few shows.

Unfortunately, today wasn’t going to be a day where they’d go out exploring- Ryan had to do shitty interviews for the best part of the morning and early/midafternoon, and as much as Brendon complained, and Ryan tried to convince everyone to let Brendon tag along, his only option was to be confined to the hotel room for the whole day and find ways to entertain himself until Ryan got back and they could talk shit about the worst interviewers, Brendon agreeing with everything Ryan said even though he hadn’t even been there and he knew Ryan was biased anyway, because he hated interviews. Sigh. Brendon stopped whining when he figured it would be worth the wait, but he did try and stall Ryan, all the way up til he’d stepped out of the doorway and Brendon blurted out that he didn’t know how to use a kettle, Ryan, will you teach me. Ryan saw through his lie and left, not without a fond goodbye- and then the door shut and Brendon was left alone to his own devices, a whole luxury hotel room to himself.

First, after making himself some coffee with the kettle he definitely didn’t know how to use, he had a forty five minute shower, experimenting with the hotel shampoo and conditioner instead of the professional recommendation he’d made to himself and using half a bottle of coconut and vanilla shower gel. Wasn’t like he was paying for it- the label could suck his dick. Brendon then wrapped himself in a fluffy towel and lay down on his bed, scrolling through his phone for about an hour and texting Ryan who was already in his first interview. Brendon could only imagine how rude he looked and laughed to himself at how Ryan was starting to cement his image as the typical asshole rockstar. Feeling a little bad, he stopped texting back and rose to wander around some more, ordering the most expensive things from the hotel room service menu and rooting through the minifridge which, to his disappointment, had no good snacks in it whatsoever. In anticipation for room service to arrive he finally got dressed, but it took him a while to decide what to wear. He had picked out his favourite, well-worn pair of jeans, and after a moment of hesitation he found one of Ryan’s hoodies and pulled that over his head without bothering to find a t-shirt to wear underneath. Brendon styled his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror, liking the way Ryan’s hoodie looked on him and not delving deep enough within himself to find out way.

Room service arrived and brought the shitty expensive food which Brendon tried and immediately hated, discarding it on the coffee table and ordering a pizza instead. At this point he again started texting a very bored Ryan until duty called in the form of a knock at the door and he fished through Ryan’s wallet (he’d forgotten to take it with him) for money because he couldn’t find his own, paying the delivery girl and tipping them exuberantly because he could. Carrying the unnecessarily large pizza plus garlic bread and chicken wings was a difficult task in itself and he set it all on the coffee table after a brief struggle, throwing the fancy hotel stuff in the trash. Brendon proceeded to eat everything by himself and couldn’t text because his hands were so damn greasy. After he’d finished and looked slightly remorsefully at the empty boxes before him, he threw all of that in the trash apart from the box that still had a single chicken wing inside. A gift for Ryan, he decided, heading to the bathroom to wash his hands and his face so he wasn’t covered in sauce. Brendon was bored at this point and called Dallon- a friend and old coworker at the salon he used to work at- and rather insensitively gushed about his new lifestyle and how great things were going. Dallon was sweet and patient, so he listened, but Brendon wasn’t an idiot. When he said goodbye and hung up, just as he put his phone in his pocket, he heard the door open.

Happy almost-end-of-tour! Breaking out into a huge grin as soon as he heard Ryan’s voice, Brendon clambered off his bed and stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets and hesitating for a moment before he entered the living room because he was still wearing Ryan’s hoodie. Oh well. ”Uh, thanks?” He laughed, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the great number and variety of shopping bags Ryan had arranged onto one of the sofas. ”Somebody’s been on a splurge.” Funny, he never saw Ryan as someone who actually enjoyed shopping. He stood at the far end of the room, studying with faint amusement how Ryan collapsed, all legs and arms, into the chair, before he moved closer. I bring gifts! His brow furrowed in confusion. Gifts? For who? And, not to spoil the surprise or anything, but you should model them. Brendon looked to the bags, to Ryan, then to the bags again, and his eyes lit up. ”Are you serious?” He approached the pile and rooted through a little, picking up on some of the brand names, eyes widening. ”There’s gucci here, Ryan,” Came his stunned voice, matter-of-fact as if Ryan hadn’t, like, bought them himself. ”Jesus, okay.” His laugh was disbelieving and he stared at Ryan again, adoring. ”Am i your sugar baby now? God, I almost don’t wanna look at anything, it’s above my pay grade.”

[jakob]

Interviews were, in fact, not Ryan's forté. They always went the same - how are you, what inspired the album, how is the tour going, our fans are asking if you're going to this godforsaken country next - except some threw some invasive questions in for good measure, and usually those were predictable too, but recently he'd had a new 'scandal' to talk about. Who's the strange mystery man you've been dragging around everywhere? Who's standing with you at all of the post-show signings? Is it true you've been paying him this ludicrous amount or that ludicrous amount? Ryan was all right with talking about Brendon, but he sort of didn't know whether Brendon was okay with being talked about, so he dodged those questions pretty well. Typical 'just a friend' or, even more vaguely, 'just another hire for tour.' Those pictures they pulled up as reference, though... if he didn't look overtly gay before, the way he looked at Brendon had to be some kind of tell. Yikes. He wondered how to break the news to his 'just a friend.'

Mostly he wondered what Brendon was doing back at the hotel with no responsibilities. Probably figuring out that kettle he supposedly didn't know how to use (sure, Brendon, just easily bored and scared of the premise that he would be bored for hours). For a while there he got to text back and forth with him, his phone placed only a little unsubtly on the armrest of his chair lighting up every time the inteviewer got a question out. He was going to give short, flavorless answers anyway, he didn't see the deal with making it entertaining for himself. Eventually, unfortunately, Brendon stopped responding, and Ryan had to sigh, put the phone away, and actually say more than 'yes,' 'no,' or 'I don't know,' or the more tasteful 'I'm not sure.' Hey, Ryan, what's the whole reinvention about? You look different lately... Nothing but a very attentive new makeup artist. Who may have yelled at him as he walked out the door for only wearing a hoodie and not following the exact steps to making up his improved hairstyle (Ryan had eventually compromised for the apparently mandatory leather jacket and stood in the mirror for another twenty minutes to correct his hair - even on his off days, Brendon was right).

After a moment of the place looking empty, Brendon reentered the living room from his bedroom, and Ryan's eyes lit up at the sight of his hoodie, just a little too long on him and hanging over his hands. Brendon, the princess, in casualwear was sweet enough to him, but in Ryan's? Yeah, he was going to have trouble keeping the nature of their professional relationship in order. Uh, thanks? Ryan leaned forward, nodding enthusiastically, to retrieve the mysterious takeout box from the coffee table. One, singular chicken wing. Brendon was so damn thoughtful. He sat back and curled into himself again while he started picking at it, grinning in amusement. "Thank you for saving some. Very generous." He supposed he'd see from the trash later exactly how much that order originally constituted - and, from the rest of the hotel room, what the hell Brendon had been up to during his time alone. Seeing the evidence of his bizarre antics was sometimes funnier than everything that happened itself.

Somebody’s been on a splurge. "A little," Ryan said through a bite of chicken, but he was more focused on his hands than at the splurge anymore. It seemed to take Brendon a minute to catch on that the shopping trip wasn't for Ryan himself - obviously, as Ryan bought new clothes maybe once a year, and they definitely wouldn't be from these brands all laid out - and after the pause, Ryan glanced at him, curious. What did he expect? Surely Ryan's propensity for giving Brendon literally anything and everything had shown its face already. Are you serious? "Dead." Ryan sat up again, leaning forward and setting his elbows on his knees while he watched Brendon dig through the bags, a grin rising to his face in wait for approval. There’s Gucci here, Ryan. Ryan laughed lightly, shrugging. "Is that still cool? I thought Gucci lost traction, but apparently it's back."

Jesus, okay. The way Brendon looked at him. Definitely worth his while - and the money. Ryan's grin dimmed into a dizzy smile, softening. Am I your sugar baby now? God, I almost don’t wanna look at anything, it’s above my pay grade. "Debatable. I'm not cool enough to be a sugar daddy. Maybe a sugar uncle." He seemed to actually mull it over for a second before waving at the bags again, dismissive. "There's a, like, jean jacket in there that's really cool. But... if the gay rumors weren't already really bad, they'll be worse now since I got caught buying it." He stood up to root through the Gucci bag, pulling out the embroidered denim jacket, testing the shearling again gingerly. "Here. See? Floral. Only you can get away with that."

[Neve]

Brendon was lucky enough so far to only be a member of the tour crew, and not at all to do with creative sides of things of even the show itself (and that would never change, no matter what how much the stupid amount was that Ryan decided to up his salary by), so he didn’t have to deal with any real stress; in fact, the most pressure he’d felt was literally today, and it wasn’t even to do with the tour itself. Ryan had tried to creep out of the door with his hair an unkempt mess and in a hoodie- Brendon had seized him just in time and dragged him back inside, resting his back against and guarding the closed front door, waiting patiently as Ryan sheepishly slunk away. Once Ryan presented himself in front of the judge (Brendon), and he was approved for appearing in public, he left, and Brendon found himself wishing that he’d maybe been more picky, gone and fussed over his hair trying to perfect it further somehow, pulled together a whole different outfit- but by the time the door shut behind Ryan, Brendon found he missed him already and felt daunted and exhausted with the prospect of having to entertain himself for the entire day. He supposed at one point he could head out somewhere, but a) he didn’t have much money (payday came after tour) and b) it just wasn’t as fun without Ryan around. So, he remained inside, pacing around the hotel room like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

Looking on the brightside, it was arguably more enjoyable to be stuck and bored in a luxury hotel room than it was to be at some questionable radio station or photo studio and have to answer borderline innapropriate questions that every just expected you to answer. Ryan had mentioned some of the more bizarre and invasive questions, and the ones that tended to always come up we’re about Ryan’s dad, Ryan’s family and then, naturally, Ryan’s love life- or apparently lack thereof. Suspicions were raised by everyone about Brendon, who was constantly caught in paparazzi photos at Ryan’s side like a faithful puppy dog. Looking at some of the pictures was very telling, and Brendon always thought yeah, I could see why people would think that. Yeah, I mean, if I imagine myself with him, it’s not too far a reach for others to think they were something over than acquaintances/friends/professionals. He didn’t mind as much as he thought he might- in fact, secretly, he savoured the attention- but he felt bad for Ryan, who was now basically public property and he supposed he had been for a long time. Even so, recently it’d been getting even more crazy, his popularity; Brendon tried not to credit himself out loud, but his new look and the band’s new style was definitely doing them all favours. It was okay, he sang himself his own praises and looked proudly on at his pet project from afar.

More than friends or not, Brendon and Ryan were close and everything was so easy now between them, evident in that neither of them thought twice about sharing a room even though the label could easily afford to buy them all separate ones and allow some peace and quiet. Apparently an experience with Ryan wasn’t one that could be matched elsewhere so Brendon, according to brand, stayed faithfully close and by his side everywhere, they had each other’s backs at this point. Save for maybe where it came to food. In fairness to Brendon, whenever he usually ordered takeout, Ryan never usually even wanted anything. And then ended up stealing things from his plate like an ass. So, to stop him complaining too much, he left him a single chicken wing, which happened to be the largest one from the batch, actually. Ryan didn’t seem as appreciative as Brendon would’ve expected. Thank you for saving some. As Ryan revealed the chicken wing and began to pick at it, Brendon grinned and offered a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder. ”You’re very welcome.” Very generous. He nodded dutifully, eyeing Ryan as he took bites from the wing. ”That better not be sarcasm. I spent your hard-earned money on that chicken, Rowe. Don’t complain.” At least he was honest.

Speaking of Ryan’s hard-earned cash, and on the topic of generosity, it seemed that Ryan had spent part of his day going shopping, which was the most baffling image Brendon could have ever conjured up. A little. Brendon smiled as he imagined him wandering into clearly high end stores and being recognised, shop assistants rushing to help him or hanging back, in awe. He imagined him actually thinking about what looked good on him, maybe adhering to Brendon’s quite strict ‘recommendations’ (orders). As he found out, though, Ryan hadn’t even gone for himself. All of this- and it only just sunk in- was for Brendon. He almost didn’t believe it. Dead. Already grinning, it widened until his eyes crinkled up and still glittered and flashed with a cocktail of disbelief and anticipation, almost nervousness. It was all expensive stuff, clearly, but Ryan didn’t have a great fashion track record. Brendon hoped the route he’d gone down fashion-wise wasn’t too off target. He began to root through the bags simply to register the prestigious names emblazoned on the sides. Is that still cool? I thought Gucci lost traction, but apparently it's back. ”Wow, look at you, fashion expert. I’ve taught you well. What happened to trying to seem straight?” A pause, and he pulled out at random some armani jeans. Armani jeans. Brendon shook his head, still in disbelief, and laid them out gingerly across the back of the sofa.

Debatable. How so? Well. He supposed it didn’t really count if Brendon wasn’t actually giving him any sugar in return. It was more like a charity solely for Brendon and solely clothes for Brendon. I’m not cool enough to be a sugar daddy. Brendon was half-listening, because he was still rummaging through, not really knowing where to start- but he raised his eyebrows anyway. ”I didn’t make you ten times hotter for you to start calling yourself ‘not cool’. That’s not just self depreciating- that’s me depreciating.” Maybe a sugar uncle. Appalled, Brendon quickly withdrew and pulled his arms right around his chest in mock defensiveness. ”God, never say that again,” He exhaled, shivering. ”I feel violated. Sugar uncle. Gross.” Brendon was still grimacing about that choice of words when Ryan stood up and walked over, bending to apparently look for something in particular. He stepped quickly to the side to allow him room. There's a, like, jean jacket in there that's really cool. But... if the gay rumors weren't already really bad, they'll be worse now since I got caught buying it. Interesting. Brendon loved it already and he had no idea what it was going to look like.

Here. See? Floral. Only you can get away with that. Like saucers, his eyes widened and shined as said jacket was revealed from the back- it was light blue but embroidered with a floral and butterfly pattern and Brendon was instantly in love. He rolled the sleeves of Ryan’s oversized hoodie up his arms and freed the jacket from Ryan’s hands, drawing his fingers across the shearling lovingly and biting his lip. ”Jesus. Ryan, I love it. Fuck,” He swore, shrugging it with some difficult over the hoodie and turning to face his new apparent sugar uncle, ”You’re the fuckin’ best.”

[jakob]

He didn't usually lie or come up with stories in interviews. Even when asked about touchy subjects, which, generally, he had no godforsaken clue where the press got this information about him, unless some estranged family member was selling details about the Rowe family or whatever - he was still honest, just filtered. 'Tell us about your father, Ryan,' well, he was in sales, he was a big fan of the first record, he's my namesake, so on. Surface level shit that they weren't really curious about, but no one had the guts to outright say 'tell us about how your dad recently died, or the fact that he drank himself to an untimely death'! Yeah, Ryan knew to play his cards right. With questions about his love life, though, it wasn't just about him, wasn't all his information to share. Like involving Brendon - he couldn't reveal even the vaguest interest in him, on purpose or otherwise, until he was sure Brendon was fine with potentially getting a lot of social media backlash (maybe some positive feedback; sometimes he got lucky, and Brendon was likeable enough anyway). He did wish he could, like, shout it from the rooftops, though, or something equally as corny.

Brendon deserved full credit for the increase in popularity, not just in Ryan but with the band entirely. A few different aspects of their group were now under even more scrutiny - good scrutiny, actually. His other band members, when before their names were often forgotten or ignored or they were cropped out of photos entirely (despite Ryan not being much of a 'steal the spotlight' type, somehow it happened anyway), Brendon had made changes that gave them their own individual followings or at least expanded on a pre existing one. He fixed every ridiculous haircut, went through each wardrobe and ignored all protests of "but i think that looks good," and all of his improvements had a domino effect on other aspects of the group as people. Everyone carried themselves a little differently, more confidently. Ryan was definitely caught folding his shoulders forward less often, standing straighter and taller and prouder. Ryan had even seen a whole goddamn article about his new hair. Part of him was a little worried of the world's priorities; the other was glad for Brendon, who was thrown credit from the guys whenever the opportunity to do so presented itself.

You’re very welcome. Ryan resisted the urge to laugh through his not-quite-mouthful, because as good at his job as Brendon was, he was also very ridiculous. That better not be sarcasm. I spent your hard-earned money on that chicken, Rowe. Don’t complain. Ryan's response was immediate, taken aback. "My- damn it, I knew I left one of my cards here." Odd primary concern to have when your stylist knew how to use it with no consulting you beforehand, but. It was Brendon, he could buy, like, a new house with Ryan's money and he'd probably forgive him. It's not like Ryan's net worth was indicative of his bank account, but being broke was not something he was really worried about, despite it being a definite possibility if he kept up this whole... buying Brendon everything schtick. He sighed, pretending to come to terms with his sad, lonely chicken wing. "Not sarcasm, not complaining. I'm truly grateful. I don't know what I'd do without you, etc." Ryan was grinning, now, practically beaming at Brendon, the box forgotten in his lap.

The picture in Brendon's head wasn't too off the mark, when it came to Ryan shopping. He'd tried before, honestly, to shop for himself, but it always ended up just being him wandering around uselessly, wondering how embarrassing it would be to text Brendon selfies of him in dressing room mirrors, asking if this look decent, does that look all right. It wasn't generally in high end stores unless there was some award show coming up where everyone was going to find the price of what you were wearing, ask the name brand, judge the outfit put together, so on; generally Brendon picked those without help, but sometimes Ryan liked to look around for himself, get some inspiration. And he definitely did get recognized. It made for a lot of awkwardly struggling out of jackets he'd been trying on so he could take a selfie with someone where a price tag wasn't sticking out of his collar. And then he felt awkward buying something from a person who might try to interrogate him at the counter - not that he was avoidant of fans, or anything, it's just that they probably weren't a fan so much as someone excited at the premise of meeting a celebrity and therefore gave no fucks about being respectful - so he left empty-handed. Probably for the best, given his fashion sense.

For Brendon, he was far more enthusiastic and therefore more open to running around the shop and making nice with employees, if only to win over their gladly given help. Maybe saying 'yeah, I need help finding a gift for someone I know,' and then buying things that were definitely too flashy or extravagant for just a casual friend was a bad idea, but he'd not seen any "BREAKING: RYAN ROWE'S SHOPPING SPREE FOR MYSTERY BOYFRIEND" headlines, so that was promising. Anyway. He'd tried five different employees and none of them were quite close to Brendon size-wise, or at least. If they were, they didn't have every very unique flourish in his silhouette that would definitely make a difference in sizing. Brendon called it an 'apple bottom' he'd inherited from his mother, or something to that tune. Ryan called it art. But, very difficult art to find the right jeans for, or the other half to a suit. In any case, a strong 40% of his time today was spent navigating that issue in particular.

Ryan offhandedly made a comment involving Gucci, knowing absolutely jack shit about what he was saying. Wow, look at you, fashion expert. Impressed the master. Ryan mentally pumped his fist. I’ve taught you well. "You have! I also know that 'FW' means fashion week, and who J. Alexander is. Feels pretty good to be a parrot." He folded his hands and looked extremely pleased with himself for a moment. What happened to trying to seem straight? Ryan's eyebrows raised and he leaned back, shoulders raising in a lazy shrug. "I met you and decided that was impossible. Today some interviewers showed me, like 'receipts' of how I look at you in photos, and it's bad, Brendon. Prepare for some unsavory Instagram comments." Unless people one hundred percent fall in love with Brendon, which was pretty likely. Look at him! That's if they find his page, anyway... not too far into the realm of the unrealistic, all things considered. If Ryan's cult following could find his mom's literal private address before even he knew it, they could find anything.

I didn’t make you ten times hotter for you to start calling yourself ‘not cool’. "Hotter?" Ryan cut in hastily, straightening up on cue, but not quite enough to interrupt. That’s not just self depreciating- that’s me depreciating. Ryan paused to consider this, then promptly revised his original statement. "Okay. I'm totally cool enough on the outside to be a sugar daddy, thanks to my very talented stylist, Brendon Bellamy. So, where's my personality makeover? I need some neuroses concealed." But. Ryan was unforgivable. He grinned, suppressing another laugh, when Brendon crossed his arms over his chest, looking like he'd taken a genuine hit. God, never say that again. "Say what again? Sugar un..." I feel violated. Sugar uncle. Gross. He finally cracked up, looking innocent in seconds flat. "Either way, I eventually deserve some sugar in return, that's how it works." He was kidding. Totally.

When he lifted the jacket for Brendon's viewing and saw the approval, more than that, even, cross his features, Ryan swore his heart soared. He could make Brendon that happy, he could do that. It was oddly rewarding to see. Ryan watched a little dazedly as Brendon took the jacket from his hands and explored the fabric, dropped his gaze to his mouth when he- yeah, you get it. Jesus. Ryan, I love it. Fuck. Ryan smiled somewhat distractedly, suddenly liking the jacket ten times more when it was on Brendon. Over his own hoodie. He had a very out-of-the-blue urge to kiss Brendon, and he probably would've even followed through if common sense didn't cut into his thoughts unannounced, yelling about professionalism and established relationships. Stupid logical part of his brain. "I like it more on you. I knew it'd look good." You're the fuckin’ best. Ryan laughed easily, coming more out of the loop he'd been thrown in and returning to comfort. He leaned in to feel the shearling again, placing a hand on Brendon's shoulder, and it was definitely not an excuse just to touch him. He swore he had a real comment to make about it, but after a moment of silence and no words magically coming from his mouth, Ryan spat out the first dumbass thought that popped into his head. "Did you know your ass is impossible to shop for? I made these employees who looked the same size as you try on jeans to figure it out, but no one came quite close. Trust me! I'd know."

[Neve]

True, so maybe Brendon could’ve easily asked for, like, extra chicken with his order, but it was too late to focus on the past now, he decided, however recent that past was. Besides, whenever Ryan was around and he asked whether he wanted anything, he always said no. Apparently it so happened that it was this one particular instance where Brendon hadn’t bothered to order him anything was also the one instance where Ryan was actually hungry. To be fair to Brendon, it took a lot of willpower for him to leave that tantalising last piece of chicken- it was, for Brendon and those who knew him, a grandiose expression of love and appreciation. Ryan was probably entitled to said chicken, anyway. It was his card that he sneakily noted down the details for, stole and used to order it. Brendon didn’t have much slack to complain with. My- damn it, I knew I left one of my cards here. Lucky for Brendon, yeah. He shrugged casually and unapologetically because he knew Ryan didn’t have it in him to be mad for long- or at all- at him. It incited a real sense of power in Brendon to know that he could probably shatter Ryan’s kneecaps and steal all his belongings and Ryan would thank him for it- especially considering his supposed ‘rockstar’ status. Brendon had come to find he didn’t quite live up to such a heavy title; he was less ‘rock’ and more ‘small stone’ or ‘pebble’.

Not sarcasm, not complaining. Brendon’s eyebrows lifted and dropped quickly. “Yeah, I get enough of that from your entourage.” Eyeing the box sat on Ryan’s lap, he tried to conceal a smile and instead of showing on his mouth it burst out and shone through his eyes as they squinted up with amusement. I’m truly grateful. I don’t know what I’d do without you, etc. As Brendon moved forwards to start rooting through the bags, he laughed, looking up at Ryan every so often, his attention endearingly divided between the expensive and lavish gifts piled on the sofa before him and the man sat a little further away who very arguably owned his ass. ”I know exactly what you’d do,” Brendon said, pausing to admire a printed shirt, ”You’d set out to flirt with some other poor, blindsided gay man, at a shitty bar downtown, but end up hiring him, much to his disappointment.” He trailed off there, thoughtful, losing focus, before he snapped himself back into it and moved a hand to drag back through his hair. “Of course, he wouldn’t be as good as me. I saved your career, Ry. Never forget it.”

Okay, maybe not saved; and, come to think of it, not exactly revitalised, either. Ryan had been and still was incredibly famous- but he liked to think he’d polished him up a little at least. Brendon regarded him for a moment doubtful, but was distracted as soon as Ryan started rattling off random fashion trivia at random, apparently in order to impress. You have! I also know that 'FW' means fashion week, and who J. Alexander is. Feels pretty good to be a parrot. Nodding along to humour him- mostly so he could attempt to focus on which item of clothing out of the ridiculous selection Ryan had gifted him to try on first. ”You’ve surpassed me already.” Brendon was no longer fully listening, because it was hard when there were so many things right in front of him that he desired to instantly wear all at once. However, when he did lift his gaze up from the large hill of shopping bags, Ryan caught his eye in the way only he really could and Brendon paused, tilting his head as if in anticipation of something. I met you and decided that was impossible. Oh. Even if that was just teasing, it was sweet, and Brendon furiously looked back down and hoped the flush on his face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Today some interviewers showed me, like 'receipts' of how I look at you in photos, and it's bad, Brendon. Once he’d recovered and the pink dusting of colour on his cheekbones had more or less faded, he glanced up, curious. ”First of all, is that really all that gets brought up in your interviews these days? Second, man, I need someone to send me those fuckin’ photos so I can make fun of you. Love ya. Please don’t take my Gucci away.”

Prepare for some unsavoury Instagram comments. Brendon knew for a fact that Ryan wasn’t kidding because his Instagram comments and messages were like some kind of online battleground, fought by three drastically different main armies; Ryan stans and the general public who thought Brendon was, to be frank, some kind of gold-digging whore; chaotic good people who shipped them together as some kind of golden couple despite no relationship ever having been confirmed or even directly hinted at by Brendon or Ryan; and those who discovered Brendon via Ryan but were now obsessed with Brendon and fell victim to every single thirst trap he ever posted. There were other denominations and subgroups, but those were the three Brendon saw the most. The former was, unfortunately, a significantly large proportion. He made a note to himself in his head to turn off comments for a while or something as damage control. ”Thanks for the heads up,” He said finally, but he was smiling, used to it all at this point.

Hotter? Almost startled by how quickly Ryan straightened up, Brendon broke out into a grin and nodded affirmatively, impressed and amused by his lightning quick reaction to a compliment- even more amusing because Brendon had seen Ryan he complimented by others many times before and in all those instances he just kind of withdrew, sheepish, unbelieving. Brendon spared him the embarrassment of pointing that out. Okay. I'm totally cool enough on the outside to be a sugar daddy, thanks to my very talented stylist, Brendon Blake. ”That’s better, thanks.” So, where's my personality makeover? I need some neuroses concealed. Immediately, Brendon rolled his eyes. ”I’m your stylist, not your therapist. Don’t hold y’goddamn breath.” This was all good-natured, even when Ryan cursed his ears by using the phrase ‘sugar uncle’, which, in Brendon’s opinion, was an arrest-worthy crime. Say what again? Sugar un... ”Oh, fuck off.” He winced, tightening his arms around his chest. Somehow, it was just so much worse than the original.

Either way, I eventually deserve some sugar in return, that's how it works. Sagely, Brendon nodded, smirking as he took the jacket from Ryan’s hands, fingers brushing against Ryan’s for a moment before he held it up to admire it. ”Sure, baby, just say the word,” He muttered, and looked up at Ryan from beneath his eyelashes. ”S’only fuckin’ fair.” At this point, he was way too enchanted with the jacket, that was probably worth more than his whole life, and that he shrugged on after another moment, tracing the appliqué on one of the sleeves, in awe. I like it more on you. I knew it’d look good. Shut up, Ryan, god, you’re so sweet and boyishly charming and insufferably, tormentingly pretty. Brendon resented himself for reinventing his employer’s image so that he was literally his cookie cutter perfect man and then more. Much more. He was grinning when Ryan placed his hand on the shearling, and stared at his hand for a second before he curled his own hand deftly around his wrist and moved Ryan’s hand up to feel the material on the inside of his collar, as if to show him how soft it was further up where it made contact with the skin. He dropped his hands and then turned to search for a mirror somewhere, conveniently stopping in front of the one above the fancy decorative mantelpiece and fully checking himself out in the mirror.

Did you know your ass is impossible to shop for? A pause. The corner of his mouth twitched. He slowly turned around. ”What?” I made these employees who looked the same size as you try on jeans to figure it out, but no one came quite close. Laughing, he stared at Ryan with something akin to part disbelief, part delight. Mostly disbelief. ”Oh yeah? Is that a testament to me?” Trust me! I’d know. Brendon was truly floored; which was strange, considering how stupidly obvious the two of them tended to be. ”You do, do you? I didn’t- I didn’t realise you payed some much attention, I gotta say.” Brendon bit his lip to suppress a smirk and twisted his fingers into the finer locks of the longest part of his hair and rugged slightly, thoughtful, distracted, flattered. He lifted the one pair of jeans he’d freed from the bags and held them up, eyebrows raised. ”So, uh, these are gonna- accentuate?”

[jakob]

Yeah, I get enough of that from your entourage. Ryan's initial thought was what entourage, and then he remembered, yeah, he totally had an entourage. A band that grinned teasingly from the sidelines at the way he treated Brendon, a label that scolded him for hiring someone on without consulting them first (and then being totally unprofessional with the hire), a whole fanclub that totally didn't know how to react to Brendon. Ryan considered putting out a PSA - hey, everyone, we like Brendon, please don't scare off my probable soulmate. He could dream. Said dream became less distant, more lifelike and touchable, every time Brendon looked up from the shopping haul, something fond in his expression. Weird that millions of people dreamt of Ryan when he only had one person in his sights. I know exactly what you’d do. You’d set out to flirt with some other poor, blindsided gay man, at a shitty bar downtown, but end up hiring him, much to his disappointment. Disappointment? An argument was on the tip of Ryan's tongue, that he hadn't been looking for anything at first but Brendon was just that tantalizing, but that last note had him frozen up. He supposed he didn't have total doubts that they were on the same page, but they were still there, and that cleared things up a little.

Of course, he wouldn’t be as good as me. Ryan snapped back into focus with him, grinning knowingly. I saved your career, Ry. Never forget it. "No, you're right. I look at old photos of me and wonder how an album ever sold. God bless." Ryan was laughing behind his words, though, clearly actually grateful for the assisted evolution. You’ve surpassed me already. Ryan shrugged like it was nothing, blinking all bashful, and decided to stop parroting there because Brendon seemed otherwise occupied anyway. Maybe he was a little too forward with that 'impossible' comment, because Brendon immediately looked down, flushed despite his efforts to hide it. Ryan smiled to himself, a little proud of that although a line had been overstepped, and waited it out. First of all, is that really all that gets brought up in your interviews these days? Second, man, I need someone to send me those fuckin’ photos so I can make fun of you. "Wow," Ryan cut in briefly, shaking his head. Love ya. Please don’t take my Gucci away. "Yeah, they're running out of content and relying completely on Instagram fan account photos. Sad. But you better watch it. I have purchase receipts for all of that."

Thanks for the heads up. Most people just got ahead of the crowd and privated their social media when they seemed to be getting too cozy with Ryan, in the past. Brendon was not one of those people. Ryan felt a little bad about it all, but his tendency to comment on every photo or Tweet or post otherwise with some string of loving emojis and fond messages seemed to lead a loyal crowd of similarly affectionate responses - he led by example. So. Not all bad. That’s better, thanks. Faux pas appropriately fixed, Ryan moved on. I’m your stylist, not your therapist. Don’t hold y’goddamn breath. "Those titles don't go hand in hand? Damn it. Why are you even here?" Ryan was grinning - hadn't they sort of covered that? Oh, fuck off. Ryan laughed, decided to drop the whole 'sugar uncle' debacle before Brendon was the one in need of therapy.

Sure, baby, just say the word. Ryan clammed up. He was comfortable with banter up to a point. What was the word? It'd been a few months of straight professionalism-ish, maybe now was when he could actualize the subtext. S’only fuckin’ fair. Without thinking Ryan went to feel the jacket, and after a moment Brendon's hand brought his up to the inside of his collar. It wasn't like he was shocked by the contact, in fact he was comfortable enough with Brendon where it felt normal, but. There was something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. Ryan complied hesitantly, tracing the collar for a moment, knuckles brushing skin and his hoodie, before Brendon was stepping away and Ryan exhaled gently. He watched Brendon in the mirror for a while, his smile dumbly gone, too distracted to revive it. And then, at a loss for anything else to say, his stupid mouth betrayed him. He deliberately looked away while Brendon turned, slow.

What? Ryan had to suck in a breath of courage before continuing, oddly reassured by Brendon's amusement/incredulousness. Surprise, surprise, Ryan was ridiculous. Really, was anything new to him at this point? Oh yeah? Is that a testament to me? "Yeah! You're something special, really." Only marginally less embarrassed now, Ryan was laughing, shoving his hands in his pockets reservedly. You do, do you? I didn’t- I didn’t realise you paid so much attention, I gotta say. Ryan watched him bite his lip, his hand run through his hair, and truthfully it should have the opposite effect, but his confidence was heightened somewhat. "Well, only to you. Why else do you think I always walk a little behind you? Honestly, Brendon, I'm obvious." Ryan watched him lift a pair of jeans and almost, almost spluttered, beyond amused. So, uh, these are gonna- accentuate? "I guess we'll see. You know, in all my wildest fantasies, I never imagined I'd be putting you in more clothes."

[jakob]

/

[Neve]

No, you’re right. I look at old photos of me and wonder how an album ever sold. Brendon vehemently disagreed with whatever Ryan was trying to imply- that before Brendon has reinvented his look he was ugly, or embarassing, or something. ”You would say that.” Considering that when he and Ryan had first met, Brendon thought he was annoyingly handsome, handsome enough that Brendon actually didn’t want to leave the bar and politely excuse himself from such situations like he usually did, no, there was no wonder Ryan’s albums sold, if they were basing everything solely on appearance. Sure, he had outgrown his hair and clothes and looked younger than he was, but Brendon admittedly somewhat fell for that boyish gaze and smile- and he all he did after that was drop himself in further shit by winding up getting employed by the guy he thought would be lying in bed next to him by the next morning, and then making said employer into his practical perfect man. Now they were stuck in a midpoint between professionalism and attraction and neither of them had the guts to make the first move. So, they did this, instead, address serious subtext in light and humorous ways so things didn’t get too deep. That wasn’t them yet. God bless. Brendon laughed, raised his eyebrows. ”So I’m God now?& like this, keep it coming.”

Wow. Brendon grinned, but honestly, when he thought about it, he knew he’d be equally exposed by whatever evidence people claimed to have of Ryan and Brendon’s ‘secret relationship’. It was so secret that even they didn’t know that they were in it, that was their running joke- but, ridiculously, he often considered whether that had a ring of truth. They shared the same hotel room, for god’s sake. Ryan had never done that out of choice with anyone, not even Spencer, his closest and oldest friend. Yeah, they're running out of content and relying completely on Instagram fan account photos. Brendon became all faux somber, shaking his head with a soft, disappointed sigh. ”They’re starving, Ryan, starving. You might say thirsty. Give them some goddamn content so they can call me a rich man’s whore using sources straight from the horse’s mouth.” More a self burn than anything, but Brendon was still cautious of his gifts being taken away as punishment for being annoying, so he sucked up real fast. Luckily, Ryan tended to be forgiving. Otherwise he’d be dead already. Sad, But you better watch it. I have purchase receipts for all of that. ”I’d rather you sell Spencer than return these,” Brendon declared, fully not kidding.

To be honest, the varied responses from fans of Ryan on social media didn’t really bother Brendon unless the insults were directed to anyone other than himself. Dating rumours he could handle because he understood them, accusations of him of taking advantage of Ryan’s wealth and being some kind of thirsty chaser of his fifteen minutes of fame he could sort of understand if you had a very spiteful point of view. Most of it seemed positive, anyway. If Ryan approved, the real fans tended to approve too. Not that Brendon cared whether he earned their acceptance or not- Ryan’s attention was all he really cared about in that sense. Those titles don't go hand in hand? Damn it. Why are you even here? He arched an eyebrow, daring him to go there and not waiting for further prompting. ”To be honest, I’m not quite sure myself. What I gather is that some fashion disaster rockstar thought I was cute but found out I was in just the line of work he needed and decided I’d be better off as his employee than as the subject of a sex scandal.”

Back to subtext, it seemed, that was getting a little tiring to navigate when at this point it was difficult to tell whether Ryan was joking or he was just being how he was. The trouble Brendon had was that Ryan made jokes so much and treated it so lightly that Brendon barely knew how to respond because he’d either make a fool of himself for being deeper than the situation called for or he’d seen rude for making a joke in return. It was difficult to navigate and though it was bound to be a conversation with more at stake, he’d prefer Ryan just tell him than to assume that Brendon knew exactly how he felt. Otherwise, he really didn’t know how to behave. He tried not to be too deep, though, again- and it wasn’t too hard because Ryan was being so stupendously obvious again it was almost laughable, but it clearly wasn’t because Brendon was flushed and even flustered, no matter how much he attempted to hide it. Yeah! You’re something special, really. ”I mean, yeah, obviously.” Well, only to you. Why else do you think I always walk a little behind you? Honestly, Brendon, I'm obvious.

A pause. Brendon smirked and his eyebrows lifted and dropped with deft speed. ”I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. But- I don’t blame you.” Brendon turned his attention back to the jeans and looked inside them for a second at the label, checking the measurements- not quite his size. Maybe Ryan didn’t do his research, though he imagined it was a test he enjoyed studying for. ”Should I be offended by the smaller size or is it intentional?” I guess we'll see. You know, in all my wildest fantasies, I never imagined I'd be putting you in more clothes. Immediately, Brendon started giggling, but he shrugged and lay the jeans back down on the back of the couch. ”You’re forgetting something,” He pointed out. I have to get undressed first, right? Anyway. You gonna give me some privacy, or?”

[jakob]

You would say that. True. Ryan wasn't actually all that self-deprecating, really, but now that he could look at the past with his new 'upgraded' self, he definitely had some criticisms to make over his previous versions. In other terms, now that he was a full-blown rockstar, complete with the whole physical ensemble and everything, he could look down upon the old Ryan that looked like he'd just popped out of an antique shop and was operated by donations made to a 25-cent coin slot. Or maybe the other era where he thought velvet suits and silk ties and burlesque imagery would appeal to millions and wasn't the most niché album theme in the whole world. He was definitely a little bit more in tune now. He grinned knowingly, either way, pleased by Brendon's clear disapproval. So I’m God now? I like this, keep it coming. "No problem," Ryan replied instantly, his smile broadening, because of course he had a million compliments loaded up. Tended to pop to mind whenever Brendon wasn't around, and now they'd all made an annoying collection up in his head.

On the subject of Ryan's near-complete lack of social media presence (personally, anyway; the label had interns who did that stuff, why should he bother?) Brendon seemed to know all to well what he was talking about. Damn. Maybe he really did need to try a bit harder. They’re starving, Ryan, starving. You might say thirsty. Give them some goddamn content so they can call me a rich man’s whore using sources straight from the horse’s mouth. "Oh, please," he laughed, shaking his head the very colourful picture Brendon was painting. A master of words, he was. "What content? You ever seen me take a picture of myself? It doesn't happen." But Brendon was being a little shit, so Ryan gave him a rough time. Clearly, it unsettled Brendon - he backtracked remarkably fast. I’d rather you sell Spencer than return these. Ryan arched his eyebrows before spluttering, laughing at the prospect alone. "Be glad he didn't hear you say that. You'd be dead for real." Ryan's best friend was characteristically touchy. He liked Brendon, but as a potential romantic interest, he was on thin ice already.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure myself. Oh no. He could feel the beginnings of a good comeback. Ryan settled in. What I gather is that some fashion disaster rockstar- "Whoa." -thought I was cute but found out I was in just the line of work he needed and decided I’d be better off as his employee than as the subject of a sex scandal. Ryan arched an eyebrow. "Who said I thought you were cute? ...Alright, I can't get away with that. Anyway, I'll take both. You're worth a little bit of scandal." Okay, yeah, Brendon was right - the subtext was indeed getting tiring to navigate. For Ryan, it was less because he couldn't find the joke and more because he was sick of pretending it was. He was worried about rejection, worried about it not working out, worried about losing someone he'd definitely want around for a long time - but he knew, realistically, that none of these things would be a problem. He was reasonably confident, given his standing in life, he was just aware of the risks... and he sort of didn't care anymore, the more that time went on.

I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. But- I don’t blame you. Ryan smiled fondly and took that as an invitation to continue being as obvious as he wants. He wrung his hands behind his back, taking advantage of Brendon looking over the label by overtly checking him out. Really. Stupid. Should I be offended by the smaller size or is it intentional? Distracted, Ryan blinked at him in quick succession. "What? Uh- maybe a little intentional. Hey, nothing wrong with them being a little snug. It's complimentary." A corner of his mouth lifted, amused. You’re forgetting something. I have to get undressed first, right? Ryan tilted his head a little, and, uh, yeah, he forgot that part. Interesting. "Oh." Anyway. You gonna give me some privacy, or? "Oh," Ryan repeated, stupidly, clearing his throat. "Right, right, I mean... if I didn't I'd be skipping a few steps." He paused, careful, shifting a little closer. "Or I could take the first one. Did I win you over yet? I could burn through a few more paychecks." He grinned, leaning over Brendon, his eyes dropping to his lips and silently asking.

[Neve]

Ryan had sort of been a rockstar before, but a fledgling, awkward and not quite sure of himself yet. Brendon had just stripped all that away and found everything underneath that he could work with- no, not in that sense, though it would be a lie to say he didn’t often entertain that train of thought when he was alone- and now Ryan had grown into the title, with a new haircut (that made him look frustratingly hot, Brendon had to admit, he hated himself for styling it just the way that got him going), a new wardrobe courtesy of Brendon’s exceptional sense of style and expensive taste, and with it a new air of confidence. He had already been smooth and charming, that was obvious from their first meeting, Ryan was clearly used to all kinds of people and how to treat them at this point in his career- but hadn’t fleshed out into the full-blown rockstar he was today. Brendon could just- well, Brendon was weak. Ryan clearly had an endless supply of compliments and if he kept them coming Brendon wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep these new ridiculously expensive clothes on. No problem. He bit his lip to suppress a grin and pleaded with himself not to flush. He did anyway.

The funny thing was, Brendon had never even been a massive fan of Ryan’s band. He knew of them, sure, who didn’t, but he wasn’t some crazy groupie, not even a casual fan. But now he’d become more acquainted with the music- particularly who wrote and sang it- he was a diehard, endlessly supportive of anything Ryan readily showed him. Plus, when he saw Ryan sitting there, concentrating, playing guitar, his gorgeous hands and long fingers strumming away at strings- it was hard not to become enchanted with everything to do with and around Ryan Rowe. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to get too attached- he was a musician, for god’s sake, Brendon had been warned about them before- but Brendon preferred not to listen to common sense and instead let his poor little heart, which sped up whenever Ryan was within a certain distance of him, do his decision making for him. It hadn’t failed him so far- it’d earned him a well overpaid job, new friends, a new lifestyle, and lots of followers on Instagram and Twitter. Plus a possible love interest. Possible. Brendon was far from regretting anything.

Oh, please. What content? You ever seen me take a picture of myself? It doesn’t happen. Brendon held his hands up, but looked wistful, fading off distractedly for a moment. ”I know,” He murmured, vaguely, and he bit his lip for half a second. ”It’s a damn shame.” Clearly, Brendon’s thoughts had taken an imaginative turn, but he wasn’t so distracted that he didn’t hear Ryan’s apt warning about Spencer. The drummer scared him, no matter how harmless he seemed on the surface. Be glad he didn’t hear you say that. You’d be dead for real. Brendon nodded doubtfully and brought a hand up to his own neck, rubbing it like he was subconsciously protecting the vulnerable area from an attack. From Spencer. Hey, you could never be too careful. ”I know. I’m trying to stay in his good books, but- hey, it’s your fault. They all think you give me special treatment ‘cause you’ve got a constant boner for me or something.” A splutter in an attempt to breeze past that comment passed Brendon’s lips and he looked away quickly, stifling a grin but raising a knowing eyebrow.

Whoa. Who said I thought you were cute? ”See: my last comment,” He suggested, folding his arms. ...Alright, I can't get away with that. Anyway, I'll take both. You're worth a little bit of scandal. That earned a laugh. ”Yeah, you think you’re slick. You need to find a better resting place for your line of sight than my ass.” Just a suggestion. Brendon busied himself then by checking the sizing of the jeans, amused but not surprised by the intentionally tighter fit Ryan had apparently gone for when deciding what to buy for him. What? Uh- maybe a little intentional. Hey, nothing wrong with them being a little snug. It's complimentary. Tilting his head to the side, considering, Brendon nodded, noticing but having enough mercy to not comment on how distracted Ryan was yet again. Well. Since they were both being open now, apparently, tired of subtext and dancing around obvious attraction, Brendon made a proposition, open-ended just in case he’d overstepped. But something told him that wouldn’t be a problem as Ryan ‘Oh’d’ twice in quick succession.

Right, right, I mean... If I didn’t I’d Be skipping a few steps. Brendon’s mouth quirked with amusement. ”You’d be skipping all the way to the best part, though,” He reasoned, feeling his heartbeat annoyingly quicken as Ryan stepped closer. Stupid dumb Ryan with his stupid haircut that Brendon had styled that way himself. He really wanted to mess it up, maybe tangle his fingers into it a little. Funny how things changed. Or I could take the first one. ”Holding hands?” He laughed. A joke, but. That would be nice, really. Did I win you over yet? I could burn few a through more paychecks.” Brendon’s smile faltered and he folded the jeans, placing them over the back of the sofa. ”Y’know you could’ve had me from day one right? Of course you’ve fucking won me over. Dumbass.”

[jakob]

I know. Ryan caught the look and raised an eyebrow at Brendon. Sad about that, aren't we? Hey, Brendon had good luck. Sometimes Ryan sent him pictures of random shit with half of his face unintentially in the background. That was more than, like, his own mother ever saw. It’s a damn shame. It's not that Ryan wasn't confident, or had some unimaginably low self-esteem, he just didn't think he was much, and definitely didn't think he deserved this kind of reaction from someone like Brendon. Brendon. Look at him. It's like he was fuckin' hand painted. He smiled at him, uncharacteristically shy because of his behavior, before letting his gaze fall to the floor. Yeah, they weren't keeping many secrets from one another, definitely not even trying all that hard anymore.

Brendon seemed genuinely fearful of even the mention of Spencer. Ryan suppressed a laugh, totally respectful. I know. I’m trying to stay in his good books, but- hey, it’s your fault. They all think you give me special treatment ‘cause you’ve got a constant boner for me or something. "Hey-y," Ryan cut in, grinning as Brendon's reserved laugh escaped him and he glanced away. Okay, he was right, but why say it so brutally honest like that? In any case - what Brendon said was the truth. Jon didn't have a huge problem with it, just thought it was cute he'd found some new, fun obsession, and had a grand old time making fun of him for it whenever he found the time. His label, on the other hand, stuck around way more after shows to make sure he stayed on track (and whenever he saw a familiar face he artfully dodged them to get to makeup & dressing rooms). Spencer was similar, but not quite; he worried, and then he thought Brendon had bad intentions (what was Ryan, some sensitive, broken spirit?Thanks, Spence), and then he acted fairly cold - probably to make it easier for whenever Spencer assumed Brendon would be out of here.

"But, you're right. I'll just start acting like I hate you. That'll work, right?" Ryan quirked the corner of his mouth. Obviously an impossible task. See: my last comment. Shut up. Ryan wondered if he'd ever be correct between them. Yeah, you think you’re slick. You need to find a better resting place for your line of sight than my ass. Funny he should say that, because Ryan's line of sight had, in fact, found Brendon's ass again, and he looked fairly comfortable with the irony, hands tucked in his pockets and back at an easy slant. "Good thing you have plenty of assets for me to look at otherwise. Hey, assets." Still not even glancing up, because hey, it was all out in the open now anyway, Ryan laughed halfheartedly and shrugged his shoulders a little.

Brendon's worryingly nonchalant proposition had now pretty much invaded his head, and Ryan took way too long to recalibrate back to his, uh... smooth? self. Not quite. Something like that, though. You’d be skipping all the way to the best part, though. God bless Brendon fucking Blake. Always falling right into step with him. Holding hands? Ryan stayed maintaining his gaze for a moment before thinking about that himself, eyes dropping briefly to his hands. Well, maybe. Right now, he had a few too many plans to keep track of. Y’know you could’ve had me from day one right? Of course you’ve fucking won me over. Dumbass. Ryan laughed openly, already leaning in midway through the last sentence, kissing him for a few counts before he actually removed his hands from his pockets and wrapped them around Brendon's waist. A few more moments and naturally one hand drifted to hold Brendon's, and he sort of smiled against his lips, pulling apart just an inch to speak. "Look, we're holding hands. Getting through a few steps all at once."

[Neve]

Brendon just couldn’t understand how Ryan believed that he ‘just wasn’t much’- the first time they’d met Brendon had instantly been hooked on him, the light scruff along the defined line of his jaw, the aureate hue of his eyes, and this long, slender fingers, just how tall and how powerful a presence he was despite having such a generally relaxed disposition. As he got to know him better, things perhaps beyond what might be considered typically attractive stood out more to Brendon- the lines at the side of his mouth and how his lips quirked when he smiled, properly, the unruliness of his hair caused by the many cowlicks, even the simultaneous roughness/gentleness to his voice. Brendon thought he was breathtaking and refused to hear otherwise when Ryan went on some self-depreciating rant about how he ‘didn’t understand how he had so many fans’ because he was ‘so average’. Sure, before Brendon had come along and tidied things up a bit, sharpened up his appearance, he had been a little rough around the edges- an uncut diamond- he just needed a little more cut and clarity and voila, he was a new man. Just as pretty, in a more refined way.

Hey-y. Brendon raised his eyebrows and held up his hands defensively, because come on, it’s not like Ryan could really deny it at this point. In about half an hour he’d admitted that his favourite pastime was letting his eyes wander to Brendon, specific parts of Brendon, there was no use trying to hide it any longer. And Brendon relished the fact. He got excited just thinking about all the ways he could exploit this, tease Ryan now that he knew exactly what was going through his head whenever Brendon was innocuously at certain stages of undress, when he dropped something, maybe, and had to bend over to pick it up. Brendon was slightly evil, but he was more than willing to own that. But, you’re right. ”What, about the constant boner?” Pursing his lips, Brendon turner and let his eyes drift down, then he simply lifted his eyebrows, his mouth twisting into a smirk. ”I know.” I’ll just start acting like I hate you. That’ll work, right?

Snorting, Brendon turned back around to root through the shopping bags again, not even close to having seen everything Ryan had decided to buy him for like, no reason. Again- he wasn’t complaining. Just dumbfounded. He hoped Ryan didn’t think that he had to buy his affection, but also- there was Gucci here. Brendon would be anyone’s goddamn whore for that. It was just an added bonus that the man who treated him to all this crazy expensive shit was a man that he adored. ”Sure it will. But then, like, Spencer’ll hate me even more, like, ‘dude, why does Ryan hate you now’, and I’ll be all ‘not a clue, homie’, And you’ll need a cover story about your sudden shift in attitude. Too complicated, I say just stick with the staring.” Brendon was smiling to himself about it. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Ryan was likely preoccupied. Honestly, that man. Good thing you have plenty of assets for me to look at otherwise. Hey, assets. Yes, Ryan, you’re hilarious. Brendon looked over his shoulder and tried to flash him an unimpressed glare but he broke into a grin almost immediately and turned all the way around, pile of gifts forgotten. ”Ha, funny.”

But, yeah, shopping could wait, because Brendon sensed that something was about to happen here and he was all for that, even encouraging it, coaxing him gently as he stepped closer. Ryan, apparently, didn’t need much persuading to cut the subtextual bullshit, and he interrupted him halfway through his sentence, kissing him so that Brendon had to finish what he wanted to say in a rushed, stuttered way against his mouth before he reciprocated the kiss and moved both his hands up to cradle the sides of Ryan’s jaw, eyes fluttering shut contently. He felt so peacefully distant with Ryan’s hands at his waist that he didn’t realise at first that Ryan was trying to curl their fingers together, so he dropped his hand to make it easier. Look, we’re holding hands. Brendon burst into affectionate laughter, and cut himself off by kissing him again hastily. Getting through a few steps all at once. ”What do you mean, getting through?” He raised his eyebrows, breaking their hands apart to smooth his own against Ryan’s chest and up to cradle his jaw again. ”I intend to take my time, sir.” Sir. He hadn’t been that formal with Ryan in a long while. Now it was just playful.

[jakob]

What, about the constant boner? Oh, Christ. Brendon was self-aware before, he knew, but now that Ryan was openly confirming everything rather than vaguely flirting, well. He figured he was screwed. I know. "I would like to let the record show that I never used that exact verbage. My 'constant boner' is my business, Mr. Blake." Well. Was it, really, if Mr. Blake was sort of the cause behind it? Whatever. He clapped a hand over his face, almost mortified, while Brendon turned around to look through the haul, then took it away just to admire from afar, wondering how he'd become absolutely smitten with this total dork. Sure, the shopping was overkill, but for whatever reason, he needed to be the most generous person in existence first to even consider himself worthy of his time. So. He was only ninety-nine percent sure Brendon liked him back, after all.

Acting like he hated him would totally keep them safe from any backlash, though, he was certain of it. Sure it will. But then, like, Spencer’ll hate me even more, like, ‘dude, why does Ryan hate you now’, and I’ll be all ‘not a clue, homie’, and you’ll need a cover story about your sudden shift in attitude. God. Ryan was grinning so stupidly, he was that enamoured with him that this dumb tangent had him senseless. Too complicated, I say just stick with the staring. Ryan really was, looking the most comfortable he ever had in his life with his eyes far below where they should realistically be. "I'm happy with that," he returned lazily, settling in by crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back at the waist slightly. His gaze lifted to meet Brendon's when he glanced back, almost guilty when he instantly burst into a grin, shifting to pleased when he turned around to face him. Ha, funny. Ryan sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, already imagining kissing him. Sorta jumping the gun, there.

And he did accomplish those plans; for some reason, he wasn't sure this was the first time he'd ever kissed someone in the middle of them calling him a 'dumbass,' but he definitely enjoyed it most with Brendon. Brendon cradled either side of his jaw, and for the first time in a long time, Ryan slowed down, relaxed against him, felt at peace. His hand in Brendon's felt almost natural, like that was where it should be, and why had he waited so damn long to do this, since when was it not acceptable to just be doing this from the beginning, so forth. Maybe it was better to have built up to this point - it definitely felt like something akin to relief. Brendon's laugh was half against his lips and it was, quite possibly, the most wonderful feeling in the world, so much so that Ryan briefly broke out into a grin with him before they met for another hasty kiss.

What do you mean, getting through? Hand freed, Ryan welcomed himself to placing both hands in either of Brendon's back pockets, eyebrows raised right back at him. He was practically leaning in to Brendon hand at his jaw, such a warm gesture in itself that he couldn't help melting into it. I intend to take my time, sir. "Oooh, 'sir,'" he repeated, amused. "Call me a freak, but I'm into it." Ryan actually laughed, pulling him close by his very convenient hand placement, pressing their foreheads together and shutting his eyes. He planted another momentary kiss against Brendon's lips, a few seconds before he finally convinced himself to get a breath again. "This is cliché, but you really have no idea how much I've wanted to do this, like, since I met you. Though, not even my imagination could make this up." He lifted one hand to press against the middle of Brendon's bottom lip, pulling it into the slightest pout, like he was marking the target just before kissing him again.