[IC] it's a lovely chemistry

[jakob]

A three year draft. Ryan had been dreaming of this shit since he was fourteen.

The NHL Entry Draft was something that seemed way too soon for him, seven years into ever even beginning to play, much less competitively - and here he was, surviving seven rounds of the draft, #1 amongst a little over 200 others on the plate. A right winger, he tended to lead the team in scoring, but he also got a nasty injury of some kind at least every game - like the busted lip he sported now, or the bruised cheekbone that just healed, or the fractured elbow that he ignored for a solid month. So. Ryan didn't think he was that great, despite everything. Especially not 'first in the national draft' great.

But, somehow, he was leaving the American Airlines Center, signed to the Blackhawks, listening to his manager ramble off awards dates and opportunities and interview times. And he wasn't really hearing a thing, but that didn't matter, because dream: meet Ryan. He was doing fucking fantastic.

He woke up the next morning, alarm blaring at seven a.m., almost having forgotten the day previous - and then he looked around, and it was the nicest hotel room he'd ever been in, and his contract was on the desk parallel to his bed, jersey thrown over the chair, and... he had an interview in an hour. He'd had maybe three, ever before, and all of them were mediocre, not anyone who really cared about how much he'd scored or how great of a right winger he was or what awards he'd won, they were just paid to ask. But now he had that same amount all in one day, and more in the future, and basically he felt like a celebrity, except with maybe 2,000 Instagram followers and half that on Twitter. So not quite. Getting there, though. After calibrating to this new reality, Ryan shut up his alarm clock and pulled himself to his feet, for the first time in a while wide awake and beyond excited for the day.

He hadn't even known what it'd entail - everything else had been right after a game, bathed in euphoria, nothing really about him, and now he held more importance. It ended up not even mattering - he'd entered the room, some online journal's building, and there was a whole crew and an interviewer who instantly knocked him off-guard. Ryan wasn't shy, nowhere close to it; in fact he was cocky enough that he almost had a bad reputation for it at least amongst opposing teams. This guy, though, was dangerously pretty. Ryan even had to repeat his introduction 'cause someone on the crew asked him to speak up. Every answer to a question was as short as possible, barely loud enough to hear, stammered through, so forth, and apparently he had a new expression he'd never seen before: fleeting, nervous smile. His name was Brendon, and as soon as no one was recording anymore, Ryan had anxiously cleared his throat and worked up the courage to ask him if maybe he'd like to get dinner sometime.

It was cliché, yeah, and Brendon had stopped for a second before clarifying that it was just between them because Ryan was just that bad around anyone he found cute. And he was pretty sure the guy who set up the room had heard it. Embarrassing. But - Ryan got a yes, so it wasn't too bad. Tomorrow at seven, when all of his other appointments were over. So, at six, he started getting ready, shamefully recycling the same outfit he'd worn to the draft because he didn't exactly have a plethora of nice clothes: black pants, a white button-up, fairly plain stuff. The only less plain thing on him: hands adorned with rings, a scar still annoyingly on the side of his bottom lip, but having something going wrong was fairly on-brand for him. He messed with his hair, fruitlessly, for a strong twenty minutes before he was out the door.

Naturally, he was the first one at the restaurant, picking a table close to the door and feeling dumb as all hell. Basically the only thing he knew about the guy was his name - Brendon, on the other hand, had a whole interview's worth. Maybe his Wikipedia page basics. He spun his rings and ordered red wine while he waited, sipping at it tentatively (and knowing full well he was a lightweight, but he needed the help), and decided to text Brendon. I'm here, table by the bar. See you soon :-) ... Ryan deleted that smiley face and rewrote it without a nose about five times before deciding which one looked better. Seriously, an entire team depended on him on the constant and this was what made him nervous.

After a few minutes he was starting to relax, settling in and feeling warm, and he spotted a familiar, ridiculously pretty face coming through the door. Ryan stood up fast, meeting Brendon in the middle and almost going for a handshake, deciding on a hug. "Hey! Hi. I, uh, I didn't have anything nice to wear. So." Ryan held out his arms at his sides, almost awkward. Felt like he had to excuse it somehow. He started guiding them back to the table. "Anyway, it's good to see you again - please." As he said it, he pulled out a chair for Brendon, holding out a hand to welcome him and then taking his own seat. "How are you? Did I end up sounding good in the interview? I may have been a little nervous." Obviously. He grinned despite himself.

[Neve]

So maybe Brendon hadn’t been dreaming of this since he was fourteen, but still, he had been looking forward to interviewing the recently drafted Ryan Rowe, a right winger (now for the Blackhawks)- he’d naturally been paying attention to what was going on and he knew that Ryan was everyone’s darling right now, top of his game, bound to only get better and more well known after this ‘big break’ of his career, so to speak. Even though he’d already been following him relatively closely, since he’d been informed that he was going to be taking the wheel of an interview with Ryan, he’d done a substantial amount more of research into his background, his play style, his personal records, statistics, everything. Brendon, though seemingly easily distracted and quick to lose focus when something was arduous and boring, was nothing if not dedicated to his job and he wanted to know everything that was public knowledge about Ryan before he got to sit in front of him and find out things that maybe nobody knew yet. He’d even followed Ryan on twitter and Instagram. Even throughout all this research, though, he hadn’t noticed until Ryan had walked in just how goddamn handsome he was, honey eyes and almost windswept-looking chestnut hair. Tall, and built well, too- naturally.

Unfortunately, Brendon wasn’t the only one in the room; a whole crew was with them and it was lucky that Brendon was such a welcoming and charismatic interviewer because Ryan was like a fucking clam, much more reclusive and shy than he had expected- Brendon had watched videos of brief interviews directly after games, Ryan standing there, chest heaving, still in full gear and sweating like hell, and even then when he was clearly fucking beat he had an air of confidence- maybe bordering on arrogance, but he never seemed obnoxious. Besides, it seemed to Brendon that he was good enough at what he did (first in the national draft, for God’s sake) to be allowed to be arrogant about it. Sitting in front of him and the crew, though, Brendon was surprised by how different he seemed from any other time he’d been at a game watching him play or studying any other content online. In the place of a cocky, almost devilish player that he’d expected was a low-voiced, almost nervous man of few words. Even so, Brendon thought he was charming and attractive and when he linked this more intimate picture of Ryan back to how he was out during a game, it was both baffling and extremely intruiging. And not. But it would be, y’know, unprofessional to mention that in an interview- and though it wasn’t easy to believe, Brendon was better at holding his tongue than ever nowadays.

If he had a dollar for every time he’d found an interviewee cute or vice versa, he’d be rich, but if he had a dollar for every time said interviewee asked him out to dinner, he wouldn’t even be able to afford that dinner. It had been a successful interview and they’d wrapped up, shook hands, the crew started filing out to review and cut down the footage, or something. Brendon was busying about with his notes and whatnot and collecting his coat and Ryan hung around, so Brendon paused, and looked up (yes, up, he was 5’6, this guy had five or six inches on him) expectantly. Ryan had then made that interview particularly memorable by anxiously and admittedly adorably asking him on a date. And yes, it was a date, Brendon had to clarify that, because he had seemed way too flustered to even be interested and Brendon was too absorbed in the interview to notice any flirting if he had even tried. Gut instinct told him to say no, but. Why not? When he looked at him without reservations, now, he really was stunning. Rather tragically, Brendon felt goddamn butterflies at the gentleness of the proposal. So he said yes, they exchanged numbers, and organised a date and time.

Brendon was organised, usually. But he spent a long time standing staring at himself in the mirror trying to figure out what the hell to wear. What if he’d misread the whole thing, and this was just a friendly meal? He jumped between two outfits, red pants and a simple black t-shirt or a printed button-up and black jeans. He settled on the former and sorted out his hair and by the time he had finished trying to tame one wild strand, he glanced at his phone and he was already kind of supposed to be at the restaurant. Great. Luckily, Brendon was used to getting to places fast so he only ended up being under ten minutes later, texting Ryan a light-hearted apology. In response, Ryan said ‘see you soon’ and gave him a rough idea of his location within the restaurant. For the first time when he walked through the doors, he was nervous- he was excited, sure, but hadn’t been anticipating nerves playing up. But again, he was just that pretty. As the door swung shut behind him, he spotted Ryan and smiled immediately as he stood and made his way over. There was a beat before they greeted eachother where they mutually debated handshake v hug- hug it was, this wasn’t a business meeting. He didn’t think. Either way- he smelled fucking good, Brendon lingered a little before pulling back, still smiling.

Hey! Hi. I, uh, I didn’t have anything nice to wear. So. Brendon hadn’t paid any attention to what he had been wearing, honestly, too lost in his illegally pretty eyes. When he looked down, though, gave him a once-over- ”What are you talking about? You look great. Real classy. You’d almost not expect you to be a hockey player, but- the scar.” On his bottom lip. Not too classy. All in good fun. Brendon followed as Ryan guided them back to the table, where he spotted a glass of red wine that was pretty much almost empty. Brendon was only disappointed that Ryan hadn’t ordered him one. Anyway, it’s good to see you again- please. What a gentleman, Brendon thought, smiling at him as he pulled his chair out for him, taking a seat when Ryan gestured to do so. ”Thank you. You too.” How are you? Did I end up sounding good in the interview? I may have been a little nervous. Adopting a reassuring smile quickly, Brendon leaned forward in his chair and shrugged a litttle. ”Just a little, but you sounded great. Everyone loves you, now, y’know? You could do no wrong.” It was true, even rival teams begrudgingly admitted he was an excellent player. ”And, I’m great. How are you doing, Ryan?”

[jakob]

Brendon's interview was the first time someone really cared enough to do a background check and look into who he was, what he'd accomplished. When he won an award in the past and someone wanted to do a tiny, paragraph-long feature about it, the only thing they wanted to know was what exactly he did to win it (and he never knew how to respond, by the way - just 'be a good player?' - what did they ever expect). He was generally not known enough for people to be interested in his personal life, and therefore he wasn't marketable; that wasn't an insult, either. That's just how it was for athletes. If you weren't recognized by a massive organization or in a well-respected league, you weren't really anyone at all, nor were you bringing in a very impressive paycheck.

Anyway, Brendon cared. He wanted to know how Ryan got his start, let Ryan offer brief, uncertain commentary on the dumb community center team he was on when he was a kid, asked about his strategy - and actually appeared to have observed some parts of it through his research. Research. It was bizarre to think someone put the time into that, especially when there was barely anything about him out there. Ryan was a normal person, after all; there was, naturally, close to no information about him, leave for some minor profiles done after he'd won an award or when he was a teenager and scored a spot in the local paper. When Brendon brought up something himself without Ryan making any mention of it, he felt that buzz of celebrity, like his fifteen minutes of fame was starting, except this time it'd last way longer than fifteen minutes. Hopefully. It was flattering, basically, and especially so when the painstaking effort was coming from someone like Brendon. Who, y'know. Was beyond pretty, and whose personality somehow shone through questions that would otherwise have been dull and pointless.

That was, unfortunately, bad news for Ryan's nerves - which was far from normal for him. Generally nothing could shake him. Even against the most daunting of opposing teams, he could be seen with a surgeon's composure, completely steady, no mistakes. Given compliments, his response was 'I know.' Shit-talking from the offensive players, easy to throw right back - and in fact he was, oftentimes, the one who might start a scuffle in the middle of the rink. (Only about half the time did a referee call him out on it, but Ryan may or may not have aimed a puck at a player rather than a goal net.) So he wasn't timid, or anxious, or by any means shy, except for around a particularly charming interviewer. It could be the fact that this was his first legitimate, professional foray into journalism, but his most accurate suspicion was that Brendon was exactly his type. Worringly so.

When he saw Brendon walk through the restaurant doors, it was almost funny to him how mismatched they were, Brendon in his plain tee and statement red pants, Ryan going with his version of 'all out.' Almost brought the guy down to earth - but not quite. Even so, red wine had taken its toll already, and their hug was almost prolonged, every single thought focused primarily on controlling the impulse to move a hand upward to Brendon's hair, or something. Like a lover. They'd literally known each other for a total of maybe two, three hours, and here he was, truly curious as to how soft Brendon's hair might feel. Anyway. He stayed normal, almost, holding out as long as Brendon would let him, arms secured over his back, and he was so little. Ryan spent his days around people his size or much larger, and Brendon was about half any of that, not just height-wise. Seriously mismatched.

What are you talking about? You look great. Real classy. Ryan grinned, and he didn't do that a lot, at least not super genuinely and bashfully. It was almost alien. You’d almost not expect you to be a hockey player, but- the scar. Suddenly conscious of it, Ryan skimmed his teeth over the bust, too used to seeing some kind of visible wound on himself that he'd forgotten it wasn't normal. Hey, he played aggressively. "It's an accessory." Almost his typical personality again... but not completely. He followed Brendon's gaze to his drink, putting the pieces together. "I didn't know whether you drank. Split a bottle?" He smirked, almost knowingly, because as if it would be an equal split. Ryan went overboard most every time he got the chance to drink without worrying about the next game, and whatever they split would probably end up being his three-quarters.

Thank you. You too. Cool, cool, gentleman gestures impressed him, the bar was low. Ryan tipped up a question about the interview, at a loss for conversation topics as if he hadn't been thinking about this since he'd asked Brendon out, but he was also genuinely curious. Thankfully, Brendon looked encouraging. Just a little, but you sounded great. Everyone loves you, now, y’know? You could do no wrong. Ryan paused. 'Everyone.' Did he mean the crew, or something along those lines, or was there an 'everyone' to speak of now? Sure, people had been interested in him before, but not enough to like him for who he was rather than what he did. This was new. Nerves fading, Ryan's natural confidence was almost back, and he leaned in his chair casually. "Well. I knew that part, I'm always right." He was kidding, raising his eyebrows to dismiss any sign that it might've been real arrogance. And, I’m great. How are you doing, Ryan?

You could almost tell his profession, the way he addressed him by name, and for a moment, Ryan smiled fondly at it. He pulled his lip between his teeth again, thoughtfully, the cut metallic, a beat passing before he answered. "A little shell-shocked. First in the draft... I'm good, I didn't know I was that... y'know. It's crazy - but I'm great, too, obviously." He smiled, shaking his head slightly and finishing his glass. "You were my first interview. First one well thought out, and everything. Do you always do that much studying, or is it just this particular story? I wasn't expecting that." Really. Brendon was more prepared for that than Ryan was for anything, ever. The server slipped by, topping him off with a small beckoning gesture, adding to Brendon's glass with another, and Ryan nodded in thanks before he went off again.

[Neve]

While researching Rowe for the interview, he’d seen pictures. He knew that the man was handsome, he’d known before he turned up to meet him, but those photographs were nothing because in person he was hot. It was typical for Brendon that the first person he’d been genuinely attracted too in a while was someone he had to meet in a professional setting- though that didn’t stop him daydreaming a little, watching his mouth too much when he answered questions and lingering with the handshake because his grip was strong and calloused and his fingers were long and- yeah, you get the picture. Ryan was just his type, tall and dark, with beautiful eyes and a gorgeous voice. So, when, at the end of the interview after the recording had stopped, Ryan lingered behind and approached him to ask him out on a date, Brendon was very surprised. Flattered. After a few hesitant moments wondering whether this would compromise the interview somehow and he’d get in trouble, he figured to tell with it, he was freelance anyway and Brendon hadn’t been on a date in a while.

Besides. If all else failed, he’d get a nice dinner, at least. He mulled over his outfit choice for a little longer than he would have liked but settled on something that stood out but wasn’t too out there, for fear of weirding Ryan out with his sometimes extravagant sense of style. Being late didn’t bother him and when he walked in and Ryan immediately stood up, he grinned lazily, meeting his date in the middle between the door and the table and letting himself be drawn into a hug. Just like with the handshake, it lingered just a little too long for it to be a quick first-date hug. Ryan smelled amazing, and he was warm and his chest felt comfortable to be held against. Jesus, it really had been a while since Brendon last had a crush or felt even the faintest butterflies and if things went the way they were, he’d be on the phone to his friends like a teenager when he got home tonight, gushing about the dreamy hockey player who had taken him out on a date in a lovely restaurant. Fuck, he was getting carried away, it was just a hug.

Pull yourself together, Brendon, he told himself, pulling back from the embrace and following Ryan to the table, smiling in thanks when he pulled his chair out for him and then sitting down, shifting til he was comfortable. It felt, for a bizarre moment as he started at Ryan from across the table, like the beginning of another interview, and he felt the need to introduce himself- but luckily, Ryan was talking before he could embarrass himself by implying that Ryan didn’t even remember the name of the man he’d asked out on a date the day before. Then, Brendon was complimenting him and commenting on that visible scar, withholding the juvenile admission that he thought it made him look hot. It did, though. It’s an accessory. He laughed. ”I have a scar, too, on my eyebrow.” He raised the eyebrow in question. ”Not as cool a story behind it, though. Smacked my head on the curb when I was a kid.”

I didn’t know whether you drank. Split a bottle? How considerate- or maybe this kid just liked his alcohol. Brendon smirked back, his voice teasing and gentle. ”Hell yeah, might help us out a little.” And suddenly they were talking about the interview and Brendon felt like he was at work but didn’t mind, because he understood it must’ve been a big deal for Ryan as his first proper interview, and because that was the one thing he knew that they had in common so far. He didn’t intend to flatter him but apparently honesty was enough to do that as Brendon just relayed what he thought Ryan already knew- everyone, save maybe rival teams, loved him as a player. He was pretty and charming and rough around the edges and that was certainly doing it for Brendon. Well. I knew that part, I'm always right. Cocky, but in a sweet, endearing sort of way, that Brendon couldn’t really take serious because he had been at that interview and Ryan almost stammered a few times. At first he thought it was inexperience but after Ryan asked him out, he realised he must have been a factor affecting his nerves, too.

A little shell-shocked. First in the draft... I’m good, I didn’t know I was that... y’know. That was almost a textbook answer to an interview question but Brendon could tell he really was just surprised. Not too above the Earth, then, it seemed, still disbelieving of his great achievements. Brendon felt a foreign fondness and hoped suddenly that his success continued into greater things. ”You should be proud of yourself.” A pause. ”I mean, I’m sure you are,” Brendon laughed, the corners of his eyes screwing up a little. It's crazy - but I'm great, too, obviously. ”Obviously.” You were my first interview. First one well thought out, and everything. Do you always do that much studying, or is it just this particular story? I wasn't expecting that.

Brendon waited as smiled at the server as they topped up his glass and he immediately picked it up when they moved on, taking his first sip just as Ryan was finishing his first glass. Slow down, he wanted to joke, but they weren’t there yet, so he decided against it. ”I always do that much,” He explained, placing his glass back down. ”I don’t just turn up and think up questions on the spot, y’know. Although- if turning up to interviews and getting dates with handsome men like yourself was a daily thing, I think I’d be a happier man.”

[jakob]

Ryan wasn’t a nervous guy. He wasn’t awkward or at all unsure of himself; he was assertive and forward, was so confident that sometimes his attitude bordered on arrogance. This was just typical of most athletes - when you’re brought up praised for greatness by all your coaches, it tends to happen. He did, however, have a fairly significant weakness for guys he found attractive. He was so career-focused and driven that he didn’t get the chance to notice them very often, thankfully, and anyway most of his teammates could not even come close to fitting his ‘type,’ considering he usually took interest in those smaller than him. The ‘pretty boy’ cliché. Yeah, Ryan lost composure around that kind of thing. He forgot how to hold a conversation, couldn’t maintain eye contact, held himself in a shy manner rather than his usual strong, sturdy stance. It was... beyond frustrating.

This was definitely the case with Brendon. He was so little, almost compact, funnily enough, and it immediately endeared him to Ryan. He had this signature pout that transformed easily into a wide, strikingly white smile, so genuine you could see it up to his eyes where they crinkled in the corners. Brendon simply had this softness about him that Ryan was completely unused to, and that was all only physical. It said nothing of his personality and abilities, and maybe Ryan didn’t know him all that well, but he liked what he did know. Brendon was easy to talk to, sociable, had this mellow quality that complimented Ryan’s newfound timidness. Not just in a way that journalists had to be, he was sweet and charming, something that obviously just came to him naturally. Needless to say, he’d made a good first impression.

I have a scar, too, on my eyebrow. Well, Ryan knew that already. He’d practically memorized the guy’s face. He looked at it automatically, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. Not as cool a story behind it, though. Smacked my head on the curb when I was a kid. Ryan cringed for his sake, mouthing a sympathetic ‘ow.’ ”No, I think that’s about as cool as me getting shoved into the rink’s Plexiglas.” He grinned, his gaze wandering over Brendon’s scar again, thinking that it sort of matured him. It was out of place, what with the gentleness of the rest of him. That said, it was definitely hot. Identical trains of thought, the two of them. The difference was that Ryan was the type who felt the need to exert his confidence (even when it’d been watered down), not as mellow as Brendon, so of course- he was saying it. ”It’s sexy.” He was totally lame. Regardless, Ryan was grinning as if he was the most self-assured person alive.

Maybe it helped that Brendon had this incredibly calming air about him. Well - in reality it was a little mixed; he was so disarming that Ryan felt pressured to be his best self, but at the same time he seemed so at ease it was hard not to match his energy. God, Ryan was liking him more and more so quickly. Hell yeah, might help us out a little. Ryan grinned, finishing off his glass while they awaited the server.
For a moment, reminiscing on the interview, Ryan let slip his shock about everything happening, totally forgetting he was supposed to be remarkably sure. He pursed his lips immediately, quieting for a beat. You should be proud of yourself. I mean, I’m sure you are. ”Yeah,” Ryan said slowly, watching the way Brendon’s eyes lit up as he smiled, the way his whole face changed. Shit, he was stunning. Ryan barely even knew what he’d agreed with, totally on autopilot by now.

I always do that much. Ryan made a mental note to look up more of Brendon’s work... like some fanboy watching all the movies of his favorite actor. He was so ridiculous. I don’t just turn up and think up questions on the spot, y’know. Although- if turning up to interviews and getting dates with handsome men like yourself was a daily thing, I think I’d be a happier man. Probably moving too quickly, Ryan automatically went for his wine glass, knocking some back to avoid looking sheepish in front of Brendon. Again. ”I- that’s. You’re sweet.” He exhaled on a smile, setting down the glass and curling his fingers round the stem protectively. ”I’m surprised it doesn’t happen all the time, I mean, you’re...” He was speechless for a moment, gesturing lamely at Brendon after deciding there was no good descriptor for how hot he was. ”How long have you been a journalist? How’d you get into it?”