Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If Brendon had a dime for every single time an interviewer had asked him about Ryan Ross since Spencer left, he’d buy every copy of this album himself so he wouldn’t have to go on a press tour to hear them ask about him again.

“Brendon, fans are always wondering, do you think a reunion could ever happen? You and Ryan Ross?”
“Brendon, is a reunion ever in the cards?”
“Brendon, do you see a reunion ever happening?”

There it was, again and again.
He always laughed, reflexive and polished and just hoped it came across as any semblance of natural.
What bothered him most was how definitive their questions always seemed to be.
Ever, will you ever, have you ever, in the future
It was all so definite for a guy he hadn’t texted regularly in years, now.

Nonetheless, he had been doing this long enough to know what they wanted to hear, what he could say.
Some variation of Who knows, Never say never, I’d have to ask him about that, he’s doing his own thing, he’s happy, last I heard he was doing this or that
Like he had a fucking clue or knew anything more than the next random person on the sidewalk knew about Ryan Ross right now.

Afterwards, on the drive back, he kept thinking about that.
It’s not like he's a stranger to questions about Ryan. He had come to accept somewhere between drinks immediately after he left and the next album or two that maybe they would always bring him up, maybe he haunted him in a way and he just had to accept that as a fact of life.
Fact about his life, interviewers would always chase a buzzy exclusive about how he feels about Ryan Ross, and fans would always indulge too.

Later that night in his hotel room, he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone, more habit than any real curiosity. The tour he was in the middle of was a blur of noise and light and drinks that started early and ended later. It was solitary, too. He wasn’t used to being alone or having a touring band, worst of all he wasn’t used to not having Spencer right there to laugh with.

He searched for his name. On Instagram. He wasn't even entirely sure Ryan followed him on Instagram or any social media anymore for that matter. Not that that mattered to him in his tipsy, morbidly curious state.
He didn't mean to. It was more like his thumb just typed it in.
And there he was.

One of the last times Brendon went looking for him he just remembers an eccentric feed, friends, that purple tinted filter, the dogs he got that he remembers promising play dates with Bogart sometime with.

Whatever.

His profile picture was one he recently posted, him, in the pink fuzzy bunny ears, from a panic show.
The caption was something about a throwback.
Brendon didn’t pay particular attention to that.
Because of course it was his icon. Of course he posted that. Of course the comments were full of mention of Brendon, tagging him,the works.

Brendon would laugh and ask himself why he bothered to look Ryan up when nothing had changed if he wasn’t so tipsy and tired right now.

So instead he just smiled, laughed then stopped. Put his phone down and tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie.
If Sarah came out of the bathroom brushing her hair and asked him what was funny and he simply replied with “an old picture” and didn’t specify who, well that’s his prerogative.

A few nights later, after a show that left him swimming literally in his own sweat and metaphorically in liquor and adrenaline, he texted Spencer.
He’d shake his head and feel bad for that later. He has no business asking Spencer of all people, of all times right now, about his spur of the moment curiosity at 2 in the morning.

you still got ry’s number?

yeah, why

dunno. Wondered if he changed it.

same as it’s always been.

Brendon stared at the texts for far too long.
He felt silly, texting Spencer for that. Felt even sillier when his responses were so fast, too.
He typed cool thanks. and deleted it.
Typed it again. Deleted it.
He figures he should just be thankful Spencer didn't ask why he was so curious about Ryan Ross at 2 in the morning, clearly drunk, and not push his luck.

He dropped his phone on the side table, picked it up just to drop it again, hear it clatter.
He wasn't sure what he wanted.
Not to talk to Ryan. Surely not that.
Just to know that theoretically, he could.

He didn't text him. Not for days.
He kept meaning to, but every time he did it felt like clunky garbage, completely unnatural.
hey, saw a pic of you-
you ever think about-
Did you ever-
Is this still your number? It’s Brendon, btw

It all sounds stupid to him.
What would he even say?

hey, remember when we were friends and we were idiots and everything was impossible but now I'm thinking maybe it was perfect?

He figured he’d better text him soon, just to get it off his mind, that he would probably just exchange polite hellos and ghost each other again just like every single time they would try to make plans after the split.
But he knew he’d better do it soon, it was getting distracting.
Sarah talked about weekend plans and he’d nod along, only half listening, half else-where. He felt guilty about that.

He told himself it wasn’t even about Ryan himself, per say. It was nostalgia. That's all.
That he was lonely, in a hard spot and he was feeling strange without Spencer, so his brain was pulling at the thread of good old nostalgia.
The way people romanticize high school or their old shitty apartment when they were in college or buy a house, it’s not like you wanna go there, you just remember the feeling.

That's all.

 

Chicago.
The show went well, extremely well in a way he hadn't been sure of for a while. He’d been off his game insecurity wise for a while this tour. He wasn’t sure if it was the new aesthetic or just not having Spencer behind him, but for the longest time he has not walked off stage and felt like he truly did well.

He downed something clear that burned his throat, then another.
Everyone peeled off eventually, going their own separate ways and he ended up in his hotel suite.
The lights were particularly too bright for him tonight and the room was too quiet.
So he went on his phone.
Scrolled again.
That picture, the same one, Ryan, bunny ears, came up again.
Reposted by a fan account, this time.

He laughed, a dry, hoarse one.
“Fuck it.” he said out loud, to nobody at all.

He opened his messages. Spencer's thread. Then Ryan's unsaved number, just sitting there.

He typed.
is this still you.
No punctuation, no overthinking, just drunk human instinct. If he was sober maybe he’d panic and delete it 20 times again then ultimately send nothing like he’s been doing.

Not tonight.
He hit send.
The little delivered checks appeared, nothing else.
Brendon was a little relieved that he wasn’t blocked. That was always a good sign.

He finished what was left of whatever bottle he was sipping on and laid back on the bed, stage clothes still on. Just stared at a ceiling that seemed to spin, listened to the hum of the air conditioner. He honestly wanted to get up to turn it off, but he didn't.

For the first time in years, he dreamed of a stage that didn't exist anymore, friends that were no longer in his grasp.

He woke up to sunlight slicing through the curtains he hadn't bothered to properly shut and a headache that felt like punishment.
For the drinking or the text he honestly wasn’t sure.

His phone had fallen to the floor at some point and it was still there, screen dimly lit to show a few missed calls from management and one unread text.
He rubbed at his eyes and groaned, half afraid to respond to anybody.

The last thing he remembered was the taste of vodka and his thumb hitting send.
The notification glared back at him.

hey. Yeah. its me.
That was all.

He stared at it until the words didn’t look like words anymore.
Then he exhaled, sharp and too bothered for someone who had started this conversation in the first place, then let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Shit.” he muttered to the ceiling.

For a few minutes, he didn't even attempt to type anything back.
He felt oddly too sober for this now. He considered texting him back tonight, when he inevitably got to some liquid courage.

He typed and deleted half a dozen things.

how you been

Didn’t think youd reply

Was drunk lol

It all looked stupid, once again.

Finally he settled on whatever made his skin crawl the least.

 

oh hey, didnt think this was still your number

He hit send before he could picture Spencer's disappointed angry face at him for doing this in his mind.
The reply came fast enough that it didn't feel like hesitation.

Yeah, didnt think youd text it

Brendon laughed quietly. It was too normal, too easy to be simultaneously making him feel like he’d officially lost his mind.
Like the last decade hadn’t swallowed them both whole and spit them out in some unrecognizable no man's land.

blame the internet. Saw your bunny ears again.

Great. Just what I needed.

You looked good tho. nostalgic .

Brendon regretted it as soon as he had typed it but his fingers were faster.
It was too familiar, too honest.
Ryan didn't call him out.

yeah, weird seeing that stuff again.
Everyone looks so young

Brendon typed out we were but didn't send it.
Instead,
you still making music?

There was a long pause for response now, long enough to make him think he’d fucked it all up by asking.

not really. Sometimes.
I write things, mostly. Can’t tell if they're songs, half the time.

Brendon could just picture him saying that, chin tilted, half smile, maybe hand rubbing at his throat like he was making fun of himself before anybody else could.

sounds like you.

 

And youre still…. everywhere

Brendon didn't know if Ryan had meant that as a compliment or not, knowing his own thoughts on fame.
He tried to take it as one.

yeah, i can’t seem to shut up, lol

 

I noticed

He snorted, just a bit, the poking fun felt familiar.

i missed this. he sent.

Ryan's typing bubble appeared, then vanished, then appeared again.

whats this, exactly

 

Brendon blinked at the screen.
The hangover roared in his temples, he didn't have an answer for him, at least not a good one

i dont know.
Talking, I guess. Catching up.

Sure.

The word sat there for a while, flat and simple the way he recalled lots of conversations with Ryan to be, at times.
He stared at it until his phone dimmed again.

Later that night, on the bus heading to another show, he scrolled through their short thread again, rereading it like it meant more than it did.
The others were asleep. The road noise hummed low.

He typed one more message before tossing the phone onto his bunk.

we should hang sometime. if you’re in LA.
Typing that made him realize just how little he knew about Ryan right now, he wasn’t even sure he still lived in California.

He didn’t expect an answer that night. He didn’t get one.
But in the morning, before soundcheck, he saw it waiting.

maybe.

 

And that was enough to ruin his whole sense of calm for the rest of the day

Chapter Text

Brendon didn't fill Spencer in on their texting because he'd figured he'd suffered through enough updates on their same song and dance.

Every year or two, closer to two, like clockwork the two would be "in contact" again.
The first text always started the same, something casual because they both had too much pride to say what they really wanted.

Something like hey or you around lately
Then they'd make a promise to hang out sometime, changing over the years from drinks to coffee when he assumed Ryan didn't drink much anymore.

They never followed through.

maybe.
He left the message on read for a day. Not on purpose, but because he didn't know what the hell to say next.

"maybe."

Maybe what? Maybe l'Il see you? Maybe I'll answer? Maybe this is nothing and you should stop trying?

 

By the time the bus pulled into the next city, hed convinced himself it was fine. He'd done the dumb impulsive thing already, reached out, texted, cracked open a door that probably should've stayed closed. It was fine.

Brendon stared at the screen, thumb hovering. He already knew how this went.

He’d text, Ryan would respond, and they’d keep the conversation going until one of them blinked too long and disappeared again.
It was their cycle. Always one of them ghosting first, never angry about it, just drifting naturally again until the next time they wanted to pretend to try things out.

Still, he answered anyway.

still in california?

mostly. you?

tour. somewhere midwest.

figured.

There it was.
That quiet tone Ryan always had, even through text. Like he was there, but not really. Like he was already halfway gone again. It used to piss Brendon off, remind him of every time Ryan pushed him and his opinions aside.

It had taken that nostalgic sheen for him now, though.

Brendon smiled at his phone anyway. He always did.

They kept talking, here and there, never anything so telling about their lives.
Ryan said he was writing again when Brendon asked, "not like before." Or simply "stuff".

He never sent anything over, not a link or a file or even a photo of scribbles on random paper the way Brendon recalls him doing constantly.

He checked his phone more than he'd like to admit.

Sometimes he thought about their last attempt, the one where they’d actually talked on the phone for two hours about nothing and then Ryan just stopped answering one day. No fight. No reason.

Brendon told himself he didn’t care. But he always did.

One night after a show, half-drunk, he texted again after a few days of nothing.
If he double texted, that was his own problem

 

you still hate the idea of touring?

hate traveling. not the same thing.

Brendon laughed. It felt stupid and warm and sad all at once.

same old guy.

you’re still online at 3am. so yeah, same old you too.

That one made him laugh harder. There was something steady about it, he could almost mistake for comfort or friendship.

you ever miss it? he typed out, just to try out how being honest would feel for a try.
He deleted it before he could even decipher what it was he wanted as an answer.

 

It wasn't supposed to happen the way it did.
Brendon wasn't planning to see him, not seriously. He told himself he might, in the same way you say you might win the jackpot when you buy a lottery ticket

 

LA was loud and too bright like it always was. He'd been drinking too much again, not blackout, he was too busy for that, not messy either. Just enough to feel numbed but not out of his own body.

Sarah was away visiting her family for a few days. He was effectively left to his own devices.

He texted Ryan after a few days back

hey, in town for a few days, no big deal.

No response. He didnt expect one, either

 

It was a distant friend of a friend who made it happen. Someone Brendon had maybe met once, in passing, maybe he was closer friends with one of Brendon's friends.

A Halloween party at a rented place in Los Feliz.
He'd thought, why not, it's not like I have people to see or much better to do.
He told himself it’d just be for an hour. Just to be somewhere.

 

He almost missed him completely.

At first, he just noticed Alex Greenwald across the room.
Loud, easy, exactly how he remembered him from the brief time they shared on the Civic tour.

 

Alex had been the kind of guy everyone liked on tour: funny, always knew the good restaurants in whatever city, said things that sounded like advice but were mostly jokes, started round circle jam sessions.

 

He was in costume , a black waistcoat, dark slicked back hair, pale makeup, that sharp, theatrical smile complete with fangs. Some old-time vampire. Nosferatu, maybe.

He didn't particularly care to figure it out.
What he did care about, what did make him freeze was who was stood next to him.

Next to him was Ryan.
Ryan in a white blouse, something with frills and a collar but still subtle enough for Brendon to have to process what he was supposed to be.
Paired with Alex's full get up, it wasn't so hard to take a guess.

Nosferatu and Ellen Hutter.
So old, so pretentious, just niche enough, so them as he recalled them to be.

It made him laugh just once to himself, it was something like the way it used to be.
It hit him like a flashbulb shortly after, something about how of course they were dressed like that, and of course he immediately understood it.

He turned to get a drink and seriously considered leaving before either of them could see him.
He really did.

But then Alex turned his head and lit up.
“Brendon Urie! No fucking way.”

He laughed before he could help it. “Hey, man. Wow. Been a minute.” he replied as if he had any intention of coming up to Alex himself.

Alex crossed the room like they were still on tour together, like no time had passed at all. “What are you even doing here?”

“Same thing as you, I guess. Trying not to drink alone.”

“Yeah, right.” Alex smirked, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you look good. Older, but good.”

“Thanks. You too,” Brendon said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say, didn't even know why he was being awkward either.

He should get it together, this is a former colleague, at some points he was even a friend.

Alex palmed his own forehead like he did something silly in not bringing Ryan up with him in the first place, then motioned for Ryan to come up next to him.

"Ryan! You know Ryan, obviously" Alex said, finding some obvious humor in introducing Brendon to his own former friend.

Ryan turned, half-smiling, one hand still wrapped around a drink, nudging himself to Alex's side
“Hey.”

“Hey,” Brendon echoed.

There was a beat, too long to be casual.
Then Alex grinned between them, like he could feel the tension himself but he didn’t care.

“Jesus, this is wild,” he said. “The Civic tour, resurrected. Should’ve texted eachother so you two could put o your paisley suits as costumes.”

Ryan gave him a look, a squint of the eye that read as fun, not a serious scold. Alex just laughed, unconcerned.

Brendon smiled, because that was what you did when someone joked about something that still made your chest ache.

They talked. Or rather, Alex did.
He carried it easily, talking about the new Phantom Planet stuff, about LA, about a song he loved that Brendon vaguely remembered hearing once.

Ryan stayed quiet, but it wasn’t a bad quiet.
Just observant, the same way he always was.
His eyes would flick toward Brendon now and then, small glances that never lasted long enough. He glanced at Alex warmly more often, like he was fond of his ramblings.

Brendon couldn’t stop noticing how much older he looked. Not in a bad way, just more like himself.

He’d grown into whatever it was he’d been reaching for before the band went their seperate ways.

There were silver rings on his fingers now, on all but the ring finger, chipped nail polish. His hair longer, a bit messy, but it looked soft.

Brendon wanted to say you look happy but didn’t know if that was true, he didn't know him anymore.

At some point, a girl Brendon found only slightly familiar in a glittery corpse bride costume complete with a veil came and threw her arms around Ryan

Brendon thought it might be Z Berg, Ryan's ex and friend he only knew through past stalking sessions he's done on Ryan's Instagram.

“Ry! There you are,” she said, laughing. “You promised you wouldn’t disappear.”

“Z,” Ryan said softly, smiling like he meant it.

She turned, recognized Alex, and then looked at Brendon. “Hi,” she said politely.

Brendon smiled back. “Hey. You’re—”

“Z,” she said. “Friend.”

Ryan shot her a look, one Brendon couldn’t quite interpret. It looked loaded, like a we're talking about this, later. . She raised her eyebrow at him and laughed, like some form of close nonverbal conversation had went down before she went off to find someone else.

Brendon remembered when him and Ryan would share that look. It was weird to be on the recieving end.

Alex leaned over as she left. “Z’s the social one,” he explained. “Ryan likes to ghost parties halfway through, so she keeps him around.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but there was a fondness that said he wasn't truly annoyed at all.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad,” Alex said, grinning. “Just predictable. I know what you do.”

The ease between them was obvious. Subtle, but there.

Alex’s hand brushed Ryan’s shoulder when he talked. Ryan tilted toward him just slightly when he laughed.

 

It was enough for Brendon to notice, and maybe enough for him to pretend he didn’t.

For his own peace of mind.
Why, he wasn't going to think on that.
He took another chug of his drink.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Brendon said after Alex got pulled into another conversation, he pulled his own chair close to Ryan

Ryan shrugged. “Didn’t think I’d come.”

“Alex’s idea?”

“Mostly.” Ryan’s mouth quirked. “This is more his friend scene than mine, I didn't even think we'd go out tonight." Ryan gestured towards his outfit, amused smile on his face
"Hence my lack of effort."

Brendon gave him the laugh he thought Ryan was looking for.
“Yeah. He went all out.”

Ryan looked down at his shirt. “Yeah, well. I’m half of a theme.”

Brendon laughed, again, he was starting to think he was crossing into giggly school girl with a crush territory.
“You’re Ellen Hutter, right?”

Ryan blinked at him, surprised. “You actually got that?”

“Of course I did. You haven’t changed that much.”

Ryan’s expression softened, a quiet smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess not.”

 

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just heavy. Ryan played with a frill on his sleeve and looked down.

Brendon wanted to say I missed you.
Wanted to say you still think too much before you talk.
Instead he took a drink and said, “You look good.”

Ryan glanced up. “You too.”

It wasn’t flirtation, exactly. But it was the same wavelength they’d always existed on, half unspoken, half too obvious. Where neither of them cared to clarify what was what.

 

When Alex came back, arm slipping comfortably around Ryan’s waist, it startled Brendon more than it should’ve.

It wasn’t possessive, just natural. Like something that had been happening a long time. Like he hadn't even thought about it. It shouldn't have made Brendon blink an eye.

He finds them near the door, half-shrouded by fog from the smoke machine. He pretends he hasn't wandered the party of strangers half looking for them after losing sight of them.

Ryan’s putting on his coat while Alex is still loudly telling two other people to come back to his place after.

“Yeah, bring whoever,” Alex is saying, grin wide, his fake fangs sliding a little when he talks. “I’ve got wine, probably. Or tequila. Something.”

Ryan sighs, tugging at the sleeves of his coat. “You’re not having people over,” he says, like he’s said it before, lived this a million times before. “You’re gonna crash as soon as we get home.”

We. Home.
That's all Brendon registers.
If he furrows his brow he made sure to fix his face before either of them saw it.

Alex laughs, fangs slipping again, and Ryan can’t help it, can't help but laugh too, soft and under his breath, the way he does when he’s trying to stay annoyed and tough but failing.

 

“Help me,” Alex says suddenly, turning toward Ryan, trying to adjust the fake teeth with both hands. “Can’t talk with these things, man.”

Ryan reaches up without thinking, thumb brushing along Alex’s jaw as he tries to fix them. The fangs click against his teeth.
Alex makes a goofy noise through the plastic, murmurs something about denture glue and Ryan bites back another laugh.
It’s nothing, barely a moment but Brendon’s chest tightens watching it.

He doesn’t even realize he’s walking closer until he’s standing right beside them, blurting, “Heading out already?”

Alex looks up, bright as ever. “B!” He grins wide, fangs finally halfway straight and allowing him to sound coherent. “Yeah, man, we’re heading out. You should come by! We’re having a little after-thing, right Ry?”

Ryan gives him the same side glance as before. “No,” he says, calm and dry. “You’re gonna get home, eat half a granola bar, and pass out.”
He lists it, matter of fact like he's seen it before, again.

Alex just waves a hand like he didn’t hear that, still smiling at Brendon. “Seriously, though, if you’re around—”

“I can drive over,” Brendon interrupts, before he even knows what he’s saying.

Ryan stops mid-motion, coat half-buttoned, collar still popped and ill adjusted.
That familiar look, sharp, assessing, and just this side of unimpressed. The one that used to knock Brendon straight out of his own head mid-show. The one that used to start arguments.

“You’ve been drinking,” Ryan says simply. "Uber.”
It’s not mean, per say. Just final.

Alex chuckles, looping his arm back around Ryan’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Yeah," he says. “We’re not dying tonight. Come by tomorrow if you want.”

Ryan’s already half-turned away, but Alex laces their fingers together, fiddling with the rings Ryan still wears. “C’mon,” he says. “I’m starving. You got snacks, right?”

Ryan exhales, that small, quiet smile slipping in anyway. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’ve got snacks.”

And then they’re gone.
Alex tugging him toward the door, fangs glinting under the lights, Ryan’s hair catching on Alex’s dark black sweater shoulder as he ducks out.

Brendon stays standing there long after the fog machine stops. The bass hums low under his ribs.

He checks his phone.
He doesn’t open their text thread.
He just scrolls until he finds Ryan’s name, thumb hovering.

He closes the app.
Opens it again.

Then closes it one more time.

By the time Brendon gets home, it’s almost three.
The house is too big and too quiet.

He never noticed how the silence feels different when he’s drunk, how the echo of his shoes on the tile sounds almost embarrassed.

Squeaky, like a high school gymnasium.

He tosses his jacket somewhere near the couch, still half in costume, glitter caught on him from who knows who stuck on fake blood dried along his jaw.

There’s an empty wine glass on the coffee table he doesn’t remember leaving there. He stares at it for a minute, like it’s going to explain something or tell him where and when it made it's way there.

He’s not tired. Not really. Just wired in that late-night, half-sick way. For a second he thinks maybe he should have drank some more.

He types it before he can stop himself.

you and alex are dating?

 

He stares at the screen. The question looks heavier than it should. More serious. Accusatory, maybe? He didn't want to sound like he had a horse in this race.

He didn't care, either way.
He deletes the whole thing.

 

are you and alex… together?

 

Deletes it again.
He leans back into the couch, thumb hovering but not pressing.

 

Because what if it’s dumb to ask? What if Ryan says no, what the hell, I’m straight, with that same confused tone Brendon remembers from years ago, back when everything between them had been nearly but not quite.
When Brendon had been so sure he was the only one feeling something and that was what ruined it all, that maybe it was all on him.

He lets out a breath, pinches his eyes shut.
Maybe it’s better not to ask.
Maybe it’s fine to just keep pretending he doesn’t already know what the matching costumes meant.

But then he thinks about Ryan’s laugh at the party, and Alex’s hand tangled absently in Ryan’s sleeve, and something inside him aches in that too-familiar, self-destructive way.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, and hits send on the simplest version.

you and alex are dating?

 

He tosses the phone down like it burned him, runs both hands over his face. The quiet stretches.

A buzz.
He looks, only slightly like looking at it is gonna make the phone explode in his hands.

yeah. Been a while.

He exhales, slow.
It’s not a surprise. Not really.
It’s just strange seeing it written out, that Ryan Ross, the same boy he once couldn’t even read, is dating a man now. A guy they both knew, for that matter.
He types. Deletes. Types again.

cool. he seems nice.

 

he is. you remember him right?
That tour feels like forever ago

 

yeah. i remember.

 

He thinks of that tour.
Of Phantom Planet opening for them, of Ryan hanging around their green room more than usual back then.

He remembers Alex’s easy charm, his dumb jokes. How he never thought twice about it.

His phone buzzes again.

you okay?

 

Brendon lets out a small laugh, dry and quiet.

yeah. just tired. long night.

 

get some sleep, then.
talk later?

 

yeah. talk later.

 

He sets the phone down beside him, screen dimming, and leans back into the silence of the room.

 

He almost asked so many questions.
were you always like this? were we almost something real, back then? Did you like me, too? Or just Alex? Did it ever, did I ever, cross your mind?

He closes his eyes, the faint taste of liquor still on his tongue, and thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have asked at all.
But he’s glad he did, in some way.

Chapter Text

Ryan wakes first.

It’s not the light that wakes him, it’s Alex shifting behind him, arm sliding off his waist before it finds its way back again. Rubs his side in circles with his thumb, tugging him close and nuzzling into his hair.
Heavy, warm. He always did that in the morning.

Ryan mumbles, “You’re heavy,” without much real complaint.

Alex hums, something like agreement, against his neck, sleep-rough and amused with himself. “You love it.”

He does.

 

They stay there a while, Alex’s breathing stays slow and steady behind him, and Ryan lets himself just stay there.

When Alex finally rolls back, stretching with a yawn, he pats Ryan’s side. “You stole all the blanket again.”

Ryan glances over his shoulder. “You kicked it off.”

“Liar." Alex says, already grinning.

Alex kisses his shoulder a few times in mock apology, glancing up at him while rubbing his hand up his tee shirt.

They drift into their usual rhythm.

Ryan padding out to the kitchen in Alex’s shirt he wore to bed last night he'd probably just tossed on after sex, Alex eventually following, humming something low under his breath.

The kind of domesticity Ryan never imagined himself in.
Never thought he'd be the type to be happy with routine.

The coffee’s ready before Ryan even finishes finding his phone. Alex pours two mugs, passes one over with that grin that makes everything feel disgustingly easy.

“You’re going to the studio later?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, leaning against the counter beside him. “You coming with?”

Ryan shrugs. “Might. Just hang out in the corner, write some stuff, if that's okay.”

“You say that like I’d ever say no to that.”

Ryan smiles into his mug. It’s soft, unintentional.

They move around each other to get ready for the day effortlessly, brushing past, sharing the sink, shoulder nudges here and there.

 

Later, they shower together.
"For efficiency" Alex always claimed, but Ryan always teased him back that he just wants a handjob.

When they finally leave the house, they’re both in sunglasses, laughing about how late they are, how Alex had intended to be in the studio an hour ago.

The studio is easy. It was always fun, them doing their own little thing and only checking in to get opinions from the other sometimes.

Alex hums through takes, loose and full of ideas and finding ways to execute them, while Ryan stays in the corner perched on a couch, pen in hand, pretending not to watch him. He likes this version of him, effortless, always so cool when its about music.

After, they get lunch. Alex reaches under the table, hand on Ryan’s knee, thumb tapping absently in time with whatever song plays overhead. It’s natural.

They head home late, still talking, music turned up too loud.

By the time they’re sprawled out in bed, it’s half past midnight. A movie plays quietly in the background, something old they’ve both seen before.

Ryan’s halfway through a sentence about a small change he thinks he should make to the song he was working on when Alex says it.

 

“So,” he murmurs, rubbing Ryan’s stomach lightly through the fabric of his shirt. “You didn’t tell me we were gonna see Brendon last night.”

Ryan freezes for half a second before answering, gathering himself.
“Didn’t plan on it.”

Alex’s tone is even, but there’s that curiosity behind it.

“Right. You just happened to end up at the same party. Of all the parties in California.”

Ryan glances at him, unimpressed, shoving at his arm. “It was a mutual friend thing. He just showed up.”

Alex’s head tilts, studying him with that small, knowing smile that never feels mean. “Didn’t think you two still talked, honestly.”

Ryan shifts, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “We don't. Every year, maybe.”

Alex nods slowly, still rubbing slow circles on Ryan’s stomach. “Is it weird, seeing him after all that time?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says quietly. “Little bit.”

Alex’s voice softens, curiosity giving way to understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

Alex studies him for another second, then leans in and kisses his forehead, a little rough, Ryan always found the force he put into kisses funny.

“Good. Just checking.”

Ryan exhales, tension dissolving when Alex murmurs, “C’mere,” and kisses him properly.

Ryan lets himself get tugged closer by the hands on his hips, make pleased noises that get swallowed into Alex's mouth.

He always thought even before they started dating that Alex was a great kisser, from what he could tell from stray kisses and spin the bottle.

Alex hums into his mouth, Ryan can feel that cocky side smile he does.
He playfully slaps his arm, laughing just a little.

Alex's hands migrate down, end up clutching his ass to pull him impossibly closer so they're packed together. Alex grips him, rolling his hips up manually to meet his own grinding.

Ryan pulled away from their kissing, overwhelmed, gripping alex by the shoulders. He had his face nuzzled in his neck, face red and just a little embarrassed to be whining in his ear, letting out short hurried moans with every grind of his hips.

Ryan remembers being so embarrassed to be so vocal with him, the first time they had sex.

 

It was before they had thought to date at all, when they were both orbiting around Z.

They dated her, they broke up, one of them was back again and the other wasn't until it all meshed into one triangle of sorts and none of them cared.

They weren't always attracted to eachother, or at least they didn't fess up to it, it was more so that they were friends and they both liked z. So they didn't mind having eachother around.

It was Z who first noticed something was there, an attraction. Being the friend she was, she could tell exactly the kind of internal issues Ryan struggled with, why between Brendon and at the time Alex, he wasn't noticing that he wanted either of the boys at any given chance.

It was Z who talked him through it, told him through many of his denials that she thought he did like Alex, that he could correct her if he was absolutely sure she was wrong, but that she saw what she saw there.

After a couple months of denial and a kiss at one of her parties he quietly admitted it to Z. She was happy, a little bit cocky, jumped to tell him that she told him so but not before urging him to go tell Alex himself.

From what Alex told him about his side of things during that time, he wasn't nearly as mixed up about it as Ryan was.
He knew from one of the first times partying with Z and Ryan when their whole arrangement started, he claimed, he was just waiting on Ryan to come to his own senses.

Ryan was always shy about the retelling from Z and Alex, about how obvious they seemed to agree it was, how easy they made it seem.

sometimes he wondered if that same easy going attraction had happened elsewhere. If maybe he had gotten in his own way with Brendon

He shook his head at that, it wasn't the time to be thinking of him. Not with his boyfriend kissing up and down his neck, asking him in that sexy gruff voice if he was in the mood.

The first time they did this was after a birthday of Ryan's, just a week after he confessed to Z how he was feeling about him.

It was Ryan's first time doing anything like that, much more so letting someone else dominate him in a way.

He flushes when he remembers it, both of them fooling around, writhing away their tight jeans. Alex, licking his neck and undressing him, warning him in low hushed whispers that it was going to be uncomfortable, hurt even, but he was going to try to make it decent.

Like all firsts it was exactly that, uncomfortable and just decent for the majority of it.

They laugh about the recollection sometimes, the trainwreck it was.

That Ryan cussed him out and called him an asshole when he first moved inside him, pulled his hair way too tight, Alex telling him to let go and making him laugh.

When they finally got the hang of it, started making it feel nice, every small movement drew a whine or plea out of Ryan.
He covered his mouth a ton, a little shame ridden to sound like an exaggerated porn star about it.

He just remembers Alex being assuring about it, more comforting than anyone. That Ryan had whined out what he could of an apology for the noise, that he swears its authentic. And that Alex had rubbed his head, pushed his sweat damp hair back and repeated assurances that it was nice, nothing to feel shame about.

 

He was so full of overawareness, shame about everything and nothing.

He thinks that that was when he started liking Alex for more than sex, that he liked having someone that operated without the embarrassment he did, that he owned everything and wanted Ryan to do the same.

In many ways Alex had made him more self-assured, less into thinking about himself and how embarrassing he was.

After sex, they lay tangled, Alex nearly asleep beside him, the movie still flickering blue shadows over the room. Ryan could hear the hum of the city outside, soft and steady. It was almost enough to make his brain shut up for once.
Almost.

Alex’s breathing slowed first. Ryan felt the weight of his arm over his waist again, the same familiar heaviness he finds so stable, like home.

 

He stared at the ceiling, tracing cracks he’d memorized months ago. He should’ve felt full. That slow, easy kind of full that came with warmth and noise and someone who loved you. Like he usually does after being with Alex.

 

Brendon’s voice crept back in at the edges of his thoughts, from last night. His laugh, his grin.

It annoyed him that he remembered. It annoyed him even more that he didn’t know why it mattered.

He thought about the first time he’d ever kissed Alex again, the certainty that had come after the confusion. How he’d felt seen, understood, even when it was messy. That he always knew after that wheee he stood, that he was wanted.
Brendon had never been that simple. He never had the time to think of him like that, not like Alex, not in the whirlwind of fame they existed in.

He turned his head just enough to look at Alex. Even asleep, he looked sure of himself, sure of Ryan, one arm thrown over him, hair a little messy, still wearing that calm smile even in dreams.

Ryan smiled faintly, pressed a kiss to his head before shifting onto his back. “Love you,” he whispered, not expecting an answer.

In the morning, Alex was the one to wake first, dragging Ryan into his chest again and pressing lazy kisses along his shoulder until he groaned awake and mumbled something about waking him up.

“Morning,” Alex murmured, voice still gravelly from sleep.

 

They didn’t rush out of bed right away. They never did. There was always that in-between, talking, laying there kissing, Alex rambling about the studio, Ryan half-listening, eyes still closed with sleep because he was much less of a morning person than Alex was.

When they finally got up, it was their usual again.
Ryan making coffee, Alex humming tunelessly, making jokes and plans.
It was comfortable. Predictable.

Halfway through breakfast, Alex leaned against the counter, cereal bowl in hand, and said it. Dropped a bomb.

“So,” he started casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You ever think you and Brendon’ll hang out again?”

Ryan looked up from his phone, spoon halfway to his mouth, raising a brow at Alex.

“What? Why?”

Alex shrugged, unbothered. “He texted me this morning. Said it was good seeing us last night. Asked if we wanted to grab a drink sometime.”

Ryan blinked. “He texted you?”

cannot fucking believe that.

“Guess he got my number from someone. I don’t know.” Alex’s grin was small but real, like he was trying not to poke too hard at Ryan, knew it was a bad subject.
“I thought I’d check with you first.”

Ryan stared at the countertop. “Right.”

Alex tilted his head. “You okay with that?”

Ryan hesitated.

He could feel the knot in his stomach tightening, even if he didn’t know why.
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to see Brendon again. It was good, at the party.
He just wasn’t sure what version of himself would show up if they kept doing it, what would happen.

“Yeah,” he said finally, forcing a light tone. Who wants to tell their boyfriend they're having an internal panic about another guy.
“It’s fine. Just… weird.”

Alex hummed, satisfied enough with that, and set his bowl down, stepping closer to press a kiss against Ryan’s cheek.

“Cool. We’ll keep it chill, then. Drinks, music talk, nothing heavy.”

Ryan smiled weakly. “Sure.”

But when Alex went to shower, Ryan stayed at the table, staring at the text on his phone. Because of course Alex told him his password, he's so assured, so casual about letting Ryan into everything.

Just seeing Brendon’s name on someone else’s phone made his chest tighten.

He told himself it was harmless curiosity. Nostalgia for an old friend, even. Something harmless.

He didn’t believe it for a second.