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"What the fuck is a Beebo?" The question is out as soon as Ryan steps inside the green room, announcing his own presence with confusion etched in his words and the deep furrow of his brow. "And why are the fans chanting for it?"
Ryan can hear it even as he closes the door, steady beat, getting louder with every other repetition of the single word. It feels ominous, somehow, even if he heard laughter before, mixed in with the excited cheers.
It unsettles him enough to send a shiver down his spine.
"Me, apparently."
"Brendon." The two responses overlap, one from the man himself, slouched over his guitar, plucking idly at the strings, the other coming from Spencer, a shit eating grin on his face, and a drumstick pointed in Brendon's general direction.
Yeah, that somehow just confuses Ryan more.
"Okay," he drags out the single word, looking between the two, stepping further into the room, towards the couch placed at the left side of the tiny room. "And they are calling you Beebo why, exactly?"
"Cause they think it's funny." There's a pout in Brendon's voice, most likely on his face too, but he keeps it hidden behind the fringe falling in his face, fluffy and not yet styled into the usual quiff he wore, head bent low.
Ryan's mouth twitches, amusement starting to overtake his bewilderment.
"Dude, it's fucking hilarious," Spencer cuts in with a delighted snicker. "Someone apparently put Brendon and Boyd into one awesome mishmash of a nickname and it spread like wildfire. They even got it trending on Twitter."
"I think I liked it better when they called me a fuckboy."
When Ryan laughs at it, more surprise than actual joy, Brendon huffs. The gust of air he releases blows the hair out of his face, and reveals the very definite, very pronounced aforementioned pout, plump lower lip sticking out in the most endearing way. Butterflies flutter in Ryan's stomach, enamored by the sight.
He sits down besides Brendon, wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him in closer, chin resting on his shoulder.
"Well, they can call you whatever they want, it's not like you can stop them. Even if it's stupid." His words are slow, murmured just for Brendon to hear, the usual monotone carrying an edge of affection. Squeezing at his side and nuzzling his nose against the spot where Brendon's shoulder meets his neck, Ryan grins. "It doesn't matter, anyways. To me, you'll always be my—"
Brendon cuts Ryan's words off with a groaned out, "Please don't. Don't say it," but Ryan ignores it, grins wider at the sight of the blush on Brendon's cheek. Places a kiss on the spot where the skin is pinkest, warmest.
"—My sweetest moon pie."