It Hurt Less When You Were Gone.

Ryan materialized in Brendon's apartment while he and Spencer were having a couple of beers as they watched a baseball game on TV. He had some nerve coming around like that without asking, but Brendon already heard Spencer's surprised, but slightly pleased voice call his former bandmate over.

Former friend. Former lover. Former everything.

Ryan took a beer from the bucket and sat next to Spencer, somebody Ryan knew would never really hate him, or at least tolerate him. Brendon sat wherever else far away. He didn't know why Ryan was in his apartment at all. Ryan hated baseball.

When Brendon stood up, announcing that he was going to the kitchen to get food, Ryan followed him inside five seconds after. Brendon was just grabbing a bag of chips from the cupboard. When he saw Ryan there, he cast his eyes on the floor and started trudging back out, but Ryan stretched his arms across the counters, blocking the path to the door.

"Excuse me," Brendon muttered harshly.

Ryan -- Ryan who Brendon hadn't even looked at properly yet -- he narrowed his eyes at the younger boy. "Why the cold shoulder?" Ryan asked, ironically cold as well.

"No cold shoulder," Brendon found himself saying as he brought his eyes up to set a blank stare at the boy opposite to him. He looked tired, but he was awake. Eyes wide and trying to search and get something out of Brendon. "Just perishables," he waved his chips for a moment, "and I don't wanna miss any more of the game, so…"

A dry laugh made its way out of Ryan's mouth. "Yeah, you wanna get out of here before those chips go bad."

He started glaring. He couldn't take his eyes away, either. "The game, I'm missing out."

"So," he started. "How was writing the new record? Producing it and stuff?" Ryan wanted the reason why he visited at all over with. No more beating around the bush. He needed to let it out -- even Brendon said so, or he'd let it eat him away.

The singer clenched his jaw, still not letting his stare waver. "Fine."

"Anything interesting?"

"Nope."

"How's your girlfriend?"

"What exactly is the point of this, Ryan?" Brendon tried not to raise his voice. For a particularly private matter, Ryan always picked the best times to talk about it.

Ryan shrugged, shaking his head. "No point, really. I just wanted to know how you could've written that one track." Ryan paused, shifting his weight on his feet. "You know. About her. She's a real inspiration, isn't she?"

Brendon sucked in a breath. They weren't about to talk about this.

"It's simple," he said, struggling to keep his voice in a monotone. "And also none of your business."

"None of my business," Ryan repeated, turning his head slightly as he glared. "None of my business? You think this song, this one song among many that's about me, is none of my business?" Brendon didn't say anything, but he looked down on the floor again. "Well? Is it about me?"

"That's a little bit full of yourself," Brendon muttered, turning around to put the chips on top of the counter.

The older boy started shaking his head, lips pursed. He looked angry and frustrated. "You'd know me better if you knew in the first place I'd figure this one out. You're shit with metaphors, but the one time you do try to hide it," Ryan said, his last statement holding a twinge of amusement, but it hurt. He didn't remember the last time a record tired him so much. Physically, emotional. Sexually.

"So?" Brendon went back to him. He licked his lips. "What about it?"

"What about it?" The resentment in his voice was evident. "You get yourself a girlfriend. You write a song with her fucking name on it, but it's about me -- very flattering, by the way." Ryan pulled back his hands and crossed his arms. "And yeah -- what about Sarah? Does she have any idea, or is she too dumb to understand anything --"

It hit a nerve. What was Ryan doing in his apartment again? "Don't talk about her like that," he snapped, taking a step closer to Ryan, but there was barely any sign of protectiveness in his tone. "This is her place, too, I at least figured you'd have a little respect."

"You're defending her?"

"She's my girlfriend, Ryan."

Ryan shook his head angrily, disappointedly. "You don't love her."

"You're one to be talking," Brendon flared.

"Why are you with her?" Ryan pushed.

The younger boy wasn't going to budge. Not now, when it's been this long, when Ryan already gave him a chance to recover. He wasn't going to break, but something inside urged and pained him to wanting to say, Because you won't be with me.

"Brendon." Ryan's voice called back his attention, but the irritation was still there. "Brendon, you're not answering any of my questions."

He glared. "About what?"

"Is the fucking song about me?" Ryan was so sure about what he wanted to know already. But at the same time, he still had no idea what he wanted.

Brendon didn't think twice about answering anymore. "Yes."

"Is your girlfriend," he made a weird face, "aware?"

"No."

"Why are you with her?" Brendon hated how his chin rose while he answered, like he knew what Brendon was about to say.

But he shook his head, refusing to lose his pride in answering that one. "No, let me ask the questions now." Brendon stepped closer, crossing his arms as well. "The past year, Ryan -- did you call me at all?"

"No," Ryan answered, not missing a beat.

"Did you ever send me a letter?"

"No."

"Birthday present?"

"No."

"Oh I know, a smoke signal."

"Stop."

"A really nice fruit basket?"

"Stop it!" Ryan snapped. "Stop it -- Brendon stop it!"

He wouldn't. There was one more he wanted answered. "Do you plan, in any way at all, on coming back to me?"

Brendon looked him dead in the eyes. He could see how his soul cracked right through them, those orbs that were never trained well against his. But all the younger boy could see were blurs of something that wasn't his anymore, something he was angry about. Somebody he loved.

"Come on, Ryan, yes or no," he pushed, failing at covering up the pleading tone. "Do you?"

The poet was at a loss of words. Maybe he'd been so wrong in thinking that he was the only one that was allowed to be angry, but he could take getting beat up by words, he could take (but barely) every single Panic! At the Disco fan singing along to the lyrics aimed at him. But what he couldn't accept was being pushed behind a name because of fucked up attempt to cover things, that were already wide in the open, up.

Brendon stepped back, his stare faltering. "I thought so."

Ryan should've tried to say something. Maybe an answer, or even just to defend himself so the conversation (if it could be called that) wouldn't have to end so soon. But he was feeling too much again, and he knew it showed in his eyes. He could feel the tearing in his heart as he hoped that it was apology enough.

It wasn't.

"Now, I suggest you go out there and pretend Jon called for a meeting," Brendon took a deep breath, "or any one of your great excuses, and go."

He was cold. Ryan could've sworn he shivered, yet he caught Brendon's eyes once more. But the younger boy wasn't going to let him in, not unless Ryan tried harder.

So he went.

Brendon could hear the conversation (which probably meant Spencer heard everything, also, but his mind was too clouded up to be bothered) and the door slam close with Spencer and Ryan behind it from the kitchen. He was alone in his apartment and loneliness began to sunk in the way loneliness has never sunken in before. Maybe he should've just kissed Ryan and ruined them both.

He broke. Ryan was so good at that, he didn't even realize. Brendon slid down, back pressed against the counter, tears depressed by his palm. But after a few moments and one last deep breath that almost jumped over the edge, he stood up and headed to the living room. A beer or two should clear this up.