We're Lost Like Refugees
Title: We're Lost Like Refugees
Author: cynicsandsaints
(vague) ryan/brendon - PG13 - 3903 Words
When Ryan meets Billie Joe Armstrong he feels two things he doesn't think most people do. One thing is, for being in a band as huge as Green Day, Billie Joe is really, ridiculously small. And two, he is completely surprised because. What on earth is he doing there; standing backstage, wearing sunglasses with a jacket thrown over one of his shoulders and a Misfits t-shirt on. He's kind of grinning, not over-bright or necessarily excited, but - dare he say it? - kind of impressed.
He can sense the exact moment the rest of his band notices the small man because the atmosphere becomes incredibly more still, like someone hit the pause button for a moment, and then almost immediately hit play again because then Jon's going, "what? Just, what?" and Ryan's sure Brendon and Spencer are sharing a look and Ryan. Ryan's in front of all of them and apparently the only one not starstruck and coherent enough to step forward, quirk and eyebrow, and hold out his hand in a way that he's pretty certain comes off a little too formal and exaggerated because the rest of his band are idiots.
"Hello," Ryan says coolly, eyes slightly narrowed, and it's perfectly reasonable because what the hell is Billie Joe Armstrong doing backstage at one of their shows.
Billie Joe glances at his hand briefly, but steps forward and wow, he really is tiny. He takes Ryan's hand and shakes it, smiling politely before letting go and glancing around at the lot of them.
"Hi," he addresses, and Ryan can only imagine the looks on his friend's faces. He sort of wishes he could turn around and see, but that'd be a little too obvious. When no one says anything else, Billie Joe continues talking, like six men aren't standing there staring at him, "So, you guys are pretty good," and he says it in this way that is completely un-insulting despite the fact he used the term "pretty good."
Which - coincidentally - could be taken two ways.
The theme of this meeting seems to be not replying, for that's just what happens, and Ryan has to fight off the desire to sigh in a big to-do way.
"Thank you," Ryan says, once again rescuing his band of men with huge, enormously obvious crushes on Green Day's front man. And okay, then he can't stop the, "what are you doing here?" that escapes his throat, but really, it's justifiable.
"Ryan," Spencer says from somewhere behind him, but Ryan doesn't even respond, not even with the slightest twitch.
To his credit, Billie Joe doesn't even look offended. Or like he even caught the nasty infliction in Ryan's question because he merely smiles again - and shit, now that he's a bit closer, Ryan can see how his teeth are pretty fucked - and says, "I live not too far from here, my son likes your stuff. Thought I'd swing by." Jon makes some sort of strangled sound, like someone just punched him in the stomach, and Brendon lets out a short, surprised laugh that sort of sounds a little disbelieving. Ryan really wishes he had been turned around to see it, even though he shouldn't.
"Where's your son?" Ryan inquires, and the intensity of the glares he's getting could probably burn a hole straight through his back, were that possible.
"My wife took him home," Billie Joe responds easily, and it sort of irritates Ryan that the guy doesn't even look the slightest bit put off by his attitude, or any of their attitudes really. "I wanted to stick around and see if I could catch you guys," then he laughs, and it's kind of private sounding, like it's a joke only he gets, "at first I thought they wouldn't let me, but then I guess your security guard recognized me. And well, here I am." He shifts a little on his feet at that - the only sign of discomfort Ryan's seen on the guy so far - and it's eases something that had been itching underneath Ryan's skin. There was no way this guy could just show up here and be nothing but casual, there had to be a catch. It was too strange of a situation.
"Oh," Ryan says, "did you...want an autograph for him?"
Around them the techs and roadies are buzzing around, getting ready for No Doubt's set, and they're all kind of in the way. Besides, this meeting is beginning to get a little boring and Ryan would really enjoy going home and showering before crawling into bed with his laptop while the rest of his band goes out and parties, or something.
"No, no," Billie Joe says, kind of shaking his head and waving his hands, and apparently he notices their surroundings as well because then he goes, "hey, do you mind if we -" and he gestures vaguely toward the exit, "move outside? We're kind of a hazard right now." And he chuckles, slightly, and so does Jon and Brendon and Spencer and Eric.
Zach says, "Yeah, okay, get a move on boys," and they all sort of stumble out of the venue, sweaty and gross with Billie Joe looking like he just took a shower that morning. Brendon might be the most unclean looking one out of them all.
When they're standing in a big circle again, Jon says, "This is. Cool." And he kind of. He almost looks embarrassed, and it's so bizarre that Ryan blinks a few times because out of all of them, Jon is usually the most at ease.
"You guys were good," Billie Joe repeats, only like he's going to expand this time, "I liked that one song. Uh, that slower one? I didn't catch the title, but," he pauses, seeming a little unsure, and his fingers twitch in a way that Ryan suspects means he wishes he had a guitar. Maybe to show them what he's talking about, maybe to stand behind. As startling as it is, Ryan gets both possibilities. "The melody was really fucking nice." He says, then amends, "The lyrics were pretty. And interesting. Who writes them?" He asks, and he's looking at Ryan in a way that suggests he knows precisely who writes them, but he wants someone to step forward.
Well, Ryan's not about to, if that's how it's going to go.
After a moment, when they realize Ryan isn't actually going to answer, Brendon says, "Uh, Ryan does," and Ryan's heart jumps at the fact Brendon actually said his name, as pathetic as it is. It feels like it's been forever since he's heard it.
"Oh," Billie Joe says, scuffing his shoe on the ground and rubbing his arms. Fuck, Ryan really needs a cigarette. "well, they're good," he says, nodding at Ryan.
"Er, thank you," Ryan replies, cause talking about his writing with a stranger from another band is a little more then disconcerting, and he'd really rather not.
There's a silence after that, it's kind of awkward, and Ryan's just about to speak up and say that he's going to get going. Not they're. Because they're not going to get going, not together. But he is. And suddenly, Brendon's phone is going off and he's answering, in this cheerful voice and saying, "yeah, dude, we're gonna leave in a moment, but man, Billie Joe Armstrong showed up. Yeah! The guy from Green Day, so we're sort of chatting with him. We'll leave in a minute though, see ya."
Ryan pretends his stomach doesn't twist painfully, and that Billie Joe doesn't notice the way his face sort of shutters closed. Even though he's pretty sure the guy does. Whatever, it's none of his business. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ryan bites on the inside of his cheek and pointedly looks away.
"You guys ready to go?" Brendon asks, and Ryan doesn't have to look to know he's talking to Jon, Spencer, and Eric. "Sorry to disappear on you so fast," he says, and this time he's actually speaking to Billie Joe, "we didn't know. Like, wow. Thanks for coming and stopping by, though, that's uh. Really awesome of you."
Spencer and Jon and Eric are all basically repeating the same kind of thing, and they're all shaking hands and smiling, disgustingly charmed and enamored, like Billie Joe showing up is some sort of earth-shaking event. It's really not, and Ryan wishes his band didn't look so dazzled.
"Bye, Ryan," Spencer murmurs, now standing right next to Ryan and squeezing his shoulder. It's more then annoying, how concerned Spencer looks. Ryan wants to snarl, and tell his friend to stop treating him like he's headed for some sort of break down, but he feels like it would further lead Spencer to thinking it.
"Bye," Ryan says. Eric claps him on the back and Jon hugs him carefully, but for a good amount of time and Ryan knows it's because Brendon's not going to. Brendon might not even look at him. It wouldn't be shocking if he didn't.
And Ryan discovers he's right, when Jon lets go and moves away, all Brendon says is, "later," staring over Ryan's shoulder and Ryan's body aches to step forward and touch him, but Brendon is clearly still exulting anger that is simmering close to the top. He shouldn't push anymore, not when he's done it enough already.
So then they leave. And then it's just Ryan standing there with Billie Joe Armstrong outside of a venue where he can hear No Doubt beginning to play and Zach is telling him he's just gonna go talk to some of the other guys and to let him know when he's going to leave. Then he really is just only standing with Billie Joe Armstrong, and it's. Really weird.
"Well," Ryan begins, voice closed off, eyes averted away from the man now standing a few feet away in front of him, "I'm just going to -" and he jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he parked his car and makes to turn around.
"Not feeling well?" Billie Joe asks, but it really sounds more like a statement. A knowing one. Like he's clarifying he is perfectly aware Ryan's fine health-wise, but is baiting him. Or something.
Narrowing his eyes, Ryan thinks of a way to respond; the guy doesn't necessarily look dangerous, or like he has any malicious intent with the question, but he does seem to be trying to figure things out and Ryan isn't sure how okay with that he is.
He settles for muttering, "Tired," and even meets Billie Joe's eyes, a little defiant. Defensive.
"Of what?" Billie Joe asks, and Ryan feels a flare of irritation in his chest, because that's more then presumptuous.
"I just played a show," Ryan states, and he's kind of being a jerk, but who the fuck does this guy think he is?
"You opened," Billie Joe corrects, rocking back and forth on his feet, "you played for forty-five minutes."
What the fuck?
"I didn't sleep well last night."
"I figured as much."
There's another pause.
"What do you want?" Ryan inquires, a little incredulous, even though he tries not to be.
Billie Joe shrugs, and he's looking at Ryan but his expression isn't disclosing anything, "Just thought you could use some company."
Arching an eyebrow, Ryan crosses his arms and cocks his hips out, "So you watch us play and wait around because you assume I'm lonely?"
"Not in the strictest sense," Billie Joe says, snorting, "My son really did want to come see you."
As if that explains anything, Ryan thinks, a little bitter because is he really? Is he that transparent?
"Did something happen?"
"That's none of your business," Ryan snaps, and thinks, yes, yes something did happen, and I wish I could take it back. He's careful enough to not show it, though.
"Alright," Billie Joe says, holding up his hands in surrender, "want to know something?"
What Ryan almost says is no, and what a small part of him really wants to say is, yes, but he simply settles for, "Depends." He thinks maybe the disinterest is obvious, and he wonders why this man is even bothering considering he's been an ass just about this entire time, aside his mild surprise at the first sighting of him.
The way the guy acts though, it's infuriating, and admirable. Ryan sort of wishes he had that kind of backbone. Billie Joe just stands there and talks and makes his point regardless of the feedback he's getting. He says what he wants to, because he wants to. As another writer, he probably faces things he doesn't always want to; he just has the guts to actually say them, as well as write about them.
"A few years ago, I'd say back in 2000 or so, my band and I were sort of going through this like. I suppose you could call it a middle-aged crisis. We were getting older, rehearsing shit in my basement and thinking, 'why the fuck are we doing this? We know how to rehearse. What are we even doing?' And I was so stuck with my writing. I had this block that wouldn't fucking budge or break for anything. All three of us would fight, and it just got to the point where Mike called me up and was like, 'do you even want to do this anymore?' and it was fucking scary because I really didn't know if I wanted to. I had a family, and no idea where the fuck I really was." And he stops a moment, contemplating, flexing his fingers and Ryan can see a carton of cigarettes and lighter in one of the pockets of his jeans. "Eventually, after thinking about it, what got me writing again was the realization that I didn't just want to stop. I love being in Green Day, it's who I am, what I am. I didn't want to give it up, because that would be giving up on me."
There's a beat where Ryan isn't exactly sure how to respond. Because that. That was some pretty heavy stuff, kind of personal, and he doesn't know how to react to a man he just met telling him something like that.
So he blurts, "Why are you telling me this?"
Again, Billie Joe just shrugs, and laughs a little, pulling the box of cigarettes out as well as his lighter, "Because I hope maybe it'll mean something, even if it's just getting you to think, wow, I really don't want to end up like that guy." It's the most self-deprecating thing Ryan's heard this guy say about himself, and it gets Ryan thinking that maybe he does understand more then Ryan previously judged. "Want a smoke?" He asks, offering up the carton, and it might be a peace-offering.
Ryan half considers saying no, just to be a bitch because this guy managed to slip past a layer within twenty minutes of meeting him, but he figures Billie Joe will know it's because he managed to slip past a layer and it would just be pointless.
“Um, yeah,” Ryan says, a bit stupidly. He wonders what anyone would say if he told them he was standing around outside a venue and smoking with Billie Joe Armstrong. He wonders if anyone would care.
Placing his own cigarette between his lips, Billie Joe hands Ryan one along with the lighter before stuffing the carton back in his pocket. Ryan mutters a thanks and raises the cigarette to his mouth and lights it, inhaling deeply. When he hands the lighter back, their hands touch, and Ryan takes in the man's tattoos, old scars, and the way his hands are calloused from years of playing music. Perhaps now he gets why everyone is so awed about, if only a little. It's pretty surreal; not that he's talking to the front man of a pretty legendary band, but because this guy - this legend - is treating him just like anyone else, and is expecting the same in return.
“So...” Ryan encourages, because he's curious, because he wants to know. Because he's lonely and for the first time in so many months someone is giving a damn about him.
It's not about being bigger, or more superior, as Ryan so previously judged, but when Billie Joe takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks at him with a calculating gaze, Ryan has never felt smaller in his life.
“I'm telling you this,” he starts on the exhale, then hesitates and drops the cigarette to the ground and toes it out, “I'm telling you this because watching you on stage was like watching me when I was your age. Angry, against the world, fighting with and pushing away anyone who gets too close that wasn't there before whatever fucked up thing that happened to you, happened.”
Ryan feels like he's been punched in the stomach, but he doesn't let it show in his face.
“He doesn't even come near me, not anymore,” Ryan whispers, and his voice sounds feeble, even to his own ears. He won't meet Billie Joe's eyes, but he can feel he's being watched with something that isn't just concern, but also understanding.
“That was your choice,” Billie Joe says, and it stings, just enough that Ryan hunches his shoulder in on himself.
“I-” But there aren't any words he can find, because nowadays he has nothing to say without a pen in his hand. “He. He used to look at me like I'd hung the goddamn moon. Like I could do anything, and to him, it'd still be amazing.” He isn't too sure why he's admitting all this, let alone to a man he met a few minutes ago, but there's something that's telling him it's okay and for once following his impulse seems like a good idea, instead of a chance to ruin things.
“He probably won't ever look at you that way again,” Billie Joe tells him, brutally honest, and this time Ryan actually flinches though he tries not to, “but he will look at you again, someday. You won't be the guy actively trying to fuck up his life in his eyes forever, and he won't always see you as the friend that hurt him. You've gotta make those choices though. ”
Ryan finds himself nodding, staring at the ground, cigarette long forgotten near his feet.
“And I'm telling you this because a band doesn't have to end tragically to be great. Just look at Green Day; we're still doing a fucking awesome job still, even after all this time.” He continues, and Ryan kind of sputters. “Not everyone thinks we're good, but we're well liked enough. Making music is a part of who I am, and I want to keep doing it. And yeah, I think I'm doing a good enough job at it. I've been in Green Day for about twenty years now, if I haven't been getting a few things right I should have quit years ago.” He stops, and wipes his hands on the front of his thighs, “You may go home and not have learned anything, and I may still be the guy from that band you don't really care about who went and talked about shit that wasn't his business. But I wanted to say this because you look like a good kid who doesn't think he's all that good at anything, even though he is.”
And Ryan. Ryan hasn't ever heard that from someone who didn't know his father drank and disapproved of everything he ever did.
“It's hard to like other people when you don't even like yourself. Sometimes those other people won't ever be enough, either, so. Start by believing in yourself first, yeah?””
Risking a glance, Ryan gets caught when Billie Joe catches his gaze and smiles; a quieter one, more closed off. More real then any of the ones he gave before.
“Ryan!” Zach calls, and Ryan snaps his gaze over to the security guard who is standing near his own truck, “You ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ryan replies, and gives a slight, sheepish smile at Billie Joe, “hey, listen, sorry, but I'm going to go. Movie night, and all.” He says dryly, and Billie Joe laughs, just a little.
“Yeah, I'm meeting my band for dinner tonight, but, look.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I live in Oakland, if you ever feel like coming by...” He leaves the offer up in the air, but Ryan appreciates the sentiment anyway. He may just take the man up on it. It feels a little strange, watching Billie Joe enter his phone number in Ryan's cell phone, because it never even occurred to him that this would happen. Not in a million years, and it's odd, almost unbelievable because he hardly even know who this guy was before, had no interest in ever meeting him, and now he feels like he might be making a pretty damn good decision.
- - -
It's past midnight when Ryan flips open his phone; he has no missed calls, no texts. He hadn't felt comfortable enough to talk to Billie Joe again, at least not tonight. And scrolling down to Brendon's name hurts in a way it hasn't in awhile because now he wants to do something about that ache. He doesn't let himself hesitate before he hits the call button and raises the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. There's a gnawing feeling in his lower abdomen, a fear that Brendon won't pick up. Why should he? And Ryan's about to hang up, really he is, when the other line clicks and Brendon's saying.
“Hello?” He sounds cautious, careful. Bewildered, too, most likely. Ryan swallows past the lump in his throat.
“Hi,” he croaks, and swipes a hand down his face.
“Do you need something?” Brendon asks sharply, guarded.
“No, no. I don't need anything,” Ryan assures, and fuck, he wishes this wasn't so hard. “I just. Wanted to talk.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“That's more then you've tried to do recently,” Brendon snaps, and it's another thing that's changed. Brendon used to let Ryan walk all over him. He isn't anymore. Ryan wants to thank him.
“I know. Sorry isn't going to cut it either. I also know that.”
“Did you watch a Lifetime movie?” Brendon asks, and it's still bitter, but kind of amused. Ryan's heart sings.
“I would never,” Ryan denies, then adds, more quietly, “not without you.”
There's a pause.
“Yeah?” Brendon murmurs, and Ryan pictures him curling up on his bed, hugging the pillow to himself.
“Yeah. Just. I am sorry, it's not enough, but I'm going to try this new thing where I get my head out of my ass.”
“How's that working for you?”
“Not sure yet. I'll let you know.”
“Perhaps you can show me tomorrow?” Brendon suggests, and it's tentative, like Ryan might say no. At one point, Ryan thinks, he would have. “Lifetime movie marathon?”
Taking a deep breath, Ryan says, “Yeah, my house sound good?”
It's a start.
Author's Notes: I will reiterate. This was completely written self-indulgently. Comments :/
Author: cynicsandsaints
(vague) ryan/brendon - PG13 - 3903 Words
When Ryan meets Billie Joe Armstrong he feels two things he doesn't think most people do. One thing is, for being in a band as huge as Green Day, Billie Joe is really, ridiculously small. And two, he is completely surprised because. What on earth is he doing there; standing backstage, wearing sunglasses with a jacket thrown over one of his shoulders and a Misfits t-shirt on. He's kind of grinning, not over-bright or necessarily excited, but - dare he say it? - kind of impressed.
He can sense the exact moment the rest of his band notices the small man because the atmosphere becomes incredibly more still, like someone hit the pause button for a moment, and then almost immediately hit play again because then Jon's going, "what? Just, what?" and Ryan's sure Brendon and Spencer are sharing a look and Ryan. Ryan's in front of all of them and apparently the only one not starstruck and coherent enough to step forward, quirk and eyebrow, and hold out his hand in a way that he's pretty certain comes off a little too formal and exaggerated because the rest of his band are idiots.
"Hello," Ryan says coolly, eyes slightly narrowed, and it's perfectly reasonable because what the hell is Billie Joe Armstrong doing backstage at one of their shows.
Billie Joe glances at his hand briefly, but steps forward and wow, he really is tiny. He takes Ryan's hand and shakes it, smiling politely before letting go and glancing around at the lot of them.
"Hi," he addresses, and Ryan can only imagine the looks on his friend's faces. He sort of wishes he could turn around and see, but that'd be a little too obvious. When no one says anything else, Billie Joe continues talking, like six men aren't standing there staring at him, "So, you guys are pretty good," and he says it in this way that is completely un-insulting despite the fact he used the term "pretty good."
Which - coincidentally - could be taken two ways.
The theme of this meeting seems to be not replying, for that's just what happens, and Ryan has to fight off the desire to sigh in a big to-do way.
"Thank you," Ryan says, once again rescuing his band of men with huge, enormously obvious crushes on Green Day's front man. And okay, then he can't stop the, "what are you doing here?" that escapes his throat, but really, it's justifiable.
"Ryan," Spencer says from somewhere behind him, but Ryan doesn't even respond, not even with the slightest twitch.
To his credit, Billie Joe doesn't even look offended. Or like he even caught the nasty infliction in Ryan's question because he merely smiles again - and shit, now that he's a bit closer, Ryan can see how his teeth are pretty fucked - and says, "I live not too far from here, my son likes your stuff. Thought I'd swing by." Jon makes some sort of strangled sound, like someone just punched him in the stomach, and Brendon lets out a short, surprised laugh that sort of sounds a little disbelieving. Ryan really wishes he had been turned around to see it, even though he shouldn't.
"Where's your son?" Ryan inquires, and the intensity of the glares he's getting could probably burn a hole straight through his back, were that possible.
"My wife took him home," Billie Joe responds easily, and it sort of irritates Ryan that the guy doesn't even look the slightest bit put off by his attitude, or any of their attitudes really. "I wanted to stick around and see if I could catch you guys," then he laughs, and it's kind of private sounding, like it's a joke only he gets, "at first I thought they wouldn't let me, but then I guess your security guard recognized me. And well, here I am." He shifts a little on his feet at that - the only sign of discomfort Ryan's seen on the guy so far - and it's eases something that had been itching underneath Ryan's skin. There was no way this guy could just show up here and be nothing but casual, there had to be a catch. It was too strange of a situation.
"Oh," Ryan says, "did you...want an autograph for him?"
Around them the techs and roadies are buzzing around, getting ready for No Doubt's set, and they're all kind of in the way. Besides, this meeting is beginning to get a little boring and Ryan would really enjoy going home and showering before crawling into bed with his laptop while the rest of his band goes out and parties, or something.
"No, no," Billie Joe says, kind of shaking his head and waving his hands, and apparently he notices their surroundings as well because then he goes, "hey, do you mind if we -" and he gestures vaguely toward the exit, "move outside? We're kind of a hazard right now." And he chuckles, slightly, and so does Jon and Brendon and Spencer and Eric.
Zach says, "Yeah, okay, get a move on boys," and they all sort of stumble out of the venue, sweaty and gross with Billie Joe looking like he just took a shower that morning. Brendon might be the most unclean looking one out of them all.
When they're standing in a big circle again, Jon says, "This is. Cool." And he kind of. He almost looks embarrassed, and it's so bizarre that Ryan blinks a few times because out of all of them, Jon is usually the most at ease.
"You guys were good," Billie Joe repeats, only like he's going to expand this time, "I liked that one song. Uh, that slower one? I didn't catch the title, but," he pauses, seeming a little unsure, and his fingers twitch in a way that Ryan suspects means he wishes he had a guitar. Maybe to show them what he's talking about, maybe to stand behind. As startling as it is, Ryan gets both possibilities. "The melody was really fucking nice." He says, then amends, "The lyrics were pretty. And interesting. Who writes them?" He asks, and he's looking at Ryan in a way that suggests he knows precisely who writes them, but he wants someone to step forward.
Well, Ryan's not about to, if that's how it's going to go.
After a moment, when they realize Ryan isn't actually going to answer, Brendon says, "Uh, Ryan does," and Ryan's heart jumps at the fact Brendon actually said his name, as pathetic as it is. It feels like it's been forever since he's heard it.
"Oh," Billie Joe says, scuffing his shoe on the ground and rubbing his arms. Fuck, Ryan really needs a cigarette. "well, they're good," he says, nodding at Ryan.
"Er, thank you," Ryan replies, cause talking about his writing with a stranger from another band is a little more then disconcerting, and he'd really rather not.
There's a silence after that, it's kind of awkward, and Ryan's just about to speak up and say that he's going to get going. Not they're. Because they're not going to get going, not together. But he is. And suddenly, Brendon's phone is going off and he's answering, in this cheerful voice and saying, "yeah, dude, we're gonna leave in a moment, but man, Billie Joe Armstrong showed up. Yeah! The guy from Green Day, so we're sort of chatting with him. We'll leave in a minute though, see ya."
Ryan pretends his stomach doesn't twist painfully, and that Billie Joe doesn't notice the way his face sort of shutters closed. Even though he's pretty sure the guy does. Whatever, it's none of his business. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Ryan bites on the inside of his cheek and pointedly looks away.
"You guys ready to go?" Brendon asks, and Ryan doesn't have to look to know he's talking to Jon, Spencer, and Eric. "Sorry to disappear on you so fast," he says, and this time he's actually speaking to Billie Joe, "we didn't know. Like, wow. Thanks for coming and stopping by, though, that's uh. Really awesome of you."
Spencer and Jon and Eric are all basically repeating the same kind of thing, and they're all shaking hands and smiling, disgustingly charmed and enamored, like Billie Joe showing up is some sort of earth-shaking event. It's really not, and Ryan wishes his band didn't look so dazzled.
"Bye, Ryan," Spencer murmurs, now standing right next to Ryan and squeezing his shoulder. It's more then annoying, how concerned Spencer looks. Ryan wants to snarl, and tell his friend to stop treating him like he's headed for some sort of break down, but he feels like it would further lead Spencer to thinking it.
"Bye," Ryan says. Eric claps him on the back and Jon hugs him carefully, but for a good amount of time and Ryan knows it's because Brendon's not going to. Brendon might not even look at him. It wouldn't be shocking if he didn't.
And Ryan discovers he's right, when Jon lets go and moves away, all Brendon says is, "later," staring over Ryan's shoulder and Ryan's body aches to step forward and touch him, but Brendon is clearly still exulting anger that is simmering close to the top. He shouldn't push anymore, not when he's done it enough already.
So then they leave. And then it's just Ryan standing there with Billie Joe Armstrong outside of a venue where he can hear No Doubt beginning to play and Zach is telling him he's just gonna go talk to some of the other guys and to let him know when he's going to leave. Then he really is just only standing with Billie Joe Armstrong, and it's. Really weird.
"Well," Ryan begins, voice closed off, eyes averted away from the man now standing a few feet away in front of him, "I'm just going to -" and he jerks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction he parked his car and makes to turn around.
"Not feeling well?" Billie Joe asks, but it really sounds more like a statement. A knowing one. Like he's clarifying he is perfectly aware Ryan's fine health-wise, but is baiting him. Or something.
Narrowing his eyes, Ryan thinks of a way to respond; the guy doesn't necessarily look dangerous, or like he has any malicious intent with the question, but he does seem to be trying to figure things out and Ryan isn't sure how okay with that he is.
He settles for muttering, "Tired," and even meets Billie Joe's eyes, a little defiant. Defensive.
"Of what?" Billie Joe asks, and Ryan feels a flare of irritation in his chest, because that's more then presumptuous.
"I just played a show," Ryan states, and he's kind of being a jerk, but who the fuck does this guy think he is?
"You opened," Billie Joe corrects, rocking back and forth on his feet, "you played for forty-five minutes."
What the fuck?
"I didn't sleep well last night."
"I figured as much."
There's another pause.
"What do you want?" Ryan inquires, a little incredulous, even though he tries not to be.
Billie Joe shrugs, and he's looking at Ryan but his expression isn't disclosing anything, "Just thought you could use some company."
Arching an eyebrow, Ryan crosses his arms and cocks his hips out, "So you watch us play and wait around because you assume I'm lonely?"
"Not in the strictest sense," Billie Joe says, snorting, "My son really did want to come see you."
As if that explains anything, Ryan thinks, a little bitter because is he really? Is he that transparent?
"Did something happen?"
"That's none of your business," Ryan snaps, and thinks, yes, yes something did happen, and I wish I could take it back. He's careful enough to not show it, though.
"Alright," Billie Joe says, holding up his hands in surrender, "want to know something?"
What Ryan almost says is no, and what a small part of him really wants to say is, yes, but he simply settles for, "Depends." He thinks maybe the disinterest is obvious, and he wonders why this man is even bothering considering he's been an ass just about this entire time, aside his mild surprise at the first sighting of him.
The way the guy acts though, it's infuriating, and admirable. Ryan sort of wishes he had that kind of backbone. Billie Joe just stands there and talks and makes his point regardless of the feedback he's getting. He says what he wants to, because he wants to. As another writer, he probably faces things he doesn't always want to; he just has the guts to actually say them, as well as write about them.
"A few years ago, I'd say back in 2000 or so, my band and I were sort of going through this like. I suppose you could call it a middle-aged crisis. We were getting older, rehearsing shit in my basement and thinking, 'why the fuck are we doing this? We know how to rehearse. What are we even doing?' And I was so stuck with my writing. I had this block that wouldn't fucking budge or break for anything. All three of us would fight, and it just got to the point where Mike called me up and was like, 'do you even want to do this anymore?' and it was fucking scary because I really didn't know if I wanted to. I had a family, and no idea where the fuck I really was." And he stops a moment, contemplating, flexing his fingers and Ryan can see a carton of cigarettes and lighter in one of the pockets of his jeans. "Eventually, after thinking about it, what got me writing again was the realization that I didn't just want to stop. I love being in Green Day, it's who I am, what I am. I didn't want to give it up, because that would be giving up on me."
There's a beat where Ryan isn't exactly sure how to respond. Because that. That was some pretty heavy stuff, kind of personal, and he doesn't know how to react to a man he just met telling him something like that.
So he blurts, "Why are you telling me this?"
Again, Billie Joe just shrugs, and laughs a little, pulling the box of cigarettes out as well as his lighter, "Because I hope maybe it'll mean something, even if it's just getting you to think, wow, I really don't want to end up like that guy." It's the most self-deprecating thing Ryan's heard this guy say about himself, and it gets Ryan thinking that maybe he does understand more then Ryan previously judged. "Want a smoke?" He asks, offering up the carton, and it might be a peace-offering.
Ryan half considers saying no, just to be a bitch because this guy managed to slip past a layer within twenty minutes of meeting him, but he figures Billie Joe will know it's because he managed to slip past a layer and it would just be pointless.
“Um, yeah,” Ryan says, a bit stupidly. He wonders what anyone would say if he told them he was standing around outside a venue and smoking with Billie Joe Armstrong. He wonders if anyone would care.
Placing his own cigarette between his lips, Billie Joe hands Ryan one along with the lighter before stuffing the carton back in his pocket. Ryan mutters a thanks and raises the cigarette to his mouth and lights it, inhaling deeply. When he hands the lighter back, their hands touch, and Ryan takes in the man's tattoos, old scars, and the way his hands are calloused from years of playing music. Perhaps now he gets why everyone is so awed about, if only a little. It's pretty surreal; not that he's talking to the front man of a pretty legendary band, but because this guy - this legend - is treating him just like anyone else, and is expecting the same in return.
“So...” Ryan encourages, because he's curious, because he wants to know. Because he's lonely and for the first time in so many months someone is giving a damn about him.
It's not about being bigger, or more superior, as Ryan so previously judged, but when Billie Joe takes a long drag of his cigarette and looks at him with a calculating gaze, Ryan has never felt smaller in his life.
“I'm telling you this,” he starts on the exhale, then hesitates and drops the cigarette to the ground and toes it out, “I'm telling you this because watching you on stage was like watching me when I was your age. Angry, against the world, fighting with and pushing away anyone who gets too close that wasn't there before whatever fucked up thing that happened to you, happened.”
Ryan feels like he's been punched in the stomach, but he doesn't let it show in his face.
“He doesn't even come near me, not anymore,” Ryan whispers, and his voice sounds feeble, even to his own ears. He won't meet Billie Joe's eyes, but he can feel he's being watched with something that isn't just concern, but also understanding.
“That was your choice,” Billie Joe says, and it stings, just enough that Ryan hunches his shoulder in on himself.
“I-” But there aren't any words he can find, because nowadays he has nothing to say without a pen in his hand. “He. He used to look at me like I'd hung the goddamn moon. Like I could do anything, and to him, it'd still be amazing.” He isn't too sure why he's admitting all this, let alone to a man he met a few minutes ago, but there's something that's telling him it's okay and for once following his impulse seems like a good idea, instead of a chance to ruin things.
“He probably won't ever look at you that way again,” Billie Joe tells him, brutally honest, and this time Ryan actually flinches though he tries not to, “but he will look at you again, someday. You won't be the guy actively trying to fuck up his life in his eyes forever, and he won't always see you as the friend that hurt him. You've gotta make those choices though. ”
Ryan finds himself nodding, staring at the ground, cigarette long forgotten near his feet.
“And I'm telling you this because a band doesn't have to end tragically to be great. Just look at Green Day; we're still doing a fucking awesome job still, even after all this time.” He continues, and Ryan kind of sputters. “Not everyone thinks we're good, but we're well liked enough. Making music is a part of who I am, and I want to keep doing it. And yeah, I think I'm doing a good enough job at it. I've been in Green Day for about twenty years now, if I haven't been getting a few things right I should have quit years ago.” He stops, and wipes his hands on the front of his thighs, “You may go home and not have learned anything, and I may still be the guy from that band you don't really care about who went and talked about shit that wasn't his business. But I wanted to say this because you look like a good kid who doesn't think he's all that good at anything, even though he is.”
And Ryan. Ryan hasn't ever heard that from someone who didn't know his father drank and disapproved of everything he ever did.
“It's hard to like other people when you don't even like yourself. Sometimes those other people won't ever be enough, either, so. Start by believing in yourself first, yeah?””
Risking a glance, Ryan gets caught when Billie Joe catches his gaze and smiles; a quieter one, more closed off. More real then any of the ones he gave before.
“Ryan!” Zach calls, and Ryan snaps his gaze over to the security guard who is standing near his own truck, “You ready to go?”
“Uh, yeah,” Ryan replies, and gives a slight, sheepish smile at Billie Joe, “hey, listen, sorry, but I'm going to go. Movie night, and all.” He says dryly, and Billie Joe laughs, just a little.
“Yeah, I'm meeting my band for dinner tonight, but, look.” He rubs the back of his neck, “I live in Oakland, if you ever feel like coming by...” He leaves the offer up in the air, but Ryan appreciates the sentiment anyway. He may just take the man up on it. It feels a little strange, watching Billie Joe enter his phone number in Ryan's cell phone, because it never even occurred to him that this would happen. Not in a million years, and it's odd, almost unbelievable because he hardly even know who this guy was before, had no interest in ever meeting him, and now he feels like he might be making a pretty damn good decision.
- - -
It's past midnight when Ryan flips open his phone; he has no missed calls, no texts. He hadn't felt comfortable enough to talk to Billie Joe again, at least not tonight. And scrolling down to Brendon's name hurts in a way it hasn't in awhile because now he wants to do something about that ache. He doesn't let himself hesitate before he hits the call button and raises the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. There's a gnawing feeling in his lower abdomen, a fear that Brendon won't pick up. Why should he? And Ryan's about to hang up, really he is, when the other line clicks and Brendon's saying.
“Hello?” He sounds cautious, careful. Bewildered, too, most likely. Ryan swallows past the lump in his throat.
“Hi,” he croaks, and swipes a hand down his face.
“Do you need something?” Brendon asks sharply, guarded.
“No, no. I don't need anything,” Ryan assures, and fuck, he wishes this wasn't so hard. “I just. Wanted to talk.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“That's more then you've tried to do recently,” Brendon snaps, and it's another thing that's changed. Brendon used to let Ryan walk all over him. He isn't anymore. Ryan wants to thank him.
“I know. Sorry isn't going to cut it either. I also know that.”
“Did you watch a Lifetime movie?” Brendon asks, and it's still bitter, but kind of amused. Ryan's heart sings.
“I would never,” Ryan denies, then adds, more quietly, “not without you.”
There's a pause.
“Yeah?” Brendon murmurs, and Ryan pictures him curling up on his bed, hugging the pillow to himself.
“Yeah. Just. I am sorry, it's not enough, but I'm going to try this new thing where I get my head out of my ass.”
“How's that working for you?”
“Not sure yet. I'll let you know.”
“Perhaps you can show me tomorrow?” Brendon suggests, and it's tentative, like Ryan might say no. At one point, Ryan thinks, he would have. “Lifetime movie marathon?”
Taking a deep breath, Ryan says, “Yeah, my house sound good?”
It's a start.
Author's Notes: I will reiterate. This was completely written self-indulgently. Comments :/