Chapter IX

                                    

                                          
Ryan woke up to the sound of the telephone on his bedside table ringing. He was a little disoriented at first, still not used to having a phone at all. He grabbed the wireless phone out of the cradle and held it to his ear, managing a croaky sounding "Hello?".  He heard Jon's laughter at the other end. 
                          
"Wow. You sound like death." Ryan squinted at the light coming through the window before pulling a pillow over his head.
                          
"Did you really have to call to wake me up? You could have just walked downstairs and not given me an instant headache from the ringing." 
                          
"Oh, Ry Ry Ry. Where's the fun in that?" He could hear the soft exhale of Jon's laugh through the phone. "There's food ready whenever you want to make it to the kitchen." Ryan groaned as the alcohol still in his stomach from the night before churned dangerously. He hung up and slammed the phone back into the holder before stumbling to the bathroom to vomit up the contents of his stomach. 
                          
He admittedly felt much better once he was finished, and the idea of greasy bacon started to look real appealing. He threw on some sweatpants from his closet and shuffled his way down the hall to the kitchen, feeling like his feet were attached to cinder blocks. 
                          
Jon was already sitting at a bar stool, looking like he'd gotten a full night's sleep rather than the three hours Ryan knew he'd gotten. "Good morning, sunshine." Jon singsonged to him as he entered.
                          
"Fuck yourself. How are you not still drunk?" He grabbed a handful of bacon with his hand and shoved the whole thing in his mouth while Jon looked on in mild disgust.
                          
"I didn't drink half as much as you. I was trying to network after the show." Ryan snorted.
                          
"Network? With all three of the people in the crowd who knew who we were? And only then because they're fans of The Flying Rabbits?" Jon frowned at him as he continued eating all the various breakfast foods in large quantities.
                          
"Even if they didn't know who we were going in, most of them liked the music. It's a good album. Besides, we've only played ten shows."
                          
"Yeah, and the turnout for each one is worse than the last." Jon didn't have a response for that. "Hey, it's not like I'm looking to quit or anything. I just thought that once people heard our music, we'd be doing a little better than this by now."
                          
"I get it. With the Rabbits we had a pretty uphill battle trying to get a label to sign us, but once we got the album out there, the hard part was over. It's almost the opposite this time around." 
                          
Ryan nodded in agreement. "It was really nice to produce the record here in your studio, but the ease of it sort of set me up to think... I don't know. Build it and they will come? I didn't think we'd be spending night after night playing to apathetic crowds who are just hoping for Brendon to show up." 
                          
Jon grimaced. "Yeah, it's definitely not what I'm used to either. I didn't realize people would blame me for leaving the band. They don't even know what happened. And it's not like I was hoping to capitalize on my fame, but I never really considered that we'd be starting from the ground up." They sat in silence for a while as Ryan finally ran out of room in his stomach for all the food on the table. He'd put on some weight in the past few months. Between eating Jon's food and working out with his personal trainer, he almost had a little bit of definition in a few of his muscles, though he was definitely still skinnier than the average guy his height. 
                          
"I invited Spencer to our show tonight." Jon said lightly, trying to judge Ryan's reaction. 
                          
"That's great. I'm sure he'll love it." Ryan tried to seem nonchalant, but it came out a little strained. 
                          
"He's going to come alone." Jon added.
                          
"Of course he is. Brendon hasn't talked to me in months. Why would he start now?" He got up from the counter and went back to his room, trying very hard not to slam the door in a fit of anger.