forty-six.
Spencer sighs and shifts minutely, trying to keep Brendon in the same spot. They're sprawled on the hide-a-bed that Brendon's trying to pass off as an acceptable alternative to actual mattresses and shit, and Spencer is mostly unmoved on his stance against it.
However, right now it's pretty comfortable, bolstered as they are by a dozen pillows and most of Brendon's clean laundry on either side. The apartment still smells like the Chef Boyardee Brendon cooked for dinner, and Brendon is a warm, snuffly weight on top of him, and the tv on the other side of the room is running a loop of the Love, Actually DVD main menu page.
After twenty minutes of listening to the same twelve bars of music, Spencer's had enough. "Brendon," he says, his voice cracking on a huge yawn. "Where's the remote?"
"Mmph?" Brendon mumbles, huffing and twitching away as Spencer pokes him lightly.
"The remote. The music's killing me."
"'k you, it's plaintive and longing," Brendon grouses, flopping his hand over the laundry to the side table, producing the remote and pressing it to Spencer's chest.
Spencer rolls his eyes and shuts the power off, then shuffles down a little more, finding one of Brendon's work aprons and draping it across both of their middles like a blanket. It's as ineffective as Spencer figured it would be, but hey, he tried. His eyes are getting heavy.
"Stay," Brendon orders, throwing an arm around his middle. "Chick flicks and slumber parties, we rock," he yawns into Spencer's neck. "The guys will be so jealous."
Spencer closes his eyes for a few seconds and nods, fumbling his cell out of the pocket of his hoodie to text his parents and tell them where he is. "Get the lights and produce an actual blanket and I will."
Brendon groans and complains, but eventually gets up and shoves the laundry off the bed, uncovering the blanket and smoothing it out on top of Spencer and the mattress fussily. He stumbles over to flick off the lights, and when he comes back, he gives Spencer a sheepish little smile. "Hey," he says, and waggles his eyebrows.
Spencer rolls his eyes, but grins too. "Come to bed," he drawls, before he shifts over to give Brendon room to crawl in.
"Bow chicka bow bow," Brendon yawns as he kicks his way under the blanket and settles in. He makes grabby hands for Spencer, not stopping until they're curled up comfortably, a familiar weight and feel. Spencer sighs and spits a piece of Brendon's hair out of his mouth, and blinks sleepily up at the city lights filtering in through the cracks of the blinds. It's weird, he thinks, that the only two places in the world he can actually sleep are home and here, at Brendon's.
However, right now it's pretty comfortable, bolstered as they are by a dozen pillows and most of Brendon's clean laundry on either side. The apartment still smells like the Chef Boyardee Brendon cooked for dinner, and Brendon is a warm, snuffly weight on top of him, and the tv on the other side of the room is running a loop of the Love, Actually DVD main menu page.
After twenty minutes of listening to the same twelve bars of music, Spencer's had enough. "Brendon," he says, his voice cracking on a huge yawn. "Where's the remote?"
"Mmph?" Brendon mumbles, huffing and twitching away as Spencer pokes him lightly.
"The remote. The music's killing me."
"'k you, it's plaintive and longing," Brendon grouses, flopping his hand over the laundry to the side table, producing the remote and pressing it to Spencer's chest.
Spencer rolls his eyes and shuts the power off, then shuffles down a little more, finding one of Brendon's work aprons and draping it across both of their middles like a blanket. It's as ineffective as Spencer figured it would be, but hey, he tried. His eyes are getting heavy.
"Stay," Brendon orders, throwing an arm around his middle. "Chick flicks and slumber parties, we rock," he yawns into Spencer's neck. "The guys will be so jealous."
Spencer closes his eyes for a few seconds and nods, fumbling his cell out of the pocket of his hoodie to text his parents and tell them where he is. "Get the lights and produce an actual blanket and I will."
Brendon groans and complains, but eventually gets up and shoves the laundry off the bed, uncovering the blanket and smoothing it out on top of Spencer and the mattress fussily. He stumbles over to flick off the lights, and when he comes back, he gives Spencer a sheepish little smile. "Hey," he says, and waggles his eyebrows.
Spencer rolls his eyes, but grins too. "Come to bed," he drawls, before he shifts over to give Brendon room to crawl in.
"Bow chicka bow bow," Brendon yawns as he kicks his way under the blanket and settles in. He makes grabby hands for Spencer, not stopping until they're curled up comfortably, a familiar weight and feel. Spencer sighs and spits a piece of Brendon's hair out of his mouth, and blinks sleepily up at the city lights filtering in through the cracks of the blinds. It's weird, he thinks, that the only two places in the world he can actually sleep are home and here, at Brendon's.