Drawn In Heights | Jon/Spencer | NC-17
Title: Drawn In Heights
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer, Ryan/Brendon
Summary: He’s pretty sure he never believed in love at first sight.
Wordcount: ~7,800
Disclaimer:Never happened, don't know any of the guys, don't own anything, etc.
Notes: I had some help from aug 7 07 and july 31 07 at we_are_cities. Also, thanks to kazexhane and brightbulletx for keeping me sane and helping me through this.
The sky is blue and clear, free of clouds, and the air is warm, sun hot on skin and bright in eyes. The water is cool and inviting against the heat of the day, and that’s where most of the kids reside. In the surrounding trees, birds sing and butterflies flutter by, caterpillars hatching by the dozens and all the children are screeching and laughing and running, tripping and giggling and catching bugs in their cupped hands.
The cabins are all high on the hill, overlooking the lake and the campfire circle. The windows are still foggy with dust, unused since the summer before. In the corners, spiders sit in their webs, awaiting the moment their homes will be torn down. The bunks are all stuffy and full of dirt and winter grime, and some of the counselors are walking around with hand-held vacuum cleaners, which aren’t really doing the trick.
Spencer is staring out the window, watching as one of the new guys chases around one of the little kids, laughing and acting like a kid himself. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck with deft fingers. “We really shouldn’t have come this year, but.” Ryan is in his bunk - the top bunk, just over Spencer’s - and he’s watching the ceiling with fierce eyes, wet at the edges. He keeps his gaze on the ceiling; he won’t meet Spencer’s eyes.
They’ve been coming to summer camp every year since third grade (and fourth grade, respectively) and this will definitely be their last year together. Ryan is supposed to be at home, packing for college. Spencer will be starting his Senior Year in August, the same day Ryan leaves for his dorm at the campus in the mountains. He’ll be four hours away and Spencer hasn’t admitted how much he’ll miss having his best friend around.
Outside, down the hill and in the lake, kids are splashing and swimming and having fun, their whole lives ahead of them. They don’t have to worry about losing their best friends or going away to college or cell phone reception at three in the morning when they can’t stand not hearing the voice of the person they trust the most. They don’t have to worry about the summer ending and their hearts shattering with it.
His arms folded behind his head, Ryan says, “Misery loves company.”
-
There’s something about the first night away from home that makes the night draw on and on and it’s comforting, because Ryan never wanted to go home in the first place. He doesn’t want to go to the mountains for college, either, but his parents told him to get out of the house and do something with his life, and college is the only thing they’d pay for.
They always spend the first night around the campfire - it’s been tradition since way back when fireflies were the coolest things ever - and they roast marshmallows and make s’mores and tell scary stories that always make the little kids toss and turn in their beds all night, but keeps them coming back for more, anyway. On the first night, along with the stories and s’mores, all the new counselors and all the new kids introduce themselves.
The camp itself isn’t very big. Everyone knows everyone else. There are probably thirty boys, but no one really knows how many girls there are because all the girls are on the other side of the lake (when this is brought up, one of the very young boys yells, “Eww, girls! They have cooties! My brother told me so!” and even Spencer laughs). They finally get to meet the rest of their roommates (The kid with the dark hair and red glasses is Brendon, and he’s twitchy and jumpy and never sits still and looks more than a little nervous. When Ryan shoots him a look, soothing, he goes still and doesn’t move as much after. There are five other guys staying in their cabin, but Spencer doesn’t bother to learn their names.)
When it’s time to meet the new counselors, Spencer is surprised because they don’t usually hire many people under twenty-five. But there’s this one guy, and he’s new, his name is Jon and he smells like coffee and smoke and apples, even from across the pit. Spencer catches himself staring because there’s just something about that guy that makes his skin crawl.
Ryan elbows him in the side and says something about Greta coming back and being a counselor. They’ve known her since they were kids and she’s been coming to camp with them every year. She’s one of the few girls they know, so it’s good to see her. Patrick is a counselor again, but it’s been that way for two or three years now, so there’s nothing to say about that.
Spencer’s just surprised they let Pete be the cook again, especially after last year’s incident with the flamethrower and the entire stock of steaks. One of the smaller kids insists that a scary story is told about a creepy man with a chainsaw, so the introductions die down and some of the older counselors take turns telling the story.
On the way back to their cabin, Ryan and Spencer lead Brendon (restless and twitchy, glancing around and jumping at every sound, squeaking about a chainsaw and then trying to climb inside Ryan’s hoodie with him) through the trees. Up the hill, the lights are bright through the cabin windows and they can see shadows moving through the glass. Spencer grabs Ryan’s hand while Brendon skips ahead of them, the chainsaw long forgotten.
Ryan laces their fingers and Spencer says, “I wish this summer didn’t feel so much like home.” Ryan leans his head on Spencer’s shoulder for the rest of the way.
-
They’re older than they were when they first came to Skyview, obviously, so they don’t have to do all the camp things that the kids do. There are arts and crafts and swimming and volleyball and tennis and hiking. There are tons of suitable climbing trees throughout the surrounding woods, and the older kids (teenagers; Spencer forgets his age, sometimes, when he’s watching the tire swing fly out about the water, shimmering almost-purple in the sunlight, the water underneath welcoming, as if saying, “Come in, come with us, be with us.”) are allowed to search for the hidden tree houses that the counselors always leave treats in.
The sun is out, so Brendon has dragged Ryan off to see the sights - sights Ryan has seen countless times before with Spencer, but it must be different, seeing them with someone else, so Spencer doesn’t worry about it too much, tries not to let the jealousy boil in his stomach - so Spencer is sitting abandoned in the cabin. When the door opens, he isn’t surprised because he’s sharing the cabin with seven other people, but when he sees who’s standing there, his stomach lurches and he bites his lip to keep from looking surprised.
Jon says, “You got abandoned on the second day?” Then, smiling, “Want to go for a walk?”
-
Jon is twenty-two and is from Chicago and he has a cat named Dylan and he plays Bass on occasion. He got the job because he knows Pete and he really just needed to get away for the summer. He used to work at Starbucks, but then he came here and he still really, really likes coffee. A lot. Also, he likes to take pictures. With a real camera and everything!
Spencer thinks he would like to never, ever speak to Jon again.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Jon. Jon is nice. Jon is amazing and great and he has this lisp that makes Spencer smile and he’s soft and comfortable and. And Spencer’s not sure what it is about him, but whatever it is, it makes him want to run. It makes him want to run, but even more than that, it makes him want to stay. Stay forever.
He’s pretty sure he never believed in love at first sight.
-
Ryan has always loved the Arts and Crafts room, even if he never liked to sit through the discussions and workshops. He likes to paint and he likes to build things, to create something that is his and belongs only to him. He likes to control things and he likes to hold the world in the palm of his hand. This isn’t possible, though, and he knows that. Which is exactly why they’re in the Arts and Crafts room right now, Spencer standing near the door while Ryan sits at one of the tables, sorting through tubes of watercolors and spray-on sparkles.
Ryan takes yarn and popsicle sticks and glue and paintbrushes and canvas. Greta usually guards the art supplies like a hawk, but she lets Ryan have what he wants since he doesn’t use them when all the other kids do. Ryan needs a way to vent, anyway, and this is his chosen outlet. She understands that, and lets them have the key when no one else is looking.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer isn’t really keeping guard, because even if someone did walk in, it would either be a counselor who wouldn’t care or a little kid who is easy to trick. He’s mostly just watching Ryan from a distance - just like he always has. Ryan falters, his hand stopping halfway into a box for half a second before he gets back on track. He shrugs.
Ryan has always been a bit of a loner; he’s always done things his own way, but he’s always needed Spencer there with him, no matter what. It’s stupidly immature for them to be at summer camp when they’re seventeen and eighteen, but. It’s comforting, knowing that they can spend their entire summer together before Ryan has to leave. Except, Ryan has been off with Brendon more and more.
Spencer isn’t the jealous type, but he has grown accustomed to having Ryan around, having Ryan there with him at all times, having Ryan to himself. He won’t admit that he doesn’t want to share. He’s been spending all his free time with Jon, anyway, so he doesn’t really have any room to talk.
These are half-dead minutes between them, silence and stillness and it’s okay. It’s enough. Ryan isn’t even collecting supplies anymore. He has a pile of old projects, things Spencer can recognize as objects Ryan built in his previous years. There’s a metal case sitting on Ryan’s other side, on the bench next to him, open and empty. If Spencer looks close enough, he can see Ryan’s hands are shaking, but he tries not to pay attention.
Spencer says, “A time capsule?” and Ryan says, “They can send me away forever, but whatever they do, the future is mine.”
-
Jon arranges a hiking trip up the mountain. Spencer tells Ryan he can’t sit around all summer so Ryan and Brendon put on their tennis shoes and follow Spencer to Jon’s cabin, where he’s standing outside and directing the group that has formed. He’s yelling out the list of supplies that each person should have in their pack, and he’s ignoring the kids that are complaining about uncomfortable shoes.
When he sees Spencer, his face splits into a grin and he says, “Spencer Smith.” He jumps down from his position on the porch and lands beside Spencer, still grinning. Spencer wills himself not to blush and he introduces Ryan and Brendon as the anti-social ones since Jon, of course, already knows their names. Ryan eyes Spencer knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.
It takes Jon a good ten minutes to get everyone together, and it takes another five minutes to get to the trail. Brendon is jumpy, grinning and trying to hold Ryan’s hand and running ahead of them, looking at flowers and bugs and running back to tell Ryan everything he saw. Jon laughs at him, ruffles Brendon’s hair when he runs by and Brendon just ducks his head and grins.
It’s a ten hour trip, four hours up, two hours for lunch and exploring and games and paintball, and then four hours back. Jon laughs and says that the trip back should really take five hours because everyone is so tired, but all the really tired people just fall and slide back down, so no one’s held up. Brendon laughs at this, too, quips, “Mudslide!” and Ryan’s lips twitch at the edges, holding off a smile.
An hour in, still not high enough up the mountain to see anything other than trees, Spencer picks up his pace until he catches up with Jon, ahead of everyone else. When Jon sees him, he throws an arm around Spencer’s shoulder and says, “Spencer Smith, how are you doing?” His voice is soft, but it carries and catches and sticks. Spencer drowns in it, closes his eyes and takes it in.
He opens his eyes and says, “It’s a hike.” Jon laughs, rubs the back of Spencer’s neck where his hand has landed. Spencer flinches, but doesn’t move away. “Hey,” Jon looks at him, brow furrowed. He looks worried, almost; he looks like he cares. “Are you okay? This isn’t, like. You’ve hiked before, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer almost laughs, but then Jon is relaxing and rubbing Spencer’s neck again and fuck. He swallows, reaches up to rub his neck - nervous habit - but Jon’s hand is there, so then they’re almost holding hands, and it’s sort of awkward so Jon pulls away. Still smiling and looking unbothered, Jon looks over his shoulder and yells for a water break.
-
“So.” It’s just past noon, the sun high over them, visible through the trees. There’s a rocky cliff up ahead, but they aren’t going any farther up, so Spencer isn’t worried about that. Ryan keeps gazing over, making sure none of the kids have wandered too close. Brendon is talking to Jon, bouncing around now that his pack isn’t weighing him down, and Jon is listening, laughing where appropriate and talking back - having a conversation. With Brendon.
“So, what?” Ryan gives him a look.
“So. Jon.” Jon is currently passing out bottled water to kids who didn’t listen to the speech about dehydration and only brought a bottle or two. Jon is talking and laughing and having a good time. Jon isn’t getting glared at by Ryan Ross. Jon is not what Spencer wants to talk about.
“What about him?” Spencer doesn’t meet Ryan’s eyes. They’re two weeks into camp. Spencer is having withdrawals from a best friend who hasn’t left yet. The sky is blue, the air is warm, the birds are singing, and they should not be talking about this. Of course, it’s not like they are yet; Spencer hasn’t said anything and Ryan is still staring at him, so this isn’t a proper discussion. Which means he can walk away.
Ryan quietly says, “Spence.” Spencer knows that voice - has known that voice since they were twelve and thirteen and Ryan crawled through Spencer’s bedroom window at midnight for the first time. It’s the voice Ryan uses when he’s hurt, or when he’s serious and he really just needs someone to listen. Spencer can’t not look at him.
Spencer looks at him and tells him everything.
-
Pete laughs at them the next day when they all limp into the lunch hall, sore and moaning in pain. He yells out, “Anyone who wants lunch owes me twenty-five jumping jacks!” No one finds it funny and a few of the younger kids look like they might cry. One of the guys in Cabin D says something about having food stashed under his bunk, and the group around him leaves.
Ryan goes to the front of the line, bats his eyelashes, and Pete gives everyone lunch. “You’re such a slut,” Brendon says good-naturedly, then steals a carrot from Ryan’s plate. Ryan blushes and looks down at his tray to hide it, his lips turned up in a definite smile. Brendon doesn’t notice, just spoons the rest of his rice onto Ryan’s plate and then holds out his cinnamon roll and says, “You know a bear wouldn’t even eat you? You’re too fucking skinny. Share with me?”
Brendon doesn’t let Ryan say no, and for the rest of the lunch hour, Ryan pokes at his food and keeps his hair in his eyes, hiding whatever’s there.
Spencer thinks, hypocrite.
-
He paces back and forth in the dark, barefoot and in his pajama pants. He has to be quiet - everyone’s asleep, Ryan curled on his side in his bunk and Brendon is facing Ryan from across the room, had fallen asleep staring. The ceiling above Brendon’s bunk is littered with glow-in-the-dark stars and comets and spaceships. If Spencer was having any other discussion with himself in his head, he’d maybe find that a little comforting.
He finally just grabs his hoodie, slips it on and leaves the cabin, not caring that the door slams behind him. Ryan isn’t a heavy sleeper, but he wouldn’t follow Spencer, anyway. Not now. Spencer doesn’t know about Brendon or any of the others, but it’s worth the risk.
Jon’s cabin isn’t far, and he almost expects the journey to take forever, but he arrives far too soon. The lights are on inside, so he knows Jon’s awake. He doesn’t hesitate in walking up the steps and knocking on the door because it’s now or never, and if he hesitates, he might think of a million reasons this is a bad idea and he really isn’t sure he could deal with that.
Jon answers the door with wet hair, a towel around his shoulders and his jeans half-buttoned. “Oh, hey, Spence.” He grins and Spencer tries to keep his eyes on Jon’s face while Jon closes his belt. When Jon is standing still and just staring at him, Spencer looks down at his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets so that he won’t do anything stupid.
“Come on in. Are you okay?” Fuck. Too bad Spencer’s feet don’t listen to his brain. He stops just inside the door and turns around; he doesn’t watch Jon, just keeps his eyes on the floor. “Do you want some coffee?”
Jon walks past him and Spencer scuffs his bare foot against the floor, thinking back to leaving the cabin and how he shouldn’t have been so stupid, leaving without shoes. He says, “Yeah, thanks.” and watches Jon’s back as he sets up the coffee pot.
“So, what’s going on?” Jon doesn’t ask the question as if he thinks something’s wrong or like Spencer’s in trouble. He doesn’t say anything about curfew and the time of night and how Spencer should be asleep, dreaming of rockets and submarines and other things. He asks the question like Spencer is his friend and he’s just genuinely curious. Spencer just wishes he could hate him.
Jon doesn’t turn to look at him, so it’s easy. It’s easy to let things out. Jon is easy and it’s comforting to be around him and Spencer doesn’t want to be here but he never wants to leave. He scuffs his foot on the floor, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed and says, “I - I kind of like you.” He clears his throat. “I kind of like you a lot.”
The air in the cabin is still and everything is quiet, so Spencer looks up. Jon isn’t moving; he’s still standing with his back to Spencer, but his hands are resting on the counter, no longer messing with the coffee, and his shoulders look tense, like he’s overtired and can’t sleep. If Spencer looks close enough, he can see where Jon’s back widens as he breathes: slow, calming breaths, mesmerizing to some extent.
Spencer steps forward, says, “Jon, I - ”
“We can’t, Spence.” Spencer recoils, takes a step back and then another. Jon’s voice is cracking, hitching in a way that Spencer has never heard - never wants to hear, ever again. “There are rules.” His shoulders are maybe shaking, just a little. He pushes back off the counter, the coffee pot bubbling behind him. He turns around and looks at Spencer dead on, and Spencer flinches. Jon’s eyes are wide, bright, everything they normally are, but.
But, there’s a pain in his eyes, burning bright and harsh and it’s something Spencer’s never seen before - never seen so much emotion like this, raw and open and showing so clearly. He looks tired and torn and Spencer has to swallow the bile rising in his throat because it’s just so - it’s not Jon. This isn’t Jon. This is someone who is in pain, someone who can’t have something that they really, truly want.
“I have a girlfriend back in Chicago,” Jon says. His eyes are steady on Spencer’s, piercing. “There are rules that say there can be no relationships between a counselor and a child - ”
“I’m not a child,” Spencer hisses, voice desperate.
“Spence,” Jon looks exhausted and his voice is pleading.
Spencer quietly asks, “Is it me?”
The air in the room is suddenly way too hot and way too cold, freezing, and Spencer feels like he’s sinking, can’t get to the surface, can’t breathe. His eyes are locked with Jon’s, and he can see the thoughts going on behind Jon’s irises, flowing and faltering and his stomach churns at the thought that maybe, maybe Jon is trying to think of a way to let him down easily.
And then Jon is kissing him.
-
When he wakes up, the sun is shining in through the window, the room smells like coffee, and he is alone. It’s different - waking up like this, without Ryan’s bunk above him and Brendon singing stupid, childish songs in his oddly amazing voice. The sheets are white, crisp and clean and it’s so, so different from the sleeping bags they pile into their bunks, with holes and broken zippers and the smell of home.
The clock hanging on the wall across the room tells him that it’s just past 9 o’clock, and that fuck, everyone’s going to be awake. He slips out of bed and spins in place for a minute, looking around the room - looking for a way out. There isn’t one (of course). He pads over to the closet and pulls out one of Jon’s plain t-shirts, slips it on over his head and tries not to think about how Jon isn’t here.
Most of the kids are down by the lake, in the lake, fighting with each other over who should get in the lake first, so he doesn’t encounter anyone when he gets outside. The walk seems further now that it’s light out - now that he knows how Jon would react, how Jon did react. When he opens the door to the cabin, Ryan and Brendon are there, waiting for him.
Ryan, sitting in Spencer’s bunk, quietly says, “Are you okay?”
Spencer says, “No.” He climbs in beside Ryan, curls in on himself, and lies there for a long, long time.
-
It’s dark outside, and they’re sitting underneath the trees, watching the shimmer of the moon on the lake. Spencer hasn’t left the cabin all day and Jon hasn’t come to find him. Ryan isn’t stupid and Brendon isn’t blind, either. Ryan sighs, leaning his head onto Brendon’s shoulder, pulling his sleeves down over his hands, hiding in his own skin.
Brendon says, “Everything will be okay.”
Sitting like this, leaning against the tree with Ryan slouched down, shorter in this position, smaller, more fragile, Ryan almost believes him. He tilts his head, nudges his nose against Brendon’s chin and Brendon turns and looks down at him, questioning. There’s something gorgeous about them, here like this, together. Ryan murmurs something quietly before leaning up the few inches it takes and pressing his lips to Brendon’s.
It’s not surprising - they’ve been waiting for it, the perfect time for their first kiss. They haven’t talked about it or anything, but they aren’t blind, even when it comes to themselves. They are each other: Brendon can finish Ryan’s sentences and Ryan can look into Brendon’s eyes and see what he’s thinking. Ryan thinks he could never speak again and Brendon would be there for him, saying all the unspoken words and meaning every one of them.
Lying there under the sky, Brendon grasps Ryan’s hand and says, “Every star is a setting sun.”
-
Spencer hasn’t left his bunk in two days, and Jon hasn’t come looking for him. Ryan is lying above him, staring at the ceiling. Brendon is out getting food. “Tell me,” Ryan says, and he knows Spencer is awake - is listening - because the bunk shakes every few minutes as Spencer tries to get comfortable, tries to hide his face and let sleep take over. “Five times immortality meant more than never dying.”
Spencer slowly says, “Love never dies.”
And that’s all he can give.
-
Jon coaches soccer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, swim team on Wednesdays, and organizes a hike every Saturday. On Mondays he takes all the youngest kids and they have sand castle contests in the sand at the edge of the lake, and on Sundays and Fridays, Jon just watches everyone from a distance, smiling in that way he always does and sometimes Greta will stop by, say to him, “I wish you really looked happy.”
He’ll laugh back and say, “I am happy, Greta.” but she knows better than that.
Spencer knows Jon’s schedule because everyone knows Jon’s schedule. “You can do things Jon isn’t doing and not see him,” Ryan reasons, pulling Spencer from the cabin, down to the showers. He pushes Spencer under the cold stream of water, fully clothed, until Spencer squirms away (Ryan isn’t very strong, anyway; he’s all skin and bones) and agrees that, “Fine, I’ll have lunch with you and Brendon. Just turn the hot water on.”
Ryan grins and throws a bar of soap in Spencer’s general direction, then darts out of the showers before Spencer can yell at him.
-
Ryan’s time capsule is coming together pretty quickly. The box itself - dull silver metal, originally a portable safe that Patrick gave Ryan when he asked for it - is small, small enough to fit in Ryan’s lap and not be painfully heavy. He’s folded some papers from his childhood and there is even a promise ring, something that wasn’t so much for a promise as it was for a reminder.
Brendon likes to throw things in and Ryan lets him, mostly, except for the few times Brendon tries to throw in a heart-shaped wad of play-doh or a wrapped cinnamon roll (“When Ryan finds this in fifty years, and he’s, like, sixty years old or something, he’s gonna be hungry from all the digging!”).
They’re in the Lunch Hall on a Thursday and Ryan is sorting through the things in the time capsule, talking to one of the guys across the table that Spencer hasn’t talked to before when it happens. Brendon is humming something as usual, and Ryan is eating things off Brendon’s plate between sentences. The door opens and over all the noise, it isn’t something that draws Spencer’s attention, but.
But, then Jon Walker is coming down the row towards him, and he almost chokes on his mouthful of pizza. Jon sees him and they make eye contact - for a long, painful length of time in which Spencer has to remember how to chew and swallow so he doesn’t suffocate - and it doesn’t seem like Jon had planned on coming by for a chat, but hey, if he’s already here, why not?
Ryan bristles when he sees Jon, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t glare, he just sinks back into his old pattern of Ryan Ross secrets and watching, Brendon gripping his hand under the table and whispering calming words against his neck. Jon notices - of course he notices - but he deserves it so he doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything about it. He only asks, “Will you come have lunch with me?”
Spencer doesn’t say how he’s already eaten, or how he’s kind of afraid to even speak to Jon, or how he’s maybe sort of in love and, fuck, that’s scary. He doesn’t say no.
-
It’s oddly comforting, being back in Jon’s cabin with the white bed sheets and the smell of coffee and the smell of cigarettes and of Jon. The part that isn’t comforting is the part where Jon’s standing at the kitchen counter, making coffee and macaroni and cheese (which, Spencer doesn’t tell Jon, is secretly one of his favorite foods).
The part that makes him want to leave is the part that makes him want to stay.
Jon finally turns around and looks at him - really looks at him - and he says, “We need to talk.”
Spencer wants to laugh, because, what? He wants to laugh and he wants to cry and he wants to yell at Jon for being such a fucking idiot, for being so goddamn selfish and for being so loveable and miserably beautiful. He wants to laugh and cry and yell and he wants to fall to the floor, let go of everything and just let the darkness take over because this is just too much. His best friend is about to leave him for college and he’s in love with Jon fucking Walker and -
“I’m in love with you, Spencer Smith.” Wait, what? “Spencer James Smith, you have two sisters and two dogs and you live in Vegas and your best friend is Ryan Ross and, Spencer Smith, I am in love with you and everything you are. I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but I think with this one - with this one, I won the jackpot. I didn’t want to be around you until I knew everything - from your birthday to your eye color to the names of your pets. But charts on the computer don’t have everything and I am an idiot. The biggest idiot.”
Spencer stares. He wants a lot of things - screaming and crying and yelling and laughing - but he’d really like to breathe. Every time he’s around Jon, the air goes thin and he can’t breathe, can’t think or speak or anything. It’s crazy, but.
“I want to do everything,” Jon says, stepping forward, closer. “I want to do everything to make you forgive me. I want to be everything. I want to know everything and I want to gain your trust. Can you - will you work with me?”
Spencer thinks of Ryan and the time capsule and college and mountains and Brendon and Patrick and Greta. He thinks of summer and he thinks of winter and he thinks of dollar store romance novels and clichés and red roses. He thinks of things Ryan would say, complex and intricate with just the right meaning, just a hint of heat and a wave of flavor. He thinks of water - inviting, scolding and then soothing - and he thinks of fire - intense, powerful, always too much and then never enough - and he thinks of how Jon Walker is a little bit of everything.
He says, “Yes.”
-
There are fingers everywhere: on the back of his thigh, squeezing, pulling and lifting, sliding down and then back up, higher; on his neck, holding him still, sliding back and threading through his hair, tilting his head back as Jon leans away, breathes against his lips; moving down, under his back and raising him up, sliding slick on his skin and hot up his arm, cupping his cheek and pulling him back in, drowning him.
He’s had sex before. Of course he has; he’s had a girlfriend - multiple girlfriends, not too many, but enough, and the sex was meaningful and taught him things and it was all he needed; he would have liked more sometimes, yeah, sure, but he never had to beg for it. He was never that desperate. He knows Jon has a girlfriend - Cassie. Her name is Cassie. He heard it before, placed the name and the blonde hair and he hasn’t met her because she’s in Chicago, but maybe Pete’s talked about her before or something - and so yeah, Jon has had sex. Enough sex to know how to make Spencer beg.
The way Jon undressed him, quick with nimble fingers, expert, Spencer would have guessed that things would be fast, unbearably quick, leaving him begging for more, breathless. But it’s tortuously slow, searing hot pain wherever Jon’s lips trail, Spencer arching into the touch, the skin, the contact, gasping, “Please,” and Jon just smiles, works his fingers over the inside of Spencer’s thigh and leaves feather light kisses wherever the pad of his thumb touches.
Jon scrapes his tongue over Spencer’s hip and laughs a puff of hot air over damp skin when Spencer moans, openly now, too high strung to be embarrassed. Jon murmurs wetly against his skin, crawling back up, trailing his lips over Spencer’s hip, his side and his stomach and over a nipple, bites down and Spencer moans in pain and odd pleasure and in sorrow when Jon stops, chuckles and latches onto Spencer’s neck, sucking greedily while Spencer writhes beneath him.
“Just - ” Spencer is painfully hard against Jon’s hip (or his thigh, or his stomach, if he could maybe stop squirming for a few seconds, that would be great) and Jon isn’t doing anything about it. If his heart wasn’t thrumming so high in his throat, he’d probably be pissed about it, but then Jon is sucking on his collarbone, biting down and drawing blood and a gasp, and it’s kind of okay.
Jon asks, “Do you want it?”
He slides slick fingers down over Spencer’s cock, then further back and in, blunt pressure and not much of a stretch, but he curls his finger just right and - oh. Spencer nods, frantic, says, “Fuck, Jon, please,” and Jon’s parents taught him manners when he was a child; when someone says please, you give them what they want, because they asked so nicely. Jon slips in another finger, the stretch thick and dry, hard to deal with.
Spencer arches away from it but pushes back on Jon’s fist helpfully, almost grimacing but taking it nicely (Jon grins, bites Spencer’s ear before slipping out and away to find some sort of lubricator). Jon presents Spencer with a smile and a bottle of hand lotion, and it’s ridiculous but Spencer accepts the gesture and while Jon slicks his fingers, Spencer pulls him down, pulls Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, releases pressure and pushes forward, soothes the spot with his tongue.
Jon comes back with two fingers right away, and Spencer almost bites his lip again in surprise - jumps, startled, sucks on Jon’s tongue in apology, squeezes his hip and whispers I’m sorry in his own way. Jon grins against Spencer’s lips, accepts his apology and squeezes in a third finger - a tight fit, but Spencer can take it; Jon’s stretching him, preparing him. He can do this.
Spencer arches away on reflex when Jon pulls his hand away and then thrusts the fingers back in, too quickly but curling just right, sosogood. He leans into everything Jon can give, though, and when Jon asks, “Can you - are you ready?” he says, “Fuck, Jon, I was born ready.”
Jon regards him for a few seconds, idly twisting his fingers and making Spencer’s eyes roll back, grab onto Jon’s arm and anchor himself, desperate and drowning. “Okay,” Jon says softly, and then he pulls away, leaving Spencer empty and wanting more. Jon is still fully dressed, down to the shoes, and he slowly strips himself, eyes on Spencer the whole time. Spencer can feel his chest heaving, can feel the cold air of the room on his skin, completely bared and naked, but he doesn’t care - he’ll never care, as long as Jon keeps watching him like that.
Jon takes his time, ripping open the condom package and then rolling it on, easy with practice that Spencer doesn’t want to think about. He spreads lotion, then, too much and the mess will be terrible, but it’ll be worth it, of course. Jon is slow because he is careful, handles Spencer as if he’s fragile like Ryan, and Spencer doesn’t complain. It’s nice to have that, to have the time and the ease, the trust that forms from it all.
The initial slide is slow, tough and Spencer bites his lip until he bleeds, gasps when Jon licks over the wounded skin and it stings, it stings and he feels alive so it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Jon and this moment, right now, when Jon sinks in those last few inches, stops and breathes and shakes because Spencer is still fucking tight. After that, it’s easier, like breathing. Jon pulls out and it’s like being emptied, deflated, but then when he shoves back in, rough and fast and deep, it’s a rush of hot air.
Their rhythm is easily set, easily followed. Jon kisses him and Spencer kisses back, grinds down to meet Jon’s thrusts and when Jon strokes Spencer’s cock, set with the pace and the heat and the bruises, Spencer comes, tightens around Jon, spasms, and Jon comes too.
-
July starts with a flourish, a mass of children picking flowers and making daisy bracelets and when the conversations about fireworks start up, everyone is tense with excitement. On the night of Independence Day, fireworks start flying as soon as the sun is low enough. In the dark, Jon and Spencer can sit close enough to touch, and it’s nice, being out in the almost-open. Spencer isn’t a hand holding kind of guy, but Jon is, and Spencer can’t say no to Jon.
Leaning back against Brendon’s chest, Ryan tilts his head back and kisses under Brendon’s chin, says, “Here,” and reaches back to feed him a strawberry, pulls back what’s left and sucks the juices from the flesh. Brendon taps his shoulder and Ryan blinks up at him, smiling lazily, until Brendon kisses him, tasting like berries and chocolate and summer and home.
Ryan pulls back and offers another strawberry, alternating between watching the fireworks and the mass of limbs that is Jon and Spencer. “They’re really cute together,” Ryan concludes, taking a blueberry for himself.
“Diabetic coma,” Brendon agrees.
In the distance, the younger children (boys and girls, mixed together for the occasion, sitting together under a forest of pine trees and misplaced acorns) scream in delight and run and run and run as far as their legs will carry them, streaking back and forth around the edge of the lake underneath the falling fireworks, alone in their own little world of bright lights and happy endings that never actually end.
“It’s like the stars are falling,” Brendon says wistfully, biting at the skin of Ryan’s neck because he hasn’t been offered any fruit.
Ryan says, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
Before he met Brendon, he thought the world was star-proof.
-
Ryan is sitting on the floor surrounded by wooden boxes, filled to the rim with mazes of tiny corked bottles. They’re only two inches high and not very wide, just enough for some sand and tiny sea shells, and that’s probably what they’re meant for, but Greta told him he could have anything, so. This is just part of his going-away project. It’s completely acceptable.
There are newspapers spread in front of him, more to keep the floor clean that anything else. He has tubes of heart-shaped red glitter everywhere, and he’s filling the bottles, one-by-one, corking them and replacing them in their grid prisons.
The door opens and Brendon walks in. He freezes, which is a good thing because six more inches and he would’ve kicked a box full of glass. He doesn’t look very surprised, but that doesn’t mean anything because: 1) he’s Brendon, 2) this is Ryan, and 3) this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. “What are you doing?” He asks. He steps over the boxes and stands behind Ryan, looking over his shoulder and watching him work.
“Putting my heart into twenty-thousand tiny jars.” Ryan says quietly. He looks up at Brendon and smiles sadly, face contorting serenely in the light, and Brendon’s heart stutters. “I’m letting a little bit of myself go.” Ryan doesn’t have twenty-thousand bottles. He has maybe five hundred, if he’s lucky. Brendon doesn’t say anything, just navigates across the newspaper and sits down opposite Ryan. He picks up a bottle and starts filling it.
“I want to keep some of you, though, okay?” Brendon meets Ryan’s eyes, and Ryan nods.
-
July passes quickly and with each day they loose, Ryan becomes more and more withdrawn, staying in his bunk all day with his ear pressed against Brendon’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and humming along. Spencer is torn between watching Jon and trying to deal with Ryan, so he mostly ends up petting Ryan’s hair all day, whispering things about childhood memories, and staying in Jon’s cabin late into the night and all through the morning.
He’s surprised they haven’t been caught.
-
“This is crazy,” He murmurs, pushed down against the sand. It’s the middle of the day and they’re on the beach (okay, so, not really a beach, but there’s sand and water and occasionally they can find a shell if they dig long enough) and it wouldn’t be such a big deal if there weren’t thirty kids on the other side of the dock.
“Hey,” Jon says lightly, thumbing open the button on Spencer’s jeans. Spencer moans - can’t help it - but doesn’t lean into the touch like he wants to. This is just so, so stupid. They shouldn’t be here. It’s Tuesday, and Jon is supposed to be coaching soccer right now, god.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Spencer breathes as Jon sucks on his neck.
“When were we ever a good idea?” Jon asks quietly, but he still doesn’t stop.
Spencer comes with his eyes closed.
-
August starts in two days. The busses are leaving for home, and Spencer’s hand stings, twinges every time he moves because his bag somehow got a lot heavier over the summer. Ryan probably stashed his time capsule in there, somewhere, so he makes a mental note not to drop it. Jon is coming over to him, and they haven’t talked much, not since - since then.
“Hey,” Jon says when he gets close enough. He’s smiling, smelling like coffee and smoke and apples. “Do you want help with your bag?”
“No,” Spencer says, switches hands and shakes his wrist a little, feels the joint pop and winces. “It’s fine. How. Uhm.”
Jon reaches out and tucks a piece of paper into the front pocket on Spencer’s bag, zips it closed and makes sure it’s secure. “It’s my phone number - both of them - and my email and my address and.” Jon looks down at his feet - he’s wearing flip flips and the ends of his jeans have sand in the folds. He looks back up, meets Spencer’s eyes and it’s almost comfortable again. “And I want you to call me, okay?”
Spencer’s body is humming under the sun. The bus is waiting for him; even Ryan and Brendon have loaded on. He clears his throat and doesn’t look at Jon. “No, I.” He counts backwards from ten and breathes through his nose. “You have a girlfriend. You should go be happy. This wasn’t - the summer is over, Jon, and you aren’t. I want you to be happy, okay?”
He switches hands with the bag again, and it seems heavier now, even though the nervous dread isn’t pulsing into his shoulders now, weighing him down.
Jon tilts forward and kisses him, nothing special - just a warm press of lips. The summer is over, so they’re just people now, not counselor and teenager. It’s still stupid nd if any of the kids saw, Jon might not be able to come back. He takes the risk, though, leans in again and deepens the kiss this time, threads his fingers through Spencer’s hair and sucks on his tongue until they need to breathe.
“I mean it,” Spencer says shakily. “I won’t - I won’t do this anymore.” He shifts the bag again and the weight is firm, settles in and he knows it’s time to leave.
“Alright,” Jon says in that voice of his, soft with a lisp around the edges. He tugs at a piece of Spencer’s hair and offers a lopsided smile - the first fake one Spencer’s even seen from him. Spencer doesn’t like knowing that he caused it, but. The pain will always heal.
Today is a good day - all blue skies and goodbyes, and he thinks that whoever thought that the hellos are the painful ones is fucked up out of their mind, because nothing hurts worse than this right now. He climbs onto the bus with a dead weight on his shoulders, gets squished into a seat between Ryan and Brendon and is handfed M&Ms and frozen grapes until the camp is no longer visible from the road.
“If you change your mind - ” Ryan says, but Spencer won’t. He never does.
-
&
They drive for a long time, through one state and into the next. August is warm, comforting and yet so very different from the feeling of home they all got from camp. In the backseat, there are dozens of wooden boxes, all stacked neatly and securely so nothing breaks. They pass all the way through the length of California until they reach the edge - the sand and the beach and the water.
They walk along the shore and toss the little heart-filled bottles into the waves, giving them out to whoever wants them, giving a little bit for a lot of reaction, sort of how someone always falls in love first - there’s always a lot of work for something tiny in return, but it’s different in that one way because it’s not every day you give a piece of yourself to someone.
It takes hours and hours to get rid of all the bottles. There are maybe a thousand, since Ryan adopted more on the way from Vegas to California. The last bottle Brendon picks up is different from all the others - filled with blue hearts instead of red. Under the streetlight, the beach is far away and they’re standing on asphalt, the car parked a few feet away, but the effect is still there. The breeze and the ocean waves and the sounds.
Brendon opens the bottle, holds it high and dumps it upside down. The hearts fall out for the wind to carry off, into the distance, into forever. Brendon steps close to Ryan and they take up enough space for barely one person, bent together in more ways that one. He thumbs a stray heart off of Ryan’s cheek and then kisses him as the heart floats away, high into the sky, past the cloud and the stars. It goes everywhere, because even if the physical being isn’t there, the thought is.
-
Author: fatal_overdose
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer, Ryan/Brendon
Summary: He’s pretty sure he never believed in love at first sight.
Wordcount: ~7,800
Disclaimer:Never happened, don't know any of the guys, don't own anything, etc.
Notes: I had some help from aug 7 07 and july 31 07 at we_are_cities. Also, thanks to kazexhane and brightbulletx for keeping me sane and helping me through this.
The sky is blue and clear, free of clouds, and the air is warm, sun hot on skin and bright in eyes. The water is cool and inviting against the heat of the day, and that’s where most of the kids reside. In the surrounding trees, birds sing and butterflies flutter by, caterpillars hatching by the dozens and all the children are screeching and laughing and running, tripping and giggling and catching bugs in their cupped hands.
The cabins are all high on the hill, overlooking the lake and the campfire circle. The windows are still foggy with dust, unused since the summer before. In the corners, spiders sit in their webs, awaiting the moment their homes will be torn down. The bunks are all stuffy and full of dirt and winter grime, and some of the counselors are walking around with hand-held vacuum cleaners, which aren’t really doing the trick.
Spencer is staring out the window, watching as one of the new guys chases around one of the little kids, laughing and acting like a kid himself. He sighs and rubs the back of his neck with deft fingers. “We really shouldn’t have come this year, but.” Ryan is in his bunk - the top bunk, just over Spencer’s - and he’s watching the ceiling with fierce eyes, wet at the edges. He keeps his gaze on the ceiling; he won’t meet Spencer’s eyes.
They’ve been coming to summer camp every year since third grade (and fourth grade, respectively) and this will definitely be their last year together. Ryan is supposed to be at home, packing for college. Spencer will be starting his Senior Year in August, the same day Ryan leaves for his dorm at the campus in the mountains. He’ll be four hours away and Spencer hasn’t admitted how much he’ll miss having his best friend around.
Outside, down the hill and in the lake, kids are splashing and swimming and having fun, their whole lives ahead of them. They don’t have to worry about losing their best friends or going away to college or cell phone reception at three in the morning when they can’t stand not hearing the voice of the person they trust the most. They don’t have to worry about the summer ending and their hearts shattering with it.
His arms folded behind his head, Ryan says, “Misery loves company.”
-
There’s something about the first night away from home that makes the night draw on and on and it’s comforting, because Ryan never wanted to go home in the first place. He doesn’t want to go to the mountains for college, either, but his parents told him to get out of the house and do something with his life, and college is the only thing they’d pay for.
They always spend the first night around the campfire - it’s been tradition since way back when fireflies were the coolest things ever - and they roast marshmallows and make s’mores and tell scary stories that always make the little kids toss and turn in their beds all night, but keeps them coming back for more, anyway. On the first night, along with the stories and s’mores, all the new counselors and all the new kids introduce themselves.
The camp itself isn’t very big. Everyone knows everyone else. There are probably thirty boys, but no one really knows how many girls there are because all the girls are on the other side of the lake (when this is brought up, one of the very young boys yells, “Eww, girls! They have cooties! My brother told me so!” and even Spencer laughs). They finally get to meet the rest of their roommates (The kid with the dark hair and red glasses is Brendon, and he’s twitchy and jumpy and never sits still and looks more than a little nervous. When Ryan shoots him a look, soothing, he goes still and doesn’t move as much after. There are five other guys staying in their cabin, but Spencer doesn’t bother to learn their names.)
When it’s time to meet the new counselors, Spencer is surprised because they don’t usually hire many people under twenty-five. But there’s this one guy, and he’s new, his name is Jon and he smells like coffee and smoke and apples, even from across the pit. Spencer catches himself staring because there’s just something about that guy that makes his skin crawl.
Ryan elbows him in the side and says something about Greta coming back and being a counselor. They’ve known her since they were kids and she’s been coming to camp with them every year. She’s one of the few girls they know, so it’s good to see her. Patrick is a counselor again, but it’s been that way for two or three years now, so there’s nothing to say about that.
Spencer’s just surprised they let Pete be the cook again, especially after last year’s incident with the flamethrower and the entire stock of steaks. One of the smaller kids insists that a scary story is told about a creepy man with a chainsaw, so the introductions die down and some of the older counselors take turns telling the story.
On the way back to their cabin, Ryan and Spencer lead Brendon (restless and twitchy, glancing around and jumping at every sound, squeaking about a chainsaw and then trying to climb inside Ryan’s hoodie with him) through the trees. Up the hill, the lights are bright through the cabin windows and they can see shadows moving through the glass. Spencer grabs Ryan’s hand while Brendon skips ahead of them, the chainsaw long forgotten.
Ryan laces their fingers and Spencer says, “I wish this summer didn’t feel so much like home.” Ryan leans his head on Spencer’s shoulder for the rest of the way.
-
They’re older than they were when they first came to Skyview, obviously, so they don’t have to do all the camp things that the kids do. There are arts and crafts and swimming and volleyball and tennis and hiking. There are tons of suitable climbing trees throughout the surrounding woods, and the older kids (teenagers; Spencer forgets his age, sometimes, when he’s watching the tire swing fly out about the water, shimmering almost-purple in the sunlight, the water underneath welcoming, as if saying, “Come in, come with us, be with us.”) are allowed to search for the hidden tree houses that the counselors always leave treats in.
The sun is out, so Brendon has dragged Ryan off to see the sights - sights Ryan has seen countless times before with Spencer, but it must be different, seeing them with someone else, so Spencer doesn’t worry about it too much, tries not to let the jealousy boil in his stomach - so Spencer is sitting abandoned in the cabin. When the door opens, he isn’t surprised because he’s sharing the cabin with seven other people, but when he sees who’s standing there, his stomach lurches and he bites his lip to keep from looking surprised.
Jon says, “You got abandoned on the second day?” Then, smiling, “Want to go for a walk?”
-
Jon is twenty-two and is from Chicago and he has a cat named Dylan and he plays Bass on occasion. He got the job because he knows Pete and he really just needed to get away for the summer. He used to work at Starbucks, but then he came here and he still really, really likes coffee. A lot. Also, he likes to take pictures. With a real camera and everything!
Spencer thinks he would like to never, ever speak to Jon again.
It’s not that he doesn’t like Jon. Jon is nice. Jon is amazing and great and he has this lisp that makes Spencer smile and he’s soft and comfortable and. And Spencer’s not sure what it is about him, but whatever it is, it makes him want to run. It makes him want to run, but even more than that, it makes him want to stay. Stay forever.
He’s pretty sure he never believed in love at first sight.
-
Ryan has always loved the Arts and Crafts room, even if he never liked to sit through the discussions and workshops. He likes to paint and he likes to build things, to create something that is his and belongs only to him. He likes to control things and he likes to hold the world in the palm of his hand. This isn’t possible, though, and he knows that. Which is exactly why they’re in the Arts and Crafts room right now, Spencer standing near the door while Ryan sits at one of the tables, sorting through tubes of watercolors and spray-on sparkles.
Ryan takes yarn and popsicle sticks and glue and paintbrushes and canvas. Greta usually guards the art supplies like a hawk, but she lets Ryan have what he wants since he doesn’t use them when all the other kids do. Ryan needs a way to vent, anyway, and this is his chosen outlet. She understands that, and lets them have the key when no one else is looking.
“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer isn’t really keeping guard, because even if someone did walk in, it would either be a counselor who wouldn’t care or a little kid who is easy to trick. He’s mostly just watching Ryan from a distance - just like he always has. Ryan falters, his hand stopping halfway into a box for half a second before he gets back on track. He shrugs.
Ryan has always been a bit of a loner; he’s always done things his own way, but he’s always needed Spencer there with him, no matter what. It’s stupidly immature for them to be at summer camp when they’re seventeen and eighteen, but. It’s comforting, knowing that they can spend their entire summer together before Ryan has to leave. Except, Ryan has been off with Brendon more and more.
Spencer isn’t the jealous type, but he has grown accustomed to having Ryan around, having Ryan there with him at all times, having Ryan to himself. He won’t admit that he doesn’t want to share. He’s been spending all his free time with Jon, anyway, so he doesn’t really have any room to talk.
These are half-dead minutes between them, silence and stillness and it’s okay. It’s enough. Ryan isn’t even collecting supplies anymore. He has a pile of old projects, things Spencer can recognize as objects Ryan built in his previous years. There’s a metal case sitting on Ryan’s other side, on the bench next to him, open and empty. If Spencer looks close enough, he can see Ryan’s hands are shaking, but he tries not to pay attention.
Spencer says, “A time capsule?” and Ryan says, “They can send me away forever, but whatever they do, the future is mine.”
-
Jon arranges a hiking trip up the mountain. Spencer tells Ryan he can’t sit around all summer so Ryan and Brendon put on their tennis shoes and follow Spencer to Jon’s cabin, where he’s standing outside and directing the group that has formed. He’s yelling out the list of supplies that each person should have in their pack, and he’s ignoring the kids that are complaining about uncomfortable shoes.
When he sees Spencer, his face splits into a grin and he says, “Spencer Smith.” He jumps down from his position on the porch and lands beside Spencer, still grinning. Spencer wills himself not to blush and he introduces Ryan and Brendon as the anti-social ones since Jon, of course, already knows their names. Ryan eyes Spencer knowingly, but doesn’t say anything.
It takes Jon a good ten minutes to get everyone together, and it takes another five minutes to get to the trail. Brendon is jumpy, grinning and trying to hold Ryan’s hand and running ahead of them, looking at flowers and bugs and running back to tell Ryan everything he saw. Jon laughs at him, ruffles Brendon’s hair when he runs by and Brendon just ducks his head and grins.
It’s a ten hour trip, four hours up, two hours for lunch and exploring and games and paintball, and then four hours back. Jon laughs and says that the trip back should really take five hours because everyone is so tired, but all the really tired people just fall and slide back down, so no one’s held up. Brendon laughs at this, too, quips, “Mudslide!” and Ryan’s lips twitch at the edges, holding off a smile.
An hour in, still not high enough up the mountain to see anything other than trees, Spencer picks up his pace until he catches up with Jon, ahead of everyone else. When Jon sees him, he throws an arm around Spencer’s shoulder and says, “Spencer Smith, how are you doing?” His voice is soft, but it carries and catches and sticks. Spencer drowns in it, closes his eyes and takes it in.
He opens his eyes and says, “It’s a hike.” Jon laughs, rubs the back of Spencer’s neck where his hand has landed. Spencer flinches, but doesn’t move away. “Hey,” Jon looks at him, brow furrowed. He looks worried, almost; he looks like he cares. “Are you okay? This isn’t, like. You’ve hiked before, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer almost laughs, but then Jon is relaxing and rubbing Spencer’s neck again and fuck. He swallows, reaches up to rub his neck - nervous habit - but Jon’s hand is there, so then they’re almost holding hands, and it’s sort of awkward so Jon pulls away. Still smiling and looking unbothered, Jon looks over his shoulder and yells for a water break.
-
“So.” It’s just past noon, the sun high over them, visible through the trees. There’s a rocky cliff up ahead, but they aren’t going any farther up, so Spencer isn’t worried about that. Ryan keeps gazing over, making sure none of the kids have wandered too close. Brendon is talking to Jon, bouncing around now that his pack isn’t weighing him down, and Jon is listening, laughing where appropriate and talking back - having a conversation. With Brendon.
“So, what?” Ryan gives him a look.
“So. Jon.” Jon is currently passing out bottled water to kids who didn’t listen to the speech about dehydration and only brought a bottle or two. Jon is talking and laughing and having a good time. Jon isn’t getting glared at by Ryan Ross. Jon is not what Spencer wants to talk about.
“What about him?” Spencer doesn’t meet Ryan’s eyes. They’re two weeks into camp. Spencer is having withdrawals from a best friend who hasn’t left yet. The sky is blue, the air is warm, the birds are singing, and they should not be talking about this. Of course, it’s not like they are yet; Spencer hasn’t said anything and Ryan is still staring at him, so this isn’t a proper discussion. Which means he can walk away.
Ryan quietly says, “Spence.” Spencer knows that voice - has known that voice since they were twelve and thirteen and Ryan crawled through Spencer’s bedroom window at midnight for the first time. It’s the voice Ryan uses when he’s hurt, or when he’s serious and he really just needs someone to listen. Spencer can’t not look at him.
Spencer looks at him and tells him everything.
-
Pete laughs at them the next day when they all limp into the lunch hall, sore and moaning in pain. He yells out, “Anyone who wants lunch owes me twenty-five jumping jacks!” No one finds it funny and a few of the younger kids look like they might cry. One of the guys in Cabin D says something about having food stashed under his bunk, and the group around him leaves.
Ryan goes to the front of the line, bats his eyelashes, and Pete gives everyone lunch. “You’re such a slut,” Brendon says good-naturedly, then steals a carrot from Ryan’s plate. Ryan blushes and looks down at his tray to hide it, his lips turned up in a definite smile. Brendon doesn’t notice, just spoons the rest of his rice onto Ryan’s plate and then holds out his cinnamon roll and says, “You know a bear wouldn’t even eat you? You’re too fucking skinny. Share with me?”
Brendon doesn’t let Ryan say no, and for the rest of the lunch hour, Ryan pokes at his food and keeps his hair in his eyes, hiding whatever’s there.
Spencer thinks, hypocrite.
-
He paces back and forth in the dark, barefoot and in his pajama pants. He has to be quiet - everyone’s asleep, Ryan curled on his side in his bunk and Brendon is facing Ryan from across the room, had fallen asleep staring. The ceiling above Brendon’s bunk is littered with glow-in-the-dark stars and comets and spaceships. If Spencer was having any other discussion with himself in his head, he’d maybe find that a little comforting.
He finally just grabs his hoodie, slips it on and leaves the cabin, not caring that the door slams behind him. Ryan isn’t a heavy sleeper, but he wouldn’t follow Spencer, anyway. Not now. Spencer doesn’t know about Brendon or any of the others, but it’s worth the risk.
Jon’s cabin isn’t far, and he almost expects the journey to take forever, but he arrives far too soon. The lights are on inside, so he knows Jon’s awake. He doesn’t hesitate in walking up the steps and knocking on the door because it’s now or never, and if he hesitates, he might think of a million reasons this is a bad idea and he really isn’t sure he could deal with that.
Jon answers the door with wet hair, a towel around his shoulders and his jeans half-buttoned. “Oh, hey, Spence.” He grins and Spencer tries to keep his eyes on Jon’s face while Jon closes his belt. When Jon is standing still and just staring at him, Spencer looks down at his feet and stuffs his hands into his pockets so that he won’t do anything stupid.
“Come on in. Are you okay?” Fuck. Too bad Spencer’s feet don’t listen to his brain. He stops just inside the door and turns around; he doesn’t watch Jon, just keeps his eyes on the floor. “Do you want some coffee?”
Jon walks past him and Spencer scuffs his bare foot against the floor, thinking back to leaving the cabin and how he shouldn’t have been so stupid, leaving without shoes. He says, “Yeah, thanks.” and watches Jon’s back as he sets up the coffee pot.
“So, what’s going on?” Jon doesn’t ask the question as if he thinks something’s wrong or like Spencer’s in trouble. He doesn’t say anything about curfew and the time of night and how Spencer should be asleep, dreaming of rockets and submarines and other things. He asks the question like Spencer is his friend and he’s just genuinely curious. Spencer just wishes he could hate him.
Jon doesn’t turn to look at him, so it’s easy. It’s easy to let things out. Jon is easy and it’s comforting to be around him and Spencer doesn’t want to be here but he never wants to leave. He scuffs his foot on the floor, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed and says, “I - I kind of like you.” He clears his throat. “I kind of like you a lot.”
The air in the cabin is still and everything is quiet, so Spencer looks up. Jon isn’t moving; he’s still standing with his back to Spencer, but his hands are resting on the counter, no longer messing with the coffee, and his shoulders look tense, like he’s overtired and can’t sleep. If Spencer looks close enough, he can see where Jon’s back widens as he breathes: slow, calming breaths, mesmerizing to some extent.
Spencer steps forward, says, “Jon, I - ”
“We can’t, Spence.” Spencer recoils, takes a step back and then another. Jon’s voice is cracking, hitching in a way that Spencer has never heard - never wants to hear, ever again. “There are rules.” His shoulders are maybe shaking, just a little. He pushes back off the counter, the coffee pot bubbling behind him. He turns around and looks at Spencer dead on, and Spencer flinches. Jon’s eyes are wide, bright, everything they normally are, but.
But, there’s a pain in his eyes, burning bright and harsh and it’s something Spencer’s never seen before - never seen so much emotion like this, raw and open and showing so clearly. He looks tired and torn and Spencer has to swallow the bile rising in his throat because it’s just so - it’s not Jon. This isn’t Jon. This is someone who is in pain, someone who can’t have something that they really, truly want.
“I have a girlfriend back in Chicago,” Jon says. His eyes are steady on Spencer’s, piercing. “There are rules that say there can be no relationships between a counselor and a child - ”
“I’m not a child,” Spencer hisses, voice desperate.
“Spence,” Jon looks exhausted and his voice is pleading.
Spencer quietly asks, “Is it me?”
The air in the room is suddenly way too hot and way too cold, freezing, and Spencer feels like he’s sinking, can’t get to the surface, can’t breathe. His eyes are locked with Jon’s, and he can see the thoughts going on behind Jon’s irises, flowing and faltering and his stomach churns at the thought that maybe, maybe Jon is trying to think of a way to let him down easily.
And then Jon is kissing him.
-
When he wakes up, the sun is shining in through the window, the room smells like coffee, and he is alone. It’s different - waking up like this, without Ryan’s bunk above him and Brendon singing stupid, childish songs in his oddly amazing voice. The sheets are white, crisp and clean and it’s so, so different from the sleeping bags they pile into their bunks, with holes and broken zippers and the smell of home.
The clock hanging on the wall across the room tells him that it’s just past 9 o’clock, and that fuck, everyone’s going to be awake. He slips out of bed and spins in place for a minute, looking around the room - looking for a way out. There isn’t one (of course). He pads over to the closet and pulls out one of Jon’s plain t-shirts, slips it on over his head and tries not to think about how Jon isn’t here.
Most of the kids are down by the lake, in the lake, fighting with each other over who should get in the lake first, so he doesn’t encounter anyone when he gets outside. The walk seems further now that it’s light out - now that he knows how Jon would react, how Jon did react. When he opens the door to the cabin, Ryan and Brendon are there, waiting for him.
Ryan, sitting in Spencer’s bunk, quietly says, “Are you okay?”
Spencer says, “No.” He climbs in beside Ryan, curls in on himself, and lies there for a long, long time.
-
It’s dark outside, and they’re sitting underneath the trees, watching the shimmer of the moon on the lake. Spencer hasn’t left the cabin all day and Jon hasn’t come to find him. Ryan isn’t stupid and Brendon isn’t blind, either. Ryan sighs, leaning his head onto Brendon’s shoulder, pulling his sleeves down over his hands, hiding in his own skin.
Brendon says, “Everything will be okay.”
Sitting like this, leaning against the tree with Ryan slouched down, shorter in this position, smaller, more fragile, Ryan almost believes him. He tilts his head, nudges his nose against Brendon’s chin and Brendon turns and looks down at him, questioning. There’s something gorgeous about them, here like this, together. Ryan murmurs something quietly before leaning up the few inches it takes and pressing his lips to Brendon’s.
It’s not surprising - they’ve been waiting for it, the perfect time for their first kiss. They haven’t talked about it or anything, but they aren’t blind, even when it comes to themselves. They are each other: Brendon can finish Ryan’s sentences and Ryan can look into Brendon’s eyes and see what he’s thinking. Ryan thinks he could never speak again and Brendon would be there for him, saying all the unspoken words and meaning every one of them.
Lying there under the sky, Brendon grasps Ryan’s hand and says, “Every star is a setting sun.”
-
Spencer hasn’t left his bunk in two days, and Jon hasn’t come looking for him. Ryan is lying above him, staring at the ceiling. Brendon is out getting food. “Tell me,” Ryan says, and he knows Spencer is awake - is listening - because the bunk shakes every few minutes as Spencer tries to get comfortable, tries to hide his face and let sleep take over. “Five times immortality meant more than never dying.”
Spencer slowly says, “Love never dies.”
And that’s all he can give.
-
Jon coaches soccer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, swim team on Wednesdays, and organizes a hike every Saturday. On Mondays he takes all the youngest kids and they have sand castle contests in the sand at the edge of the lake, and on Sundays and Fridays, Jon just watches everyone from a distance, smiling in that way he always does and sometimes Greta will stop by, say to him, “I wish you really looked happy.”
He’ll laugh back and say, “I am happy, Greta.” but she knows better than that.
Spencer knows Jon’s schedule because everyone knows Jon’s schedule. “You can do things Jon isn’t doing and not see him,” Ryan reasons, pulling Spencer from the cabin, down to the showers. He pushes Spencer under the cold stream of water, fully clothed, until Spencer squirms away (Ryan isn’t very strong, anyway; he’s all skin and bones) and agrees that, “Fine, I’ll have lunch with you and Brendon. Just turn the hot water on.”
Ryan grins and throws a bar of soap in Spencer’s general direction, then darts out of the showers before Spencer can yell at him.
-
Ryan’s time capsule is coming together pretty quickly. The box itself - dull silver metal, originally a portable safe that Patrick gave Ryan when he asked for it - is small, small enough to fit in Ryan’s lap and not be painfully heavy. He’s folded some papers from his childhood and there is even a promise ring, something that wasn’t so much for a promise as it was for a reminder.
Brendon likes to throw things in and Ryan lets him, mostly, except for the few times Brendon tries to throw in a heart-shaped wad of play-doh or a wrapped cinnamon roll (“When Ryan finds this in fifty years, and he’s, like, sixty years old or something, he’s gonna be hungry from all the digging!”).
They’re in the Lunch Hall on a Thursday and Ryan is sorting through the things in the time capsule, talking to one of the guys across the table that Spencer hasn’t talked to before when it happens. Brendon is humming something as usual, and Ryan is eating things off Brendon’s plate between sentences. The door opens and over all the noise, it isn’t something that draws Spencer’s attention, but.
But, then Jon Walker is coming down the row towards him, and he almost chokes on his mouthful of pizza. Jon sees him and they make eye contact - for a long, painful length of time in which Spencer has to remember how to chew and swallow so he doesn’t suffocate - and it doesn’t seem like Jon had planned on coming by for a chat, but hey, if he’s already here, why not?
Ryan bristles when he sees Jon, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t glare, he just sinks back into his old pattern of Ryan Ross secrets and watching, Brendon gripping his hand under the table and whispering calming words against his neck. Jon notices - of course he notices - but he deserves it so he doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything about it. He only asks, “Will you come have lunch with me?”
Spencer doesn’t say how he’s already eaten, or how he’s kind of afraid to even speak to Jon, or how he’s maybe sort of in love and, fuck, that’s scary. He doesn’t say no.
-
It’s oddly comforting, being back in Jon’s cabin with the white bed sheets and the smell of coffee and the smell of cigarettes and of Jon. The part that isn’t comforting is the part where Jon’s standing at the kitchen counter, making coffee and macaroni and cheese (which, Spencer doesn’t tell Jon, is secretly one of his favorite foods).
The part that makes him want to leave is the part that makes him want to stay.
Jon finally turns around and looks at him - really looks at him - and he says, “We need to talk.”
Spencer wants to laugh, because, what? He wants to laugh and he wants to cry and he wants to yell at Jon for being such a fucking idiot, for being so goddamn selfish and for being so loveable and miserably beautiful. He wants to laugh and cry and yell and he wants to fall to the floor, let go of everything and just let the darkness take over because this is just too much. His best friend is about to leave him for college and he’s in love with Jon fucking Walker and -
“I’m in love with you, Spencer Smith.” Wait, what? “Spencer James Smith, you have two sisters and two dogs and you live in Vegas and your best friend is Ryan Ross and, Spencer Smith, I am in love with you and everything you are. I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but I think with this one - with this one, I won the jackpot. I didn’t want to be around you until I knew everything - from your birthday to your eye color to the names of your pets. But charts on the computer don’t have everything and I am an idiot. The biggest idiot.”
Spencer stares. He wants a lot of things - screaming and crying and yelling and laughing - but he’d really like to breathe. Every time he’s around Jon, the air goes thin and he can’t breathe, can’t think or speak or anything. It’s crazy, but.
“I want to do everything,” Jon says, stepping forward, closer. “I want to do everything to make you forgive me. I want to be everything. I want to know everything and I want to gain your trust. Can you - will you work with me?”
Spencer thinks of Ryan and the time capsule and college and mountains and Brendon and Patrick and Greta. He thinks of summer and he thinks of winter and he thinks of dollar store romance novels and clichés and red roses. He thinks of things Ryan would say, complex and intricate with just the right meaning, just a hint of heat and a wave of flavor. He thinks of water - inviting, scolding and then soothing - and he thinks of fire - intense, powerful, always too much and then never enough - and he thinks of how Jon Walker is a little bit of everything.
He says, “Yes.”
-
There are fingers everywhere: on the back of his thigh, squeezing, pulling and lifting, sliding down and then back up, higher; on his neck, holding him still, sliding back and threading through his hair, tilting his head back as Jon leans away, breathes against his lips; moving down, under his back and raising him up, sliding slick on his skin and hot up his arm, cupping his cheek and pulling him back in, drowning him.
He’s had sex before. Of course he has; he’s had a girlfriend - multiple girlfriends, not too many, but enough, and the sex was meaningful and taught him things and it was all he needed; he would have liked more sometimes, yeah, sure, but he never had to beg for it. He was never that desperate. He knows Jon has a girlfriend - Cassie. Her name is Cassie. He heard it before, placed the name and the blonde hair and he hasn’t met her because she’s in Chicago, but maybe Pete’s talked about her before or something - and so yeah, Jon has had sex. Enough sex to know how to make Spencer beg.
The way Jon undressed him, quick with nimble fingers, expert, Spencer would have guessed that things would be fast, unbearably quick, leaving him begging for more, breathless. But it’s tortuously slow, searing hot pain wherever Jon’s lips trail, Spencer arching into the touch, the skin, the contact, gasping, “Please,” and Jon just smiles, works his fingers over the inside of Spencer’s thigh and leaves feather light kisses wherever the pad of his thumb touches.
Jon scrapes his tongue over Spencer’s hip and laughs a puff of hot air over damp skin when Spencer moans, openly now, too high strung to be embarrassed. Jon murmurs wetly against his skin, crawling back up, trailing his lips over Spencer’s hip, his side and his stomach and over a nipple, bites down and Spencer moans in pain and odd pleasure and in sorrow when Jon stops, chuckles and latches onto Spencer’s neck, sucking greedily while Spencer writhes beneath him.
“Just - ” Spencer is painfully hard against Jon’s hip (or his thigh, or his stomach, if he could maybe stop squirming for a few seconds, that would be great) and Jon isn’t doing anything about it. If his heart wasn’t thrumming so high in his throat, he’d probably be pissed about it, but then Jon is sucking on his collarbone, biting down and drawing blood and a gasp, and it’s kind of okay.
Jon asks, “Do you want it?”
He slides slick fingers down over Spencer’s cock, then further back and in, blunt pressure and not much of a stretch, but he curls his finger just right and - oh. Spencer nods, frantic, says, “Fuck, Jon, please,” and Jon’s parents taught him manners when he was a child; when someone says please, you give them what they want, because they asked so nicely. Jon slips in another finger, the stretch thick and dry, hard to deal with.
Spencer arches away from it but pushes back on Jon’s fist helpfully, almost grimacing but taking it nicely (Jon grins, bites Spencer’s ear before slipping out and away to find some sort of lubricator). Jon presents Spencer with a smile and a bottle of hand lotion, and it’s ridiculous but Spencer accepts the gesture and while Jon slicks his fingers, Spencer pulls him down, pulls Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, releases pressure and pushes forward, soothes the spot with his tongue.
Jon comes back with two fingers right away, and Spencer almost bites his lip again in surprise - jumps, startled, sucks on Jon’s tongue in apology, squeezes his hip and whispers I’m sorry in his own way. Jon grins against Spencer’s lips, accepts his apology and squeezes in a third finger - a tight fit, but Spencer can take it; Jon’s stretching him, preparing him. He can do this.
Spencer arches away on reflex when Jon pulls his hand away and then thrusts the fingers back in, too quickly but curling just right, sosogood. He leans into everything Jon can give, though, and when Jon asks, “Can you - are you ready?” he says, “Fuck, Jon, I was born ready.”
Jon regards him for a few seconds, idly twisting his fingers and making Spencer’s eyes roll back, grab onto Jon’s arm and anchor himself, desperate and drowning. “Okay,” Jon says softly, and then he pulls away, leaving Spencer empty and wanting more. Jon is still fully dressed, down to the shoes, and he slowly strips himself, eyes on Spencer the whole time. Spencer can feel his chest heaving, can feel the cold air of the room on his skin, completely bared and naked, but he doesn’t care - he’ll never care, as long as Jon keeps watching him like that.
Jon takes his time, ripping open the condom package and then rolling it on, easy with practice that Spencer doesn’t want to think about. He spreads lotion, then, too much and the mess will be terrible, but it’ll be worth it, of course. Jon is slow because he is careful, handles Spencer as if he’s fragile like Ryan, and Spencer doesn’t complain. It’s nice to have that, to have the time and the ease, the trust that forms from it all.
The initial slide is slow, tough and Spencer bites his lip until he bleeds, gasps when Jon licks over the wounded skin and it stings, it stings and he feels alive so it doesn’t matter. All that matters is Jon and this moment, right now, when Jon sinks in those last few inches, stops and breathes and shakes because Spencer is still fucking tight. After that, it’s easier, like breathing. Jon pulls out and it’s like being emptied, deflated, but then when he shoves back in, rough and fast and deep, it’s a rush of hot air.
Their rhythm is easily set, easily followed. Jon kisses him and Spencer kisses back, grinds down to meet Jon’s thrusts and when Jon strokes Spencer’s cock, set with the pace and the heat and the bruises, Spencer comes, tightens around Jon, spasms, and Jon comes too.
-
July starts with a flourish, a mass of children picking flowers and making daisy bracelets and when the conversations about fireworks start up, everyone is tense with excitement. On the night of Independence Day, fireworks start flying as soon as the sun is low enough. In the dark, Jon and Spencer can sit close enough to touch, and it’s nice, being out in the almost-open. Spencer isn’t a hand holding kind of guy, but Jon is, and Spencer can’t say no to Jon.
Leaning back against Brendon’s chest, Ryan tilts his head back and kisses under Brendon’s chin, says, “Here,” and reaches back to feed him a strawberry, pulls back what’s left and sucks the juices from the flesh. Brendon taps his shoulder and Ryan blinks up at him, smiling lazily, until Brendon kisses him, tasting like berries and chocolate and summer and home.
Ryan pulls back and offers another strawberry, alternating between watching the fireworks and the mass of limbs that is Jon and Spencer. “They’re really cute together,” Ryan concludes, taking a blueberry for himself.
“Diabetic coma,” Brendon agrees.
In the distance, the younger children (boys and girls, mixed together for the occasion, sitting together under a forest of pine trees and misplaced acorns) scream in delight and run and run and run as far as their legs will carry them, streaking back and forth around the edge of the lake underneath the falling fireworks, alone in their own little world of bright lights and happy endings that never actually end.
“It’s like the stars are falling,” Brendon says wistfully, biting at the skin of Ryan’s neck because he hasn’t been offered any fruit.
Ryan says, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”
Before he met Brendon, he thought the world was star-proof.
-
Ryan is sitting on the floor surrounded by wooden boxes, filled to the rim with mazes of tiny corked bottles. They’re only two inches high and not very wide, just enough for some sand and tiny sea shells, and that’s probably what they’re meant for, but Greta told him he could have anything, so. This is just part of his going-away project. It’s completely acceptable.
There are newspapers spread in front of him, more to keep the floor clean that anything else. He has tubes of heart-shaped red glitter everywhere, and he’s filling the bottles, one-by-one, corking them and replacing them in their grid prisons.
The door opens and Brendon walks in. He freezes, which is a good thing because six more inches and he would’ve kicked a box full of glass. He doesn’t look very surprised, but that doesn’t mean anything because: 1) he’s Brendon, 2) this is Ryan, and 3) this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. “What are you doing?” He asks. He steps over the boxes and stands behind Ryan, looking over his shoulder and watching him work.
“Putting my heart into twenty-thousand tiny jars.” Ryan says quietly. He looks up at Brendon and smiles sadly, face contorting serenely in the light, and Brendon’s heart stutters. “I’m letting a little bit of myself go.” Ryan doesn’t have twenty-thousand bottles. He has maybe five hundred, if he’s lucky. Brendon doesn’t say anything, just navigates across the newspaper and sits down opposite Ryan. He picks up a bottle and starts filling it.
“I want to keep some of you, though, okay?” Brendon meets Ryan’s eyes, and Ryan nods.
-
July passes quickly and with each day they loose, Ryan becomes more and more withdrawn, staying in his bunk all day with his ear pressed against Brendon’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and humming along. Spencer is torn between watching Jon and trying to deal with Ryan, so he mostly ends up petting Ryan’s hair all day, whispering things about childhood memories, and staying in Jon’s cabin late into the night and all through the morning.
He’s surprised they haven’t been caught.
-
“This is crazy,” He murmurs, pushed down against the sand. It’s the middle of the day and they’re on the beach (okay, so, not really a beach, but there’s sand and water and occasionally they can find a shell if they dig long enough) and it wouldn’t be such a big deal if there weren’t thirty kids on the other side of the dock.
“Hey,” Jon says lightly, thumbing open the button on Spencer’s jeans. Spencer moans - can’t help it - but doesn’t lean into the touch like he wants to. This is just so, so stupid. They shouldn’t be here. It’s Tuesday, and Jon is supposed to be coaching soccer right now, god.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Spencer breathes as Jon sucks on his neck.
“When were we ever a good idea?” Jon asks quietly, but he still doesn’t stop.
Spencer comes with his eyes closed.
-
August starts in two days. The busses are leaving for home, and Spencer’s hand stings, twinges every time he moves because his bag somehow got a lot heavier over the summer. Ryan probably stashed his time capsule in there, somewhere, so he makes a mental note not to drop it. Jon is coming over to him, and they haven’t talked much, not since - since then.
“Hey,” Jon says when he gets close enough. He’s smiling, smelling like coffee and smoke and apples. “Do you want help with your bag?”
“No,” Spencer says, switches hands and shakes his wrist a little, feels the joint pop and winces. “It’s fine. How. Uhm.”
Jon reaches out and tucks a piece of paper into the front pocket on Spencer’s bag, zips it closed and makes sure it’s secure. “It’s my phone number - both of them - and my email and my address and.” Jon looks down at his feet - he’s wearing flip flips and the ends of his jeans have sand in the folds. He looks back up, meets Spencer’s eyes and it’s almost comfortable again. “And I want you to call me, okay?”
Spencer’s body is humming under the sun. The bus is waiting for him; even Ryan and Brendon have loaded on. He clears his throat and doesn’t look at Jon. “No, I.” He counts backwards from ten and breathes through his nose. “You have a girlfriend. You should go be happy. This wasn’t - the summer is over, Jon, and you aren’t. I want you to be happy, okay?”
He switches hands with the bag again, and it seems heavier now, even though the nervous dread isn’t pulsing into his shoulders now, weighing him down.
Jon tilts forward and kisses him, nothing special - just a warm press of lips. The summer is over, so they’re just people now, not counselor and teenager. It’s still stupid nd if any of the kids saw, Jon might not be able to come back. He takes the risk, though, leans in again and deepens the kiss this time, threads his fingers through Spencer’s hair and sucks on his tongue until they need to breathe.
“I mean it,” Spencer says shakily. “I won’t - I won’t do this anymore.” He shifts the bag again and the weight is firm, settles in and he knows it’s time to leave.
“Alright,” Jon says in that voice of his, soft with a lisp around the edges. He tugs at a piece of Spencer’s hair and offers a lopsided smile - the first fake one Spencer’s even seen from him. Spencer doesn’t like knowing that he caused it, but. The pain will always heal.
Today is a good day - all blue skies and goodbyes, and he thinks that whoever thought that the hellos are the painful ones is fucked up out of their mind, because nothing hurts worse than this right now. He climbs onto the bus with a dead weight on his shoulders, gets squished into a seat between Ryan and Brendon and is handfed M&Ms and frozen grapes until the camp is no longer visible from the road.
“If you change your mind - ” Ryan says, but Spencer won’t. He never does.
-
&
They drive for a long time, through one state and into the next. August is warm, comforting and yet so very different from the feeling of home they all got from camp. In the backseat, there are dozens of wooden boxes, all stacked neatly and securely so nothing breaks. They pass all the way through the length of California until they reach the edge - the sand and the beach and the water.
They walk along the shore and toss the little heart-filled bottles into the waves, giving them out to whoever wants them, giving a little bit for a lot of reaction, sort of how someone always falls in love first - there’s always a lot of work for something tiny in return, but it’s different in that one way because it’s not every day you give a piece of yourself to someone.
It takes hours and hours to get rid of all the bottles. There are maybe a thousand, since Ryan adopted more on the way from Vegas to California. The last bottle Brendon picks up is different from all the others - filled with blue hearts instead of red. Under the streetlight, the beach is far away and they’re standing on asphalt, the car parked a few feet away, but the effect is still there. The breeze and the ocean waves and the sounds.
Brendon opens the bottle, holds it high and dumps it upside down. The hearts fall out for the wind to carry off, into the distance, into forever. Brendon steps close to Ryan and they take up enough space for barely one person, bent together in more ways that one. He thumbs a stray heart off of Ryan’s cheek and then kisses him as the heart floats away, high into the sky, past the cloud and the stars. It goes everywhere, because even if the physical being isn’t there, the thought is.
-