A Little Piece with You (2/4)

[foxxcub]

Tom Conrad has made a hobby out of collecting instruments, mainly guitars. They take up more room in his cramped apartment than furniture, and while he's never stayed home for longer than a few months, he always finds time to play.

Tom has been back from Paris for a month now. He's thinner than before he left, but there's a shine in his eyes that Jon's never noticed before.

"You're missing out on a whole new world, Jonny," he'd said the moment he'd gotten home. "Forget New York and get your ass to France." Jon had laughed and said he could never bother to get a passport.

Now he's sorting through Tom’s collection, including the set of twin banjos he’d bought off an Irish jazz musician last year. He’s also eyeing the dusty drum kit in the corner, buried under scraps of sheet music, a beat-up silver cornet sitting on one of the snares.

“So, let me get this straight,” Tom says, sprawled over his dingy couch. “You’re starting a jazz band with Brendon and these two guys from Vegas?”

Jon picks up one of the banjos and strums it idly. “That would be correct.”

“Are they any good?”

“Probably, I don’t know. We haven’t rehearsed yet.” He sets the banjo down.

Tom barks out a laugh. “Wow, I knew you were itching to get into something new, but damn. Hope you’re not getting yourself into a bum deal.”

“I trust Brendon, okay? Besides, they played back home. And Spencer, he knows a thing or two about drumming; he was critiquing the band the other night.” He glances back at the drum kit. “Speaking of, can we borrow that too?”

“Geez, I should get to be your manager or something.” But Tom keeps smiling. “Sure, whatever you want. I’m not using it. And I’m thinking I’ll have to stop by and see you all in action sometime.”

Jon smirks. “Like I could stop you.” He picks up the second banjo and an archtop laying against the couch. “I think Ryan will like these.”

“He better, or I’ll have my feelings hurt.”

===

On the first day of rehearsals at Jon’s apartment - his landlord was stern about keeping the noise level down, but when Jon smiled charmingly and said they’d do their best, she’d caved, just a little - Spencer takes one look at the kit and frowns.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he says, arms crossed over his chest.

Jon blinks. “I said I’d get you a kit, so I got you a kit. Just like I got Ryan a guitar.”

“You bought them?”

“No, I borrowed them, from Tom. What does it matter where they came from, it’s not like I stole them.”

"I can't..." Spencer runs the tips of his fingers over the cymbals. "I can't just take these without compensation, Jon. It's not fair."

"He's not missing them, Spence, trust me."

In the background, Ryan is methodically playing different sets of chords on both the banjo and the archtop, testing the sounds of each.

Spencer bites his lip and finally sits down gingerly behind the kit, taking the sticks in hand and doing tiny roll offs. He smiles wistfully for moment, and then suddenly breaks into a loud, pounding cadence, the rhythm vibrating through his entire body.

Jon has to force himself to look away.

Meanwhile, Brendon’s pacing the floor around them, eyes wide and giddy. “So what did you guys used to play back home?" he asks, rubbing his hands together.

Ryan folds himself up on the floor, archtop in his lap, and shrugs before he looks over at Spencer. “Nothing fancy, just songs here and there.” He nods slightly, the silent language going on between them.

Spencer squints. “‘Blue Skies’?” he asks, and Ryan grins.

They lead into a slow version of the song, Spencer keeping a steady, even rhythm while Ryan only stumbles a little over the chords. Brendon’s eyes flare and he instantly launches into the chorus of Bluebirds singing a song - Nothing but bluebirds all day long.

Jon just stands there and listens, not making a move for his bass. He can’t seem to stop smiling.

When they finish, Ryan pats his hand over the neck of the guitar and says, almost as if he’s talking to himself, “Yeah, this might work.”

Brendon kisses Jon sloppily on the cheek before flinging himself at Ryan and Spencer.

Later, when they’re all flushed from playing and making music and actually sounding like a real goddamn band, Spencer looks up at Jon with damp hair in his eyes and says softly, “Thanks.”

Jon reaches over and taps one of the cymbals. “You’re welcome,” he replies.

===

They're coming to the end of the practice; the last one before the gig and Ryan's stomach twists as they finish the final song. The next time we play this, there will be an entire audience watching us, he thinks and his fingers fumble on the frets. Brendon looks over at him curiously, but he never falters, just sings through the last chorus and bangs out the closing chords with Jon and Spencer. Ryan looks away before Brendon can catch his eyes again, putting his guitar back in the case and snapping the lid shut hard.

"Ryan?" Spencer says, halfway out from behind the kit.

"I'm fine, Spencer," he answers.

A hand drops onto his shoulder. "Of course, he is," Brendon says with a squeeze.

"You guys coming to the club?" Jon asks as he packs his bass away. Spencer is still watching Ryan, but before either of them can answer, Brendon pipes up.

"Can't, Jonny. Ryan and I have plans."

Spencer's eyes snap away to look at Brendon. "You do? Since when?

"Since now, actually. I just didn't tell Ryan ahead of time," he replies easily. "You can take his guitar home, right Spence?"

"Actually, I'm not going home," Spencer says.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ryan asks.

Spencer's cheeks color a little as he answers. "Some people from work - Haley from the back office and few others are going to see a show tonight. They invited me along."

Ryan can't help but see the way Jon's shoulders stiffen when Spencer mentions Haley, but it's very brief. When Jon turns back, his affable grin is back in place.

"Well, damn, aren't you three men about town," he jokes. "You can leave your guitar here, I'll have Tom bring it down to the club when I bring my bass in." Jon's eyes dart to Spencer one more time, but he doesn't say anything else.

"All right then. Let's blow this pop stand, shall we?" Brendon says, throwing his arm around Ryan's shoulder as they leave Jon's apartment.

He waves to Spencer and Jon as Brendon drags him down the street.

"Mind telling me where we're going?" Ryan asks, checking to make sure he's got his keys and wallet.

Brendon just grins. "Nope, it's a surprise."

===

After a half hour's walk, they arrive in a fairly rundown neighborhood near the train station, where the houses are small and in various states of disrepair. There are a few children running up and down the street playing tag and speaking what Ryan thinks is some sort of combination of Spanish, Portuguese, and English. It's fascinating and much different than the parts of Chicago he's already seen; he's so busy soaking it in, he doesn't realize Brendon has stopped.

"We're here," he says, indicating a square, reddish house with a screened-in porch. Brendon knocks on the door and a woman answers the door.

"Senor Brendon, you are back." She smiles and pulls him into a tight hug, then smacks his shoulder. "You have not been to see us in a long while."

"I'm sorry, Margarita. You know me, I just get wrapped up in things," Brendon replies with a smile back at Ryan. He steps aside and Ryan reaches his hand out.

"My name is Ryan, Senorita. It's nice to meet you." Her hands are callused and leathery, the hands of a woman who isn't a stranger to hard work. They makes Ryan want to sit her down and ask her life story.

"Ah, this one. He has manners. I like him," Margarita answers. "Come in, sit. You are lucky. Paulo is cooking tonight." She leads them onto the porch and that's when Ryan notices the mismatched tables and chairs. There are a few other people there, but no one pays them any mind. They sit in the corner and Brendon moves so Ryan can stay facing the street.

"Okay," Ryan says, folding his arms over his chest. "Explain."

Brendon leans back, hooking an arm over the back of his chair. "I was helping Gabe with his deliveries last year and after we were done, he brought me here. You know Gabe, he knows everyone. Apparently, Margarita and her family used to have a restaurant, but it burned down under 'mysterious circumstances.' So, now she cooks out of her own kitchen for the neighborhood and anyone else she deems fit." The setting sun hits Brendon's profile, and Ryan feels the urge to touch him welling up again. He tamps it down and tries to focus on what Brendon's saying.

"So, when she found out I worked at the bakery, we struck a deal. I leave a few sacks of flour and sugar out for her sons to pick up and she feeds me what I am told is the best Spanish food in the whole city."

Ryan nods, impressed. "You're extremely resourceful, Brendon Urie. Who'd have thought?"

"I do what I can," he replies with a grin.

A younger man - one of the sons, Ryan presumes - comes out and presents them with tall glasses of something red with a bit of fruit on the top. It's heady and sweet and Ryan can't even imagine what's in it, but he likes it.

"This doesn't have anything to do with Hemingway and the inherent romance of Spain, does it?"

Brendon winks from over the top of his glass. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ross."

The food is amazing - spicy meats and roasted vegetables in sharp reds, oranges, and yellows. It's nothing like anything he's ever eaten before. They both clean their plates and Margarita sends out seconds completely unprompted. The entire time they make small talk, debating about books and politics. Brendon is rather well-informed about government.

"Please, they must see that Prohibition is the reason for the upswing in organized crime," Brendon says, gesturing with his glass. "Take Las Vegas, for example. The illegal casinos are booming. Why? People need vices. It's the way of things."

Ryan wipes his mouth and tosses his napkin on the table. "I'm not disagreeing with you. But I think that crime is crime and Capone would have found something else to exploit if they hadn't banned alcohol."

"True, true." He bumps Ryan's foot with his under table. "Stop being so logical. It's no fun to fight with you if you make good points."

It's completely dark out now, and Ryan watches as the light from the windows fills the street with a dull, yellowy glow. If he couldn't hear the whistles and noise from the train station, it would be almost peaceful. He'd even forgotten about his anxiety over the gig tomorrow night.

"I'm nervous," he says abruptly. "I've never...I mean, I played in front of Spencer's parents and his sisters, but I've never played for an actual audience before. Spencer did, but not me."

Brendon catches his wrist. "It's going to be fine. It's not about them, it's about us. No different than playing at Jon's. And if something happens, who cares? Those boozers'll barely notice the difference unless one of us is on fire."

Ryan knows that's not true. He knows Bob will be watching, along with the guys in the regular band, not to mention Jon and Brendon's friend Patrick, whom they keep saying is a secret musical genius. It's important for all of them to succeed and he doesn't want to be the weak link.

"What's the matter? Don't you trust me?" Brendon asks and when Ryan looks at him, face open and warm in the flickering candlelight, he has to nod yes.

"Yeah, of course I do."

Brendon gives his wrist another squeeze and as he slides his hand away, Ryan wants to tangle their hands together on the tabletop, but he lets him go.

===

Jon buys a new fedora for the night of their first paying gig, using money he doesn't really have. He tells himself they need to look sharp, like pros.

Except when he reveals it in the dressing room half an hour or so before they're scheduled to play, Spencer sort of narrows his eyes and frowns.

Jon's stomach drops as he fidgets with the brim. "What? You don't like it?"

"It's just - " Spencer pauses and bites his lip as he goes over to dig around in his duffel bag. He comes up with a necktie that matches the same color pattern in Jon's hat band. "You need a tie."

Jon flushes and thinks about how many times Spencer's reminded him to tuck in his shirttails. He hates feeling awkward and unsophisticated around Spencer, and suddenly it dawns on him that maybe buying the fedora wasn't so much about professionalism as it was earning Spencer's approval.

Spencer hands Jon the tie, looking expectantly at him. Jon turns the silk over and over in his hands, eventually mumbling, head bowed, "I'm, uh, not very good with these. With the, um, tying." He flips his collar up anyway and turns away from Spencer to face the mirror, hoping the embarrassed heat in his cheeks isn't too obvious.

Brendon suddenly throws the door open and sticks his head in, beaming. "Hey, we're gonna go warm up in ten, you guys coming?" He's very close to vibrating with excitement; this night is all he's talked about for the past week, which hasn't done much to soothe Ryan's nerves.

"Yeah, be there in a bit," Jon hears Spencer reply, but he's too busy fumbling with the tie, trying to get a decent knot going and failing horribly. He's about to give up completely, when he feels a hand on his elbow turn him around.

"You're going to end up choking yourself, Jesus," Spencer says, but his voice is quiet and affectionate. He bats Jon's hands away and pulls the mangled knot apart to start over. His hands are quick, efficient; he's standing so very close, close enough that Jon has to look up that fraction of an inch to meet his eyes, to count the number of freckles across the bridge of Spencer's nose. At one point, Spencer's fingers brush over the skin of Jon's neck, and Jon almost startles; he manages to hold back, but he still shivers.

Spencer finishes the knot and smooths his hand over the silk to make it lay flat against Jon's shirt. He tips his head to one side and asks, softly, "Are you cold?" From this angle, his eyelashes look too long, like a girl's.

Jon licks his lips slowly. "No, I'm fine," he says, and backs away to reach for his hat on the vanity table. He sets it on his head and makes a valiant attempt to smile brilliantly at Spencer, ignoring the slight tremble in his hands. "Am I fit for the public eye now?"

Spencer gives him a smile. "For the most part," he says, and tugs at the end of Jon's tie.

Soon Ryan's sticking his head in the room, yelling at them to hurry up - he's wide-eyed and anxious, and Jon wants to tell him to breathe - and they both follow him out onto the stage.

It's different than any other gig he's played; he's used to having someone lead from the start, but neither he nor Brendon have ever fronted a band before. They stumble at first through the opening song when Ryan comes in a beat too early, but Brendon looks over his shoulder at him from the piano and shakes his head, and they eventually start over. Jon can see the way Ryan glares down at the archtop in his hands, how his shoulders hunch in - yeah, Jon should've told him to breathe. He glances back at Spencer, who doesn't stop the beat, but still watches Ryan with tentative concern.

But soon, though, things start to come together. Regardless of their rocky start, Brendon beams at the crowd and announces, "Our first night playing, ladies and gentlemen! Hell, I just found these guys outside on the street before I got here tonight. Pretty decent bunch, wouldn't you say?" The crowd laughs and claps politely, and Brendon plays a flourish of notes before easing into the next song. After that, it's as if a fire is lit underneath him, and he starts to play with a ferocity Jon's never seen from him before. But every few measures, he glances at Ryan, makes sure he's keeping up, and he grins and nods whenever Ryan bites his lip and leans in toward the piano.

Jon doesn't watch Spencer. At least, he tries not to. He doesn't watch the way Spencer's cheeks flush or the way he plays half the songs with his eyes closed, soaking in the rhythm, too caught up in the music to even brush the hair out of his eyes. Jon can feel the adrenaline rolling off of Spencer's kit, and it keeps his heart pounding, makes him love being up on stage more than he ever has in his life.

When they finish their set, the crowd applauds them loudly, and finally Jon lets Spencer catch him looking. Spencer's eyes are big and bright, and his smile rivals the one Brendon is giving to the room as he slings an arm around Ryan's neck, hauling him up against his side.

"I don't even believe it," Spencer laughs as he scrambles from behind his hit and grabs Jon's arm. For one brief, brief moment, Jon thinks Spencer's going to hug him, pull him in close and wrap his arms around him and...he doesn't know why just the thought of a simple hug makes him shiver again.

But instead, Spencer leans in and whispers against Jon's ear, "That was the most amazing thing I've ever done in my life." He pulls back, and the intensity of his smile is suddenly directed entirely at Jon.

He swallows and replies, "See? Chicago's not so bad, huh?"

"Chicago owns my heart," Brendon says, throwing both arms around them in a fierce hug.

===

Brendon is drunk. Absurdly, stumbling-over-his-own-feet drunk. Luckily for Ryan, he weighs practically nothing, so the walk from the club to his and Spencer's place isn't too bad. Well, except for the part where Brendon decided he wanted to serenade the neighborhood at the top of his lungs with some Irish bar song Tom had taught him.

"Ryan Rooooosssss. We did it. We are an actual, honest-to-God band," Brendon sing-songs in his ear as he herds Brendon in the door. "You played, I played, Spencer and Jon played. It was the best night ever." He smacks a sloppy kiss on Ryan's cheek before Ryan dumps him on the couch.

"I was there, Brendon. I remember," he says, affectionately ruffling Brendon's hair. Brendon arches into the touch like a cat, and Ryan stays put for a split second before pulling away. "I'm going to get you a glass of water. Or four. And an aspirin."

When he comes back, Brendon is face down and his breathing is shallow. Something ugly flashes in the back of his mind, but Ryan ignores it. This is different, this was a celebration gone a little too far. Brendon would never do anything to hurt him.

"Hey, sit up. You need to drink." He pulls Brendon into a sitting position and brings the glass to his mouth.

"More," Brendon says when the glass is empty. Ryan refills the glass from the pitcher, and Brendon gulps that one down, too.

"Slowly. You're going to get…" Before he can get his sentence, Brendon is running to bathroom and retching. Ryan sighs but goes to get a towel from the kitchen and runs it under the cold water. He finds Brendon clinging to the toilet for dear life.

"I think I'm going to die," he moans. "This is not the way I pictured meeting my end, Ryan."

Ryan laughs and steps over him to sit next to the bathtub. "Maybe you should have thought of that before that last glass of gin." He drapes the cloth over the back of Brendon's neck as Brendon sighs.

"I don't think I should move from here for a while, just in case. Spencer will kill me if I get sick in his bed," Brendon says, shifting until his legs are hanging out the door and his head is resting on Ryan's knee. "You should tell me a story, Ross. Keep my mind off the possibility of vomiting out the lining of my stomach."

"Well, that's such a charming request, how could I say no?" He runs his fingers through Brendon's hair; he had slicked it back with pomade earlier, but sweating under the stage lights has made it soft again under Ryan's hands. "What kind of story would you like to hear?"

"I want to hear about the adventurous life of Ryan Ross and his trusty sidekick, Spencer Smith." Immediately, Ryan stiffens and Brendon looks up. "What, you don't know that one?"

"I don't think Spencer would take too kindly to being called a sidekick," Ryan says softly. He's been deliberately vague about his life before he came to Chicago. But Brendon's drunk, and maybe he won't really remember the details in the morning.

Brendon giggles. "I won't say anything if you won't. Cross my heart." He does some kind of complicated hand gesture before looking up at Ryan again. "Please, Ryan?"

Ryan rolls his eyes, but he can't resist that face. "Fine, fine. But I have to warn you, it's not very interesting."

"Of course it is. You're a fascinating person, Ross," Brendon replies. He settles down into Ryan's lap and waits for Ryan to start talking.

"Well, there were two little boys who grew up in the dusty desert of Las Vegas. They met when the older one defended the other boy from group of bullies in the schoolyard. It turned out they lived very near each other and would play together as often as they could. They did everything little boys do - climbed trees, built forts, drew pictures. The older one, Ryan, spent as much at Spencer's house as he could and after a time, Spencer's family was like his own. Ryan's father wasn't home much - he worked as a laborer for the company that was building casinos downtown. And he drank. To excess. He forgot sometimes Ryan was even there. Those times were the best. Other times, he didn't. So, Ryan lost himself in books and made Spencer play make-believe where they were like the avenging knights and pirates he read about."

"Let me guess, you were the knight and Spencer was the fair maiden? I bet he makes a pretty princess," Brendon says with a smirk.

Ryan pokes him in the side. "Never say that to him if you value your life."

Brendon curls up, shifting until he's more comfortable. "I make no promises. Go on."

"The boys grew. They finished school, and Spencer was studying to work with his father, who was a local doctor. Ryan had gone to work in a bookshop and at night was secretly writing. He wrote every day - poems, stories, little plays.

"One night, Ryan came home from Spencer's to find his father there. On the table were Ryan's notebooks. His father had found them. He'd been drinking. He didn't say a word. He started to throw them into the fire." Brendon has gone completely still in his lap; Ryan thinks he might have fallen asleep.

But when he looks down, Brendon blinks up at him thoughtfully.

"Keep going," Brendon says, squeezing his ankle. "You're almost to the end."

Ryan inhales and goes on. "So, I tried to stop him. I wanted to explain, but he didn't want to hear it; he threw a punch at me and something just snapped. I fought back. It was…it was ugly. But after a few hits, he lost interest and stormed out. I went upstairs and packed everything I could fit into one bag. I almost went straight to the train station, but I needed to say goodbye to Spencer.

"He was still awake when I knocked. I can't imagine what I looked like, bloody from the fight and carrying everything I owned. But he brought me inside and cleaned me up like he always did. I told him I was leaving and he didn't even hesitate. He just said, 'All right, give me a few minutes to get my things together.' I couldn't believe it. I told him no, to stay, but he just looked at me - the same way he'd looked at me when I pushed that bully down when we were little - and asked me if I honestly thought he wasn't going with me."

He lets out a shaky breath and Brendon is watching him carefully. "You didn't make him do anything he didn't want to do. He made a decision, same as you."

Ryan nods, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "I stayed in the kitchen while he packed. His mother came in. I think she'd been standing outside the door. She told me she loved me like I was her own and asked me to take care of Spencer for her." Ryan rubs the back of his hand over his eyes, not looking at Brendon.

"So, we took a train to Denver and another one to Chicago. That's as far as my money would get us. I didn't know until later that Ginger had given Spencer all the money she'd been saving for Christmas. Without that, I don't know what we would have done. We found a place to live, Spencer got a job at the hotel, I found Parker's, and a couple of months later, I met you in the bakery and here we are. Like I said, it's not a very interesting story."

Brendon sits up slowly and drapes his arm over Ryan's shoulder, pulling him in tightly. "Nothing about you isn't interesting to me, Ryan Ross," Brendon whispers into the top of his head. "Besides, a new chapter is just about to start. You, me, Spencer, and Jon. We're going change the world." He drops a kiss, feather-light, on Ryan's temple and Ryan exhales slowly.

"Maybe we are," Ryan agrees, eyes closed. "Maybe we are."

===

It's probably not the best idea to have talked Spencer into staying with him at the club while Ryan takes a very sloshed Brendon home, but Jon can't remember the last time he was this keyed up and excited about something. He's got a band, a real band, not just whatever group of musicians happen to be in need of bassist. He's always known he's wanted this, he just never realized how much until tonight. And he needs to celebrate somehow.

He's more than a little drunk; nothing like Brendon, but Brendon can never really hold his liquor. He's also more drunk than Spencer, but barely.

"I really thought Ryan was going to die," Spencer says, laughing into Jon's shoulder. They're both sitting on the edge of the stage, and Spencer is draped along Jon's side, beaming up at people who stop by to tell them how well they played tonight. "I mean, he was white. I've never seen him that terrified." He takes another sip from his glass, staring down at what little whiskey is left. He whispers, "Don't, um, tell him I'm drunk, okay?"

Jon slings an arm around Spencer's shoulders and hugs him. "Your secret's safe with me, Smith." Spencer is warm and solid against him, and his hair looks soft in the dim light now that he's tossed his hat aside. Without thinking, Jon leans in and noses at Spencer's temple, breathing him in. It's nothing, just an affectionate touch he's seen Brendon do with several men in the past. He ignores how heavily his heart is pounding, and how he's never so much as thought about touching another guy like this until now.

"You're sniffing me." Spencer laughs and elbows him gently, but doesn't pull away. "Thought only Brendon did things like that."

"Maybe I've been around him too long." Jon keeps nuzzling him, and slowly it goes from nuzzling to Jon's mouth skimming lightly over Spencer's cheek, the corner of Spencer's mouth. A tiny but insistent voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him to stop, that men don't do this in public, that none of this is right.

"Spencer, Spence, we're a goddamn band now," he mumbles against Spencer's cheek, because he's drunk and can't seem to make himself listen.

"I know we are. It's fantastic." Spencer's words are slurred, but soft, breathy. Jon listens to them instead of the voice in his head, and they make Jon do something stupid - he slides his mouth over Spencer's and kisses him.

It's just a quick, dry press of lips; he can feel Spencer tense up underneath his arm, but he doesn't pull back immediately. Instead, Spencer reaches up and brushes his thumb over Jon's lower lip.

"What was that for?" he whispers, never quite looking up from Jon's mouth.

He doesn't know what he was expecting, but suddenly Jon's terrified that people are watching and that Spencer is seconds from shoving him away and never speaking to him again. "I..." Jon drops his arms and scoots back, putting a couple of feet between them as he rubs a hand over his mouth. "I honestly don't know." He glances around the room quickly, but the place is nearly empty, and the few patrons left are scattered out around the bar, paying no attention at all to the stage.

Jon hears Spencer reach for his glass and take another drink, then sigh. "Look, Jon, I don't - you should know that I'm - " He breaks off on a curse. Jon looks over and watches him scrub a hand through his hair.

"I can't be your experiment," Spencer finally says, so soft Jon has to lean in close again to hear.

He blinks at him, even as his heart turns over. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Spencer shakes his head. "That's kind of the whole point. And I'm not...I won't go through this again." He gets to his feet slowly, hands flailing at little as he tries to find his balance. Jon thinks maybe Spencer's more drunk than he thought.

"Spence, I - "

"We're drunk, all right? So I'm gonna go on home now before I start to care too much."

Jon swallows and nods, because it's all he can think to do. "Okay." His cheeks feel far too hot.

Spencer stuffs his hat onto his head and looks down at Jon for a long moment, looking so conflicted Jon almost tells him to stay. "See you at practice tomorrow?" he asks tentatively.

Jon nods again, still skimming his hand over his lips as he watches Spencer leave.

===

A week later, Spencer gets a letter from home. As far as Jon knows, it’s the first letter he’s gotten since he and Ryan came to Chicago.

He tries not to watch Spencer’s face too intently as he reads, leaning against the kitchen sink, back slightly curved in as he chews his thumb nail. But Jon can see the way Spencer’s eyes go dark and sad, the way he blinks a few times more than necessary, the way he curls in on himself more and more, until eventually he folds up the letter and slips it carefully back into its envelope, setting it on the counter behind him.

Jon asks, hesitantly, “What‘s the news from home?”

From across the room, Ryan, who pointedly ignored said letter the moment Spencer got the mail, glares at him. Hard.

Spencer doesn’t answer immediately. “My, um. My little sister’s getting married.”

Jon starts to say “congratulations,” but notices that neither Brendon or Ryan say anything at all. They’re not even looking in Spencer’s direction.

“My mother wants me to look for some buttons for her dress to send back. I’ll need to find a notions store.” There’s a tic in his jaw when he meets Jon’s gaze. “Do you know if there’s one around here? You‘d know better than anyone.”

“Yeah, I think so.” He feels like he’s missing something. “We can go tomorrow if you want.”

Spencer nods slowly and pushes off the counter. He grabs the letter on his way past Jon and disappears into his room, closing the door with a soft click.

The room is dead silent, until Jon finally asks, “Is he okay?”

“No, he’s not,” Ryan hisses. Then he slams into his own room, making Brendon wince.

Jon can’t think of anything to do except stand there and blink at Brendon, heart pounding heavily in his chest.

Brendon sighs. “Look...” He splays his hands out on the kitchen table and says softly, “Ryan never asked Spencer to come out here with him. It was Spencer’s choice, but he - he left a lot behind to do it. Including his entire family.”

Well. Jon now feels like a world-class asshole. “Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, staring at Spencer’s closed bedroom door. “He should’ve - someone should’ve told me.”

“Ryan doesn’t like to talk about it, and neither does Spence. It’s bad enough Ryan’s got this guilt over ‘stealing’ Spencer away from home, but when things like this happen...” He waves a hand at Spencer’s door. “It just reminds them both how much Spence sacrificed to come here.”

It’s probably not the best way to deal with the situation, but he can’t stay here feeling like shit and wanting to pound on Spencer’s door until he lets him in. So he grabs his coat and hat and mumbles, “I’m going to the club.” Brendon doesn’t stop him, and that hurts a little, too.

The next day, hungover and wary, Jon goes to Ryan’s bookstore, where he finds him shelving books in the back.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know.”

Ryan sets the stack of books down and looks conflicted for a moment. Then, to Jon’s surprise, he lays a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, not quite looking Jon in the eyes. “I know you said it out of concern for Spence.” He takes a deep breath and drops his hand, taking a step back. “Sometimes I forget that he needs that - someone who thinks of him first.”

He sounds so miserable, it only makes Jon feel worse for saying anything. But instead, Jon whispers, “You know you didn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to do, right? I mean - I know, without a doubt, that you absolutely cannot make Spencer Smith do something he’s not one hundred percent sure he wants to do.”

The corner of Ryan’s mouth quirks up.

“And I want you guys to trust me.” Jon fidgets with the brim of his hat and grins shyly. “If that’s all right.”

The quirk slowly turns into a full smile, and Ryan nods. “Yeah," he replies slowly. "That’s all right.”

===

Jon takes Spencer to a store that sells notions, along with random odds and ends. Spencer finds a set of lavender mother of pearl buttons - “Lavender’s her favorite,” Spencer says, looking infinitely pleased with himself.

Jon breathes a sigh of relief and feels like he’s made amends somehow.

Spencer also picks out a couple of old books for Ryan and Brendon, and while he sets the items on the counter by the register, Jon notices a battered silver cigarette case on a shelf near by. It’s engraved with several ornate designs, like something from the turn of the century.

“It’s pretty,” he hears Spencer say behind him, and when he looks over his shoulder, Spencer nods at the case.

“Yeah. Too bad I’m broke.” Jon laughs sheepishly. “You want to swing by the post office on the way back?”

“Might as well.”

Jon forgets all about the case until a few days go by and they’re prepping for their next gig. He’s slowly tying his tie in the mirror of the dressing room when he sees Spencer come up behind him in the mirror and hold something over his shoulder.

In his hand is the silver cigarette case, polished to a high shine.

Jon’s mouth falls open. “How did - ?”

“The shop owner saw you eyeing it and threw it in my bag for half price.” Spencer shrugs, and Jon wants to believe there’s too much pink in his cheeks. “I figured what the hell, it was a good price.”

Jon takes the case from Spencer and turns it over in his hands. “You didn’t have to,” he says quietly, heart beating too fast in his chest.

“I know. But you needed something to commemorate us being a band. Um, a Happy Second Gig present or something.” Spencer laughs and ducks his head.

Jon laughs, too, and he suddenly has this urge to put the case in the breast pocket of his vest and keep it there all night. “Well, here’s to a happy second gig.” He slips the case into his pocket and pats it.

“Like a lucky rabbit’s foot.” They’re still close, and for the millionth time, Jon thinks back to the not-kiss, the kiss neither one of them have mentioned, even though Jon can feel it hanging in the air between them.

“Yeah, a rabbit’s foot.” That same voice in his head keeps yelling for him to back away, but it’s Spencer, and Jon never knows the right thing to do when it comes to him. It's confusing as hell and scares the shit out of him, and yet all he can think about is the silver case in his pocket, heavy and warm, and Spencer’s mouth and the way it had felt that night a week ago, and the way Spencer keeps licking his lips -

“Hey, Jon, Gabe’s looking for you.” Brendon’s voice startles him, and Jon glances up as Spencer quickly looks away.

“I’ll be right there.” His own voice sounds too rough. Jon clears his throat once, twice, and rubs at his neck. “Um...I’ll see you on stage, okay?”

“Sure.” Spencer becomes very busy with shrugging into his suit jacket and straightening his sleeves.

Jon leaves the dressing room with his hands just barely shaking.

===

"I think we should have Ryan write lyrics."

Brendon has his back to Ryan and his head inside the piano. It's a crappy old upright that Jon's landlady is letting them borrow, and it's constantly out of tune.

Ryan almost drops his guitar. "What, me? Why?"

Brendon climbs out and shakes the dust out of his hair. "You're a writer, aren't you? Ergo, you should write our lyrics."

"Agreed," says Jon. "I don't think I can stand another one of Brendon's attempts to rhyme 'I love you' with 'kazoo'."

"Hey," Brendon says, "that is a perfectly valid rhyme scheme, all right? Besides, I don't see you coming up with anything better, Walker."

"That's because I'm the pretty one. You can't expect me to carry this whole band, can you?" Jon's laugh is cut off by Spencer's drumstick hitting him squarely in the side. "Hey, no fair, I can't fight back."

"Who said anything about fair?" Spencer answers with a smirk before turning on Ryan. "But Brendon's right. You must have something we can use."

This isn't what Ryan signed on for at all. "I. I don't know if I have anything…"

"What about that piece you read at the café last week?" Spencer asks and Ryan's eyes narrow dangerously. If looks could kill, Spencer would be instantly eviscerated. He swore he wasn't going to bring that up in front of the others.

Brendon turns to him and Ryan catches the flash of genuine hurt before the joking mask slides back into place. "You read in public and didn't tell me? You wound me, Ryan, truly."

"It was an impulse. I'd been working on it all day and when we went out for dinner, there was a café doing an open reading. Spencer had to force me up there." Ryan sits down on the piano bench. "You know I'd tell you, right?"

Brendon's face brightens and he bumps Ryan's shoulder with his. "Of course I do. You adore me too much not to." He grins and Ryan tries to ignore Spencer's eyerolling from behind his kit.

"Could you hold your meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society later? Jon and I both have to work in a couple of hours." He does a few snare rolls while Ryan pulls some pages out of his notebook. Jon's plunking out a few notes in rhythm with Spencer, and Ryan doesn't miss the little smile on Jon's face, like he's barely aware of it himself. He hands the pages to Brendon and goes back to his guitar, not watching Brendon as he reads the words over.

"Come save me from walking off a windowsill or I'll sleep in the rain. Don't you remember when I was a bird and you were a map?" Brendon repeats them a few times before starting to sing with a little piano underneath. Spencer follows him, finding an easy beat as Ryan picks up the chords Brendon's left hand is playing. Finally Jon comes in with the bass, the deep notes accenting the piano. After a few minutes, Brendon stops singing and looks at them.

"Boys, I think we just wrote our first song."

They're all smiling, but Ryan's smile is just a little wider when he looks Brendon's way.

===

Tom starts coming to their practices unannounced, in an effort to "check up on my investments." Jon's introduced Tom a few times at the club, and Tom's been nothing but complimentary about their performances. Of course, he throws in the usual comment about how everyone should pick up and head to Paris, where the music scene is "smoking."

Ryan had heard one mention of music and Paris in the same sentence, and his eyes had lit up. Since then, Jon's fairly certain Ryan's been completely enamored with Tom's world traveler lifestyle. He wants to remind Ryan that Tom goes days without eating and usually comes home with a scar or two from whatever bar fight he'd gotten into in whatever far-away country he'd ended up in, but he lets Ryan keep his romantic notions.

Tom sits on Jon's couch and listens to them work out the chord progressions on "I've Got You Under My Skin". Brendon hums the chorus under his breath, tapping out the rhythm against his knee as he watches Spencer experiment with a couple of fills.

"If you're not careful, Bob's going to kick out the house band and put you guys in their place." Tom grins at Ryan, who shakes his head, smiling shyly.

"We're not professionals," he replies, and behind him, Brendon snorts.

"We get paid to play, Ross. That counts for something." He's barely acknowledged Tom's presence since he walked in the door, which isn't normal for Brendon. Usually he's all over Tom from the get-go. "And it's not like those guys in the house band don't have day jobs, too. Musicians are musicians, period."

Tom applauds him. "Well-said!" He points at Ryan. "You need to get out more in the world, Ryan. You'd see that not everyone knows how to handle a Gibson as well you do." He swings his legs over the arm of the couch, sprawling out more and letting his hair fall into his eyes. It's casually flirty, as usual; Jon's used to Tom being affectionate to everyone with whom he comes into contact, has been ever since they were kids. Tom's like Brendon, only more low-key.

Ryan shrugs. "Maybe someday, when I'm not barely making rent."

"Aw, but see, that's what makes it better - the daily struggles to get by, to pay your dues to have what makes you happy. It's all part of the beauty of making art."

Brendon makes another snorting sound.

Jon leans against his bass and smirks. "You lived for three weeks with a dancer named Giselle who owned her own club and let you drink for free. I fail to see where the struggle came in."

Tom waves his hand vaguely. "It's all relative, Jonny." Everything's relative with Tom.

"Did she let you play at her club?" Ryan asks, carefully not looking up from his guitar. Jon wonders if it's out of concentration or an effort not to make moon eyes at Tom.

"Sometimes. It mostly depended on her mood. One day I'd be her dashing American musician, then the next day I'd be nothing more than a bum stealing her booze. Guess which days I got to play?" He rolls his head back and grins at Jon upside down. "Still wish you could've been there, Jonny. Against the two of us, she'd never have stood a chance."

"Yeah, then she would've had two American bums under her roof." Jon laughs and glances over at Spencer, who seems lost in thought, staring out the side window even as he keeps a steady, quiet rhythm.

Ryan gets stuck on a sticky part at the chorus, and Tom says, "Here, let me try," and takes the guitar out of his hands, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. He plays through each note and progression easily; Ryan watches in rapt fascination.

It's not until Tom hands the guitar back and fits Ryan's hands over the frets that Brendon abruptly announces, "I'm going out to the store." He doesn't wait for a response as he gets up from the piano and slams the door behind him.

Jon blinks a few times, but no one really says anything, especially Spencer, who's being unusually quiet. Eventually Tom looks up and says, "Want to wait on Urie?"

"He'll pick it up," Ryan says, and he nods at Jon. "From the top?"

Whatever's going on, Jon figures it can wait until later.

===

Tom was right about one thing - Bob is starting to like them. A lot.

He starts booking them three nights a week, an hour set each night. It means more pay, but also the need for more songs and a wider repertoire. They start practicing every evening from the moment Ryan gets off his shift at the bookstore; it proves difficult whenever Spencer's on a swing shift, but they manage. Ryan writes constantly now, and Jon loses more and more sleep between practices and work and gigs, but he's never been happier.

It's late one night, and the city is battling an early summer heat wave. It's almost too hot to play; Ryan gave up a few hours ago, saying he couldn't concentrate with sweat running in his eyes. Brendon had been moaning about the heat since the moment he got to Jon's, and since his apartment is farther away than Ryan and Spencer's, he'd begged Ryan to let him crash at their place. "I'll melt if I stay outside too long, Ryan, don't let me die," he'd pleaded. Ryan had rolled his eyes, but relented, like always.

But Spencer's on some kind of tear, wanting to get his fills just right on their new set of songs. He'd waved Ryan off when he asked if Spencer was coming home, too. "We play tomorrow night, and I gotta get this in the pocket with Jon. I'll be in later," Spencer had replied, spinning one of his sticks in his right hand and looking slightly frustrated.

Now it's just Jon and Spencer in the hot, humid living room. The lights are shut off to keep the heat down, and all the windows are open wide to let in whatever breeze there is. They play by the bit of streetlight that filters in, and it bathes the entire room in a strange, blurred yellow.

Spencer took his white button-down off hours ago like the rest of them, and he's been playing in his thin cotton undershirt and slacks, suspenders hanging down around his hips. They're both damp with sweat, and Jon is just shy of skimming off his own slacks and playing in his shorts; with anyone else, he wouldn't have thought twice, but...it's Spencer, and Jon can't quite bring himself to get that naked in front of him.

"God, I need a drink." Spencer shoves his wet hair back and goes into the kitchen for a glass of water. Jon wonders when Spencer got comfortable enough to move around Jon's apartment as if it were his own; he can still easily remember when Spencer couldn't sit on Jon's couch without looking tense, like he'd break something.

He takes the spare minute to tune his bass, fiddling with the pegs until the notes sound right again. He's plucking out a random tune when he glances up and sees Spencer standing by his tiny living room window, the silhouette of his body outlined in the streetlight. His head is tipped back as he drinks the water, and Jon is suddenly staring at the line of his throat, the wet shine of his skin in the light. Everything slows down for a moment, and Jon can barely breathe. His body feels tight, like his skin has become a size too small.

Spencer swallows the rest of his water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He clears his throat, and Jon realizes that he's still staring. "You still with me?"

Jon blushes, but it's hot as fuck in the apartment. Spencer won't even notice. "Yeah," he says softly, heart pounding. "Of course."

"Good. I just want to go through it one more time, and then we'll have it. Then I gotta hit the sheets, I'm exhausted." He smiles as he takes a seat behind his kit once more and starts the count in, and Jon's fingers fumble the first couple of notes.

part three