Fic: Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying (Jon's Bookstore II) (2/3)

[foxxcub]

Spencer wakes up at five in the morning, like usual. Jon lays in bed, listening to the shower running, the only light in the room coming from underneath the bathroom door. He thinks it wouldn't be so bad if he knew he'd have Spencer here every night, regardless of when he leaves.

He doesn't realize he's fallen back asleep until he wakes up to the feel of Spencer's breath hot on his cheek.

"I'm out," Spencer whispers as he kisses the corner of Jon's mouth.

"It's not even six yet." Jon tangles his hand in Spencer's shirt and tugs him close, kissing him back deep and slow, teeth scraping over Spencer's bottom lip. "You can be an hour late today. It'll be for a good cause." He pulls him down to where Spencer is nearly lying on top of him.

Spencer makes a tiny, tiny sound of acquiescence - it could almost be categorized as a whimper - but then he shakes his head, pulling back. At least his breathing is shallow. "I can't, that'll put me in rush-hour traffic."

A part of him wants to just grab onto Spencer and ask him to move in right then and there, fuck rush-hour traffic. But he's not brave enough. "Take off early tonight, then. Come over and watch So You Think You Can Dance? with me."

He laughs softly. "I'll do my best. Or, you know, you could stay at my place."

"I have all the food and the hi-def cable."

Spencer snorts. "You calling me shallow?"

"Nope, just resourceful." And wouldn't it be great to only have one apartment to drive home to? he thinks, mentally adding up the miles between his apartment and the university and Spencer's office. "By the way, did you give Brendon pictures of Ryan for his epic Valentine thing?"

Spencer blinks. "What epic Valentine thing? He told me he and Ryan were trading pictures as way of 'bonding over bad junior high hairstyles.'" In the semi-dark, Jon still sees the airquotes.

He buries his face in his pillow. "Oh god, Brendon's dead."

*

Tuesday night, Jon goes out to Mikey's friend Ray's house. The so-called jam sessions take place in Ray's living room; the coffee table has been moved to one side, but everyone is mostly just sitting around with their guitars watching an episode of 24 on mute and idly strumming chords every once in a while.

Mikey happily introduces Jon to everyone, like he's already a new member of the group. Ray has about three different guitars laying around him, two acoustic and one electric, and there are "about five more where those came from," he explains with a grin. Tom Conrad looks vaguely familiar to Jon, and then he realizes he's seen his band, Empires, playing around town a few times in the past.

"Are you guys still together?" Jon asks.

Tom shrugs, squinting at the tuning pegs of his acoustic. "Sort of. Our bassist wanted to finish up school, so we took a hiatus for a year or so. We still get together and work on songs every once in a while." He eventually looks up and grins. "You own a used bookstore?"

"Yeah, it was my grandmother's. She left it to me when she died."

"That's a pretty awesome gift."

Jon only flinches a little. "Sure." He starts to change the subject when Alex, Mikey's friend with the Fender, shoves said bass into his hands and says, proudly, "Here, try her out. She's in perfect condition."

"Uh." Jon flails around for second as he slings the strap over his shoulder, hands fumbling with the strings. "Are you sure?"

"Dude, yes. I have three of these, and I'm broke. I need the cash to get new amps for my gigs." Jon remembers Mikey mentioning the indie band Alex has with his best friend, Ryland.

He kicks his shoes off and sits cross-legged on the floor, settling the bass in his lap and trying to remember the way his hands fit over the fretboard, the position of his right hand over the strings. His calluses have long since gone soft, but Mikey was right; once he starts picking out random bass lines, it all comes back to him, and it hits Jon rather suddenly how much he's missed playing, missed the rush of simply making music.

The five of them play back and forth to each other, like a round robin made up of bits and pieces of songs and spontaneous melodies. Jon's fingers start to ache a little, but he doesn't care.

At around ten-thirty, Pete shows up.

"Walker!" he exclaims, giving Jon a high-five. "Fancy meeting you here. Mikey said he was gonna bring you over to the dark side eventually."

"Speak for yourself, Sith Lord," Mikey drawls, and Pete flips him off with a smirk as he flops down on the couch beside him.

Immediately, Jon's conversation with Patrick a few days earlier comes to mind. He's not about to pry, but he can't help saying, as casually as possible, "What's Patrick up to tonight?"

Pete shrugs. "I don't know, he said he was staying late at the store. I asked him if he wanted to come with, but he got all weird and fidgety, so I left it alone." He cocks his head at Jon, suddenly looking pensive. "Is there something going on with him? He's seriously been weird a lot lately."

Jon tries to look innocent. "No idea, dude."

"Maybe your wooing skills aren't up to par anymore," Mikey says, nudging Pete in the side. "More woo, less talk."

"That's why God invented Valentine's Day." Pete beams and throws an arm around Mikey's shoulders. "I have plenty of woo. I'm gonna shower Patrick with woo, just you wait."

Jon grins and wishes Patrick had come along after all.

*

The pads of Jon's fingertips hurt like a bitch the next morning, and they also remind Jon that he's now got a Fender Mustang of his very own sitting on his couch back in his apartment. He hasn't been this excited about a purchase since he bought his first camera.

He's sitting behind the register, making lists of what still needs to be done before the Valentine's Day music night, when Gerard and Frank come downstairs together. Frank's shoving his Kinko's polo into his khakis, an unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and Gerard barely looks awake (the nine o'clock chair meetings aren't doing him any favors). He stops at the coffee bar and pours his usual cup; Jon's made him coffee every morning since his promotion.

Frank comes up short at the door, hands digging into his pockets. "Fuck, I lost my lighter. Do you - ?"

Gerard doesn't even glance over, just reaches into his back pocket and tosses a lighter at Frank.

"You're a lifesaver." He takes the cigarette out of his mouth long enough to press his index and middle fingers to his lips and blow Gerard a kiss. "I'll see you at noon, or one if I'm swamped and can't get away."

"'kay," Gerard yawns, but he's grinning stupidly at his coffee cup.

Jon goes back to his lists and tries to ignore the sharp tug of envy in his chest, and the fact that he hasn't seen Spencer in three whole days.

*

He doesn't actually take Spencer out on Valentine's Day, because Spencer has a huge economics test the next day and has sworn to barricade himself in his apartment to study until he passes out. Which leaves Valentine's Day Eve; it's not as romantic, but Jon figures it's the next best thing.

He's not trying to be overly romantic or obvious, just - he doesn't want to ask Spencer to move in with him over pizza and beer on his couch during a Family Guy marathon. So he makes reservations at their favorite Italian bistro that's both low-key and fairly private. He opts out on the complimentary holiday rose-and-champagne, though. No use getting Spencer suspicious.

For once, Spencer's on time. Jon takes it as a good omen.

"I can't remember the last time you wore real shoes out in public for me," Spencer says as he slides into the corner both. His smile is wide, no smirk in sight; he's honestly flattered, and with Spencer, that's saying a lot.

"What, winter doesn't count?" He's also waiting on Spencer to comment on the fact that Jon's wearing the Brooks Brothers navy blue pinstripe button-down Spencer bought him for his birthday. Jon always says it makes him feel like a some kind of hot-shot corporate guy, but he rarely wears it out, mostly because he hates ironing.

"I know the difference between necessity and wanting to impress me." Spencer chews the corner of his lip as his eyes sweep over Jon. "By the way, nice shirt." Even in the dim light, Jon can tell Spencer's blushing.

They order wine and pasta-penne with marinara for Jon and cheese ravioli for Spencer. Nothing fancy, just the usual dishes they get whenever they eat here, and it would feel like any other night out were it not for Jon's heart pounding in his throat as he obsesses over the spare key to his apartment in his pocket, the one he had made three nights ago. Jon stares down into his wine glass, wanting more than liquid courage. His palms are starting to sweat.

"Hey." He feels a foot nudge his under the table. Jon glances up to find Spencer watching him curiously. "What's wrong? You got really quiet all of a sudden."

He shrugs, reaching across the table and tracing his index finger over Spencer's wrist. "Just thinking, that's all. You - " Jon ducks his head and laughs. "You wouldn't let me take you out for Valentine's Day last year."

"I was young and stupid. Also hung up on labels." It's Spencer's turn to laugh and look sheepish. "But I caved eventually, didn't I?"

"Sort of. You still won't let me buy you flowers."

"Flowers die. I want fucking chocolate." Spencer grins, flipping his hand over slowly so their palms line up, lacing his fingers with Jon's.

I can do this, I can totally do this, Jon thinks, and he wills himself not to throw up. He opens his mouth, starts to form the words, but then Spencer blurts out, "Okay, I have to tell you this, because if I don't do it tonight, Ryan says he'll tell you first thing tomorrow morning, and I don't want you hearing it from him."

Jon blinks. "What?"

Spencer gives a nervous wince, which makes absolutely no sense. "So you know that I want to get my MBA after I graduate." It's not a question, but it doesn't need to be; Jon's known for a while now that Spencer has had plans for his master's, hence his hardcore attitude about the internship.

"Sure, you applied to the program at the university a month ago, right?" Jon's eyes flare. "Oh man, you got in, didn't you? Already?" He beams at Spencer, squeezing his hand. "Shit, you should've told me sooner, dude, I would've taken you some place really special." He leans over and kisses Spencer's cheek. "Congrats."

But Spencer's turning red, and it's not a happy flush. "I got in," he replies carefully, "but not to the university here." He pulls his hand away from Jon's slowly and picks up his wine glass, fidgeting with the stem. "I got into the program at Belmont University."

Jon is suddenly confused for several reasons, but mainly because he had absolutely no idea Spencer had been applying to schools outside the state (he barely even knows where the hell Belmont University is).

"But." He licks his lips, and his stomach goes a little cold. "But...that's in, like, Tennessee."

Spencer nods, not looking up from his glass. "I know it is. But they've got this music business program that's nationally regarded, and I could build my contacts up. I could practically be guaranteed a job in the industry once I finished, especially with this internship on my resume."

Jon knows he should be proud of him. But he also knows that, deep down, he's a selfish, horrible bastard who just wants his boyfriend to stay close and not run off to some school hundreds of miles away.

The spare key sitting in his pocket feels like a brick.

"Wow, that's really awesome," Jon finally says, swallowing hard as he tries for a real smile. "When did you find out?"

"Two days ago. I haven't even told my parents yet." Of course, he told Ryan before he told Jon, but Jon knows that's where he falls in the chain of importance, and it'll always be that way, regardless. It's the least of his woes at the moment.

"So, I - I guess you'll be scouting out apartments down there eventually." He wants to stand up and throw the key through a window or something. Selfish, selfish bastard.

Spencer still avoids Jon's eyes, and he looks slightly miserable. Jon hates himself for taking comfort in that. "Yeah, my lease isn't up until April, so I'll probably go down there in March sometime and look around." He finally glances up, cheeks pink, and adds softly, "You can come with me."

Jon doesn't want to go with him. He doesn't want any part of this, it's bad enough he's had to give up Spencer for his stupid internship, and now. Now he's got a stupid fucking college in a stupid far-off state to contend with. It's not fair, and Jon just wants to curl up and pout like a three-year-old.

But he closes his eyes for a second, breathes in deep, and replies just as softly, "Sure."

Spencer huffs out a breath and reaches out to cup the back of Jon's neck, leaning in to kiss him. "I'll hate every second I'm gone, you know that, right?" he whispers against Jon's mouth.

You're practically gone now, Jon wants to say, but instead he opens his mouth wider and licks over Spencer's bottom lip, kissing him slow and probably too deeply for such a public place.

"Yeah, I know," he whispers back, and skims his knuckles over Spencer's cheek.

They don't eat or say much after that. Eventually Jon takes Spencer home and pins him up against the door of Spencer's apartment once they're inside, lets Spencer rip the Brooks Brothers shirt off his body, gets him to gasp Jon's name in that breathless, high-pitched tone Spencer would never admit to owning in any post-coital setting. It's fast and dirty and heavy with things Jon can't say; he wonders if Spencer feels the heaviness, too.

Later, when they're tangled together in bed and Jon's focused on the slow, even patterns of Spencer's breathing, Spencer says, "I'm not letting you shut this down." He sounds very young, his words almost too loud in the close darkness.

Jon doesn't even try faking sleep. "I won't." He curls in tighter against Spencer's side, hand splayed low over his stomach.

"You might. You probably wouldn't even know you were doing it." Spencer's breath is hot against Jon's neck. "But I won't let you. I'm a stubborn fuck who gets too attached to the stuff he loves."

Jon's heart all but stops. "Stuff?" he replies, feeling his skin go warm. They've never said this much to each other. Ever. He closes his eyes and kisses Spencer's shoulder carefully, almost as if the mood will shatter if he breathes too hard.

Spencer's stomach jerks under Jon's palm as he swallows. "Shut up," he whispers, rolling onto his side and tucking his face into the hollow of Jon's throat, lips brushing back and forth over Jon's collarbone.

Somehow, they eventually fall asleep.

*

Valentine's Day begins with a freak thunderstorm. The sky is dark and fierce, the clouds hanging too low to the ground, and the rain falls so hard it slants to one side. Traffic is a nightmare, and it takes almost an extra half hour to get across town on the rain-clogged streets.

Jon is soaked by the time he makes it into the store, and none of this is even the worst part of his morning, because sitting in the center of the store is the most gigantic, neon pink-colored Valentine he's ever seen in his life. It stands nearly six feet tall and has an almost life-sized picture of a fourteen-year-old Ryan Ross staring back at him. Across the top are the words I love the many versions of Ryan Ross!! in sparkly purple letters.

Jon stands in the doorway, dripping on the floor, and stares at Brendon's definition of "discretion."

"How did he get in here?" he mumbles to himself, then starts plotting how to get rid of the thing before Ryan sees it. He could hide it in Gerard's loft, he's got a key in case of emergencies, or he could -

The door opens behind him, and Ryan almost plows into Jon in his attempt to escape the downpour. "Jesus Christ, it's like a goddamn tsunami out there!" He's just as soaked as Jon, and he shakes his wet hair out his eyes as he tries to close his umbrella, which has been blown inside out. "I'm telling you, global warming is gonna fuck as all in the end. This isn't natural."

It's all Jon can do not to flail his arms out and block Ryan from seeing the valentine. "Just - Ryan, you might want to - "

But it's too late. Ryan tosses his umbrella behind the counter and tugs his wet coat off just before glancing at the center of the store.

He goes completely still.

"Ryan - " This time, Jon really does flail an arm out. "It's not - he was really excited about it - "

"What." Ryan drops his coat on the floor and swallows. "What the hell is that?" His voice is scarily calm and way too even.

"It's. Um. Brendon's valentine. For you." Jon winces.

Ryan walks over to it slowly, like he would a caged tiger. His mouth is set in a very firm line. "You knew about this?" Still calm, still monotone.

"He told me about it, yeah. A few days ago." For a second, Jon considers the fact that while he knew about the valentine, Ryan knew about Spencer moving to Tennessee.

Ryan circles the entire thing, not touching it at all. The inside is also covered with full-color copies of every single grade school picture Ryan's every taken, along with sports photos (pee-wee hockey), birthday party shots (a Transformers theme), and random candids (skater punk Ryan with a bright green skateboard and black Vans).

On the back, signed in the same sparkly purple, is Love always, B.

"I'm going to kill him," Ryan says calmly.

"Ry - "

"No, really. I'll bury his remains in a remote location and no one will ever know." He hugs his arms tightly around his chest, and finally, there's a flash of emotion in his eyes as he glares at the valentine. "He fucking knows I don't do shit like this," he hisses softly.

Jon sighs, feeling a migraine coming on. "He was trying to be romantic. He wasn't trying to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed, I'm livid." And just like, Ryan cracks: he kicks the valentine across the room, where it lands face-down on the floor. "This is what I'm talking about, Jon - he never stops. It's always phone calls, or following me around the store, or texting me Disney lyrics, or just being in my face constantly. I need space, and that's like a fucking foreign concept to him."

He picks up the valentine and tries to dust off the shoe print Ryan made on the front. "Have you mentioned this to him at all?" Jon asks carefully, praying Brendon doesn't walk through the door.

"What's the point? He never listens to me. It's always, 'C'mon Ry, make out with me in the storage closet,' or, 'You're so cute when you're irritated.'" He jerks both hands through his damp hair. "I'm going back to count the drawer. Get rid of that thing, and if Brendon shows up, tell him I'm busy." Ryan stomps off to the back office, his wet shoes squeaking against the tile.

Jon ends up carrying the valentine upstairs, where he rests it against the wall next to the door of Gerard's loft.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he mutters, then goes off in search of some Advil.

*

Luckily (or not, depending how you look at it), Brendon doesn't show his face in the store until almost noon. He takes one look at the empty floor and the lack of Ryan, and his face falls so hard Jon swears it almost crashes.

"He hated it," Brendon says softly, and Jon doesn't have the heart to be honest.

"No, he - he just didn't want it out in the open."

"Where is he?"

"He's..." Jon looks down the mystery aisle and catches Ryan's eye. Ryan glares and shakes his head. "He's at lunch." Too bad Jon's as shitty a liar as Brendon.

Brendon bites his lip. "I see. Okay." He rolls his shoulders. "Well, tell him I meant it in the best way possible, and I'm sorry if it pissed him off." He raises his voice at the end.

"I will. Just give him some space today."

"It's Valentine's Day, Jon," Brendon whispers. He shakes his head. "Whatever, I'll see you tonight for the gig."

He slinks out of the store, and Jon starts to tell Ryan to go after him, but Ryan yells from the stacks, "I don't even want to hear it."

*

Love Song Night draws a modest crowd, mostly because people stop in to hide from the torrential rain. No one really partakes of the hot chocolate, though, because they've already got their Beloved Brew cups clutched tightly in their hands.

There are puddles everywhere, and Patrick starts to get nervous about the amps and the rest of the electrical equipment. Jon does his best to keep the floor mopped, but eventually Patrick pulls him aside and says, "Sorry, I'm just not comfortable with this. It's too crowded and there's too much water around." He doesn't mention the fact that Brendon is mopier than a mopey thing, which doesn't bode well for singing songs about eternal love.

So they cut things short after three songs, and Jon watches with a heavy heart as people scatter out the door and go across the street to the coffee shop, its front window twinkling with red lights and sparkly heart globes.

"Doing anything with Pete tonight?" Jon asks Patrick, forcing himself to stop staring forlornly out the window.

"He said he's picking me up later for a 'surprise,' whatever that means." He shrugs as he wraps up the amp chords. "He said he saw you at Ray's the other night, by the way."

Jon can't think of a good response, so he says, simply, "Oh?"

"I figured he'd go over there. He likes to watch Mikey play." There's a tightness to Patrick's voice, like he's trying so hard to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

"Yeah, it was a lot of fun. I'm going back next week, you should go with me."

Patrick shrugs again. "Naw, I'll pass. Thanks, though." He looks around the room. "Where'd Bren go?"

In the background, Jon can hear voices coming from the office. He hears Brendon yell, "I was only trying to do something special!" and Ryan yell back, "Special is dinner out or a new watch, not a diorama of humiliation!"

"Um, you don't want to know," Jon replies, and starts to help Patrick pack up the rest of his gear.

*

Jon's brother Bill hardly ever calls him at the store, but when he does, it's usually a big deal.

Only this time, instead of calling, Bill drops by the store in person.

"I haven't been by in months, so I thought I'd come take a look, see how things're going," he says, dropping onto the couch in the office.

"You don't do random stops like this," Jon replies, smirking as he swivels around in his desk chair. "What's really going on?

Bill claps his hands together between his knees. "How's business since the coffee shop opened?"

Jon bristles. Bill's a freelance business consultant, and Jon hates letting on about any sort of financial problems when it comes to the store. "It's...been better, I guess. We're still recovering."

"That's a nice way of saying it sucks."

"No, I'm saying it's been better. They're new in the area and people are attracted to new businesses." He hopes quoting Spencer will make him sound more positive.

Bill is quiet for a long moment, tapping his toe against the wood floor. Finally, he says, "Jonny, I've got a proposition for you."

"Pretty sure the last time you said that to me, I was ten and you wanted me to eat dirt."

"No dirt involved this time, promise." He reaches into his coat pocket and hands Jon a glossy brochure advertising Connor's Photography Inc.

Jon turns the brochure over in his hands. "It's a portrait studio," he says slowly, not getting where Bill's going with all this.

"That's a studio owned by a friend of mine who's retiring soon. He's offering to sell it to me for an insanely cheap price."

"And what, you want me to buy it instead?"

"No, I want you to run it for me."

Jon blinks at him. "You want to run a photography studio with me? Are you serious?"

"It's like this - I buy it up, you have all the managerial roles and co-ownership. Basically, it'll be your studio, and I'll just be the silent partner." He points at the brochure. "You don't have to keep it a portrait studio, you can do whatever you want. But I know how much you wanted something like this, and you shouldn't be stuck watching over Grandma's bookshop when what you really should be doing is practically being handed to us."

He keeps waiting for the punchline, for the joke to happen. Yeah, his family has known for years that Jon's always wanted his own photography studio, but then Kat died and...Jon's never looked at the store as an obligation. So much has happened in the last year and a half, and right now he can't understand why Bill would think he'd give it up.

"What about the store, huh? I can't just leave," Jon replies, handing the brochure back to Bill. "I can't do that to Kat, I can't just - "

"Jon, this place is a money drain. You know that. Grandma was only able to keep it open because she was retired and Grandpa wanted to keep her happy. It's only a matter of time before the cost of the upkeep of this place vastly outweighs the profit it brings in, and then where will you be? You'll be left a room full of books and no income."

Jon feels his heart start to pound heavily. "It's not about that, Bill." This is why Kat left Between the Lines to him instead of his brothers; for Jon, it's never been about profit margins.

Bill slumps back against the couch. "I know you're attached to this place. I get that. But you need to start considering how much you're willing to put into it. You don't know the first thing about advertising or marketing, and in this day and age, that's vital. Look at what's happened just from a snazzy little coffee joint going across the street. Your coffee bar's collecting dust bunnies."

"I'm working on a strategy," Jon lies. "Spencer's a business major, he gives me lots of tips - "

"Spencer doesn't run your store, you do." Bill shakes his head. "Just think about it, all right? I didn't expect you to make a decision today, anyway." He gets to his feet and musses Jon's hair like he did when they were kids. "I'm just looking out for my little brother."

Jon ducks away, swatting at Bill's hand. "Your concern is duly noted."

"I'll see you at Mom's next weekend."

Bill tosses the brochure on Jon's desk on his way out, and Jon spends the next half hour staring at it, replaying every one of Bill's words in his head.

*

part 3