wip amnesty, continued. #2.
poor spence. Started December 21, 2006. As far as I can remember (I am avoiding rereading) this was basically: Ryan and Spencer are ridiculous for each other but neither realize, so Ryan starts dating Brendon and Spencer starts dating Jon, and then Ryan realizes what's going on, and then Spencer doesn't want to be a shit to Jon. I think it was going to end in GSF. 3739 words.
Jon's been giving him looks for a while now.
No, that's not right; Jon's been giving him Looks, and Spencer knows that's what they are, because
is Ryan, but then Spencer thinks he's been a little bit in love with Ryan for a long time now, maybe a lot in love with Ryan, maybe since he first realized that love was more than something he had at home and Ryan mostly got when he was over at Spencer's house, since he realized what made Ryan so incredibly Ryan, but.
But there are about fifteen thousand reasons that that's not going to work, and at least fourteen thousand of them are asleep in Ryan's bunk, under Ryan's covers, curled around Ryan with Ryan curled around him, his hands on Ryan's bare skin, and his name is Brendon Urie. Spencer can remember a time, long ago, when he and Ryan were small and shared a bed when Ryan slept over; sometimes they'd wake up like that, laugh, and go play video games. That was before there was anything awkward about it, before they cared, before Spencer realized what he had.
Jon kisses him, and while Spencer certainly can't say that it's completely out of the blue, it still takes him by surprise just enough that he manages not to actually get the message to his mouth that, yes, he ought to be kissing back, it would be nice if his lips and jaw would help him along a little there, before Jon's pulling back, and he's got a look on his face that Spencer swears he got from Brendon, the "that was serious but you took it the wrong way so we're both gonna pretend it wasn't and everything'll be fine" look.
So now Jon's standing, leaving Spencer alone on the couch as he makes for the doorway, but before he can walk through it Spencer's across the room and in front of him; this time it's Spencer kissing Jon, and thankfully Jon doesn't seem to have any communication problems with his mouth because he's kissing back just fine.
"You know," Spencer starts to say.
"Yeah, I know," says Jon, and he looks like he's being careful to keep his face blank.
"That doesn't mean --"
"I know, don't worry," says Jon, and now he's got the faintest of smiles on his face, so Spencer ignores the feeling that this is wrong, so wrong, ignores the feeling that this, all this, everything that happened since Ryan said "hey, guess what, Pete Wentz is going to watch us practice," has all been some incredibly fucking bizarre combination of nightmare and best dream ever, and closes the door.
The first thing Spencer notices when he wakes up is the fact that he's alone in his bunk; it's cold, where Jon was, so he supposes Jon's been gone for a while. He toys with the idea of going back to sleep, and maybe when he wakes up Jon'll be back, but then again it's just as likely that he won't be, and besides that he needs to not sleep the whole day away.
And besides that, he can hear voices. And badly-played music, in time with nothing but a steady stream of curses. Guitar Hero time, he thinks, and smiles.
"Fuck you," mutters Spencer, flopping bonelessly onto the couch and fitting himself into Jon's side.
"You're half-asleep, man, there's some sketchy consent issues," Jon says, and Spencer swats vaguely at him.
"It's not like you got up to do anything worthwhile," Spencer tells Jon's left shoulder.
"I'm kicking Brendon's ass, here," Jon says, and Spencer can't see anything except hoodie right now but he knows Jon's grinning. "That's not worthwhile?"
"Dude, I could kick Brendon's ass right now and most of me is still back in my bunk, asleep."
When Ryan finally comes in -- it's been ten minutes, an hour, three hours, who knows? -- Spencer's still curled up next to Jon, one arm around his waist and his head leaning on his shoulder, and though he's really watching the TV, marveling at the fact that neither Jon nor Brendon can actually consistently win this bizarre fucking game, he still sees the look on Ryan's face, the look that only lasts for a second before the I-just-woke-up settles back into place as Ryan yawns.
"Evening, sunshine," says Brendon, who's just blown up in a spectacular crash and can therefore afford not to look at what's going on.
"Fuck you," says Ryan, yawning again and plopping down next to Brendon. He looks over at Spencer, one eyebrow raised, and Spencer knows what Ryan isn't saying through years of having covert conversations for whatever reason: You two are awful close.
Spencer shrugs ever so slightly, looks from Ryan to Brendon to Ryan again, cocks an eyebrow of his own. You two are sitting the exact same way.
Ryan rolls his eyes. Yeah, but we're --
Both eyebrows, now, and Spencer's not even saying anything with that, just trying to get Ryan to stop his train of thought for a second.
And then Ryan blinks, once, twice. Oh. Oh.
They both turn back to the TV, where Brendon is now resolutely kicking Jon's ass, and Spencer ignores the look -- he'd classify it as hurt if he didn't know better -- on Ryan's face as Spencer scoots himself a little closer to Jon.
He feels like screaming, sometimes, feels like just letting loose because everything has changed --
("-- wait, what?" he asks one day on the bus, startled out of his book by something Ryan had said to Brendon as he was standing at the fridge. "What did Ryan just say you do, Brendon?"
"Fucks your mom," Ryan says smoothly, a hint of a smile on his face, and Brendon grins. "I'm surprised she didn't say hi to you as she was leaving, actually."
"He was busy!" shouts Jon from his bunk, and Spencer turns to flip him off -- Jon can't see him, but he's sure the effort's appreciated -- and if he sees Ryan's face tighten ever so slightly for a second or two, well.)
-- but at the same time nothing's changed, nothing's changed --
("You know, I'm pretty sure I could ask her really nicely and get her to never make you cookies again, Ry," says Spencer, turning back to Ryan, eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and Ryan half-swoons, Brendon catching him before he's ever in danger of hitting the floor.
There's a pause, Ryan cradled in Brendon's arms, and then Ryan makes a face. "I bet I could steal the recipe from her and make 'em myself," he says, but Spencer just shakes his head. "What, you don't think I can operate an oven all by myself?"
"She licks the spoon," Spencer says gravely. "Very carefully. Ten times before starting to stir, and then twice between each ingredient. It's the special enzymes in her saliva that make her cookies so irresistable," he finishes, but Ryan's busy trying not to fall over now that his support is doubled over on the floor laughing, so he just grins into his book.)
-- and he doesn't know which he'd rather have.
He can't sleep.
Spencer sighs, remembers a time when he would have loved having a big bed -- two big beds, for that matter, for all they're only using one -- and a whole room to themselves, never mind the utter lack of soundproofing, but now all he can think is that it's too much space, that he fucking misses his bunk, the curtain, the fact that he could reach up and touch the ceiling. His ceiling. He turns on his back, careful not to wake Jon up, and reaches up with one hand, like maybe he'll wish his bunk into being, but all he touches is air, and he still isn't sleeping.
Sighing, he turns back on his side, eyes closed, snuggling a little closer to Jon -- who's the only reason he isn't out on the balcony right now, no joke -- and trying to even his breathing out so maybe he'll get a few hours of sleep before they have to wake up in the morning.
An hour later, he's still awake, and knows it because he's been checking the bedside alarm clock what felt like every ten minutes, and every time he looks he has his suspicions confirmed. Jon stirs behind him, mumbling sleep-noises, and Spencer slams his eyes shut, stays still as Jon carefully frees his arms and makes his way to the bathroom. He hears running water, and then Jon drinking, and then the same thing again once more before Jon picks his way back to the bed and gets himself settled back under the covers.
He doesn't put his arms back, though; it feels like he's up on one elbow, or something, because the mattress is dipping weirdly, and Spencer's about to roll over and ask Jon what's wrong when he feels a gentle hand on his forehead, combing through his hair slowly and carefully. "I fucking love you, Spencer Smith," Jon says softly, and the only thing keeping Spencer's face calm is the fact that Jon can see it, is probably about to say more, and Spencer doesn't want to give away the fact that he isn't asleep because he wants to hear the rest.
Jon's quiet for so long he starts to think there isn't any rest, and Spencer's actually almost -- wonder of wonders -- asleep when he hear's Jon's voice again. "For no reason at all and every reason in the world, actually, but one way or the other I do. I feel like -- I feel like a fucking girl, Spence, I feel like a girl telling her soldier boyfriend goodbye, but I'm. I'll wait for you, Spencer, I'll wait as long as it takes."
A few moments of silence pass, and then Jon snuggles back in behind him, falling asleep in less than five minutes.
The next morning, Spencer makes up some bullshit story about a dream in which he was being chased by a giant action figure of Britney Spears when people ask him why he looks so tired, and stares into his coffee cup like he'll find the answers in the grounds, Starbucks-friendly fortune-telling he could never get the hang of. (The fact that this means he has an excuse not to meet
"Hey, Spence," Ryan says, leaning on the doorframe between the two adjoining rooms. "Did you see where Brendon went? I got out of the shower and his phone was gone, so."
"Yeah, he and Jon, uh." Spencer scowls down at his clothes, wishing they had nerve endings so poking them savagely would have any effect. "Fucking socks. They left a while ago, went to get breakfast. Or ... Mexican ..." he says, trailing off, and frowns a little. "Jon wasn't too clear on the details. But they should be back before too long, so don't -- aha, I found you, you fucker." He stands up, two matching socks in his hand, and goes to sit down on a tidy part of the rumpled bed, half a smile on his face.
"You deserve an award. A Sock-Finding Award," Ryan says, grinning, and sits across from Spencer on the untouched bed. "I was just going down to breakfast, actually; you want to come with?"
"Yeah, sure, just let me get my socks and shoes on and I'm there."
"Sure thing," says Ryan, and falls silent for a moment. Then: "What do you see in him, anyway?"
"Lots of things," Spencer says vaguely, pulling on his second sock. "Why? I thought you liked him."
"I do, yeah, he's an awesome guy, I just wouldn't have made the jump from Jon Walker's pretty cool to be in a band with to ..."
Spencer just shrugs, doesn't make any comment on how of course Ryan wouldn't make that jump, that's what Brendon's for; doesn't say anything about how he's thankful Ryan left off the end of the sentence, because they're not dating but they're not fucking, either; just shrugs, and grabs his left shoe. "I don't know. He's just -- he's Jon, and that's all there is to it." He hears a smile in his voice, wonders how it got there because he's fairly sure he didn't put it in.
"That's sweet, Spence," Ryan tells him, but his voice is oddly flat. "Is it true?"
Spencer's head snaps up to look at Ryan, but all he sees is a mild expression, one eyebrow raised, and for a moment he thinks about saying yes, of course it is, but then he shrugs, instead, works on the shoe he still hasn't managed to get on his left foot. "It's -- I don't know. He's Jon, and I just -- you'd be better off asking him what he sees in me, because I sure as hell don't know," he mutters.
"You're Spencer, that's what," Ryan says, so softly Spencer barely hears it, and he thinks maybe Ryan doesn't know he said it out loud so he keeps his eyes on his fingers, tying up his laces.
"-- and besides," he says to fill the silence, "I mean. Who else? We're on the bus all the time, it's just the four of us, and you and Brendon are paired off," he continues, finally looking up at Ryan, "so it's not like there was anyone --"
The last part of the sentence spills out of his mouth without any real direction, because the look on Ryan's face shook a few connections in Spencer's head loose. It isn't angry, it isn't strained, it isn't tight and pretending to be happy, it's just -- it's two eyebrows raised just enough, and that look in Ryan's eyes he recognizes as the you're a dumbass but you're my best friend so I'm humoring you until you wise up look, and it's you're Spencer, that's what, and suddenly Spencer can't move, can't do anything but look back at Ryan.
The door opens, somewhere between a minute and a year later, and Jon and Brendon come in, making noises about how the breakfast downstairs is awesome, and where have Spencer and Ryan been, they're going to miss everything good so they need to get their asses back downstairs with Jon and Brendon right about now.
Spencer has a muffin and a glass of orange juice, and whenever he closes his eyes for more than a second he sees Ryan giving him that look, hears Jon saying I'll wait as long as it takes, wonders what the fuck he ever did to deserve this.
"Seriously, Spencer," Ryan says, and Spencer sighs, gives in because maybe something will happen, and he thinks that pretty much anything would be better than this awkwardness. (And also because he had been trying to take a nap, and it's hard enough to take naps in a bunk as it is, except that half an hour ago Ryan had pushed his way in and started pestering him, so maybe if he does what Ryan wants he'll get some time to sleep.)
"Fine. This is what I think: I miss having a best friend, okay? I miss having someone I knew would know what I was thinking before I even thought it. I miss talking about nothing at all at four in the morning and only half-remembering the conversation we had about sheep and goldfish and Arnold Scwharzenegger when we try the next morning. I miss -- I miss having a best friend. But I guess I'll settle for having three good friends, one of whom I make out with fairly often."
"You still have a best friend, if you want one," Ryan says quietly, but he's looking directly at Spencer, and he can only look for so long before he has to tear his eyes away, look somewhere that isn't Ryan.
"No, I don't," he says, finally. "I don't. Because it's this, and before this it was --" Brendon, he doesn't say, "-- something else, and it'll be something else after this. Jesus, Ryan, why do you have to keep bringing this shit up? We're breaking apart, one crack at a time, and I --"
"I keep bringing it up because we're breaking apart anyway and at least this way all this shit is out in the open. And besides that you're still not telling me the whole truth, Spencer." Ryan scowls at him. "And if you don't give me a straight answer I think I might owe Brendon a hundred bucks and I do not want that to happen."
"... what the fuck," he says. "What?"
But then the bus stops, and Ryan says "This conversation isn't over, Spencer Smith" before climbing out of the bunk and leaving Spencer confused and still tired.
"You have this talent of catching me when I'm about to go to sleep," Spencer tells Ryan, who has suddenly taken up residence in his lap.
"It bespeaks something deep and meaningful about my personal life," Ryan says, and Spencer can't tell if he's joking or not.
"I told you, Ryan, I'm not having this conversation."
"No, you didn't, and besides that I don't care. I can probably have most of it myself."
"Go for it, then," Spencer says, and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes; he tries, anyway, but halfway there he realizes Ryan has a hand behind his neck and, apparently, plans otherwise.
"But you are going to pay attention."
Spencer scowls.
"Yeah, fuck you. You remember our third grade teacher, the really tall lady who kept, like, foxes in her hair, or some shit?"
"Yeah."
"She made you guys do the same thing she made us do, I think. You might've complained about it. Or maybe I'm making that memory up. But anyway, for one of our writing assignments or something, we had to write about how we wanted to spend the rest of our lives." Ryan pauses, maybe watching the memory back in his head, and Spencer remembers what he wrote for that assignment. "She got all sorts of things. Some girl wanted to be a waitress -- fucked if I know, man, seems like a shitty way to spend your whole life -- and some kid wanted to go to the center of the earth. And everyone wanted to get married, and stuff."
Another pause, possibly for dramatic effect this time.
"I don't remember what I said I wanted to be, but I do remember writing that I didn't want to get married, I just wanted to have you around for my whole life. And she smiled, and told me that that was very sweet, and that she was sure I would grow out of it someday, although she hoped I would always have such good friends. And you know what, Spence?"
Spencer doesn't answer; can't answer, more like, can only concentrate on breathing, on Ryan in his lap and Ryan's hand on his neck that hasn't moved.
"She was wrong. I never did. And then I -- you and I are a lot more alike, in some ways, than I think people think, you know? Maybe it's because we've known each other for so long, I don't know. But I think we cope with things the same way, sometimes. Maybe not for the same reasons, because shit, I don't know why I do half of the shit I do, sometimes, but still. You know?"
And then Ryan shifts on his lap, a little, and the hand drops to his shoulder. "I remember hating Hamlet when we were doing it in English. He pissed me off, you know? So did everyone else, but the others don't have plays about them. But the one thing I got out of that unit was the thing the teacher said about masks, and living with them day after day. Hamlet was pretending to be crazy, remember, and then he started worrying that he was pretending so hard he really was crazy?"
Spencer nods.
"And it's true, for life in general, you know. Live with a mask for so long, you sort of turn into it." Ryan looks at him, suddenly, instead of the wall behind him, and Spencer suddenly can't move.
"So are you crazy, Spencer Smith, or are you in love with me?"
"You say that like I can't be both," Spencer says, his mouth running on autopilot while his brain crashes.
"So is that a yes?" There's the faintest hint of something like a smile on Ryan's face, and he shifts a little more on Spencer's lap for no apparent reason at all, and then the bus door slams and they both look up.
"Jon and Brendon are back," Spencer says, and then his planecrash of a brain bursts into flames. "God. Jon. I can't," he says, trying to wiggle out from underneath Ryan. "I -- I'm sorry, Ryan, I can't."
He leaves Ryan there, goes to lay in his bunk and wish for the days when things were fucked-up but they made sense.
A few minutes after he hears Jon crawl into his bunk, Spencer slips out of his own and joins him, curls up next to him. He feels a hand reach up and start pulling gently through his hair, and sighs, and closes his eyes.
Sometime later: "So I guess it didn't go as well as Brendon and I were hoping, huh."
"Fuck you," Spencer says, and sighs again. "I told him no."
"Oh?"
"Well, not in so many words. You guys came back. and I remembered, and I wriggled out from under where he was sitting on my lap, and I told him I couldn't. And I can't, because I -- I want to, I do, but there's you, and I just don't know what to -- fuck you, Jon Walker, I hate you."
"I know," Jon says softly, softer than necessary, and keeps combing his fingers through Spencer's hair slowly. Spencer can't decide whether to scowl or smile, and settles for doing nothing; he feels like a kid again, throwing rocks at his crush, and hates it.
"I hate this," he says, deciding that maybe saying it aloud will make shit go away, but it doesn't seem to be working.
"I know, Spence, I know," Jon says, and Spencer can feel him sigh.
A minute, five minutes, an hour later: "Just kiss him, Spence. I'll be here when you get back."
Spencer's eyes pop open, and he moves his head so he can look Jon in the eye, verify that yes, he did just actually hear that. "Wait, what?"
"Look, you're not going to be happy without him, okay? So go be happy with him." Jon's fingers haven't stopped, although they've slowed a good bit. "Just be happy with me once in a while too, okay?"
For a long moment Spencer can't speak.
"I can't handle this," he says finally, and goes back to his own bunk.
Jon's been giving him looks for a while now.
No, that's not right; Jon's been giving him Looks, and Spencer knows that's what they are, because
is Ryan, but then Spencer thinks he's been a little bit in love with Ryan for a long time now, maybe a lot in love with Ryan, maybe since he first realized that love was more than something he had at home and Ryan mostly got when he was over at Spencer's house, since he realized what made Ryan so incredibly Ryan, but.
But there are about fifteen thousand reasons that that's not going to work, and at least fourteen thousand of them are asleep in Ryan's bunk, under Ryan's covers, curled around Ryan with Ryan curled around him, his hands on Ryan's bare skin, and his name is Brendon Urie. Spencer can remember a time, long ago, when he and Ryan were small and shared a bed when Ryan slept over; sometimes they'd wake up like that, laugh, and go play video games. That was before there was anything awkward about it, before they cared, before Spencer realized what he had.
Jon kisses him, and while Spencer certainly can't say that it's completely out of the blue, it still takes him by surprise just enough that he manages not to actually get the message to his mouth that, yes, he ought to be kissing back, it would be nice if his lips and jaw would help him along a little there, before Jon's pulling back, and he's got a look on his face that Spencer swears he got from Brendon, the "that was serious but you took it the wrong way so we're both gonna pretend it wasn't and everything'll be fine" look.
So now Jon's standing, leaving Spencer alone on the couch as he makes for the doorway, but before he can walk through it Spencer's across the room and in front of him; this time it's Spencer kissing Jon, and thankfully Jon doesn't seem to have any communication problems with his mouth because he's kissing back just fine.
"You know," Spencer starts to say.
"Yeah, I know," says Jon, and he looks like he's being careful to keep his face blank.
"That doesn't mean --"
"I know, don't worry," says Jon, and now he's got the faintest of smiles on his face, so Spencer ignores the feeling that this is wrong, so wrong, ignores the feeling that this, all this, everything that happened since Ryan said "hey, guess what, Pete Wentz is going to watch us practice," has all been some incredibly fucking bizarre combination of nightmare and best dream ever, and closes the door.
The first thing Spencer notices when he wakes up is the fact that he's alone in his bunk; it's cold, where Jon was, so he supposes Jon's been gone for a while. He toys with the idea of going back to sleep, and maybe when he wakes up Jon'll be back, but then again it's just as likely that he won't be, and besides that he needs to not sleep the whole day away.
And besides that, he can hear voices. And badly-played music, in time with nothing but a steady stream of curses. Guitar Hero time, he thinks, and smiles.
"Fuck you," mutters Spencer, flopping bonelessly onto the couch and fitting himself into Jon's side.
"You're half-asleep, man, there's some sketchy consent issues," Jon says, and Spencer swats vaguely at him.
"It's not like you got up to do anything worthwhile," Spencer tells Jon's left shoulder.
"I'm kicking Brendon's ass, here," Jon says, and Spencer can't see anything except hoodie right now but he knows Jon's grinning. "That's not worthwhile?"
"Dude, I could kick Brendon's ass right now and most of me is still back in my bunk, asleep."
When Ryan finally comes in -- it's been ten minutes, an hour, three hours, who knows? -- Spencer's still curled up next to Jon, one arm around his waist and his head leaning on his shoulder, and though he's really watching the TV, marveling at the fact that neither Jon nor Brendon can actually consistently win this bizarre fucking game, he still sees the look on Ryan's face, the look that only lasts for a second before the I-just-woke-up settles back into place as Ryan yawns.
"Evening, sunshine," says Brendon, who's just blown up in a spectacular crash and can therefore afford not to look at what's going on.
"Fuck you," says Ryan, yawning again and plopping down next to Brendon. He looks over at Spencer, one eyebrow raised, and Spencer knows what Ryan isn't saying through years of having covert conversations for whatever reason: You two are awful close.
Spencer shrugs ever so slightly, looks from Ryan to Brendon to Ryan again, cocks an eyebrow of his own. You two are sitting the exact same way.
Ryan rolls his eyes. Yeah, but we're --
Both eyebrows, now, and Spencer's not even saying anything with that, just trying to get Ryan to stop his train of thought for a second.
And then Ryan blinks, once, twice. Oh. Oh.
They both turn back to the TV, where Brendon is now resolutely kicking Jon's ass, and Spencer ignores the look -- he'd classify it as hurt if he didn't know better -- on Ryan's face as Spencer scoots himself a little closer to Jon.
He feels like screaming, sometimes, feels like just letting loose because everything has changed --
("-- wait, what?" he asks one day on the bus, startled out of his book by something Ryan had said to Brendon as he was standing at the fridge. "What did Ryan just say you do, Brendon?"
"Fucks your mom," Ryan says smoothly, a hint of a smile on his face, and Brendon grins. "I'm surprised she didn't say hi to you as she was leaving, actually."
"He was busy!" shouts Jon from his bunk, and Spencer turns to flip him off -- Jon can't see him, but he's sure the effort's appreciated -- and if he sees Ryan's face tighten ever so slightly for a second or two, well.)
-- but at the same time nothing's changed, nothing's changed --
("You know, I'm pretty sure I could ask her really nicely and get her to never make you cookies again, Ry," says Spencer, turning back to Ryan, eyebrows raised ever so slightly, and Ryan half-swoons, Brendon catching him before he's ever in danger of hitting the floor.
There's a pause, Ryan cradled in Brendon's arms, and then Ryan makes a face. "I bet I could steal the recipe from her and make 'em myself," he says, but Spencer just shakes his head. "What, you don't think I can operate an oven all by myself?"
"She licks the spoon," Spencer says gravely. "Very carefully. Ten times before starting to stir, and then twice between each ingredient. It's the special enzymes in her saliva that make her cookies so irresistable," he finishes, but Ryan's busy trying not to fall over now that his support is doubled over on the floor laughing, so he just grins into his book.)
-- and he doesn't know which he'd rather have.
He can't sleep.
Spencer sighs, remembers a time when he would have loved having a big bed -- two big beds, for that matter, for all they're only using one -- and a whole room to themselves, never mind the utter lack of soundproofing, but now all he can think is that it's too much space, that he fucking misses his bunk, the curtain, the fact that he could reach up and touch the ceiling. His ceiling. He turns on his back, careful not to wake Jon up, and reaches up with one hand, like maybe he'll wish his bunk into being, but all he touches is air, and he still isn't sleeping.
Sighing, he turns back on his side, eyes closed, snuggling a little closer to Jon -- who's the only reason he isn't out on the balcony right now, no joke -- and trying to even his breathing out so maybe he'll get a few hours of sleep before they have to wake up in the morning.
An hour later, he's still awake, and knows it because he's been checking the bedside alarm clock what felt like every ten minutes, and every time he looks he has his suspicions confirmed. Jon stirs behind him, mumbling sleep-noises, and Spencer slams his eyes shut, stays still as Jon carefully frees his arms and makes his way to the bathroom. He hears running water, and then Jon drinking, and then the same thing again once more before Jon picks his way back to the bed and gets himself settled back under the covers.
He doesn't put his arms back, though; it feels like he's up on one elbow, or something, because the mattress is dipping weirdly, and Spencer's about to roll over and ask Jon what's wrong when he feels a gentle hand on his forehead, combing through his hair slowly and carefully. "I fucking love you, Spencer Smith," Jon says softly, and the only thing keeping Spencer's face calm is the fact that Jon can see it, is probably about to say more, and Spencer doesn't want to give away the fact that he isn't asleep because he wants to hear the rest.
Jon's quiet for so long he starts to think there isn't any rest, and Spencer's actually almost -- wonder of wonders -- asleep when he hear's Jon's voice again. "For no reason at all and every reason in the world, actually, but one way or the other I do. I feel like -- I feel like a fucking girl, Spence, I feel like a girl telling her soldier boyfriend goodbye, but I'm. I'll wait for you, Spencer, I'll wait as long as it takes."
A few moments of silence pass, and then Jon snuggles back in behind him, falling asleep in less than five minutes.
The next morning, Spencer makes up some bullshit story about a dream in which he was being chased by a giant action figure of Britney Spears when people ask him why he looks so tired, and stares into his coffee cup like he'll find the answers in the grounds, Starbucks-friendly fortune-telling he could never get the hang of. (The fact that this means he has an excuse not to meet
"Hey, Spence," Ryan says, leaning on the doorframe between the two adjoining rooms. "Did you see where Brendon went? I got out of the shower and his phone was gone, so."
"Yeah, he and Jon, uh." Spencer scowls down at his clothes, wishing they had nerve endings so poking them savagely would have any effect. "Fucking socks. They left a while ago, went to get breakfast. Or ... Mexican ..." he says, trailing off, and frowns a little. "Jon wasn't too clear on the details. But they should be back before too long, so don't -- aha, I found you, you fucker." He stands up, two matching socks in his hand, and goes to sit down on a tidy part of the rumpled bed, half a smile on his face.
"You deserve an award. A Sock-Finding Award," Ryan says, grinning, and sits across from Spencer on the untouched bed. "I was just going down to breakfast, actually; you want to come with?"
"Yeah, sure, just let me get my socks and shoes on and I'm there."
"Sure thing," says Ryan, and falls silent for a moment. Then: "What do you see in him, anyway?"
"Lots of things," Spencer says vaguely, pulling on his second sock. "Why? I thought you liked him."
"I do, yeah, he's an awesome guy, I just wouldn't have made the jump from Jon Walker's pretty cool to be in a band with to ..."
Spencer just shrugs, doesn't make any comment on how of course Ryan wouldn't make that jump, that's what Brendon's for; doesn't say anything about how he's thankful Ryan left off the end of the sentence, because they're not dating but they're not fucking, either; just shrugs, and grabs his left shoe. "I don't know. He's just -- he's Jon, and that's all there is to it." He hears a smile in his voice, wonders how it got there because he's fairly sure he didn't put it in.
"That's sweet, Spence," Ryan tells him, but his voice is oddly flat. "Is it true?"
Spencer's head snaps up to look at Ryan, but all he sees is a mild expression, one eyebrow raised, and for a moment he thinks about saying yes, of course it is, but then he shrugs, instead, works on the shoe he still hasn't managed to get on his left foot. "It's -- I don't know. He's Jon, and I just -- you'd be better off asking him what he sees in me, because I sure as hell don't know," he mutters.
"You're Spencer, that's what," Ryan says, so softly Spencer barely hears it, and he thinks maybe Ryan doesn't know he said it out loud so he keeps his eyes on his fingers, tying up his laces.
"-- and besides," he says to fill the silence, "I mean. Who else? We're on the bus all the time, it's just the four of us, and you and Brendon are paired off," he continues, finally looking up at Ryan, "so it's not like there was anyone --"
The last part of the sentence spills out of his mouth without any real direction, because the look on Ryan's face shook a few connections in Spencer's head loose. It isn't angry, it isn't strained, it isn't tight and pretending to be happy, it's just -- it's two eyebrows raised just enough, and that look in Ryan's eyes he recognizes as the you're a dumbass but you're my best friend so I'm humoring you until you wise up look, and it's you're Spencer, that's what, and suddenly Spencer can't move, can't do anything but look back at Ryan.
The door opens, somewhere between a minute and a year later, and Jon and Brendon come in, making noises about how the breakfast downstairs is awesome, and where have Spencer and Ryan been, they're going to miss everything good so they need to get their asses back downstairs with Jon and Brendon right about now.
Spencer has a muffin and a glass of orange juice, and whenever he closes his eyes for more than a second he sees Ryan giving him that look, hears Jon saying I'll wait as long as it takes, wonders what the fuck he ever did to deserve this.
"Seriously, Spencer," Ryan says, and Spencer sighs, gives in because maybe something will happen, and he thinks that pretty much anything would be better than this awkwardness. (And also because he had been trying to take a nap, and it's hard enough to take naps in a bunk as it is, except that half an hour ago Ryan had pushed his way in and started pestering him, so maybe if he does what Ryan wants he'll get some time to sleep.)
"Fine. This is what I think: I miss having a best friend, okay? I miss having someone I knew would know what I was thinking before I even thought it. I miss talking about nothing at all at four in the morning and only half-remembering the conversation we had about sheep and goldfish and Arnold Scwharzenegger when we try the next morning. I miss -- I miss having a best friend. But I guess I'll settle for having three good friends, one of whom I make out with fairly often."
"You still have a best friend, if you want one," Ryan says quietly, but he's looking directly at Spencer, and he can only look for so long before he has to tear his eyes away, look somewhere that isn't Ryan.
"No, I don't," he says, finally. "I don't. Because it's this, and before this it was --" Brendon, he doesn't say, "-- something else, and it'll be something else after this. Jesus, Ryan, why do you have to keep bringing this shit up? We're breaking apart, one crack at a time, and I --"
"I keep bringing it up because we're breaking apart anyway and at least this way all this shit is out in the open. And besides that you're still not telling me the whole truth, Spencer." Ryan scowls at him. "And if you don't give me a straight answer I think I might owe Brendon a hundred bucks and I do not want that to happen."
"... what the fuck," he says. "What?"
But then the bus stops, and Ryan says "This conversation isn't over, Spencer Smith" before climbing out of the bunk and leaving Spencer confused and still tired.
"You have this talent of catching me when I'm about to go to sleep," Spencer tells Ryan, who has suddenly taken up residence in his lap.
"It bespeaks something deep and meaningful about my personal life," Ryan says, and Spencer can't tell if he's joking or not.
"I told you, Ryan, I'm not having this conversation."
"No, you didn't, and besides that I don't care. I can probably have most of it myself."
"Go for it, then," Spencer says, and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes; he tries, anyway, but halfway there he realizes Ryan has a hand behind his neck and, apparently, plans otherwise.
"But you are going to pay attention."
Spencer scowls.
"Yeah, fuck you. You remember our third grade teacher, the really tall lady who kept, like, foxes in her hair, or some shit?"
"Yeah."
"She made you guys do the same thing she made us do, I think. You might've complained about it. Or maybe I'm making that memory up. But anyway, for one of our writing assignments or something, we had to write about how we wanted to spend the rest of our lives." Ryan pauses, maybe watching the memory back in his head, and Spencer remembers what he wrote for that assignment. "She got all sorts of things. Some girl wanted to be a waitress -- fucked if I know, man, seems like a shitty way to spend your whole life -- and some kid wanted to go to the center of the earth. And everyone wanted to get married, and stuff."
Another pause, possibly for dramatic effect this time.
"I don't remember what I said I wanted to be, but I do remember writing that I didn't want to get married, I just wanted to have you around for my whole life. And she smiled, and told me that that was very sweet, and that she was sure I would grow out of it someday, although she hoped I would always have such good friends. And you know what, Spence?"
Spencer doesn't answer; can't answer, more like, can only concentrate on breathing, on Ryan in his lap and Ryan's hand on his neck that hasn't moved.
"She was wrong. I never did. And then I -- you and I are a lot more alike, in some ways, than I think people think, you know? Maybe it's because we've known each other for so long, I don't know. But I think we cope with things the same way, sometimes. Maybe not for the same reasons, because shit, I don't know why I do half of the shit I do, sometimes, but still. You know?"
And then Ryan shifts on his lap, a little, and the hand drops to his shoulder. "I remember hating Hamlet when we were doing it in English. He pissed me off, you know? So did everyone else, but the others don't have plays about them. But the one thing I got out of that unit was the thing the teacher said about masks, and living with them day after day. Hamlet was pretending to be crazy, remember, and then he started worrying that he was pretending so hard he really was crazy?"
Spencer nods.
"And it's true, for life in general, you know. Live with a mask for so long, you sort of turn into it." Ryan looks at him, suddenly, instead of the wall behind him, and Spencer suddenly can't move.
"So are you crazy, Spencer Smith, or are you in love with me?"
"You say that like I can't be both," Spencer says, his mouth running on autopilot while his brain crashes.
"So is that a yes?" There's the faintest hint of something like a smile on Ryan's face, and he shifts a little more on Spencer's lap for no apparent reason at all, and then the bus door slams and they both look up.
"Jon and Brendon are back," Spencer says, and then his planecrash of a brain bursts into flames. "God. Jon. I can't," he says, trying to wiggle out from underneath Ryan. "I -- I'm sorry, Ryan, I can't."
He leaves Ryan there, goes to lay in his bunk and wish for the days when things were fucked-up but they made sense.
A few minutes after he hears Jon crawl into his bunk, Spencer slips out of his own and joins him, curls up next to him. He feels a hand reach up and start pulling gently through his hair, and sighs, and closes his eyes.
Sometime later: "So I guess it didn't go as well as Brendon and I were hoping, huh."
"Fuck you," Spencer says, and sighs again. "I told him no."
"Oh?"
"Well, not in so many words. You guys came back. and I remembered, and I wriggled out from under where he was sitting on my lap, and I told him I couldn't. And I can't, because I -- I want to, I do, but there's you, and I just don't know what to -- fuck you, Jon Walker, I hate you."
"I know," Jon says softly, softer than necessary, and keeps combing his fingers through Spencer's hair slowly. Spencer can't decide whether to scowl or smile, and settles for doing nothing; he feels like a kid again, throwing rocks at his crush, and hates it.
"I hate this," he says, deciding that maybe saying it aloud will make shit go away, but it doesn't seem to be working.
"I know, Spence, I know," Jon says, and Spencer can feel him sigh.
A minute, five minutes, an hour later: "Just kiss him, Spence. I'll be here when you get back."
Spencer's eyes pop open, and he moves his head so he can look Jon in the eye, verify that yes, he did just actually hear that. "Wait, what?"
"Look, you're not going to be happy without him, okay? So go be happy with him." Jon's fingers haven't stopped, although they've slowed a good bit. "Just be happy with me once in a while too, okay?"
For a long moment Spencer can't speak.
"I can't handle this," he says finally, and goes back to his own bunk.