Winter Days and TV Trays [2 of 5]
Title: Winter Days and TV Trays
Author: santixcore
Rating: R
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
Summary: Joncer roommate AU!
Jon says, “Everything that’s mine has my name on it, so you know. That means, like, don’t touch it, okay?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and replies, “Okay, sure,” and as he looks around the living room, he notices just about everything, from books to pillows to the TV Guide, are labeled in bold, black sharpie with the letters J-O-N.
Disclaimer: Not real, trust me.
Author Notes: At the end. :D
“You have a lot of stuff,” Jon notes as soon as Brendon and Ryan are gone and Spencer’s standing awkwardly up against the door frame and tapping his foot on the oak.
“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “Want to help me unpack it, then?”
“Not really,” Jon says. “I don’t really like to touch people’s stuff that I don’t know.”
Spencer mutters, “Oh. Okay.”
“But I can give you a tour or whatever if you want,” Jon offers, and Spencer accepts with a nod.
The apartment is laid out the same way as he and Brendon’s: two adjacent bedrooms, one too-small-for-two-people bathroom, and a living room/kitchen combo where you almost can’t tell where the kitchen stops and the living room begins.
The decorating is more like clutter, papers all over the coffee table and shit on the kitchen counters and flip-flops haphazardly kicked around on the floor, and Spencer has to restrain his hands inside his pockets from washing dishes and picking up clothes as he follows Jon, who’s sort of unenthusiastically briefly showing him each room.
Jon says, “Everything that’s mine has my name on it, so you know. That means, like, don’t touch it, okay?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and replies, “Okay, sure,” and as he looks around the living room, he notices just about everything, from books to pillows to the TV Guide, are labeled in bold, black sharpie with the letters J-O-N.
“Can you at least help me carry these boxes to my room, then?” Spencer asks when he decides the atmosphere is growing progressively awkward and that unpacking is the safest activity to go complete.
“No,” Jon says distractedly, taking a seat on the sofa and picking up the TV Guide that looks more like the TV GuiJON by the way it’s labeled. “You could use the workout, I think.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Spencer grits his teeth and piles two boxes on top of each other before struggling to carry them to his new room.
*
Spencer’s unpacking leads him into the early hours of the morning, organizing and arranging and perfecting his new living space that originally consisted of white walls, a single dresser, and a tiny twin sized mattress. He color-codes his shirts and alphabetizes his magazines into neat little piles, decorates with photographs in frames and artificial flowers arranged alphabetically by species.
When he’s finished, it’s starting to look a little more like home.
*
Jon is awake long before Spencer is, leaned up against the crumb-ridden counter, pouring himself a glass of Sunny D and waiting for his pop-tart to erupt from the toaster. The air is soft with a sense of tranquility and Jon would hate for it to be disturbed, but when Spencer’s drawn to the kitchen by the smell of next-thing-to-burnt-maple-sugar, the tranquility turns to tension and Jon protectively pops his pop-tart as Spencer mutters a tentative “good morning.”
His reply is almost silent as he takes a seat at the kitchen with his pop-tart and Sunny D, silent enough, at least, for Spencer not to hear him.
“Whatever.” Spencer sighs as he opens the cabinet to find some pop-tarts of his own.
Without even turning around, Jon asks Spencer, “What does that box say, Spencer?”
Spencer turns the box of maple sugar pop-tarts over to expose yet another JON written in the same clean, simple script as almost everything else in the apartment, and Spencer sighs as he puts it back on the shelf.
“What do you suggest I eat, then?” he asks, almost snaps.
“There’s some strawberry pop-tarts in there I think,” Jon shrugs.
Sure enough, somewhere behind the canned Manwhich meat and boxes of pasta rests the promise of pop-tarts for breakfast in the form of artificial strawberry filling and pink little sprinkles. Spencer grabs the box and doesn’t bother putting them in the toaster before eating away at the soft crust because he’s too fucking starving to wait for a golden brown exterior to form around the edges.
He carries the pop-tart back to the table and sits across from Jon, who doesn’t look up from his Sunny D until Spencer starts removing the pink sprinkles from the top of his pop-tart.
“What the hell are you doing,” Jon asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Spencer shrugs as he arranges the pink little sprinkles in a neat pile on the tabletop. “They’re uneven and look like coagulated blood and it kinda freaks me out.”
“Whose blood looks like that?!” Jon asks. “Jeffree Star’s?”
Spencer smiles and whispers, “…betch…”
Jon laughs, and this the first time Spencer sees Jon’s smile, and he thinks it’s sort of handsome.
*
“You’re really, like, organized,” Jon notes as he peeks his head around the door into Spencer’s room on his way back to his own.
“Yeah?” Spencer says from the bed, projecting soft indie rock through the stereo on the
dresser and flipping through a magazine in search of tips on wallpapering.
“Yeah,” Jon invites himself in, admires Spencer's CD collection arranged alphabetically on a shelf. "That's a lot of CDs."
"It's only like, a hundred or something," Spencer shrugs.
"Well I'm lucky if I have like, ten at one time," Jon says, pulling an old Death Cab album out of the order and cradling in it his palm. "Ryan's the one with music."
Spencer sets the magazine face down on the bed and walks over to where Jon’s standing, peering over his shoulder at what he has in his hands. “That’s a good one.”
“Is it?” Jon asks, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever listened to this one.”
“You can’t really find the physical CD of it in most places I’ve heard,” Spencer says. “You can borrow it if you want.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m sort of notorious for cracking CDs. Maybe that’s why I don’t have many,” Jon admits, blushing, putting the CD back where he got it before anything happens to it.
“Nah, it’s cool. If you were to break it, we can always go down to this record store that sells rare indie rock and buy a new one. No big deal,” Spencer assures him with a smile.
Jon asks again, “Are you sure?”
Spencer nods, and Jon sort of reconsiders his hostility toward his new roommate.
*
During the twenty-four hours that Spencer’s been living with Jon, he’s made a few conclusions.
One, Jon is really, really, really protective of his stuff, like, really. His name is on everything from mustard to rolls of toilet paper, and Spencer’s already felt his wrath more than once after accidentally picking up Jon’s things in a futile attempt to tidy the apartment up to make it livable.
Another, Jon is sort of reclusive, not much for physical contact, and prefers to hang out in his room, listen to music and pluck along on an out-of-tune guitar and do whatever else in there with the door closed. Whenever Spencer tries to make conversation, he feels as if he’s giving more than Jon is, like Jon’s just saying enough to satisfy for an answer and that’s it.
And Jon’s really paranoid about everything. He watches over your shoulder while you cook to make sure you wash your hands, don’t contaminate anything, and don’t start any fires. If you were to touch anything remotely close to food, he’ll promptly pick it up with a paper towel and throw it away. He’s really weird about electronics sparking fire, always unplugging everything before he leaves a room and replugging it when he enters.
But Spencer supposes Jon is sort of really intriguing, despite his food paranoia and obsession with labeling things, and he really wishes he had the key to getting to Jon without having to hold his flip-flops for ransom.
*
“Does Jon like movies?”
Spencer’s standing at the door of his Ryan and Brendon’s apartment, Blockbuster card in his back pocket and jacket over his shoulder, in case he were to need them.
Ryan shrugs. “I guess so. He’s really into, like, 70s ninja movies and shit. It’s kind of weird, because I’d be in my room and I’d hear him in the living room all like POW! POW! BAM! and it was a little unnerving at first. But, yeah, ninja movies. Good bet.”
“Alright, cool.”
And when Spencer asks the lady at Blockbuster to point him in the direction of the ninja movies, it’s sort of embarrassing, because ninjas are sooooo high school nerd, and all he can do is whisper to himself, do it for Jon, do it for Jon.
*
“I’ve seen that,” Jon says when Spencer tosses the movie he rented onto the counter with a triumphant smile on his face.
“You’re kidding,” Spencer says in disbelief. The bitch at Blockbuster assured him this movie was like, superfuckingrare.
“Not kidding,” Jon shakes his head. “It’s a good one though. How did you know I like ninja stuff anyway?”
“I didn’t know,” Spencer lies. “I just, uh, thought I’d rent it because it’s my favorite and I thought you might like it too...”
Jon’s face lights up at Spencer’s double lie and his clutches the DVD box to his chest like it suddenly has value. “Are you serious?! Dude, no one likes these movies anymore. Seriously, even Ryan hated them. Dude-DUDE.”
Jon’s jumping up and down like he just met Morrissey or something, and Spencer’s too relieved that Jon’s suddenly and finally happy to realize that he totally just lied about his love for technicolor ninja films, and doesn’t notice his lie until Jon’s bombarding him with a ton of questions about ninja moves and nun-chucks and stuff.
“-So. Let’s watch that movie, yeah?”
*
Spencer falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Jon’s too busy flailing and kicking and pretending to kill guys with really bad haircuts to notice.
*
“Hey.”
After the movie’s over, Jon pokes Spencer repeatedly with the end of a pen, making clicky noises until he wakes up. “You don’t want to sleep on the couch all night do you?”
“No,” Spencer groans, rubbing the premature sleep from his eyes and propping himself on an elbow. “Were you just poking me with a pen, dude?”
“I was,” Jon shoves said pen in Spencer’s face, marked with Jon’s name, so Spencer assumes that’s strictly Jon’s pen and feels sort of special that his shoulder was privileged enough to touch it.
“Oh,” Spencer mumbles as he pulls himself to his feet and notices a sharp pain in his back muscles. “Well thanks for waking me up. That couch is murderously uncomfortable. I guess I’ll go to bed now.”
“Okay, cool,” Jon’s face falls a little, like he was suddenly on a roll and expected Spencer to watch another cheesy martial arts movie with him, but he smiles through his disappointment and wishes Spencer a good night.
*
When Spencer falls asleep for the second time that night, he sort of wishes he watched the whole movie so he and Jon would have something to talk about in the morning.
*
Spencer wakes up in the middle of the night to the heater unplugged and a bitter cold feeling rattling his body. But he knew he had the heater turned all the way up before he fell asleep, considering it’s January and Spencer has always been really anti-cold.
He blindly stretches his hand out to turn the heater back on to find his hand hit a piece of paper where the ON switch should be. Written on the paper in Jon’s bold, picture-perfect Arial-style handwriting are the words Turned the heater off because it was really hot and I was afraid it was gonna start a fire. I put one of Ryan’s blankets on the end of the bed if you’re cold. -Jon. :)
Spencer thinks, Fuck thaaaat, and tries to turn the heater back on, and when it doesn’t respond, he turns the light on to find Jon’s removed the extension cord from the back of the heater so there’s no way Spencer can even begin to turn it back on.
An extra blanket doesn’t make Spencer any warmer, at least not warm enough to go back to sleep, so he treks the ten feet to Jon’s bedroom to request the return of the extension cord.
There’s light shining through the crack under Jon’s door, so Spencer only feels half bad about pounding on it at 2 am.
“Jon,” Spencer complains exasperated into the door. “Can I please have the cord to the heater back?”
Jon opens the door after a five minute lull of socks shuffling against hardwood, extension cord clutched in his hand, tangled up so much that right now all Spencer really wants to do is rip it out of his hands and properly disentangle it.
“Sorry, Spencer,” Jon shrugs. He holds up the cord to Spencer’s eye level and points to a little white tag wrapped around the cord.
Spencer reads the letters J-O-N, sighs, and heads back to his room to cocoon himself in hooded sweatshirts instead.
*
A/N: Here you go: part 2. :]
Comments are lovely and greatly appreciated. ♥
Author: santixcore
Rating: R
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
Summary: Joncer roommate AU!
Jon says, “Everything that’s mine has my name on it, so you know. That means, like, don’t touch it, okay?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and replies, “Okay, sure,” and as he looks around the living room, he notices just about everything, from books to pillows to the TV Guide, are labeled in bold, black sharpie with the letters J-O-N.
Disclaimer: Not real, trust me.
Author Notes: At the end. :D
“You have a lot of stuff,” Jon notes as soon as Brendon and Ryan are gone and Spencer’s standing awkwardly up against the door frame and tapping his foot on the oak.
“Yeah,” Spencer sighs. “Want to help me unpack it, then?”
“Not really,” Jon says. “I don’t really like to touch people’s stuff that I don’t know.”
Spencer mutters, “Oh. Okay.”
“But I can give you a tour or whatever if you want,” Jon offers, and Spencer accepts with a nod.
The apartment is laid out the same way as he and Brendon’s: two adjacent bedrooms, one too-small-for-two-people bathroom, and a living room/kitchen combo where you almost can’t tell where the kitchen stops and the living room begins.
The decorating is more like clutter, papers all over the coffee table and shit on the kitchen counters and flip-flops haphazardly kicked around on the floor, and Spencer has to restrain his hands inside his pockets from washing dishes and picking up clothes as he follows Jon, who’s sort of unenthusiastically briefly showing him each room.
Jon says, “Everything that’s mine has my name on it, so you know. That means, like, don’t touch it, okay?”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and replies, “Okay, sure,” and as he looks around the living room, he notices just about everything, from books to pillows to the TV Guide, are labeled in bold, black sharpie with the letters J-O-N.
“Can you at least help me carry these boxes to my room, then?” Spencer asks when he decides the atmosphere is growing progressively awkward and that unpacking is the safest activity to go complete.
“No,” Jon says distractedly, taking a seat on the sofa and picking up the TV Guide that looks more like the TV GuiJON by the way it’s labeled. “You could use the workout, I think.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Spencer grits his teeth and piles two boxes on top of each other before struggling to carry them to his new room.
*
Spencer’s unpacking leads him into the early hours of the morning, organizing and arranging and perfecting his new living space that originally consisted of white walls, a single dresser, and a tiny twin sized mattress. He color-codes his shirts and alphabetizes his magazines into neat little piles, decorates with photographs in frames and artificial flowers arranged alphabetically by species.
When he’s finished, it’s starting to look a little more like home.
*
Jon is awake long before Spencer is, leaned up against the crumb-ridden counter, pouring himself a glass of Sunny D and waiting for his pop-tart to erupt from the toaster. The air is soft with a sense of tranquility and Jon would hate for it to be disturbed, but when Spencer’s drawn to the kitchen by the smell of next-thing-to-burnt-maple-sugar, the tranquility turns to tension and Jon protectively pops his pop-tart as Spencer mutters a tentative “good morning.”
His reply is almost silent as he takes a seat at the kitchen with his pop-tart and Sunny D, silent enough, at least, for Spencer not to hear him.
“Whatever.” Spencer sighs as he opens the cabinet to find some pop-tarts of his own.
Without even turning around, Jon asks Spencer, “What does that box say, Spencer?”
Spencer turns the box of maple sugar pop-tarts over to expose yet another JON written in the same clean, simple script as almost everything else in the apartment, and Spencer sighs as he puts it back on the shelf.
“What do you suggest I eat, then?” he asks, almost snaps.
“There’s some strawberry pop-tarts in there I think,” Jon shrugs.
Sure enough, somewhere behind the canned Manwhich meat and boxes of pasta rests the promise of pop-tarts for breakfast in the form of artificial strawberry filling and pink little sprinkles. Spencer grabs the box and doesn’t bother putting them in the toaster before eating away at the soft crust because he’s too fucking starving to wait for a golden brown exterior to form around the edges.
He carries the pop-tart back to the table and sits across from Jon, who doesn’t look up from his Sunny D until Spencer starts removing the pink sprinkles from the top of his pop-tart.
“What the hell are you doing,” Jon asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” Spencer shrugs as he arranges the pink little sprinkles in a neat pile on the tabletop. “They’re uneven and look like coagulated blood and it kinda freaks me out.”
“Whose blood looks like that?!” Jon asks. “Jeffree Star’s?”
Spencer smiles and whispers, “…betch…”
Jon laughs, and this the first time Spencer sees Jon’s smile, and he thinks it’s sort of handsome.
*
“You’re really, like, organized,” Jon notes as he peeks his head around the door into Spencer’s room on his way back to his own.
“Yeah?” Spencer says from the bed, projecting soft indie rock through the stereo on the
dresser and flipping through a magazine in search of tips on wallpapering.
“Yeah,” Jon invites himself in, admires Spencer's CD collection arranged alphabetically on a shelf. "That's a lot of CDs."
"It's only like, a hundred or something," Spencer shrugs.
"Well I'm lucky if I have like, ten at one time," Jon says, pulling an old Death Cab album out of the order and cradling in it his palm. "Ryan's the one with music."
Spencer sets the magazine face down on the bed and walks over to where Jon’s standing, peering over his shoulder at what he has in his hands. “That’s a good one.”
“Is it?” Jon asks, smiling. “I don’t think I’ve ever listened to this one.”
“You can’t really find the physical CD of it in most places I’ve heard,” Spencer says. “You can borrow it if you want.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m sort of notorious for cracking CDs. Maybe that’s why I don’t have many,” Jon admits, blushing, putting the CD back where he got it before anything happens to it.
“Nah, it’s cool. If you were to break it, we can always go down to this record store that sells rare indie rock and buy a new one. No big deal,” Spencer assures him with a smile.
Jon asks again, “Are you sure?”
Spencer nods, and Jon sort of reconsiders his hostility toward his new roommate.
*
During the twenty-four hours that Spencer’s been living with Jon, he’s made a few conclusions.
One, Jon is really, really, really protective of his stuff, like, really. His name is on everything from mustard to rolls of toilet paper, and Spencer’s already felt his wrath more than once after accidentally picking up Jon’s things in a futile attempt to tidy the apartment up to make it livable.
Another, Jon is sort of reclusive, not much for physical contact, and prefers to hang out in his room, listen to music and pluck along on an out-of-tune guitar and do whatever else in there with the door closed. Whenever Spencer tries to make conversation, he feels as if he’s giving more than Jon is, like Jon’s just saying enough to satisfy for an answer and that’s it.
And Jon’s really paranoid about everything. He watches over your shoulder while you cook to make sure you wash your hands, don’t contaminate anything, and don’t start any fires. If you were to touch anything remotely close to food, he’ll promptly pick it up with a paper towel and throw it away. He’s really weird about electronics sparking fire, always unplugging everything before he leaves a room and replugging it when he enters.
But Spencer supposes Jon is sort of really intriguing, despite his food paranoia and obsession with labeling things, and he really wishes he had the key to getting to Jon without having to hold his flip-flops for ransom.
*
“Does Jon like movies?”
Spencer’s standing at the door of his Ryan and Brendon’s apartment, Blockbuster card in his back pocket and jacket over his shoulder, in case he were to need them.
Ryan shrugs. “I guess so. He’s really into, like, 70s ninja movies and shit. It’s kind of weird, because I’d be in my room and I’d hear him in the living room all like POW! POW! BAM! and it was a little unnerving at first. But, yeah, ninja movies. Good bet.”
“Alright, cool.”
And when Spencer asks the lady at Blockbuster to point him in the direction of the ninja movies, it’s sort of embarrassing, because ninjas are sooooo high school nerd, and all he can do is whisper to himself, do it for Jon, do it for Jon.
*
“I’ve seen that,” Jon says when Spencer tosses the movie he rented onto the counter with a triumphant smile on his face.
“You’re kidding,” Spencer says in disbelief. The bitch at Blockbuster assured him this movie was like, superfuckingrare.
“Not kidding,” Jon shakes his head. “It’s a good one though. How did you know I like ninja stuff anyway?”
“I didn’t know,” Spencer lies. “I just, uh, thought I’d rent it because it’s my favorite and I thought you might like it too...”
Jon’s face lights up at Spencer’s double lie and his clutches the DVD box to his chest like it suddenly has value. “Are you serious?! Dude, no one likes these movies anymore. Seriously, even Ryan hated them. Dude-DUDE.”
Jon’s jumping up and down like he just met Morrissey or something, and Spencer’s too relieved that Jon’s suddenly and finally happy to realize that he totally just lied about his love for technicolor ninja films, and doesn’t notice his lie until Jon’s bombarding him with a ton of questions about ninja moves and nun-chucks and stuff.
“-So. Let’s watch that movie, yeah?”
*
Spencer falls asleep halfway through the movie, and Jon’s too busy flailing and kicking and pretending to kill guys with really bad haircuts to notice.
*
“Hey.”
After the movie’s over, Jon pokes Spencer repeatedly with the end of a pen, making clicky noises until he wakes up. “You don’t want to sleep on the couch all night do you?”
“No,” Spencer groans, rubbing the premature sleep from his eyes and propping himself on an elbow. “Were you just poking me with a pen, dude?”
“I was,” Jon shoves said pen in Spencer’s face, marked with Jon’s name, so Spencer assumes that’s strictly Jon’s pen and feels sort of special that his shoulder was privileged enough to touch it.
“Oh,” Spencer mumbles as he pulls himself to his feet and notices a sharp pain in his back muscles. “Well thanks for waking me up. That couch is murderously uncomfortable. I guess I’ll go to bed now.”
“Okay, cool,” Jon’s face falls a little, like he was suddenly on a roll and expected Spencer to watch another cheesy martial arts movie with him, but he smiles through his disappointment and wishes Spencer a good night.
*
When Spencer falls asleep for the second time that night, he sort of wishes he watched the whole movie so he and Jon would have something to talk about in the morning.
*
Spencer wakes up in the middle of the night to the heater unplugged and a bitter cold feeling rattling his body. But he knew he had the heater turned all the way up before he fell asleep, considering it’s January and Spencer has always been really anti-cold.
He blindly stretches his hand out to turn the heater back on to find his hand hit a piece of paper where the ON switch should be. Written on the paper in Jon’s bold, picture-perfect Arial-style handwriting are the words Turned the heater off because it was really hot and I was afraid it was gonna start a fire. I put one of Ryan’s blankets on the end of the bed if you’re cold. -Jon. :)
Spencer thinks, Fuck thaaaat, and tries to turn the heater back on, and when it doesn’t respond, he turns the light on to find Jon’s removed the extension cord from the back of the heater so there’s no way Spencer can even begin to turn it back on.
An extra blanket doesn’t make Spencer any warmer, at least not warm enough to go back to sleep, so he treks the ten feet to Jon’s bedroom to request the return of the extension cord.
There’s light shining through the crack under Jon’s door, so Spencer only feels half bad about pounding on it at 2 am.
“Jon,” Spencer complains exasperated into the door. “Can I please have the cord to the heater back?”
Jon opens the door after a five minute lull of socks shuffling against hardwood, extension cord clutched in his hand, tangled up so much that right now all Spencer really wants to do is rip it out of his hands and properly disentangle it.
“Sorry, Spencer,” Jon shrugs. He holds up the cord to Spencer’s eye level and points to a little white tag wrapped around the cord.
Spencer reads the letters J-O-N, sighs, and heads back to his room to cocoon himself in hooded sweatshirts instead.
*
A/N: Here you go: part 2. :]
Comments are lovely and greatly appreciated. ♥