Green is Green 2/2
( Part One.)
Spencer fucking hates Brendon Urie with the passion of a thousand fiery hot suns. Absolutely loathes him, because he actually doesn't hate him at all. In fact, Spencer's concerned about Brendon's feelings, and it's just not good. He feels horrible. Brendon fucking Urie.
Blaise is talking about rune alignment and time travel and Draco's bitching about Potter again. Pansy's fawning over Draco, threading a hand into his hair while Theodore Nott tries, with impressive success, to read while ignoring the cacophony.
Spencer hardly realizes what he's doing when Blaise asks him a hypothetical question about the Chaldean method and Spencer blurts out, "Oh for Merlin's sake," and springs up from his chair to go find Brendon.
He's harder to find than he looks. Eventually he ends up in the library, and he spots Brendon across the wide room, partially obscured behind a tall, dust-laden bookcase. Jon's with him.
Despite the fact that Spencer is the world's biggest asshole, Brendon's eyes light up when they see Spencer stalking towards him. He seems to quash it quickly, though, arranging his features into something more somber. It's a look that's all wrong on Brendon, and Spencer wishes they could skip the facade.
A dark bloom of purple and blue surrounds Brendon's left eye, something that even Brendon's usual apathetic exuberance can't conceal. Knowing he's the cause makes Spencer's stomach turn sickeningly.
"Brendon," Spencer says as he approaches, shaking his head so that his bangs fall out of his eyes, "Could I have a word?"
Jon sits up a little straighter in his chair. His eyes narrow slightly, and Spencer raises a hand to say he comes in peace. Jon doesn't relax.
"Go ahead." Brendon's voice is even, and he folds his arms over his chest.
Spencer struggles to stay where he is, tries so very hard not to turn around and leave the room. He knows he deserves it. "Alone?"
Brendon glances beside him and then back at Spencer. "No, I think here is just fine."
"I apologize." Spencer says, flat out and sincere. "I don't usually resort to violence and... I hurt your feelings, and I should not have done that. I can't say that it wasn't my intention to, because it was, but it was inconsiderate of me. That's not... I'm not really like that. I promise you, I am not like that. I apologize."
Spencer stops, lets his hands drop to his sides in the following silence. Brendon's eyes meet his, lock on, and it's as if he's searching for something inside of Spencer. Maybe he finds it, because he's nodding shortly once, eyes quiet and aware, before he breaks out into his signature grin. "Thank you, Spencer Smith." Brendon says, "It means a lot to me. I forgive you."
Spencer's heart is beating a thousand times a minute, and he's so relieved, drinks Brendon's smile up like it's air and he's drowning. He takes a step back towards the door.
"That's..." he starts, stumbles, "that's. Good. Good, I'll just. Sorry, again. I've got to. Thanks, the door is just... yeah, goodbye."
Spencer's out in the hallway, his steps echoing off the floor before he mentally slaps a palm to his forehead. He makes his way back to the great hall, Brendon's blinding smile replaying itself insufferably through Spencer's head.
The force with which he's propelled into the east wing bathroom surprises him, catches him off guard. He only gets a second to thank Merlin that the bathroom is deserted before he's shoved back against the door.
"Brendon," he gasps, tightening his fingers in the shorter boy's robes, "what are you..."
"Shut up." Brendon says, licking his lips before slamming his mouth to Spencer's. He tastes the aluminum tang of blood, and then all he can do is close his eyes, thread his fingers further into Brendon's robe and pull him closer. Their lips crash together, biting and pushing, until Brendon seems to realize that Spencer's not fighting it.
It gets better, then, ridiculously better than anything has the right to be. Brendon's mouth slides softly, giving and taking, lips spit-slick, coaxing embarrassing sounds from deep inside Spencer's chest.
"Yeah, that's..." Brendon says to himself, shaking his head as he takes a minute step back. His breath comes hard, Spencer can feel his chest heave underneath his own. "Okay. Okay?"
Spencer can't really speak, can only find the strength to nod, so he does, though he's not sure why. Things have just ventured from the "possibly could still be okay" to the "holy fuck, definitely, definitely not okay" phase, so he has no idea where the nod came from beside the faintest notion in his head that the nod might lead to more of Brendon's lips on his.
***
Spencer skirts around Brendon for the next few days, panic slowly building every time he walks down a corridor and then cresting if he gets a glimpse of Brendon. He never sticks around long enough to find out if Brendon's avoiding him back, but it's a fair bet that he isn't, seeing as how he's always lingering just outside the entrance to the Slytherin dungeons or Spencer's potions class.
He's full-out avoiding Brendon, and the fact that he doesn't really want to makes it even more tedious than it would otherwise be.
He isn't avoiding Ryan, which turns out to be a mistake when Ryan asks him for help with his Ancient Runes theme. Spencer turns up in the empty classroom, and then promptly tries to turn back around when he sees Brendon standing beside Ryan, arms folded around him, brow arched.
Ryan steps around Spencer and blocks the door before Spencer can make his feet move, as preoccupied as he is with the way Brendon's bottom lip is caught between his teeth.
"Okay, my job here is done, you two have fun." Ryan catches Spencer's eye, and it's half-apology and half defiance.
"I hate you." Spencer mutters. He hasn't felt this self-conscious since first year's flying lessons.
Ryan calls, "nothing new about that!" back over his shoulder, before the classroom door closes behind him, leaving Spencer alone. With Brendon. In an empty room. There goes all his careful planning.
"You're an idiot." Brendon says, flatly, taking a step forward. Spencer doesn't respond, just nods. He knows when defending himself will be helpful, and this isn't one of those times.
Spencer lets his arms slide around Brendon's waist, pushes his nose into Brendon's cheek, nuzzles. Breathes him in. Brendon smells like soap and sandalwood, slightly sweet like the sugar quills he carries in his robes.
Everything is slow motion, careful. Spencer knows there's a choice he's making here that goes way past whether or not to kiss Brendon.
Brendon's trembling just a little, Spencer thinks he's probably hoping that Spencer doesn't notice. He does notice, though, and it just makes him grip harder. Brendon's hands come up and press flat against Spencer's back, firmly.
"What are you doing to me?" Spencer whispers the words into Brendon's skin, lets his lips drag there, at the corner of Brendon's mouth. He presses a soft kiss in the same spot. Brendon turns his head, not even noticeably, but it's enough and their lips catch and linger, slow and firm.
When they pull back, it's not very far, and Spencer knows he's made his decision.
"So," Brendon is breathless, hands tentative, everywhere, "your place or mine?"
Spencer suddenly gets this hilarious scene in his head of he and Brendon walking into the Slytherin common room, hand in hand. Except it's not so much hilarious as terrifying.
Brendon must catch the look on his face, because he laughs and shakes his head as he pulls Spencer down the hallway to Gryffindor tower.
***
Spencer casts Muffliato himself, tossing his wand to the side as soon as it's done. It's not that he doesn't trust Brendon to do it, it's just that he's never been one for taking risks. He surveys the closed curtains with an appraising eye, searching his brain for things he may have missed or extra precautions he could take. It's then that he notices Brendon smirking mockingly from his position at the head of the bed.
He's all spread out, buttons casually undone, hair sticking up in several directions from when Spencer had pushed him unceremoniously through the bed curtains. "Are you finished yet?" Brendon asks, rolling first his eyes, and then his hips. "I'm sort of waiting, here."
Spencer fights down the urge to growl and, without a second thought to whether any wandering Gryffindor might walk in on them, he crawls delicately over Brendon's relaxed form.
And Spencer James Smith V, the patron saint of careful consideration, stops thinking.
***
Spencer whimpers, his hands curling into fists at his sides, as Brendon's lips trail over his stomach.
"Just," Spencer pants, open mouthed and gasping, "touch me, please."
Brendon's grin is slow and lazy. "You sure you can handle me touching you with my muggle born hands?"
"Fuck." Spencer manages, hips hitching up as Brendon lifts himself up and off.
***
Spencer's always been content with his life, his friends and his school, so he's never really mourned his lack of romantic pursuits. His single status was voluntary.
Now that he has Brendon, he sees cracks where his happiness used to live, voids that now seem endless. He didn't know he was missing anything, and now that he knows, he can't believe he could ever have suffered it.
***
They each sit at the end of their rows in Charms, five feet of an isle separating them. It's the closest they've ever been in public. Slytherin and Gryffindor, respectively.
They meet in abandoned hallways, in the room of requirement, taking the form of a place to stash your darkest secrets.
Brendon gives his laughter away freely, which is convenient since Spencer can't get enough of it. The way Brendon's eyes squinch up, the way throws his head back... Spencer finds himself seeking it out all the time. Spencer laughs when he's around Brendon, too. He feels like he can be himself. The first few times he lets his guard down, he feels tiny panic start to bubble in his stomach, he expects chaos. It doesn't come, though, and Spencer's learning that with Brendon, there are no secrets, no act.
Other couples hold hands, but Spencer feels victory when his shoulder brushes Brendon's when their paths cross on their way to a Quidditch match.
Later, Spencer tries to pretend that he doesn't notice Brendon's dismay at the lack of public affection.
"It'd be nice if, you know, you could... I mean. Sorry." Brendon winces, and buries his face in the crook of Spencer's neck.
"No, Brendon. I can't... fuck." Spencer clings tighter, wishes thoughts could be transferred by osmosis. "I know you're a hand-holding kind of guy, but I just. I can't... I can't."
Brendon pulls back, nods. He smiles, but his eyes don't light up the way Spencer knows they do when he really smiles.
"I can't." Spencer says, again, bringing his hands to cup Brendon's face. He tips it up so that Brendon's eyes meet his. "I can't. But I want to."
Brendon presses his lips to Spencer's, quick, careful. "I know," he says, before he pulls away.
***
The snow starts to fall, and the bombs start to drop. Figurative bombs, of course, because this is not that kind of war. Newspaper headlines that light up Brendon's face cause Spencer's heart to sink. The morning the print reads Abaddon Greengrass Captured And In Azkaban! Wizarding World's Cry For Justice Answered!, Brendon goes to Hogsmeade for a celebratory butterbeer while Spencer stands in the common room watching Daphne Greengrass pack her trunk and whisper her goodbyes through uncontrollable sobbing fits.
Spencer doesn't know if the papers are true, or if Daphne's father is in fact guilty. Abaddon Greengrass could have apparated to Spencer himself, in the flesh, and told him that he had the entire ministry under imperius and Spencer would still feel the exact same way; completely and utterly lost.
***
They had discussed their Christmas plans, and while the idea of having hours and hours together with no interruptions or distractions from judgmental classmates appealed, Spencer couldn't seem to find a proper venue. Taking Brendon back to the Smith manor remained out of the question, and when asked about Spencer visiting Brendon at Brendon's London home, Brendon shook his head vehemently.
"No, Spencer. No way." he insisted, all his usual humour absent from his voice. Spencer hadn't pushed the matter, and they had been forced to go their separate ways for the Christmas holiday.
It goes nicely for a while, if the definition of nice is Spencer laying in his bed for days on end, staring at the ceiling and wondering what the name of the paint colour was.
Spencer knows that it's rude to show up uninvited. If he knows this, it falls to reason that he also know that it's ruder still to show up when someone specifically tells you not to. These are things that Spencer knows, but Spencer's just recently discovered the feeling of being without Brendon Urie for weeks at a time, and this knowledge is new and certainly more pressing.
Brendon's never been bothered by anybody's lack of manners, so Spencer decides it's safe. Afterall, it was Brendon who'd given Spencer his address in the first place. This is as much logical thinking as Spencer gets done before he spins on the spot and apparates to Brendon's.
Even though Spencer knows quite a bit about manners and things, there are apparently things that Spencer does not know. As a room around him spins into focus, Spencer's eyes settle on the broken sofa, the dim candlelight, and the sparsely decorated Christmas tree. It seems that the things Spencer does not know are a little more important than those that he does.
"Spencer?" Brendon jumps a little as Spencer comes into view.
Spencer teeters, catching his balance even as he takes in the apartment around him. The muggle television set. The empty take-away containers.
"Spence, I'm..." Brendon trails off, before finally just crossing his arms in defiance.
Spencer's mouth, having been previously agape, closes softly into a firm line as he sets his gaze on Brendon. He had told Spencer that everything in his life was fine. He lied.
Brendon's arms are wrapped tightly around him. His face is still in the flickering candlelight, in the glow of the few Christmas bulbs that are strewn about the room. "My parents, they... they kicked me out. When they found out... years ago."
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, the muggle curse rolling off his tongue, "fuck, Brendon."
"Merry Christmas?" Brendon offers, but Spencer barely hears him, because he's gripping Brendon's arm, pulling him up from the couch and spinning on the spot. The wind starts to shriek, the world starts to spin, but Spencer doesn't notice, because his world's been spinning ever since he found Brendon sitting in a dump of an apartment, all alone on Christmas eve.
The arrive a heartbeat later in the gardens of the Smith manor, where Brendon falls to his knees and starts to dry heave. Spencer kneels beside him and waits it out, rubbing his back. Spencer's been apparating since long before he had a license, but Brendon obviously doesn't have as much experience.
While Brendon catches his breath, Spencer takes a moment to let what he's done sink in. He's brought his boyfriend home on Christmas eve, without warning his mother. He's brought his Gryffindor boyfriend home. He's brought his Gryffindor, muggle-born boyfriend home. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt. Spencer thinks that maybe Brendon's not the only one about to be sick.
"Spence," Brendon's eyes are wide when he sits up, glancing around the garden worriedly, "Do you know what you're doing, here?"
Spencer doesn't even have time to pull off cool and collected. All he can feel is a renewed swell of anger when he thinks about Brendon alone on Christmas.
"You didn't tell me you had nobody to... I would have... I never thought you..." Spencer hisses out little snippets of sentences, unable to finish a thought.
Brendon's suddenly a tiny thing that needs to be protected. "Sorry," he whispers.
"For Merlin's sake, Brendon, don't apologize! Just, come on." Spencer pulls his arm roughly. They stalk across the moor and through the front hedges of the Smith estate, the wards letting Spencer and Brendon both through without hesitation.
***
It all goes swimmingly. Ginger Smith welcomes Brendon into her home, has a place set for him between Ryan and Spencer, and asks him questions about his ambitions to become an Auror, living in London and his family. The questions aren't rude, she's thoughtful, curious and charming, and Spencer can tell that Brendon feels comfortable.
When they settle into the den to open gifts, there are some for Brendon, and Spencer realizes that his mother has used her questions to determine what Brendon would most like for Christmas. Brendon's eyes light up, he refuses the gifts, but Ginger insists, and Brendon hugs the muggle I-pod to his chest like he's never held anything so precious. He's also got an empty journal, and what Spencer knows to be a Peruvian protection charm on a chain. Brendon loops it over his neck and beams.
Spencer watches his mother be kind, polite and loving, and by the end of the night, Brendon's eyes are a little misty. He thinks Spencer's mom is one of the greatest people on earth. Spencer, however, knows better.
"Well," Ginger says, setting her empty whiskey decanter on the table and standing up from her chair, "I really must excuse myself. Brendon, it's been lovely meeting you."
She walks gracefully to the door, pausing when she reaches it.
"Spencer, darling. A word in the sitting room?" Ginger's eyes are firm, and Spencer knows immediately that it isn't a question.
They walk slowly, the thick air tangible around Spencer, dread making his throat sticky. He waits for his mother to begin, though he readies his arguments in Brendon's defense.
Gingelania Hepzibah Smith looks at Spencer slowly, her eyes level. Spencer knows her well enough to know that she is a far cry from the calm she's exuding. "Spencer, I care about you very much. I am not going to tell you about this boy's bloodlines, because I trust you are astute enough to have discerned what my concerns would be there."
She doesn't wait for Spencer to acknowledge the words, just reaches for an arm. "In these times, Spencer, it's not just a matter of what your bloodline is. Nor does it matter that I disapprove of your relations with this boy. What matters, Spencer," here she drops her voice almost to a whisper, a hint of tone in the dead air, "is that he disapproves. And for you to do something which falls into that category is suicide."
"The question isn't what is right and what is wrong. The choice here is between life and death. I hope I haven't raised a son who's fool enough to choose wrongly based on a adolescent whim."
"For Merlin's sake, Spencer. He's had his Christmas. In doing so, he's endangered us all. I believe it's time for Brendon to go home."
Later, Brendon will recount it as the best Christmas he's ever had. Spencer won't remember it quite like that.
***
Spencer can easily count the number of times that Gabe Saporta has talked to him. It would take him exactly no fingers, because it's never happened, not even once.
Gabe is a Slytherin prefect who has been in his last year since Spencer started at Hogwarts, a guy with so many rumours flying around him that it's hard to keep them all straight. Spencer does know some things that are true, however. He's never once lost a house point, can speak fluid parseltongue and fraternizes with Vicky T, the young and beautiful divination professor. Also, Gabe Saporta? Is the last living heir of Salazar Slytherin.
They've been back at school for a month, when he looks over his shoulder in the Slytherin common room and comes eye to eye with Gabe. Spencer swallows slowly, arches an eyebrow. The common room is suddenly, suspiciously empty save for he and Saporta.
Gabe studies his face for moments, he doesn't blink once. Spencer is extremely proud that he doesn't flinch away from the appraisal. Finally, Gabe's mouth turns up at one corner, barely, so small that Spencer almost doesn't notice.
"You need to decide where your loyalties lie, Spencer Smith." he says slowly, before he turns and walks towards the door. He turns back around, halfway, throws Spencer a glance over his shoulder before he leaves the room. "I'm not going to be the last one to tell you to make the choice."
As soon as he's gone, the common room is filled again. Spencer doesn't believe for a moment that the fact that it was empty when Gabe Saporta wanted to question him was a coincidence. His suspicions are confirmed when Blaise raises an eyebrow at him from across the room.
Spencer waves him off and retires to his dorm. He's supposed to meet Brendon in the library before curfew. He falls asleep instead.
***
A war never seems like it should be labeled a war until after. Spencer's waited for years for a war that everybody had promised him would come, only to realize that it had come, suddenly. It had crept up behind him while he waited. He was in the middle of it. There had been no official whistle, no flag signifying it's start, and yet here it was, in his home and in his school.
***
In the metaphor that uses black and white to describe dichotomies, Spencer has always gotten a little lost. If it had been left up to the majority of the wizarding world, the colors that describe the two entities of good and evil would be as follows; every other color and green.
Where most infants are brought home from the hospital to bright rooms and pastel colors, Spencer's brought home to a nursery of deep oak and emerald garnish. His onesies had been lime, the balloons at his fifth birthday party, jade.
He'd believed the pure-bred gospel, hadn't even thought to question his mother or father on any point, until the moment he met Draco Malfoy.
He's five, and Lucius and his father escape to the study, leaving Spencer staring into a tiny, thin face with a tiny little turned up nose. In twenty minutes, Draco Malfoy is pointing a finger at Spencer's favorite house elf and claiming that he'd been bitten. Spencer's five, and he's still pretty sure that house elves don't bite. He's positive that Draco's outburst has everything to do with the fact that Spencer refused to share his peppermint sticks. And he really, really wants to break Draco's fingers off.
After that, he thinks things through. "Draco will be one of your best friends," his mother had said in what Spencer had later come to recognize as wishful thinking, "He's a wonderful little guy. Comes from a wonderful family." Because his mother is wrong, his parent's are wrong, and Spencer begins to see it everywhere.
Brendon isn't black or white or green. Brendon is uncompromisingly blinding sunshine, every color that isn't green mixed together. Brendon wouldn't even begin to know what green looked like; he knows this because Brendon looks at Spencer, and he stays.
Because while Spencer looks in the mirror and doesn't think in terms of colors, sometimes what the world sees is more important. And green is green.
***
Jon hands him the photograph, though it's crinkled around the edges like Jon's carried it around with him for a while. Spencer takes it from him and looks.
His face is calm, quiet, like he hasn't seen for a long time. His lips are bright red, set in a thin line that's for once unemotional. Tiny explosions of yellow spark across the upper right-hand corner, and it occurs to Spencer that they're his mother's fireflies. The sky is blue, especially where it reflects in the lake where Spencer can see it behind his shoulder. And everything, everything is purple; the shadows where the grass should be, the space between Spencer's hand and the table, his eyes. Everything is bright splashes of still color. Nothing is green.
"It's why I like muggle photgraphy." Jon's voice startles Spencer's eyes away from the picture.
"Because you took my picture?" Spencer snorts, trying to hand the photograph back. He suddenly wants it out of his hands.
"No", Jon says, folding his arms inside his soft yellow hoodie, "Because sometimes, you have to slow things down to see the truth in them."
***
They're the best of the pure-blood elite, they're all miles above the level they'd have to be at to believe that staring is acceptable. They do stare, though, when William slides into the common room after Christmas break wearing a sweater with sleeves that reach his wrists.
William "What Do You Mean, Wearing No Shirt Under My Robes Isn't Acceptable, Professor?" Beckett. William, who struts around shirtless in every free moment he's got.
Blaise nudges Spencer softly with an elbow, and Spencer breaks the silence by stepping up.
"William," Spencer purrs, tries to sound like he's teasing, but his eyes stay steady, serious. "I've been thinking about your proposition..."
Spencer hears tittering from the back of the group, nervous laughter, people clinging to a reason to break the awkward silence.
"Your many propositions." Spencer amends. He leans in closer to William, close enough so that only he can hear, wraps his fingers carefully around William's wrist. "Do you want to come upstairs with me?"
William pulls his wrist back as if he's been burned, fingers clutching at the material of his left sleeve. He avoids Spencer's eyes, and Spencer barely hears him whisper "not tonight, Spence", before he disappears from the common room.
"That's that, then." Blaise's voice comes out of nowhere. Spencer's shrugs, tries to play the apathy card he's perfected. Mostly, though, he can't breath.
***
They're not so lucky that they have the luxury of laying in bed for long. They steal short minutes of being wrapped in eachother, Brendon's breathing slow, eyes quiet for a change.
"We've been avoiding it." Spencer says suddenly, watching Brendon cringe at the break in the momentary rapture. "I need to tell you something."
Brendon rises from the sheets, letting the sheets fall from him. "Okay," he says, "I'm ready. Shoot."
Brendon's face is grim, eyes completely devoid of their usual sparkle. Spencer never wants to see that look on Brendon again, and it breaks his heart to know that it's one he's probably going to be seeing more often.
"I'm going to run." Spencer says, making sure his eyes never leave Brendon's.
Brendon blinks twice, his mouth drops open. "You..." He laughs suddenly, a great, ringing sound, and suddenly Spencer's got a lap full of Brendon Urie.
"Spencer Smith, Spencer Smith!"
It doesn't last long, because Brendon opens his mouth and says, "I'm staying to fight." Says, "Spencer, it's the right thing to do." Doesn't say, "stay with me", but says, "everything will be okay."
"That sort of optimism wasn't part of a Smith upbringing." Spencer sighs, letting his head fall back onto the pillow. He says optimism because when Brendon's got his legs wrapped around him like that, he can't bring himself to say stupidity.
***
Spencer's made a lot of choices in his life, many of them concerning clothing or reading material. He's been anticipating having to make this one for years, silent anxiety creeping up on him on long nights, wondering whether he'd be strong enough to choose sanity over lineage, over family. When the time finally comes, deciding to follow Theodore and Blaise through the portrait and down the tunnel is easier than picking out the proper pair of shoes for one of his mother's functions.
He only turns his head once, gazes back towards the castle, unsure, and it's not for any of the reasons he ever thought it would be.
It's because when he scans the determined, desperate faces of the other students who had refused to choose a side, Brendon isn't one of them. The fact that Spencer didn't expect him to be doesn't ease the ferocious pounding of his heart.
***
He can't go home and he can't go back to Hogwarts, so he's got nowhere to go. Blaise and Theodore run for the next train, to meet up with Blaise's mother somewhere, Peru, Scandinavia, neither of them really know where exactly. Spencer has nowhere to go, so he sits still.
On a barstool in Hogsmeade, drinking firewhiskey from a dirty flask that somebody hands to him. He's the only Slytherin there.
He can't go forward and he can't go back, so he waits as the sun sets, a faint reddish colour that reminds him of Brendon and blood, all at once.
***
There's no smoke, no barren battlefield, just a lot of mess that somebody has to clean up. Spencer doesn't count himself amoung those who feel guilty about abandoning Harry Potter and the cause that everybody thought was hopeless. He goes back with them anyway, and cleans up. He picks up beads, bodies, broken slices of wood that used to be things he recognized, chairs, tables, portrait frames. He picks things up and can't stop his eyes from darting around at the wounded. Brendon's not there, but he sees Jon Walker cradling an arm in a sling. He looks down when Jon nods at him, not ashamed, but unwilling to hear any news about Brendon. He wants to see for himself.
All appearances of the apathy he's been maintaining vanish when Ryan Ross hobbles around a corner, leaning heavily on Weasley and Granger. The scarf around his neck is charred, his leg looks a little mangled, but he's smiling. Spencer crosses the hallway in seconds, lets his hands pat over Ryan's body in a quick assessment of damages before pulling him into a hug.
"Why, Spencer Smith," Ryan's laughing as he draws back, "I had no idea you cared." The lie isn't lost on Spencer; Ryan's one of the only ones who ever knew he did.
"It's not that he doesn't care, it's just that he's not a reckless fucking dumbass like the rest of us are, Ry." the voice comes from a nearby doorway, and when Brendon steps into view, Spencer feels the tears start to prickle at the corner of his eyes.
"Fuck," Spencer breathes, doesn't even pretend to hesitate. He flings himself at Brendon, grabs his jaw in both hands and kisses him, kisses him like he's been drowning and Brendon's kiss is the air he breathes. It might as well be.
"I thought," Brendon says when Spencer lets go, not all the way, but so that Brendon can speak. "I thought you were going to fight with them." He whispers it, like the biggest secret he's ever had was that his faith in Spencer had wavered and that Spencer was worthy of knowing it.
"Brendon," Spencer trails off, shakes his head, "Brendon, never. I'm not them. I'm not."
"Oh, Spencer Smith," Brendon laughs, "I really do know. I know."
***
The green is like a disease that will never quite go away. Spencer didn't pick a side, which Spencer clings to as a defense, one that's perfectly understandable from any sane person's point of view. Still, though, Spencer didn't pick a side, which some people seem to look at as a strike against him. It's a compromise they've come to, a large one for Spencer, and one that's not quite large enough for Brendon. Still, Brendon stays.
Brendon stays because he believes in a greater good, he believes that deep down, Spencer really is good. Spencer doesn't know whether that's true, but he does know that Brendon chooses a stance and then goes for it, all in. Spencer figures he's pretty lucky.
He doesn't know whether he can change, but he takes a job at Gringott's and he moves all of his things from the Smith manor into a large flat he shares with Brendon. They decorate it in deep browns and beiges, neither of them daring to suggest any other colour. Colours are too messy, blurring. They have Blaise and Harry Potter over in the same week, though not on the same day, because even though Brendon suggests it, Spencer figures Brendon wouldn't be so keen on having a member of his Auror team hexed in their home.
Spencer doesn't know if he's good or if he's bad, or even if there's really a proper distinction between the two. He knows the sides, the choices. He knows the pros and cons, and he chooses the only thing he's sure of. He chooses Brendon.
______________________________
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