So We Go (To the Other Side Of The Street) [joncer, nc-17 standalone]
Title: So We Go (To The Other Side Of The Street)
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Maybe Jon worked in a Starbucks but no, this didn't happen.
Summary: The Starbucks across the street is like watching a mirror, Jon thinks sometimes, when he’s on break and just sits at the table by the window, staring across the street. It could be a weird alternate dimension that’s exactly the same but completely opposite. Or it could just be that the whole ‘Starbucks on every corner’ thing is coming true a lot sooner than anyone expected.
A/N: Starbucks anyone? I realized at some point that I've done every other cliche Panic story except Starbucks, so here we go. A delving into lovely cliched locations and what becomes of them :]
*
The thing is that it doesn’t even really bother him.
The cups are the same, cardboard brown color with a green protector over them (red with snowflakes in the winter), the tables are the same round, tall tables with black chairs. The aprons are all the same dark green with a loop around the neck and a bow around the waist. But it doesn’t bother him.
At three in the afternoon, Monday through Thursday, and sometimes Saturday, Jon ties on his green apron and pushes open the door only to be hit with the strong aroma of coffee. The muffins aren’t quite fresh in the display case, but he grabs one anyway, rounding the counter and throwing his jacket in the back.
At three, the store is usually pretty empty with only the regulars milling around, shaking out newspapers and pretending to read the stocks.
“Wet today,” is the only greeting Jon gets from Tom as he changes out his flip flops for actual shoes.
It is wet. Jon sort of noticed that on the run from the car to the door, and he’s already dripping onto the floor from that short amount of time. He skidded and nearly fell even from the puddle inside the door that Tom has obviously not bothered to mop up yet.
“A little,” he just agrees, smoothing down his hair and checking his bow. Tom watches him fiddle and scoffs to himself but doesn’t say anything.
Tom is lounged back against the cappuccino maker, a magazine open in his hands, and he lifts it to his face now that Jon is there, checking the counter for anything that needs to be refilled. Everything seems pretty stocked as he looks around, so Jon sinks back against the counter, glancing out the rain-washed window.
The street is grey and no one is walking around. It’s probably going to be pretty dead if the weather keeps up.
As he gazes unseeingly out, he catches a movement across the street. Aside from the cars sloshing past in the half-flooded street, the only person moving is someone across the street making a beeline for the building on the opposite corner. They have their hands over their head and practically dive into the invitingly warm interior of - Jon’s eyes follow their progress - Starbucks.
“Lost another one,” he says, although he really doesn’t care one way or another. Tom makes a dull grunt, flipping the page in his magazine.
The Starbucks across the street is like watching a mirror, Jon thinks sometimes, when he’s on break and just sits at the table by the window, staring across the street. It could be a weird alternate dimension that’s exactly the same but completely opposite. Or it could just be that the whole ‘Starbucks on every corner’ thing is coming true a lot sooner than anyone expected.
His store is the ‘old’ Starbucks, but really, it’s only been there a few years. Apparently Corporate thinks people are too lazy to cross the street for coffee, so the new Starbucks had been put up a few months ago.
Jon doesn’t care either way.
Tom ruffles the pages as he turns another one and the rain comes down harder outside.
“So,” Jon says when the last customer makes a break for his car. Tom’s eyes rest intently on the magazine. “Twenty people before midnight?”
There’s a pause as Tom turns a page. “You’re on.”
*
Both stores close at midnight and it only takes about fifteen minutes to clean up. Less when there are no customers like tonight. Jon pries Tom away from his magazine at about quarter till to clean up the machines and mop the floor. They’re out of there by ten after and Jon locks up the store while Tom darts to his car in the pouring rain, leaving Jon alone to finish.
By the time, Jon gets all the locks set, Tom is long gone and he turns to stare at the sheet of water pouring off the roof.
The flash of a light across the way catches his attention and he sees the lights in the other Starbucks flip off. He sees a small figure bustle out of the door, pausing to lock up just as Jon had finished doing not two seconds ago.
An umbrella shakes open as the figure steps away from the door and under the orange street light. The edges are blurry from the rain, but Jon squints across, catching sight of what he thinks is a guy standing there. There’s nothing strange about it until the guy stops walking, stilling suddenly and turning towards Jon.
Jon can’t see his face, half-shadowed by the umbrella and blurred by rain. But he blinks anyway and doesn’t look away until the guy turns and heads down the street, disappearing into the misty darkness. Jon stares after until a sharp drip of water from his hair onto his arm brings him back to the realization that he’s standing in the rain and it’s after midnight.
Shaking his sleeve, he stuffs the key into his pocket and heads for his car, cranking up the heater once he gets there, and he can’t help it when he pulls out of the lot and passes the other Starbucks. He can’t help watching it roll past, identical but not the same, as he heads for home.
*
At three the next day, Jon is late. He’s not usually late, but his class ran long and the professor wanted to talk about his last paper (that he got the wonderful grade of a C on) so he stumbles into Starbucks ten minutes after his shift starts. Tom only clears his throat and adds whipped cream to the frappacino he’s making.
Jon throws his jacket in the back and hastily changes his shoes. His bow is completely off-kilter today and Tom smirks at it once he’s done.
“You’re late,” he says, completely unhelpfully.
Jon ignores him, brushing his hair down, grateful that it at least isn’t raining at the moment. The skies are still dark and puddles hampered him all the way over here.
“You owe me,” he says instead, trying fruitlessly to straighten out the bow on his apron. Tom eyes him and makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You lost fair and square,” Jon says evenly, eyes sweeping over the interior of the store. There are a few people sipping drinks, some eyeing the window as if unsure if the rain will stay away long enough to escape to their cars or down the street to their apartments. His eyes land on the window when Tom doesn’t reply immediately, gazing across the street into the warmly lit Starbucks on the opposite corner. He can’t see anything clearly, but he thinks he sees a guy standing behind the counter with some girl.
“One person,” Tom argues, but Jon’s not going to let him out of this one.
Tearing his eyes from the window, he turns back to Tom. “Still lost. You owe me.”
Tom rolls his eyes, but Jon knows he’s won this one. Finally, Tom ruffles himself, sweeping his hair down across his eyes, frowning at the counter. “What do you want?”
Jon pauses, looking around. Someone enters through the front door, a momentary shadow falling across the warm yellow interior. “I’ll get back to you.”
Tom doesn’t look too excited but doesn’t argue, only sinks back against the counter and pulls out his cell phone. Jon turns to the new person who’s come in.
It’s a guy wearing a cowboy vest and paisley shirt underneath. It doesn’t even faze Jon, and he hitches on his usual customer smile.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
The guy seems to be studying the drinks’ list quite seriously as he stands at the counter, his gaze occasionally flicking down to the counter, or briefly flitting over Jon’s face, eyes sweeping over Jon’s nametag until he pulls them back up the to menu.
“Tall non-fat latte,” he says finally, a bored, monotonous lilt to his voice as he glances down at Jon, lingering over the scruff on his jaw, the way Jon types the order into the computer.
“That’s $3.25,” he tells him, ignoring how the guy moves his strange gaze away to Tom, who is still lounging against the back counter, scratching as his jaw and yawning.
“What time do you close?” the guy asks as Jon starts to make the drink.
“Midnight,” Jon replies, turning on the machine and watching the guy glance around the store, seemingly taking in the decorations, the CDs for sale by the register. He pauses on the muffins in the display case, but looks back after a minute.
“You both stay till close?” he asks, and if it wasn’t a question, Jon would think he wasn’t interested in the answer at all. It’s so dull and monotone.
“Yeah,” Jon says, reaching for a lid. “It’s a long shift.” Tom makes a noise and Jon glances over, smiling at him. “Tom usually abandons me, though, near the end.”
“Do not,” Tom argues, but it’s only half-hearted as he’s pulled out his magazine again and is flipping through the pages.
The guy takes the drink Jon hands him, his eyes lingering on Tom and then sliding to Jon again. They sort of flicker over him again, from the scruff on his jaw down to his jeans that disappear behind the counter. His expression betrays nothing as he nods at Jon.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Jon replies, a little wonderingly, as the guy takes the drink and turns, leaving through the door. As he leaves, he turns to Tom. “What was that?”
Tom shrugs, frowning at the magazine. “This says I’m a winter. Fuck that shit.” And he tosses it over the counter onto one of the tables and heads for the back to most likely take a nap.
*
It gets dark around five in the afternoon usually and the street lights flicker on not long after. There’s usually a rush around the same time - people getting off work and stopping by on their way home. Part of Jon wonders why they need caffeine so late when they’re just going home to relax, not like the students who trickle in later, desperately needing a fix so they can stay up and study all night.
After it gets dark, Jon always feels more relaxed, like things can slow down. He and Tom usually spend the time talking about school or music or photography. Sometimes they just sit in silence too.
When it’s particularly slow, Jon takes up residence at the table by the window, either with a pile of homework or just with his ipod and watching the people who walk by. It’s getting dark earlier and earlier lately, a good indication of the onset of winter, if the constant rain wasn’t enough.
They haven’t had a customer in the last half an hour, so Jon flops into the table by the window, gazing out. There aren’t very many people on the street, and the only other businesses open are a Chinese restaurant, a weird store that Jon has never quite dared to venture into, and the Starbucks with its cheery yellow lights in the darkness and windows identical to the ones Jon is looking out of.
If he looks hard enough, he can see the two people behind the counter. One is a girl with shoulder-length hair that she has swept up into a pony tail. The other is a guy with dark hair, lounged back against the counter. Their store is just as dead inside.
“What are you staring at?”
Tom pops up beside him, nearly scaring him out of his chair. Instead, he sighs a little, a puff of air as he shakes his head and looks at Tom. Tom looks bored, arching an eyebrow in question.
“Nothing,” he replies finally, drawing a circle on the table. “Hey, you going to see Frank’s band next week?”
Tom shrugs and picks at the sugar dispenser. “Maybe,” he says and Jon turns back to the window, watching the guy across the way until Tom gives up and wanders back to the counter.
*
Jon usually gets Fridays off, and for the most part, he spends his time away from Starbucks. He smells like coffee 24/7 so he figures he can spend one day away.
This Friday, though, after he finishes his classes and collapses on his couch with his cat Dylan snuggling into his lap, he feels restless. He shouldn’t feel restless because he’s been working a long shift for the past four days and he has classes all morning. He should just want to crash and use the whole weekend for sleeping. There isn’t even anything he has to do for Monday.
But he feels restless, itching to get out, go somewhere. He contemplates calling up Pete and seeing if there are any good shows but he knows he doesn’t want to go to a show. He doesn’t want to get lost in all the bodies, the sweat. That’s not what he wants. He just wants to get out, and a night with Pete is never just a little trip out, it’s a full-blown adventure, and Jon just doesn’t want that right now.
He doesn’t know exactly what he wants, but he knows he can’t stay in his apartment any longer. So he grabs his coat and leaves Dylan meowing at his empty food bowl, heading for his car. He doesn’t want to drive, though, so he takes off walking.
It’s dark out and his breath clouds in front of him as he walks. His apartment is pretty close to campus, so he skirts the edge as he goes, hands stuffed deep in his pocket to guard against the cold. The street lamps are on and a few flicker ominously as he walks.
He isn’t paying attention to exactly where he’s going, so when he ends up on the corner where his Starbucks is, he stops. This is not where he wanted to go.
Peering in the side window, Jon can see the people who work on the weekends. It’s Cassie and Patrick manning the counter, but there’s no one there.
Now that Jon’s here, he contemplates popping in to say hi, but something stops him as he pauses at the crosswalk. The little man is blinking red but turns green as Jon hesitates. A single car stops at the light and Jon looks across the street to where the other Starbucks sits.
It only takes a minute before he makes up his mind and turns, shuffling across the street even as the walk sign starts to blink red at him. He hops the last few feet to the sidewalk as the light turns and the car takes off. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he blows warm air to try to return the feeling and heads for the inviting glow of the store.
It is exactly identical inside, from the table on Jon’s left down to the bow tied at the back of the girl’s apron. It’s a little crooked, Jon notices.
But it’s warm inside and there are only a few people sitting at tables by the window. The two baristas are standing behind the counter. Only the girl appears to be trying to keep busy as she refills straws fruitlessly and alternately fiddles with the music.
The guy there, Jon knows from the moment he sees him, is the one he saw a few days ago at midnight, shuffling into the rain-soaked streets. He has dark hair that frames his face, pushed to the side, kind of the same way Tom does it. His apron strings fall messily behind him, just a knot and no bow to speak of. He’s perched against the counter, his black pants sitting low on his hips. He has a phone out and is not-so-stealthily texting someone. He flips the phone shut, though, when Jon steps up to the counter.
The girl shoots the guy a look as she stuffs more straws into an already overfilled container. She flashes Jon a momentary smile, but the guy steps up to the register with a resigned air, tucking the phone away in his pocket.
“Hi, welcome to Starbucks,” he says, sounding bored. “Home of overpriced coffee that is only killing you slowly but will keep you awake for hours in case you’re cramming for the test you didn’t study for yesterday.”
The girl elbows him and the guy hitches on a smile. Jon knows that smile - it’s the same one he uses for customers when he’s tired of making coffee for eight hours.
“What can I get you?”
Jon smiles slightly, watching the guy’s smile fall slightly as he takes him in. The guy’s nametag reads “Spencer” and Jon watches the way he pauses when Jon does.
“What would you recommend?” Jon asks instead. “Keep in mind that I have no intention of dying sooner rather than later and I don’t have any tests until next week.”
Spencer pauses, eyes sweeping over Jon’s jacket and red fingertips, chapped from the cold. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes for just a second, maybe recognition, maybe something else, but then he blinks it away.
“Chai tea,” he says instead, and the girl beside him nods. She’s finished the straws and comes over, nudging Spencer aside. Jon doesn’t miss the look Spencer shoots at her.
“You look familiar,” she says slowly, looking at him closely. “Really familiar.”
“Don’t think we’ve ever met,” Jon says, and the girl (her nametag says “Greta”) shakes her head.
“No. We haven’t.” Thinking, she falls silent, and Spencer nudges her back, a little more forcefully than her own push.
“So do you want the tea?”
“Sure,” Jon agrees with an easy smile. He likes watching the way Spencer types it into the register.
“What size?” Spencer asks mechanically, glancing up at Jon. His blue eyes flick up to Jon’s, dark lashes fanning against his cheek as he looks back down to the register.
“Tall,” Jon says, “and can you add some whipped cream to that?”
Spencer doesn’t reply, just grabs a cup and scribbles something on it. He types it into the register.
“It’s $2.35,” he says and Jon rummages in his wallet.
Greta is still watching him thoughtfully as he pays and Spencer starts the drink.
“Are you in the music department?”
“Nope.” Jon shakes his head easily. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Greta except for through the window of his Starbucks. If he turns, he has a clear shot of where Patrick is probably working feverishly on his Music Composition class. He wonders if Greta knows Patrick. While Spencer is making the drink, Jon turns to stare out the window at Patrick and Cassie across the way. He misses the glance Spencer throws at him once his back is turned.
He hears Greta’s comprehending gasp behind him and turns. “You work at Starbucks!”
It’s a strange sentence considering they’re standing in Starbucks at that very moment and Spencer has just fumbled the cup. He catches it, though, before anything spills, and Greta doesn’t even notice. Jon does, though, watching Spencer hitch it back up and continue as though nothing happened. He doesn’t look at Jon, concentrating determinedly on the tea.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees, “the one over there.” He nods his head out the window and Greta nods.
“I’ve seen you there before. You work a lot.”
“You’re here a lot too,” Jon points out as Spencer finishes his drink and sets it up on the little counter. He still isn’t looking at Jon, although Jon catches the quick look he shoots at him, eyes lingering briefly on his face, the scruff on his jaw.
“Here you go,” he says instead, pushing the drink over, and if Jon sees the flash of something darker in Spencer’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything.
Greta still looks interested. “What are you doing over here?” she asks, and Jon takes a sip of the drink, glad for the warmth pressing into his fingers through the cardboard.
He shrugs. “I’m off today and I was bored. I didn’t feel like going in there, though. Although I’m not sure this isn’t just as pathetic,” he offers with a laugh. “Trading one Starbucks for another.”
Greta smiles, nudging Spencer in the side and he frowns at her, barely miniscule, a line creasing the top of his forehead and Jon sort of wants to smooth it out. But it’s cute how Spencer’s mouth tightens and he grabs a rag instead, cleaning off the counter.
“What was your name?” Greta asks, and it feels like fishing, but Jon doesn’t know why.
“Jon,” he says. “I work four days a week usually, sometimes Saturdays, but only if Cassie or Patrick want the shift off.”
“Jon,” Greta repeats, smiling and pushing a stray lock of bouncy blond hair back. “Well, I’m Greta and this is Spencer. We’re here all the time too.”
“We live here,” Spencer mutters, rolling his eyes and sighing. Tossing away the rag, he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his apron and letting his eyes fall to Jon now, unabashed as he takes him in.
Jon pretends to ignore the way Spencer’s eyes scrape down past his knees and back up. Spencer never meets his eyes, just watches him carefully.
Greta laughs at Spencer, but Jon doesn’t miss the way she edges closer, fingers brushing his elbow as she reaches for the rag now.
“It’s a glamorous job,” she says.
Jon nods, sipping his tea and wondering at Spencer, wondering why he’s looking at him like that, a dark flicker somewhere in the depths of his eyes, the downward tug to his mouth that Jon can’t explain. It makes Jon feel sort of strange, but not in a bad way, just a slight thrill creeping up his spine as the silence becomes slightly awkward.
“I should get going,” he says finally when no one speaks and Spencer looks away from him, smoothing down his apron but not fixing the bow in the back.
“Okay,” Greta says cheerfully. “We’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jon agrees, tossing her a smile and catching himself when Spencer glances up, eyes burning into him for just a second and then it’s over and Spencer looks away.
Jon leaves through the door into the frigid cold and doesn’t look back until he’s across the street. He can see Greta turned towards Spencer, saying something and pushing at his arms when he scowls back.
Shaking his head, Jon clutches his tea close and heads for home.
*
The next time Jon works, it’s Monday afternoon and he’s spent most of the day trying to stay awake in his classes. He wasn’t very successful.
Tom has Rolling Stone out and is leaning back against the counter as Jon helps the few customers who trickle in. Jon doesn’t say anything about the fact that Tom is not working, mostly because he’d rather stare out the window at the Starbucks across the way than reprimand him.
He doesn’t hear the rustle of paper until it’s too late and Tom is standing beside him, chin hooked over his shoulder as he arches an eyebrow at the store across the street.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” he asks blithely, the magazine hanging limply in his hand.
“Nothing,” Jon replies, shrugging him off and grabbing a rag, wiping down the counter.
Tom watches him go suspiciously, peering back out the window. “Starbucks?” he asks. “Hate to burst your bubble, Jonny, but you can get free coffee right here.”
Rolling his eyes, Jon doesn’t reply.
Tom keeps watching, though, interested now. Jon knows that both Spencer and Greta are there, both lounging against the back corner.
“Pretty girl?” Tom guesses, eyes falling on Greta where she’s helping a customer. Jon doesn’t say anything. Tom doesn’t need to know everything. Tom pauses, still watching, and when Greta shifts back and Spencer walks out from behind the counter, a smirk curls his face. “Wait… pretty guy.” His tone is altogether too knowing for Jon’s tastes, and he turns his smirk on him now. “Jon?”
“What?” Jon asks simply, grabbing the straw container and beginning to refill it.
Tom gives him that look, the one that means he’s not fooling anyone. “I spy with my little eye…” He pauses, and when Jon doesn’t respond, laughs to himself. “A guy you totally want to bone.”
Jon should be annoyed at Tom but instead, he feels a dull sort of flush creeping up the back of his neck. It’s strange and he doesn’t expect it, so it catches him off guard and he’s not sure what it means.
Still smirking, Tom shakes his head at Jon, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Have you seen him up close yet? You know people look better from far away,” Tom says knowledgeably. Jon hates the warmth on the back of his neck and he has half a mind to blame the heater set at nearly eighty degrees, but he knows that’s not it. “Are you gonna fuck him?”
Jon turns around to stare at Tom. “I don’t even know him.”
And Tom’s got him. His grin widens. “So you do want to.”
Sighing, Jon rolls his eyes and shoves the straws back. “I don’t know. I’ve only met him once.”
“Who cares about that? Stop being such a girl and ask him back to your place.”
Jon would scowl back at Tom, but the door opens at that moment and two people come in, leaving no room to continue the argument. Instead, he shoots him a look and steps up to the counter.
It’s the same guy as before, still in a vest and ridiculously shiny black shoes. He looks in complete contrast to the guy standing next to him, bouncing up a little on his feet. This guy is wearing a bright turquoise hoodie with a lavender tee shirt underneath, a rainbow spreading across the front. Even his shoes are ridiculously bright with neon green and yellow splashed over the tongue.
“Hi, what can I get you?” Jon asks with his usual smile at the guy in the vest. The other one lights up the moment he speaks, pushing the vest guy over to stand in front of Jon. The vest guy’s mouth downturns just barely.
“Hi!” the bouncy guy says, hands on the counter and moving up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Hi,” Jon repeats with a confused smile.
The other guy gives the bouncy one a nudge, just the barest of bumps with his hips, and the guy lowers down onto his feet, hands still splayed across the counter.
“Can you make one of those really good drinks with chocolate and whipped cream and caramel?” he asks excitedly, but vest guy interrupts sharply.
“He’ll just have tea,” he says with a look at the bouncy guy. The guy kind of pouts, bottom lip stuck out, and plops his head down on vest guy’s shoulder, breath fluttering over his ear. Jon can see the way vest guy’s hair moves with each breath.
“Green tea latte,” the bouncy guy says quickly with a winning smile and vest guy sighs in defeat.
“Fine,” he agrees, and the guy bounces up again, already happy. “I’ll just have a venti non-fat latte.”
“Comin’ right up,” Jon says, scribbling down the orders on cups. “What are your names?”
“Ryan,” vest guy says and glances at the guy next to him who’s picking through the CDs. “That’s Brendon.”
Brendon smiles when Ryan says his name, coming back and latching onto him. His hand slips down Ryan’s wrist and twines around his fingers. Ryan doesn’t even react.
“What’s your name?” Brendon asks, playing with Ryan’s fingers and shuffling in closer to him. Jon just ignores it.
“Jon,” he replies, handing off the first cup to Tom and ringing up the order.
“Do you go to school here?” Brendon asks curiously, watching him.
“Yeah.” Jon takes the money from Ryan and puts it into the register. He doesn’t say anything about the way Ryan is watching him closely. “Photography major. It’s my last year.”
“You’re a senior?” Brendon’s eyes light up and Jon isn’t sure it’s a good thing when he bounces, fingers dislodging from between Ryan’s and he leans over the counter. “What are you going to do after you graduate?”
Jon shrugs. He’s okay with the strange questions, and Brendon seems much more talkative than Ryan, who is typing something into his phone and sends Jon a strange glance when he catches him watching. He quickly tucks the phone away.
“Probably grad school or maybe just be a bum and go live on the coast.” He smiles and starts on Brendon’s drink as Tom sets out Ryan’s.
Brendon’s eyes get wide. “Really?” he asks in sort of a hushed voice. Ryan kind of rolls his eyes at him, but Jon sees the way his fingers settle on the crook of Brendon’s elbow, light pressure, and Brendon doesn’t look at him, but sort of visibly calms a little. “You’re just gonna move all way to the coast?” He looks as though he’s never imagined someone would do that. “What about your family? What about a girlfriend?”
“Don’t have a girlfriend.” Jon shrugs. “And my family is already far away.”
Ryan is typing something else on his phone but Jon doesn’t try to look. Brendon nods seriously, glancing over at Ryan’s phone for a second. Ryan doesn’t try to hide it from him.
Tom finishes the second drink and clears his throat at Jon. Glancing over, Jon doesn’t get the look Tom is sending him, a tilt to his eyebrows and jerk at Ryan and Brendon. Jon just shakes his head.
“Your drinks are ready,” he says instead, holding them out.
Brendon grabs his and bounces a few feet away from Ryan as though afraid he’ll take it away from him. Ryan is slower to take his, sizing Jon up again.
Jon just smiles. “Enjoy.”
Brendon grins, bouncing over to Ryan now he’s sure it’s safe. He puts his mouth right next to Ryan’s ear, whispering something in it. Ryan doesn’t smile (his expression doesn’t change at all actually except for how he blinks and looks down at his drink). Finally, he gives Brendon a little nudge and takes a step back from the counter.
“Thanks,” is all he says as he turns.
“Bye, Jon!” Brendon calls as they leave, the door sealing shut behind them.
Turning, Jon finds Tom watching him with a look on his face.
“What?” Jon asks. “That was weird, huh?”
Shaking his head, Tom rolls his eyes and grabs his magazine instead.
*
Sometimes Jon goes to concerts, but they’re not really concerts. They’re usually just bands playing in crowded bars, hazy smoke hovering over tables and a din of conversation in between sets.
Tonight is Frank’s band, or well, Frank’s in the band. So Jon shows up and finds Tom near the bar. Tom just nods at him and hands over a beer. There are probably other people Jon knows milling around. Pete is always up for a good underground band and Patrick usually gets dragged along against his will so Pete can chat up the musicians while Patrick sulks about lost composition time.
Jon doesn’t see Frank before they go on, so he takes a seat next to Tom as the lights dim and flicker and a guitar riff rips through the place.
Jon has known Frank almost all four years at school, met him outside the library when Frank was chasing after this girl who studied a lot. He denied it for a long time after, especially once he finally dated her and realized he didn’t even like girls that much.
Frank’s band is good, and halfway through, Pete comes pushing through the crowd, a sulky Patrick behind him, and nearly runs into Jon.
“Jon!” Pete cries and maybe he’s a little drunk already. “You made it!”
“Yep.” Jon grins, watching the way Pete climbs onto a stool and Patrick crosses his arms huffily. Jon nudges him. “How’d you get out of your shift?”
Patrick gives him a long-suffering look. “Asked Vicky to do it. She owes me for last month when she went away all weekend and I did doubles for her.” He looks as though he’d almost rather be working right now rather than surrounded by really loud music and even louder drunks.
“Pete convince you to come?” Jon shouts over the music. Beside him, Pete is concentrated on the stage.
Patrick’s rolled eyes don’t go unnoticed. “He wants to hook up with the bassist,” he tells Jon, and now that Jon looks, Pete is staring an awful lot at the skinny guy next to Gerard, the singer.
“Mikey,” he tells Patrick, but Patrick looks as though he doesn’t really want to know.
As they watch, Frank slides to his knees in front of Gerard, smirking up through the sheen of sweat and hair falling in his eyes. When he clambers up, he all but grabs Gerard away from the microphone, planting a kiss on his lips before Gerard can even flail back.
Jon grins, leaning into Tom. “When are they gonna get their shit together?” he asks and Tom shrugs, watching a girl down the bar already.
“Patrick!” A loud voice, which is hard since the music is practically deafening, reaches them over the crowd, and both Patrick and Jon turn.
Jon is surprised to see Brendon wading towards them, waving his hand frantically in the air, his bright pink hoodie splashed with a unicorn standing out amongst the rest of the crowd.
“Hi, Brendon,” Patrick greets him, none too enthusiastically as his eyes are still on Pete, who has left to push his way to the front. Brendon still grins, though, hugging Patrick sideways. “Here alone?”
Brendon hasn’t noticed Jon, and Jon is kind of glad. He wants to know what Brendon has to say.
Brendon shakes his head. “Ryan’s here but he just keeps talking about Gerard’s lyrics. I wish I could get him to shut up.”
“You know how to do it,” Patrick replies, and Brendon’s grin becomes devious.
“Thought you said we weren’t allowed to do it with you in the same room.”
Patrick glares. “Not on my kitchen counter like last time.”
“We were drunk!” Brendon cries, but he’s grinning and Patrick still scowls. “Come on, you know it was hot.”
“It was disgusting,” Patrick grumbles. He huffs, looking at Jon for help. “If someone had sex on your counter, wouldn’t you want to bleach it completely?”
Brendon’s head swivels to Jon and his eyes get wide. Jon just grins.
“Not unless it was me doing it. I’ve never done it on a counter. Kitchen table but not the counter.”
Brendon is staring now, but he breaks out of it in a second. “Jon!” he says loudly. “You’re here! You look funny without the apron.”
Patrick is frowning, but Jon laughs.
“Yeah, the apron is pretty sexy but I think I prefer jeans.”
“And flip-flops!” Brendon adds, catching sight of his feet. Jon wiggles his toes and grins at Brendon’s face. Brendon looks in awe. “You’re so cool!” he says, staring.
Laughing, Jon takes a swig of his beer just as Ryan appears at Brendon’s shoulder.
“Bren, where the hell did you go? I couldn’t find you.” He almost looks annoyed as he frowns at Brendon. But Brendon pushes out his bottom lip and drapes himself over Ryan, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“I found Patrick,” he says, words mumbled into Ryan’s skin. “And Jon!” Pulling away, he grins at Jon. For a second, Jon thinks that Ryan is surprised, but he just blinks
“Hi,” he says instead.
“Hi,” Jon echoes with a smile, but he’s jostled to the side as someone barrels into him. The set is over and it’s Frank who’s squeezing Jon hard around the middle.
“Hey guys!” he cries excitedly, practically vibrating off the post-show high. He only knows Jon and Tom, but he greets everyone anyway. He doesn’t even wait for everyone to say hello back before he’s turning to Jon and Tom. “What’d you think?” he asks eagerly as Gerard comes wading over, pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes. Gerard doesn’t say anything, just nods at them and grabs a bottle of water.
“Good,” Tom says, looking over the bar. “What is Pete doing?”
Pete is talking to Mikey, apparently having caught him on his way off the stage. He’s gesturing wildly and Patrick rolls his eyes at the sight.
“He wants in his pants.”
Gerard chokes on his water at that and Frank pats his back. After spluttering for a few moments, he sets the bottle down and assures them that he’s okay. Frank’s hand doesn’t leave his back, though, as they stand there.
“So it was good?” he asks again instead, looking at Jon.
“You were awesome,” Jon tells him honestly. Brendon is watching him now, still half draped over Ryan.
Frank grins, the flash of his lip ring bright in the surrounding lights. “You coming next week?”
“What day?” Jon asks.
“Thursday night.”
“Gotta work,” Jon says with a shrug. “Starbucks is a demanding mistress.”
Frank nods understandingly then looks around at the rest of them. Patrick sighs.
“I’m sure Pete will be there.”
Gerard looks uneasy as he watches Pete and Mikey over by the stage. They’re still talking but Pete is closer now and Mikey looks relaxed.
“I’ll come!” Brendon says excitedly, tugging at Ryan’s arm. Ryan gives him a look but doesn’t say he won’t come either.
“Awesome!” Frank says, grinning and letting his hand fall to Gerard’s belt loop. Gerard looks like he doesn’t even notice, sipping his water and determinedly not looking over at Pete and Mikey.
Ryan is texting something now and turns it away as he sees Jon glance over. Jon doesn’t push it, and tunes back in as Frank starts talking about the album they’re working on. Grabbing his beer, Jon takes a swig and settles in, ignoring the way Ryan’s eyes flick to him while Frank talks on.
Part Two.
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Maybe Jon worked in a Starbucks but no, this didn't happen.
Summary: The Starbucks across the street is like watching a mirror, Jon thinks sometimes, when he’s on break and just sits at the table by the window, staring across the street. It could be a weird alternate dimension that’s exactly the same but completely opposite. Or it could just be that the whole ‘Starbucks on every corner’ thing is coming true a lot sooner than anyone expected.
A/N: Starbucks anyone? I realized at some point that I've done every other cliche Panic story except Starbucks, so here we go. A delving into lovely cliched locations and what becomes of them :]
*
The thing is that it doesn’t even really bother him.
The cups are the same, cardboard brown color with a green protector over them (red with snowflakes in the winter), the tables are the same round, tall tables with black chairs. The aprons are all the same dark green with a loop around the neck and a bow around the waist. But it doesn’t bother him.
At three in the afternoon, Monday through Thursday, and sometimes Saturday, Jon ties on his green apron and pushes open the door only to be hit with the strong aroma of coffee. The muffins aren’t quite fresh in the display case, but he grabs one anyway, rounding the counter and throwing his jacket in the back.
At three, the store is usually pretty empty with only the regulars milling around, shaking out newspapers and pretending to read the stocks.
“Wet today,” is the only greeting Jon gets from Tom as he changes out his flip flops for actual shoes.
It is wet. Jon sort of noticed that on the run from the car to the door, and he’s already dripping onto the floor from that short amount of time. He skidded and nearly fell even from the puddle inside the door that Tom has obviously not bothered to mop up yet.
“A little,” he just agrees, smoothing down his hair and checking his bow. Tom watches him fiddle and scoffs to himself but doesn’t say anything.
Tom is lounged back against the cappuccino maker, a magazine open in his hands, and he lifts it to his face now that Jon is there, checking the counter for anything that needs to be refilled. Everything seems pretty stocked as he looks around, so Jon sinks back against the counter, glancing out the rain-washed window.
The street is grey and no one is walking around. It’s probably going to be pretty dead if the weather keeps up.
As he gazes unseeingly out, he catches a movement across the street. Aside from the cars sloshing past in the half-flooded street, the only person moving is someone across the street making a beeline for the building on the opposite corner. They have their hands over their head and practically dive into the invitingly warm interior of - Jon’s eyes follow their progress - Starbucks.
“Lost another one,” he says, although he really doesn’t care one way or another. Tom makes a dull grunt, flipping the page in his magazine.
The Starbucks across the street is like watching a mirror, Jon thinks sometimes, when he’s on break and just sits at the table by the window, staring across the street. It could be a weird alternate dimension that’s exactly the same but completely opposite. Or it could just be that the whole ‘Starbucks on every corner’ thing is coming true a lot sooner than anyone expected.
His store is the ‘old’ Starbucks, but really, it’s only been there a few years. Apparently Corporate thinks people are too lazy to cross the street for coffee, so the new Starbucks had been put up a few months ago.
Jon doesn’t care either way.
Tom ruffles the pages as he turns another one and the rain comes down harder outside.
“So,” Jon says when the last customer makes a break for his car. Tom’s eyes rest intently on the magazine. “Twenty people before midnight?”
There’s a pause as Tom turns a page. “You’re on.”
*
Both stores close at midnight and it only takes about fifteen minutes to clean up. Less when there are no customers like tonight. Jon pries Tom away from his magazine at about quarter till to clean up the machines and mop the floor. They’re out of there by ten after and Jon locks up the store while Tom darts to his car in the pouring rain, leaving Jon alone to finish.
By the time, Jon gets all the locks set, Tom is long gone and he turns to stare at the sheet of water pouring off the roof.
The flash of a light across the way catches his attention and he sees the lights in the other Starbucks flip off. He sees a small figure bustle out of the door, pausing to lock up just as Jon had finished doing not two seconds ago.
An umbrella shakes open as the figure steps away from the door and under the orange street light. The edges are blurry from the rain, but Jon squints across, catching sight of what he thinks is a guy standing there. There’s nothing strange about it until the guy stops walking, stilling suddenly and turning towards Jon.
Jon can’t see his face, half-shadowed by the umbrella and blurred by rain. But he blinks anyway and doesn’t look away until the guy turns and heads down the street, disappearing into the misty darkness. Jon stares after until a sharp drip of water from his hair onto his arm brings him back to the realization that he’s standing in the rain and it’s after midnight.
Shaking his sleeve, he stuffs the key into his pocket and heads for his car, cranking up the heater once he gets there, and he can’t help it when he pulls out of the lot and passes the other Starbucks. He can’t help watching it roll past, identical but not the same, as he heads for home.
*
At three the next day, Jon is late. He’s not usually late, but his class ran long and the professor wanted to talk about his last paper (that he got the wonderful grade of a C on) so he stumbles into Starbucks ten minutes after his shift starts. Tom only clears his throat and adds whipped cream to the frappacino he’s making.
Jon throws his jacket in the back and hastily changes his shoes. His bow is completely off-kilter today and Tom smirks at it once he’s done.
“You’re late,” he says, completely unhelpfully.
Jon ignores him, brushing his hair down, grateful that it at least isn’t raining at the moment. The skies are still dark and puddles hampered him all the way over here.
“You owe me,” he says instead, trying fruitlessly to straighten out the bow on his apron. Tom eyes him and makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh.
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You lost fair and square,” Jon says evenly, eyes sweeping over the interior of the store. There are a few people sipping drinks, some eyeing the window as if unsure if the rain will stay away long enough to escape to their cars or down the street to their apartments. His eyes land on the window when Tom doesn’t reply immediately, gazing across the street into the warmly lit Starbucks on the opposite corner. He can’t see anything clearly, but he thinks he sees a guy standing behind the counter with some girl.
“One person,” Tom argues, but Jon’s not going to let him out of this one.
Tearing his eyes from the window, he turns back to Tom. “Still lost. You owe me.”
Tom rolls his eyes, but Jon knows he’s won this one. Finally, Tom ruffles himself, sweeping his hair down across his eyes, frowning at the counter. “What do you want?”
Jon pauses, looking around. Someone enters through the front door, a momentary shadow falling across the warm yellow interior. “I’ll get back to you.”
Tom doesn’t look too excited but doesn’t argue, only sinks back against the counter and pulls out his cell phone. Jon turns to the new person who’s come in.
It’s a guy wearing a cowboy vest and paisley shirt underneath. It doesn’t even faze Jon, and he hitches on his usual customer smile.
“Hi, what can I get for you?”
The guy seems to be studying the drinks’ list quite seriously as he stands at the counter, his gaze occasionally flicking down to the counter, or briefly flitting over Jon’s face, eyes sweeping over Jon’s nametag until he pulls them back up the to menu.
“Tall non-fat latte,” he says finally, a bored, monotonous lilt to his voice as he glances down at Jon, lingering over the scruff on his jaw, the way Jon types the order into the computer.
“That’s $3.25,” he tells him, ignoring how the guy moves his strange gaze away to Tom, who is still lounging against the back counter, scratching as his jaw and yawning.
“What time do you close?” the guy asks as Jon starts to make the drink.
“Midnight,” Jon replies, turning on the machine and watching the guy glance around the store, seemingly taking in the decorations, the CDs for sale by the register. He pauses on the muffins in the display case, but looks back after a minute.
“You both stay till close?” he asks, and if it wasn’t a question, Jon would think he wasn’t interested in the answer at all. It’s so dull and monotone.
“Yeah,” Jon says, reaching for a lid. “It’s a long shift.” Tom makes a noise and Jon glances over, smiling at him. “Tom usually abandons me, though, near the end.”
“Do not,” Tom argues, but it’s only half-hearted as he’s pulled out his magazine again and is flipping through the pages.
The guy takes the drink Jon hands him, his eyes lingering on Tom and then sliding to Jon again. They sort of flicker over him again, from the scruff on his jaw down to his jeans that disappear behind the counter. His expression betrays nothing as he nods at Jon.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Jon replies, a little wonderingly, as the guy takes the drink and turns, leaving through the door. As he leaves, he turns to Tom. “What was that?”
Tom shrugs, frowning at the magazine. “This says I’m a winter. Fuck that shit.” And he tosses it over the counter onto one of the tables and heads for the back to most likely take a nap.
*
It gets dark around five in the afternoon usually and the street lights flicker on not long after. There’s usually a rush around the same time - people getting off work and stopping by on their way home. Part of Jon wonders why they need caffeine so late when they’re just going home to relax, not like the students who trickle in later, desperately needing a fix so they can stay up and study all night.
After it gets dark, Jon always feels more relaxed, like things can slow down. He and Tom usually spend the time talking about school or music or photography. Sometimes they just sit in silence too.
When it’s particularly slow, Jon takes up residence at the table by the window, either with a pile of homework or just with his ipod and watching the people who walk by. It’s getting dark earlier and earlier lately, a good indication of the onset of winter, if the constant rain wasn’t enough.
They haven’t had a customer in the last half an hour, so Jon flops into the table by the window, gazing out. There aren’t very many people on the street, and the only other businesses open are a Chinese restaurant, a weird store that Jon has never quite dared to venture into, and the Starbucks with its cheery yellow lights in the darkness and windows identical to the ones Jon is looking out of.
If he looks hard enough, he can see the two people behind the counter. One is a girl with shoulder-length hair that she has swept up into a pony tail. The other is a guy with dark hair, lounged back against the counter. Their store is just as dead inside.
“What are you staring at?”
Tom pops up beside him, nearly scaring him out of his chair. Instead, he sighs a little, a puff of air as he shakes his head and looks at Tom. Tom looks bored, arching an eyebrow in question.
“Nothing,” he replies finally, drawing a circle on the table. “Hey, you going to see Frank’s band next week?”
Tom shrugs and picks at the sugar dispenser. “Maybe,” he says and Jon turns back to the window, watching the guy across the way until Tom gives up and wanders back to the counter.
*
Jon usually gets Fridays off, and for the most part, he spends his time away from Starbucks. He smells like coffee 24/7 so he figures he can spend one day away.
This Friday, though, after he finishes his classes and collapses on his couch with his cat Dylan snuggling into his lap, he feels restless. He shouldn’t feel restless because he’s been working a long shift for the past four days and he has classes all morning. He should just want to crash and use the whole weekend for sleeping. There isn’t even anything he has to do for Monday.
But he feels restless, itching to get out, go somewhere. He contemplates calling up Pete and seeing if there are any good shows but he knows he doesn’t want to go to a show. He doesn’t want to get lost in all the bodies, the sweat. That’s not what he wants. He just wants to get out, and a night with Pete is never just a little trip out, it’s a full-blown adventure, and Jon just doesn’t want that right now.
He doesn’t know exactly what he wants, but he knows he can’t stay in his apartment any longer. So he grabs his coat and leaves Dylan meowing at his empty food bowl, heading for his car. He doesn’t want to drive, though, so he takes off walking.
It’s dark out and his breath clouds in front of him as he walks. His apartment is pretty close to campus, so he skirts the edge as he goes, hands stuffed deep in his pocket to guard against the cold. The street lamps are on and a few flicker ominously as he walks.
He isn’t paying attention to exactly where he’s going, so when he ends up on the corner where his Starbucks is, he stops. This is not where he wanted to go.
Peering in the side window, Jon can see the people who work on the weekends. It’s Cassie and Patrick manning the counter, but there’s no one there.
Now that Jon’s here, he contemplates popping in to say hi, but something stops him as he pauses at the crosswalk. The little man is blinking red but turns green as Jon hesitates. A single car stops at the light and Jon looks across the street to where the other Starbucks sits.
It only takes a minute before he makes up his mind and turns, shuffling across the street even as the walk sign starts to blink red at him. He hops the last few feet to the sidewalk as the light turns and the car takes off. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he blows warm air to try to return the feeling and heads for the inviting glow of the store.
It is exactly identical inside, from the table on Jon’s left down to the bow tied at the back of the girl’s apron. It’s a little crooked, Jon notices.
But it’s warm inside and there are only a few people sitting at tables by the window. The two baristas are standing behind the counter. Only the girl appears to be trying to keep busy as she refills straws fruitlessly and alternately fiddles with the music.
The guy there, Jon knows from the moment he sees him, is the one he saw a few days ago at midnight, shuffling into the rain-soaked streets. He has dark hair that frames his face, pushed to the side, kind of the same way Tom does it. His apron strings fall messily behind him, just a knot and no bow to speak of. He’s perched against the counter, his black pants sitting low on his hips. He has a phone out and is not-so-stealthily texting someone. He flips the phone shut, though, when Jon steps up to the counter.
The girl shoots the guy a look as she stuffs more straws into an already overfilled container. She flashes Jon a momentary smile, but the guy steps up to the register with a resigned air, tucking the phone away in his pocket.
“Hi, welcome to Starbucks,” he says, sounding bored. “Home of overpriced coffee that is only killing you slowly but will keep you awake for hours in case you’re cramming for the test you didn’t study for yesterday.”
The girl elbows him and the guy hitches on a smile. Jon knows that smile - it’s the same one he uses for customers when he’s tired of making coffee for eight hours.
“What can I get you?”
Jon smiles slightly, watching the guy’s smile fall slightly as he takes him in. The guy’s nametag reads “Spencer” and Jon watches the way he pauses when Jon does.
“What would you recommend?” Jon asks instead. “Keep in mind that I have no intention of dying sooner rather than later and I don’t have any tests until next week.”
Spencer pauses, eyes sweeping over Jon’s jacket and red fingertips, chapped from the cold. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes for just a second, maybe recognition, maybe something else, but then he blinks it away.
“Chai tea,” he says instead, and the girl beside him nods. She’s finished the straws and comes over, nudging Spencer aside. Jon doesn’t miss the look Spencer shoots at her.
“You look familiar,” she says slowly, looking at him closely. “Really familiar.”
“Don’t think we’ve ever met,” Jon says, and the girl (her nametag says “Greta”) shakes her head.
“No. We haven’t.” Thinking, she falls silent, and Spencer nudges her back, a little more forcefully than her own push.
“So do you want the tea?”
“Sure,” Jon agrees with an easy smile. He likes watching the way Spencer types it into the register.
“What size?” Spencer asks mechanically, glancing up at Jon. His blue eyes flick up to Jon’s, dark lashes fanning against his cheek as he looks back down to the register.
“Tall,” Jon says, “and can you add some whipped cream to that?”
Spencer doesn’t reply, just grabs a cup and scribbles something on it. He types it into the register.
“It’s $2.35,” he says and Jon rummages in his wallet.
Greta is still watching him thoughtfully as he pays and Spencer starts the drink.
“Are you in the music department?”
“Nope.” Jon shakes his head easily. He’s pretty sure he’s never seen Greta except for through the window of his Starbucks. If he turns, he has a clear shot of where Patrick is probably working feverishly on his Music Composition class. He wonders if Greta knows Patrick. While Spencer is making the drink, Jon turns to stare out the window at Patrick and Cassie across the way. He misses the glance Spencer throws at him once his back is turned.
He hears Greta’s comprehending gasp behind him and turns. “You work at Starbucks!”
It’s a strange sentence considering they’re standing in Starbucks at that very moment and Spencer has just fumbled the cup. He catches it, though, before anything spills, and Greta doesn’t even notice. Jon does, though, watching Spencer hitch it back up and continue as though nothing happened. He doesn’t look at Jon, concentrating determinedly on the tea.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees, “the one over there.” He nods his head out the window and Greta nods.
“I’ve seen you there before. You work a lot.”
“You’re here a lot too,” Jon points out as Spencer finishes his drink and sets it up on the little counter. He still isn’t looking at Jon, although Jon catches the quick look he shoots at him, eyes lingering briefly on his face, the scruff on his jaw.
“Here you go,” he says instead, pushing the drink over, and if Jon sees the flash of something darker in Spencer’s eyes, he doesn’t say anything.
Greta still looks interested. “What are you doing over here?” she asks, and Jon takes a sip of the drink, glad for the warmth pressing into his fingers through the cardboard.
He shrugs. “I’m off today and I was bored. I didn’t feel like going in there, though. Although I’m not sure this isn’t just as pathetic,” he offers with a laugh. “Trading one Starbucks for another.”
Greta smiles, nudging Spencer in the side and he frowns at her, barely miniscule, a line creasing the top of his forehead and Jon sort of wants to smooth it out. But it’s cute how Spencer’s mouth tightens and he grabs a rag instead, cleaning off the counter.
“What was your name?” Greta asks, and it feels like fishing, but Jon doesn’t know why.
“Jon,” he says. “I work four days a week usually, sometimes Saturdays, but only if Cassie or Patrick want the shift off.”
“Jon,” Greta repeats, smiling and pushing a stray lock of bouncy blond hair back. “Well, I’m Greta and this is Spencer. We’re here all the time too.”
“We live here,” Spencer mutters, rolling his eyes and sighing. Tossing away the rag, he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his apron and letting his eyes fall to Jon now, unabashed as he takes him in.
Jon pretends to ignore the way Spencer’s eyes scrape down past his knees and back up. Spencer never meets his eyes, just watches him carefully.
Greta laughs at Spencer, but Jon doesn’t miss the way she edges closer, fingers brushing his elbow as she reaches for the rag now.
“It’s a glamorous job,” she says.
Jon nods, sipping his tea and wondering at Spencer, wondering why he’s looking at him like that, a dark flicker somewhere in the depths of his eyes, the downward tug to his mouth that Jon can’t explain. It makes Jon feel sort of strange, but not in a bad way, just a slight thrill creeping up his spine as the silence becomes slightly awkward.
“I should get going,” he says finally when no one speaks and Spencer looks away from him, smoothing down his apron but not fixing the bow in the back.
“Okay,” Greta says cheerfully. “We’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jon agrees, tossing her a smile and catching himself when Spencer glances up, eyes burning into him for just a second and then it’s over and Spencer looks away.
Jon leaves through the door into the frigid cold and doesn’t look back until he’s across the street. He can see Greta turned towards Spencer, saying something and pushing at his arms when he scowls back.
Shaking his head, Jon clutches his tea close and heads for home.
*
The next time Jon works, it’s Monday afternoon and he’s spent most of the day trying to stay awake in his classes. He wasn’t very successful.
Tom has Rolling Stone out and is leaning back against the counter as Jon helps the few customers who trickle in. Jon doesn’t say anything about the fact that Tom is not working, mostly because he’d rather stare out the window at the Starbucks across the way than reprimand him.
He doesn’t hear the rustle of paper until it’s too late and Tom is standing beside him, chin hooked over his shoulder as he arches an eyebrow at the store across the street.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” he asks blithely, the magazine hanging limply in his hand.
“Nothing,” Jon replies, shrugging him off and grabbing a rag, wiping down the counter.
Tom watches him go suspiciously, peering back out the window. “Starbucks?” he asks. “Hate to burst your bubble, Jonny, but you can get free coffee right here.”
Rolling his eyes, Jon doesn’t reply.
Tom keeps watching, though, interested now. Jon knows that both Spencer and Greta are there, both lounging against the back corner.
“Pretty girl?” Tom guesses, eyes falling on Greta where she’s helping a customer. Jon doesn’t say anything. Tom doesn’t need to know everything. Tom pauses, still watching, and when Greta shifts back and Spencer walks out from behind the counter, a smirk curls his face. “Wait… pretty guy.” His tone is altogether too knowing for Jon’s tastes, and he turns his smirk on him now. “Jon?”
“What?” Jon asks simply, grabbing the straw container and beginning to refill it.
Tom gives him that look, the one that means he’s not fooling anyone. “I spy with my little eye…” He pauses, and when Jon doesn’t respond, laughs to himself. “A guy you totally want to bone.”
Jon should be annoyed at Tom but instead, he feels a dull sort of flush creeping up the back of his neck. It’s strange and he doesn’t expect it, so it catches him off guard and he’s not sure what it means.
Still smirking, Tom shakes his head at Jon, a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Have you seen him up close yet? You know people look better from far away,” Tom says knowledgeably. Jon hates the warmth on the back of his neck and he has half a mind to blame the heater set at nearly eighty degrees, but he knows that’s not it. “Are you gonna fuck him?”
Jon turns around to stare at Tom. “I don’t even know him.”
And Tom’s got him. His grin widens. “So you do want to.”
Sighing, Jon rolls his eyes and shoves the straws back. “I don’t know. I’ve only met him once.”
“Who cares about that? Stop being such a girl and ask him back to your place.”
Jon would scowl back at Tom, but the door opens at that moment and two people come in, leaving no room to continue the argument. Instead, he shoots him a look and steps up to the counter.
It’s the same guy as before, still in a vest and ridiculously shiny black shoes. He looks in complete contrast to the guy standing next to him, bouncing up a little on his feet. This guy is wearing a bright turquoise hoodie with a lavender tee shirt underneath, a rainbow spreading across the front. Even his shoes are ridiculously bright with neon green and yellow splashed over the tongue.
“Hi, what can I get you?” Jon asks with his usual smile at the guy in the vest. The other one lights up the moment he speaks, pushing the vest guy over to stand in front of Jon. The vest guy’s mouth downturns just barely.
“Hi!” the bouncy guy says, hands on the counter and moving up and down on the balls of his feet.
“Hi,” Jon repeats with a confused smile.
The other guy gives the bouncy one a nudge, just the barest of bumps with his hips, and the guy lowers down onto his feet, hands still splayed across the counter.
“Can you make one of those really good drinks with chocolate and whipped cream and caramel?” he asks excitedly, but vest guy interrupts sharply.
“He’ll just have tea,” he says with a look at the bouncy guy. The guy kind of pouts, bottom lip stuck out, and plops his head down on vest guy’s shoulder, breath fluttering over his ear. Jon can see the way vest guy’s hair moves with each breath.
“Green tea latte,” the bouncy guy says quickly with a winning smile and vest guy sighs in defeat.
“Fine,” he agrees, and the guy bounces up again, already happy. “I’ll just have a venti non-fat latte.”
“Comin’ right up,” Jon says, scribbling down the orders on cups. “What are your names?”
“Ryan,” vest guy says and glances at the guy next to him who’s picking through the CDs. “That’s Brendon.”
Brendon smiles when Ryan says his name, coming back and latching onto him. His hand slips down Ryan’s wrist and twines around his fingers. Ryan doesn’t even react.
“What’s your name?” Brendon asks, playing with Ryan’s fingers and shuffling in closer to him. Jon just ignores it.
“Jon,” he replies, handing off the first cup to Tom and ringing up the order.
“Do you go to school here?” Brendon asks curiously, watching him.
“Yeah.” Jon takes the money from Ryan and puts it into the register. He doesn’t say anything about the way Ryan is watching him closely. “Photography major. It’s my last year.”
“You’re a senior?” Brendon’s eyes light up and Jon isn’t sure it’s a good thing when he bounces, fingers dislodging from between Ryan’s and he leans over the counter. “What are you going to do after you graduate?”
Jon shrugs. He’s okay with the strange questions, and Brendon seems much more talkative than Ryan, who is typing something into his phone and sends Jon a strange glance when he catches him watching. He quickly tucks the phone away.
“Probably grad school or maybe just be a bum and go live on the coast.” He smiles and starts on Brendon’s drink as Tom sets out Ryan’s.
Brendon’s eyes get wide. “Really?” he asks in sort of a hushed voice. Ryan kind of rolls his eyes at him, but Jon sees the way his fingers settle on the crook of Brendon’s elbow, light pressure, and Brendon doesn’t look at him, but sort of visibly calms a little. “You’re just gonna move all way to the coast?” He looks as though he’s never imagined someone would do that. “What about your family? What about a girlfriend?”
“Don’t have a girlfriend.” Jon shrugs. “And my family is already far away.”
Ryan is typing something else on his phone but Jon doesn’t try to look. Brendon nods seriously, glancing over at Ryan’s phone for a second. Ryan doesn’t try to hide it from him.
Tom finishes the second drink and clears his throat at Jon. Glancing over, Jon doesn’t get the look Tom is sending him, a tilt to his eyebrows and jerk at Ryan and Brendon. Jon just shakes his head.
“Your drinks are ready,” he says instead, holding them out.
Brendon grabs his and bounces a few feet away from Ryan as though afraid he’ll take it away from him. Ryan is slower to take his, sizing Jon up again.
Jon just smiles. “Enjoy.”
Brendon grins, bouncing over to Ryan now he’s sure it’s safe. He puts his mouth right next to Ryan’s ear, whispering something in it. Ryan doesn’t smile (his expression doesn’t change at all actually except for how he blinks and looks down at his drink). Finally, he gives Brendon a little nudge and takes a step back from the counter.
“Thanks,” is all he says as he turns.
“Bye, Jon!” Brendon calls as they leave, the door sealing shut behind them.
Turning, Jon finds Tom watching him with a look on his face.
“What?” Jon asks. “That was weird, huh?”
Shaking his head, Tom rolls his eyes and grabs his magazine instead.
*
Sometimes Jon goes to concerts, but they’re not really concerts. They’re usually just bands playing in crowded bars, hazy smoke hovering over tables and a din of conversation in between sets.
Tonight is Frank’s band, or well, Frank’s in the band. So Jon shows up and finds Tom near the bar. Tom just nods at him and hands over a beer. There are probably other people Jon knows milling around. Pete is always up for a good underground band and Patrick usually gets dragged along against his will so Pete can chat up the musicians while Patrick sulks about lost composition time.
Jon doesn’t see Frank before they go on, so he takes a seat next to Tom as the lights dim and flicker and a guitar riff rips through the place.
Jon has known Frank almost all four years at school, met him outside the library when Frank was chasing after this girl who studied a lot. He denied it for a long time after, especially once he finally dated her and realized he didn’t even like girls that much.
Frank’s band is good, and halfway through, Pete comes pushing through the crowd, a sulky Patrick behind him, and nearly runs into Jon.
“Jon!” Pete cries and maybe he’s a little drunk already. “You made it!”
“Yep.” Jon grins, watching the way Pete climbs onto a stool and Patrick crosses his arms huffily. Jon nudges him. “How’d you get out of your shift?”
Patrick gives him a long-suffering look. “Asked Vicky to do it. She owes me for last month when she went away all weekend and I did doubles for her.” He looks as though he’d almost rather be working right now rather than surrounded by really loud music and even louder drunks.
“Pete convince you to come?” Jon shouts over the music. Beside him, Pete is concentrated on the stage.
Patrick’s rolled eyes don’t go unnoticed. “He wants to hook up with the bassist,” he tells Jon, and now that Jon looks, Pete is staring an awful lot at the skinny guy next to Gerard, the singer.
“Mikey,” he tells Patrick, but Patrick looks as though he doesn’t really want to know.
As they watch, Frank slides to his knees in front of Gerard, smirking up through the sheen of sweat and hair falling in his eyes. When he clambers up, he all but grabs Gerard away from the microphone, planting a kiss on his lips before Gerard can even flail back.
Jon grins, leaning into Tom. “When are they gonna get their shit together?” he asks and Tom shrugs, watching a girl down the bar already.
“Patrick!” A loud voice, which is hard since the music is practically deafening, reaches them over the crowd, and both Patrick and Jon turn.
Jon is surprised to see Brendon wading towards them, waving his hand frantically in the air, his bright pink hoodie splashed with a unicorn standing out amongst the rest of the crowd.
“Hi, Brendon,” Patrick greets him, none too enthusiastically as his eyes are still on Pete, who has left to push his way to the front. Brendon still grins, though, hugging Patrick sideways. “Here alone?”
Brendon hasn’t noticed Jon, and Jon is kind of glad. He wants to know what Brendon has to say.
Brendon shakes his head. “Ryan’s here but he just keeps talking about Gerard’s lyrics. I wish I could get him to shut up.”
“You know how to do it,” Patrick replies, and Brendon’s grin becomes devious.
“Thought you said we weren’t allowed to do it with you in the same room.”
Patrick glares. “Not on my kitchen counter like last time.”
“We were drunk!” Brendon cries, but he’s grinning and Patrick still scowls. “Come on, you know it was hot.”
“It was disgusting,” Patrick grumbles. He huffs, looking at Jon for help. “If someone had sex on your counter, wouldn’t you want to bleach it completely?”
Brendon’s head swivels to Jon and his eyes get wide. Jon just grins.
“Not unless it was me doing it. I’ve never done it on a counter. Kitchen table but not the counter.”
Brendon is staring now, but he breaks out of it in a second. “Jon!” he says loudly. “You’re here! You look funny without the apron.”
Patrick is frowning, but Jon laughs.
“Yeah, the apron is pretty sexy but I think I prefer jeans.”
“And flip-flops!” Brendon adds, catching sight of his feet. Jon wiggles his toes and grins at Brendon’s face. Brendon looks in awe. “You’re so cool!” he says, staring.
Laughing, Jon takes a swig of his beer just as Ryan appears at Brendon’s shoulder.
“Bren, where the hell did you go? I couldn’t find you.” He almost looks annoyed as he frowns at Brendon. But Brendon pushes out his bottom lip and drapes himself over Ryan, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“I found Patrick,” he says, words mumbled into Ryan’s skin. “And Jon!” Pulling away, he grins at Jon. For a second, Jon thinks that Ryan is surprised, but he just blinks
“Hi,” he says instead.
“Hi,” Jon echoes with a smile, but he’s jostled to the side as someone barrels into him. The set is over and it’s Frank who’s squeezing Jon hard around the middle.
“Hey guys!” he cries excitedly, practically vibrating off the post-show high. He only knows Jon and Tom, but he greets everyone anyway. He doesn’t even wait for everyone to say hello back before he’s turning to Jon and Tom. “What’d you think?” he asks eagerly as Gerard comes wading over, pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes. Gerard doesn’t say anything, just nods at them and grabs a bottle of water.
“Good,” Tom says, looking over the bar. “What is Pete doing?”
Pete is talking to Mikey, apparently having caught him on his way off the stage. He’s gesturing wildly and Patrick rolls his eyes at the sight.
“He wants in his pants.”
Gerard chokes on his water at that and Frank pats his back. After spluttering for a few moments, he sets the bottle down and assures them that he’s okay. Frank’s hand doesn’t leave his back, though, as they stand there.
“So it was good?” he asks again instead, looking at Jon.
“You were awesome,” Jon tells him honestly. Brendon is watching him now, still half draped over Ryan.
Frank grins, the flash of his lip ring bright in the surrounding lights. “You coming next week?”
“What day?” Jon asks.
“Thursday night.”
“Gotta work,” Jon says with a shrug. “Starbucks is a demanding mistress.”
Frank nods understandingly then looks around at the rest of them. Patrick sighs.
“I’m sure Pete will be there.”
Gerard looks uneasy as he watches Pete and Mikey over by the stage. They’re still talking but Pete is closer now and Mikey looks relaxed.
“I’ll come!” Brendon says excitedly, tugging at Ryan’s arm. Ryan gives him a look but doesn’t say he won’t come either.
“Awesome!” Frank says, grinning and letting his hand fall to Gerard’s belt loop. Gerard looks like he doesn’t even notice, sipping his water and determinedly not looking over at Pete and Mikey.
Ryan is texting something now and turns it away as he sees Jon glance over. Jon doesn’t push it, and tunes back in as Frank starts talking about the album they’re working on. Grabbing his beer, Jon takes a swig and settles in, ignoring the way Ryan’s eyes flick to him while Frank talks on.
Part Two.