Query Not Where You Wander [joncer nc-17 standalone]
Title: Query Not Where You Wander
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer (Ryan/Brendon)
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Spencer is a little scared to be honest. He’s hearing people’s thoughts. Ryan stares, and for a minute, all Spencer gets is white noise, but then it’s a blur of thoughts flooding his mind.
A/N: Because we need to remind ourselves that fanfiction and RL are different. And here, tyv are not stupid. Oh, and I don't claim this fic to be good, which is why it's being posted now, more than a year after writing it. I just claim for it to be done.
*
It happens when he’s thirteen and Spencer completely blames Ryan.
Everything is white when he opens his eyes and the blinding overhead lights shine in his eyes as he blinks and tries to roll over, only to find that the bed he’s in is about as wide as his body and it’s a sharp drop down.
“Spencer?” A fuzzy voice echoes on the edge of his consciousness and he forces himself to focus on the blurry shapes hovering over him now. “Spencer, honey, are you awake?”
It sounds like his mother and she sounds worried. There are hurried footsteps and someone leaves the room.
Blinking, Spencer realizes where he is as his eyes finally come into focus. There’s a little machine next to his bed that is beeping softly, steadily. A clipboard hangs at the end of his tiny white bed and he frowns at it.
His mother is still there, clinging tightly to the little railing on the bed, her face pale and worried.
“What?” Spencer tries to speak but his voice sounds scratchy as though he hasn’t used it for a while.
“Lie back,” comes his mother’s voice again and the gentle pressure on his shoulder.
Where is the doctor?
Spencer blinks against his mother’s voice and focuses on her long, dark hair, how she hovers close to him.
“Spencer, can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Spencer pauses as a new voice enters the room, deep and masculine, but not his father’s.
“Um, three?” he guesses, staring at the fingers in front of him.
Things are coming into sharper focus now and the soft beep is louder now. The room is small and a doctor in a white coat is scribbling on the chart that was at the foot of the bed.
“What’s going on?” Spencer manages to choke finally, looking at his mom and dad, who both stand wearily at the edge of his bed.
The last thing he remembers is Ryan calling him at about three in the morning and asking him to bring over the set of notes that he’d left at Spencer’s house. Spencer, being the great best friend that he is, had snuck out of his own house, Ryan’s notes tucked safely under his arm as he made his way down the block to Ryan’s house on the corner.
He didn’t dare knock on the door and wake Ryan’s parents, so he had taken his usual route to Ryan’s room: up the tree and out on the long limb to Ryan’s window.
That’s all he remembers until he’s woken up by burning lights and concerned parents at his shoulder.
Minor concussion, keep overnight for observation.
“What?” Spencer asks as he hears the doctor’s voice again.
The doctor glances at him. “You have a minor concussion. We’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
“I heard you the first time,” Spencer mutters, looking away and straining to remember what happened.
His mom exchanges a curious glance with his father, then sighs and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You fell out of Ryan’s tree.”
The Window Tree. Spencer pauses, thinking. He remembers a loud crack and rushing air. That must explain why his arm is throbbing and, oh, there’s a cast too. He does a double-take at that and stares at his parents.
Shouldn’t have snuck out at night. Going to have a talk with Ryan’s parents.
“No, you can’t do that,” Spencer protests immediately, staring at his dad, who looks confused.
“Do what?”
“Talk to Ryan’s parents. He’ll get in huge trouble.”
“You’re in pretty big trouble yourself,” his dad says, but still looks perplexed.
Spencer sighs and sinks down into the bed. “Where’s Ryan?”
Always the first thing he asks.
Spencer looks at his mom, frowning, who hitches on a smile. “He’s at home. He was here, but we made him get some sleep.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Just a day,” his mom reassures him. “Ryan called us right away.”
“Can I go home?” Spencer asks the doctor, really hoping that overnight observation was just a suggestion.
“Well, we’d prefer-”
“I’m fine,” he insists. He doesn’t want to stay in the hospital with all the sick people. It creeps him out a little.
Don’t make him stay. I can’t stand being here any longer.
“See, dad agrees.”
All three adults kind of stare at him and he stares back. “What?”
“Maybe we should get you home,” his mom suggests and Spencer is relieved that at least someone is listening to him.
The doctor still looks iffy, but pressure from both his parents and Spencer have him signing the release papers and Spencer is shunted into the car where he sits, grimacing at the thought of having to explain the broken arm at school the next day.
*
I’m in deep shit.
Spencer looks up before Ryan even enters the room.
“Why?”
Ryan looks startled as Spencer speaks to him and he’s barely got one foot in Spencer’s room.
Spencer is sitting on his bed, his arm wrapped in its sling and thumbing through a copy of Sports Illustrated. He only reads it for the hot athletes.
“What?” Ryan asks, sounding guilty and confused.
“Why are you in deep shit?”
Ryan pauses for a minute, a strange expression coming over his face, one Spencer hasn’t seen since Ryan was asked to dissect a frog in Biology.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. I heard you,” Spencer says as though it’s obvious. He clearly heard Ryan say it before he’d entered the room.
“No,” Ryan says slowly. He stares at Spencer for a second, then seems to let it go as he flops down onto the bed and sighs. “My parents grounded me for three weeks for this.”
“Well, you did make me come over at three AM and then I fell out of your Window Tree. I completely blame you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ryan mutters, but rolls his eyes anyway. “You’re okay, right?”
Spencer can hear the barely-masked concern and sighs. “I’m fine. I’d be better if people stopped asking me that.”
Ryan doesn’t smile. “I shouldn’t have called. It was stupid. I should have just come over in the morning.”
Spencer sighs and sets down the magazine. “Ryan, it’s fine. I’m fine. Hey, you want to be the first person to sign my cast?”
Ryan hesitates and then smiles, reaching for the pen Spencer hands him.
“But no stupid flowery song lyric,” Spencer warns before releasing the pen and Ryan rolls his eyes.
*
Spencer is not hearing things. People are talking; they just don’t seem to realize.
He answers teacher’s questions before they voice the question, gets angry at people who call him names under their breath, and blushes furiously at what Ashley Johnson says about him during lunch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ryan asks after Spencer turns bright red over his French fries.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?” he hisses, hardly daring to glance over to where Ashley is sitting with her group of friends.
“Who?” Ryan asks dubiously, now staring at Spencer as though there is something seriously wrong with him.
He’s going crazy.
“I am not,” Spencer snaps, poking at his fries uninterestedly.
“Not what?” Ryan just stares at him and Spencer huffs dramatically.
“Stop pretending. I heard you.”
“Heard me what?” Ryan asks again, more plaintively.
Spencer growls, annoyed, and stands from the table. “Fine, pretend you didn’t say it. I have to get out of here.”
He hears whispers following him out, catches snatches of, freak - where’s he going? - did I forget my English homework?
When he gets outside and finds peace and quiet on the front lawn, he sprawls down against the side of the school and sighs.
It’s been like this ever since he fell out of Ryan’s Window Tree and got a concussion. People look at him funny and say things he’s never heard them say before.
He’s sitting on the lawn, plucking at grass blades as a group of girls walk by.
“So I told Tony that I wasn’t going all the way.” Oh my God, I totally just lied to my best friend. I hope she doesn’t realize.
Spencer glances up at that, confused.
Ew, that kid is looking at us. I wonder if he’s listening.
“So you really didn’t?”
“Totally.” God, I did it again.
Spencer just stares as they pass. Did they really just say all that? A contradiction within one sentence and talking to themselves? It doesn’t make any sense.
I hope he’s not mad at me. He’s just been acting weird lately. Ever since…
“Spencer?”
Ryan appears behind him and Spencer looks back, a frown on his face as he stares at Ryan.
“What?” Ryan asks carefully.
Is he mad at me? I knew this would happen.
“Ryan,” Spencer says slowly, “what did you just think?”
Ryan looks surprised at the question and cautious as to Spencer’s motives. “Um, why?”
“Think of something.” Spencer stares at him pleadingly.
Ryan looks confused, but sighs and looks around him.
This is stupid. What is he trying to do? Catch me in a lie?
“I’m not trying to catch you in a lie,” Spencer says slowly and Ryan’s eyes snap back to him.
“How did you-”
“I don’t know.” Spencer is a little scared to be honest. He’s hearing people’s thoughts.
Ryan stares, and for a minute, all Spencer gets is white noise, but then it’s a blur of thoughts flooding his mind.
Holy crap. What has he heard? Oh my God, what if he knows about-No, don’t think about that. Think about something else. God, Spencer, if you’re in my head right now, this is so awkward.
Spencer blinks and wishes he had a way to turn it off.
“I think I’m crazy.”
“Yeah,” Ryan breathes, sliding down next to him. “So do I.”
*
By age sixteen, Spencer has hardly any better control than he did when he was thirteen.
He’s learned not to speak before he actually sees someone’s mouth move because it’s just safer that way. He doesn’t get quite as many weird looks now, and the thoughts flooding his mind are milder.
Of course, he’s a teenager, so his own thoughts are just as muddled as everyone else’s and he doesn’t know what to do about them.
He tries to keep up with Ryan, who wants to start a band and get famous. Spencer’s not sure it will happen, but he learns the drums anyway and talks his grandmother into letting them use her living room for practice space.
He may or may not appease her by listening to her thoughts and assuring her that the furniture will not be stained and the cats will be perfectly safe.
Sometimes, this reading minds things isn’t too bad.
Other times, he really wishes he’d never fallen out of that tree and that Ryan lived in a one-story house.
When Brent brings the new guy, the one who’ll “make the band”, Spencer desperately wishes for an off-switch.
The new guy, Brendon, is a blur of motion and thoughts. He hardly lands on one complete thought for the span of less than a minute.
Wow, a band! My parents are gonna be so pissed. They have cookies! I love cookies! I should buy cookies tomo-Wow, that’s a nice guitar. I wonder where he got it. I wonder how much it cost. I need money. I need more hours at work. I wonder if Tammy’ll be there tomorrow. She always lets me make free smoothies. I wonder what kind of smoothies Ryan likes. I should get him one. And Spencer. Spencer’s pretty awesome too.
Spencer can’t even keep up with the way Brendon’s brain moves and so, he tries to let it filter through his mind, but it doesn’t seem to work. Brendon’s constant stream of thoughts bounce from one thing to another like an erratic game of ping-pong.
Ryan’s thoughts are a bit slower, more concentrated, deliberate, and Spencer deals with them better. Ryan is also the only one who knows that Spencer can hear his thoughts at any moment, and is quicker to keep them to himself.
The thing about the band is that they are marginally good, but they’re not great. Brendon has an amazing voice and Ryan writes fantastic lyrics, but there’s something about Brent that has Spencer wondering.
Brent’s thoughts get darker and darker as time progresses and Senior year starts. Spencer is actually starting to believe in the band, but Brent seems to be less and less.
Why do I have to be at this stupid practice? Sherry is waiting for me.
Spencer glares a little when Brent thinks this in the middle of practice one afternoon. Ryan catches the glare and frowns slightly.
Brendon’s only thought is, Ryan’s mouth is pretty, even when he frowns.
Spencer chooses to ignore that little thought for the moment.
Bristling slightly, Spencer stops playing. “Let’s start over.”
“What was wrong with that?” Brent asks, annoyed as he checks the clock on the wall for the fifth time that hour.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Spencer asks pointedly.
Brent scowls.
Yeah, to my girlfriend. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? You’re too busy fucking Ryan.
To be honest, Spencer is extremely offended by the notion that he and Ryan are anything more than friends, not to mention the fact that Brendon’s thoughts are now a current stream of, he has a nice ass too. God, my parents will kill me. First the band, now this. I am so going to hell. But hey, if Ryan’s there, I guess it wouldn’t be too bad.
“It’s just taking a while,” Brent says instead of voicing his thoughts.
“Well, I’m sorry if the band’s not a priority.”
Like we’re gonna make it with emo boy and the Red Bull addict.
“I just have other shit to do.”
“Then go do it,” Spencer says firmly, glaring at Brent, who huffs for a minute, then shoves his bass in its case and stalks out the front door.
Spencer turns to find both Ryan and Brendon watching him.
Brendon’s thoughts have calmed to a slightly worried, where is Brent going?
Ryan just meets Spencer’s gaze and he doesn’t have to hear Ryan’s thoughts to know what he’s thinking.
*
The band doesn’t last much longer. Brent gives up in frustration and calls Spencer a lot of things to his face, and thinks some others that hurt just a little bit more.
Spencer is eighteen when Brent finally stalks out of the last practice and thinks something about throwing his bass off the next bridge he crosses.
Ryan and Brendon watch him go and then there’s a collective sigh.
It’ll be fine, Ryan thinks and Spencer knows he’s talking to him.
What are we gonna do now? is Brendon’s initial thought and Spencer can see the disappointment on his face. The band meant a lot to Brendon, to all of them.
“Don’t worry,” Spencer says, pulling Brendon in and letting him hug him for once. Usually it’s Ryan who gets the brunt of the hugs, but Spencer has a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t mind. “Maybe we weren’t meant to do this.”
Ryan just shakes his head, staring at the floor.
Maybe my dad was right.
“No, he wasn’t,” Spencer says fiercely and Brendon looks up at him, confused.
Ryan just meets his eyes then glances away.
*
Spencer goes to college instead. It still isn’t any easier. People’s thoughts might be a little more educated, but the majority are still along the lines of, That bitch. She slept with my boyfriend! - Oh shit, oh shit! My printer broke! Ink! I need ink! - God, I hate school. - Is it May yet?
He dates a guy named Gabe, whose thoughts are enough to turn even the most seasoned professional’s cheeks pink.
Spencer has to try really hard not to listen to them, but when they’re alone in theatres and Gabe is pressed against him, his mind a stream of, When we get back, I’m gonna handcuff him to the bed and drag out the snakes. I hope he’s into reptiles, he can’t help it.
Needless to say, Spencer breaks it off pretty quickly after that.
He hangs out with Ryan and Brendon still, but Ryan has a job in a bank as a teller and Brendon still works full time at the Smoothie Hut while trying to pay for college. His parents had kicked him out after he’d come out to them.
He still hasn’t told Ryan that he’s desperately in love with him, but Spencer knows he’s dying to.
He’s so perfect. He won’t want me. Brendon gazes across the table at Ryan while they all sit at lunch together.
Why is Brendon looking at me like that?
“So how are your business classes?” Ryan asks instead, picking at his napkin and avoiding Brendon’s eyes.
Spencer shrugs. “Boring.”
“Why are you majoring in it then?” Brendon asks, finally tearing his eyes from Ryan and stealing a fry instead.
Spencer shrugs again. “Good money.”
Bad reason.
Spencer frowns at Brendon’s, for once, coherent thought that relates to the conversation. Ryan is still picking at his napkin and doesn’t offer an opinion, vocal or otherwise.
“Did you hear back from the publisher?” Spencer asks, changing the subject instead and turning to Ryan.
“Nah,” Ryan mutters. “But they might not even read it, you know.”
It’s crap. I don’t know why I sent it in the first place.
“Because it’s good.”
Ryan glances up and Brendon looks confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Spencer says quickly and Brendon pouts.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
Lie to me. “Respond to things no one says.”
Spencer and Ryan share a glance and Brendon throws up his hands.
“See! You’re doing it right now.”
You should tell him.
Spencer glares in response and Ryan just shrugs.
Brendon folds his arms across his chest childishly. “Fine, just leave me out. Not like I’m your friend or anything. I’m just a distant relative that you haven’t seen in twenty years.”
Sighing, Spencer turns to Brendon and pauses, picking at his fork. “Brendon, I can hear your thoughts.”
Brendon’s eyes get wide and his mind kicks into a flurry that Spencer will never be able to keep up with.
*
After graduation, Spencer gets a job in Chicago working for a marketing firm. He mostly works on the books, but sometimes, he gets to sit in on presentations, just for fun.
He had packed his things in his little Volkswagen and made the trip across the country alone, leaving Las Vegas far behind him along with the rest of his childhood. Ryan had waved him goodbye from his front door while Brendon’s lower lip trembled beside him.
Spencer is a little scared of Chicago and how big it is. The buildings seem to tower here in a way that they never did in Vegas. Something in the air hints that it won’t stay muggy forever when he arrives in mid-July.
His apartment is small but he squeezes a queen-sized bed in anyway. He shares the space with a particularly grumpy black cat, but if he lets him sleep on the bed, the cat’s usually appeased.
The marketing firm is big and looms over him on his first day there.
He endures many curious glances and even more curious thoughts as he’s led to his cubicle.
Who’s the hottie? is the thought drifting from the fifty-year old woman with nails as long as her fingers.
Spencer just avoids catching anyone’s eye and thanks the boss when they reach his office space.
His job is pretty simple as long as he’s organized and Spencer doesn’t find much challenge in it.
Most of the challenge comes from fending off the sexual advances from women twice his age.
He makes friends with Greta, the seemingly only girl there who isn’t after his ‘cute little tush’ as he’s heard thought more times than he can count.
Greta is really nice and helps him around the office, tells him about what goes on upstairs. Upstairs is where the real marketing offices are, where the presentations are made, where the photographers and artists work.
Spencer likes Greta. It helps that she has a steady boyfriend and that her thoughts don’t wander too much.
The budget for the Nike shoot needs to be done this afternoon. Jon needs a new camera. File that in expenses. Spencer’s looking for coffee.
She makes lists like that a lot.
“The coffee is in the second drawer to the right,” she says, smiling when he finds it after five minutes of searching in the wrong cupboards.
The break room is small and the coffee sucks, but it’s still coffee. Greta is leaning against the doorway to the room, her head tilted to the side as Spencer goes about making a new pot.
“You know,” she says after a minute, and Spencer is glad for the blissful silence beforehand. With Greta, she thinks so quietly that he can barely hear her. “Candi down in human resources was asking about you.”
Spencer internally groans. He doesn’t need another woman twice his age making a pass at him. He’s not even interested in girls and their thoughts make him cringe and feel sick.
He hates that after nearly ten years, he still can’t control what he hears and what he doesn’t. Sometimes it’s quiet and other times it’s loud. Some people’s thoughts bombard his own and make it hard to hear anything else. Other people’s slip into the background, and for that, he’s grateful.
“You’re not interested?”
Spencer wonders sometimes if Greta can read minds too.
“Not really.”
Spencer doesn’t elaborate that he wouldn’t touch a girl with a fifty foot pole and that the only ass he’s interested in was about two years ago and definitely not in the feminine way.
Spencer hasn’t dated anyone for a while, mostly because it’s awkward. He knows what they feel before they tell him and pre-emptive break-ups have become his specialty. He doesn’t like knowing that they’d rather be at home watching a movie than on a date with him. He doesn’t like knowing that that wasn’t how their last boyfriend did it.
It also doesn’t help that every guy he’s met has only been interested in one thing, and it wasn’t his mind.
Greta pauses again and Spencer actually strains to hear her thoughts.
I wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone since being here. Maybe he’s celibate. No, he’s too cute. Hm. Maybe he has a girlfriend. No, he hasn’t mentioned anyone beside his two friends, what were their names? Oh, Ryan and Brendon. I wonder… No. Maybe? I wonder.
Wonder what? Spencer wants to know, but a voice from the hall calls for Greta and she glances back.
“Bob is looking for me. I have to go.”
Spencer just nods and wants to know what she was wondering.
*
Ryan lives in New York working for a publishing company and Brendon tagged along because it’s pretty obvious that he’ll never leave Ryan’s side.
Brendon still hasn’t told Ryan, but Spencer hears his thoughts whenever he calls, and it’s always the same.
Maybe Spencer could tell him for me. What was he saying? I should be paying attention, but-oh look, Ryan’s only wearing sweat pants. That’s hot.
Spencer doesn’t stay on the phone too long after that.
*
Spencer likes his job well enough. If he manages to stay in his cubicle, he doesn’t get quite as many thoughts floating through. He puts on quiet music to muffle the rest of them and tries to concentrate.
It’s always been a challenge, ever since the Window Tree incident. He tries to concentrate, but having other people’s thoughts in his head makes it twice as hard. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to stay sane through all the years. He supposes it was because he always had Ryan to calm him down when it became too much.
Now, though, Ryan is a thousand miles away and Spencer only gets to see him at Christmas.
So Spencer tries his hardest to get his work done and not let the petulant thoughts of others invade his conscious.
A knock on his cubicle wall makes him look up. He hasn’t heard any in-coming thoughts, so there is a good chance that he may have successfully blocked them. Feeling good, he turns around in his chair to the door, only to stop and blink at the man standing there.
The man is kind of short, wearing jeans and a tee shirt. The stubble on his chin looks rough and he has an easy smile that reaches his eyes as he looks at Spencer.
Spencer’s mouth falls open for a second as he scrambles to find words.
The man just tilts his head to the side, that same smile on his face.
He doesn’t know who I am. I thought Bob was going to tell him. He has nice eyes.
Spencer blinks again and clears his throat for a lack of anything else.
“C-can I help you?” he asks finally, catching sight of the flip-flops - flip-flops - that the man is wearing.
“Yeah, I’m Jon,” the man says, taking a step inside the small box. “Bob said he was going to tell you that you’re responsible for my account now.”
Spencer stares for another second before jerking back, quickly rummaging in the pile of new papers that arrived on his desk that morning. He comes up with one with Jon’s name on it, a summary of his company purchases on it.
“Yeah, it’s right here,” Spencer mumbles, feeling like an idiot as Jon smiles.
“Oh, good. Didn’t want you to freak out or anything.”
Spencer isn’t sure if it’s a joke or not and just frowns.
Did I say something wrong? He’s looking at me weird. Did I forget to shave? Oh shit, I did.
Spencer shakes himself and looks at the paper instead. “You’re a photographer?”
Jon smiles again. “Yeah. And I need a new lens for my camera. You’re supposed to approve it.”
“Well, I have to go over your account first,” Spencer mutters, making a note on the paper.
Jon nods. Thought so. Why can’t they just let me get my own gear? I miss shooting on my own.
Jon’s face doesn’t reflect his thoughts at all and Spencer is a little perplexed. Brendon’s face always reflects his emotions and even Ryan sometimes. Jon’s face, however, is fixed in that easy smile that makes Spencer’s stomach twist a little.
What’s he doing?
Spencer realizes that he’s been staring just a bit too long and jerks back. The edges of Jon’s smile tilt up a little higher at the motion but he doesn’t say anything.
“When do you need the approval by?”
“The shoot’s next week, so by Monday? If that’s okay.”
Most people don’t ask if it’s enough time. Usually they give Spencer a deadline and tell him to make it work. Jon, though, Jon is asking for his confirmation.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Spencer says after a minute and Jon’s smile widens just a little and he taps his fingers idly against his thighs as he stands in the doorway.
“You’re new, right?” Jon asks casually, his head still tilted to the right, and Spencer wonders if there’s somewhere else he should be right now. He can’t possibly have time just to hang around Spencer’s cubicle.
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer mutters finally, going back to the papers in front of him and trying to sort them into some semblance of something organized.
He seems nervous. It’s kind of cute.
Spencer must be hearing things. And not Jon’s thoughts. There’s no way Jon just thought that.
“Are you from Chicago or…?”
“Las Vegas.” Spencer places Jon’s account on the top and puts a post-it on it.
Jon nods again, the smile firmly in place on his face. “So have you seen much of the city yet?”
Spencer pauses. He can sense what’s coming. He doesn’t even have to listen to the thoughts swirling in his mind to know. It’s getting harder to differentiate, though, as other people’s thoughts cloud over Jon’s. There are reminders about broken printers, picking up tomatoes for dinner, and wondering how long the boss will be gone and if the lock on the copy room still works.
“Not really,” he mutters instead, turning from Jon and hoping he gets the hint.
Jon pauses, watching him carefully.
If I could get him under a good backlight, that would be an amazing picture. I wonder if he’d ever agree to that. Maybe after he stops thinking that I’m the creepy photographer guy.
Spencer glances back carefully, but Jon just smiles.
“Well, it’s a nice city. You should. Anyway, I have to get back upstairs. Let me know about the lens, yeah?”
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer agrees slowly, a little surprised that Jon hadn’t taken the path he’d suspected.
Jon just quirks his shoulder before turning and vanishing from the doorway.
Spencer stares after until Candi wanders by, peeking in at him and he catches a snatch of, The things I would do to those hips before he turns away, disturbed, and buries himself in paperwork.
*
Jon doesn’t come back for a few days and Spencer spends most of the time working on his account. He finds plenty of money that could be used for a new lens. So on Monday morning, he makes his way upstairs to find Jon and let him know.
Upstairs is a maze of glass offices, art rooms, photo studios, and big meeting rooms. There are flowers on every table and a woman in a tight black skirt and blouse sits outside each office, typing efficiently on her computer and simultaneously answering phones.
The first woman Spencer comes to, he decides to ask for directions and brave the direction of her thoughts.
“Uh, excuse me,” he says, reading the little name plaque on her desk. It reads ‘Cassie.’
“Can I help you?” the girl asks promptly, her eyes sweeping over him and he hears, suit, tie, not a client. Must be from downstairs.
“I’m looking for Jon Walker,” Spencer says, ignoring her immediate assessment of him.
“In the second photo studio.”
Spencer pauses, glancing the way she motions helplessly. She sees this and her mouth curves into a soft smile.
“Down the hall, third door on your left. Next to the extremely ugly swan statue.”
“Thanks,” Spencer says, a little relieved.
“No problem.” Cassie smiles as he moves away.
Nice hips. Jon’s a lucky man.
Spencer nearly stops to ask what that means, but forces himself not to, and puzzles alone as he heads in the direction she said.
The second photo studio is easy to find. It’s the door directly next to a swan statue that’s neck is about a foot too long and whose wings are twisting in strange directions that Spencer doesn’t think real bird’s do.
Knocking carefully, he pushes open the door slowly. It isn’t dark as he thought it might be. There are bright lights all around and he’s flashed back for a second to that day he woke up in the hospital with a broken arm and the ability to read minds.
Blinking, he glances around for Jon. He finds him sitting behind a computer with another man, going over photos.
“What about that one?” Jon asks, pointing to something on the screen and the other guy scoffs.
“She has her eyes closed, dude.”
“She could be looking down. Call it artistic preference.”
“I call it shit camera work.”
“Shut up.”
Spencer stands just inside the door listening to Jon and the other man bicker amicably and wonders if he should interrupt.
“Spencer!”
He’s saved the trouble as Jon catches sight of him. Jon ushers him forward as the other man straightens up, a hand on the back of Jon’s chair a little possessively.
“I have your account figured out,” Spencer offers.
“Great!” Jon’s face lights up into a smile and he waits patiently.
The other guy is looking Spencer over carefully.
This is him, huh? Doesn’t look like much. Good eyes, though. The right light and…
“Yeah.” Spencer interrupts the other guy’s thoughts before they can finish. He has a feeling it’s a photographer thing. Not to mention he feels a little uncomfortable under the stare.
God, Tom, stop sizing him up. You’ll scare him away just like the last one.
Spencer glances between the two, Tom’s sharp eyes and Jon’s friendly ones.
“Yeah,” he says again. “You have plenty of money for a new lens.”
“That’s awesome.” Jon grins and Spencer feels his stomach doing another weird somersault.
Oh, good. We need that to make this girl look good. We need better models. I wonder if Spencer would… Probably not.
Spencer pauses and nods, glancing at Tom again, who doesn’t look any more friendly.
“Oh,” Jon says as though just realizing Tom is there. “Spencer, this is Tom. He’s a fellow photographer.”
“Nice to meet you,” Spencer says, smiling a little.
“Likewise.” He better not do anything stupid or I swear to God-
“Do you know anything about photography?” Jon asks, somehow sensing the tension. Spencer is glad. He really doesn’t want to know how that thought was going to end.
“Not really,” Spencer admits. “Just how to turn the camera on.” He smiles awkwardly and bites his lip when Jon’s eyes light up and he thinks, he has a great smile.
Tom rolls his eyes. Stupid.
Frowning, Spencer glances at him and Tom doesn’t look as though he’s thought anything.
“Jon said you were new.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, glancing at Jon again. “I’ve only been here a couple months.”
“You like it?” Tom’s questions are blunt and Spencer almost appreciates it except it seems as though he’s being interrogated.
“It’s alright. I kind of miss home.”
“Why? You have a girlfriend there?”
Tom! is Jon’s adamant thought, and Spencer is even a little surprised.
When he looks, though, Jon is just gazing at the account invoice and seems to be humming a song to himself instead of thinking about Tom or Spencer.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Spencer replies finally. “Here or there.”
Tom nods slowly. Check one in the plus column.
“I think Spencer probably has work to do,” Jon says, interrupting the series of awkward questions and standing. “Thanks for coming by. You really didn’t have to.”
Spencer shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve never been upstairs before.”
Jon laughs and Spencer’s stomach flips a little. He doesn’t know why this is happening, especially when the most Jon has thought about him so far is that he has nice eyes and he’s cute when he’s nervous.
“Well, you’re welcome any time,” Jon assures him.
He hears Tom’s quiet scoff and the thought that comes with it.
Any time. Just remember to lock the doors and clean the equipment after.
Spencer frowns as he turns back to look at Tom, still standing by the computer, as Jon leads him to the door. Tom doesn’t react, only arches a knowing eyebrow as though he knows something Spencer doesn’t.
Unnerved, Spencer lets Jon steer him to the door and hold it open for him.
“Think you can find your way back alone?”
“Yeah, I drew a map.”
Jon laughs again and leans against the doorframe as Spencer steps out. “I like your sense of humor, Mr. Smith.”
Spencer just nods, his mouth quirking into a smile. “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you will.”
Pausing, Spencer turns and heads down the hallway to the sound of Jon’s quiet thought.
Oh, you will.
It isn’t until Spencer reaches his cubicle that he realizes that Jon used his last name and he never told it to him.
*
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ry.”
Spencer.. “Hey. What’s up?”
Spencer pauses, glancing around his fairly empty apartment and wishing there was more in it, mainly Ryan.
“Not much. You?”
Ryan makes a vague noise, but his thoughts say a lot more. Brendon’s been acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t like Keltie. But why not? She’s really nice. Maybe he didn’t get that job.
“Who’s Keltie?” Spencer asks curiously and Ryan sighs, slightly annoyed.
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I can’t help it.” Spencer shrugs. Ryan knows this. He hears Ryan sigh again and wishes he could help it. “So? Who is she?”
“She’s someone…”
“Someone who? Someone Brendon doesn’t like?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan sighs again. “He’s just been acting weird. Like, ever since I told him about Keltie. We went on a date last week and we’re going on another tomorrow. But Brendon just seems different.”
Spencer could tell Ryan why Brendon is acting strange, why the thought of Ryan dating a girl has Brendon internally wincing and crying. But he doesn’t say anything because he decided long ago that his ability would not affect the natural order of things.
“Maybe you just need to talk to him,” Spencer suggests carefully and there’s an obvious pause.
“You know, don’t you?”
Sighing, Spencer switches sides with the phone. “I can hear his thoughts, so yeah.”
“And you’re not gonna tell me?”
“Nope. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“Kinda am.”
He can practically see Ryan’s rolled eyes through the phone.
So I have to figure this out alone? Perfect. Thanks, Spence.
“You’re welcome.”
Ryan just grumbles. “Do you want to talk to Brendon?”
“Nah,” Spencer says, thinking he’s not in the mood for a flood of Ryan-based sad thoughts.
“Fine. So why did you call?”
It’s Spencer’s turn to fumble and he’s really glad that Ryan can’t hear thoughts too.
“Just to say hi, see how things were.”
There’s a pause and Spencer knows Ryan doesn’t believe him.
Yeah right. “Oh really?”
“Really.”
Totally lying. “So nothing is going on?”
“Well…”
Knew it.
“I met this guy at work.”
“Really?” Ryan’s tone is more interested now.
“Yeah. His name is Jon.”
Biblical.
Spencer rolls his eyes at that. Ryan’s mind is very literary-centered.
“And?”
“And, I don’t know.” Spencer shrugs. He isn’t sure why he brought Jon up. There’s not much there. Jon hasn’t thought or said or done anything obscene. He’s barely even noticed him beyond his eyes, and everyone tells Spencer that he has nice eyes. “I just met him and he seems nice.”
“Seems nice? So he hasn’t thought anything weird?”
“Not really. I don’t think he’s gay.”
“Well how do you know?”
“Because I can hear thoughts,” Spencer says obviously. “I know a lot of things.”
“You don’t know everything,” Ryan points out, which is true because his ability seems to flicker in and out sometimes, depending on how hard he’s concentrating and exactly who he’s talking to.
“Okay, but he hasn’t even thought anything remotely related to that.”
“What? Nothing about your hips?”
Spencer hates that he blushes even when Ryan says it. It’s what everyone focuses on and most of their dirtiest thoughts center around them.
“No, nothing about my hips,” he grumbles.
“Maybe he’s not gay then.”
Spencer feels a twinge of disappointment at that. “Okay, but I met his friend and every time I told people about him, like that I was looking for him or something, they all had strange thoughts like they thought something about him and me.”
“Like what?” Maybe you’re just paranoid.
“I’m not paranoid,” Spencer insists, annoyed. He doesn’t even acknowledge Ryan’s tired sigh and plows on anyway. “Like the receptionist thought that Jon was lucky or something because I was looking for him? Or his friend, Tom. He totally thought something about killing me.”
“Killing you?” Ryan’s tone is dry and skeptical.
“You know, if you hurt him, I’ll kill you kind of thing. Like everything I’ve ever told Brendon about you.”
“What?”
Spencer cringes. “Nothing. Just friends stuff.”
Right… “Okay.”
“Anyway, I have to go. So I’ll call you later?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agrees slowly and Spencer nods.
“’Kay. Bye!”
“Bye.”
Spencer hangs up the phone and mentally hits himself for letting that slip. Sighing, he turns to the grumpy cat at the other end of the couch and pauses.
“At least I can’t hear your thoughts.”
The cat glares for a minute, then stalks off the couch and into the bedroom and Spencer doesn’t even have to wonder.
*
Clearing agent, filter, broken shutter.
Spencer looks up as he hears a familiar voice in his head. The list continues as the voice gets louder.
Enlarger, lens cleaner. God, so much stuff. Gotta make a real list upstairs. Find Spencer first.
Spencer waits almost patiently, staring at his computer screen and trying not to look as though he’s waiting for Jon’s quiet knock on the opening to his cubicle.
“Hey,” Jon says when Spencer turns around, and he’s already smiling.
“Hi,” Spencer replies, wondering what Jon wants aside from to make a long list of camera equipment.
“You have a minute?” I hate that I’m here on business. Wish there was a better reason.
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, swinging around in his chair and waiting for Jon, who still stands in the doorway, one shoulder perched against it casually.
“Okay, so I bought the lens and there are some more things I need to know if I have the budget for.”
“Like what?”
“I’d have to make a list,” Jon says, laughing slightly. And it’s going to be a long one.
“Make the list and get it to me and I’ll see what we can do.”
What we can do, huh? “Okay. Sounds good.”
Spencer nods and feels the awkward silence coming on.
Jon remains in the door, tapping his fingers against his thighs again and Spencer can’t help glancing at them. Jon just smiles and glances around the office.
Huh. No pictures of anyone. It’s kind of bland in here. He needs a plant. Maybe I’ll get him a plant. I wonder what flower he might like. Maybe blue, like his eyes.
Spencer feels the flush rising on his neck even though Jon has thought nothing that he couldn’t say to him.
Is he okay?
Spencer clears his throat and rubs his neck consciously, licking his lips and meeting Jon’s soft brown eyes.
“Is that all?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Jon says. “Sorry, I just get bored upstairs sometimes.”
“So you come hang out with the accountants?”
Jon shrugs but smiles. “You’re not all bad.”
The flush flares again and Jon just grins.
He’s embarrassed. That’s funny.
Blinking, Spencer turns back to his computer. “I guess not.”
“What? You don’t hang out with accountants?”
“I don’t really hang out with anybody,” Spencer says before he can stop himself.
Jon pauses, taking him in. Why not? You’re nice, seem interesting. It’s a big city. There are lots of people.
“Why?”
Spencer shrugs. “Just haven’t had time.” It isn’t a complete lie. Spencer does work a lot and he works hard. It’s his first real job and he doesn’t want to blow it.
He also doesn’t really have anyone he can hang out with around here. Even if he did, he doesn’t know if he could handle their thoughts. With Ryan, it’s easy. He’s been listening to him for years. And even Brendon isn’t bad as long as he’s kept occupied and focused.
“Do you have many friends here?”
Spencer doesn’t intend to answer, but something about Jon’s earnest expression has him opening his mouth.
“Not really. My best friends live in New York.”
Jon nods. “That’s kinda far.”
“Yeah.” Spencer turns back to the computer and hopes that Jon will leave so he can not think about Ryan alone.
He looks sad. He shouldn’t look like that. He needs to smile again… Tom wouldn’t mind.
“Hey, on Fridays, Tom and I usually hit this bar after work. It’s kind of close by, next to a subway stop, if you’re interested.”
It’s the pity invite, Spencer can feel it.
Say yes, come on, Jon subconsciously urges him as he waits for Spencer to answer.
“Come on,” Jon says eagerly. “It’ll be fun. I promise Tom’s not as weird as he seems. He’s actually really nice.”
Spencer hesitates still. “I don’t know.”
Jon gives him a look reminiscent of Brendon’s puppy-dog eyes. “Come on,” he urges. “Just one night. We can get drunk and you can tell me about your life and I can tell you about my cats, divulge embarrassing secrets, and in the morning, we can both have horrible hang-overs and not remember a thing. Please?”
Spencer actually smiles at Jon’s description of the evening and laughs. “Well, when you put it like that.”
Jon’s face lights up in a grin and he walks over, his flip-flops slapping on the barely-carpeted floor. He bends over Spencer’s desk and scribbles a number on one of Spencer’s many post-its. Stepping back, he hands it to Spencer.
“Here’s my number. Can I have yours?”
Spencer thinks vaguely that this is a good way to get Jon’s number as he scribbles his own down on another post-it and gives it to Jon.
“Great.” Jon smiles and pockets the number. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”
“Yeah,” Spencer mutters as Jon walks out the door.
The last thing he hears is Jon’s distant thought of, I better warn Tom about this.
Spencer doesn’t know what that means, but he just shrugs and hides his smile as he looks at Jon’s phone number scrawled across the bright pink post-it.
*
Friday comes almost too soon for Spencer, and he finds himself sitting at his desk at five in the afternoon, biting his lip and staring at the clock as it ticks one past the hour.
He’s definitely rethinking this ‘hanging out with Jon’ thing. He doesn’t know what possessed him to say yes, but it’s too late to back out now, especially when he hears a familiar laugh down the hallway outside his cubicle.
Jon appears in his door with Tom and hardly knocks because Spencer is already turning around.
“Hey, Spence, you ready?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything about the shortening of his name but nods and rises from the chair, shutting down his computer and shoving papers in his briefcase.
Tom raises an eyebrow as he does so. Taking home the office, eh?
Spencer tries to ignore him, clipping it shut. “So where are we going?”
Jon just smiles and ushers him out of the cubicle. “There’s a bar a couple blocks from here.”
“Right,” Spencer mutters, wondering if it really is too late to fake sick and go home, watch What Not to Wear with his grumpy cat snuggled into his side.
They walk along, Jon and Tom talking and Spencer not really listening. He catches snatches of their thoughts, though, but they’re mostly along the lines of the conversation.
The bar they go to is dark with a long counter that runs the length of the west wall. A cheery bartender is there and he seems to know Jon and Tom. He greets them as they slide to the counter and order three beers.
Spencer takes the one Jon hands him and follows them to a little table out of the way. There’s a band on stage, but they’re not really playing.
“So, Spencer,” Jon says once they’re seated, “I believe I promised to tell you about my cats.”
Oh, here we go, is Tom’s sarcastic thought.
“Uh, yeah, you did,” Spencer agrees, running his finger over the mouth of his beer and taking a sip.
Jon smiles. “Well, I have two, Dylan and Clover.”
“You’re actually going to tell me about your cats?” Spencer blurts before he can stop and Jon smiles again.
“Yeah, why?”
“I dunno.” Spencer shrugs, feeling awkward. He takes another drink to have something else to do.
Like stupid lovesick teenagers. “Oh look, there’s Haley,” Tom interrupts. “I’m gonna go buy her a drink.”
Spencer watches as Tom gets up from the table and approaches a pretty girl with dark hair across the room. Jon hardly pays attention to him leaving, still smiling at Spencer.
Spencer doesn’t hear any thoughts and finds it odd, so he clears his throat and downs the last of his beer.
“I have a cat.”
“You do?” Jon’s face lights up and he looks genuinely interested as he leans over the table, watching Spencer.
“Yeah, but he’s really grumpy and I think he hates me.”
“Not possible,” Jon scoffs. “If you feed him, he loves you.”
Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think he resents me for taking up the good sleeping spots.”
Jon laughs. “Possibly. Cats are protective of their space.”
Spencer can’t believe he’s out with Jon and they’re talking about cats. Spencer’s cat doesn’t even like him. He flags down the waitress instead and orders another beer.
When Jon glances up at him from his beer, his mouth in a half smile, Spencer feels his stomach jump again and hopes that beer arrives real soon.
*
Four or five beers later (Spencer can’t particularly remember), he is still in the bar with Jon, but they’ve definitely moved on from the subject of cats. Tom hasn’t returned from where he’s talking up the Haley girl at the bar.
“I used to be in a band,” Spencer says, blinking as his body sways forward slightly and Jon just smiles at him. “But one of the guys was stupid. So it didn’t work.”
Jon nods. He’s only on his fourth beer, but he doesn’t seem much better off than Spencer. His words have been becoming more and more muddled as the night has gone on.
“I was a guitar tech for a band for a while.”
“What band?”
Jon pauses, frowning at his beer. What band? What band? Name… it was called… name. Tom would know. Name…
“Oh, The Academy Is…! Back when Tom was in it.”
“Tom was in a band?” Spencer slurs, peering around Jon to where Tom is flirting shamelessly with Haley.
“Yep,” Jon confirms, taking a swig of his now-empty beer. “He knew Pete Wentz but something happened with William. He won’t tell me what.” I’m his best friend. He should tell me what. Oh, beer is empty. I should get another one, but maybe not. Things are a little fuzzy. Am I drunk? No. Well, maybe.
Spencer laughs a little at Jon’s thoughts and Jon’s unfocused gaze slides back to him.
“What?”
“You think funny,” Spencer mumbles into his beer.
Jon looks confused but doesn’t ask about it. “Well, you talk funny.”
“I do?” Spencer looks at Jon, blinking in the dim light that hangs above the table.
“No,” Jon replies, shaking his head. But you look pretty. “Hey, Spencer.”
“Hmm?”
Jon scoots his chair over to Spencer’s side and props his elbow up on the table. “What do you think of my shoes?” He holds up his foot and Spencer stares at the flip-flops.
“I think… they’re impractical,” Spencer decides finally and Jon puts down his foot, frowning.
“But they’re comfy.” Jon turns to stare at Spencer, less than a foot away.
“They’re ugly.”
“Ugly? Nu uh,” Jon protests, leaning over and pressing against Spencer’s shoulder accidentally.
Spencer doesn’t say anything at the warm pressure against his side, but does swallow his thudding heart, staring at the rough stubble on Jon’s jaw, evidence that he had forgotten to shave again that morning.
“They’re not ugly,” Jon insists, pushing back his hair uselessly as it sweeps into his eyes.
Spencer just stares at him and reminds himself that Jon is not gay. He would know by now.
Where is that bottle? Did I order another one? I shouldn’t have one but… but… what was I thinking? Wow, Spencer is warm.
A slight pink flush has worked its way up Spencer’s neck to his cheeks, although he’s not sure if he can blame all the beer he’s had or that Jon thinks he’s warm.
Jon makes a tired noise, slumped against Spencer’s shoulder as Spencer stares down at him, over the curve of his small nose to his lips, wet from where Jon’s tongue flicks over them. They look tempting in the dull light of the bar.
The band is playing now and things are kind of loud, but Spencer can’t hear much aside from the rushing in his ears and the soft sigh that Jon gives as he shifts, pushing himself up clumsily, turning and fixing Spencer with scrutinizing stare.
“You don’t have a lot of friends here,” Jon says matter-of-factly and Spencer can’t really refute it.
“No,” he agrees instead, blinking at Jon and letting his eyes trail down his jaw to his lips again before he brings them up.
He finds Jon still staring at him, teeth pulling at his bottom lip until it’s shiny under the light.
“What?” he asks without thinking, without listening.
I need to feed Clover when I get home. Where’s Tom? Haley’s pretty. She would like Spencer. Spencer. I like that name. Spencer.
Spencer smiles a little at Jon’s thoughts because they somehow seem amusing through the cloud of alcohol obscuring his rational thoughts.
“What?” Jon asks, his syllables slurring as he peers through Spencer, smiling too, and Spencer can’t help but notice how his smile is a little crooked and the edges of his eyes crinkle when one side lifts first then the other.
“You, you’re…” Spencer can’t really find anything coherent to say and so just bites his lower lip and ducks his head, feeling the pink blush spreading further over his cheeks. He doesn’t know what he wants to say or what would make sense.
“I’m,” Jon repeats, ducking his head too to meet Spencer’s eyes. His smile is carefree and inquisitive. He laughs. “I’m drunk.”
“Yeah, yeah, you are,” Spencer agrees, smiling too.
Jon nods and then his fingers are under Spencer’s chin, tipping it back up, and his mouth is there, soft lips and gentle pressure against Spencer’s lips.
Jon’s stubble is rough against his cheeks, brushing over his jaw as Jon’s mouth presses against his own.
Spencer doesn’t stop to think, but lets Jon fit his lips clumsily against his own, lets his hand graze over his cheek, thumb tracing the flush on his cheekbones.
Then it’s over and Jon is laughing, back in his own seat, hand grabbing for the nearest open bottle.
The flush is still pronounced on Spencer’s cheeks and he lets out a long breath as Jon tips back in his chair, calling for Tom. When Tom gets there, he takes one look at the two of them and pronounces them too drunk for their own good.
Spencer doesn’t really remember how he gets home that evening, but he knows that the pink flush doesn’t recede for several hours after and the memory will take even longer to fade.
*
He knows it’s a mistake the moment he presses the send button, but he doesn’t realize how bad until the phone picks up.
“Hello?” Shit, he’s so mad at me. What am I supposed to do?
“Brendon?” Spencer frowns as Brendon’s thoughts come streaming through the receiver the moment it’s picked up.
“Spencer?” I am so dead.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Spencer can tell Brendon’s lying right away, if not from his thoughts, then from his overly evasive tone and his following attempt to be cheerful.
“So what’s up?” The bounce in Brendon’s voice is completely fake, but very few people would actually be able to tell the difference. Spencer has known Brendon long enough to tell.
“Brendon,” Spencer deadpans, and there’s a long pause in which Brendon’s thoughts shut down as though he knows Spencer is trying to listen to them.
“Ryan’s mad at me,” he whispers finally.
“Why?” Spencer can’t think of anything that Brendon might do to make Ryan mad. Ryan is the one person who seems to be able to handle all of Brendon’s boundless energy and never get tired of dealing with it.
“We kinda got in a fight,” Brendon says, still whispering, and Spencer can hear the waver in his voice, how it sounds as though he’s going to cry any second.
“About what?” Spencer is a little concerned now and forgets all about his reasons for calling.
There’s another pause in which Brendon’s thoughts bounce from God, my heart hurts to I wonder if Spencer can help.
“Well, he brought his girlfriend over last night,” Brendon admits finally, his voice still low and Spencer wonders where he is. “And they, you know, so this morning I was making coffee and Ryan came out looking like they… you know.” Spencer finds it sad that Brendon can’t even bring himself to name the act itself. “And I said something about her going to steal all the coffee and it just got worse from there. Ryan accused me of being jealous and not liking Keltie.”
“Well, you are,” Spencer points out, a little too bluntly he realizes a moment later when Brendon lets out a shaky breath into the receiver. “Sorry, Bren. It’s just, you don’t like her, do you?”
“It’s not that,” Brendon insists. “She’s nice, really. It’s just. I mean, I really like him, Spencer, and he just doesn’t get it.”
Sighing, Spencer nods. “Yeah, I know.” He wishes there was something more he could do, but short of telling Ryan that he’s stupid and blind, he’s at a loss.
Brendon’s sigh is shakier this time and Spencer hears a quiet sniff. “I just wish he would get it, you know?”
“I know.”
“I just, I wish things were different.”
Spencer can’t help but feel bad for Brendon, his problems so much worse than Spencer’s drunk kiss with Jon.
“Don’t worry, Bren. Everything will work out,” Spencer assures him, although he isn’t sure if he believes it.
Brendon doesn’t reply, but Spencer hears his resigned sigh. There’s another pause, until Brendon sniffs.
“So why did you call?”
“Oh.” Spencer hesitates. “Nothing, just wanted to check in.”
“Oh. Okay. So, I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
The phone hangs up with a click and Spencer sits back on his couch, biting his lip in worry as he gazes out the window, hoping things can’t get any worse.
Part Two.
Author: silver_etoile
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Spencer (Ryan/Brendon)
POV: Third
Disclaimer: Not true.
Summary: Spencer is a little scared to be honest. He’s hearing people’s thoughts. Ryan stares, and for a minute, all Spencer gets is white noise, but then it’s a blur of thoughts flooding his mind.
A/N: Because we need to remind ourselves that fanfiction and RL are different. And here, tyv are not stupid. Oh, and I don't claim this fic to be good, which is why it's being posted now, more than a year after writing it. I just claim for it to be done.
*
It happens when he’s thirteen and Spencer completely blames Ryan.
Everything is white when he opens his eyes and the blinding overhead lights shine in his eyes as he blinks and tries to roll over, only to find that the bed he’s in is about as wide as his body and it’s a sharp drop down.
“Spencer?” A fuzzy voice echoes on the edge of his consciousness and he forces himself to focus on the blurry shapes hovering over him now. “Spencer, honey, are you awake?”
It sounds like his mother and she sounds worried. There are hurried footsteps and someone leaves the room.
Blinking, Spencer realizes where he is as his eyes finally come into focus. There’s a little machine next to his bed that is beeping softly, steadily. A clipboard hangs at the end of his tiny white bed and he frowns at it.
His mother is still there, clinging tightly to the little railing on the bed, her face pale and worried.
“What?” Spencer tries to speak but his voice sounds scratchy as though he hasn’t used it for a while.
“Lie back,” comes his mother’s voice again and the gentle pressure on his shoulder.
Where is the doctor?
Spencer blinks against his mother’s voice and focuses on her long, dark hair, how she hovers close to him.
“Spencer, can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Spencer pauses as a new voice enters the room, deep and masculine, but not his father’s.
“Um, three?” he guesses, staring at the fingers in front of him.
Things are coming into sharper focus now and the soft beep is louder now. The room is small and a doctor in a white coat is scribbling on the chart that was at the foot of the bed.
“What’s going on?” Spencer manages to choke finally, looking at his mom and dad, who both stand wearily at the edge of his bed.
The last thing he remembers is Ryan calling him at about three in the morning and asking him to bring over the set of notes that he’d left at Spencer’s house. Spencer, being the great best friend that he is, had snuck out of his own house, Ryan’s notes tucked safely under his arm as he made his way down the block to Ryan’s house on the corner.
He didn’t dare knock on the door and wake Ryan’s parents, so he had taken his usual route to Ryan’s room: up the tree and out on the long limb to Ryan’s window.
That’s all he remembers until he’s woken up by burning lights and concerned parents at his shoulder.
Minor concussion, keep overnight for observation.
“What?” Spencer asks as he hears the doctor’s voice again.
The doctor glances at him. “You have a minor concussion. We’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
“I heard you the first time,” Spencer mutters, looking away and straining to remember what happened.
His mom exchanges a curious glance with his father, then sighs and places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You fell out of Ryan’s tree.”
The Window Tree. Spencer pauses, thinking. He remembers a loud crack and rushing air. That must explain why his arm is throbbing and, oh, there’s a cast too. He does a double-take at that and stares at his parents.
Shouldn’t have snuck out at night. Going to have a talk with Ryan’s parents.
“No, you can’t do that,” Spencer protests immediately, staring at his dad, who looks confused.
“Do what?”
“Talk to Ryan’s parents. He’ll get in huge trouble.”
“You’re in pretty big trouble yourself,” his dad says, but still looks perplexed.
Spencer sighs and sinks down into the bed. “Where’s Ryan?”
Always the first thing he asks.
Spencer looks at his mom, frowning, who hitches on a smile. “He’s at home. He was here, but we made him get some sleep.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Just a day,” his mom reassures him. “Ryan called us right away.”
“Can I go home?” Spencer asks the doctor, really hoping that overnight observation was just a suggestion.
“Well, we’d prefer-”
“I’m fine,” he insists. He doesn’t want to stay in the hospital with all the sick people. It creeps him out a little.
Don’t make him stay. I can’t stand being here any longer.
“See, dad agrees.”
All three adults kind of stare at him and he stares back. “What?”
“Maybe we should get you home,” his mom suggests and Spencer is relieved that at least someone is listening to him.
The doctor still looks iffy, but pressure from both his parents and Spencer have him signing the release papers and Spencer is shunted into the car where he sits, grimacing at the thought of having to explain the broken arm at school the next day.
*
I’m in deep shit.
Spencer looks up before Ryan even enters the room.
“Why?”
Ryan looks startled as Spencer speaks to him and he’s barely got one foot in Spencer’s room.
Spencer is sitting on his bed, his arm wrapped in its sling and thumbing through a copy of Sports Illustrated. He only reads it for the hot athletes.
“What?” Ryan asks, sounding guilty and confused.
“Why are you in deep shit?”
Ryan pauses for a minute, a strange expression coming over his face, one Spencer hasn’t seen since Ryan was asked to dissect a frog in Biology.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did. I heard you,” Spencer says as though it’s obvious. He clearly heard Ryan say it before he’d entered the room.
“No,” Ryan says slowly. He stares at Spencer for a second, then seems to let it go as he flops down onto the bed and sighs. “My parents grounded me for three weeks for this.”
“Well, you did make me come over at three AM and then I fell out of your Window Tree. I completely blame you.”
“Oh, shut up,” Ryan mutters, but rolls his eyes anyway. “You’re okay, right?”
Spencer can hear the barely-masked concern and sighs. “I’m fine. I’d be better if people stopped asking me that.”
Ryan doesn’t smile. “I shouldn’t have called. It was stupid. I should have just come over in the morning.”
Spencer sighs and sets down the magazine. “Ryan, it’s fine. I’m fine. Hey, you want to be the first person to sign my cast?”
Ryan hesitates and then smiles, reaching for the pen Spencer hands him.
“But no stupid flowery song lyric,” Spencer warns before releasing the pen and Ryan rolls his eyes.
*
Spencer is not hearing things. People are talking; they just don’t seem to realize.
He answers teacher’s questions before they voice the question, gets angry at people who call him names under their breath, and blushes furiously at what Ashley Johnson says about him during lunch.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ryan asks after Spencer turns bright red over his French fries.
“Didn’t you hear what she said?” he hisses, hardly daring to glance over to where Ashley is sitting with her group of friends.
“Who?” Ryan asks dubiously, now staring at Spencer as though there is something seriously wrong with him.
He’s going crazy.
“I am not,” Spencer snaps, poking at his fries uninterestedly.
“Not what?” Ryan just stares at him and Spencer huffs dramatically.
“Stop pretending. I heard you.”
“Heard me what?” Ryan asks again, more plaintively.
Spencer growls, annoyed, and stands from the table. “Fine, pretend you didn’t say it. I have to get out of here.”
He hears whispers following him out, catches snatches of, freak - where’s he going? - did I forget my English homework?
When he gets outside and finds peace and quiet on the front lawn, he sprawls down against the side of the school and sighs.
It’s been like this ever since he fell out of Ryan’s Window Tree and got a concussion. People look at him funny and say things he’s never heard them say before.
He’s sitting on the lawn, plucking at grass blades as a group of girls walk by.
“So I told Tony that I wasn’t going all the way.” Oh my God, I totally just lied to my best friend. I hope she doesn’t realize.
Spencer glances up at that, confused.
Ew, that kid is looking at us. I wonder if he’s listening.
“So you really didn’t?”
“Totally.” God, I did it again.
Spencer just stares as they pass. Did they really just say all that? A contradiction within one sentence and talking to themselves? It doesn’t make any sense.
I hope he’s not mad at me. He’s just been acting weird lately. Ever since…
“Spencer?”
Ryan appears behind him and Spencer looks back, a frown on his face as he stares at Ryan.
“What?” Ryan asks carefully.
Is he mad at me? I knew this would happen.
“Ryan,” Spencer says slowly, “what did you just think?”
Ryan looks surprised at the question and cautious as to Spencer’s motives. “Um, why?”
“Think of something.” Spencer stares at him pleadingly.
Ryan looks confused, but sighs and looks around him.
This is stupid. What is he trying to do? Catch me in a lie?
“I’m not trying to catch you in a lie,” Spencer says slowly and Ryan’s eyes snap back to him.
“How did you-”
“I don’t know.” Spencer is a little scared to be honest. He’s hearing people’s thoughts.
Ryan stares, and for a minute, all Spencer gets is white noise, but then it’s a blur of thoughts flooding his mind.
Holy crap. What has he heard? Oh my God, what if he knows about-No, don’t think about that. Think about something else. God, Spencer, if you’re in my head right now, this is so awkward.
Spencer blinks and wishes he had a way to turn it off.
“I think I’m crazy.”
“Yeah,” Ryan breathes, sliding down next to him. “So do I.”
*
By age sixteen, Spencer has hardly any better control than he did when he was thirteen.
He’s learned not to speak before he actually sees someone’s mouth move because it’s just safer that way. He doesn’t get quite as many weird looks now, and the thoughts flooding his mind are milder.
Of course, he’s a teenager, so his own thoughts are just as muddled as everyone else’s and he doesn’t know what to do about them.
He tries to keep up with Ryan, who wants to start a band and get famous. Spencer’s not sure it will happen, but he learns the drums anyway and talks his grandmother into letting them use her living room for practice space.
He may or may not appease her by listening to her thoughts and assuring her that the furniture will not be stained and the cats will be perfectly safe.
Sometimes, this reading minds things isn’t too bad.
Other times, he really wishes he’d never fallen out of that tree and that Ryan lived in a one-story house.
When Brent brings the new guy, the one who’ll “make the band”, Spencer desperately wishes for an off-switch.
The new guy, Brendon, is a blur of motion and thoughts. He hardly lands on one complete thought for the span of less than a minute.
Wow, a band! My parents are gonna be so pissed. They have cookies! I love cookies! I should buy cookies tomo-Wow, that’s a nice guitar. I wonder where he got it. I wonder how much it cost. I need money. I need more hours at work. I wonder if Tammy’ll be there tomorrow. She always lets me make free smoothies. I wonder what kind of smoothies Ryan likes. I should get him one. And Spencer. Spencer’s pretty awesome too.
Spencer can’t even keep up with the way Brendon’s brain moves and so, he tries to let it filter through his mind, but it doesn’t seem to work. Brendon’s constant stream of thoughts bounce from one thing to another like an erratic game of ping-pong.
Ryan’s thoughts are a bit slower, more concentrated, deliberate, and Spencer deals with them better. Ryan is also the only one who knows that Spencer can hear his thoughts at any moment, and is quicker to keep them to himself.
The thing about the band is that they are marginally good, but they’re not great. Brendon has an amazing voice and Ryan writes fantastic lyrics, but there’s something about Brent that has Spencer wondering.
Brent’s thoughts get darker and darker as time progresses and Senior year starts. Spencer is actually starting to believe in the band, but Brent seems to be less and less.
Why do I have to be at this stupid practice? Sherry is waiting for me.
Spencer glares a little when Brent thinks this in the middle of practice one afternoon. Ryan catches the glare and frowns slightly.
Brendon’s only thought is, Ryan’s mouth is pretty, even when he frowns.
Spencer chooses to ignore that little thought for the moment.
Bristling slightly, Spencer stops playing. “Let’s start over.”
“What was wrong with that?” Brent asks, annoyed as he checks the clock on the wall for the fifth time that hour.
“Do you have somewhere to go?” Spencer asks pointedly.
Brent scowls.
Yeah, to my girlfriend. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? You’re too busy fucking Ryan.
To be honest, Spencer is extremely offended by the notion that he and Ryan are anything more than friends, not to mention the fact that Brendon’s thoughts are now a current stream of, he has a nice ass too. God, my parents will kill me. First the band, now this. I am so going to hell. But hey, if Ryan’s there, I guess it wouldn’t be too bad.
“It’s just taking a while,” Brent says instead of voicing his thoughts.
“Well, I’m sorry if the band’s not a priority.”
Like we’re gonna make it with emo boy and the Red Bull addict.
“I just have other shit to do.”
“Then go do it,” Spencer says firmly, glaring at Brent, who huffs for a minute, then shoves his bass in its case and stalks out the front door.
Spencer turns to find both Ryan and Brendon watching him.
Brendon’s thoughts have calmed to a slightly worried, where is Brent going?
Ryan just meets Spencer’s gaze and he doesn’t have to hear Ryan’s thoughts to know what he’s thinking.
*
The band doesn’t last much longer. Brent gives up in frustration and calls Spencer a lot of things to his face, and thinks some others that hurt just a little bit more.
Spencer is eighteen when Brent finally stalks out of the last practice and thinks something about throwing his bass off the next bridge he crosses.
Ryan and Brendon watch him go and then there’s a collective sigh.
It’ll be fine, Ryan thinks and Spencer knows he’s talking to him.
What are we gonna do now? is Brendon’s initial thought and Spencer can see the disappointment on his face. The band meant a lot to Brendon, to all of them.
“Don’t worry,” Spencer says, pulling Brendon in and letting him hug him for once. Usually it’s Ryan who gets the brunt of the hugs, but Spencer has a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t mind. “Maybe we weren’t meant to do this.”
Ryan just shakes his head, staring at the floor.
Maybe my dad was right.
“No, he wasn’t,” Spencer says fiercely and Brendon looks up at him, confused.
Ryan just meets his eyes then glances away.
*
Spencer goes to college instead. It still isn’t any easier. People’s thoughts might be a little more educated, but the majority are still along the lines of, That bitch. She slept with my boyfriend! - Oh shit, oh shit! My printer broke! Ink! I need ink! - God, I hate school. - Is it May yet?
He dates a guy named Gabe, whose thoughts are enough to turn even the most seasoned professional’s cheeks pink.
Spencer has to try really hard not to listen to them, but when they’re alone in theatres and Gabe is pressed against him, his mind a stream of, When we get back, I’m gonna handcuff him to the bed and drag out the snakes. I hope he’s into reptiles, he can’t help it.
Needless to say, Spencer breaks it off pretty quickly after that.
He hangs out with Ryan and Brendon still, but Ryan has a job in a bank as a teller and Brendon still works full time at the Smoothie Hut while trying to pay for college. His parents had kicked him out after he’d come out to them.
He still hasn’t told Ryan that he’s desperately in love with him, but Spencer knows he’s dying to.
He’s so perfect. He won’t want me. Brendon gazes across the table at Ryan while they all sit at lunch together.
Why is Brendon looking at me like that?
“So how are your business classes?” Ryan asks instead, picking at his napkin and avoiding Brendon’s eyes.
Spencer shrugs. “Boring.”
“Why are you majoring in it then?” Brendon asks, finally tearing his eyes from Ryan and stealing a fry instead.
Spencer shrugs again. “Good money.”
Bad reason.
Spencer frowns at Brendon’s, for once, coherent thought that relates to the conversation. Ryan is still picking at his napkin and doesn’t offer an opinion, vocal or otherwise.
“Did you hear back from the publisher?” Spencer asks, changing the subject instead and turning to Ryan.
“Nah,” Ryan mutters. “But they might not even read it, you know.”
It’s crap. I don’t know why I sent it in the first place.
“Because it’s good.”
Ryan glances up and Brendon looks confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Spencer says quickly and Brendon pouts.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
Lie to me. “Respond to things no one says.”
Spencer and Ryan share a glance and Brendon throws up his hands.
“See! You’re doing it right now.”
You should tell him.
Spencer glares in response and Ryan just shrugs.
Brendon folds his arms across his chest childishly. “Fine, just leave me out. Not like I’m your friend or anything. I’m just a distant relative that you haven’t seen in twenty years.”
Sighing, Spencer turns to Brendon and pauses, picking at his fork. “Brendon, I can hear your thoughts.”
Brendon’s eyes get wide and his mind kicks into a flurry that Spencer will never be able to keep up with.
*
After graduation, Spencer gets a job in Chicago working for a marketing firm. He mostly works on the books, but sometimes, he gets to sit in on presentations, just for fun.
He had packed his things in his little Volkswagen and made the trip across the country alone, leaving Las Vegas far behind him along with the rest of his childhood. Ryan had waved him goodbye from his front door while Brendon’s lower lip trembled beside him.
Spencer is a little scared of Chicago and how big it is. The buildings seem to tower here in a way that they never did in Vegas. Something in the air hints that it won’t stay muggy forever when he arrives in mid-July.
His apartment is small but he squeezes a queen-sized bed in anyway. He shares the space with a particularly grumpy black cat, but if he lets him sleep on the bed, the cat’s usually appeased.
The marketing firm is big and looms over him on his first day there.
He endures many curious glances and even more curious thoughts as he’s led to his cubicle.
Who’s the hottie? is the thought drifting from the fifty-year old woman with nails as long as her fingers.
Spencer just avoids catching anyone’s eye and thanks the boss when they reach his office space.
His job is pretty simple as long as he’s organized and Spencer doesn’t find much challenge in it.
Most of the challenge comes from fending off the sexual advances from women twice his age.
He makes friends with Greta, the seemingly only girl there who isn’t after his ‘cute little tush’ as he’s heard thought more times than he can count.
Greta is really nice and helps him around the office, tells him about what goes on upstairs. Upstairs is where the real marketing offices are, where the presentations are made, where the photographers and artists work.
Spencer likes Greta. It helps that she has a steady boyfriend and that her thoughts don’t wander too much.
The budget for the Nike shoot needs to be done this afternoon. Jon needs a new camera. File that in expenses. Spencer’s looking for coffee.
She makes lists like that a lot.
“The coffee is in the second drawer to the right,” she says, smiling when he finds it after five minutes of searching in the wrong cupboards.
The break room is small and the coffee sucks, but it’s still coffee. Greta is leaning against the doorway to the room, her head tilted to the side as Spencer goes about making a new pot.
“You know,” she says after a minute, and Spencer is glad for the blissful silence beforehand. With Greta, she thinks so quietly that he can barely hear her. “Candi down in human resources was asking about you.”
Spencer internally groans. He doesn’t need another woman twice his age making a pass at him. He’s not even interested in girls and their thoughts make him cringe and feel sick.
He hates that after nearly ten years, he still can’t control what he hears and what he doesn’t. Sometimes it’s quiet and other times it’s loud. Some people’s thoughts bombard his own and make it hard to hear anything else. Other people’s slip into the background, and for that, he’s grateful.
“You’re not interested?”
Spencer wonders sometimes if Greta can read minds too.
“Not really.”
Spencer doesn’t elaborate that he wouldn’t touch a girl with a fifty foot pole and that the only ass he’s interested in was about two years ago and definitely not in the feminine way.
Spencer hasn’t dated anyone for a while, mostly because it’s awkward. He knows what they feel before they tell him and pre-emptive break-ups have become his specialty. He doesn’t like knowing that they’d rather be at home watching a movie than on a date with him. He doesn’t like knowing that that wasn’t how their last boyfriend did it.
It also doesn’t help that every guy he’s met has only been interested in one thing, and it wasn’t his mind.
Greta pauses again and Spencer actually strains to hear her thoughts.
I wonder why he hasn’t dated anyone since being here. Maybe he’s celibate. No, he’s too cute. Hm. Maybe he has a girlfriend. No, he hasn’t mentioned anyone beside his two friends, what were their names? Oh, Ryan and Brendon. I wonder… No. Maybe? I wonder.
Wonder what? Spencer wants to know, but a voice from the hall calls for Greta and she glances back.
“Bob is looking for me. I have to go.”
Spencer just nods and wants to know what she was wondering.
*
Ryan lives in New York working for a publishing company and Brendon tagged along because it’s pretty obvious that he’ll never leave Ryan’s side.
Brendon still hasn’t told Ryan, but Spencer hears his thoughts whenever he calls, and it’s always the same.
Maybe Spencer could tell him for me. What was he saying? I should be paying attention, but-oh look, Ryan’s only wearing sweat pants. That’s hot.
Spencer doesn’t stay on the phone too long after that.
*
Spencer likes his job well enough. If he manages to stay in his cubicle, he doesn’t get quite as many thoughts floating through. He puts on quiet music to muffle the rest of them and tries to concentrate.
It’s always been a challenge, ever since the Window Tree incident. He tries to concentrate, but having other people’s thoughts in his head makes it twice as hard. He doesn’t know how he’s managed to stay sane through all the years. He supposes it was because he always had Ryan to calm him down when it became too much.
Now, though, Ryan is a thousand miles away and Spencer only gets to see him at Christmas.
So Spencer tries his hardest to get his work done and not let the petulant thoughts of others invade his conscious.
A knock on his cubicle wall makes him look up. He hasn’t heard any in-coming thoughts, so there is a good chance that he may have successfully blocked them. Feeling good, he turns around in his chair to the door, only to stop and blink at the man standing there.
The man is kind of short, wearing jeans and a tee shirt. The stubble on his chin looks rough and he has an easy smile that reaches his eyes as he looks at Spencer.
Spencer’s mouth falls open for a second as he scrambles to find words.
The man just tilts his head to the side, that same smile on his face.
He doesn’t know who I am. I thought Bob was going to tell him. He has nice eyes.
Spencer blinks again and clears his throat for a lack of anything else.
“C-can I help you?” he asks finally, catching sight of the flip-flops - flip-flops - that the man is wearing.
“Yeah, I’m Jon,” the man says, taking a step inside the small box. “Bob said he was going to tell you that you’re responsible for my account now.”
Spencer stares for another second before jerking back, quickly rummaging in the pile of new papers that arrived on his desk that morning. He comes up with one with Jon’s name on it, a summary of his company purchases on it.
“Yeah, it’s right here,” Spencer mumbles, feeling like an idiot as Jon smiles.
“Oh, good. Didn’t want you to freak out or anything.”
Spencer isn’t sure if it’s a joke or not and just frowns.
Did I say something wrong? He’s looking at me weird. Did I forget to shave? Oh shit, I did.
Spencer shakes himself and looks at the paper instead. “You’re a photographer?”
Jon smiles again. “Yeah. And I need a new lens for my camera. You’re supposed to approve it.”
“Well, I have to go over your account first,” Spencer mutters, making a note on the paper.
Jon nods. Thought so. Why can’t they just let me get my own gear? I miss shooting on my own.
Jon’s face doesn’t reflect his thoughts at all and Spencer is a little perplexed. Brendon’s face always reflects his emotions and even Ryan sometimes. Jon’s face, however, is fixed in that easy smile that makes Spencer’s stomach twist a little.
What’s he doing?
Spencer realizes that he’s been staring just a bit too long and jerks back. The edges of Jon’s smile tilt up a little higher at the motion but he doesn’t say anything.
“When do you need the approval by?”
“The shoot’s next week, so by Monday? If that’s okay.”
Most people don’t ask if it’s enough time. Usually they give Spencer a deadline and tell him to make it work. Jon, though, Jon is asking for his confirmation.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Spencer says after a minute and Jon’s smile widens just a little and he taps his fingers idly against his thighs as he stands in the doorway.
“You’re new, right?” Jon asks casually, his head still tilted to the right, and Spencer wonders if there’s somewhere else he should be right now. He can’t possibly have time just to hang around Spencer’s cubicle.
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer mutters finally, going back to the papers in front of him and trying to sort them into some semblance of something organized.
He seems nervous. It’s kind of cute.
Spencer must be hearing things. And not Jon’s thoughts. There’s no way Jon just thought that.
“Are you from Chicago or…?”
“Las Vegas.” Spencer places Jon’s account on the top and puts a post-it on it.
Jon nods again, the smile firmly in place on his face. “So have you seen much of the city yet?”
Spencer pauses. He can sense what’s coming. He doesn’t even have to listen to the thoughts swirling in his mind to know. It’s getting harder to differentiate, though, as other people’s thoughts cloud over Jon’s. There are reminders about broken printers, picking up tomatoes for dinner, and wondering how long the boss will be gone and if the lock on the copy room still works.
“Not really,” he mutters instead, turning from Jon and hoping he gets the hint.
Jon pauses, watching him carefully.
If I could get him under a good backlight, that would be an amazing picture. I wonder if he’d ever agree to that. Maybe after he stops thinking that I’m the creepy photographer guy.
Spencer glances back carefully, but Jon just smiles.
“Well, it’s a nice city. You should. Anyway, I have to get back upstairs. Let me know about the lens, yeah?”
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer agrees slowly, a little surprised that Jon hadn’t taken the path he’d suspected.
Jon just quirks his shoulder before turning and vanishing from the doorway.
Spencer stares after until Candi wanders by, peeking in at him and he catches a snatch of, The things I would do to those hips before he turns away, disturbed, and buries himself in paperwork.
*
Jon doesn’t come back for a few days and Spencer spends most of the time working on his account. He finds plenty of money that could be used for a new lens. So on Monday morning, he makes his way upstairs to find Jon and let him know.
Upstairs is a maze of glass offices, art rooms, photo studios, and big meeting rooms. There are flowers on every table and a woman in a tight black skirt and blouse sits outside each office, typing efficiently on her computer and simultaneously answering phones.
The first woman Spencer comes to, he decides to ask for directions and brave the direction of her thoughts.
“Uh, excuse me,” he says, reading the little name plaque on her desk. It reads ‘Cassie.’
“Can I help you?” the girl asks promptly, her eyes sweeping over him and he hears, suit, tie, not a client. Must be from downstairs.
“I’m looking for Jon Walker,” Spencer says, ignoring her immediate assessment of him.
“In the second photo studio.”
Spencer pauses, glancing the way she motions helplessly. She sees this and her mouth curves into a soft smile.
“Down the hall, third door on your left. Next to the extremely ugly swan statue.”
“Thanks,” Spencer says, a little relieved.
“No problem.” Cassie smiles as he moves away.
Nice hips. Jon’s a lucky man.
Spencer nearly stops to ask what that means, but forces himself not to, and puzzles alone as he heads in the direction she said.
The second photo studio is easy to find. It’s the door directly next to a swan statue that’s neck is about a foot too long and whose wings are twisting in strange directions that Spencer doesn’t think real bird’s do.
Knocking carefully, he pushes open the door slowly. It isn’t dark as he thought it might be. There are bright lights all around and he’s flashed back for a second to that day he woke up in the hospital with a broken arm and the ability to read minds.
Blinking, he glances around for Jon. He finds him sitting behind a computer with another man, going over photos.
“What about that one?” Jon asks, pointing to something on the screen and the other guy scoffs.
“She has her eyes closed, dude.”
“She could be looking down. Call it artistic preference.”
“I call it shit camera work.”
“Shut up.”
Spencer stands just inside the door listening to Jon and the other man bicker amicably and wonders if he should interrupt.
“Spencer!”
He’s saved the trouble as Jon catches sight of him. Jon ushers him forward as the other man straightens up, a hand on the back of Jon’s chair a little possessively.
“I have your account figured out,” Spencer offers.
“Great!” Jon’s face lights up into a smile and he waits patiently.
The other guy is looking Spencer over carefully.
This is him, huh? Doesn’t look like much. Good eyes, though. The right light and…
“Yeah.” Spencer interrupts the other guy’s thoughts before they can finish. He has a feeling it’s a photographer thing. Not to mention he feels a little uncomfortable under the stare.
God, Tom, stop sizing him up. You’ll scare him away just like the last one.
Spencer glances between the two, Tom’s sharp eyes and Jon’s friendly ones.
“Yeah,” he says again. “You have plenty of money for a new lens.”
“That’s awesome.” Jon grins and Spencer feels his stomach doing another weird somersault.
Oh, good. We need that to make this girl look good. We need better models. I wonder if Spencer would… Probably not.
Spencer pauses and nods, glancing at Tom again, who doesn’t look any more friendly.
“Oh,” Jon says as though just realizing Tom is there. “Spencer, this is Tom. He’s a fellow photographer.”
“Nice to meet you,” Spencer says, smiling a little.
“Likewise.” He better not do anything stupid or I swear to God-
“Do you know anything about photography?” Jon asks, somehow sensing the tension. Spencer is glad. He really doesn’t want to know how that thought was going to end.
“Not really,” Spencer admits. “Just how to turn the camera on.” He smiles awkwardly and bites his lip when Jon’s eyes light up and he thinks, he has a great smile.
Tom rolls his eyes. Stupid.
Frowning, Spencer glances at him and Tom doesn’t look as though he’s thought anything.
“Jon said you were new.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, glancing at Jon again. “I’ve only been here a couple months.”
“You like it?” Tom’s questions are blunt and Spencer almost appreciates it except it seems as though he’s being interrogated.
“It’s alright. I kind of miss home.”
“Why? You have a girlfriend there?”
Tom! is Jon’s adamant thought, and Spencer is even a little surprised.
When he looks, though, Jon is just gazing at the account invoice and seems to be humming a song to himself instead of thinking about Tom or Spencer.
“No, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Spencer replies finally. “Here or there.”
Tom nods slowly. Check one in the plus column.
“I think Spencer probably has work to do,” Jon says, interrupting the series of awkward questions and standing. “Thanks for coming by. You really didn’t have to.”
Spencer shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve never been upstairs before.”
Jon laughs and Spencer’s stomach flips a little. He doesn’t know why this is happening, especially when the most Jon has thought about him so far is that he has nice eyes and he’s cute when he’s nervous.
“Well, you’re welcome any time,” Jon assures him.
He hears Tom’s quiet scoff and the thought that comes with it.
Any time. Just remember to lock the doors and clean the equipment after.
Spencer frowns as he turns back to look at Tom, still standing by the computer, as Jon leads him to the door. Tom doesn’t react, only arches a knowing eyebrow as though he knows something Spencer doesn’t.
Unnerved, Spencer lets Jon steer him to the door and hold it open for him.
“Think you can find your way back alone?”
“Yeah, I drew a map.”
Jon laughs again and leans against the doorframe as Spencer steps out. “I like your sense of humor, Mr. Smith.”
Spencer just nods, his mouth quirking into a smile. “I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you will.”
Pausing, Spencer turns and heads down the hallway to the sound of Jon’s quiet thought.
Oh, you will.
It isn’t until Spencer reaches his cubicle that he realizes that Jon used his last name and he never told it to him.
*
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ry.”
Spencer.. “Hey. What’s up?”
Spencer pauses, glancing around his fairly empty apartment and wishing there was more in it, mainly Ryan.
“Not much. You?”
Ryan makes a vague noise, but his thoughts say a lot more. Brendon’s been acting weird. Maybe he doesn’t like Keltie. But why not? She’s really nice. Maybe he didn’t get that job.
“Who’s Keltie?” Spencer asks curiously and Ryan sighs, slightly annoyed.
“You’re not supposed to do that.”
“I can’t help it.” Spencer shrugs. Ryan knows this. He hears Ryan sigh again and wishes he could help it. “So? Who is she?”
“She’s someone…”
“Someone who? Someone Brendon doesn’t like?”
“I don’t know.” Ryan sighs again. “He’s just been acting weird. Like, ever since I told him about Keltie. We went on a date last week and we’re going on another tomorrow. But Brendon just seems different.”
Spencer could tell Ryan why Brendon is acting strange, why the thought of Ryan dating a girl has Brendon internally wincing and crying. But he doesn’t say anything because he decided long ago that his ability would not affect the natural order of things.
“Maybe you just need to talk to him,” Spencer suggests carefully and there’s an obvious pause.
“You know, don’t you?”
Sighing, Spencer switches sides with the phone. “I can hear his thoughts, so yeah.”
“And you’re not gonna tell me?”
“Nope. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“Kinda am.”
He can practically see Ryan’s rolled eyes through the phone.
So I have to figure this out alone? Perfect. Thanks, Spence.
“You’re welcome.”
Ryan just grumbles. “Do you want to talk to Brendon?”
“Nah,” Spencer says, thinking he’s not in the mood for a flood of Ryan-based sad thoughts.
“Fine. So why did you call?”
It’s Spencer’s turn to fumble and he’s really glad that Ryan can’t hear thoughts too.
“Just to say hi, see how things were.”
There’s a pause and Spencer knows Ryan doesn’t believe him.
Yeah right. “Oh really?”
“Really.”
Totally lying. “So nothing is going on?”
“Well…”
Knew it.
“I met this guy at work.”
“Really?” Ryan’s tone is more interested now.
“Yeah. His name is Jon.”
Biblical.
Spencer rolls his eyes at that. Ryan’s mind is very literary-centered.
“And?”
“And, I don’t know.” Spencer shrugs. He isn’t sure why he brought Jon up. There’s not much there. Jon hasn’t thought or said or done anything obscene. He’s barely even noticed him beyond his eyes, and everyone tells Spencer that he has nice eyes. “I just met him and he seems nice.”
“Seems nice? So he hasn’t thought anything weird?”
“Not really. I don’t think he’s gay.”
“Well how do you know?”
“Because I can hear thoughts,” Spencer says obviously. “I know a lot of things.”
“You don’t know everything,” Ryan points out, which is true because his ability seems to flicker in and out sometimes, depending on how hard he’s concentrating and exactly who he’s talking to.
“Okay, but he hasn’t even thought anything remotely related to that.”
“What? Nothing about your hips?”
Spencer hates that he blushes even when Ryan says it. It’s what everyone focuses on and most of their dirtiest thoughts center around them.
“No, nothing about my hips,” he grumbles.
“Maybe he’s not gay then.”
Spencer feels a twinge of disappointment at that. “Okay, but I met his friend and every time I told people about him, like that I was looking for him or something, they all had strange thoughts like they thought something about him and me.”
“Like what?” Maybe you’re just paranoid.
“I’m not paranoid,” Spencer insists, annoyed. He doesn’t even acknowledge Ryan’s tired sigh and plows on anyway. “Like the receptionist thought that Jon was lucky or something because I was looking for him? Or his friend, Tom. He totally thought something about killing me.”
“Killing you?” Ryan’s tone is dry and skeptical.
“You know, if you hurt him, I’ll kill you kind of thing. Like everything I’ve ever told Brendon about you.”
“What?”
Spencer cringes. “Nothing. Just friends stuff.”
Right… “Okay.”
“Anyway, I have to go. So I’ll call you later?”
“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agrees slowly and Spencer nods.
“’Kay. Bye!”
“Bye.”
Spencer hangs up the phone and mentally hits himself for letting that slip. Sighing, he turns to the grumpy cat at the other end of the couch and pauses.
“At least I can’t hear your thoughts.”
The cat glares for a minute, then stalks off the couch and into the bedroom and Spencer doesn’t even have to wonder.
*
Clearing agent, filter, broken shutter.
Spencer looks up as he hears a familiar voice in his head. The list continues as the voice gets louder.
Enlarger, lens cleaner. God, so much stuff. Gotta make a real list upstairs. Find Spencer first.
Spencer waits almost patiently, staring at his computer screen and trying not to look as though he’s waiting for Jon’s quiet knock on the opening to his cubicle.
“Hey,” Jon says when Spencer turns around, and he’s already smiling.
“Hi,” Spencer replies, wondering what Jon wants aside from to make a long list of camera equipment.
“You have a minute?” I hate that I’m here on business. Wish there was a better reason.
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees, swinging around in his chair and waiting for Jon, who still stands in the doorway, one shoulder perched against it casually.
“Okay, so I bought the lens and there are some more things I need to know if I have the budget for.”
“Like what?”
“I’d have to make a list,” Jon says, laughing slightly. And it’s going to be a long one.
“Make the list and get it to me and I’ll see what we can do.”
What we can do, huh? “Okay. Sounds good.”
Spencer nods and feels the awkward silence coming on.
Jon remains in the door, tapping his fingers against his thighs again and Spencer can’t help glancing at them. Jon just smiles and glances around the office.
Huh. No pictures of anyone. It’s kind of bland in here. He needs a plant. Maybe I’ll get him a plant. I wonder what flower he might like. Maybe blue, like his eyes.
Spencer feels the flush rising on his neck even though Jon has thought nothing that he couldn’t say to him.
Is he okay?
Spencer clears his throat and rubs his neck consciously, licking his lips and meeting Jon’s soft brown eyes.
“Is that all?”
“Oh. Yeah,” Jon says. “Sorry, I just get bored upstairs sometimes.”
“So you come hang out with the accountants?”
Jon shrugs but smiles. “You’re not all bad.”
The flush flares again and Jon just grins.
He’s embarrassed. That’s funny.
Blinking, Spencer turns back to his computer. “I guess not.”
“What? You don’t hang out with accountants?”
“I don’t really hang out with anybody,” Spencer says before he can stop himself.
Jon pauses, taking him in. Why not? You’re nice, seem interesting. It’s a big city. There are lots of people.
“Why?”
Spencer shrugs. “Just haven’t had time.” It isn’t a complete lie. Spencer does work a lot and he works hard. It’s his first real job and he doesn’t want to blow it.
He also doesn’t really have anyone he can hang out with around here. Even if he did, he doesn’t know if he could handle their thoughts. With Ryan, it’s easy. He’s been listening to him for years. And even Brendon isn’t bad as long as he’s kept occupied and focused.
“Do you have many friends here?”
Spencer doesn’t intend to answer, but something about Jon’s earnest expression has him opening his mouth.
“Not really. My best friends live in New York.”
Jon nods. “That’s kinda far.”
“Yeah.” Spencer turns back to the computer and hopes that Jon will leave so he can not think about Ryan alone.
He looks sad. He shouldn’t look like that. He needs to smile again… Tom wouldn’t mind.
“Hey, on Fridays, Tom and I usually hit this bar after work. It’s kind of close by, next to a subway stop, if you’re interested.”
It’s the pity invite, Spencer can feel it.
Say yes, come on, Jon subconsciously urges him as he waits for Spencer to answer.
“Come on,” Jon says eagerly. “It’ll be fun. I promise Tom’s not as weird as he seems. He’s actually really nice.”
Spencer hesitates still. “I don’t know.”
Jon gives him a look reminiscent of Brendon’s puppy-dog eyes. “Come on,” he urges. “Just one night. We can get drunk and you can tell me about your life and I can tell you about my cats, divulge embarrassing secrets, and in the morning, we can both have horrible hang-overs and not remember a thing. Please?”
Spencer actually smiles at Jon’s description of the evening and laughs. “Well, when you put it like that.”
Jon’s face lights up in a grin and he walks over, his flip-flops slapping on the barely-carpeted floor. He bends over Spencer’s desk and scribbles a number on one of Spencer’s many post-its. Stepping back, he hands it to Spencer.
“Here’s my number. Can I have yours?”
Spencer thinks vaguely that this is a good way to get Jon’s number as he scribbles his own down on another post-it and gives it to Jon.
“Great.” Jon smiles and pockets the number. “I’ll see you on Friday, then.”
“Yeah,” Spencer mutters as Jon walks out the door.
The last thing he hears is Jon’s distant thought of, I better warn Tom about this.
Spencer doesn’t know what that means, but he just shrugs and hides his smile as he looks at Jon’s phone number scrawled across the bright pink post-it.
*
Friday comes almost too soon for Spencer, and he finds himself sitting at his desk at five in the afternoon, biting his lip and staring at the clock as it ticks one past the hour.
He’s definitely rethinking this ‘hanging out with Jon’ thing. He doesn’t know what possessed him to say yes, but it’s too late to back out now, especially when he hears a familiar laugh down the hallway outside his cubicle.
Jon appears in his door with Tom and hardly knocks because Spencer is already turning around.
“Hey, Spence, you ready?”
Spencer doesn’t say anything about the shortening of his name but nods and rises from the chair, shutting down his computer and shoving papers in his briefcase.
Tom raises an eyebrow as he does so. Taking home the office, eh?
Spencer tries to ignore him, clipping it shut. “So where are we going?”
Jon just smiles and ushers him out of the cubicle. “There’s a bar a couple blocks from here.”
“Right,” Spencer mutters, wondering if it really is too late to fake sick and go home, watch What Not to Wear with his grumpy cat snuggled into his side.
They walk along, Jon and Tom talking and Spencer not really listening. He catches snatches of their thoughts, though, but they’re mostly along the lines of the conversation.
The bar they go to is dark with a long counter that runs the length of the west wall. A cheery bartender is there and he seems to know Jon and Tom. He greets them as they slide to the counter and order three beers.
Spencer takes the one Jon hands him and follows them to a little table out of the way. There’s a band on stage, but they’re not really playing.
“So, Spencer,” Jon says once they’re seated, “I believe I promised to tell you about my cats.”
Oh, here we go, is Tom’s sarcastic thought.
“Uh, yeah, you did,” Spencer agrees, running his finger over the mouth of his beer and taking a sip.
Jon smiles. “Well, I have two, Dylan and Clover.”
“You’re actually going to tell me about your cats?” Spencer blurts before he can stop and Jon smiles again.
“Yeah, why?”
“I dunno.” Spencer shrugs, feeling awkward. He takes another drink to have something else to do.
Like stupid lovesick teenagers. “Oh look, there’s Haley,” Tom interrupts. “I’m gonna go buy her a drink.”
Spencer watches as Tom gets up from the table and approaches a pretty girl with dark hair across the room. Jon hardly pays attention to him leaving, still smiling at Spencer.
Spencer doesn’t hear any thoughts and finds it odd, so he clears his throat and downs the last of his beer.
“I have a cat.”
“You do?” Jon’s face lights up and he looks genuinely interested as he leans over the table, watching Spencer.
“Yeah, but he’s really grumpy and I think he hates me.”
“Not possible,” Jon scoffs. “If you feed him, he loves you.”
Spencer shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think he resents me for taking up the good sleeping spots.”
Jon laughs. “Possibly. Cats are protective of their space.”
Spencer can’t believe he’s out with Jon and they’re talking about cats. Spencer’s cat doesn’t even like him. He flags down the waitress instead and orders another beer.
When Jon glances up at him from his beer, his mouth in a half smile, Spencer feels his stomach jump again and hopes that beer arrives real soon.
*
Four or five beers later (Spencer can’t particularly remember), he is still in the bar with Jon, but they’ve definitely moved on from the subject of cats. Tom hasn’t returned from where he’s talking up the Haley girl at the bar.
“I used to be in a band,” Spencer says, blinking as his body sways forward slightly and Jon just smiles at him. “But one of the guys was stupid. So it didn’t work.”
Jon nods. He’s only on his fourth beer, but he doesn’t seem much better off than Spencer. His words have been becoming more and more muddled as the night has gone on.
“I was a guitar tech for a band for a while.”
“What band?”
Jon pauses, frowning at his beer. What band? What band? Name… it was called… name. Tom would know. Name…
“Oh, The Academy Is…! Back when Tom was in it.”
“Tom was in a band?” Spencer slurs, peering around Jon to where Tom is flirting shamelessly with Haley.
“Yep,” Jon confirms, taking a swig of his now-empty beer. “He knew Pete Wentz but something happened with William. He won’t tell me what.” I’m his best friend. He should tell me what. Oh, beer is empty. I should get another one, but maybe not. Things are a little fuzzy. Am I drunk? No. Well, maybe.
Spencer laughs a little at Jon’s thoughts and Jon’s unfocused gaze slides back to him.
“What?”
“You think funny,” Spencer mumbles into his beer.
Jon looks confused but doesn’t ask about it. “Well, you talk funny.”
“I do?” Spencer looks at Jon, blinking in the dim light that hangs above the table.
“No,” Jon replies, shaking his head. But you look pretty. “Hey, Spencer.”
“Hmm?”
Jon scoots his chair over to Spencer’s side and props his elbow up on the table. “What do you think of my shoes?” He holds up his foot and Spencer stares at the flip-flops.
“I think… they’re impractical,” Spencer decides finally and Jon puts down his foot, frowning.
“But they’re comfy.” Jon turns to stare at Spencer, less than a foot away.
“They’re ugly.”
“Ugly? Nu uh,” Jon protests, leaning over and pressing against Spencer’s shoulder accidentally.
Spencer doesn’t say anything at the warm pressure against his side, but does swallow his thudding heart, staring at the rough stubble on Jon’s jaw, evidence that he had forgotten to shave again that morning.
“They’re not ugly,” Jon insists, pushing back his hair uselessly as it sweeps into his eyes.
Spencer just stares at him and reminds himself that Jon is not gay. He would know by now.
Where is that bottle? Did I order another one? I shouldn’t have one but… but… what was I thinking? Wow, Spencer is warm.
A slight pink flush has worked its way up Spencer’s neck to his cheeks, although he’s not sure if he can blame all the beer he’s had or that Jon thinks he’s warm.
Jon makes a tired noise, slumped against Spencer’s shoulder as Spencer stares down at him, over the curve of his small nose to his lips, wet from where Jon’s tongue flicks over them. They look tempting in the dull light of the bar.
The band is playing now and things are kind of loud, but Spencer can’t hear much aside from the rushing in his ears and the soft sigh that Jon gives as he shifts, pushing himself up clumsily, turning and fixing Spencer with scrutinizing stare.
“You don’t have a lot of friends here,” Jon says matter-of-factly and Spencer can’t really refute it.
“No,” he agrees instead, blinking at Jon and letting his eyes trail down his jaw to his lips again before he brings them up.
He finds Jon still staring at him, teeth pulling at his bottom lip until it’s shiny under the light.
“What?” he asks without thinking, without listening.
I need to feed Clover when I get home. Where’s Tom? Haley’s pretty. She would like Spencer. Spencer. I like that name. Spencer.
Spencer smiles a little at Jon’s thoughts because they somehow seem amusing through the cloud of alcohol obscuring his rational thoughts.
“What?” Jon asks, his syllables slurring as he peers through Spencer, smiling too, and Spencer can’t help but notice how his smile is a little crooked and the edges of his eyes crinkle when one side lifts first then the other.
“You, you’re…” Spencer can’t really find anything coherent to say and so just bites his lower lip and ducks his head, feeling the pink blush spreading further over his cheeks. He doesn’t know what he wants to say or what would make sense.
“I’m,” Jon repeats, ducking his head too to meet Spencer’s eyes. His smile is carefree and inquisitive. He laughs. “I’m drunk.”
“Yeah, yeah, you are,” Spencer agrees, smiling too.
Jon nods and then his fingers are under Spencer’s chin, tipping it back up, and his mouth is there, soft lips and gentle pressure against Spencer’s lips.
Jon’s stubble is rough against his cheeks, brushing over his jaw as Jon’s mouth presses against his own.
Spencer doesn’t stop to think, but lets Jon fit his lips clumsily against his own, lets his hand graze over his cheek, thumb tracing the flush on his cheekbones.
Then it’s over and Jon is laughing, back in his own seat, hand grabbing for the nearest open bottle.
The flush is still pronounced on Spencer’s cheeks and he lets out a long breath as Jon tips back in his chair, calling for Tom. When Tom gets there, he takes one look at the two of them and pronounces them too drunk for their own good.
Spencer doesn’t really remember how he gets home that evening, but he knows that the pink flush doesn’t recede for several hours after and the memory will take even longer to fade.
*
He knows it’s a mistake the moment he presses the send button, but he doesn’t realize how bad until the phone picks up.
“Hello?” Shit, he’s so mad at me. What am I supposed to do?
“Brendon?” Spencer frowns as Brendon’s thoughts come streaming through the receiver the moment it’s picked up.
“Spencer?” I am so dead.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
Spencer can tell Brendon’s lying right away, if not from his thoughts, then from his overly evasive tone and his following attempt to be cheerful.
“So what’s up?” The bounce in Brendon’s voice is completely fake, but very few people would actually be able to tell the difference. Spencer has known Brendon long enough to tell.
“Brendon,” Spencer deadpans, and there’s a long pause in which Brendon’s thoughts shut down as though he knows Spencer is trying to listen to them.
“Ryan’s mad at me,” he whispers finally.
“Why?” Spencer can’t think of anything that Brendon might do to make Ryan mad. Ryan is the one person who seems to be able to handle all of Brendon’s boundless energy and never get tired of dealing with it.
“We kinda got in a fight,” Brendon says, still whispering, and Spencer can hear the waver in his voice, how it sounds as though he’s going to cry any second.
“About what?” Spencer is a little concerned now and forgets all about his reasons for calling.
There’s another pause in which Brendon’s thoughts bounce from God, my heart hurts to I wonder if Spencer can help.
“Well, he brought his girlfriend over last night,” Brendon admits finally, his voice still low and Spencer wonders where he is. “And they, you know, so this morning I was making coffee and Ryan came out looking like they… you know.” Spencer finds it sad that Brendon can’t even bring himself to name the act itself. “And I said something about her going to steal all the coffee and it just got worse from there. Ryan accused me of being jealous and not liking Keltie.”
“Well, you are,” Spencer points out, a little too bluntly he realizes a moment later when Brendon lets out a shaky breath into the receiver. “Sorry, Bren. It’s just, you don’t like her, do you?”
“It’s not that,” Brendon insists. “She’s nice, really. It’s just. I mean, I really like him, Spencer, and he just doesn’t get it.”
Sighing, Spencer nods. “Yeah, I know.” He wishes there was something more he could do, but short of telling Ryan that he’s stupid and blind, he’s at a loss.
Brendon’s sigh is shakier this time and Spencer hears a quiet sniff. “I just wish he would get it, you know?”
“I know.”
“I just, I wish things were different.”
Spencer can’t help but feel bad for Brendon, his problems so much worse than Spencer’s drunk kiss with Jon.
“Don’t worry, Bren. Everything will work out,” Spencer assures him, although he isn’t sure if he believes it.
Brendon doesn’t reply, but Spencer hears his resigned sigh. There’s another pause, until Brendon sniffs.
“So why did you call?”
“Oh.” Spencer hesitates. “Nothing, just wanted to check in.”
“Oh. Okay. So, I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” Spencer agrees. “Yeah.”
“Okay.”
The phone hangs up with a click and Spencer sits back on his couch, biting his lip in worry as he gazes out the window, hoping things can’t get any worse.
Part Two.