trust the view here
Trust The View Here. P!atd Gen. PG. ~2200 words.
"Ryan called Saturday as his day, despite Spencer’s rational protests that Saturday should be a free day. Also, ‘I need to get out when there are actual things happening, Spencer’ is not a valid argument point. Ryan didn’t understand that, either."
370009274BCAD55719994B79BBA40398
“Hey,” Spencer says when he walks in the door, hands loaded down with plastic bags, “Hey, could I get some help?”
Ryan spares Spencer a glance over his notebook, ballpoint pen cap almost entirely in his mouth, and doesn’t move. Jon is sprawled on the couch, asleep, and Brendon is absorbed in a video game, biting his bottom lip in concentration.
Oh, yeah, they were way too busy to go out and get some food. Working and stuff.
Spencer momentarily shuts his eyes, ignoring the plastic digging into the palms of his hand. A stray, ‘Hey, these hands are important’ thought crosses his mind, and he may just be spending way too much time around Brendon. Maybe. “Alright, someone get off their ass and help me,” he settles on, and if he wasn’t weighed down by groceries he would so have a hand on his hip for effect.
No one does anything for a second, until Ryan makes a little noise of surprise, and rearranges himself on the lounge chair, scribbling something in his notepad with intent.
“Fine,” Spencer huffs, turning to his left to drop the bags in the kitchen, and then going back outside for the rest.
“Did you get me Chinese?” Brendon asks when Spencer returns, standing in the kitchen, peeking into packages.
God forbid he put anything away.
Spencer searches his mind for anything Brendon might have said about Chinese. He may have, but not directly to Spencer. ‘Eye contact, Brendon’ Spencer had told him once, ‘I won’t pay attention to you, otherwise.’
“Because,” Brendon continues, his hands flitting at the knot in one bag, “I really, really didn’t want Chinese food.”
“What?” Spencer starts, but decides it’s obviously not worth it because, seriously, it’s Brendon. He shouldn’t even ask.
When he comes back in with the last of the bags, Brendon’s gotten into the Cheerio’s - the Honey Nut kind - Spencer’s favorite. He’s got his hand in the box, and a mouthful, too. He grins when Spencer looks over, makes a muffled sound, swallows and says, “Hey, man, thanks, I‘ve been craving these,” and walks back into the living room, box tucked under one arm.
“Oh, hey, Honey Nut!” Spencer hears Jon say, and he sighs.
-
They have a schedule of who is allowed out of the cabin and when. Brendon got Sunday, claiming that all the best garage sales happened on Sunday, and he never got a chance to enjoy that when he was little because of Church.
(Spencer personally thinks that’s bullshit, and Brendon just wanted to have a reason to get one of the weekend days.)
Ryan called Saturday as his day, despite Spencer’s rational protests that Saturday should be a free day. Also, ‘I need to get out when there are actual things happening, Spencer’ is not a valid argument point. Ryan didn’t understand that, either.
Jon wanted Tuesday, and Spencer wanted Monday, but, again Spencer saw problems in this and tried to explain that they couldn’t all take their days in a row, because then they’d be stuck with three days in between for just working.
He ended up taking Thursday to prove a point, but, it really just meant he was the one stuck with Grocery Duty.
Once, Brendon invited Spencer to come with him to “This really awesome sale, you seriously have to see!” but then there was a big argument over that being against the rules. (“What rules? You’re just jealous I didn’t invite, you, Ryan Ross.”)
Brendon ended up bring back a hideous pair of alligator-skin cowboy boots, which he gave to Spencer with a red ribbon. He even stuck his tongue out at Ryan when he presented them, a pleased smile on his face.
(Spencer managed a “thanks”, before taking them to the room he shared with Jon and zipping them up in his suitcase.)
-
“Okay, Brendon, I got you a strawberry milkshake, it’s not melted, and doesn’t have chunks,” Jon says, right as he walks in the door after his day out. He makes a face at the word ‘chunks’ and deposits the Styrofoam cup of pink-calories into Brendon’s waiting hand.
“Oh,” Brendon replies, taking a small sip, “Thanks, can you put it in the fridge?”
Spencer laughs from his comfortable position on the couch, drumsticks in his hand. “Hey, I’ll have it, Jon,” he calls, eyes on Brendon.
Brendon swings around to face Spencer, “I still want it, just not right now,” he says, a defiant look on his face.
“But I really like strawberry.”
Spencer is taking chances. Chances that Brendon might start pouting, or actually get upset in the hormonal teenage girl way he does and not talk to him for a week. (Except maybe through messages written on the kitchen counter, out of pretzel sticks - because he has done that.)
“Well, I bought you shoes, Spencer Smith,” Brendon replies, and Spencer knew he would start using that as an excuse.
“You aren’t going to drink your shake, because it will melt in the fridge and get too hard in the freezer.”
Brendon goes to stand up, and Jon cuts in, tired sounding, “I’ll go get another one, god.”
He comes back fifteen minutes later and presses a Mint-Chocolate Chip milkshake into Spencer’s hand with a knowing smile.
-
“I swear to God it is Saturday, guys,” Ryan argues on Monday, dressed in tight jeans and a v-neck.
Spencer groans and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Ryan is not supposed to be more difficult than Brendon.
“Check your phone,” Jon suggests, and he’s actually smiling, enjoying this.
Ryan’s eyebrows crinkle and he reaches for his Sidekick, taking a good 40 seconds to wiggle it out from his pocket. “Oh,” he says, and then, “Wait, there is no way I slept through Saturday and Sunday.”
Jon shrugs, and Spencer tries to remember if he had seen Ryan on either of those days.
“You didn’t,” Brendon comments from behind a keyboard, where he’s been sitting all day, randomly tapping out melodies and muttering to himself, “Because there were five cartons of New York Super Fudge whatever that aren’t there anymore, and that’s the flavor you like.”
“Oh,” Ryan says again, “I’m going back to sleep,” and he walks towards the hallway. “Wait, does that mean there isn’t any left?” he asks Brendon, turning around.
Brendon nods, and then his eyes go wide, “New York, New York remix! Dude!”
Spencer and Jon leave the room shortly thereafter.
-
Spencer wakes up in the living room, laid out on the couch with a warm and heavy weight on top of him. Brendon is slightly snoring, and his expression is calm, innocent, even.
“Didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” Brendon mumbles, eyes still closed, serene expression rapidly disappearing. He stretches, deliberately poking his elbow into Spencer’s ribs.
“Okay, get off,” Spencer groans, trying to wrap his arm around Brendon to get to his ribs.
Brendon adopts a smile, “You’re warm, I don’t want to,” he pouts.
It’s probably Thursday already, and all Spencer wants to do is sleep so he can go grocery shopping, and maybe stop off at that thrift store along the way, (because they might have gotten in new shoes, or something.)
Brendon nuzzles his face into Spencer’s neck, and Spencer jerks away, feeling the scratch from Brendon’s stubble.
“Get off,” Spencer says again, this time a little weaker. (Not because he wants Brendon to stay or anything, god.) He is kind of warm, though, huh.
“Nrfgg,” Brendon groans, as Spencer pinches some of the skin on his back between two fingers. He rolls to the side out of reflex, and lands on the carpeted floor. “Fine, I’ll just sleep here, Spencer Smith, and everyone will know what a bitch you are in the morning.”
Spencer lets himself smile, and tosses a throw blanket and couch pillow toward the ground. “Night, Urie,” he mumbles, and Brendon snorts in response.
-
“I don’t think sweatpants are all that flattering on me,” Ryan comments over a group-breakfast the next day. Spencer looks over at Ryan’s waist, where the size-too-big pants are rolled up on the ankles, and down at the waist.
Brendon makes a muffled laughing noise, mouth full of (the last of the) Honey Nut Cheerios, and says, “Maybe if you didn’t wear them like a girl.”
Spencer feels a bit of milk splatter on his neck and grimaces.
“Shut up,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. He picks at his tangerine with his fingernails, and Spencer can see the tops glistening with juice. “This is the only way they stay up.”
Brendon and Spencer both watch Ryan skeptically as he licks the sweet juice from his fingers, and starts on the fruit. He gives them a ‘what’ look, and Spencer turns his attention to Jon, who seems to be half-asleep.
They eat in silence, (or well, silence punctured by crunches and slurps, and wet noises coming from Ryan’s end) until Brendon pushes his bowl away and exclaims, “I think everyone should go with Spencer to the grocers.”
Spencer’s first thought is, ‘Who says grocers anymore,’ and before he can make a more rational thought, Jon comments from his slumber that, “Yeah, I want to see.”
Ryan groans, and makes a face at the tangerine, “I’m not going in sweatpants.”
Two hours later, (after many wardrobe changes, because, “What if there was someone who wanted to take a picture?”) they all pile into the rental car, Spencer in the drivers seat, and Brendon in shotgun.
“Don’t touch the stereo, or press any buttons, Brendon,” Spencer says as soon as he sits down, “and buckle up.”
Jon whispers to Ryan in the back, “Spencer is going to be an awesome dad someday.”
From the rear-view mirror Spencer can see Ryan roll his eyes and shrug.
They arrive at the little store in under ten minutes, with only one incident.
“Neither of you are sitting in front when we leave,” Ryan groans when they all get out.
It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, seriously. When he had batted Brendon’s hand away from the AC they’d shocked each other. He may have lost control of the car for a few seconds, that’s all. God.
The grocery place is called “Jerry’s”, with red awning, and whitewashed walls. On the windows there are big signs about sales, including one for ‘Soda 6 packs, 3 for 2,’ which Brendon points at and mutters, “Cool.”
“No, Brendon,” Jon says, grabbing two carts. To Spencer, he says, “Lead the way.”
The cashier is still snapping her gum when they get to the register. Spencer pushes a full cart over to her, as Jon wrestles with Brendon over his cart full of unnecessary items.
Spencer can see Ryan watching them from behind an open Vogue, one eyebrow raised. “Guys,” he says, and puts the magazine down onto the counter. “We are leaving in one and a half weeks, we don’t need a giant family size box of… Fruit Loops.”
Brendon gives up, but gets into the car with a small pout, and also refuses to load the bags into the trunk.
“Hey,” Ryan says again when he slips into the drivers seat, (“No, Spencer, I’m serious, you and Brendon are sitting in the back, I’m not going to die on a road in the middle of nowhere,”) “We really do only have a week and a half left.”
Jon slips into the front passenger seat with a grin, “That’s kind of cool, though” he says to Ryan, before turning to Spencer. “I’m touching the radio, and the A/C buttons, Spencer Smith.”
Brendon keeps a petulant expression the whole ride home.
-
Sometimes Spencer has to pee at three in the morning. Sometimes as in always, and he doesn’t like to admit it because it makes him feel like his mother.
He’s a little surprised when he finds the living room light on, Brendon, Jon, and Ryan occupying it.
“Great,” he says to announce his presence, “You’re all plotting to kill me while I sleep, aren’t you?”
Except it may have came out less coherent, because, three in the morning.
Jon shakes his head slowly, yawning, “We need you Spencer Smith.”
Spencer crosses his legs where he stands, silently talking to his bladder. “What?” he asks.
Ryan’s voice comes out in a whisper from next to Jon on the couch, where he’s curled into Jon, “We‘re leaving tomorrow.”
“He can’t sleep,” Brendon comments from his usual seat behind the keyboard.
Spencer wants to say, ‘Obviously’ or something, and also wants to go comfort Ryan, but he really wants to pee. “I’ll be -- back.”
Following him to the bathroom is Brendon’s impression of The Terminator.
“Spence, I’m being stupid,” Ryan says when Spencer returns, pulling him down. “I’m worried about everything we haven’t done out here. Did I write enough?”
Spencer thinks about the stack of full notebooks in the corner of the bedroom Ryan shares with Brendon. Instead of saying anything he curls into Ryan, reaching his arm around to rest his fingers against Jon’s cheek.
Brendon plays a tiny melody from one of the demo-bridges of a song, and sings softly until Ryan smiles and yawns.
“We’re fine, Ross,” Brendon sighs, walking over and sitting on the floor in front of him. He takes Ryan’s hand and rests his chin on his lap. “Just fine.”
Spencer wakes up in the morning with a crick in his neck, warm weight pressed against his side, and on top of his feet. When he looks up Jon meets his eyes, squinting and smiling down at Ryan between them and Brendon asleep on the floor.
Jon mimes kicking Brendon, but puts his head back down on Ryan’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
*
A huge thanks to Nika (ficklish) for putting up with me and encouaging me and beta'ing. Also to Terri and Lauren.
Title is from the song "Slow Pony" by The Weepies.
LOOK, I WROTE AGAIN! \o/
"Ryan called Saturday as his day, despite Spencer’s rational protests that Saturday should be a free day. Also, ‘I need to get out when there are actual things happening, Spencer’ is not a valid argument point. Ryan didn’t understand that, either."
370009274BCAD55719994B79BBA40398
“Hey,” Spencer says when he walks in the door, hands loaded down with plastic bags, “Hey, could I get some help?”
Ryan spares Spencer a glance over his notebook, ballpoint pen cap almost entirely in his mouth, and doesn’t move. Jon is sprawled on the couch, asleep, and Brendon is absorbed in a video game, biting his bottom lip in concentration.
Oh, yeah, they were way too busy to go out and get some food. Working and stuff.
Spencer momentarily shuts his eyes, ignoring the plastic digging into the palms of his hand. A stray, ‘Hey, these hands are important’ thought crosses his mind, and he may just be spending way too much time around Brendon. Maybe. “Alright, someone get off their ass and help me,” he settles on, and if he wasn’t weighed down by groceries he would so have a hand on his hip for effect.
No one does anything for a second, until Ryan makes a little noise of surprise, and rearranges himself on the lounge chair, scribbling something in his notepad with intent.
“Fine,” Spencer huffs, turning to his left to drop the bags in the kitchen, and then going back outside for the rest.
“Did you get me Chinese?” Brendon asks when Spencer returns, standing in the kitchen, peeking into packages.
God forbid he put anything away.
Spencer searches his mind for anything Brendon might have said about Chinese. He may have, but not directly to Spencer. ‘Eye contact, Brendon’ Spencer had told him once, ‘I won’t pay attention to you, otherwise.’
“Because,” Brendon continues, his hands flitting at the knot in one bag, “I really, really didn’t want Chinese food.”
“What?” Spencer starts, but decides it’s obviously not worth it because, seriously, it’s Brendon. He shouldn’t even ask.
When he comes back in with the last of the bags, Brendon’s gotten into the Cheerio’s - the Honey Nut kind - Spencer’s favorite. He’s got his hand in the box, and a mouthful, too. He grins when Spencer looks over, makes a muffled sound, swallows and says, “Hey, man, thanks, I‘ve been craving these,” and walks back into the living room, box tucked under one arm.
“Oh, hey, Honey Nut!” Spencer hears Jon say, and he sighs.
-
They have a schedule of who is allowed out of the cabin and when. Brendon got Sunday, claiming that all the best garage sales happened on Sunday, and he never got a chance to enjoy that when he was little because of Church.
(Spencer personally thinks that’s bullshit, and Brendon just wanted to have a reason to get one of the weekend days.)
Ryan called Saturday as his day, despite Spencer’s rational protests that Saturday should be a free day. Also, ‘I need to get out when there are actual things happening, Spencer’ is not a valid argument point. Ryan didn’t understand that, either.
Jon wanted Tuesday, and Spencer wanted Monday, but, again Spencer saw problems in this and tried to explain that they couldn’t all take their days in a row, because then they’d be stuck with three days in between for just working.
He ended up taking Thursday to prove a point, but, it really just meant he was the one stuck with Grocery Duty.
Once, Brendon invited Spencer to come with him to “This really awesome sale, you seriously have to see!” but then there was a big argument over that being against the rules. (“What rules? You’re just jealous I didn’t invite, you, Ryan Ross.”)
Brendon ended up bring back a hideous pair of alligator-skin cowboy boots, which he gave to Spencer with a red ribbon. He even stuck his tongue out at Ryan when he presented them, a pleased smile on his face.
(Spencer managed a “thanks”, before taking them to the room he shared with Jon and zipping them up in his suitcase.)
-
“Okay, Brendon, I got you a strawberry milkshake, it’s not melted, and doesn’t have chunks,” Jon says, right as he walks in the door after his day out. He makes a face at the word ‘chunks’ and deposits the Styrofoam cup of pink-calories into Brendon’s waiting hand.
“Oh,” Brendon replies, taking a small sip, “Thanks, can you put it in the fridge?”
Spencer laughs from his comfortable position on the couch, drumsticks in his hand. “Hey, I’ll have it, Jon,” he calls, eyes on Brendon.
Brendon swings around to face Spencer, “I still want it, just not right now,” he says, a defiant look on his face.
“But I really like strawberry.”
Spencer is taking chances. Chances that Brendon might start pouting, or actually get upset in the hormonal teenage girl way he does and not talk to him for a week. (Except maybe through messages written on the kitchen counter, out of pretzel sticks - because he has done that.)
“Well, I bought you shoes, Spencer Smith,” Brendon replies, and Spencer knew he would start using that as an excuse.
“You aren’t going to drink your shake, because it will melt in the fridge and get too hard in the freezer.”
Brendon goes to stand up, and Jon cuts in, tired sounding, “I’ll go get another one, god.”
He comes back fifteen minutes later and presses a Mint-Chocolate Chip milkshake into Spencer’s hand with a knowing smile.
-
“I swear to God it is Saturday, guys,” Ryan argues on Monday, dressed in tight jeans and a v-neck.
Spencer groans and rubs at the bridge of his nose. Ryan is not supposed to be more difficult than Brendon.
“Check your phone,” Jon suggests, and he’s actually smiling, enjoying this.
Ryan’s eyebrows crinkle and he reaches for his Sidekick, taking a good 40 seconds to wiggle it out from his pocket. “Oh,” he says, and then, “Wait, there is no way I slept through Saturday and Sunday.”
Jon shrugs, and Spencer tries to remember if he had seen Ryan on either of those days.
“You didn’t,” Brendon comments from behind a keyboard, where he’s been sitting all day, randomly tapping out melodies and muttering to himself, “Because there were five cartons of New York Super Fudge whatever that aren’t there anymore, and that’s the flavor you like.”
“Oh,” Ryan says again, “I’m going back to sleep,” and he walks towards the hallway. “Wait, does that mean there isn’t any left?” he asks Brendon, turning around.
Brendon nods, and then his eyes go wide, “New York, New York remix! Dude!”
Spencer and Jon leave the room shortly thereafter.
-
Spencer wakes up in the living room, laid out on the couch with a warm and heavy weight on top of him. Brendon is slightly snoring, and his expression is calm, innocent, even.
“Didn’t think you’d ever wake up,” Brendon mumbles, eyes still closed, serene expression rapidly disappearing. He stretches, deliberately poking his elbow into Spencer’s ribs.
“Okay, get off,” Spencer groans, trying to wrap his arm around Brendon to get to his ribs.
Brendon adopts a smile, “You’re warm, I don’t want to,” he pouts.
It’s probably Thursday already, and all Spencer wants to do is sleep so he can go grocery shopping, and maybe stop off at that thrift store along the way, (because they might have gotten in new shoes, or something.)
Brendon nuzzles his face into Spencer’s neck, and Spencer jerks away, feeling the scratch from Brendon’s stubble.
“Get off,” Spencer says again, this time a little weaker. (Not because he wants Brendon to stay or anything, god.) He is kind of warm, though, huh.
“Nrfgg,” Brendon groans, as Spencer pinches some of the skin on his back between two fingers. He rolls to the side out of reflex, and lands on the carpeted floor. “Fine, I’ll just sleep here, Spencer Smith, and everyone will know what a bitch you are in the morning.”
Spencer lets himself smile, and tosses a throw blanket and couch pillow toward the ground. “Night, Urie,” he mumbles, and Brendon snorts in response.
-
“I don’t think sweatpants are all that flattering on me,” Ryan comments over a group-breakfast the next day. Spencer looks over at Ryan’s waist, where the size-too-big pants are rolled up on the ankles, and down at the waist.
Brendon makes a muffled laughing noise, mouth full of (the last of the) Honey Nut Cheerios, and says, “Maybe if you didn’t wear them like a girl.”
Spencer feels a bit of milk splatter on his neck and grimaces.
“Shut up,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. He picks at his tangerine with his fingernails, and Spencer can see the tops glistening with juice. “This is the only way they stay up.”
Brendon and Spencer both watch Ryan skeptically as he licks the sweet juice from his fingers, and starts on the fruit. He gives them a ‘what’ look, and Spencer turns his attention to Jon, who seems to be half-asleep.
They eat in silence, (or well, silence punctured by crunches and slurps, and wet noises coming from Ryan’s end) until Brendon pushes his bowl away and exclaims, “I think everyone should go with Spencer to the grocers.”
Spencer’s first thought is, ‘Who says grocers anymore,’ and before he can make a more rational thought, Jon comments from his slumber that, “Yeah, I want to see.”
Ryan groans, and makes a face at the tangerine, “I’m not going in sweatpants.”
Two hours later, (after many wardrobe changes, because, “What if there was someone who wanted to take a picture?”) they all pile into the rental car, Spencer in the drivers seat, and Brendon in shotgun.
“Don’t touch the stereo, or press any buttons, Brendon,” Spencer says as soon as he sits down, “and buckle up.”
Jon whispers to Ryan in the back, “Spencer is going to be an awesome dad someday.”
From the rear-view mirror Spencer can see Ryan roll his eyes and shrug.
They arrive at the little store in under ten minutes, with only one incident.
“Neither of you are sitting in front when we leave,” Ryan groans when they all get out.
It wasn’t Spencer’s fault, seriously. When he had batted Brendon’s hand away from the AC they’d shocked each other. He may have lost control of the car for a few seconds, that’s all. God.
The grocery place is called “Jerry’s”, with red awning, and whitewashed walls. On the windows there are big signs about sales, including one for ‘Soda 6 packs, 3 for 2,’ which Brendon points at and mutters, “Cool.”
“No, Brendon,” Jon says, grabbing two carts. To Spencer, he says, “Lead the way.”
The cashier is still snapping her gum when they get to the register. Spencer pushes a full cart over to her, as Jon wrestles with Brendon over his cart full of unnecessary items.
Spencer can see Ryan watching them from behind an open Vogue, one eyebrow raised. “Guys,” he says, and puts the magazine down onto the counter. “We are leaving in one and a half weeks, we don’t need a giant family size box of… Fruit Loops.”
Brendon gives up, but gets into the car with a small pout, and also refuses to load the bags into the trunk.
“Hey,” Ryan says again when he slips into the drivers seat, (“No, Spencer, I’m serious, you and Brendon are sitting in the back, I’m not going to die on a road in the middle of nowhere,”) “We really do only have a week and a half left.”
Jon slips into the front passenger seat with a grin, “That’s kind of cool, though” he says to Ryan, before turning to Spencer. “I’m touching the radio, and the A/C buttons, Spencer Smith.”
Brendon keeps a petulant expression the whole ride home.
-
Sometimes Spencer has to pee at three in the morning. Sometimes as in always, and he doesn’t like to admit it because it makes him feel like his mother.
He’s a little surprised when he finds the living room light on, Brendon, Jon, and Ryan occupying it.
“Great,” he says to announce his presence, “You’re all plotting to kill me while I sleep, aren’t you?”
Except it may have came out less coherent, because, three in the morning.
Jon shakes his head slowly, yawning, “We need you Spencer Smith.”
Spencer crosses his legs where he stands, silently talking to his bladder. “What?” he asks.
Ryan’s voice comes out in a whisper from next to Jon on the couch, where he’s curled into Jon, “We‘re leaving tomorrow.”
“He can’t sleep,” Brendon comments from his usual seat behind the keyboard.
Spencer wants to say, ‘Obviously’ or something, and also wants to go comfort Ryan, but he really wants to pee. “I’ll be -- back.”
Following him to the bathroom is Brendon’s impression of The Terminator.
“Spence, I’m being stupid,” Ryan says when Spencer returns, pulling him down. “I’m worried about everything we haven’t done out here. Did I write enough?”
Spencer thinks about the stack of full notebooks in the corner of the bedroom Ryan shares with Brendon. Instead of saying anything he curls into Ryan, reaching his arm around to rest his fingers against Jon’s cheek.
Brendon plays a tiny melody from one of the demo-bridges of a song, and sings softly until Ryan smiles and yawns.
“We’re fine, Ross,” Brendon sighs, walking over and sitting on the floor in front of him. He takes Ryan’s hand and rests his chin on his lap. “Just fine.”
Spencer wakes up in the morning with a crick in his neck, warm weight pressed against his side, and on top of his feet. When he looks up Jon meets his eyes, squinting and smiling down at Ryan between them and Brendon asleep on the floor.
Jon mimes kicking Brendon, but puts his head back down on Ryan’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
*
A huge thanks to Nika (ficklish) for putting up with me and encouaging me and beta'ing. Also to Terri and Lauren.
Title is from the song "Slow Pony" by The Weepies.
LOOK, I WROTE AGAIN! \o/