Sometimes I Long To Be Landlocked (Part Two)
Back to Part One
* * *
When Spencer wakes up he can tell that Jon is already making coffee and something that smells suspiciously like Spencer’s favorite pumpkin bread. When he finally stretches and opens his eyes, he notices that there is also a big, sloppily-wrapped, squashy box-shape filling his entire field of view. It’s wrapped partially in brown paper and partially in newspaper, which is mostly a Picasso of comics. (Jon cuts out the Garfield comics that remind him of his cats and keeps them somewhere, like a complete freak.) On the brown paper side, Jon has drawn weird little stick figures and squashy looking animals.
“You’re the biggest freak ever,” Spencer says. “Why am I still living in your freak lair?”
“Um, because you love me?” Jon says cheerfully. He’s never as hung over as Spencer is; Spencer keeps forgetting to ask him for tips.
“What is this?” Spencer asks, wincing when he hears how scratchy his voice is.
“Birthday present. Obviously,” Jon says. “How hung over are you: cream and sugar okay or black?”
Spencer tests the thought in his stomach. “Just sugar,” he says finally. “Jon, you already got me a birthday present.”
“Yeah, but the perks of being fabulously wealthy include being able to buy as much shit as I want and not give a fuck,” Jon says, plopping happily onto the couch and passing Spencer his coffee. He still looks a little sleepy, so probably he hasn’t been up that long either. “Open it.”
“You’re only getting one present from me for your birthday,” Spencer says, ripping off the paper. “I hope you know that.”
“You say that now, but I know you, Spencer Smith. Your pride won’t let you lose the Birthday War.” Jon drinks his coffee smugly, which Spencer didn’t really know someone could do.
The box isn’t a box at all but is in fact a big wad of sweaters and a truly ridiculous winter coat, which Spencer will grudgingly admit he kind of likes. It reminds him of the Iditarod or something. “Wow,” he says.
“See, this is thoughtful,” Jon explains, “because I noticed how you keep stealing my reindeer sweater - which you can ask for, by the way, you don’t have to be so sneaky about it - and whining about how cold it is and if you’re going to stay here you are seriously going to need to bundle up in the bitter Chicago winter. Your weak Nevada blood will literally freeze in your veins.”
Spencer is actually kind of impressed. Either Jon is being really sneaky about forcing Spencer to stay by making it impossible for him to leave without being a total dick or Jon is actually concerned about Spencer’s Nevada blood. Either way, Spencer is definitely impressed.
After that, he really has no choice but to call his mom and have her send up his winter wardrobe, which makes Jon not only drink his coffee smugly, but do everything else pretty fucking smugly for a week.
* * *
When November rolls around Spencer has moved on to making some pretty fancy meals, things he can’t even pronounce. He’s proud of himself, even if this puts him no closer to figuring out what to do with his life. Jon has almost wrapped up his photo project, Brendon is out daily looking for the ideal location for Steve the Center, and Ryan sends Spencer an e-mail with Run Barbara Run’s concert dates attached.
They’re playing a show in Chicago in about a week and Ryan is flying up to personally ensure that Spencer and Jon will be there. Brendon catches one of their shows in Tucson (“I was investigating the magic of the desert, Spence! It was… not for Steve.”) and forwards a glowing review to everyone (“PS: ryan did NOT make me send this!!! PPS: they are so cute i want to collect em all like beanie babies and then eat all of them at once all wrapped up in an adorable little burrito PPPS: you know ryan would never let me write that cuz it mixes metaphors. he is so totally not making me write this!!! PPPPS: ryan says he will get you free tickets but only if he likes your face PPPPPS: steve says hi! PPPPPPS: so does shane.”).
“What are the odds that Ryan will kill us in our sleep if we skip this?” Spencer asks as he reads the e-mail over Jon’s shoulder.
“Um, I was never good at math, but he would probably kill us. A lot,” Jon clarifies. “But if you wanna skip I could say you burned the apartment down again.”
“I only singed the curtains and it was, like, months ago,” Spencer says, smacking Jon in the back of the head. “Stop telling people that.” Truthfully, he would kind of prefer to burn the entire city of Chicago to the ground than go see some hot new band that’s just going to remind him about how he isn’t in one anymore. He hasn’t seen anyone play except for bands Jon knows, local ones with various familiar faces scattered across the stage. It doesn’t feel so unattainable then, when he still feels like a part of it. This is Ryan’s thing; this is just another reminder that Spencer still doesn’t have a thing of his own. “Ryan’s really excited about it,” he finally says. “We should go.”
“If you’re sure,” Jon says, but he looks doubtful.
* * *
Surprisingly, the show is not all that hard to watch. He and Jon get to go backstage with Ryan and Jon takes pictures and Spencer mostly watches the kids and thinks, Jesus, Ryan wasn’t kidding. They’re still a little rough around the edges, but there’s definitely something there.
The singer, this tiny girl in kind of ridiculous combat boots, is a little tentative on some of the notes, but only when she looks back at her band. When she’s up on the speakers, leaning out over the crowds, every eye is on her and she could be singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat and the kids would be screaming for more.
Spencer can see himself in the bassist a bit, aside from the fact that she’s like six feet tall and a girl, obviously. It’s something about the way she’s always got half an eye on everyone else. He can see her watching the cords around the singer’s feet, the way the kids in the front row are getting a little grabby, the way the techs backstage are just shy of not ready to bring out the next guitar.
The drummer is the one who’s probably the most out of his element, but he seems the least worried about it, in a way. Spencer decides he likes him on sight and not just because he notices that the kid plays without shoes on and his socks don’t match, though that is admittedly about as adorable as baby ducks.
The guitarist is the one with the technical skill, that much is obvious from the first song. He looks a little older than the rest of them, and Ryan tells Spencer and Jon that he’s played with other bands before, including The Bow Street Runners. Spencer recognizes the name from music magazines he doesn’t quite let himself scan in the aisle at the grocery store. The guitarist also seems the most at home on the stage, and Spencer knows girls are going to put his picture on their wall. He’s that kind of a guy. He’s also probably an asshole, Spencer is pretty sure about that.
But the main thing that surprises Spencer is that - as good as they are, as young as they are - he doesn’t hate them. He’s not jealous. He’s here with Jon and Ryan and they’re just Brendon’s balled-up pre-show energy away from a hundred moments they’ve shared across the country, watching the opening act and waiting to go on, but he’s honestly not thinking about it. He’s thinking about how amazing Ryan is for finding these guys, how great it is to see how much they want it, how much he’s enjoying himself.
Spencer thinks that this is probably progress.
After their set a local Chicago band that’s starting to get noticed takes the stage and Ryan takes Spencer and Jon over to the bar to meet Run Barbara Run. The lead singer says her name is Luce, and from the way the bassist rolls her eyes, Spencer gathers that it’s not her real name and that they’ve known each other for a long, long time. Luce’s still buzzing on a post-show high and Spencer remembers the feeling fondly - how he couldn’t hold himself still, kept feeling the bass line vibrating in his legs - but doesn’t mind that he’s not a part of it.
The thought comes fleetingly: maybe it’s just his band he misses, not being in any band, just his.
But then he’s totally mobbed by the girl, who’s probably about five foot nothing and has clearly never realized it. She’s got her hands on her hips and is sizing him up like she’s wondering if she could take him in a bar fight. Spencer will admit (though not out loud) that he is about 90% sure that she could. “So you’re Spencer?” she says.
“Yep,” Spencer says, and sips his beer to remind her that he’s like ten years older than her and she should be respecting him. She doesn’t seem impressed.
“Okay,” she says and grabs his arm. “You’ve gotta talk to Doyle. He’s, like, freaking out about pedal technique and speeding up on the kicker and-”
He throws Jon and Ryan a helpless look over his shoulder but Ryan is just looking darkly amused and Jon shrugs and falls back into conversation with the bassist. Spencer thinks her name was Brody.
Carter Doyle, the drummer, is a breath of fresh air after Luce. She deposits Spencer in Carter’s presence and is immediately swept off by adoring fans. Some are wearing t-shirts for the headliner and are clearly new converts. Luce doesn’t seem phased by the sheer mass of them and is talking up a storm. Somewhere in the corner the guitarist, Jesse (“Jesse James,” he’d said, to which Jon had replied, “Haha, no really” and Jesse had grimly said “Yeah fuckin’ really” which Spencer took to mean he got a lot of that) is being tentatively approached by a group of girls with even larger groups waiting at a safe distance, trying to act like they aren’t watching his every move.
Spencer realizes that, wow, he really doesn’t miss that part of this and he wonders when Jesse will get tired of it.
He and Carter talk drums for a bit and he seems like a good kid so Spencer even gives him his number so Carter can text him or something. Spencer feels surprised to have apparently deserved this weird mentor role and it almost makes him think he should teach drumming to kids and then he remembers how much he hates kids. Then he just feels like an asshole for letting it go to his head.
Spencer leaves Carter to his fans and rejoins Ryan at the bar where he’s having what looks like a very serious conversation with Jesse but is actually, Spencer discovers when he approaches, about the latest Palahniuk.
“If they think I’m busy they kind of back off,” Jesse says, shrugging. He’s definitely an asshole, but not in the way Spencer assumed. Spencer’s actually kind of warming up to him.
He talks music with Jesse and Ryan for a bit, has another beer or two and looks around for Jon. He’s still leaned up against the wall talking to Brody. They’re both laughing and having fun.
Spencer feels weird, like he’s hungry maybe, or possibly getting sick, so he steps out through the back into the alley behind the venue to get some air. It’s cold as hell and he tucks himself back into the jacket Jon bought for him and wishes he’d brought gloves. Carter is out there, smoking a cigarette.
“Hi,” he says and offers the pack to Spencer who shrugs and takes one because he’s had enough beers to feel like having one and because he thinks giving his hands something to do might keep them warmer.
“Pretty crazy in there,” Spencer says. “Do you guys have much of a fan base yet?”
“I don’t know,” Carter says. “Luce kind of handles that stuff, you know, Myspace and everything. It’s kind of best to just sit back and let her take over some times,” he says and Spencer laughs, thinking about being in a band with Brendon and Ryan.
“I think I know what you mean,” he says. “You guys are good, by the way.”
“Are we?” Carter says, genuinely surprised. “Good. Cool.” Spencer definitely likes this kid. “I don’t really know that much about music, I guess. I used to think I did, but Luce and Jesse can go on for weeks - seriously, I’m talking, like months - arguing about one fucking note. I probably don’t want it as much as they do,” he says, suddenly awkward and shy, like he’s confessing something shameful. “It’s just that it makes me happy, you know? I’m just having a good time.”
“Keep doing that,” Spencer says. “Seriously. When it stops being fun, stop. That’s the best way to do it, I think.” And even as he says it, he realizes that that’s exactly what Panic did. He knew that, obviously, but he feels it now, and for the first time Spencer knows for sure that, even though he wouldn’t trade those years for anything, he doesn’t want to go back.
“Yeah,” Carter says. “Well, I should probably get back. Ryan says it’s important to establish a feeling of personal relationships with fans, or something.” He smiles and shrugs, like he has no idea what that means.
Spencer laughs and goes with him. He finds Ryan at the bar. “Carter says he’s communing with fans on your orders,” Spencer informs him. “You are so business.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says, “it is the age of the internet. There’s no more artist-consumer separation.” His tone is serious, but he grins and ruins it. “They’re good kids,” he says. “If the kids at the show see that they’re gonna want to see more of them.”
“Ryan Ross, corporate tool,” Spencer teases. “Where’s Jon?”
“Backstage with Brody,” Ryan says. “Something about this vintage bass, I don’t know.”
Spencer shrugs and decides to order another beer. He’s losing his buzz.
“Ryan,” Luce says. “Ryan, this is insane. Did you know people here actually know tracks on our album? Some kid in a Joy Division shirt just asked me why we didn’t play ‘Hipster Fuck!’ He was kinda pissed!”
“Yeah, and I just got asked if ‘Die Monster Die’ was our new single,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he smiles at her a bit.
“I can’t help it if your groupies don’t know the Misfits, James,” Luce says. “Next time we’ll just preface the song with a whole history of horror punk, shall we?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do the cover at all,” Jesse says.
“Fuck that, it’s a crowd pleaser,” Luce replies. “Right, Ryan?”
“Like I’m arguing with you,” Ryan says.
“You’re going to have to teach me how to do that,” Spencer says to Luce. She flushes and, for the first time, looks a little out of her element.
“Dude,” Jon says, coming up to them. “Brody has a Kramer DMZ from ’79. How do I not have one of those?”
“It used to be my dad’s,” Brody explains. “He and Lu’s dad used to play together in the DC hardcore scene.”
“She won’t sell it to me, Spencer,” Jon says pitifully. “Not even for my millions. Possibly billions,” he adds. “I don’t know, I don’t count it.”
“You seriously have to stop bragging about all your money,” Spencer says. “It’s so unattractive.”
“What else am I going to do with it? I don’t spend it on anything,” he shrugs.
“What about trashy TV show box sets?” Brody asks, smirking.
“I told you that in confidence,” Jon says. “You are not at all trustworthy, Bateman.” Jon looks alcohol-flushed and happy. He’s obviously getting along with Brody, at least. They’re currently involved in some kind of shame-off or something. Clearly Jon told her about his OC addiction. Spencer still feels a little ill.
“So,” Luce says, “how old are you?”
“I’m not old,” Spencer says immediately.
“I didn’t say you were,” Luce points out, grinning.
“Twenty-seven,” Spencer admits.
“That’s plenty old enough to buy me a beer without being so old you’re a tool about it.” She smiles beatifically at him, batting her eyelashes wickedly.
“You better not try this with Ryan,” Spencer laughs and passes her what’s left of his. The beer’s probably starting to disagree with him anyway.
Luce grins, drains the cup fast, and hands it back. “I don’t tell Ryan to do anything, he tells me.”
“And I bet you listen so well,” Spencer says and Luce laughs and shrugs.
“When I got my last tattoo he said not to go overboard,” Luce says, displaying the sleeve on her right arm. “He says I’m a walking PR nightmare.”
“He wasn’t much better,” Spencer tells her. “Has he ever told you about the rock opera he never finished? Pete kept trying to tell everyone we were basically good kids, but no one who hadn’t been doing a serious amount of drugs on a regular basis would have written that opera. Pete hid the demo somewhere and Ryan’s still looking.”
“Really?” Luce says thoughtfully. “Because we’re heading to Pete’s tomorrow and I bet you twenty bucks I could find it.”
“I’ll give you two hundred to find it and destroy it,” Spencer laughs.
“Deal,” she grins.
“Spencer Smith,” Jon says, grabbing Spencer across the chest from behind. “I thought I heard you say ‘rock opera.’”
“Keep your voice down,” Spencer says. “Ryan’s, like, right there.” They look over at Ryan who is eyeing them both suspiciously.
“Yep,” Luce says loudly. “I totally agree. Tommy is a great rock opera. Yeah, the Who are awesome.”
Ryan frowns and turns to resume his conversation fast enough that he doesn’t see Jon and Spencer crack up.
“Hey, Spence,” Jon says. “Brody and I were talking about maybe getting some food or something. Do you guys wanna come?”
“Sure,” Luce says.
“I’m not feeling great actually,” Spencer tells Jon. “I was gonna head back. Have fun, though.”
“What’s wrong?” Jon asks, frowning.
“I don’t know, probably just tired,” Spencer shrugs. “I’ll see you at home?”
“Don’t be stupid, I’ll go with you,” Jon says.
“No, really-” Spencer starts to say, but Jon’s already gone, yelling something to Ryan that Spencer can’t hear over the music and going backstage for their coats. Spencer sighs.
“Smooth,” Luce says approvingly.
“What?” Spencer asks.
Luce just laughs and winks and then runs off to jump on Carter, almost knocking him into the bar.
“Jon says you’re not feeling good?” Ryan says, coming up to Spencer and looking concerned.
“Oh my god, you both need to relax,” Spencer says and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Whatever you say,” Ryan says. Spencer can’t remember the last time Ryan wasn’t looking at him funny. It’s really starting to piss him off.
“Coat,” Jon says, holding it out to Spencer. He’s already got his own on and a scarf draped around his neck. “Ready to go?”
“Seriously, Jon, I’m not dying, I can get back fine on my own.”
“You think I’m doing this for you?” Jon says. “Have you realized I’m the oldest person in this room except for that really creepy bartender?” He nods over his shoulder at the bartender in question, who’s about sixty and has a ponytail and a seriously angry look on his face. “I’m dying to get out of here.”
“What about dinner with Brody?” Spencer asks.
“Not that hungry,” Jon says with a shrug as they leave the venue.
“You guys seemed like you were getting along.” Spencer tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
Jon laughs. “She’s alright,” he says. “Her dad sounds awesome. He used to hang out with Minor Threat.”
“You don’t even like Minor Threat,” Spencer points out.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that her dad hung out with them. That’s like if my dad was hanging out with, like, Pink Floyd.”
Spencer laughs at that. “Your dad would never hang out with Pink Floyd.”
“He really wouldn’t,” Jon agrees mournfully.
The trip back to Jon’s apartment is uneventful. Jon is trying to get Spencer to tell him where he hid the ice cream when Spencer gets a text from Carter: brdy askin 4 jon did u leave?
“Seriously, Spencer, did you, like, bury it under all this crap?” Jon says, laughing as he tosses things out of the freezer at random.
“I told you, I ate it,” Spencer says. “Jon, Carter says Brody’s looking for you. Did you not tell her you were leaving?”
“Oh,” Jon says. “Guess I forgot.”
That’s when Spencer gets fed up. “Look, if you wanted to hang out with her you could have, you know.”
“Uh, yeah, I know,” Jon says, removing his head from the freezer to give Spencer a quizzical look.
“I could have stayed with Ryan or something for the night, if you wanted to…” Spencer makes a gesture that he hopes illustrates the phrase ‘nail the hot bassist.’
Jon stares at him. “What? Spencer, I was just hanging out with her. I wasn’t - she’s like, a baby!”
“No she’s not and you know it,” Spencer says. “And I’m just saying - look, I don’t know, maybe I should leave? I’ve been here months now, and I’m getting in the way of-”
“Of what, me banging teenagers?” Jon’s voice is starting to get louder, not quite a shout yet, but definitely getting there.
“I don’t know! You guys were looking pretty cozy!” Spencer doesn’t really know why he’s the one that’s getting angry about this. Jon’s the one who got cockblocked by a roommate.
“Jesus, Spencer, I’m almost thirty. I can have a conversation with someone and not want to fuck them,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Were you flirting with Luce?”
“No! God, no,” Spencer says. “But I didn’t spend the whole night with her.”
“Okay, what do you want me to say, I’m sorry I didn’t fuck Ryan’s hot new bassist?” Jon snaps. “You’re not making any sense!”
“What doesn’t make sense is me staying here,” Spencer says. “I’m not doing anything, I’m not working on anything, I’m just getting in your way-”
“Spencer, I didn’t ask you to come here to help you work through your problems! I asked you to come here because I missed you, you idiot.” He still looks angry, but it’s a fond kind of anger now and Spencer doesn’t know what to say. “You’re not getting in my way, you’re not inconveniencing me. I keep telling you this and you’re being so fucking stupid. I want you to stay here. Do you know how much it sucks when you guys are all down in Vegas? I love having you here, okay? And if I wanted to be fucking anybody, I would be. Are we clear?”
“Uh,” Spencer says.
“Spence,” Jon sighs, “I wasn’t asking you to come stay with me, I was asking you to live with me. If you don’t want to-”
“No, no,” Spencer says quickly. “I just, um, I guess I didn’t realize.”
“Well that’s because you’re being dumb,” Jon says. “I told you that you were.”
“Oh,” Spencer says.
Jon shakes his head and grins at Spencer. “So. Ice cream?”
“Behind the peas,” Spencer replies, still feeling a little weird, like he just won whatever argument he and Jon were having, even though he isn’t even sure they were actually having one about anything at all. “You never look behind the peas.”
“Well, you told me about it now,” Jon says, eating right out of the carton, even though he knows Spencer hates it. “You’re gonna have to find a new hiding place.”
“I guess so,” Spencer says.
* * *
Spencer has two Thanksgivings. His mom really wants him to come home for the actual day, but Spencer needs to know that he can make a fucking awesome turkey, so they call up everyone they know in Chicago and Spencer makes dinner. He maybe goes the tiniest bit overboard. In addition to the turkey, he makes three kinds of potatoes, four different vegetables, two kinds of rolls and five different pies. He makes cranberry sauce too, but Jon insists on also having the canned kind and Spencer really can’t say no.
“Wow,” Tom says, “Jon, I feel like you moved in with Martha Stewart, but, like, less scary.”
Spencer glares at him.
“Maybe a little bit scary,” Tom says.
“But Spencer’s never done time,” Jon says proudly. “I did a thorough background check.”
“Tell Pete to stop eyeing my apple pie,” Tom says to Spencer. “He’ll listen to you.”
Pete doesn’t listen, and aside from him and Tom having an epic (and by all account honor-less) thumb war over the last piece, things go well. Jon insists on doing the dishes alone that night, since Spencer made what Jon calls ‘the most amazing Thanksgiving ever’ so Spencer has some time to pack. They keep the Colbert Report on in the background and occasionally Jon will break into a terrible Stephen Colbert impersonation on commercial breaks.
Spencer is sitting on the floor folding up clothes, trying to keep the cats out of his suitcase when Jon suddenly says, “You’re coming back, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I really don’t know,” Jon replies, and his tone becomes lighter even though Spencer hadn’t really noticed it wasn’t before. “Vegas is dirty and full of strippers and obviously lacks my charming face.”
“Obviously,” Spencer says and smiles when he rolls his eyes.
* * *
Being back in Vegas is really, really weird. It’s not freezing, his mom makes him three huge meals a day, he sees his family and Brendon and Shane all the time, he drives places again, and he can actually fit in his bed. It should be nice, but it’s mostly just freaking him out. He winds up calling Jon a lot, sometimes with real questions about the cats or if he left his favorite hoodie, or if Brendon’s told him about how he’s putting the center on the California coast, but mostly for no apparent reason at all.
They watch TV on the phone together. It’s probably the dumbest thing Spencer has ever done, but he was bored one day and watching Family Guy and that creepy old guy with the dog was on and Spencer knows Jon will laugh at that dog until he throws up, so he called him and then they just kind of… didn’t hang up. And so it becomes another one of their things. It’s probably really fucking dumb; he doesn’t tell anyone about it.
“Guess what,” Spencer says during a commercial break for Iron Chef America. (They aren’t speaking during the show. It’s a close match so far and Spencer is concerned for Bobby Flay.)
“You have a huge crush on Bobby Flay,” Jon says. “It’s okay, I know.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, even though Jon can’t see it. “No. I’m coming back in two days.”
“Twenty-two hours, thirty-eight minutes and… I don’t know, maybe forty-five seconds?” Jon says.
Spencer laughs. “You’re a huge freak.”
“I miss you insulting me in person,” Jon sighs. “It’s weirdly lonely up here without you - ”
“You’re a huge emo freak,” Spencer says.
“ - for some reason. I don’t know why I live with you when you’re so mean all the time.”
“Um, probably because you’re madly in love with me?” Spencer guesses.
“That must be it,” Jon agrees and sighs again.
* * *
When Jon meets Spencer at the airport he’s grinning like a complete idiot and is holding a wrapped box in the palm of his hand. He looks like he sprinted here (he’s still a little bit wet from the shower and possibly kind of sweaty) but Spencer hugs him anyway.
“Spencer, thank god you came back,” Jon says seriously. “I’ve been living off ramen.”
“I put leftovers in the fridge,” Spencer says. “I even put post-its on them telling you how long to microwave them. It’s your own fault. What’s in the box?”
“Gwyneth Paltrow’s head,” Jon says and hands it to him.
Spencer opens it and grins. “You’re going to get us arrested. I think bomb squad dogs will be able to smell this.”
“So we’ll get arrested and then buy our freedom with our millions,” Jon shrugs. “It’s your homecoming party, I’m taking the risk.”
“There’s a party?”
“Well, obviously.”
“Well,” Spencer says. “It’s a good thing my suitcase is like, completely full of booze then, isn’t it?”
“I love you, Spencer Smith,” Jon says, swinging his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, kissing him sloppily on the cheek and leading the way out of the baggage claim. “Never leave me again.”
* * *
The party turns out to be just Jon and Spencer, getting high and getting drunk on Jon’s couch, listening to mellow songs that sound like friendly background conversation. The cats freak out for about the first half hour; they’re climbing all over Spencer like they thought he was never coming back, and (after a couple drinks) so is Jon. Spencer feels warm and loose and happy.
“Do you see why I absolutely need you here?” Jon says, boneless somewhere against Spencer’s shoulder with Dylan purring loudly on his lap. “It’s not, like, socially acceptable for me to sit around and do this alone, but with you, with you no one can judge me.”
“I can judge you,” Spencer corrects. “In fact, I am judging you right now. All over the place.”
“You’re hurtful,” Jon informs him. “Mean and hurtful. And you’re out of beer. You’d be nicer with more beer.”
“You’re getting me drunk to make me like you?” Spencer says. “You’re not helping with the judging. I’m now judging you worse than ever.”
Jon makes a face at him and deposits Dylan on Spencer’s lap. He rolls over the arm of the couch and onto the floor, landing with almost-grace. He straightens up and promptly falls over. Spencer cranes his neck over the back of the couch and looks at Jon.
“Don’t judge,” Jon says, holding up a finger in warning.
“I didn’t say anything,” Spencer says. “But if I had said something, I probably would have said ‘who’s the lightweight now, Walker.’”
“I’m not drunk, I was sabotaged,” Jon says, getting to his feet. “By your shoes.”
“Like I don’t trip over your cats and, fucking, I don’t know, tripods every day,” Spencer says, scratching Dylan between the ears.
“That’s because you lack my natural grace,” Jon says. Spencer can hear the clinking sound of him getting more beers out of the fridge. He also hears the telltale sound of Jon going for the orange juice.
“Put your mouth on that carton, Walker, and I’ll cut your face off.”
“I wasn’t!” Jon says immediately.
“Of course you weren’t,” Spencer says, “because you know that I just bought a set of steak knives.”
“For real?” Jon says, coming back and handing him a beer. He opens another for himself and says, “It’s like living with an assassin.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Think about that next time you wanna put your germs in my drinks.”
“You’ll drink my germs,” Jon says, his voice calm and sleepy, his face pressed up against Dylan’s, his chin resting on Spencer’s thigh. “One day, Spencer Smith, you will drink my germs and like it.”
By about two both of them are more sleepy than drunk and Spencer is completely willing to pass out on the couch but Jon won’t hear of it. “Spencer,” he says with somewhat slurred authority, “Spencer, it is bad for your back. You’ll wake up, like, all Quasimodo and shit.”
“Will not,” Spencer says, curling into the cushions. “I’ve slept here before.”
“What if there’s, like, an allotted number of times a person can sleep on a couch and you’re at the end of yours? What if you wake up deformed and gross tomorrow?”
“Won’t,” Spencer yawns and pulls a throw pillow over his head. “Besides, my bed’s too small.”
“Your bed is too small?” Jon repeats, horrified. “I can’t believe you’ve lived here six months and you’re just now telling me that your bed is too small.”
“Is,” Spencer says.
“I’m shamed,” Jon says, sitting down beside the couch with a thump, flopping his head back against Spencer’s stomach.
“Should be,” Spencer mutters.
“You wanna sleep in my bed?” Jon asks. “Since it’s your first night back and you have a tiny bed, apparently, and I don’t want to live with a hunchback?”
Spencer cracks open one eye. “Your bed?”
“It’s huge,” Jon says invitingly. “Enormous.”
“Deal,” Spencer agrees and, with the promise of a real bed in mind, manages to pull himself up and even brush his teeth before yawning his way into Jon’s room.
He’s a little surprised to find Jon already in his bed, already a little beyond half asleep. Like he senses Spencer’s sleepy feelings of betrayal, Jon says, “I’m shamed, not stupid. Not sleeping in your tiny bed. Please.”
Spencer huffs at that but his bed is really very small, so he crawls in with Jon anyway. “Jerk,” he mumbles.
Jon just makes a sleepy snuffle by way of reply and Spencer has a smile on his face when he falls asleep.
* * *
When Spencer wakes up the next morning, he discovers that he and Jon are kind of in a sloppy, stinky mess and Jon is staring at him thoughtfully.
“Um, hello?” Spencer says, his voice still a little abused from the previous night.
“You’re awake,” Jon announces, like Spencer didn’t know.
“You’re creepy,” Spencer announces, because he’s pretty sure Jon didn’t know.
“I’m having a thought,” Jon says.
“I hope it’s about brushing your teeth,” Spencer says, pulling the sheets up over his nose.
“Better,” Jon grins.
“Shower? Oh god, is it a shower?”
“Hey, you smell too, okay?” Jon says. “And I’m trying to say something important here.”
“You can’t brush your teeth first?”
“No,” Jon says, “this is really important.”
“Okay, so talk fast then.” Spencer adds a pillow to his fortification. Jon’s probably right; his own breath can’t be too fresh right now either.
“Okay, alright, so, your bed is really small,” Jon says. “And we have stuff. We have so much stuff.”
“That we’ve bought with our millions,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes. “I know.”
“And my apartment is… not big.”
“It’s fucking tiny, Jon,” Spencer agrees.
“So, alright, so, I have a plan.” Jon’s eyes are lighting up in that kind of half-adorable-half-scary way they do when he’s talking about photography or his bass or his cats. “Spencer, Spence, we should buy a house.”
“Um, what?” Spencer says.
“Yeah!” Jon says, like Spencer actually agreed to this plan.
“You want to buy a house. Together?” Spencer thinks this plan has flaws, he knows it must, but he’s too sleepy to be able to properly vocalize this concern.
“Yes,” Jon says, nodding cheerfully. “It’ll be awesome! A whole house! Beds! A yard! Maybe even a pool. And Spencer, deluxe kitchen!”
Sold.
“Okay,” Spencer says. “Alright, I’m in.”
Jon stands up on the bed to do a victory dance and Spencer laughs into his pillow, already thinking color schemes.
* * *
When they tell Brendon he says, “Fucking awesome, are you guys going to have a yard? Do you think you could take care of a flock of geese for, like, I don’t know, a month?” They consider this the worst reaction until they tell Ryan.
“Living together,” he says. “In a house.”
“Yeah, with a yard and everything. But no geese, make sure Brendon knows that,” Spencer says. He has the phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder while he removes the pin bones from a side of salmon. “The apartment’s really small. It just makes sense.”
“The apartment’s been small for six months,” Ryan says. “Didn’t stop you from living there.”
“Well, we just didn’t know if it was going to work out,” Spencer says. “You know, living together, I mean.”
“So it’s working out?” Ryan says. He sounds suspicious.
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer says. “Obviously?”
“So… are you dating him yet?” Ryan asks.
“God, no!” Spencer says. “Ryan, stop saying I’m dating him!”
“I’m not saying it, you’re saying it!” Ryan argues.
“I’m not saying anything!”
“You’re implying it.”
“You’re delusional,” Spencer says, yanking a bone out of the salmon, tearing the fish. “And you just made me ruin my salmon!”
“Seriously, Spencer,” Ryan says. “I can’t take it anymore, you’re practically Jon’s housewife. Are you wearing an apron right now? I bet you are!”
“I’m not!” Spencer lies. “I do not wear an apron and I’m not a housewife and I am definitely not dating Jon!” He hangs up on Ryan and throws his cell into the next room, aiming for the couch, but almost clipping Jon’s ear as he comes around the corner.
“Whoa,” Jon says, ducking. “I heard shouting. I was worried about a fire hazard.”
“I don’t set things on fire!” Spencer huffs. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Anymore.”
“And I’m very proud of you,” Jon says, patting Spencer’s shoulder as he passes him on the way to the fridge.
“Ryan says I wear an apron,” Spencer blurts out. Jon gives him a once over, clearly taking in Spencer’s obvious apron, and then gives him that same ironic look, making Spencer wish he had something else to throw. “It’s one thing if I wear an apron sometimes,” Spencer explains. “It’s a completely different thing if people across state lines can tell I’m wearing one!”
“Ross can’t microwave a Ding Dong without remembering to take the foil off,” Jon says, opening a beer and handing one to Spencer. “Think about that and wear your apron with pride, Spencer Smith.”
“I’m wearing an apron,” Spencer says pointedly, “and I am de-boning a fish.”
“Ryan Ross spent years of his life wearing a vest with roses on it,” Jon says, “and he thought it looked good.”
Spencer feels a hell of a lot better after that.
* * *
Neither Jon nor Spencer really knows how to go about buying a house. Spencer’s mom tells them to get a real estate agent and Pete recommends a good one. He also recommends they move next door, but Spencer knows that Pete has only gotten more exuberant with age and is now constantly trailed by his equally zealous children. It would be a nightmare and they would get their sticky child fingers all over his kitchen. Hell. No.
They go out walking on weekends and Jon takes pictures of houses he likes, houses Spencer likes, and the rare houses they both like. Most of the houses aren’t even for sale, but Jon insists they get a feel for the neighborhoods and types of houses they like. He’s taking the whole thing very seriously, and though Spencer rolls his eyes a lot at first, he can’t help getting swept up in it.
It finally feels like he’s doing something real, like this is a project that will matter. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, because he doesn’t really see the good in it. He’s not making kids’ dreams come true or saving their lives, he’s just making himself happy. When he says as much to Jon, Jon laughs and says, “What do you think Brendon and Ryan are doing? The band was the fairy tale, Spence. We’re all just living in the happily ever after now.” Spencer makes a face at him, but can’t stop thinking about it in those exact words - living in the happily ever after - from then on.
Their real estate agent, Jennifer, is small and peppy but still with a definite air of “mom” about her. Jon and Spencer both agree that they like her, Spencer after she compliments him on a plate of cookies he made for one of their first meetings and Jon after the cats approve. By December they’re all spending a few mornings a week looking at houses.
Jon takes pictures of all of them, whether they like them or not, and keeps them saved in folders on his laptop labeled ‘Houses Spencer Doesn’t Hate’ and ‘Houses That Spencer Wants To Burn To The Ground.’ Spencer doesn’t care. It’s a house. If he’s going to live in it, he’s going to love it, end of story.
It takes them a few weeks until they find one that they both like. It’s a Victorian about half an hour out of the city. It’s big without being embarrassingly so, which Jon likes, and it’s so homey that Spencer kind of wants to die. And the kitchen? Is amazing.
“The counter tops, Jon,” Spencer can’t stop saying as they walk through. “Are you seeing this? There’s a broiler. I could broil things.”
“What would you even broil?” Jon laughs.
“Everything, I don’t even care,” Spencer says.
“I think he likes it,” Jon says to Jennifer.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says. “All of the exteriors were recently restored, the kitchen, as Spencer has noted, is completely modern, and the previous owners recently remodeled all the bathrooms and plumbing. And the neighborhood is very accepting.”
“Accepting?” Spencer says, opening and closing cabinets.
“Yes,” Jennifer says. “There’s a lesbian couple just around the corner.”
Spencer stares at her.
“That’s great news,” Jon says, earnestly. When Spencer turns to stare at him instead, Jon grins and crinkles the corners of his eyes.
Jennifer looks so pleased with herself that Spencer can’t help it. He stops messing with the cabinets and comes over to stand with Jon. “It’s perfect, honey,” he says, smiling. “Have I told you how much I love the broiler?”
“Anything for my baby,” Jon says, slipping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders.
Jennifer smiles blissfully at them. “There are also some terrific schools nearby, if you’re ever interested in starting a family.”
“That’s great,” Spencer says, slipping his hand into Jon’s back pocket and resting his head on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon’s always saying he’d love to have kids, aren’t you, muffin?”
“But we obviously couldn’t raise them in the city, in an apartment… Isn’t that right, pumpkin?” Jon says. “Kids need room to play.”
“I completely agree,” Jennifer says. “So what do you say? Should I make an offer?”
“What do you think, babe?” Jon says to Spencer.
“I love it,” Spencer says, trying not to laugh.
“You heard the man,” Jon says and kisses Spencer on the cheek.
“Oh, you two are just adorable!” Jennifer says. “I’ll send you the paperwork as soon as possible.”
Jon and Spencer spend the whole drive back to the apartment calling each other sickening endearments and trying to breathe through their laughter.
* * *
Spencer doesn’t even think about it for hours, not until they’re doing the dishes and Jon suddenly, out of nowhere, says, “I do kind of want kids someday, though, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer says, “Maybe.”
“And that would be a good neighborhood for it, right?” Jon says, handing Spencer another plate.
“Well,” Spencer says, “You wouldn’t be living there if you were having kids, would you? I mean we wouldn’t be living together then, right?” Jon doesn’t say anything and that’s when Spencer stops breathing. He thinks - but it’s crazy, it’s ridiculous, he has to be wrong. He has to be sure. So he says, totally nonchalantly, “How hilarious was it when Jennifer thought we were dating?”
“Spencer,” Jon says.
“I mean,” Spencer says, suddenly babbling for no reason, “Ryan says it all the time, but he’s delusional, you know? He’s always making a big deal out of things, right? Jon?”
“Spencer,” Jon says again. He puts the glass he was cleaning down and turns to face Spencer, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me we’re not dating,” Spencer says wildly. He has to be making this up, there’s no way this is actually his life.
“Well,” Jon says, “I would, but, you know, we really kind of are.” He looks apologetic and pissed off all at the same time. Spencer would think it was hilarious if he wasn’t suddenly dating Jon, oh my god, what the fuck.
“We are not dating,” Spencer says firmly. “We’re just not.”
“Except that we really are,” Jon says and goes back to wiping down the glass.
“This is so fucked up,” Spencer says, staring at Jon.
“A bit,” Jon admits, “but isn’t it also kind of awesome?”
“What? No! How are we dating if we’re not fucking?” Spencer demands.
“Duh, because I’m a gentleman?” Jon says.
“I didn’t consent to this,” Spencer feels obligated to point out.
“Spence, we live together. We do everything together,” Jon says.
“Because we’re friends! Friends who are roommates!”
“Are you seriously telling me you think of me as just a friend?” Jon says. “Really?”
“Yes?” Spencer says. It doesn’t sound as confident out loud as it did in his head.
“Spencer,” Jon says again. On Jon’s tongue, his name sounds different, Spencer suddenly realizes. It sounds like it means something.
“Quit saying my name,” Spencer says.
“I would if you’d start paying attention,” Jon snaps. “Seriously, Spencer, I have been incredibly fucking patient with you.”
“You’ve been incredibly fucking deceptive,” Spencer corrects. “That’s what you’ve been.”
“You want me to be completely honest?” Jon says, tossing the glass back into the sink so forcefully that Spencer is kind of amazed it doesn’t shatter. “You really do?”
“Yes,” Spencer says. He half hopes Jon will tell him he was joking, and they’ll laugh about it, finish the dishes and go to sleep and nothing will have changed. He half hopes - he doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for right now.
“Okay, honestly, Spencer Smith, I am completely in love with you,” Jon says. “Completely one hundred percent stupid about you. And, I don’t know, I kind of thought you felt the same way. I know you have a lot that you’re dealing with right now, and I’m being patient, I’m waiting for you, Spencer. Why do you think I want to live with you, buy a house with you?”
“How can you date someone who doesn’t even know they’re dating you?” Spencer asks. He kind of wants to scream. He can feel it building up in his chest, hot and swelling.
“I told you, Spence, I love you. I’ll take you anyway I can get you!”
“This is insane,” Spencer says. “Completely insane.”
“I was honest with you, Spencer,” Jon says. “It’s your turn.” He looks serious and immovable, panicked and hopeful. Spencer knows him so well and suddenly doesn’t know him at all. “Am I in this alone?”
“This is crazy,” Spencer says again, because Jon clearly hasn’t realized that yet. And he may also be stalling, which is also crazy, because how hard is it to say ‘I’m sorry Jon, I’m just not in love with you, I hope we can still be friends?’
“Spencer,” Jon says. “Tell me.”
“I can’t do this,” Spencer says. “I can’t fucking do this.” He really can’t. And he really, really can’t look at Jon when he drops the towel he’s been clenching in his fist and leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t look over his shoulder once while he throws whatever he can find in a suitcase and pulls on a coat. He doesn’t say anything to Jon on his way out.
But Jon doesn’t say anything either.
* * *
Continue to Part Three
* * *
When Spencer wakes up he can tell that Jon is already making coffee and something that smells suspiciously like Spencer’s favorite pumpkin bread. When he finally stretches and opens his eyes, he notices that there is also a big, sloppily-wrapped, squashy box-shape filling his entire field of view. It’s wrapped partially in brown paper and partially in newspaper, which is mostly a Picasso of comics. (Jon cuts out the Garfield comics that remind him of his cats and keeps them somewhere, like a complete freak.) On the brown paper side, Jon has drawn weird little stick figures and squashy looking animals.
“You’re the biggest freak ever,” Spencer says. “Why am I still living in your freak lair?”
“Um, because you love me?” Jon says cheerfully. He’s never as hung over as Spencer is; Spencer keeps forgetting to ask him for tips.
“What is this?” Spencer asks, wincing when he hears how scratchy his voice is.
“Birthday present. Obviously,” Jon says. “How hung over are you: cream and sugar okay or black?”
Spencer tests the thought in his stomach. “Just sugar,” he says finally. “Jon, you already got me a birthday present.”
“Yeah, but the perks of being fabulously wealthy include being able to buy as much shit as I want and not give a fuck,” Jon says, plopping happily onto the couch and passing Spencer his coffee. He still looks a little sleepy, so probably he hasn’t been up that long either. “Open it.”
“You’re only getting one present from me for your birthday,” Spencer says, ripping off the paper. “I hope you know that.”
“You say that now, but I know you, Spencer Smith. Your pride won’t let you lose the Birthday War.” Jon drinks his coffee smugly, which Spencer didn’t really know someone could do.
The box isn’t a box at all but is in fact a big wad of sweaters and a truly ridiculous winter coat, which Spencer will grudgingly admit he kind of likes. It reminds him of the Iditarod or something. “Wow,” he says.
“See, this is thoughtful,” Jon explains, “because I noticed how you keep stealing my reindeer sweater - which you can ask for, by the way, you don’t have to be so sneaky about it - and whining about how cold it is and if you’re going to stay here you are seriously going to need to bundle up in the bitter Chicago winter. Your weak Nevada blood will literally freeze in your veins.”
Spencer is actually kind of impressed. Either Jon is being really sneaky about forcing Spencer to stay by making it impossible for him to leave without being a total dick or Jon is actually concerned about Spencer’s Nevada blood. Either way, Spencer is definitely impressed.
After that, he really has no choice but to call his mom and have her send up his winter wardrobe, which makes Jon not only drink his coffee smugly, but do everything else pretty fucking smugly for a week.
* * *
When November rolls around Spencer has moved on to making some pretty fancy meals, things he can’t even pronounce. He’s proud of himself, even if this puts him no closer to figuring out what to do with his life. Jon has almost wrapped up his photo project, Brendon is out daily looking for the ideal location for Steve the Center, and Ryan sends Spencer an e-mail with Run Barbara Run’s concert dates attached.
They’re playing a show in Chicago in about a week and Ryan is flying up to personally ensure that Spencer and Jon will be there. Brendon catches one of their shows in Tucson (“I was investigating the magic of the desert, Spence! It was… not for Steve.”) and forwards a glowing review to everyone (“PS: ryan did NOT make me send this!!! PPS: they are so cute i want to collect em all like beanie babies and then eat all of them at once all wrapped up in an adorable little burrito PPPS: you know ryan would never let me write that cuz it mixes metaphors. he is so totally not making me write this!!! PPPPS: ryan says he will get you free tickets but only if he likes your face PPPPPS: steve says hi! PPPPPPS: so does shane.”).
“What are the odds that Ryan will kill us in our sleep if we skip this?” Spencer asks as he reads the e-mail over Jon’s shoulder.
“Um, I was never good at math, but he would probably kill us. A lot,” Jon clarifies. “But if you wanna skip I could say you burned the apartment down again.”
“I only singed the curtains and it was, like, months ago,” Spencer says, smacking Jon in the back of the head. “Stop telling people that.” Truthfully, he would kind of prefer to burn the entire city of Chicago to the ground than go see some hot new band that’s just going to remind him about how he isn’t in one anymore. He hasn’t seen anyone play except for bands Jon knows, local ones with various familiar faces scattered across the stage. It doesn’t feel so unattainable then, when he still feels like a part of it. This is Ryan’s thing; this is just another reminder that Spencer still doesn’t have a thing of his own. “Ryan’s really excited about it,” he finally says. “We should go.”
“If you’re sure,” Jon says, but he looks doubtful.
* * *
Surprisingly, the show is not all that hard to watch. He and Jon get to go backstage with Ryan and Jon takes pictures and Spencer mostly watches the kids and thinks, Jesus, Ryan wasn’t kidding. They’re still a little rough around the edges, but there’s definitely something there.
The singer, this tiny girl in kind of ridiculous combat boots, is a little tentative on some of the notes, but only when she looks back at her band. When she’s up on the speakers, leaning out over the crowds, every eye is on her and she could be singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat and the kids would be screaming for more.
Spencer can see himself in the bassist a bit, aside from the fact that she’s like six feet tall and a girl, obviously. It’s something about the way she’s always got half an eye on everyone else. He can see her watching the cords around the singer’s feet, the way the kids in the front row are getting a little grabby, the way the techs backstage are just shy of not ready to bring out the next guitar.
The drummer is the one who’s probably the most out of his element, but he seems the least worried about it, in a way. Spencer decides he likes him on sight and not just because he notices that the kid plays without shoes on and his socks don’t match, though that is admittedly about as adorable as baby ducks.
The guitarist is the one with the technical skill, that much is obvious from the first song. He looks a little older than the rest of them, and Ryan tells Spencer and Jon that he’s played with other bands before, including The Bow Street Runners. Spencer recognizes the name from music magazines he doesn’t quite let himself scan in the aisle at the grocery store. The guitarist also seems the most at home on the stage, and Spencer knows girls are going to put his picture on their wall. He’s that kind of a guy. He’s also probably an asshole, Spencer is pretty sure about that.
But the main thing that surprises Spencer is that - as good as they are, as young as they are - he doesn’t hate them. He’s not jealous. He’s here with Jon and Ryan and they’re just Brendon’s balled-up pre-show energy away from a hundred moments they’ve shared across the country, watching the opening act and waiting to go on, but he’s honestly not thinking about it. He’s thinking about how amazing Ryan is for finding these guys, how great it is to see how much they want it, how much he’s enjoying himself.
Spencer thinks that this is probably progress.
After their set a local Chicago band that’s starting to get noticed takes the stage and Ryan takes Spencer and Jon over to the bar to meet Run Barbara Run. The lead singer says her name is Luce, and from the way the bassist rolls her eyes, Spencer gathers that it’s not her real name and that they’ve known each other for a long, long time. Luce’s still buzzing on a post-show high and Spencer remembers the feeling fondly - how he couldn’t hold himself still, kept feeling the bass line vibrating in his legs - but doesn’t mind that he’s not a part of it.
The thought comes fleetingly: maybe it’s just his band he misses, not being in any band, just his.
But then he’s totally mobbed by the girl, who’s probably about five foot nothing and has clearly never realized it. She’s got her hands on her hips and is sizing him up like she’s wondering if she could take him in a bar fight. Spencer will admit (though not out loud) that he is about 90% sure that she could. “So you’re Spencer?” she says.
“Yep,” Spencer says, and sips his beer to remind her that he’s like ten years older than her and she should be respecting him. She doesn’t seem impressed.
“Okay,” she says and grabs his arm. “You’ve gotta talk to Doyle. He’s, like, freaking out about pedal technique and speeding up on the kicker and-”
He throws Jon and Ryan a helpless look over his shoulder but Ryan is just looking darkly amused and Jon shrugs and falls back into conversation with the bassist. Spencer thinks her name was Brody.
Carter Doyle, the drummer, is a breath of fresh air after Luce. She deposits Spencer in Carter’s presence and is immediately swept off by adoring fans. Some are wearing t-shirts for the headliner and are clearly new converts. Luce doesn’t seem phased by the sheer mass of them and is talking up a storm. Somewhere in the corner the guitarist, Jesse (“Jesse James,” he’d said, to which Jon had replied, “Haha, no really” and Jesse had grimly said “Yeah fuckin’ really” which Spencer took to mean he got a lot of that) is being tentatively approached by a group of girls with even larger groups waiting at a safe distance, trying to act like they aren’t watching his every move.
Spencer realizes that, wow, he really doesn’t miss that part of this and he wonders when Jesse will get tired of it.
He and Carter talk drums for a bit and he seems like a good kid so Spencer even gives him his number so Carter can text him or something. Spencer feels surprised to have apparently deserved this weird mentor role and it almost makes him think he should teach drumming to kids and then he remembers how much he hates kids. Then he just feels like an asshole for letting it go to his head.
Spencer leaves Carter to his fans and rejoins Ryan at the bar where he’s having what looks like a very serious conversation with Jesse but is actually, Spencer discovers when he approaches, about the latest Palahniuk.
“If they think I’m busy they kind of back off,” Jesse says, shrugging. He’s definitely an asshole, but not in the way Spencer assumed. Spencer’s actually kind of warming up to him.
He talks music with Jesse and Ryan for a bit, has another beer or two and looks around for Jon. He’s still leaned up against the wall talking to Brody. They’re both laughing and having fun.
Spencer feels weird, like he’s hungry maybe, or possibly getting sick, so he steps out through the back into the alley behind the venue to get some air. It’s cold as hell and he tucks himself back into the jacket Jon bought for him and wishes he’d brought gloves. Carter is out there, smoking a cigarette.
“Hi,” he says and offers the pack to Spencer who shrugs and takes one because he’s had enough beers to feel like having one and because he thinks giving his hands something to do might keep them warmer.
“Pretty crazy in there,” Spencer says. “Do you guys have much of a fan base yet?”
“I don’t know,” Carter says. “Luce kind of handles that stuff, you know, Myspace and everything. It’s kind of best to just sit back and let her take over some times,” he says and Spencer laughs, thinking about being in a band with Brendon and Ryan.
“I think I know what you mean,” he says. “You guys are good, by the way.”
“Are we?” Carter says, genuinely surprised. “Good. Cool.” Spencer definitely likes this kid. “I don’t really know that much about music, I guess. I used to think I did, but Luce and Jesse can go on for weeks - seriously, I’m talking, like months - arguing about one fucking note. I probably don’t want it as much as they do,” he says, suddenly awkward and shy, like he’s confessing something shameful. “It’s just that it makes me happy, you know? I’m just having a good time.”
“Keep doing that,” Spencer says. “Seriously. When it stops being fun, stop. That’s the best way to do it, I think.” And even as he says it, he realizes that that’s exactly what Panic did. He knew that, obviously, but he feels it now, and for the first time Spencer knows for sure that, even though he wouldn’t trade those years for anything, he doesn’t want to go back.
“Yeah,” Carter says. “Well, I should probably get back. Ryan says it’s important to establish a feeling of personal relationships with fans, or something.” He smiles and shrugs, like he has no idea what that means.
Spencer laughs and goes with him. He finds Ryan at the bar. “Carter says he’s communing with fans on your orders,” Spencer informs him. “You are so business.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says, “it is the age of the internet. There’s no more artist-consumer separation.” His tone is serious, but he grins and ruins it. “They’re good kids,” he says. “If the kids at the show see that they’re gonna want to see more of them.”
“Ryan Ross, corporate tool,” Spencer teases. “Where’s Jon?”
“Backstage with Brody,” Ryan says. “Something about this vintage bass, I don’t know.”
Spencer shrugs and decides to order another beer. He’s losing his buzz.
“Ryan,” Luce says. “Ryan, this is insane. Did you know people here actually know tracks on our album? Some kid in a Joy Division shirt just asked me why we didn’t play ‘Hipster Fuck!’ He was kinda pissed!”
“Yeah, and I just got asked if ‘Die Monster Die’ was our new single,” Jesse says, rolling his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he smiles at her a bit.
“I can’t help it if your groupies don’t know the Misfits, James,” Luce says. “Next time we’ll just preface the song with a whole history of horror punk, shall we?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do the cover at all,” Jesse says.
“Fuck that, it’s a crowd pleaser,” Luce replies. “Right, Ryan?”
“Like I’m arguing with you,” Ryan says.
“You’re going to have to teach me how to do that,” Spencer says to Luce. She flushes and, for the first time, looks a little out of her element.
“Dude,” Jon says, coming up to them. “Brody has a Kramer DMZ from ’79. How do I not have one of those?”
“It used to be my dad’s,” Brody explains. “He and Lu’s dad used to play together in the DC hardcore scene.”
“She won’t sell it to me, Spencer,” Jon says pitifully. “Not even for my millions. Possibly billions,” he adds. “I don’t know, I don’t count it.”
“You seriously have to stop bragging about all your money,” Spencer says. “It’s so unattractive.”
“What else am I going to do with it? I don’t spend it on anything,” he shrugs.
“What about trashy TV show box sets?” Brody asks, smirking.
“I told you that in confidence,” Jon says. “You are not at all trustworthy, Bateman.” Jon looks alcohol-flushed and happy. He’s obviously getting along with Brody, at least. They’re currently involved in some kind of shame-off or something. Clearly Jon told her about his OC addiction. Spencer still feels a little ill.
“So,” Luce says, “how old are you?”
“I’m not old,” Spencer says immediately.
“I didn’t say you were,” Luce points out, grinning.
“Twenty-seven,” Spencer admits.
“That’s plenty old enough to buy me a beer without being so old you’re a tool about it.” She smiles beatifically at him, batting her eyelashes wickedly.
“You better not try this with Ryan,” Spencer laughs and passes her what’s left of his. The beer’s probably starting to disagree with him anyway.
Luce grins, drains the cup fast, and hands it back. “I don’t tell Ryan to do anything, he tells me.”
“And I bet you listen so well,” Spencer says and Luce laughs and shrugs.
“When I got my last tattoo he said not to go overboard,” Luce says, displaying the sleeve on her right arm. “He says I’m a walking PR nightmare.”
“He wasn’t much better,” Spencer tells her. “Has he ever told you about the rock opera he never finished? Pete kept trying to tell everyone we were basically good kids, but no one who hadn’t been doing a serious amount of drugs on a regular basis would have written that opera. Pete hid the demo somewhere and Ryan’s still looking.”
“Really?” Luce says thoughtfully. “Because we’re heading to Pete’s tomorrow and I bet you twenty bucks I could find it.”
“I’ll give you two hundred to find it and destroy it,” Spencer laughs.
“Deal,” she grins.
“Spencer Smith,” Jon says, grabbing Spencer across the chest from behind. “I thought I heard you say ‘rock opera.’”
“Keep your voice down,” Spencer says. “Ryan’s, like, right there.” They look over at Ryan who is eyeing them both suspiciously.
“Yep,” Luce says loudly. “I totally agree. Tommy is a great rock opera. Yeah, the Who are awesome.”
Ryan frowns and turns to resume his conversation fast enough that he doesn’t see Jon and Spencer crack up.
“Hey, Spence,” Jon says. “Brody and I were talking about maybe getting some food or something. Do you guys wanna come?”
“Sure,” Luce says.
“I’m not feeling great actually,” Spencer tells Jon. “I was gonna head back. Have fun, though.”
“What’s wrong?” Jon asks, frowning.
“I don’t know, probably just tired,” Spencer shrugs. “I’ll see you at home?”
“Don’t be stupid, I’ll go with you,” Jon says.
“No, really-” Spencer starts to say, but Jon’s already gone, yelling something to Ryan that Spencer can’t hear over the music and going backstage for their coats. Spencer sighs.
“Smooth,” Luce says approvingly.
“What?” Spencer asks.
Luce just laughs and winks and then runs off to jump on Carter, almost knocking him into the bar.
“Jon says you’re not feeling good?” Ryan says, coming up to Spencer and looking concerned.
“Oh my god, you both need to relax,” Spencer says and rolls his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Whatever you say,” Ryan says. Spencer can’t remember the last time Ryan wasn’t looking at him funny. It’s really starting to piss him off.
“Coat,” Jon says, holding it out to Spencer. He’s already got his own on and a scarf draped around his neck. “Ready to go?”
“Seriously, Jon, I’m not dying, I can get back fine on my own.”
“You think I’m doing this for you?” Jon says. “Have you realized I’m the oldest person in this room except for that really creepy bartender?” He nods over his shoulder at the bartender in question, who’s about sixty and has a ponytail and a seriously angry look on his face. “I’m dying to get out of here.”
“What about dinner with Brody?” Spencer asks.
“Not that hungry,” Jon says with a shrug as they leave the venue.
“You guys seemed like you were getting along.” Spencer tries to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
Jon laughs. “She’s alright,” he says. “Her dad sounds awesome. He used to hang out with Minor Threat.”
“You don’t even like Minor Threat,” Spencer points out.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that her dad hung out with them. That’s like if my dad was hanging out with, like, Pink Floyd.”
Spencer laughs at that. “Your dad would never hang out with Pink Floyd.”
“He really wouldn’t,” Jon agrees mournfully.
The trip back to Jon’s apartment is uneventful. Jon is trying to get Spencer to tell him where he hid the ice cream when Spencer gets a text from Carter: brdy askin 4 jon did u leave?
“Seriously, Spencer, did you, like, bury it under all this crap?” Jon says, laughing as he tosses things out of the freezer at random.
“I told you, I ate it,” Spencer says. “Jon, Carter says Brody’s looking for you. Did you not tell her you were leaving?”
“Oh,” Jon says. “Guess I forgot.”
That’s when Spencer gets fed up. “Look, if you wanted to hang out with her you could have, you know.”
“Uh, yeah, I know,” Jon says, removing his head from the freezer to give Spencer a quizzical look.
“I could have stayed with Ryan or something for the night, if you wanted to…” Spencer makes a gesture that he hopes illustrates the phrase ‘nail the hot bassist.’
Jon stares at him. “What? Spencer, I was just hanging out with her. I wasn’t - she’s like, a baby!”
“No she’s not and you know it,” Spencer says. “And I’m just saying - look, I don’t know, maybe I should leave? I’ve been here months now, and I’m getting in the way of-”
“Of what, me banging teenagers?” Jon’s voice is starting to get louder, not quite a shout yet, but definitely getting there.
“I don’t know! You guys were looking pretty cozy!” Spencer doesn’t really know why he’s the one that’s getting angry about this. Jon’s the one who got cockblocked by a roommate.
“Jesus, Spencer, I’m almost thirty. I can have a conversation with someone and not want to fuck them,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. “Were you flirting with Luce?”
“No! God, no,” Spencer says. “But I didn’t spend the whole night with her.”
“Okay, what do you want me to say, I’m sorry I didn’t fuck Ryan’s hot new bassist?” Jon snaps. “You’re not making any sense!”
“What doesn’t make sense is me staying here,” Spencer says. “I’m not doing anything, I’m not working on anything, I’m just getting in your way-”
“Spencer, I didn’t ask you to come here to help you work through your problems! I asked you to come here because I missed you, you idiot.” He still looks angry, but it’s a fond kind of anger now and Spencer doesn’t know what to say. “You’re not getting in my way, you’re not inconveniencing me. I keep telling you this and you’re being so fucking stupid. I want you to stay here. Do you know how much it sucks when you guys are all down in Vegas? I love having you here, okay? And if I wanted to be fucking anybody, I would be. Are we clear?”
“Uh,” Spencer says.
“Spence,” Jon sighs, “I wasn’t asking you to come stay with me, I was asking you to live with me. If you don’t want to-”
“No, no,” Spencer says quickly. “I just, um, I guess I didn’t realize.”
“Well that’s because you’re being dumb,” Jon says. “I told you that you were.”
“Oh,” Spencer says.
Jon shakes his head and grins at Spencer. “So. Ice cream?”
“Behind the peas,” Spencer replies, still feeling a little weird, like he just won whatever argument he and Jon were having, even though he isn’t even sure they were actually having one about anything at all. “You never look behind the peas.”
“Well, you told me about it now,” Jon says, eating right out of the carton, even though he knows Spencer hates it. “You’re gonna have to find a new hiding place.”
“I guess so,” Spencer says.
* * *
Spencer has two Thanksgivings. His mom really wants him to come home for the actual day, but Spencer needs to know that he can make a fucking awesome turkey, so they call up everyone they know in Chicago and Spencer makes dinner. He maybe goes the tiniest bit overboard. In addition to the turkey, he makes three kinds of potatoes, four different vegetables, two kinds of rolls and five different pies. He makes cranberry sauce too, but Jon insists on also having the canned kind and Spencer really can’t say no.
“Wow,” Tom says, “Jon, I feel like you moved in with Martha Stewart, but, like, less scary.”
Spencer glares at him.
“Maybe a little bit scary,” Tom says.
“But Spencer’s never done time,” Jon says proudly. “I did a thorough background check.”
“Tell Pete to stop eyeing my apple pie,” Tom says to Spencer. “He’ll listen to you.”
Pete doesn’t listen, and aside from him and Tom having an epic (and by all account honor-less) thumb war over the last piece, things go well. Jon insists on doing the dishes alone that night, since Spencer made what Jon calls ‘the most amazing Thanksgiving ever’ so Spencer has some time to pack. They keep the Colbert Report on in the background and occasionally Jon will break into a terrible Stephen Colbert impersonation on commercial breaks.
Spencer is sitting on the floor folding up clothes, trying to keep the cats out of his suitcase when Jon suddenly says, “You’re coming back, though, right?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, surprised. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I really don’t know,” Jon replies, and his tone becomes lighter even though Spencer hadn’t really noticed it wasn’t before. “Vegas is dirty and full of strippers and obviously lacks my charming face.”
“Obviously,” Spencer says and smiles when he rolls his eyes.
* * *
Being back in Vegas is really, really weird. It’s not freezing, his mom makes him three huge meals a day, he sees his family and Brendon and Shane all the time, he drives places again, and he can actually fit in his bed. It should be nice, but it’s mostly just freaking him out. He winds up calling Jon a lot, sometimes with real questions about the cats or if he left his favorite hoodie, or if Brendon’s told him about how he’s putting the center on the California coast, but mostly for no apparent reason at all.
They watch TV on the phone together. It’s probably the dumbest thing Spencer has ever done, but he was bored one day and watching Family Guy and that creepy old guy with the dog was on and Spencer knows Jon will laugh at that dog until he throws up, so he called him and then they just kind of… didn’t hang up. And so it becomes another one of their things. It’s probably really fucking dumb; he doesn’t tell anyone about it.
“Guess what,” Spencer says during a commercial break for Iron Chef America. (They aren’t speaking during the show. It’s a close match so far and Spencer is concerned for Bobby Flay.)
“You have a huge crush on Bobby Flay,” Jon says. “It’s okay, I know.”
Spencer rolls his eyes, even though Jon can’t see it. “No. I’m coming back in two days.”
“Twenty-two hours, thirty-eight minutes and… I don’t know, maybe forty-five seconds?” Jon says.
Spencer laughs. “You’re a huge freak.”
“I miss you insulting me in person,” Jon sighs. “It’s weirdly lonely up here without you - ”
“You’re a huge emo freak,” Spencer says.
“ - for some reason. I don’t know why I live with you when you’re so mean all the time.”
“Um, probably because you’re madly in love with me?” Spencer guesses.
“That must be it,” Jon agrees and sighs again.
* * *
When Jon meets Spencer at the airport he’s grinning like a complete idiot and is holding a wrapped box in the palm of his hand. He looks like he sprinted here (he’s still a little bit wet from the shower and possibly kind of sweaty) but Spencer hugs him anyway.
“Spencer, thank god you came back,” Jon says seriously. “I’ve been living off ramen.”
“I put leftovers in the fridge,” Spencer says. “I even put post-its on them telling you how long to microwave them. It’s your own fault. What’s in the box?”
“Gwyneth Paltrow’s head,” Jon says and hands it to him.
Spencer opens it and grins. “You’re going to get us arrested. I think bomb squad dogs will be able to smell this.”
“So we’ll get arrested and then buy our freedom with our millions,” Jon shrugs. “It’s your homecoming party, I’m taking the risk.”
“There’s a party?”
“Well, obviously.”
“Well,” Spencer says. “It’s a good thing my suitcase is like, completely full of booze then, isn’t it?”
“I love you, Spencer Smith,” Jon says, swinging his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, kissing him sloppily on the cheek and leading the way out of the baggage claim. “Never leave me again.”
* * *
The party turns out to be just Jon and Spencer, getting high and getting drunk on Jon’s couch, listening to mellow songs that sound like friendly background conversation. The cats freak out for about the first half hour; they’re climbing all over Spencer like they thought he was never coming back, and (after a couple drinks) so is Jon. Spencer feels warm and loose and happy.
“Do you see why I absolutely need you here?” Jon says, boneless somewhere against Spencer’s shoulder with Dylan purring loudly on his lap. “It’s not, like, socially acceptable for me to sit around and do this alone, but with you, with you no one can judge me.”
“I can judge you,” Spencer corrects. “In fact, I am judging you right now. All over the place.”
“You’re hurtful,” Jon informs him. “Mean and hurtful. And you’re out of beer. You’d be nicer with more beer.”
“You’re getting me drunk to make me like you?” Spencer says. “You’re not helping with the judging. I’m now judging you worse than ever.”
Jon makes a face at him and deposits Dylan on Spencer’s lap. He rolls over the arm of the couch and onto the floor, landing with almost-grace. He straightens up and promptly falls over. Spencer cranes his neck over the back of the couch and looks at Jon.
“Don’t judge,” Jon says, holding up a finger in warning.
“I didn’t say anything,” Spencer says. “But if I had said something, I probably would have said ‘who’s the lightweight now, Walker.’”
“I’m not drunk, I was sabotaged,” Jon says, getting to his feet. “By your shoes.”
“Like I don’t trip over your cats and, fucking, I don’t know, tripods every day,” Spencer says, scratching Dylan between the ears.
“That’s because you lack my natural grace,” Jon says. Spencer can hear the clinking sound of him getting more beers out of the fridge. He also hears the telltale sound of Jon going for the orange juice.
“Put your mouth on that carton, Walker, and I’ll cut your face off.”
“I wasn’t!” Jon says immediately.
“Of course you weren’t,” Spencer says, “because you know that I just bought a set of steak knives.”
“For real?” Jon says, coming back and handing him a beer. He opens another for himself and says, “It’s like living with an assassin.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Think about that next time you wanna put your germs in my drinks.”
“You’ll drink my germs,” Jon says, his voice calm and sleepy, his face pressed up against Dylan’s, his chin resting on Spencer’s thigh. “One day, Spencer Smith, you will drink my germs and like it.”
By about two both of them are more sleepy than drunk and Spencer is completely willing to pass out on the couch but Jon won’t hear of it. “Spencer,” he says with somewhat slurred authority, “Spencer, it is bad for your back. You’ll wake up, like, all Quasimodo and shit.”
“Will not,” Spencer says, curling into the cushions. “I’ve slept here before.”
“What if there’s, like, an allotted number of times a person can sleep on a couch and you’re at the end of yours? What if you wake up deformed and gross tomorrow?”
“Won’t,” Spencer yawns and pulls a throw pillow over his head. “Besides, my bed’s too small.”
“Your bed is too small?” Jon repeats, horrified. “I can’t believe you’ve lived here six months and you’re just now telling me that your bed is too small.”
“Is,” Spencer says.
“I’m shamed,” Jon says, sitting down beside the couch with a thump, flopping his head back against Spencer’s stomach.
“Should be,” Spencer mutters.
“You wanna sleep in my bed?” Jon asks. “Since it’s your first night back and you have a tiny bed, apparently, and I don’t want to live with a hunchback?”
Spencer cracks open one eye. “Your bed?”
“It’s huge,” Jon says invitingly. “Enormous.”
“Deal,” Spencer agrees and, with the promise of a real bed in mind, manages to pull himself up and even brush his teeth before yawning his way into Jon’s room.
He’s a little surprised to find Jon already in his bed, already a little beyond half asleep. Like he senses Spencer’s sleepy feelings of betrayal, Jon says, “I’m shamed, not stupid. Not sleeping in your tiny bed. Please.”
Spencer huffs at that but his bed is really very small, so he crawls in with Jon anyway. “Jerk,” he mumbles.
Jon just makes a sleepy snuffle by way of reply and Spencer has a smile on his face when he falls asleep.
* * *
When Spencer wakes up the next morning, he discovers that he and Jon are kind of in a sloppy, stinky mess and Jon is staring at him thoughtfully.
“Um, hello?” Spencer says, his voice still a little abused from the previous night.
“You’re awake,” Jon announces, like Spencer didn’t know.
“You’re creepy,” Spencer announces, because he’s pretty sure Jon didn’t know.
“I’m having a thought,” Jon says.
“I hope it’s about brushing your teeth,” Spencer says, pulling the sheets up over his nose.
“Better,” Jon grins.
“Shower? Oh god, is it a shower?”
“Hey, you smell too, okay?” Jon says. “And I’m trying to say something important here.”
“You can’t brush your teeth first?”
“No,” Jon says, “this is really important.”
“Okay, so talk fast then.” Spencer adds a pillow to his fortification. Jon’s probably right; his own breath can’t be too fresh right now either.
“Okay, alright, so, your bed is really small,” Jon says. “And we have stuff. We have so much stuff.”
“That we’ve bought with our millions,” Spencer says, rolling his eyes. “I know.”
“And my apartment is… not big.”
“It’s fucking tiny, Jon,” Spencer agrees.
“So, alright, so, I have a plan.” Jon’s eyes are lighting up in that kind of half-adorable-half-scary way they do when he’s talking about photography or his bass or his cats. “Spencer, Spence, we should buy a house.”
“Um, what?” Spencer says.
“Yeah!” Jon says, like Spencer actually agreed to this plan.
“You want to buy a house. Together?” Spencer thinks this plan has flaws, he knows it must, but he’s too sleepy to be able to properly vocalize this concern.
“Yes,” Jon says, nodding cheerfully. “It’ll be awesome! A whole house! Beds! A yard! Maybe even a pool. And Spencer, deluxe kitchen!”
Sold.
“Okay,” Spencer says. “Alright, I’m in.”
Jon stands up on the bed to do a victory dance and Spencer laughs into his pillow, already thinking color schemes.
* * *
When they tell Brendon he says, “Fucking awesome, are you guys going to have a yard? Do you think you could take care of a flock of geese for, like, I don’t know, a month?” They consider this the worst reaction until they tell Ryan.
“Living together,” he says. “In a house.”
“Yeah, with a yard and everything. But no geese, make sure Brendon knows that,” Spencer says. He has the phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder while he removes the pin bones from a side of salmon. “The apartment’s really small. It just makes sense.”
“The apartment’s been small for six months,” Ryan says. “Didn’t stop you from living there.”
“Well, we just didn’t know if it was going to work out,” Spencer says. “You know, living together, I mean.”
“So it’s working out?” Ryan says. He sounds suspicious.
“Uh, yeah,” Spencer says. “Obviously?”
“So… are you dating him yet?” Ryan asks.
“God, no!” Spencer says. “Ryan, stop saying I’m dating him!”
“I’m not saying it, you’re saying it!” Ryan argues.
“I’m not saying anything!”
“You’re implying it.”
“You’re delusional,” Spencer says, yanking a bone out of the salmon, tearing the fish. “And you just made me ruin my salmon!”
“Seriously, Spencer,” Ryan says. “I can’t take it anymore, you’re practically Jon’s housewife. Are you wearing an apron right now? I bet you are!”
“I’m not!” Spencer lies. “I do not wear an apron and I’m not a housewife and I am definitely not dating Jon!” He hangs up on Ryan and throws his cell into the next room, aiming for the couch, but almost clipping Jon’s ear as he comes around the corner.
“Whoa,” Jon says, ducking. “I heard shouting. I was worried about a fire hazard.”
“I don’t set things on fire!” Spencer huffs. At Jon’s raised eyebrow, he adds, “Anymore.”
“And I’m very proud of you,” Jon says, patting Spencer’s shoulder as he passes him on the way to the fridge.
“Ryan says I wear an apron,” Spencer blurts out. Jon gives him a once over, clearly taking in Spencer’s obvious apron, and then gives him that same ironic look, making Spencer wish he had something else to throw. “It’s one thing if I wear an apron sometimes,” Spencer explains. “It’s a completely different thing if people across state lines can tell I’m wearing one!”
“Ross can’t microwave a Ding Dong without remembering to take the foil off,” Jon says, opening a beer and handing one to Spencer. “Think about that and wear your apron with pride, Spencer Smith.”
“I’m wearing an apron,” Spencer says pointedly, “and I am de-boning a fish.”
“Ryan Ross spent years of his life wearing a vest with roses on it,” Jon says, “and he thought it looked good.”
Spencer feels a hell of a lot better after that.
* * *
Neither Jon nor Spencer really knows how to go about buying a house. Spencer’s mom tells them to get a real estate agent and Pete recommends a good one. He also recommends they move next door, but Spencer knows that Pete has only gotten more exuberant with age and is now constantly trailed by his equally zealous children. It would be a nightmare and they would get their sticky child fingers all over his kitchen. Hell. No.
They go out walking on weekends and Jon takes pictures of houses he likes, houses Spencer likes, and the rare houses they both like. Most of the houses aren’t even for sale, but Jon insists they get a feel for the neighborhoods and types of houses they like. He’s taking the whole thing very seriously, and though Spencer rolls his eyes a lot at first, he can’t help getting swept up in it.
It finally feels like he’s doing something real, like this is a project that will matter. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, because he doesn’t really see the good in it. He’s not making kids’ dreams come true or saving their lives, he’s just making himself happy. When he says as much to Jon, Jon laughs and says, “What do you think Brendon and Ryan are doing? The band was the fairy tale, Spence. We’re all just living in the happily ever after now.” Spencer makes a face at him, but can’t stop thinking about it in those exact words - living in the happily ever after - from then on.
Their real estate agent, Jennifer, is small and peppy but still with a definite air of “mom” about her. Jon and Spencer both agree that they like her, Spencer after she compliments him on a plate of cookies he made for one of their first meetings and Jon after the cats approve. By December they’re all spending a few mornings a week looking at houses.
Jon takes pictures of all of them, whether they like them or not, and keeps them saved in folders on his laptop labeled ‘Houses Spencer Doesn’t Hate’ and ‘Houses That Spencer Wants To Burn To The Ground.’ Spencer doesn’t care. It’s a house. If he’s going to live in it, he’s going to love it, end of story.
It takes them a few weeks until they find one that they both like. It’s a Victorian about half an hour out of the city. It’s big without being embarrassingly so, which Jon likes, and it’s so homey that Spencer kind of wants to die. And the kitchen? Is amazing.
“The counter tops, Jon,” Spencer can’t stop saying as they walk through. “Are you seeing this? There’s a broiler. I could broil things.”
“What would you even broil?” Jon laughs.
“Everything, I don’t even care,” Spencer says.
“I think he likes it,” Jon says to Jennifer.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says. “All of the exteriors were recently restored, the kitchen, as Spencer has noted, is completely modern, and the previous owners recently remodeled all the bathrooms and plumbing. And the neighborhood is very accepting.”
“Accepting?” Spencer says, opening and closing cabinets.
“Yes,” Jennifer says. “There’s a lesbian couple just around the corner.”
Spencer stares at her.
“That’s great news,” Jon says, earnestly. When Spencer turns to stare at him instead, Jon grins and crinkles the corners of his eyes.
Jennifer looks so pleased with herself that Spencer can’t help it. He stops messing with the cabinets and comes over to stand with Jon. “It’s perfect, honey,” he says, smiling. “Have I told you how much I love the broiler?”
“Anything for my baby,” Jon says, slipping an arm around Spencer’s shoulders.
Jennifer smiles blissfully at them. “There are also some terrific schools nearby, if you’re ever interested in starting a family.”
“That’s great,” Spencer says, slipping his hand into Jon’s back pocket and resting his head on Jon’s shoulder. “Jon’s always saying he’d love to have kids, aren’t you, muffin?”
“But we obviously couldn’t raise them in the city, in an apartment… Isn’t that right, pumpkin?” Jon says. “Kids need room to play.”
“I completely agree,” Jennifer says. “So what do you say? Should I make an offer?”
“What do you think, babe?” Jon says to Spencer.
“I love it,” Spencer says, trying not to laugh.
“You heard the man,” Jon says and kisses Spencer on the cheek.
“Oh, you two are just adorable!” Jennifer says. “I’ll send you the paperwork as soon as possible.”
Jon and Spencer spend the whole drive back to the apartment calling each other sickening endearments and trying to breathe through their laughter.
* * *
Spencer doesn’t even think about it for hours, not until they’re doing the dishes and Jon suddenly, out of nowhere, says, “I do kind of want kids someday, though, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer says, “Maybe.”
“And that would be a good neighborhood for it, right?” Jon says, handing Spencer another plate.
“Well,” Spencer says, “You wouldn’t be living there if you were having kids, would you? I mean we wouldn’t be living together then, right?” Jon doesn’t say anything and that’s when Spencer stops breathing. He thinks - but it’s crazy, it’s ridiculous, he has to be wrong. He has to be sure. So he says, totally nonchalantly, “How hilarious was it when Jennifer thought we were dating?”
“Spencer,” Jon says.
“I mean,” Spencer says, suddenly babbling for no reason, “Ryan says it all the time, but he’s delusional, you know? He’s always making a big deal out of things, right? Jon?”
“Spencer,” Jon says again. He puts the glass he was cleaning down and turns to face Spencer, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me we’re not dating,” Spencer says wildly. He has to be making this up, there’s no way this is actually his life.
“Well,” Jon says, “I would, but, you know, we really kind of are.” He looks apologetic and pissed off all at the same time. Spencer would think it was hilarious if he wasn’t suddenly dating Jon, oh my god, what the fuck.
“We are not dating,” Spencer says firmly. “We’re just not.”
“Except that we really are,” Jon says and goes back to wiping down the glass.
“This is so fucked up,” Spencer says, staring at Jon.
“A bit,” Jon admits, “but isn’t it also kind of awesome?”
“What? No! How are we dating if we’re not fucking?” Spencer demands.
“Duh, because I’m a gentleman?” Jon says.
“I didn’t consent to this,” Spencer feels obligated to point out.
“Spence, we live together. We do everything together,” Jon says.
“Because we’re friends! Friends who are roommates!”
“Are you seriously telling me you think of me as just a friend?” Jon says. “Really?”
“Yes?” Spencer says. It doesn’t sound as confident out loud as it did in his head.
“Spencer,” Jon says again. On Jon’s tongue, his name sounds different, Spencer suddenly realizes. It sounds like it means something.
“Quit saying my name,” Spencer says.
“I would if you’d start paying attention,” Jon snaps. “Seriously, Spencer, I have been incredibly fucking patient with you.”
“You’ve been incredibly fucking deceptive,” Spencer corrects. “That’s what you’ve been.”
“You want me to be completely honest?” Jon says, tossing the glass back into the sink so forcefully that Spencer is kind of amazed it doesn’t shatter. “You really do?”
“Yes,” Spencer says. He half hopes Jon will tell him he was joking, and they’ll laugh about it, finish the dishes and go to sleep and nothing will have changed. He half hopes - he doesn’t even know what he’s hoping for right now.
“Okay, honestly, Spencer Smith, I am completely in love with you,” Jon says. “Completely one hundred percent stupid about you. And, I don’t know, I kind of thought you felt the same way. I know you have a lot that you’re dealing with right now, and I’m being patient, I’m waiting for you, Spencer. Why do you think I want to live with you, buy a house with you?”
“How can you date someone who doesn’t even know they’re dating you?” Spencer asks. He kind of wants to scream. He can feel it building up in his chest, hot and swelling.
“I told you, Spence, I love you. I’ll take you anyway I can get you!”
“This is insane,” Spencer says. “Completely insane.”
“I was honest with you, Spencer,” Jon says. “It’s your turn.” He looks serious and immovable, panicked and hopeful. Spencer knows him so well and suddenly doesn’t know him at all. “Am I in this alone?”
“This is crazy,” Spencer says again, because Jon clearly hasn’t realized that yet. And he may also be stalling, which is also crazy, because how hard is it to say ‘I’m sorry Jon, I’m just not in love with you, I hope we can still be friends?’
“Spencer,” Jon says. “Tell me.”
“I can’t do this,” Spencer says. “I can’t fucking do this.” He really can’t. And he really, really can’t look at Jon when he drops the towel he’s been clenching in his fist and leaves the kitchen. He doesn’t look over his shoulder once while he throws whatever he can find in a suitcase and pulls on a coat. He doesn’t say anything to Jon on his way out.
But Jon doesn’t say anything either.
* * *
Continue to Part Three