Bandfic: Dreams From the Other Side [4/5] (Brendon/Spencer. R.)
Spencer’s not sure how long they’ve been kissing, how long Brendon’s been pretty much sprawled out on the deck, Spencer lying most of the way on top of him, when his phone rings. Brendon’s the one to groan, thumping his head down on the wood once, twice, then making a small noise of protest as Spencer starts to pull away.
“I don’t have to-“ answer it, Spencer starts to say, already leaning back down again, back to Brendon, but then the second round of ringing starts and, well.
“It could be Ryan,” Brendon says, and Spencer-he’d actually forgotten what had prompted all of this. That Ryan was supposed to be calling him back. And if it is Ryan, he can’t ignore it. So he rolls away from Brendon again, then stands up-which, fucking ow, because this deck was apparently not designed with making out times in mind-and. Well.
It’s Ryan.
“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound like he’s grinning stupidly, because this is not a moment for stupid grinning. He can’t force the grin away, though. Not yet. Particularly when he’s pretty sure that it’s going to be hard for him to do anything besides grin whenever he looks at Brendon ever again.
“Hi,” Ryan says, and he sounds sober enough that Spencer makes himself look away from Brendon. Because Ryan deserves for Spencer to be serious about this, too.
“Jon’s heading back to Chicago for a few days later this week,” Ryan says. “He’ll be back for the Fourth, though? Will you both be around then?”
“We will,” Spencer says. He and Brendon haven’t talked about it, but he thinks he’d know if Brendon had plans. “That will be good. We can talk. We can put together our statements, right? We’ll-“
“We’ll figure it all out then,” Ryan agrees. It’s only a minute later that they hang up and Spencer spends another long moment staring at his phone before he slides it into his pocket. He looks over at Brendon and despite the fact that a moment ago, all he’d wanted to do was climb back on top of Brendon, feel the press of Brendon’s fingertips on his shoulder blades, the way Brendon apparently likes to put a little bite into his kisses, a habit which makes Spencer want to return the favor, now he-
He just.
He’s still staring at the deck when Brendon comes up beside him and slides his palm against Spencer’s, wrapping their fingers together. “Come on,” Brendon says. “I think this might be a good afternoon for the two of us to record a lullaby.”
Spencer wants to protest, because five minutes ago, he’d been wondering how long the two of them would last before one of them suggested taking this upstairs to Brendon’s room. Now, though. Now. Well.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
What Brendon really means when he suggests that the two of them record Bronx’s lullaby, though, is that Brendon will record the lullaby, while Spencer works the controls.
Because that’s the way the two of them work.
And actually, Spencer’s pretty grateful for it, because it means he gets to sit and watch Brendon play his guitar and sing without having to play the drums, or be prepared to offer constructive comments. It means that he actually gets to watch in ways that he’s desperately been trying not to let himself watch for the last several weeks.
So he watches Brendon run through the song a few times, hums along lightly when Brendon sings, “When you arise, you will be home,” and then Brendon motions for him to start recording, so Spencer presses his buttons, and, well, because Brendon is Brendon, he pretty much nails it the first time out.
They listen to the whole two minutes worth of song after Brendon’s done, but before Spencer can do more than give Brendon a thumbs up and a smile, Brendon says, “Actually, I have an idea?” Which is how they end up spending another half hour recording Brendon singing fucking harmonies for a lullaby, then another two hours mixing it all together, layering the vocals.
An hour in, Spencer realizes that he’s pretty much just sitting there, watching Brendon work: the way his eyes light up, the way he can be this involved in something and still completely fail at sitting still. Everything.
By the end of it, when Brendon’s sending the file off to Pete, Spencer’s lying on the floor, his eyes long since closed, because it’s a fucking relaxing song, okay? And he’s probably listened to it about 50 times by this point.
He’s actually relaxed enough that he doesn’t even startle when Brendon lies down next to him, elbowing Spencer’s shoulder as he tries to get settled. Spencer does crack one eye open and glare at him, because he’s Spencer and no matter what he and Brendon have going on right now, he’s not going to stop what comes naturally to him. Brendon giggles a little before shifting his weight a few more times, then finally letting out a deep breath.
“I,” Brendon says finally. “I can’t fucking believe that I’m saying this, okay? But I want to do this right. I just. I don’t want to rush into anything?”
Spencer’s first thought is that they wouldn’t be rushing anything; they’re fucking living together already, after all, and-
And he understands what Brendon’s saying. With everything else that’s going on around them, they really aren’t in the most ideal place to start a relationship. (Even though Spencer could probably make a compelling argument that they’ve actually already been together for months at this point. Just, you know. Without knowing it.) So, he nods. He wants to ask what limits Brendon has, but Brendon’s continuing:
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t think we shouldn’t go make out on the couch until Shane gets home. I think it would be really fucking hilarious to offend his delicate sensibilities with this. And after his rather faily attempts at matchmaking, I think he deserves to walk in on us.”
Spencer really can’t say no to that.
So after Brendon helps Spencer up off of the floor, they head upstairs. An hour after that Shane walks into the living room, saying, “B? Spence? Anyone here?” Then, “Oh fuck! My eyes.”
“Fuck off,” Brendon says, sounding more breathless than giggly. He raises his middle finger at Shane, lifting it up past Spencer’s shoulder and the back of the couch, so that Shane can actually see it.
When Spencer raises his own head far enough so that he can see Shane, Shane’s grinning, looking quite pleased. “It’s about fucking time,” he says. “But no fucking on the couch, okay? That shit is mine and is also moving with me. Deal?”
“Sure,” Brendon says, in that way that Spencer knows means he’s lying through his teeth. Or that he’s trying to make you think he’s lying through his teeth, so you don’t actually know if he’s lying or not. Because Brendon can be a dick like that.
“Fuck you,” Shane says. “You’re going to pay to get it fucking disinfected, okay?”
Brendon wiggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Spencer laugh, and then Shane says, “So, hey. If you two lovebirds actually feel like, you know, socializing with the rest of the world? Regs is in the car. We were thinking food. Sushi?”
“Food would be good,” Spencer says, looking down at the swollenness of Brendon’s lips. The redness of the skin around his mouth, his cheeks. “Give us ten?”
“Twenty,” Brendon says, trailing a finger down the back of Spencer’s neck.
“Twenty,” Spencer echoes.
Shane sighs, so very put upon. Then he says, “We’ll meet you there?”
“You got it,” Brendon says.
“We won’t wait for you,” Shane adds, which, well. Spencer thinks that’s probably a bright idea.
*
For the last seven weeks or so, Spencer’s felt like his life has been in a bit of a holding pattern, but now that they’ve got a date set to meet with Ryan and Jon, now that the true end is on the horizon, Spencer feels like someone hit the fast forward button, because they have way, way too much shit to do.
He and Brendon both want to get as many songs demo’d for their new album as possible. They actually need to practice the songs they’re going to play, get their set together. They need to learn ‘New Perspective’ backwards and forwards, until they’re able to play it in their sleep, and while Spencer’s certainly happy with the cut that they sent in for the soundtrack, he’s having a good time further developing the drum line, making whatever changes he wants. Which is to say, to quote Daft Punk, making it harder, better, faster, stronger.
And then, of course, there’s Brendon.
See, Spencer knows how new relationships go. He knows the fluttery excitement that settles into his muscles, the wanting to learn every last thing about the person, the wanting to spend every single moment together, the smiles, laughter, flirting.
But it’s Brendon, see, who’s never believed in personal space to begin with, and Spencer gets paid to spend all day with him anyway, and Spencer’s been smiling over the breakfast table at him for years. He knows how Brendon takes his coffee, how many hours he can go before he needs to break for something-a trip to the park with the dogs, a game on the Wii, an afternoon alone. He knows Brendon. And he realizes that, well, despite this whole new aspect of their relationship, there’s not a whole lot that’s going to change.
Though:
On day three, Brendon invites himself into Spencer’s room for late night talking and sleepy making out, and in the morning they wake up together. The waking up together isn’t new, but the thrill that winds it way through Spencer’s stomach when he feels Brendon’s fingertips against a patch of skin beneath his t-shirt, well.
That’s new.
On day four (or maybe it’s five, since they don’t head to bed until after two), Spencer follows Brendon into his room, because, you know. Bed.
And consciously falling asleep together, ankles pressed together under the thin sheets, Brendon’s arm around Spencer’s waist?
That’s new.
And, well, Brendon seems to be inside Spencer’s space more often. Spencer can’t stop reaching out to touch him, brushing fingers over his shoulder, neck, elbow. His cheeks are actually starting to ache a little, what with the amount he’s been smiling.
Those are all new.
And Brendon, see, he likes to kiss. Spencer has known this since they were eighteen and Brendon fell head-over-fucking-heels for Audrey. He’s watched Brendon with other people, watched the way that he’s glommed onto them. It’s not like Spencer’s never been the focus of Brendon Urie’s full attention before, but it’s different when Brendon’s straddling his lap, fingers hooked around Spencer’s head, holding on.
That is all new.
If this were any other relationship, with any other person, happening at any other time, Spencer would allow himself to get lost in it. He would. And maybe he does let himself, just a little. But they do have to work, they both know this, particularly since the rest of the world is going to be watching in just a few days.
They conscientiously spend time down in the music room, getting songs six and seven demo’d and continuing to develop eight and nine. In the afternoon, Spencer makes them leave the house for a while. Usually, this is in the company of the dogs, because they are very much over this whole ‘the big people are shutting themselves in the basement for hours on end and ignoring us’ thing.
So, they take walks up Spencer’s hill.
They go to the dog park and toss tennis balls and frisbees and laugh when Bogart faces down a golden retriever puppy over a small branch that had fallen from the tree. It’s too big for Bogart to carry, but when he wins the staring contest, he drags it over to Spencer and Brendon’s bench proudly.
One afternoon, when they’ve walked most of the way to downtown Santa Monica, Brendon sees this yellow hat in a store window, and that, somehow, becomes the inspiration for song number ten. Spencer manages to keep the dogs occupied for another hour while Brendon tears a flier off of a power pole and starts writing down words as fast as he can.
A week to the day from his last visit, Pete comes over to hear their new stuff, and he’s just as enthusiastic as he was before. This time, Brendon’s the one to come to Spencer, and instead of the endless hug, he gives him a kiss, a quick peck on the lips. When Spencer looks over at Pete, Pete’s smiling.
Spencer has a brief flash of wanting to tell Pete that this is okay, that they won’t let it affect what they’re doing, but then Pete’s saying, “It’s about damn time. Jesus, I thought you kids were going to dance around each other all tour and drive the rest of us up the fucking wall!”
They head over to Pete and Ashlee’s for dinner again. Take out, since Ashlee’s been on the set all day and Spencer’s not actually sure that he wants to eat anything that Pete concocts in the kitchen. This time, Brendon doesn’t fight Pete for a spot at Bronx’s side. Instead, he takes the seat next to Spencer, lets their knees brush under the table, and when Bronx makes the inevitable rounds from lap to lap (because sitting in one place is boring), Brendon leans against Spencer’s side when it’s his turn to hold the baby, his head pretty much on Spencer’s shoulder.
This time, Spencer doesn’t have to think, ‘so, so fucked,’ as loudly as he’s used to thinking it. He still thinks it, of course, but now the mental words are accompanied with a smile.
It’s a lazy evening for the most part, with only a little business talk: Pete, glad that they’re talking with Ryan and Jon soon. Pete, totally willing to offer up his services and advice if needed. So they drink wine, and then, because they’re all musicians, after Bronx goes to bed for the night, Ashlee breaks out the guitar and the next thing Spencer knows, Pete’s verbally poking Brendon into singing. Brendon defaults to Sublime, because that’s what Brendon does, and Spencer doesn’t mean to, but he finds himself clapping along, singing once or twice, too.
“Dude,” Pete says to Spencer when he turns his computer off, because of course he was recording it. “You can take the drummer away from the drums, but you can’t take the rhythm away from the drummer. Fuck.”
“Dude,” Brendon echoes. “I know, right?”
Spencer quietly flips him off.
*
Ryan and Jon are supposed to arrive around one, since they’re apparently going to Vicky T’s Fourth of July party later that afternoon, and Spencer spends most of the third cleaning. The next morning (late morning), he even fucking makes the beds, which Brendon thinks is pretty much the funniest thing ever. Possibly too funny, but given the day, what they’re getting ready to do, Spencer’s not going to call him on it.
“Have you made your bed since you were a kid?” Brendon asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you make your bed, like, ever in the whole fucking time I’ve known you.”
“Shut up,” Spencer says. It’s- He needs something to do besides pace, and the last thing he needs to do is start getting the dogs worked up with a game of ball, when for all he know Ryan and Jon could arrive at any minute.
Brendon nods, then steps forward and crowds Spencer back against the wall, stretching up to kiss him. It’s a calm kiss, for them, because while they may not have actually gotten completely naked together in Brendon’s bed, or on the deck, or on Shane’s couch, they’ve been getting closer. Spencer closes his eyes in the moment, lets his hands come to rest on Brendon’s hips, and lets himself drift. Which works really well, until the doorbell rings.
His lips unconsciously follow Brendon’s mouth when Brendon pulls away, before Brendon let’s his forehead come to rest against Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer hears Brendon take a deep breath and he raises a hand up to squeeze Brendon’s bicep, comforting, and then-
Then it’s time to go answer the door.
The dogs are already there, of course, barking up a storm, in case Spencer and Brendon hadn’t heard the doorbell. Spencer can see shadows through the frosted windows that edge Brendon’s door. He takes a deep breath, then opens the door, and then, for the first time in two months, the four of them are together in one place.
Brendon’s the one to invite them in. Jon’s smile is mostly easy, especially when he holds up a fucking cheese and cracker platter, what the fuck. Ryan has the beer.
“We brought munchies,” Jon says and Spencer, he laughs. He can’t help but laugh. A sudden release of tension, maybe? Or maybe it’s because Jon is laughing too, and when Jon laughs, it’s really hard not to do the same.
“We made pizza,” Brendon says. “It’s not in the oven, yet, but I can go do that.” He starts towards the kitchen, and Ryan raises an eyebrow at Spencer, as if to ask, really?
“Ashlee made pizza when we went over there two weeks ago,” Spencer explains. “She apparently got Brendon hooked on the idea. He’s been experimenting. Today’s, I think, is bell pepper and pineapple?”
Jon nods, while Ryan looks thoughtful.
“So, we thought we’d go out on the deck, maybe? It seems like it’s a nice enough day?”
“Sounds good,” Ryan says, starting through the house, like it hasn’t been two months since he was last here. Spencer and Jon follow, and Brendon’s just a few minutes behind, bringing out napkins and cups, not that they need them yet.
It feels. Well.
Part of Spencer feels like they should just get down to business, but the last few conversations with Ryan have felt so awkward that Spencer would do pretty much anything to make that better. So, instead of asking, ‘how are we going to do this?’ he asks about the music. Because he knows that will get Ryan talking, and he does want to know what Ryan and Jon are up to, as painful as it might be to hear. Except, he really can’t begrudge Ryan and Jon anything right now, not when he and Brendon are… he and Brendon.
It only takes three false starts for Ryan to get in the music-talking groove, but when he does, the words pretty much just come spilling out. He’s painting his vision with words again, the original ideas modified to fit just him and Jon, and it’s-Spencer’s glad. He is. And he’d be willing to place money on Brendon being glad, too, despite the fact that he’s sitting far too still in the chair next to Spencer’s.
It’s Jon who asks about their album, and Spencer might be a little peeved about that, except Ryan actually does look interested. And he is, Spencer’s sure. Enough so, probably, that he couldn’t ask about it. Because Brendon and Spencer are keeping the name. Because they’re the ones going on tour.
“We’re doing really well,” Brendon says. “We’ve been polishing songs four and five? And Spence is developing this wicked awesome Latin beat sort of thing? It fucking rocks.”
“Brendon wrote a song about a yellow hat the other day,” Spencer says. “I had to keep Bogart and Dylan entertained in downtown Santa Monica for an hour because the inspiration hit right then, you know?”
“It’s not about a yellow hat,” Brendon says. “It was inspired by a yellow hat. There’s a difference.” And he’s grinning at Spencer so fucking wide, and if Spencer didn’t care about adding even more layers of tension to this meeting, he would totally lean over and kiss Brendon right then. It feels wrong not to.
And so they talk. They eat cheese and crackers and talk until Brendon’s phone beeps and he says, “Um, pizza? I’ll be back in a few?” And Spencer, because this is his house too, gets up to help him. He walks into the kitchen as Brendon’s already leaning over the open oven door, pulling the pizza pan out with ratty old mitts. He waits while Brendon sets the pizza on another serving tray, then lets himself step into Brendon’s space. He rests his chin on Brendon’s shoulder, tilts his head just slightly so he’s leaning against Brendon’s cheek, brings his arms around Brendon’s waist. Brendon leans back, just for a moment, a breath, before he seems to steel himself for heading outside again. He takes the pizza tray; Spencer brings the plates and silverware. On the way past the living room, he also grabs a notepad and four pens. Because Ryan and Jon are here for a reason.
Indeed, the mood seems to shift as soon as Ryan sees the paper and pens and Spencer thinks that in that moment, it becomes just slightly more real for all of them. They’re all silent as Brendon slices the pizza in front of them, as he offers Ryan the first slice. Ryan takes two, then Jon does the same. Spencer starts with one, his appetite already having fled a bit, but Brendon takes two also.
Because the pizza is still too hot to eat, Ryan says, “I think that Jon and I should post the first message. I mean, I think the two of us should post a joint message. And then, if you two wanted to, you could post a message.”
Spencer wants to ask why. Why Ryan should get the first words, because as far as the world knows, the band still belongs to all of them; they could share the first words. But, initial feelings aside, it makes sense, because Ryan and Jon are the ones leaving. They should get a chance to make their case.
“Okay,” Spencer says. His knee bumps Brendon’s under the table, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brendon loosen up just slightly.
“The musical differences need to come first,” he continues. He knows that Ryan and Jon know that, but it doesn’t hurt to remind them. Because people are going to read far too much into this. He’s relatively sure that by the end of whatever day they do end up announcing this, half of the people who care are going to be sure that they all hate each other.
On the paper Ryan has in front of him, he writes: To whom this may concern:
It takes them two hours and approximately 15 pieces of paper. One of the pens runs out of ink. In the end, though, they have two statements: Ryan and Jon’s and Spencer and Brendon’s. They talk about friendship being more important than the music, about how excited they all are for the future. The statements are entirely the truth.
It’s fucking hard, though. It fucking sucks to be doing this, but then they’re done. They’re fucking done.
Which is when Jon asks about the tour.
“We’re still getting our set list ready,” Brendon says. “We’ve asked Ian and Dallon, you know, Weekes, to come out with us. They said yes. Obviously. Or else I wouldn’t be telling you that they were going to come on tour with us.”
Brendon’s babbling and Spencer wonders if he can see the press of Ryan’s lips getting tighter, thinner. Even Jon doesn’t look quite as comfortable with the conversation now that they’re talking about a tour that Ryan and Jon will never go on. That will have other people playing under the Panic! at the Disco banner.
“They’re good,” Ryan says carefully, and Spencer wills Brendon not to say anything about how awesome either of them are. Because that is not what Ryan and Jon need to hear right now. Perhaps Brendon’s psychic abilities have developed, because indeed, he just nods.
“When are you all going on tour?” Spencer asks, because it feels like when he’s in doubt, turning the conversation back towards Ryan can’t hurt.
“We haven’t made plans yet,” Ryan says. “We want to record our album first, you know?” And there are all sorts of things that Spencer could read into that-about how some of them will be touring on their own music, not music created (in part) by others-but he chooses not to. Because that is not what they need today.
Brendon’s tense beside Spencer again, though, and it-the problem is, Spencer hasn’t had to censor his touch around Brendon for almost two weeks now, so he’s reaching out to squeeze Brendon’s knee before he thinks about it, stops himself. And Ryan and Jon, they just stare.
They stare, and Spencer feels his own shoulders tensing, which makes Brendon respond by reaching over to squeeze Spencer’s hand, which is maybe not the most diplomatic thing Brendon could have done, but Spencer appreciates it, because Ryan is looking betrayed in a way that he hasn’t look betrayed in months, since Spencer didn’t back his original grand vision, and fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“How long?” Jon asks, and he’s looking hurt, too. Like maybe Spencer had hid this from him, back when Jon had originally called him on it.
“Two weeks-ish?” Brendon says. “Not quite. I, um.”
“Jesus,” Ryan says, and then he’s laughing, but in a pained way, like it’s either that or yelling. Spencer’s actually not sure which he’d prefer. “Of course you guys got together now. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve only been building towards it for fucking-“
“Ryan,” Jon says.
“It had nothing to do with-“ Spencer starts, except Ryan cuts him off. “Of course it didn’t.” He says it vehemently enough that Spencer can’t actually tell if he’s being sarcastic or whether the emotion of the day has finally just become too much.
“Ryan,” Jon says again.
“It had nothing to do with the way this worked out,” Spencer says again, but this time he’s looking at Brendon, because as much as Ryan needs to know this, Brendon needs to know it more.
Spencer watches as Ryan takes a deep breath. Brendon is still holding onto Spencer’s hand. Finally Ryan says, “I’m sorry. I’m- I should probably be saying congratulations, right?” Then he seems to deflate some, and when he speaks again, he says, “Jesus, I’m sorry. I am happy for you, really. You both deserve to be happy. You, um. You should come over for dinner some night, okay? You guys and Kate and I, we’ll have dinner.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Of course.” Because he can tell that Ryan means what he says. Just like Jon means the hug he gives them both when he leaves. When he says, “See, you should always listen to me,” softly in Spencer’s ear.
“Yeah, yeah,” Spencer says, and he-he doesn’t want to be happy that they’re going, he’s not happy that they're going, because this just feels like another ending to add to the ones they’ve already built up between them, but.
He’s glad when he can collapse against Brendon, just a little. When Brendon can rub his shoulders and kiss the back of Spencer’s neck. When they can sprawl out in front of the TV and watch yet another CSI Miami marathon, where Brendon keeps talking back to Horatio Caine.
Bogart joins them on the couch during the teaser of the first episode, Dylan only a tail wag behind, and during episode two, when Spencer lies down on the couch, he puts his head in Brendon’s lap. Bogart takes that opportunity to walk up Spencer’s chest, curl up there, his nose almost touching Spencer’s chin.
“My dog likes you,” Brendon says. “We both like you.” He runs his fingers through Spencer’s hair.
“The feeling is entirely mutual,” Spencer says.
Brendon’s smile lights the room.
*
And so, on Monday morning, they make the announcement.
Spencer wakes up at the now unheard of hour of nine a.m. and consciously does not keep refreshing their webpage, waiting for that fateful post. Instead, he takes the dogs for a run. An actual run. Where he puts on shorts and a fucking, like, shoes that are actually made for running, rather than his usual pair. He leaves a note for Brendon and Shane on the fridge, then sets out. At first, Dylan and Bogart aren’t quite sure what to do with this sudden change of their usual pace, more used to meandering walks with lots of smells than this sort of exercise. Dylan has racing in her blood, though, and Bogart is never one to be left behind, so soon enough they’ve got an actual pace going.
Which is awesome. Except Bogart is not a greyhound, and also has short legs, and thus is done with this whole running thing far sooner than Dylan and Spencer.
Essentially, the moral of the story is, Spencer could either carry Bogart home, or he could call Brendon for a ride, providing coffee as a motivator, because he’s pretty much collapsed outside a coffee place right now.
He opts for calling Brendon. Because-because it’s almost eleven and Ryan and Jon will be posting the announcement at any moment now, and Spencer’s not really feeling the whole ‘being alone’ vibe anymore.
Brendon sounds sleepy when he answers, but he answers, so Spencer counts it as a win. He sounds more enthusiastic after Spencer promises him coffee, with lots of caramel, and also whipped cream.
“I’ll be there in 15,” Brendon says, which Spencer translates as probably being closer to 25, so he just keeps sitting for a few minutes longer. Eventually he ties the dogs to the railing outside the store and goes inside, ordering pastries and coffee for both him and Brendon, as well as two plastic cups of water for the dogs. He takes a table outside, moving the dogs so they’re right there with him. And ten minutes after that, Brendon slides into the seat across from him.
“Hi,” Brendon says, and he looks as jittery as Spencer feels. Perhaps it’s not a day for coffee, but Spencer, well. He needs coffee. He needs something to keep his hands busy.
“Hey,” Spencer says.
“You got up early? Or I’m assuming early, since you are all of the way the hell out here and I was… not.”
“I did,” Spencer says. He’s got his phone on the table and he keeps looking at it. He assumes that Ryan or Jon will call him when it’s done. Either that, or people who know his phone number will start calling, to the point where his only option will probably be to turn off his phone.
Brendon, he sees, is looking at Spencer’s phone, too.
“They’re probably reading through it again,” Brendon says. “You know Ryan. His words have to be perfect.” Brendon doesn’t sound bitter about it; it’s more a simple statement of fact. It is fact.
“Probably,” Spencer says. “Yeah.”
And he looks at his phone again.
They’re halfway through their coffees and Spencer’s broken his piece of pound cake into about 5 million pieces, looked at his resolutely dark phone about every other second, and yet somehow, he’s still surprised when it rings, Ryan’s name on the screen.
Spencer closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Ryan says, sounding less awkward than Spencer’s expecting. Less awkward than he’s actually sounded in months. He sounds maybe even a little relieved? “It’s done.”
Spencer’s breath catches in his throat, and he has a brief last moment of thinking, ‘no, no, we shouldn’t fucking be doing this, surely we could have done something’, before his relief settles in too.
It’s done.
It’s really fucking done.
“Okay,” Spencer says. “Okay.” Then, because he has to say something else, he does: “We had a good run.”
“We did,” Ryan says, sounding just slightly nostalgic. “We did.” Spencer can hear him swallow. “Ball’s in your court now, I guess?”
“Okay,” Spencer says. And that’s it. That’s the real, final and forever end.
He ends the call and sets his phone carefully down on the table. He doesn’t realize his hand is shaking until Brendon covers it with one of his own, rubbing his thumb across Spencer’s palm. Spencer takes another deep breath and then says, “So, any chance you might want to be in a band with me?”
“Dude,” Brendon says, “You fucking know it.”
They don’t leave immediately, not until Spencer’s actually finished eating his five million crumbs, and when they do leave, Brendon doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get home. So, they take the long way back and when they do actually get to the house, Spencer opts to take a shower rather than turn on the computer.
And then, of course, they have to read Ryan and Jon’s announcement, and read through their own about 50 more times, to make sure every word is in the right order, to make sure it says exactly what they want it to say. And even when they’re sure it looks exactly like they want it to, when they’re ready to upload it to their website, they still reread it another ten times.
Spencer’s been the one sitting in front of the computer for the last hour, but when it actually comes to posting their note, he just-sits there. He’s not even sure for how long, but eventually Brendon rests his hand over Spencer’s and presses down on Spencer’s fingers, making them press down on the mouse, and then it’s done.
Brendon’s head tips forward, until his forehead is pressed to Spencer’s neck, and Spencer raises a hand, rests it against Brendon’s cheek, ear, and-
Spencer can already see the messages piling up from Facebook, MySpace. He doesn’t even want to think what his Twitter inbox looks like. So, he shuts down the computer and says, “I think we should-Um, you want to go record something?”
It’s a stupid question, of course, because Brendon is always up for recording, and that is how they end up in the basement, Brendon singing ‘Three Little Birds’, while Spencer mans the controls. Because it’s been-Spencer doesn’t even know what today has been, except maybe emotionally draining. Still, everything is going to be all right, he knows it. Brendon knows it. Ryan and Jon and Pete and Zack know it.
So, Brendon sings, and they post it to Twitter, and-
Yeah.
*
vi.
Spencer never really thought that the day that they announce the end of their band would be the calm before the storm, but.
But, for the last week or so, Shane’s stuff has slowly been moving to the house that he and Regan are renting: a bookcase here, a box full of cameras and film and audio equipment there. Half the Wii games. Two of their fucking, like, eight Guitar Hero controllers.
The day after the announcement, Shane knocks on Brendon’s door at some god awful time in the morning and says, “Yo, dudes, you’re totally helping me pack.”
So, they do. Spencer takes the bookcases in Shane’s bedroom, leaving the common areas to Brendon and Shane, because they’re the ones who actually know what belongs to who. Spencer’s on box number three when he hears the sound of doggy nails on wood and looks down to see Bogart standing in the doorway, a rawhide bone in his mouth. His tail is wagging hesitantly, because he knows, of course he knows, that something is very, very wrong with his world.
Bogart drops the bone in the box, when Spencer’s back is turned, and really, the only way for Spencer to respond to that is for him to take the bone out into the hallway and toss it. The sound draws Dylan, who’s spent most of the past 18 hours curled up on the couch, her head between her paws, and that’s why, fifteen minutes later, Brendon and Shane find Spencer sitting with his back to the linen cupboard, the dogs half running-half skidding down the hall as they go after the bone.
The movers are actually coming the next day, so they stop around three, and head out for a late lunch. When they get back, Shane and Regan take the dogs for a walk, and Brendon and Spencer head down into the studio, because it’s-it’s what they need to do. It’s later than Spencer thinks it is when they actually come back upstairs, and they find Shane and Regan playing a cutthroat game of Mortal Kombat II. It doesn’t take them that long to settle in, defending their own honor.
That night, Brendon curls into Spencer’s side a little more forcefully than he usually does, and lets Spencer run his fingers through his hair.
The next day, they follow the movers the whole five blocks to Regan and Shane’s new house, and spend most of the morning unpacking the same boxes they spent the previous day packing up. They bring Bogart with them (“Tomorrow he’s going to be an only child,” Brendon says. “He needs all the quality Dylan time he can get!”) and the dogs, joined by Regan’s dog Indie, run back and forth through the house, checking out every last nook and cranny.
“Ugh,” Brendon finally says, collapsing on the couch next to Spencer, which is about the time Spencer’s phone rings, and then Brendon’s phone rings, and then Shane’s phone goes off, and that’s never a good sign.
Ryan’s on the other end of Spencer’s line, but even as he’s saying, “Hey, what’s up?” he hears Brendon saying, “Pete?” and Shane saying, “Walker? Yeah, they’re here?”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, and he sounds frantic in a way that Spencer hasn’t heard in fucking years. “I’m so fucking-“
“Ryan,” Spencer says. “Slow down, what the fuck?” His phone is beeping in his ear. Another incoming call, or a text message. Then another. Jesus.
“There was a picture,” Ryan says. “We took it a few weeks ago, Z and her girls and I? We were at a party, and none of them fucking noticed, okay?”
“Oh no they didn’t?” Brendon’s saying, and he’s leaning towards Spencer, elbows brushing, and Spencer consciously presses his shoulder a little more firmly against Brendon’s. Because he has a feeling that he’s going to need the contact just as much as Brendon does. “Perez?” Brendon continues, and oh my god, Spencer thinks, what the fucking hell, Ryan?
“They-“ Ryan starts, hesitating in a way that Spencer’s pretty sure actually means ‘we’. “There was some coke at the party. Fuck.”
And Spencer’s heart freezes, because. Because fuck. It’s not like Spencer doesn’t know a whole fuckload of people who do coke, or have done coke, or who think that the best way to spend a weekend is to get totally fucked up out of their minds. And Spencer, obviously, knows the joys of the pot. But those people are not the people he’s known since he was five. They aren’t Ryan.
“It leaked today,” Ryan says, and now he’s sounding slightly defeated again. “It-Oh No They Didn’t has it. Perez has it. I just. Wanted you to fucking hear it from me.”
“Ry,” Spencer says, and he’s not sure what he wants to say: fuck you, or it will be okay, or-or what. He’s not sure what he has a right to say anymore.
“It’s-we’ll be fine,” Ryan says. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it.” He’s sounding falsely confident now. “Who knows, maybe it will give me some scene cred?”
“Ryan,” Spencer says, more sharply, but Ryan’s already saying, “I’ll-I’ve got to go, okay? But I’ll talk to you later.” And then he’s hanging up. He’s fucking hanging up, and Spencer-
It takes him a moment to realize that Brendon and Shane are already off the phone, both of them looking at him in a concerned manner; even Bogart’s sitting at his feet, looking up at Spencer, his tail twitching in a way that he fucking knows is cute.
“Fucking hell,” Spencer says, and then he starts laughing, because it’s either that or punching out a wall, and Shane and Regan’s landlords would probably not appreciate that so much. Brendon’s leaning more heavily on Spencer’s shoulder now, silent support, and just. Fucking fuckity fuck. Really.
“I’m sorry,” Brendon says finally, after Spencer’s calmed down some. “I’m-“
Spencer shakes his head, because none of this is Brendon’s fault, not at all, and he’s not the one who needs the sympathy. And Spencer, he doesn’t know whether to feel badly for Ryan, or really fucking pissed, or sad, or-
“Everything’s going to be all right, right?” he asks, and Brendon looks at him for a long, long minute before nodding. Then Brendon says hesitantly, “I think Regan’s got a bookcase she’s trying to build? If it might help to hammer something?”
Spencer thinks that sounds like a good plan.
For dinner that night, Regan makes grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, because she wants to try out their new kitchen.
“You need to start like you mean to go on, right?” she asks, and Shane nods. “We’re going to try to embrace the home cooked lifestyle.”
And dinner is good, calm. They don’t talk about Ryan, don’t talk about the picture which Spencer hasn’t been able to bring himself to look at yet. Brendon sits too close, tries too hard to make Spencer laugh, and it’s-it’s not good, not in the way everything was eight hours before, but Spencer appreciates it more than he can say.
Part of him wants to go home now-it truly is his home now, because with Shane moving out, Spencer becomes Brendon’s true roommate, not just the friend who showed up and never left. At the same time, it’s Brendon’s last night with Dylan, the last few hours that he can truly call himself Dylan’s person, so Spencer waits. He waits through the movie that they watch with Dylan sprawled out over Brendon’s legs, her head resting on his wrist. He waits while they talk and talk and talk, Brendon’s fingers repeatedly scratching at Dylan’s scruff. He waits until Brendon stands up, until he says, “So, Spence and I should probably get going.”
Spencer nods, and walks towards the door with Shane and Regan, Bogart balanced in his arms. They wait there for probably five minutes, trying not to listen to Brendon speaking softly to Dylan in the living room, saying things like, “You be a good girl, okay?” and “I’ll be by to see you soon,” and, “You know I love you, right?” Finally, he joins them in the hall, Dylan in his arms, and he’s smiling, he is, but his eyes are red-rimmed, wet. He gives Dylan one last squeeze, then hands her over to Regan, who promptly hands her to Shane so that she can give Brendon a hug, then takes her back so that Shane can do the same.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Shane says, and Brendon nods.
“Absolutely,” he says.
Then it’s Brendon and Bogart and Spencer in the car, Bogart on Brendon’s lap while Spencer drives, and Spencer tries not to notice how tightly Brendon’s holding Bogart, though when Brendon says, “I guess it’s just the three of us now, huh?” he nods.
Then they’re back at the house. It seems strangely silent when they walk in, almost empty, and Spencer wants- Well, originally, he’d been thinking of ways that he and Brendon could celebrate having the house to themselves. But, to say that he’s not in the mood would be an understatement.
So, while Brendon takes Bogart out into the backyard, Spencer turns on his computer and clicks on the first email from Pete, the picture attached. He’s written: so u dont have to readthe comnts. And there it is: the dish, the little white lines. He stares at it and stares at it, until Brendon and Bogart come in from outside. Then he swallows and turns off the computer, following Brendon up to bed.
That night, they both hold on.
*
And life just keeps going, to a beat that Spencer almost feels like he can’t keep up with. Because, see, on Thursday, Pete suggests that they leak a snippet of one of their songs, and Spencer, well. Quite honestly, he’d rather do that than pay attention to certain other things that are happening in their world.
So, he and Brendon stay up until four, tweaking the demo until they’re as happy as they can possibly be with it, and then they, well. Post it. They post it and proceed to go surfing for most of the afternoon, because if there’s one thing that Spencer doesn’t handle all that well, it’s waiting for that initial feedback to come in. Especially when this is, well, him and Brendon, what they will eventually be in the future.
Especially when Brendon is as jittery as Spencer’s seen him in month, unable to keep his leg still, unable to relax even when Spencer presses thumbs deep into his shoulders in an attempt at a massage. So: surfing with Joe and Amanda, Bogart digging about 50,000 holes in the sand while they’re otherwise occupied in the water.
Brendon’s still tense and jittery when they get back to the house, but he’s also pretty exhausted, so Spencer feels safe opening up his email, checking their website. And there are-they got a fuckload of hits during the day, and when he actually delves into the comments on Absolute Punk, they’re surprisingly positive (which Spencer wasn’t really expecting at all) and-
“We might actually be able to pull this off,” Brendon says at Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer feels this swell of pride that just totally overwhelms him, because they are totally going to be able to pull this off, and these are Brendon’s words, and-
He kisses Brendon, tasting salt and sweat and an afternoon spent out in the sun, and it’s- Between Brendon’s request that they start out slow and everything else that’s been going on, the days have just sort of seemed to slip away.
Enough is really fucking enough, though, so Spencer keeps kissing Brendon as he stands up, as he backs Brendon towards the stairs, and maybe Brendon’s on the same page that Spencer is, because there’s an urgency to this that hasn’t been there before. It takes them far too long to actually make it up the stairs, particularly since Spencer keeps pushing Brendon up against the wall, and Brendon keeps retaliating by holding Spencer against the railing, his hands wrapped around Spencer’s wrists.
When they actually make it to the top of the stairs, Spencer thinks about stopping, asking Brendon if he’s sure this is really what he wants to do right now, but Brendon refuses to pull away from Spencer, won’t stop kissing Spencer long enough for Spencer to get any words out. So.
So, they go into Brendon’s (their) bedroom and shut the door, even though they don’t have to, because it’s their house now. It’s theirs, and-
And, well, they don’t get any studio work done that evening.
*
So, they release the snippet of ‘Oh Glory’ and then, on Monday, Ryan’s first interview with MTV hits, and it’s-
Spencer reads it, then stands up from his computer and whistles for Bogart, and finds a tennis ball at the edge of the deck, which he tosses and tosses and tosses until his arm is tired. After that, he lies down on the wood, absorbing the sun, and smiles when Bogart climbs up onto his chest, nosing at his chin first, then licking at his beard. It tickles, and he’s halfway tempted to push Bogart away, but instead he just scratches at Bogart’s ears and says, “Good boy, good boy, you’re such a good boy.”
“There’s going to be more tomorrow,” Spencer says, when Brendon finally joins them, looking just as serious as Spencer feels. “And the next day. You know J Mont likes to spread his interviews out.”
“We’ll have to give one eventually,” Brendon says, and Spencer nods. Bogart stands up and turns in a circle three times, paws kneading Spencer’s chest as he moves, before finally flopping down again.
“Not yet, though,” Spencer says. “Ryan needs to-“ Ryan’s the one who has to defend his decision the most, because the world always seemed to view Panic! as being his band, rather than belonging to all of them. And Spencer has, to the eyes of the world, chosen Brendon.
Indeed, there is more interview the next day, and the next. Ryan doesn’t tell the whole truth about everything, but then Spencer doesn’t think that everyone needs to know everything, either. The important point is that they’re all still friends, they’re all happy, they’re all making the music they want to make. The party line, at least, is true.
Then, totally out of the blue, John Janick calls them up one morning while they’re still sitting in the kitchen, drinking their coffee, and says, “So, what do you think about taking a trip to Comic Con?” which is just-
Spencer has no words. Because Comic Con. Seriously.
Shane has no words either, when they tell him. When he finally does find his words, though, he says, “You need someone to record that shit, right? Right?”
“Fuck yes!” Brendon says. Then, “You know you’re always welcome to tag along, right? You’re totally my entourage, Valdés. You know this.”
“Fuck off,” Shane says. “You’re totally my entourage, not the other way around.”
“We’ll be each other’s entourages,” Brendon says diplomatically, while Spencer rolls his eyes.
Anyway, they suddenly have an actual performance on the horizon (or, well, Brendon has a performance) and they have to get ready for that. And then the next day, John calls back and says, “So, video shoot?” and Brendon says, “Yeah, um. I guess the day after we get back from Comic Con would work?”
And really, Spencer’s starting to think that maybe he misses the quiet days of even two months ago, because he’s almost forgotten what this is like, you know? The constant rush-rush-rush of everything involved with getting a record out and publicity and touring.
So the only solution, obviously, is for Pete to show up at their door at fucking, like, eight o’clock in the morning, Shane in tow, and say, “I’m totally stealing you dudes for the day. You ready to fucking rock this town?” Shane presents them with the script, a whole three pages worth, and Spencer starts to wonder if they ever actually should have introduced Pete and Shane.
“Weekend at Bernies!” Brendon says. “I fucking love that movie.”
“You don’t have to follow the script, though,” Shane says. “Just, you know, be yourselves.”
“Except totally fucking selfish,” Pete says. “You’re going to steal the scene, you know?”
They only spend four hours filming, but Spencer doesn’t get home until 17 hours later, and even Brendon’s tired enough that they pretty much just fall into bed, Bogart curled up at their feet.
And then, suddenly, they’re actually leaving for Comic Con-which still seems totally fucking unreal-and they play their party and Brendon makes comments about Megan Fox (but catches Spencer’s eye when he sings certain lines during the song, wiggling his eyebrows) and get drunk at the bar and-
And then they have to get up far too early to shoot the video, and someone makes Spencer get his hair cut (it was just fine how it was, thank you), but he’s actually really digging the suits that they make them wear and when they have one of their five million minutes of downtime, he says, “So, what would you say to wearing suits on tour?”
Brendon looks Spencer up and down, maybe a little too interestedly, and says, “I think that would be a good change, definitely.”
Spencer thinks so, too.
And then, before Spencer knows what’s happening, ‘New Perspective’ is actually dropping, and it’s- They post it to MySpace before they go to bed, for the same reason that they had to leave the house after they posted the ‘Oh Glory’ snippet. This time, see, Spencer has new ways to actually distract Brendon from his nerves, and he employs all of the weapons in his arsenal, until Brendon’s pretty much boneless, lying sprawled out across the bed, and Spencer’s pretty sure that he’s not going to be able to wipe his own grin off his face for, well. A long time.
Somehow, they actually sleep, and when they wake up in the morning, Spencer takes his time getting breakfast, eating, before turning on his phone, the computer. Within the first minute, his phone starts beeping, indicating unread texts, unheard voice messages. The first thing he does, though, is go to their MySpace page and-people are actually listening, holy fuck. There are several thousand listens already, and-
And Brendon’s smiling, really, really wide, and Spencer is pretty much helpless in the face of that, particularly since this is Brendon’s baby, the first true test of what their band is going to sound like now.
It’s a fucking huge rush, especially when he starts reading the comments on Absolute Punk and Alt Press, and they’re really pretty positive. Then he gets Ryan and Jon’s tweets and realizes that they’ve posted their song too.
At first, Spencer’s fucking pissed, because yes, they may have changed the release date for their single, but still, the July 28th date has been out there for quite awhile. Ryan and Jon had to know that. They couldn’t have picked any other day?
Except then he remembers Jon’s tweet, oh, ten days ago, about ten more days, and Spencer thinks that maybe, at least unofficially, Ryan and Jon had reserved the day first. So, he’s not feeling mad anymore when he and Brendon sit down and actually listen to the song.
It is catchy, pretty Beatles-esque, and it’s-
It makes it even more obvious, Spencer thinks, that this split was for the best. Because all anyone has to do is listen to these two songs and they’ll see that Panic! at the Disco and The Young Veins were really, really not on the same page at-fucking-all.
“Ryan and I would have fucking killed each other,” Brendon says, sounding almost a little amused, and Spencer nods. It’s true.
And then, they get their own James Montgomery interview. Or Spencer does, anyway. He takes it outside, sitting on one of the chairs on the deck, his feet kicked up on another one, and it’s easy enough to just talk, after holding all of this in for so many weeks. It’s time to get his and Brendon’s side of the story told.
He talks about how excited he and Brendon are about their music, how much they like The Young Veins’ music. He talks about how Brendon has music in his blood, how he’s making up little songs all the fucking time, about how the split really was amicable and how they’re definitely all still friends. He talks about the upcoming tour and how excited they are to have Ian and Dallon joining them.
J Mont makes noises of agreement whenever Spencer pauses to take a breath and Spencer really hasn’t missed this part of the whole being a professional musician thing, but in a way it’s easier now, too. He only has to speak for himself and Brendon; he doesn’t have to worry about making statements that are agreeable for all four of them.
Their interview gets spread out over three days, too, and Spencer listens to the first audio file and realizes that he maybe says ‘kind of’ a lot. When he tells Brendon this, Brendon giggles. “Kind of,” he says. “Maybe. Just a little.”
“Fuck off,” Spencer says, punching Brendon’s shoulder.
And the thing is, there are things that Spencer would like to be doing right now besides working on music-the weather’s beautiful, and their group is spending more and more days out at the beach, catching waves, and Spencer would love to be out there, too-but Ian and Dallon are getting ready to come out to LA, and Spencer knows they’ll start spending every last minute practicing for the tour once they arrive. He and Brendon won’t have time for themselves.
So, they stay up late in the studio, and the night before Dallon and Ian’s planes land, Spencer and Brendon take their time: touching, kissing, losing themselves in each other, because they aren’t sure when they’re going to have a chance to be this close again. Not for another four weeks or so.
The next morning, they’re still awake, but only barely, when the light coming through Brendon’s window starts to fade from black to gray. They’ve just been talking for the last half hour or so, Spencer enjoying the feel of Brendon’s fingers carding through his hair, and it’s nice. It’s just- It’s really fucking nice.
And as he listens to Brendon’s breathing even out, his fingers coming to a stop behind Spencer’s ear, Spencer thinks that there is pretty much nowhere else he’d rather be in this moment than right here, in this bed, with Brendon.
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