Let Them Eat Cake
Title:Let Them Eat Cake
Author: soporta
Rating: PG-13 (lots of swearing)
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (Pete/Patrick)
POV: 3rd
Summary: His fourth mistake, his biggest one, was falling in love with Spencer.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Title stolen from "history".
Author Notes: Second of the Cupcake Trilogy (linked under the cut)! All for you, starsandsands.
Piece of Cake
Let Them Eat Cake
Have Your Cake (and Eat it, Too)
Brendon didn’t open his cupcake shop until after the economy started to go downhill - that was his first mistake. His second was hiring bad workers his first go around, and his third was just plain inexperience. His fourth mistake, his biggest one, was falling in love with Spencer.
Now. Oh boy, now he’s paying for it. Literally, he’s fishing for every last cent he can scrape together to keep his shop open, and not get shut down because of his stupidity. His fifth mistake, the one that needs changed before next month’s rent is due, is that he’s failing at that.
Part of it may be Pete, and making him the co-owner. It may have been letting him hire the bad workers, forget to pay the rent, invite Spencer to their store for half-price cupcakes and telling Brendon that he’s single - so very, utterly single. So, right, that might actually be his sixth mistake.
“This is all your fault,” he groans to Pete. This is how their weekly business meetings run: Pete talks less about business and more about the newest poems he’s working on, the ones where “The flowers wilt blackest when the heavy sun shines no more, and the love fades away with every withering petal.”
“All your fault!” he repeats and buries his head in his hands.
“But the flowers-”
Brendon cuts him off. “No, Pete, no! No more. We need to be productive for once. Give me twenty minutes of your time - let the flowers bask in their depression for twenty minutes, so we can crunch these numbers and see how much more money we’ve wasted.”
“Fine, okay. We’re broke, continue,” Pete tells him, shoving a few random papers aside.
“I was thinking, and dude, we could pay for about half the rent right now, and with sales we can cover a couple hundred more - if we’re lucky. But that still leaves us with a good five hundred plus to raise.”
“It’s the economy’s fault,” Pete cuts in. “All Bush’s. I say we take this to the Supreme Court! Now that would be money.”
“Pete,” Brendon growls, “can you be serious, please? Twenty minutes.”
“No, seriously, I think I have a poem about this somewhere here. Just give me a sec.” He starts shuffling through his papers again, and after a moment pulls one out with an “Aha!” Brendon starts to say something, but Pete is already jumping into, "And then the ballots were cast into the spiraling world of stupidity and republicans. The Supreme Court-”
“I’m so not in the mood for this!”
Pete shuts up and there’s a beat of silence. “What if we have a bake sale?” he suggests.
“A bake sale?” Brendon asks incredulously. “Every day is a bake sale here, Pete! Why don’t we sell cupcakes, too, while we’re at it? Oh, right, we already do.”
“But what if we do, like, a mobile thing? With free samples and shit, and get some more customers.”
“Maybe,” Brendon grumbles. “Fuck, that still won’t be enough for next week.” He stares at the paper he has in front of him before cursing under his breath and scribbling something onto a different scrap. “Fuck,” he repeats, “I don’t know why I ever agreed to this. We’re the worst business owners ever.”
“Hey! You can be the worst owner, but I for one, am pure protégé,” Pete explains with a cheesy French accent. “Who else could’ve put together the Best Frosting Ever?”
“It’s the ‘Best Frosting Ever,’ yet we’re still on the verge of closing,” Brendon mutters. “Be the best ‘protégé’ you want, but don’t get us closed because you’re complacent. We’ll think about this more after work.” Brendon stands up, pushes in his chair, and walks to the door, leaving his paper pileup in its place.
“Does that mean-”
“Yeah, Pete,” Brendon says at the door. “That means actually working.”
Pete frowns. “That’s what I thought.”
(~)
Once Brendon had hired competent workers - ones who understood the difference between sugar, flour, and salt, and comprehended the need for the oven to be on for things to bake - things improved some. They still needed training, but really, it doesn’t take as many skills as he learned in college to slather frosting on cupcakes and sell them. Getting solid, edible recipes down took a few weeks, but the only issue he ever really sees now is just getting the food sold and bills paid.
Most of his workers are college kids from around the area, ones who need part-time jobs and are equally aware that cupcake baking isn’t as hard as people make it sound, sometimes. The kids don’t care about finances, provided they get their paychecks. It’s an easy paycheck for them, and it’s just as well that way. Brendon doesn’t have to pay much, and the cupcakes get made - they taste good, too. He counts it as a win for both sides.
Every now and again, Patrick comes in and helps out however he can. He’s Pete’s boyfriend, and Brendon is almost positive he visits when he knows Brendon is stressing about getting everyone paid and needs some free work done. He never ever accepts any type of compensation, and doesn’t even seem bothered by Pete clinging to him and talking about poetry. He just rolls his eyes and says, “I really like your characterization,” every time - every damn time. Pete beams - every time - and usually shuts up for a bit. Brendon tried telling him that once, but Pete glared and talked about the inaccuracies of his comment for a solid two hours. So, Brendon is extremely appreciative of Patrick’s visits, and is always sure to sneak a free cupcake or two into his backpack before he leaves.
Their business isn’t unsuccessful, either. You would think, they’re that broke, but they’re the only cupcake shop in the area, and it’s a busy block. The locals, all the college kids, know them as That Place With the Good Cupcakes, and parents like them for big parties and get-togethers, because they’re cheaper than a lot of places and the quality is good.
With the busy area comes the expensive rent, and that’s what’s pulling their store down to rock bottom. The rent has gone up some since they got the place, and Brendon is desperately trying to not make any type of cut, but he can’t afford that, and his ten hour shifts already are getting to him. He couldn’t possibly handle taking on more. Pete helps, too. He’s more of the creative force, is all. He comes up with ads, their logo, all that nonsense. He just has to be focused when he’s working. (Their first ten logo designs all contained some variation of a black cupcake bleeding frosting and a razorblade. The second ten were all rip-offs of the Johnny Cupcakes logo. Their third ten were dick-shaped - every last one of them. Funny, Pete, really. Finally, he came up with one that made sense and it stuck.) Brendon used to recruit him in the kitchen when things got tough, but he’s the only person who can burn cupcakes in an oven that’s off. Cashier duty didn’t work well with him, either - apparently people were offended by the complementary “Enjoy Your Food While the World Dies Around You” short poems. So, Pete stays in the back. Way, way in the back.
They have a system that works well for them now. They’ve balanced the business and work aspects of their job, so they just need to utilize their system and go out of their way to make more money, and hopefully next month will run smoother for them.
It’s that, or, well...Brendon tries hard not to think about the alternatives.
(~)
Brendon shifts on his feet where he’s standing in the front of the store. He’s helping frost a few cupcakes while he doesn’t have anything else to do. The brainstorming part, where he’s supposed save the shop while he works, isn’t going over too well, because people are talking and buying and the environment is generally store-like. And then Spencer walks in, and screw brainstorming, because Brendon’s brain completely shuts down in seeing him. He drops the cupcake he’s holding, fuck, and it lands frosting side down on his shoe with a splat.
“Fuck,” Brendon curses under his breath.
Spencer smirks from in front of the display case. He peeks over it at Brendon’s shoe and chuckles. “Coordination just isn’t your thing, is it?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon mutters. He bends down with a paper towel and tries to wipe off as much of the frosting as he can, but the shoe is clearly a goner. He curses again and throws the paper towel away, heading to wash his hands.
“Didn’t you drop an entire batch of them last time I was here?”
Brendon blushes, and he drops the towel he’s holding, scrambling to pick it up. “I-well, that was Pete’s fault. He over-greased the pan that day and it slipped,” he tells Spencer while trying to put the towel back and not die of embarrassment. He walks up behind the display case, and the barrier between them is awkward. He crosses his arms and leans against it. “Would you like to buy a cupcake, though? Or are you only here to make fun of my dexterity?” He has to refrain from letting his voice crack as he talks, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Well,” Spencer says, dragging the word out as long as he can, “as fun as that is, I was maybe hoping for that chocolate cupcake down there, while I’m here.” He points in its general direction.
“Pink frosting?”
“No, no, the green,” Spencer says.
“Oh,” Brendon squeaks, and grabs the green one. “That’s what I thought at first, but then I realized it was next to the pink one, and I don’t know, who doesn’t like a pink cupcake?” He shuts up when he realizes how stupid he sounds and Spencer rolls his eyes.
“You got me. I don’t know,” he says.
“Exactly,” Brendon tells him. “Pink frosting is what makes the cupcake. It’s the icing on the cake in a completely figurative and cliché way.”
“Um, sure,” Spencer says.
Brendon turns redder. “Did you want a bag?”
“Nah,” he replies. “Thanks, though. How much?”
“A dollar fifty,” Brendon says.
“Dude, that sign there says three.” Spencer points at it and Brendon shrugs.
“What happened to your half price thing with Pete?” Spencer shrugs this time, and Brendon tells him, “All right, suit yourself. Three bucks. Could use it, anyhow.”
Spencer hands him a five and mumbles after taking a bite of his cupcake, “Keep the change. ‘s good.”
Brendon barely has a chance to say, “Oh, uh. Thanks?” before he’s out the door. “Fuck,” he curses to himself.
(~)
Brendon and Pete meet up again at the end of the day in a desperate attempt to be relatively productive and come up with an idea beyond a few scribbles about ironic bake sales and the economy sucking dick.
“Lemonade stand?” Pete suggests, tossing Brendon’s shoe (how did it end up off?) in the air a few times. “Car wash? Hey, I probably could get this stain out.”
“You think so?” Brendon asks. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, “Focus, focus, god.”
Pete sets the shoe down on the desk. “Yeah, sure. Patrick is good with that shit. You ask Spencer out yet?”
“No. A better question: Have you gotten any work done yet?” Pete shakes his head. “So we're even. And dude, come on-get my shoe off the desk. That’s disgusting.” Pete rolls his eyes, but obliges. “Okay,” Brendon continues. “I’m up for anything now. We can do a car wash after work, or right outside in the afternoon. How cheesy would a car wash look in front of of a cupcake shop?”
“Cheesy,” Pete tells him. “Unless you say it’s for a cause, and that it’s gonna save the planet, or something. People always fall for that. And when you’re washing - oh, dude, write this shit down! - you can cater to the cars. Be like, ‘while you’re waiting, how about a cupcake? A Piece of Cake cupcake?’ Who would say no to that while their car is being washed? We can threaten to get them wet until they say yes! Or, hey, how about a free car wash when you buy six, or something? Brendon, dude, are you writing this down?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brendon says, writing furiously. It’s not the best idea he's ever heard, but with the limited time, he’s willing to go to a few extremes to get some income. Besides, it could work, if they execute it right. Brendon stops writing, rereads what he has and says, “All right. This is a start. If we round up all our workers, you think we could do this tomorrow?”
“Probably,” Pete says. “All we really need are a few signs. You think we can get enough people’s attention short notice?
Brendon sighs. “I guess we can only hope.”
(~)
Hoping isn’t enough. Not by any means.
They make a few lame signs and post them around the area. Brendon and Pete both stand out side with faux enthusiasm, shouting their offer to every customer and passerby they see. They have a hose, a bucket of soapy water, and a sponge, and if they didn’t look so out of place holding it all ("We kind of look like prostitutes!" Pete cheerfully points out), maybe they would look convincing.
They get two buyers. That’s ten dollars total, although one of their workers paid Pete another five to get him to stop shouting “motivating speeches of encouragement” to their potential customers. Apparently, he said, his speeches weren’t that encouraging, and too vulgar. (“Get your dirty cars off the damn street and over here for a car wash, fucking morons!”) Brendon agreed wholeheartedly.
Once it hits three, and they’re about to call it a day, Patrick shows up. Brendon’s face turns bright red, while Pete just glares and asks, “Are you here to rub it in?”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “No, actually,” he says. “It’s just that, I don't know... Maybe you guys are over thinking things. What if you ask customers for extra donations? You’re a popular shop. The regulars will be glad to, I bet.”
“Bullshit,” Brendon says. “If we were that popular, we wouldn’t be standing out here to begin with.” He throws his sponge in the bucket and kicks the hose away, walking inside the shop. He cuts past the register and kitchen and heads to his office, sitting down with a frustrated sigh.
It takes five or so minutes, but Pete and Patrick eventually walk in. Pete takes his normal seat, and Patrick sits on the table, swinging his feet off the side of it. He’s sipping a coffee that Pete is making grabby hands at, and the both of them are treating the entire situation like it’s nothing. Patrick just sips his drink, and Pete pouts, slowly throwing some words down into his little battered notebook that he carries everywhere. He asks once, “What rhymes with quadruple?” When Brendon nearly growls in response, he shuts back up.
There’s a solid ten minutes of silence before Brendon says, “I don’t know what we're even doing anymore.” Piece of Cake is his life - two years of it, at least, and he thought Pete knew that when he was getting himself into it. Apparently not.
“I still think a bake sale would work well,” Pete says.
Patrick asks, “A bake sale, Pete? Really?” Pete nods rapidly.
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea?” he asks. Patrick cocks an eyebrow at him and he sighs. He flips through his notebook and says, “Here, like this.”
Patrick skims the page. He grimaces some, but says, “Uh, well, I think your characterization of Brendon is nice - really - but I don’t think a bake sale is going to rack in that kind of money.”
“Nonsense,” Pete says. “We’ll be millionaires.” Brendon groans. “What we need to worry about now,” he continues, and looks at Brendon pointedly, “is what we’re going to do about you and Spencer.”
“Pete,” Brendon exclaims, more flustered now than angry, “not this again!”
“Who’s Spencer?” Patrick asks, trying to sound casual, but coming off as intrigued.
“He’s no one,” Brendon says.”
“Oh no, Urie,” Pete interjects, “he’s somebody. Brendon has only had this ridiculous crush on him since the day he came in-”
“It’s not a crush! I’m not twelve!”
“Fine. He’s had a permanent hard-on since the day Spencer bought the red velvet and raved over the frosting. Love at first bite.” Pete grins and winks at Brendon, who slaps his forehead. Patrick smiles sympathetically.
“Hey,” Patrick says, “it’ll all work out. Those red velvets are damn good, anyhow. I don’t blame you for liking a man with, you know, good taste.” Pete and Patrick start giggling to themselves and Brendon rolls his eyes.
“You guys are no help,” he grumbles. “I'm gonna go work some in the front. You keep being unproductive, Pete. I’ll see you around, ‘Trick.” He sounds bitter, a little too much, but no one acknowledges it when he leaves.
Pete and Patrick don’t come back out for another fifteen minutes, and Brendon's ninety percent sure a blowjob just went down. He doesn’t care to know where.
(~)
Spencer shows up again the next day. Brendon doesn’t drop anything when he sees him enter, but he does knick his finger on the bar of chocolate he’s chopping up.
“Shit!” he exclaims, dropping the knife and reflexively bringing his finger to his mouth. He sucks off some of the blood and shakes his hand rapidly in pain before calming down and hurrying to run it under the sink. Spencer watches from the front, only mildly concerned. It isn’t a particularly bad cut-that’s probably why-but Brendon still says, distracted, “I’m glad you care so much about me while I basically die here.”
“I’m very concerned,” Spencer mumbles. He’s bent down in front of the display case, assessing his choices, only smirking a little. “Hey, are the mocha cupcakes any good?”
“Sure, ‘course they are." He pauses and then shouts, "Pete, dude, where’s the first aid kit?!”
“Like I would know!” a voice shouts back.
“Jesus,” Spencer says, and walks behind the counter to where Brendon is. “I feel like you should be walking around in bubble wrap or something. Does this, like, happen a lot?”
“Not really. Well, sometimes? Semi-often? And I’ll have you know, bubble wrap has its disadvantages. What if I suffocated?”
“I'd be very, very sad. And I would mourn your death and cry lots,” Spencer deadpans. Brendon rolls his eyes. “Really,” Spencer insists. "Now, okay, here-let me help you not die and stuff." He grabs Brendon hand and looks at the cut. Brendon, he stands there, hand shaking, and he tries to pass it off as pain, and not nerves or butterflies or lovelovelove.
He turns around and looks to his office, where Pete is sitting at his desk making kissy faces at Spencer and obscene hand gestures. Brendon looks mortified, and tries to casually shift so that he blocks any potential view Spencer may have of him. “You know, I-I think I’m fine. I just need it to stop bleeding and stuff so I can work. I mean, I’m sure there’s a first aid kit somewhere around here.”
“You are fine,” Spencer says, letting go of Brendon’s hand. “I doubt that even qualifies as a paper cut in the medical field. And is that it over there?” He points at a little white box near the sink and Brendon feels like hitting his forehead over the fact that he missed it when he was just right there.
“Uh, yeah. That is.”
He stands where he is stupidly and watches Spencer grab it and fish out a bandage. He walks back and grabs Brendon’s hand a second time. “Seriously, consider the whole bubble wrap idea. We could work to prevent suffocation,” he mutters, making sure the bandage is stuck on before he lets go. “Don’t you dare ask me to kiss it and make it better either,” he adds, and Brendon blushes again. Spencer is smirking though, and he walks back around the counter. “I want the mocha one, I think. Try not to trip on your way to get it.” He’s still smiling - holy shit, his smile is gorgeous - and Brendon nearly does trip in nervousness, causing Spencer to laugh harder.
“Just rub it in,” Brendon groans, grabbing the cupcake.
“Gladly.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be teasing you for coming into the most girly food store in the area and purchasing the most girly foods here with absolutely no shame?”
“You could be,” Spencer replies, taking the cupcake from Brendon, “but that would mean coordinating your actions with your putdowns, and I would hate to see you end up in the hospital.” He hands Brendon a five dollar bill, takes a bite of his cupcake, and says on his way out, mouth still full, “And that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”
Brendon squeaks and tries hard to ignore the way Spencer’s hips subtly, but cockily swing on his way out.
(~)
“The world hates me!” Brendon exclaims later in the day, in his and Pete’s daily meeting. “It wants me to die a horrible, moneyless death that's shrouded with unrequited love!”
“Don't forget all the physical pain,” Pete adds. “It’s not every day you slice your hand open over love. I should make this into a poem. Imagine how depressing it would be.”
“I hope you're joking,” Brendon says.
Pete laughs loudly. “Not so much.”
Brendon sighs. “Okay, this isn’t the time to be mourning my nonexistent love life. Dude, we have two days before the rent is due, and we’re not making nearly enough money.”
“How much more do we need?”
“A lot,” Brendon says. “Over four hundred. And we need to order supplies now, and fuck, this is just not working.”
“Fuck,” Pete says.
“Yeah. Fuck. I think…,” Brendon sighs, and stares at his stack of paper. “I think we should start with milk. It’s what’ll cost us the most.”
“But the frosting-”
“Pete,” Brendon says. His eyes darken some, and the atmosphere of the situation shifts completely. He says, “Pete. I think it may be time to water down the frosting.”
(~)
It’s a nightmare, cutting the frosting. Pete nearly cries, and tries to pry Brendon’s hands away from the measuring cup of water. Brendon winces the entire time he pours it in, and tries to make it quick and painless.
It isn’t.
The regulars - the Patricks and Gabes and Ryans - they all notice it right away, but they’re nice about chewing slowly and trying hard not to grimace.
Spencer though, he comes in, Brendon bruises his arm on the counter, and he buys his cupcake, and the first thing he says after trying a bite is, “This is disgusting.” Brendon scowls.
“Thanks, dickface,” he replies quickly, drawing a look from Spencer that prompts him to continue, “Do you think I like selling shitty cupcakes like that?”
“Um,” Spencer says, and tries to sneakily wipe off some of the frosting with a napkin. “No?”
“Yeah, I don’t.”
Spencer asks, “So why are you?”
“Because we’re broke,” Brendon says. “Because there’s no money, and because we can’t afford milk, and because we’re gonna close. I appreciate your honesty, but really, that’s the last thing I need right now. You can have that cupcake for free, or whatever. It’s not the money will make a difference in the end.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. He looks at his cupcake, and then Brendon, and then his cupcake again and says, “Maybe you’ll make enough money. I mean, I hope you do. Like… uh, your cupcakes are good. Were good.” Brendon just glares harder. “Um, yeah. Okay. Try not to die, all right? Good luck and shit.”
Cautiously, Spencer leaves, and Brendon, he notices way too late, the crumpled twenty dollar bill Spencer left on the counter.
He’s so fucked.
(~)
Brendon mopes after that. Two days pass, he has no money, and no one wants to help him make some. He starts to pack up the shop. He ices each cupcake slowly, cherishing the moment, reminiscing in a way that pains him more than he expected, because he knows these are some of the last. He mixes the batter with a hollow feeling, and he wants to scream, or cry, every time he sees the shop, or Pete mentions how “You know everything’ll be fine.”
“Ha,” Brendon says, voice cracking. Right.”
He comes in that second day - the last day - and slaps the rent check on the counter. He slumps down in front of the register, and hits the button on it that causes it to open, and the money inside to stare at him tauntingly. Sparkling little bills and coins he can’t use to pay the rent. He shoves it closed, and shouts a bitter, “Fuck!”
He stays there for a little while, after that. He watches out the window - the store isn’t due to open for another two hours - and watches the people passing by. There are rich people, too high class for cupcakes, people too poor for cupcakes, and all the rest of the people are just too distracted with their lives to dedicate a few minutes to buying one.
Half an hour of this - half an hour of wallowing in self-pity - and Pete comes into the store, eager and happy looking, grinning too widely. It contrasts sharply with the vibe the rest of the room carries.
“You dick!” Brendon says when the grin doesn’t immediately disappear. “Are you trying to rub this in, or something?”
Pete sets down his backpack, and says, “No, no, hell no. I mean, quit looking so down. I’ve got a poem for you and everything. Wanna hear?”
Brendon sighs. “No,” he says. “Not at all.”
“Well, you’re going to hate this, then.” He walks outside, makes an obscure hand gesture, and when he comes back in, Patrick is following behind him, smiling too.
“Now you’re just being cruel,” Brendon says, glaring.
Pete ignores him and immediately jumps into, “Roses are red, violets are blue, ‘Trick has a check to give to you!”
Brendon stares for a long moment. “Um… huh?” he finally says. Pete beams and shakes Patrick’s shoulder eagerly. Patrick hands Brendon a check, written for five hundred dollars.
Patrick says, still smiling, “I chipped in, Pete chipped in, that Spencer Smith dude chipped in, and we had a bake sale-”
“A motherfucking bake sale that raised you three hundred motherfucking dollars!” Pete interjects.
“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Who knew this dude right here is good for something other than sh-intricate poetry. Very…intricate poetry.”
“You guys,” Brendon starts, “I can’t accept this. I don’t-”
“You have no choice but to accept this. You know there’s no way in hell this place is going down without a fight,” Pete says. “And it’s just for this month. You know you’ll have more than enough by next month. It’s, like, birthday season and shit.”
“Birthday season?” Brendon asks. Pete nods fervently. “Right, well.” He frowns, and thinks for another long minute before he declares, “Well, I guess we should open up?”
Pete and Patrick beam.
(~)
They make their cupcakes, they open up shop, they get a steady inflow of customers, and things just feel happy after that. Brendon can pay the rent, and he can sleep easy knowing Piece of Cake is going to be around for at least another thirty days.
Around noon is when Spencer shows up and Brendon tells him slowly, “I guess this is the part where I should thank you, huh?”
“I guess so,” Spencer replies. “You’re welcome.”
Brendon grins. With a little more confidence, he says, “You know, I made this batch especially for you. No watering things down this time!”
“I’m honored,” Spencer says, exaggerated.
“Thought you would be.”
And all of a sudden, like some bad nightmare, Pete shows up from the office, and says, “Dude, Spencer Smith, pleased to see you again. You know, I didn’t think I would have to instigate, but apparently you two are dumb as doorknobs. Can I just pronounce you both boyfriends, or did you want to establish a date or some shit first?”
“Pete!” Brendon squeaks, eyes wide. “I don’t-you can’t-why would you even-”
“A date would be nice,” Spencer cuts in, smiling smugly, “but I didn’t bring any bubble wrap with me, so maybe we should establish a relationship other than customer-cashier first. I’d hate for him to stab himself with a fork at a restaurant.”
Brendon stammers.
Pete shoves Brendon and provides him with, “Yo, Urie, that’s your cue to say, ‘I’m infatuated with you, too, Spencer.’”
“Pete," Brendon manages to say, "I-I think you can just-you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pete says, “I’m outta here. See you turtledoves later.”
And this is exactly why Pete stays in the back. Way, way in the back.
“So,” Brendon mumbles, “I see you’ve met the co-owner.”
Spencer chuckles. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Would you… like a cupcake?”
“I would,” Spencer says. “That pink one, right there.”
Brendon grabs the cupcake, hands it to Spencer, and says, “You can just-I-well.”
“Hey,” Spencer interrupts. “When’s your lunch break?”
Brendon gulps and says, “Right now?” smiling feebly. Spencer fucking grins. “Did you, like, want to go somewhere?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Brendon nods and takes a deep breath. He throws off his apron and the cashier gives him a thumbs up signaling that he’s got everything under control.
“Are your customers gonna be cool or whatever?” Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs and says more confidently, “Let those fuckers eat cake.” He grins, and he and Spencer both walk outside, and yeah, it’s lovelovelove.
“All right, Marie, whatever you say.”
So totally love.
Author: soporta
Rating: PG-13 (lots of swearing)
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer (Pete/Patrick)
POV: 3rd
Summary: His fourth mistake, his biggest one, was falling in love with Spencer.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Title stolen from "history".
Author Notes: Second of the Cupcake Trilogy (linked under the cut)! All for you, starsandsands.
Piece of Cake
Let Them Eat Cake
Have Your Cake (and Eat it, Too)
Brendon didn’t open his cupcake shop until after the economy started to go downhill - that was his first mistake. His second was hiring bad workers his first go around, and his third was just plain inexperience. His fourth mistake, his biggest one, was falling in love with Spencer.
Now. Oh boy, now he’s paying for it. Literally, he’s fishing for every last cent he can scrape together to keep his shop open, and not get shut down because of his stupidity. His fifth mistake, the one that needs changed before next month’s rent is due, is that he’s failing at that.
Part of it may be Pete, and making him the co-owner. It may have been letting him hire the bad workers, forget to pay the rent, invite Spencer to their store for half-price cupcakes and telling Brendon that he’s single - so very, utterly single. So, right, that might actually be his sixth mistake.
“This is all your fault,” he groans to Pete. This is how their weekly business meetings run: Pete talks less about business and more about the newest poems he’s working on, the ones where “The flowers wilt blackest when the heavy sun shines no more, and the love fades away with every withering petal.”
“All your fault!” he repeats and buries his head in his hands.
“But the flowers-”
Brendon cuts him off. “No, Pete, no! No more. We need to be productive for once. Give me twenty minutes of your time - let the flowers bask in their depression for twenty minutes, so we can crunch these numbers and see how much more money we’ve wasted.”
“Fine, okay. We’re broke, continue,” Pete tells him, shoving a few random papers aside.
“I was thinking, and dude, we could pay for about half the rent right now, and with sales we can cover a couple hundred more - if we’re lucky. But that still leaves us with a good five hundred plus to raise.”
“It’s the economy’s fault,” Pete cuts in. “All Bush’s. I say we take this to the Supreme Court! Now that would be money.”
“Pete,” Brendon growls, “can you be serious, please? Twenty minutes.”
“No, seriously, I think I have a poem about this somewhere here. Just give me a sec.” He starts shuffling through his papers again, and after a moment pulls one out with an “Aha!” Brendon starts to say something, but Pete is already jumping into, "And then the ballots were cast into the spiraling world of stupidity and republicans. The Supreme Court-”
“I’m so not in the mood for this!”
Pete shuts up and there’s a beat of silence. “What if we have a bake sale?” he suggests.
“A bake sale?” Brendon asks incredulously. “Every day is a bake sale here, Pete! Why don’t we sell cupcakes, too, while we’re at it? Oh, right, we already do.”
“But what if we do, like, a mobile thing? With free samples and shit, and get some more customers.”
“Maybe,” Brendon grumbles. “Fuck, that still won’t be enough for next week.” He stares at the paper he has in front of him before cursing under his breath and scribbling something onto a different scrap. “Fuck,” he repeats, “I don’t know why I ever agreed to this. We’re the worst business owners ever.”
“Hey! You can be the worst owner, but I for one, am pure protégé,” Pete explains with a cheesy French accent. “Who else could’ve put together the Best Frosting Ever?”
“It’s the ‘Best Frosting Ever,’ yet we’re still on the verge of closing,” Brendon mutters. “Be the best ‘protégé’ you want, but don’t get us closed because you’re complacent. We’ll think about this more after work.” Brendon stands up, pushes in his chair, and walks to the door, leaving his paper pileup in its place.
“Does that mean-”
“Yeah, Pete,” Brendon says at the door. “That means actually working.”
Pete frowns. “That’s what I thought.”
(~)
Once Brendon had hired competent workers - ones who understood the difference between sugar, flour, and salt, and comprehended the need for the oven to be on for things to bake - things improved some. They still needed training, but really, it doesn’t take as many skills as he learned in college to slather frosting on cupcakes and sell them. Getting solid, edible recipes down took a few weeks, but the only issue he ever really sees now is just getting the food sold and bills paid.
Most of his workers are college kids from around the area, ones who need part-time jobs and are equally aware that cupcake baking isn’t as hard as people make it sound, sometimes. The kids don’t care about finances, provided they get their paychecks. It’s an easy paycheck for them, and it’s just as well that way. Brendon doesn’t have to pay much, and the cupcakes get made - they taste good, too. He counts it as a win for both sides.
Every now and again, Patrick comes in and helps out however he can. He’s Pete’s boyfriend, and Brendon is almost positive he visits when he knows Brendon is stressing about getting everyone paid and needs some free work done. He never ever accepts any type of compensation, and doesn’t even seem bothered by Pete clinging to him and talking about poetry. He just rolls his eyes and says, “I really like your characterization,” every time - every damn time. Pete beams - every time - and usually shuts up for a bit. Brendon tried telling him that once, but Pete glared and talked about the inaccuracies of his comment for a solid two hours. So, Brendon is extremely appreciative of Patrick’s visits, and is always sure to sneak a free cupcake or two into his backpack before he leaves.
Their business isn’t unsuccessful, either. You would think, they’re that broke, but they’re the only cupcake shop in the area, and it’s a busy block. The locals, all the college kids, know them as That Place With the Good Cupcakes, and parents like them for big parties and get-togethers, because they’re cheaper than a lot of places and the quality is good.
With the busy area comes the expensive rent, and that’s what’s pulling their store down to rock bottom. The rent has gone up some since they got the place, and Brendon is desperately trying to not make any type of cut, but he can’t afford that, and his ten hour shifts already are getting to him. He couldn’t possibly handle taking on more. Pete helps, too. He’s more of the creative force, is all. He comes up with ads, their logo, all that nonsense. He just has to be focused when he’s working. (Their first ten logo designs all contained some variation of a black cupcake bleeding frosting and a razorblade. The second ten were all rip-offs of the Johnny Cupcakes logo. Their third ten were dick-shaped - every last one of them. Funny, Pete, really. Finally, he came up with one that made sense and it stuck.) Brendon used to recruit him in the kitchen when things got tough, but he’s the only person who can burn cupcakes in an oven that’s off. Cashier duty didn’t work well with him, either - apparently people were offended by the complementary “Enjoy Your Food While the World Dies Around You” short poems. So, Pete stays in the back. Way, way in the back.
They have a system that works well for them now. They’ve balanced the business and work aspects of their job, so they just need to utilize their system and go out of their way to make more money, and hopefully next month will run smoother for them.
It’s that, or, well...Brendon tries hard not to think about the alternatives.
(~)
Brendon shifts on his feet where he’s standing in the front of the store. He’s helping frost a few cupcakes while he doesn’t have anything else to do. The brainstorming part, where he’s supposed save the shop while he works, isn’t going over too well, because people are talking and buying and the environment is generally store-like. And then Spencer walks in, and screw brainstorming, because Brendon’s brain completely shuts down in seeing him. He drops the cupcake he’s holding, fuck, and it lands frosting side down on his shoe with a splat.
“Fuck,” Brendon curses under his breath.
Spencer smirks from in front of the display case. He peeks over it at Brendon’s shoe and chuckles. “Coordination just isn’t your thing, is it?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon mutters. He bends down with a paper towel and tries to wipe off as much of the frosting as he can, but the shoe is clearly a goner. He curses again and throws the paper towel away, heading to wash his hands.
“Didn’t you drop an entire batch of them last time I was here?”
Brendon blushes, and he drops the towel he’s holding, scrambling to pick it up. “I-well, that was Pete’s fault. He over-greased the pan that day and it slipped,” he tells Spencer while trying to put the towel back and not die of embarrassment. He walks up behind the display case, and the barrier between them is awkward. He crosses his arms and leans against it. “Would you like to buy a cupcake, though? Or are you only here to make fun of my dexterity?” He has to refrain from letting his voice crack as he talks, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Well,” Spencer says, dragging the word out as long as he can, “as fun as that is, I was maybe hoping for that chocolate cupcake down there, while I’m here.” He points in its general direction.
“Pink frosting?”
“No, no, the green,” Spencer says.
“Oh,” Brendon squeaks, and grabs the green one. “That’s what I thought at first, but then I realized it was next to the pink one, and I don’t know, who doesn’t like a pink cupcake?” He shuts up when he realizes how stupid he sounds and Spencer rolls his eyes.
“You got me. I don’t know,” he says.
“Exactly,” Brendon tells him. “Pink frosting is what makes the cupcake. It’s the icing on the cake in a completely figurative and cliché way.”
“Um, sure,” Spencer says.
Brendon turns redder. “Did you want a bag?”
“Nah,” he replies. “Thanks, though. How much?”
“A dollar fifty,” Brendon says.
“Dude, that sign there says three.” Spencer points at it and Brendon shrugs.
“What happened to your half price thing with Pete?” Spencer shrugs this time, and Brendon tells him, “All right, suit yourself. Three bucks. Could use it, anyhow.”
Spencer hands him a five and mumbles after taking a bite of his cupcake, “Keep the change. ‘s good.”
Brendon barely has a chance to say, “Oh, uh. Thanks?” before he’s out the door. “Fuck,” he curses to himself.
(~)
Brendon and Pete meet up again at the end of the day in a desperate attempt to be relatively productive and come up with an idea beyond a few scribbles about ironic bake sales and the economy sucking dick.
“Lemonade stand?” Pete suggests, tossing Brendon’s shoe (how did it end up off?) in the air a few times. “Car wash? Hey, I probably could get this stain out.”
“You think so?” Brendon asks. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, “Focus, focus, god.”
Pete sets the shoe down on the desk. “Yeah, sure. Patrick is good with that shit. You ask Spencer out yet?”
“No. A better question: Have you gotten any work done yet?” Pete shakes his head. “So we're even. And dude, come on-get my shoe off the desk. That’s disgusting.” Pete rolls his eyes, but obliges. “Okay,” Brendon continues. “I’m up for anything now. We can do a car wash after work, or right outside in the afternoon. How cheesy would a car wash look in front of of a cupcake shop?”
“Cheesy,” Pete tells him. “Unless you say it’s for a cause, and that it’s gonna save the planet, or something. People always fall for that. And when you’re washing - oh, dude, write this shit down! - you can cater to the cars. Be like, ‘while you’re waiting, how about a cupcake? A Piece of Cake cupcake?’ Who would say no to that while their car is being washed? We can threaten to get them wet until they say yes! Or, hey, how about a free car wash when you buy six, or something? Brendon, dude, are you writing this down?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Brendon says, writing furiously. It’s not the best idea he's ever heard, but with the limited time, he’s willing to go to a few extremes to get some income. Besides, it could work, if they execute it right. Brendon stops writing, rereads what he has and says, “All right. This is a start. If we round up all our workers, you think we could do this tomorrow?”
“Probably,” Pete says. “All we really need are a few signs. You think we can get enough people’s attention short notice?
Brendon sighs. “I guess we can only hope.”
(~)
Hoping isn’t enough. Not by any means.
They make a few lame signs and post them around the area. Brendon and Pete both stand out side with faux enthusiasm, shouting their offer to every customer and passerby they see. They have a hose, a bucket of soapy water, and a sponge, and if they didn’t look so out of place holding it all ("We kind of look like prostitutes!" Pete cheerfully points out), maybe they would look convincing.
They get two buyers. That’s ten dollars total, although one of their workers paid Pete another five to get him to stop shouting “motivating speeches of encouragement” to their potential customers. Apparently, he said, his speeches weren’t that encouraging, and too vulgar. (“Get your dirty cars off the damn street and over here for a car wash, fucking morons!”) Brendon agreed wholeheartedly.
Once it hits three, and they’re about to call it a day, Patrick shows up. Brendon’s face turns bright red, while Pete just glares and asks, “Are you here to rub it in?”
Patrick rolls his eyes. “No, actually,” he says. “It’s just that, I don't know... Maybe you guys are over thinking things. What if you ask customers for extra donations? You’re a popular shop. The regulars will be glad to, I bet.”
“Bullshit,” Brendon says. “If we were that popular, we wouldn’t be standing out here to begin with.” He throws his sponge in the bucket and kicks the hose away, walking inside the shop. He cuts past the register and kitchen and heads to his office, sitting down with a frustrated sigh.
It takes five or so minutes, but Pete and Patrick eventually walk in. Pete takes his normal seat, and Patrick sits on the table, swinging his feet off the side of it. He’s sipping a coffee that Pete is making grabby hands at, and the both of them are treating the entire situation like it’s nothing. Patrick just sips his drink, and Pete pouts, slowly throwing some words down into his little battered notebook that he carries everywhere. He asks once, “What rhymes with quadruple?” When Brendon nearly growls in response, he shuts back up.
There’s a solid ten minutes of silence before Brendon says, “I don’t know what we're even doing anymore.” Piece of Cake is his life - two years of it, at least, and he thought Pete knew that when he was getting himself into it. Apparently not.
“I still think a bake sale would work well,” Pete says.
Patrick asks, “A bake sale, Pete? Really?” Pete nods rapidly.
“Don’t you think it’s a good idea?” he asks. Patrick cocks an eyebrow at him and he sighs. He flips through his notebook and says, “Here, like this.”
Patrick skims the page. He grimaces some, but says, “Uh, well, I think your characterization of Brendon is nice - really - but I don’t think a bake sale is going to rack in that kind of money.”
“Nonsense,” Pete says. “We’ll be millionaires.” Brendon groans. “What we need to worry about now,” he continues, and looks at Brendon pointedly, “is what we’re going to do about you and Spencer.”
“Pete,” Brendon exclaims, more flustered now than angry, “not this again!”
“Who’s Spencer?” Patrick asks, trying to sound casual, but coming off as intrigued.
“He’s no one,” Brendon says.”
“Oh no, Urie,” Pete interjects, “he’s somebody. Brendon has only had this ridiculous crush on him since the day he came in-”
“It’s not a crush! I’m not twelve!”
“Fine. He’s had a permanent hard-on since the day Spencer bought the red velvet and raved over the frosting. Love at first bite.” Pete grins and winks at Brendon, who slaps his forehead. Patrick smiles sympathetically.
“Hey,” Patrick says, “it’ll all work out. Those red velvets are damn good, anyhow. I don’t blame you for liking a man with, you know, good taste.” Pete and Patrick start giggling to themselves and Brendon rolls his eyes.
“You guys are no help,” he grumbles. “I'm gonna go work some in the front. You keep being unproductive, Pete. I’ll see you around, ‘Trick.” He sounds bitter, a little too much, but no one acknowledges it when he leaves.
Pete and Patrick don’t come back out for another fifteen minutes, and Brendon's ninety percent sure a blowjob just went down. He doesn’t care to know where.
(~)
Spencer shows up again the next day. Brendon doesn’t drop anything when he sees him enter, but he does knick his finger on the bar of chocolate he’s chopping up.
“Shit!” he exclaims, dropping the knife and reflexively bringing his finger to his mouth. He sucks off some of the blood and shakes his hand rapidly in pain before calming down and hurrying to run it under the sink. Spencer watches from the front, only mildly concerned. It isn’t a particularly bad cut-that’s probably why-but Brendon still says, distracted, “I’m glad you care so much about me while I basically die here.”
“I’m very concerned,” Spencer mumbles. He’s bent down in front of the display case, assessing his choices, only smirking a little. “Hey, are the mocha cupcakes any good?”
“Sure, ‘course they are." He pauses and then shouts, "Pete, dude, where’s the first aid kit?!”
“Like I would know!” a voice shouts back.
“Jesus,” Spencer says, and walks behind the counter to where Brendon is. “I feel like you should be walking around in bubble wrap or something. Does this, like, happen a lot?”
“Not really. Well, sometimes? Semi-often? And I’ll have you know, bubble wrap has its disadvantages. What if I suffocated?”
“I'd be very, very sad. And I would mourn your death and cry lots,” Spencer deadpans. Brendon rolls his eyes. “Really,” Spencer insists. "Now, okay, here-let me help you not die and stuff." He grabs Brendon hand and looks at the cut. Brendon, he stands there, hand shaking, and he tries to pass it off as pain, and not nerves or butterflies or lovelovelove.
He turns around and looks to his office, where Pete is sitting at his desk making kissy faces at Spencer and obscene hand gestures. Brendon looks mortified, and tries to casually shift so that he blocks any potential view Spencer may have of him. “You know, I-I think I’m fine. I just need it to stop bleeding and stuff so I can work. I mean, I’m sure there’s a first aid kit somewhere around here.”
“You are fine,” Spencer says, letting go of Brendon’s hand. “I doubt that even qualifies as a paper cut in the medical field. And is that it over there?” He points at a little white box near the sink and Brendon feels like hitting his forehead over the fact that he missed it when he was just right there.
“Uh, yeah. That is.”
He stands where he is stupidly and watches Spencer grab it and fish out a bandage. He walks back and grabs Brendon’s hand a second time. “Seriously, consider the whole bubble wrap idea. We could work to prevent suffocation,” he mutters, making sure the bandage is stuck on before he lets go. “Don’t you dare ask me to kiss it and make it better either,” he adds, and Brendon blushes again. Spencer is smirking though, and he walks back around the counter. “I want the mocha one, I think. Try not to trip on your way to get it.” He’s still smiling - holy shit, his smile is gorgeous - and Brendon nearly does trip in nervousness, causing Spencer to laugh harder.
“Just rub it in,” Brendon groans, grabbing the cupcake.
“Gladly.”
Brendon rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t I be teasing you for coming into the most girly food store in the area and purchasing the most girly foods here with absolutely no shame?”
“You could be,” Spencer replies, taking the cupcake from Brendon, “but that would mean coordinating your actions with your putdowns, and I would hate to see you end up in the hospital.” He hands Brendon a five dollar bill, takes a bite of his cupcake, and says on his way out, mouth still full, “And that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”
Brendon squeaks and tries hard to ignore the way Spencer’s hips subtly, but cockily swing on his way out.
(~)
“The world hates me!” Brendon exclaims later in the day, in his and Pete’s daily meeting. “It wants me to die a horrible, moneyless death that's shrouded with unrequited love!”
“Don't forget all the physical pain,” Pete adds. “It’s not every day you slice your hand open over love. I should make this into a poem. Imagine how depressing it would be.”
“I hope you're joking,” Brendon says.
Pete laughs loudly. “Not so much.”
Brendon sighs. “Okay, this isn’t the time to be mourning my nonexistent love life. Dude, we have two days before the rent is due, and we’re not making nearly enough money.”
“How much more do we need?”
“A lot,” Brendon says. “Over four hundred. And we need to order supplies now, and fuck, this is just not working.”
“Fuck,” Pete says.
“Yeah. Fuck. I think…,” Brendon sighs, and stares at his stack of paper. “I think we should start with milk. It’s what’ll cost us the most.”
“But the frosting-”
“Pete,” Brendon says. His eyes darken some, and the atmosphere of the situation shifts completely. He says, “Pete. I think it may be time to water down the frosting.”
(~)
It’s a nightmare, cutting the frosting. Pete nearly cries, and tries to pry Brendon’s hands away from the measuring cup of water. Brendon winces the entire time he pours it in, and tries to make it quick and painless.
It isn’t.
The regulars - the Patricks and Gabes and Ryans - they all notice it right away, but they’re nice about chewing slowly and trying hard not to grimace.
Spencer though, he comes in, Brendon bruises his arm on the counter, and he buys his cupcake, and the first thing he says after trying a bite is, “This is disgusting.” Brendon scowls.
“Thanks, dickface,” he replies quickly, drawing a look from Spencer that prompts him to continue, “Do you think I like selling shitty cupcakes like that?”
“Um,” Spencer says, and tries to sneakily wipe off some of the frosting with a napkin. “No?”
“Yeah, I don’t.”
Spencer asks, “So why are you?”
“Because we’re broke,” Brendon says. “Because there’s no money, and because we can’t afford milk, and because we’re gonna close. I appreciate your honesty, but really, that’s the last thing I need right now. You can have that cupcake for free, or whatever. It’s not the money will make a difference in the end.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. He looks at his cupcake, and then Brendon, and then his cupcake again and says, “Maybe you’ll make enough money. I mean, I hope you do. Like… uh, your cupcakes are good. Were good.” Brendon just glares harder. “Um, yeah. Okay. Try not to die, all right? Good luck and shit.”
Cautiously, Spencer leaves, and Brendon, he notices way too late, the crumpled twenty dollar bill Spencer left on the counter.
He’s so fucked.
(~)
Brendon mopes after that. Two days pass, he has no money, and no one wants to help him make some. He starts to pack up the shop. He ices each cupcake slowly, cherishing the moment, reminiscing in a way that pains him more than he expected, because he knows these are some of the last. He mixes the batter with a hollow feeling, and he wants to scream, or cry, every time he sees the shop, or Pete mentions how “You know everything’ll be fine.”
“Ha,” Brendon says, voice cracking. Right.”
He comes in that second day - the last day - and slaps the rent check on the counter. He slumps down in front of the register, and hits the button on it that causes it to open, and the money inside to stare at him tauntingly. Sparkling little bills and coins he can’t use to pay the rent. He shoves it closed, and shouts a bitter, “Fuck!”
He stays there for a little while, after that. He watches out the window - the store isn’t due to open for another two hours - and watches the people passing by. There are rich people, too high class for cupcakes, people too poor for cupcakes, and all the rest of the people are just too distracted with their lives to dedicate a few minutes to buying one.
Half an hour of this - half an hour of wallowing in self-pity - and Pete comes into the store, eager and happy looking, grinning too widely. It contrasts sharply with the vibe the rest of the room carries.
“You dick!” Brendon says when the grin doesn’t immediately disappear. “Are you trying to rub this in, or something?”
Pete sets down his backpack, and says, “No, no, hell no. I mean, quit looking so down. I’ve got a poem for you and everything. Wanna hear?”
Brendon sighs. “No,” he says. “Not at all.”
“Well, you’re going to hate this, then.” He walks outside, makes an obscure hand gesture, and when he comes back in, Patrick is following behind him, smiling too.
“Now you’re just being cruel,” Brendon says, glaring.
Pete ignores him and immediately jumps into, “Roses are red, violets are blue, ‘Trick has a check to give to you!”
Brendon stares for a long moment. “Um… huh?” he finally says. Pete beams and shakes Patrick’s shoulder eagerly. Patrick hands Brendon a check, written for five hundred dollars.
Patrick says, still smiling, “I chipped in, Pete chipped in, that Spencer Smith dude chipped in, and we had a bake sale-”
“A motherfucking bake sale that raised you three hundred motherfucking dollars!” Pete interjects.
“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Who knew this dude right here is good for something other than sh-intricate poetry. Very…intricate poetry.”
“You guys,” Brendon starts, “I can’t accept this. I don’t-”
“You have no choice but to accept this. You know there’s no way in hell this place is going down without a fight,” Pete says. “And it’s just for this month. You know you’ll have more than enough by next month. It’s, like, birthday season and shit.”
“Birthday season?” Brendon asks. Pete nods fervently. “Right, well.” He frowns, and thinks for another long minute before he declares, “Well, I guess we should open up?”
Pete and Patrick beam.
(~)
They make their cupcakes, they open up shop, they get a steady inflow of customers, and things just feel happy after that. Brendon can pay the rent, and he can sleep easy knowing Piece of Cake is going to be around for at least another thirty days.
Around noon is when Spencer shows up and Brendon tells him slowly, “I guess this is the part where I should thank you, huh?”
“I guess so,” Spencer replies. “You’re welcome.”
Brendon grins. With a little more confidence, he says, “You know, I made this batch especially for you. No watering things down this time!”
“I’m honored,” Spencer says, exaggerated.
“Thought you would be.”
And all of a sudden, like some bad nightmare, Pete shows up from the office, and says, “Dude, Spencer Smith, pleased to see you again. You know, I didn’t think I would have to instigate, but apparently you two are dumb as doorknobs. Can I just pronounce you both boyfriends, or did you want to establish a date or some shit first?”
“Pete!” Brendon squeaks, eyes wide. “I don’t-you can’t-why would you even-”
“A date would be nice,” Spencer cuts in, smiling smugly, “but I didn’t bring any bubble wrap with me, so maybe we should establish a relationship other than customer-cashier first. I’d hate for him to stab himself with a fork at a restaurant.”
Brendon stammers.
Pete shoves Brendon and provides him with, “Yo, Urie, that’s your cue to say, ‘I’m infatuated with you, too, Spencer.’”
“Pete," Brendon manages to say, "I-I think you can just-you know.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pete says, “I’m outta here. See you turtledoves later.”
And this is exactly why Pete stays in the back. Way, way in the back.
“So,” Brendon mumbles, “I see you’ve met the co-owner.”
Spencer chuckles. “Yeah, I guess I have.”
“Would you… like a cupcake?”
“I would,” Spencer says. “That pink one, right there.”
Brendon grabs the cupcake, hands it to Spencer, and says, “You can just-I-well.”
“Hey,” Spencer interrupts. “When’s your lunch break?”
Brendon gulps and says, “Right now?” smiling feebly. Spencer fucking grins. “Did you, like, want to go somewhere?”
“Yeah, for sure.” Brendon nods and takes a deep breath. He throws off his apron and the cashier gives him a thumbs up signaling that he’s got everything under control.
“Are your customers gonna be cool or whatever?” Spencer asks.
Brendon shrugs and says more confidently, “Let those fuckers eat cake.” He grins, and he and Spencer both walk outside, and yeah, it’s lovelovelove.
“All right, Marie, whatever you say.”
So totally love.