Fic: i'll say it anyway
I was watching the video for A-Ha's Take On Me and immediately thought that Cobra would do an amazing cover of it.
Then I started thinking about an AU to the video, like you do, and this happened. It's not crackier than bandom puppies, but IDK, it's pretty close. *hands* Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine.
For imntsaying, who had a rough day yesterday. ♥
i'll say it anyway
Jon/Spencer | 3000 words | PG-13
Spencer's never been one for comics.
Spencer's never been one for comics, but he found this one lying around the floor of Ryan's room, lost amongst the worn Palahniuk paperbacks, Russian literature anthologies, and at least three different copies of On the Road ("They're all different editions," Ryan had told him, like it was obvious).
"What's this?" Spencer had asked, holding up the comic and flipping idly through the pages. It was drawn in pencil, and the story seemed to revolve around a motorcycle race gone wrong.
Ryan had waved him off. "It looked cool at the time, but it's one of those were the art's awesome, but the story sucks." He shrugged. "Whatever, it's not Frank Miller."
But instead of tossing it aside, Spencer had curled up on Ryan's bed and read it cover to cover, and by the end he'd realized that Ryan had been wrong. The story was...kind of fascinating. He couldn't quite explain why; there was something about the main character, a young, scruffy guy named Jon Walker, who is forced into an illegal street race in order to pay off a debt he has with a local motorcycle gang leader. Jon races, and he ends up winning, only to be chased down by the leader and his thugs. It ends with a fade-out of Jon being cornered by the gang, and told that the race was going to end "the way it was meant to." But in that last frame, there's something in Jon's eyes that tells the reader he's not ready to give up just yet.
Spencer reads it again the next day. And again that night after he finishes his homework.
"You're still reading it?" Ryan asks him the next day in history class. "Dude, if you really want quality comics, I can get Gerard to give you tons of--"
"No, I like this one." That's another thing Spencer can't really explain, how each read becomes something...different. More. Maybe he's going crazy (or desperately needs to get laid), but he swears Jon's expressions in the story are changing somehow, his dialogue more personal. Like he knows Spencer's listening.
He stuffs the comic into his backpack and doesn't let Ryan catch him reading again. Yeah, he's most definitely going crazy.
Spencer has a huge biology test coming up, so that evening he packs up his books and walks down to the cafe not far from his house. The Starbucks nearby is always too crowded and loud, while the cafe is quiet and rarely packed in the evenings. Spencer orders a coffee as he spreads his notes over the table and starts to go over his teacher's study guide.
Diligent studying lasts for about thirty minutes. Then Spencer's brain starts to wander back to the comic.
He digs it out from the bottom of his bag, where he'd purposely shoved it in order to keep him from taking it out later. He lays it out on the table, over his open biology book, and carefully turns to page one. The softly sketched lines of Jon's hair falling into his eyes are still the same as always, only his eyes seem more tired now, resigned, like this race is something he knows he's not meant to win, no matter how hard he tries. Spencer knows he's reading too much into the dialogue, that the emotion there is only in his mind.
"Should've just left town, Walker," he mutters to the page, chin propped up on one hand as he skims the other over the page, fingertips tracing the shadowing of Jon's cheeks. He feels more than little ridiculous to have a...a crush on a goddamn comic book character, but if Ryan can obsess over Heidi Klum, Spencer figures he can secretly make heart eyes at pencil drawing.
He sighs, and then Jon Walker winks at him.
"What the fuck?" Spencer jerks back a little and swallows. He squints at the last frame at the bottom of the page, and sure enough, Jon's staring up at him with wide brown eyes (Spencer has decided they're brown, just like Jon's hair--the shading is too dark to be anything else), the corner of his mouth crooked up in a half smile.
Oh god, he really is going insane. "Oh god, I'm going insane," he breathes, his heart hammering in his chest. And like a completely insane person, he doesn't close the comic and set it on fire; he just sits there, cheeks flaring hot, and stares down at the pages, watching breathlessly as Jon raises an eyebrow at him and then slowly, very slowly, reaches his hand out to Spencer. As in, reaches his hand out of the comic to him.
Spencer looks frantically around the cafe, terrified that someone is getting all this on camera or something and can totally see the black-and-white pencil-sketched hand reaching out of a comic book and beckoning Spencer to...something. He's not even sure what. But this is most definitely something that gets people thrown into padded rooms with a gazillion locks.
There are all of three people in the cafe besides the waitress, and they're all immersed in their laptops and books. No one is even looking in Spencer's general direction.
Spencer looks back down at the hand still waiting patiently to take his. He glances at the frame on the page--above Jon's head are the words C'mon, Spencer. Don't puss out. Jon's still smirking at him.
He grabs his cell and stuffs it into his back pocket; if anything, he figures he can text Ryan about losing his mind and being dragged into a comic. Spencer takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, Jon's wiggling his fingers at him, laughing a little. Spencer blushes harder, and when he finally slips his hand into Jon's, he swears he can hear a soft, low voice say, "See, that wasn't so hard," right before he's pulled inside the pages.
Everything flashes bright for a moment, and suddenly he's no longer in color--he's in black-and-white, his skin pencil-sketched and shaded at the edges. The world around him is white, almost too white, gray and black streaks moving like vague imitations of clouds and wind.
"So what do you think?"
That same soft, deep voice startles him, and Spencer whips around to where he's face to face with Jon. It's so surreal; he never imagined he'd be taller than Jon, or that his voice would have a slight lisp to it, or that the scruff on his cheeks would look even softer up close (in real life? Spencer kind of wants to laugh hysterically). Jon is still in his motorcycle jacket, and his hair is mussed from the helmet.
Spencer licks his lips, trying to find words. "I...what am I doing here?"
Jon grins, and three dimensionally, it's more brilliant than Spencer ever thought possible. It's all bright teeth and a hint of affectionate laughter, and holy shit, they're both drawings.
"You've been watching me for days, Spence. I figured it's about time we actually had a conversation, don't you think?"
"I..." He looks down at his hand, the lines of his white palm sketched in black. "You're...you're not real. This isn't real, why--"
Jon laughs again, softer. "I'm plenty real, trust me." He reaches up and runs his thumb down the curve of Spencer's jaw, over his chin, and yeah, that's plenty real, if the hot shiver Spencer feels sliding down his spine is any indication. "And I want to know why you always look like that."
He doesn't mean for his voice to sound so breathy. "Like what?" he asks, suddenly fascinated with the shadow of Jon's nose, the dusting of light freckles along his cheekbones.
"You're lonely." Jon tilts his head to one side, eyes trailing up and down Spencer slowly. Evaluating.
Spencer barks out a nervous laugh that sounds too high in his ears. "I'm in high school, and high school sucks. More like I'm desperate to get out."
"Why?"
"Because..." Because no one there looks at me like you're looking at me right now, he wants to say, but that's way too much information to be sharing with a drawing. "Because I'm ready to not be seventeen anymore."
Jon doesn't say anything for a long moment, just narrows his eyes and holds Spencer's gaze until Spencer starts to fidgeting and blush again. Then he nods and says quietly, "Yeah," like he completely understands and doesn't need to elaborate at all. And the thing is, he doesn't; Spencer lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and gives Jon a tiny smile as he bites his lip.
Unfortunately, Spencer's forgotten just where they are in the plot of the comic, and right then is when the gang leader and his thugs decide to show up.
"Shit, c'mon!" Jon grabs Spencer's hand and takes off at a dead run, pulling Spencer after him. He starts to say something about Jon's bike, then remembers with a wince that it was wrecked at the end of the race. Jon takes him through back alleys that twist and turn into dark corners; he shoves Spencer into an alcove hidden from the main street and presses up tight against him, panting against Spencer's neck.
"I knew this would fucking happen. They were never gonna play fair," Jon gasps, and Spencer wants to say, I know. He can feel Jon's heart pounding in his chest where it's flush against Spencer's arm.
"Can't you just leave?" Spencer whispers, his mouth almost skimming over Jon's cheek.
Jon shakes his head. "They'd still find me. Charlie wants his money, and no matter how many races I win, that's never gonna change." He curls his fingers into the hem of Spencer's t-shirt, and while everything's dark and hidden in shadow, Jon's skin is still white with black shaded edges; it takes away from the fear in Spencer's chest.
He opens his mouth to say, "Come back with me"--even though he knows it's not even possible, he doesn't even know how to get back himself--but the sudden, too-close roar of a motorcycle startles them both, making them run again, Jon's hand clenched almost too tightly around Spencer's as they tear through the streets. The sounds of engines die off, and soon he can hear footsteps chasing after them, voices yelling threats at Jon.
They round a corner and stumble into an abandoned shop, locking the door and ducking beneath the windows as the sounds of footsteps pass by.
"You've got to get out of here," Jon whispers breathlessly. "I shouldn't have brought you here, I'm sorry. I just..." He looks at Spencer, eyes full of regret and sadness, and even with nothing but sketched shades of black to convey his emotions, Spencer feels them as if they were real, in brilliant, fleshed-out Technicolor.
"Don't apologize." He squeezes Jon's hand, wanting to kiss him and finding that prospect infinitely more terrifying than being chased by sketched thugs. But he holds his breath and leans in quickly, kissing the corner of Jon's mouth with his eyes closed. Jon's skin feels warm under his lips.
Jon ducks out of the kiss and says, "This way," and Spencer's stomach drops a little as he lets Jon tug him further into the shop. In the back corner, where the register probably once stood, Jon reaches up along the bare expanse of wall and grabs what looks like a loose strip of wallpaper. He pulls the strip down, and Spencer watches in wide-eyed disbelief as the wall opens up into black nothingness.
"This'll take you back," Jon says, not looking Spencer in the eyes. He's looking down at their hands, fingers still tangled together.
Spencer doesn't think, only leans in close and presses their foreheads together, not caring if Jon doesn't want this. "Come with me," he whispers before he thinks twice.
"I can't, I told you." But he cups Spencer's cheek, and when he licks slowly into Spencer's mouth, Spencer makes an embarrassing little whimper in his throat. For all the direness of their situation, the kiss is ridiculously careful, a little wet and a little desperate, with just a tinge of Spencer's inexperience. Spencer fists his hands in Jon's shirt and presses up as close as he can, wanting to feel every inch of Jon while he still can.
The front store window suddenly shatters, and they break apart as the thugs start to climb through, screaming, "You're a dead man, Walker!"
"Go!" Jon yells, and he doesn't give Spencer a choice--he shoves him into the black nothingness, not letting go of Spencer's hand until the very last second as Spencer yells back, "Jon, no, wait--"
When Spencer comes to, he's sprawled on the floor of the cafe, behind the front counter, an overturned trash can laying at his side. The waitress and all three of the other patrons are staring owlishly down at him.
He rubs at his eyes, then immediately pulls his hand back. He's in color again, but his skin is covered in black smudges, like pencil lead. He can still taste Jon on his tongue.
Spencer's pulse begins to race. "My...my comic. Where's my comic?" he asks, not bothering to hide the panic in his voice.
"I, um, threw it away when I thought you'd taken off without paying your bill," the waitress replies hesitantly, like she's talking to a crazy person. Which, Spencer admits, isn't too far from the truth, but whatever; he's too busy pawing frantically through the trash can until he finds the comic, wadded up into a tight ball. He scrambles to his feet and takes off, not bothering to grab his books. He runs all the way home, up the stairs to his room, and he barely breathes until he's slamming his bedroom door and collapsing on the floor, smoothing the wrinkled pages out before him as he shoves his hair out of his eyes.
He knows how the story ends. But this time, he's praying for a different ending.
"C'mon, c'mon Jon," Spencer whispers at the pages, taking in each frame like it's brand new, reading his every expression and movement. The thugs still corner Jon, still tell him the race is going to end "the way it was meant to," and Jon's eyes flare.
But then, instead of fading to black like always, Jon takes a step back and falls into the black hole on the wall and disappears.
"No!" Spencer sits back, smacking his hand against the floor. "Fuck, Jon, what the fuck, where did you--"
There's a loud crack, and when Spencer looks over his shoulder, he sees Jon slumped against the door of his room, still in black-and-white, still a sketch in a world of color. He opens his eyes and looks right at Spencer.
Spencer blinks in shock, refusing to let himself believe. "Jon...?" he breathes, not moving a muscle.
Jon doesn't answer, only winces as he straightens, the sketched edges of his skin flickering in the dim light coming from Spencer's desk lamp. He takes a step toward Spencer, then abruptly slams his shoulder into wall, hard. His sketched edges stutter and suddenly turn to color, become real, before turning back into black-and-white. He stumbles back into the door, and the motion has the same effect--he turns to color for a little longer before his body blurs back into white.
Spencer watches, heart in his throat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Jon slams into the wall one last time, harder than before, and he flickers in and out of color as he falls to floor, like it's taking every bit of his strength to fight free of his old world. He lays on the floor at Spencer's feet, and soon the black-and-white drawn lines fade out completely, leaving behind a real, full-colored, three dimensional person.
The first thing Spencer thinks is, His hair really is brown.
"Jon? Are you...okay?" he finally says, voice rough.
Jon's hands uncurl against the floor, slightly tanned fingers splaying out over the carpet. He looks up slowly, hair in his eyes, and blinks at Spencer. His eyes match the color of his hair.
Spencer's heart flips over.
"I...didn't think that would work," Jon whispers, a tentative smile spreading over his face. His teeth are very white, and his lips are just barely pink. He sits up, pulling his knees to his chest, and Spencer wants to believe his cheeks are pink, too. "So...hi."
"Hi." He's never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life "You didn't answer my question."
Jon shrugs, looking down at his hands as he laughs. He sounds embarrassed. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you are." Spencer's fingers practically itch. "Thought you said you couldn't."
"Never said I couldn't be wrong sometimes." He grins at Spencer from under the fringe of his (dark brown) bangs. "Desperate times and all that jazz." He waves his hand vaguely, and then pauses when he becomes caught up in the color of his skin, tracing his fingertips over his palm.
Spencer can't take it anymore. He crawls across the floor and slides his hand over Jon's cheek, kissing him before Jon can object.
Jon doesn't object. Jon kisses him back with a soft, breathless sigh and links his hands around Spencer's neck, thumbs framing Spencer's jaw.
"Don't go back," Spencer says against Jon's chin. "I'm tired of reading comics."
"Okay," Jon says, grinning. "How 'bout motorcycles?"
"I've never ridden one. My mom would shit." Spencer's words are muffled as he nips his way along Jon's neck.
"Wanna learn?"
Spencer buries his face into the curve of Jon's shoulder--warm, warm skin, better than he's ever imagined--and laughs. "Absolutely."
Then I started thinking about an AU to the video, like you do, and this happened. It's not crackier than bandom puppies, but IDK, it's pretty close. *hands* Not beta'd, all mistakes are mine.
For imntsaying, who had a rough day yesterday. ♥
i'll say it anyway
Jon/Spencer | 3000 words | PG-13
Spencer's never been one for comics.
Spencer's never been one for comics, but he found this one lying around the floor of Ryan's room, lost amongst the worn Palahniuk paperbacks, Russian literature anthologies, and at least three different copies of On the Road ("They're all different editions," Ryan had told him, like it was obvious).
"What's this?" Spencer had asked, holding up the comic and flipping idly through the pages. It was drawn in pencil, and the story seemed to revolve around a motorcycle race gone wrong.
Ryan had waved him off. "It looked cool at the time, but it's one of those were the art's awesome, but the story sucks." He shrugged. "Whatever, it's not Frank Miller."
But instead of tossing it aside, Spencer had curled up on Ryan's bed and read it cover to cover, and by the end he'd realized that Ryan had been wrong. The story was...kind of fascinating. He couldn't quite explain why; there was something about the main character, a young, scruffy guy named Jon Walker, who is forced into an illegal street race in order to pay off a debt he has with a local motorcycle gang leader. Jon races, and he ends up winning, only to be chased down by the leader and his thugs. It ends with a fade-out of Jon being cornered by the gang, and told that the race was going to end "the way it was meant to." But in that last frame, there's something in Jon's eyes that tells the reader he's not ready to give up just yet.
Spencer reads it again the next day. And again that night after he finishes his homework.
"You're still reading it?" Ryan asks him the next day in history class. "Dude, if you really want quality comics, I can get Gerard to give you tons of--"
"No, I like this one." That's another thing Spencer can't really explain, how each read becomes something...different. More. Maybe he's going crazy (or desperately needs to get laid), but he swears Jon's expressions in the story are changing somehow, his dialogue more personal. Like he knows Spencer's listening.
He stuffs the comic into his backpack and doesn't let Ryan catch him reading again. Yeah, he's most definitely going crazy.
Spencer has a huge biology test coming up, so that evening he packs up his books and walks down to the cafe not far from his house. The Starbucks nearby is always too crowded and loud, while the cafe is quiet and rarely packed in the evenings. Spencer orders a coffee as he spreads his notes over the table and starts to go over his teacher's study guide.
Diligent studying lasts for about thirty minutes. Then Spencer's brain starts to wander back to the comic.
He digs it out from the bottom of his bag, where he'd purposely shoved it in order to keep him from taking it out later. He lays it out on the table, over his open biology book, and carefully turns to page one. The softly sketched lines of Jon's hair falling into his eyes are still the same as always, only his eyes seem more tired now, resigned, like this race is something he knows he's not meant to win, no matter how hard he tries. Spencer knows he's reading too much into the dialogue, that the emotion there is only in his mind.
"Should've just left town, Walker," he mutters to the page, chin propped up on one hand as he skims the other over the page, fingertips tracing the shadowing of Jon's cheeks. He feels more than little ridiculous to have a...a crush on a goddamn comic book character, but if Ryan can obsess over Heidi Klum, Spencer figures he can secretly make heart eyes at pencil drawing.
He sighs, and then Jon Walker winks at him.
"What the fuck?" Spencer jerks back a little and swallows. He squints at the last frame at the bottom of the page, and sure enough, Jon's staring up at him with wide brown eyes (Spencer has decided they're brown, just like Jon's hair--the shading is too dark to be anything else), the corner of his mouth crooked up in a half smile.
Oh god, he really is going insane. "Oh god, I'm going insane," he breathes, his heart hammering in his chest. And like a completely insane person, he doesn't close the comic and set it on fire; he just sits there, cheeks flaring hot, and stares down at the pages, watching breathlessly as Jon raises an eyebrow at him and then slowly, very slowly, reaches his hand out to Spencer. As in, reaches his hand out of the comic to him.
Spencer looks frantically around the cafe, terrified that someone is getting all this on camera or something and can totally see the black-and-white pencil-sketched hand reaching out of a comic book and beckoning Spencer to...something. He's not even sure what. But this is most definitely something that gets people thrown into padded rooms with a gazillion locks.
There are all of three people in the cafe besides the waitress, and they're all immersed in their laptops and books. No one is even looking in Spencer's general direction.
Spencer looks back down at the hand still waiting patiently to take his. He glances at the frame on the page--above Jon's head are the words C'mon, Spencer. Don't puss out. Jon's still smirking at him.
He grabs his cell and stuffs it into his back pocket; if anything, he figures he can text Ryan about losing his mind and being dragged into a comic. Spencer takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, Jon's wiggling his fingers at him, laughing a little. Spencer blushes harder, and when he finally slips his hand into Jon's, he swears he can hear a soft, low voice say, "See, that wasn't so hard," right before he's pulled inside the pages.
Everything flashes bright for a moment, and suddenly he's no longer in color--he's in black-and-white, his skin pencil-sketched and shaded at the edges. The world around him is white, almost too white, gray and black streaks moving like vague imitations of clouds and wind.
"So what do you think?"
That same soft, deep voice startles him, and Spencer whips around to where he's face to face with Jon. It's so surreal; he never imagined he'd be taller than Jon, or that his voice would have a slight lisp to it, or that the scruff on his cheeks would look even softer up close (in real life? Spencer kind of wants to laugh hysterically). Jon is still in his motorcycle jacket, and his hair is mussed from the helmet.
Spencer licks his lips, trying to find words. "I...what am I doing here?"
Jon grins, and three dimensionally, it's more brilliant than Spencer ever thought possible. It's all bright teeth and a hint of affectionate laughter, and holy shit, they're both drawings.
"You've been watching me for days, Spence. I figured it's about time we actually had a conversation, don't you think?"
"I..." He looks down at his hand, the lines of his white palm sketched in black. "You're...you're not real. This isn't real, why--"
Jon laughs again, softer. "I'm plenty real, trust me." He reaches up and runs his thumb down the curve of Spencer's jaw, over his chin, and yeah, that's plenty real, if the hot shiver Spencer feels sliding down his spine is any indication. "And I want to know why you always look like that."
He doesn't mean for his voice to sound so breathy. "Like what?" he asks, suddenly fascinated with the shadow of Jon's nose, the dusting of light freckles along his cheekbones.
"You're lonely." Jon tilts his head to one side, eyes trailing up and down Spencer slowly. Evaluating.
Spencer barks out a nervous laugh that sounds too high in his ears. "I'm in high school, and high school sucks. More like I'm desperate to get out."
"Why?"
"Because..." Because no one there looks at me like you're looking at me right now, he wants to say, but that's way too much information to be sharing with a drawing. "Because I'm ready to not be seventeen anymore."
Jon doesn't say anything for a long moment, just narrows his eyes and holds Spencer's gaze until Spencer starts to fidgeting and blush again. Then he nods and says quietly, "Yeah," like he completely understands and doesn't need to elaborate at all. And the thing is, he doesn't; Spencer lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and gives Jon a tiny smile as he bites his lip.
Unfortunately, Spencer's forgotten just where they are in the plot of the comic, and right then is when the gang leader and his thugs decide to show up.
"Shit, c'mon!" Jon grabs Spencer's hand and takes off at a dead run, pulling Spencer after him. He starts to say something about Jon's bike, then remembers with a wince that it was wrecked at the end of the race. Jon takes him through back alleys that twist and turn into dark corners; he shoves Spencer into an alcove hidden from the main street and presses up tight against him, panting against Spencer's neck.
"I knew this would fucking happen. They were never gonna play fair," Jon gasps, and Spencer wants to say, I know. He can feel Jon's heart pounding in his chest where it's flush against Spencer's arm.
"Can't you just leave?" Spencer whispers, his mouth almost skimming over Jon's cheek.
Jon shakes his head. "They'd still find me. Charlie wants his money, and no matter how many races I win, that's never gonna change." He curls his fingers into the hem of Spencer's t-shirt, and while everything's dark and hidden in shadow, Jon's skin is still white with black shaded edges; it takes away from the fear in Spencer's chest.
He opens his mouth to say, "Come back with me"--even though he knows it's not even possible, he doesn't even know how to get back himself--but the sudden, too-close roar of a motorcycle startles them both, making them run again, Jon's hand clenched almost too tightly around Spencer's as they tear through the streets. The sounds of engines die off, and soon he can hear footsteps chasing after them, voices yelling threats at Jon.
They round a corner and stumble into an abandoned shop, locking the door and ducking beneath the windows as the sounds of footsteps pass by.
"You've got to get out of here," Jon whispers breathlessly. "I shouldn't have brought you here, I'm sorry. I just..." He looks at Spencer, eyes full of regret and sadness, and even with nothing but sketched shades of black to convey his emotions, Spencer feels them as if they were real, in brilliant, fleshed-out Technicolor.
"Don't apologize." He squeezes Jon's hand, wanting to kiss him and finding that prospect infinitely more terrifying than being chased by sketched thugs. But he holds his breath and leans in quickly, kissing the corner of Jon's mouth with his eyes closed. Jon's skin feels warm under his lips.
Jon ducks out of the kiss and says, "This way," and Spencer's stomach drops a little as he lets Jon tug him further into the shop. In the back corner, where the register probably once stood, Jon reaches up along the bare expanse of wall and grabs what looks like a loose strip of wallpaper. He pulls the strip down, and Spencer watches in wide-eyed disbelief as the wall opens up into black nothingness.
"This'll take you back," Jon says, not looking Spencer in the eyes. He's looking down at their hands, fingers still tangled together.
Spencer doesn't think, only leans in close and presses their foreheads together, not caring if Jon doesn't want this. "Come with me," he whispers before he thinks twice.
"I can't, I told you." But he cups Spencer's cheek, and when he licks slowly into Spencer's mouth, Spencer makes an embarrassing little whimper in his throat. For all the direness of their situation, the kiss is ridiculously careful, a little wet and a little desperate, with just a tinge of Spencer's inexperience. Spencer fists his hands in Jon's shirt and presses up as close as he can, wanting to feel every inch of Jon while he still can.
The front store window suddenly shatters, and they break apart as the thugs start to climb through, screaming, "You're a dead man, Walker!"
"Go!" Jon yells, and he doesn't give Spencer a choice--he shoves him into the black nothingness, not letting go of Spencer's hand until the very last second as Spencer yells back, "Jon, no, wait--"
When Spencer comes to, he's sprawled on the floor of the cafe, behind the front counter, an overturned trash can laying at his side. The waitress and all three of the other patrons are staring owlishly down at him.
He rubs at his eyes, then immediately pulls his hand back. He's in color again, but his skin is covered in black smudges, like pencil lead. He can still taste Jon on his tongue.
Spencer's pulse begins to race. "My...my comic. Where's my comic?" he asks, not bothering to hide the panic in his voice.
"I, um, threw it away when I thought you'd taken off without paying your bill," the waitress replies hesitantly, like she's talking to a crazy person. Which, Spencer admits, isn't too far from the truth, but whatever; he's too busy pawing frantically through the trash can until he finds the comic, wadded up into a tight ball. He scrambles to his feet and takes off, not bothering to grab his books. He runs all the way home, up the stairs to his room, and he barely breathes until he's slamming his bedroom door and collapsing on the floor, smoothing the wrinkled pages out before him as he shoves his hair out of his eyes.
He knows how the story ends. But this time, he's praying for a different ending.
"C'mon, c'mon Jon," Spencer whispers at the pages, taking in each frame like it's brand new, reading his every expression and movement. The thugs still corner Jon, still tell him the race is going to end "the way it was meant to," and Jon's eyes flare.
But then, instead of fading to black like always, Jon takes a step back and falls into the black hole on the wall and disappears.
"No!" Spencer sits back, smacking his hand against the floor. "Fuck, Jon, what the fuck, where did you--"
There's a loud crack, and when Spencer looks over his shoulder, he sees Jon slumped against the door of his room, still in black-and-white, still a sketch in a world of color. He opens his eyes and looks right at Spencer.
Spencer blinks in shock, refusing to let himself believe. "Jon...?" he breathes, not moving a muscle.
Jon doesn't answer, only winces as he straightens, the sketched edges of his skin flickering in the dim light coming from Spencer's desk lamp. He takes a step toward Spencer, then abruptly slams his shoulder into wall, hard. His sketched edges stutter and suddenly turn to color, become real, before turning back into black-and-white. He stumbles back into the door, and the motion has the same effect--he turns to color for a little longer before his body blurs back into white.
Spencer watches, heart in his throat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Jon slams into the wall one last time, harder than before, and he flickers in and out of color as he falls to floor, like it's taking every bit of his strength to fight free of his old world. He lays on the floor at Spencer's feet, and soon the black-and-white drawn lines fade out completely, leaving behind a real, full-colored, three dimensional person.
The first thing Spencer thinks is, His hair really is brown.
"Jon? Are you...okay?" he finally says, voice rough.
Jon's hands uncurl against the floor, slightly tanned fingers splaying out over the carpet. He looks up slowly, hair in his eyes, and blinks at Spencer. His eyes match the color of his hair.
Spencer's heart flips over.
"I...didn't think that would work," Jon whispers, a tentative smile spreading over his face. His teeth are very white, and his lips are just barely pink. He sits up, pulling his knees to his chest, and Spencer wants to believe his cheeks are pink, too. "So...hi."
"Hi." He's never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life "You didn't answer my question."
Jon shrugs, looking down at his hands as he laughs. He sounds embarrassed. "I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you are." Spencer's fingers practically itch. "Thought you said you couldn't."
"Never said I couldn't be wrong sometimes." He grins at Spencer from under the fringe of his (dark brown) bangs. "Desperate times and all that jazz." He waves his hand vaguely, and then pauses when he becomes caught up in the color of his skin, tracing his fingertips over his palm.
Spencer can't take it anymore. He crawls across the floor and slides his hand over Jon's cheek, kissing him before Jon can object.
Jon doesn't object. Jon kisses him back with a soft, breathless sigh and links his hands around Spencer's neck, thumbs framing Spencer's jaw.
"Don't go back," Spencer says against Jon's chin. "I'm tired of reading comics."
"Okay," Jon says, grinning. "How 'bout motorcycles?"
"I've never ridden one. My mom would shit." Spencer's words are muffled as he nips his way along Jon's neck.
"Wanna learn?"
Spencer buries his face into the curve of Jon's shoulder--warm, warm skin, better than he's ever imagined--and laughs. "Absolutely."