Once More (With Feeling)
Title: Once More (With Feeling)
Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spencer/Jon (side Brendon/Ryan and tiny Pete/Mikey)
POV: 3rd limited (Spencer)
Summary: Karaoke bar AU Or the one where Spencer doesn’t get serenaded - I promise.
Disclaimer: AU. Fiction. False. Fabrication. Other “f” words. (The title is taken from Joss Whedon. With love.)
Author Notes: Written for the joncerjumpstart and especially for silver-etoile, who makes Joncer what it is for me. ♥
***
“College is a useless concept,” Ryan says for the fifth time this semester from where he’s lying on the futon, feet pressed up against the wall. “I don’t know why you bother, Spencer. It’s just a waste of time.”
Spencer huffs, trying to ignore his roommate and best friend of eighteen years and focuses back on his Accounting book. “I’m not going to engage in this conversation with you, because I know that you are fully aware of how fucking stupid you sound right now,” he says, flicking his eyes over to watch Ryan eat a stick of beef jerky. It seems as though the vegetarian thing is over, then. “Shouldn’t you be studying? It’s midterms.”
Ryan makes some sort of unconcerned humming and flicks the plastic from his jerky to the side of the futon, making Spencer clench his fist. Is it really that hard to throw it in the trash can three feet away?
“If you really think about it,” Ryan muses through a half-full mouth, “college is just an invention to prolong adolescence.”
“Then you should love it,” Spencer says. “You’re like Peter fucking Pan or some shit.” He shakes his head and flips a page, the numbers swirling around his head, and he thinks not for the first or last time that he should have just majored in Communications or something else easy. “Last night you were out until three singing shitty songs at that new karaoke place.”
Spencer had been up studying for his midterm while Ryan was belting out Queen or some other retro pop hit. Fucking Ryan.
“You need to actually study or go to class, Ryan, or you’re going to fail and end up mooching off of me for the rest of your life.” Spencer has every reason to be concerned, because no matter how overdramatic he sounds right now, he knows that his fears aren’t unwarranted.
Ryan just shrugs, though, stretches his legs out, and says, “It’s Thursday night, Spence. Come out tonight. You need to unwind a little. All this studying is going to hurt you, in the long run.”
Despite the fact that Spencer knows there is no possibility that Ryan could actually have a well-thought out argument for that ridiculous statement, he still asks, “And how the fuck did you come to such an enlightening discovery?”
“I always do fine,” Ryan says, and it’s true. Somehow, Spencer thinks only a little viciously, his dirty hippie of a best friend always passes everything without really trying. “Besides,” Ryan continues, “if you study too much, you’ll overflow your brain. You need a break.”
Spencer shakes his head. “Why don’t you take a break, Ryan? I’ll stay here and study so I can support us both when you eventually end up on the streets.”
Ryan doesn’t seem to be bothered by Spencer’s words. He stands up and peers over Spencer’s shoulder, looking down at all the numbers, and Spencer wonders if they make any more sense to Ryan than they do to him.
“That shit is like a fucking alien language,” Ryan says closing the book shut, and Spencer thinks apparently not. “Come on, let’s go to Pete’s.”
Spencer goes to open the book again, because he really does need to keep his grades up if he’s going to keep his scholarship, but Ryan’s faster. He grabs the book out of Spencer’s fingers and hurls it behind him. Spencer watches as the book skids across the floor, landing with a bent spine against the television stand.
“Hey!” Spencer says, but his objection is broken short as Ryan pulls him out of the chair.
“Believe me,” Ryan says. “You’ll be thanking me for this when you don’t have a nervous breakdown sometime next week.”
Ryan pulls Spencer toward the hall closet, releases him for a moment, and then throws the coat that he pulled out of the closet at Spencer.
“I just don’t see why you love this stupid karaoke place so much,” Spencer huffs as he puts his jacket on. It’ll do him no good to object. Not when Ryan is really set on something. Spencer’s been friends with Ryan for long enough to know that when he has a mission, he won’t stop until he’s won. It strange, really, considering the fact that Spencer doesn’t think he’s seen Ryan go to class in over a week.
“It’s fun,” Ryan says, leaning into the closet to grab his own coat, but just before his face vanishes behind the wood door, Spencer thinks he can see a faint blush of red bloom on Ryan’s cheeks. When Ryan comes back with his jacket seconds later, though, he looks normal.
“I’m only staying for an hour,” Spencer says, conceding that his night of studying isn’t going to go as planned.
Ryan nods distractedly as he searches for his keys. Ryan is always losing his keys. “Sure thing.”
“And I’m not singing,” Spencer says firmly. There is no way in hell that he’s going to get up in front of a bunch of townies and belt out some Mariah Carey.
He looks back over at the floor where his Accounting book is taunting him, spine only a little bit broken from the impact of Ryan’s throw.
“Okay, let’s go,” Ryan says, and his voice is more excited than Spencer’s heard it in weeks. It almost makes Spencer curious about this Pete’s Bar, just to see what it has that keeps Ryan coming back.
Ryan opens the door, car keys jingling in his hand, and Spencer sighs, turns the lights off, and closes the door behind Ryan.
---
Pete’s Bar and Grille isn’t far from Ryan and Spencer’s apartment right outside the college. It’s strategically placed close enough to the campus so that students who are ‘definitely okay to drive home’ don’t have to worry about too many miles between them and a DUI, and it’s far enough away that townies flock there, too.
Sometimes, when Spencer thinks about just why Ryan loves this stupid bar so much, he comes to the conclusion that Ryan probably just misses being the smartest person in any given room now that he’s in college and the townies look up to him and write down words he says on old receipts to look up later in the dictionary. Or something.
The bar itself is shaped like a barn with dark red wooden panels and a hitched up roof. As Ryan pulls into the unpaved parking lot, dust kicking up as they go, Spencer sincerely thinks about knocking Ryan unconscious and driving them back to the apartment. There is no way is he going into a barn. Karaoke is bad enough. Spencer doesn’t want to sit on a haystack or something equally as terrible.
“Seriously, Ryan?” Spencer asks just as Ryan parks the car. “A barn?”
Ryan shrugs. “I like it here. Besides, the inside is better.” He unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door, and Spencer follows, slamming the door a little harder than is probably necessary behind him.
“There better not be any animals,” Spencer says.
“Why would there be animals in a bar?” Ryan asks, but he doesn’t wait for anyone to answer - as if anyone would - and goes to open the door to the bar for Spencer.
The inside of the barn bar is bigger than Spencer had been expecting. The bar is set up toward the back, right in front of them, and to the left, there’s a stage set up with three microphone stands and bright lights shining down facing a sea of cafeteria style looking wooden tables and chairs.
“Karaoke starts in five,” Ryan says as Spencer looks around. “I’ll go grab us some beers. Find a table. Or go put in a request for a song.”
Spencer glares and walks off to find a table. He picks one close enough to the stage so that he can snap some incriminating pictures with his iPhone in case Ryan decides to sing, but far enough away so that Ryan can’t pull him up, too.
The bar is more crowded than Spencer had been expecting. It’s still pretty early, really, but maybe people just really like karaoke. It’s possible. Completely insane and moronic, but possible.
God, he hopes no one sings a love song to their wife or husband or life partner. Spencer cannot deal with that. Especially since the last bit of action he’s seen was when Gabe tried to drunkenly unhook Spencer’s non-existent bra.
“Hope you like PBR,” Ryan says, setting down two bottles of beer in front of them. Spencer actually doesn’t like PBR, but he should have said something sooner, because it’s not like Ryan was going to get anything other than the Indie Hip Drink of the Month.
“Thanks,” he says and takes a sip. He might as well, if Ryan’s paying, and then a thought hits him, because Ryan never pays. “You’re not trying to get me drunk so that do something stupid like sing, are you?” he asks.
Ryan blinks. “I would never do something so devious,” he says, face blank and voice flat, and Spencer’s known Ryan just long enough to know for certain that Ryan deserves a smack on the shoulder. “Ow,” Ryan says, holding his arm, but Spencer just grins.
Just as he’s about to give Ryan another lecture on exactly why he will never, without a doubt, sing karaoke, Ryan shushes him, and the light on the stage grows brighter as a person hops up.
The guy on the stage is pretty short, and the first thing he does is go up to the middle microphone stand and lower it a few inches. He seems to be bouncing with a vibrant sort of energy as he scans the crowd, and when his eyes move over the table where Spencer and Ryan are sitting, his face breaks out in the largest, most ridiculous smile Spencer’s ever seen.
Beside him, when Spencer looks, Ryan has gone red, and Spencer laughs a little, because of course Ryan’s newfound love for karaoke has nothing to do with 90s Billboard hits and everything to do with a guy with full lips and dark eyes. Fucking typical.
“That guy’s pretty hot,” Spencer says low, out of the corner of his mouth, to Ryan, who is still looking up at the stage.
Ryan coughs a little, clears his throat, and suddenly, when he turns around to face Spencer, the dreamy, glazed over expression is gone. “I guess,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
Yeah, right. Whatever.
Spencer turns his attention back to the stage, where Ryan’s obvious crush is opening the stage for karaoke.
“Welcome, everyone! Welcome to Pete’s. My name is Brendon.” The voice is rich and loud, and he smiles at everyone, but his eyes keep darting back to Ryan. It’s all so obvious that Spencer wants to smack his head against the probably fake wood-grain table. “Karaoke is going to start in just one minute, but first, since it’s our favorite bartender’s birthday, I’d like to dedicate this song to him. Sing along, if you know it. And buy him a shot!”
“He’s working tonight, Urie!” a voice calls out, and Brendon laughs.
“Alright, Pete!” Brendon salutes, and then he says, “Buy yourself an extra shot or two, then, in his honor and leave him an obscene tip.” He grins so bright, and Ryan lets out something suspiciously close to a happy sigh next to Spencer. “Better?”
“Much,” a voice from the back agrees. Pete, apparently. “Double tips for the birthday boy!”
Brendon laughs at that and says, “Oh, don’t turn red, Jon.”
Spencer turns at that, just to see just how red this poor bartender is, because if this were him, he’d be both bright red and furious.
The light in the bar is pretty dim, but the bright lights from the stage cast rays that gleam off of the bottles, and when Spencer turns, he knows that it must be the strange way the light is thrown that makes his breath hitch, because really, the bartender isn’t that hot. He’s short and scruffy, and he’s smiling up at the stage and Brendon with an easy smile and a wave of his hand. Spencer takes a sip of his watered down beer and turns back around.
Brendon is singing on stage, belting out The Beatles “Birthday Song”, and he’s good. He’s really good, even, but Spencer can’t really force himself to tell Ryan that even though it’ll probably make him blush and try to stoically agree. For some reason, all of his energy is focused on not turning the fuck around to look at a stupid pretty bartender who is most likely a high school dropout who has no life aspirations besides learning how to throw and catch a handle of vodka blindfolded.
Still, right when Brendon finishes the song and says, “Anyone who wants to sing is now invited to sign up,” while he looks straight at Ryan, beaming, Spencer tells Ryan, “I’m gonna go get us two more beers.”
Ryan waves his hand distractedly, already standing up, and when Spencer moves toward the bar, he tries not to stare down the bartender. Thankfully, Jon seems to be busy making drinks, so he doesn’t notice just how much Spencer is failing.
Spencer gets to the bar and leans against the countertop, trying to look good but also look like he’s not trying to make sure that his hip is perfectly cocked and his good side is showing. It only takes a couple of seconds of Spencer flicking the hair out of his eyes for the bartender to get to him.
“You’re a new face,” Jon says, and up close, Spencer can see that the bartender’s eyes are soft and dark brown. There’s something so trusting about them, something that makes Spencer feel like leaning over the bar so he can be just the tiniest bit closer to this guy that he doesn’t even know.
“I’m not one for karaoke,” Spencer says.
Jon smiles at that. “Me neither.” He points his chin over at Brendon, who is grinning on the side of the stage at a pretty horribly off-pitch thirty-something business person. “We can’t all be like Brendon.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, because it’s the first thing that comes out. It sounds pretty stupid though, and even though Jon seems to want to make at least some sort of conversation despite there being other people waiting at the bar and the other bartender is glaring at Jon, frazzled, Spencer tries to recover from his stupidity by saying, “I’ll, um, have two PBRs, please.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jon says. He nods, smile faltering for a second. “Just one second.”
Fuck, Spencer thinks. He doesn’t want Jon to think he isn’t interested in talking or, you know, more.
It’s not like he’d say no.
When Jon comes back with the two beers and says, “Five Dollars,” Spencer tries to throw him one of his patented Spencer Smith Smiles.
Jon either doesn’t notice or it doesn’t affect him, because he grabs the money without a second look.
---
Ryan ends up singing, but Spencer doesn’t. Spencer watches as Ryan sings “Penny Lane” and looks at Brendon the whole time with what could probably be called by a lame person as hearts in his eyes, and Spencer tries not to say anything more than “Great job” when Ryan sits down, even though he was a little pitchy and zoned out for a couple of measures somewhere there in the middle.
When they leave the bar, Spencer has been sitting at the same table for two hours, only getting up to go to the bathroom, and every time he had passed the bar, he made it a point not to make eye contact with Jon. It’s stupid, but he feels a little embarrassed even though he didn’t really flirt with the bartender or anything. Still, he makes Ryan get the rest of the drinks, handing him money and pushing him toward the bar.
“Did you have fun?” Ryan asks Spencer as they walk toward the car in the dusty parking lot. Ryan’s wearing a small smile on his face - just the tiniest upturn of his lips.
“Yeah,” Spencer says. He doesn’t want to bother Ryan with stupid miscommunications.
“Good,” Ryan says. They’re close to the car now, and as Spencer rounds the hood, he can see the bartender, Jon, sitting in the front seat of the car next to him. There’s a girl in the driver’s seat - the other bartender - and Spencer sees her kiss Jon’s cheek.
Now Spencer feels even more stupid, because of course Jon’s straight. Of course he wasn’t flirting. He was just being a bartender - doing what bartenders do to get good tips, and Spencer must be lonelier than he thought if he’s willing to read into a smile from any guy who looks him straight in the eye.
Spencer gets into the car, and just as they drive away, Spencer catches Jon’s eye for one long second that makes his chest constrict and his face flame.
He steps harder on the gas.
---
It turns out, Spencer finds out later, that Brendon actually goes to college with them.
“He’s a music major,” Ryan says as grabs a handful of popcorn from the large bowl in front of Spencer.
“Makes sense,” Spencer comments, eyes focused on the screen and the stupid, pretentious Indie movie that Ryan swore wouldn’t make his head hurt.
Stupid Ryan.
“We actually have the same lunch schedule as him,” Ryan continues. “I told him he should eat with us sometime.”
Spencer doesn’t really want to eat with a hyperactive karaoke diva every day, but he doesn’t tell Ryan that, and if Brendon makes Ryan happy, then he’s not going to complain. “Sure,” he says.
“And his roommate, too,” Ryan says. “You know him, right? That bartender.”
Of fucking course Spencer thinks bitterly. Of course the universe wants to make this as embarrassing as possible by prolonging the awkwardness of maybe picturing a straight guy fucking him over a bar.
“Sounds fun,” Spencer says without any inflection in his voice, but Ryan doesn’t notice and just smiles.
At least someone is happy.
---
Eating lunch with Brendon and Ryan is a little bit like seeing a sitcom in person. One of those romantic comedy shows that plays at 8 on Thursday nights and always has a romantic exclamation right before Sweeps.
Every day around one, Ryan tries to be cool and smart without seeming like the pretentious tool he is and fails miserably, and every day, Brendon doesn’t seem to notice, and his grin grows bigger and bigger. Despite it all - it all being Ryan having to tell every fucking single embarrassing childhood story that always involves Spencer doing something mortifying - it’s sort of adorable.
Even though Ryan’s not really the relationship type - in fact, he’s pretty infamous for just how bad he is at relationships - Spencer would bet good money on Brendon and Ryan holding hands and skipping through a field of daisies within a month.
“They’re kinda like new puppies,” a voice next to Spencer says, and warm air hits just under Spencer’s ear, making a shiver run through him. It’s quickly followed by something like a shiver of panic over being so unbelievably stupid.
And yeah, things with Jon are a little less white-picket-fence.
“You know,” Jon grins at Spencer as Brendon and Ryan laugh and play fight over the last French fry, “like how they’re precious, but you also sometimes just want five minutes to yourself?” To keep his words low, Jon leans in closer to Spencer. Their arms touch.
Spencer’s not a fucking middle school girl, though, so he wills himself not to lean up against Jon’s strong upper arm. “I take it Brendon won’t stop talking about Ryan, then?”
Jon grins. “Understatement. I may have to ban Ryan’s name, if Brendon keeps obsessing the way he is now.” He laughs. It’s easy and rich, and Spencer is so completely fucked.
To the side, Brendon has his head ducked down a little, a sly smile playing at his lips, and Spencer can see that Ryan’s fucking beaming. Spencer turns away.
He can’t think about how happy his best friend is right now with someone who doesn’t have a pretty girlfriend, and so he tries to change the subject - get his mind on something else, anything else. “So, uh, how’s work?”
He sounds like a fucking uncle at a family picnic, but it’s better than watching Ryan’s fingers linger against Brendon’s palm. He takes a long sip of his drink, trying to down his stupidity.
Jon doesn’t seem to notice what a social failure Spencer is, though, which is amazing and unbelievable, and he says, “Good. Pete lets us do pretty much anything we want as long as we get shit done and don’t open the door to the backroom when Mikey drags him in there.” Jon shakes his head, laughing. “This one time, Cassie had to get more Bud Light from the backroom and Mikey had just come back from some weird comic tour with his brother… Let’s just say that Pete’s apparently a lot more flexible than he looks.”
At the mention of Cassie’s name - the other bartender, Spencer remembers the fancy curve of the C on her nametag - Spencer takes another long sip of his drink. It’s just Dr. Pepper, but for some reason, it seems to help.
Spencer had seen the way that Cassie’s hand had cupped Jon’s face - a lot more obvious than the imagined flirting between him and Jon that Spencer had thought he’d been part of earlier that night.
“Hey, guys, Brendon wants to stop by the mail center before his next class, and I was gonna go with him,” Ryan says, interrupting Spencer’s thoughts of Jon’s perfect girlfriend. “I’ll see you back at the apartment later, Spence?”
Spencer nods, not really paying much attention to Ryan, lost in his own stupid problems that he knows he’s creating, but when Jon nudges Spencer’s shoulder, he sees how close Ryan and Brendon are as they walk out of the dining room and how Ryan keeps looking over at Brendon, smile so out of place after years of scowls.
When Jon meets Spencer’s eyes, a look in them that is strangely like the one that was shining in Brendon’s eyes - in Ryan’s - something inside Spencer sinks.
“So, how long have you known Cassie?” Spencer asks.
Jon’s brow furrows for a minute. He probably didn’t think he was being nearly as obvious as he was. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, I guess since she started working at Pete’s.”
“She seems nice,” Spencer says. He looks back down at his salad. The lettuce seems to be wilting, just to spite him.
“She’s great,” Jon says.
Spencer nods. “It must be nice working with her,” he says, because yeah, it probably is nice working with your girlfriend. Stealing kisses between rounds of beer. Having someone there to laugh with you and roll their eyes with you when a drunken frat boy throws up on your polo shirt.
The thought makes Spencer a little sick and more than a little jealous.
“I guess,” Jon agrees. He takes a bite of Ryan’s forgotten French fries. Of course he didn’t take the tray. Bastard. “I don’t have class the rest of the day. You don’t either, right?” Jon asks.
“No, I’m done,” Spencer says.
“Cool. You want to go get coffee or something?”
Spencer doesn’t know if he could handle that - handle his stupid crush sitting across from him drinking overpriced coffee and talking about just how great his life is without a type A Accounting major in it.
“I’m going to try and catch up on some work,” Spencer says, not meeting Jon’s eyes. Pity coffee non-dates aren’t really his thing. He gets up, gathering his stuff together. “I’ll probably see you at Pete’s or something this weekend. No doubt Ryan’ll drag me.”
“Yeah,” Jon says, and his voice doesn’t have the usual richness that makes Spencer think that maybe breaking up a couple and convincing a straight guy that homosexuality is for him isn’t a bad idea, after all, but he doesn’t give it much thought.
---
Tuesdays at Pete’s means Trivia Night. The fact that no one will be singing old Backstreet Boys songs is the only reason that Spencer agrees to go with Ryan. Well, that, and Ryan may have said “But Spencer, I need you on my team - you’re the smartest guy I know” complete with flutters of his eyelashes.
When they get to the barn, it looks exactly the same as the last time Spencer was there. The karaoke stuff is still up, the stage is still illuminated, and when Spencer looks toward the back, Jon is still behind the bar.
Of course, just as Spencer looks over, Jon looks up, their eyes meeting for a second, and when Jon gives Spencer a smile and wave, Spencer tries not to notice how his stupid heart starts beating fast fast fast.
He looks away.
“So, how do we do this?” Spencer asks Ryan, sitting down at a table far enough from the bar to be safe, but close enough to not seem like he’s avoiding Jon or anything. Because he’s not.
Ryan shrugs, sitting down and sprawling his legs up on another wooden chair. “Just write down the right answers when they ask.” His cheeks flush red for a moment. “And, uh, Brendon’s going to be on our team.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything beyond, “Isn’t he working tonight?”
“Not during Trivia,” Ryan says.
If Spencer is going to have to sit at a small, splinter-filled wood table while Brendon and Ryan make eyes at each other, he’s going to have to have some sort of drink. He stands up. “You want anything from the bar?”
Ryan nods as Spencer sees Brendon come up, and so he just moves toward the bar, laughing a little to himself as he hears Ryan stumble a little over a probably well-thought out greeting.
As Spencer approaches the bar, Jon is finishing up with a girl in her early twenties who is trying to manage a tray of jello shots in precariously high heels. He moves out of the way, just as she stumbles by.
“Twenty jello shots for you, then?” Jon asks, smiling up at Spencer, and Spencer’s heart does not skip a beat or anything else moronically clichéd. “You could probably get Ryan to down them all if you’re sneaky about it.”
It’d be great if Spencer could think of something clever and witty to say, but he’s pretty much resigned himself over to being neither when he’s around Jon. “Um, yeah. I’ll, uh, just take two PBRs and a Jack and Coke.” Jon’s smile has faltered a little - no doubt because of just how bad Spencer seems to be with simple communication, so he adds a “Please”, because manners mean some sort of understanding of human communication.
Jon nods, moving to get Spencer’s order. “Sure.” He’s humming a little to himself, and before Spencer can stop himself, he asks, “Do you ever sing karaoke?” He swallows, throat suddenly dry, as Jon looks over at him again. “Uh, you have a pretty good voice.”
The smile is back. “I’m not one for public embarrassment,” Jon says. He pours some Jack into a flimsy looking plastic cup. “Brendon tries to drag me up every once in a while, but he’s pretty ticklish. And Cassie sometimes tries.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. It makes sense that Cassie would want Jon to sing. Serenade her. Maybe sing a duet.
“You gonna sing tonight?”
Spencer frowns. “Ryan said that there wasn’t any karaoke tonight because of Trivia.” In fact, Spencer had made him swear a blood oath. Without the blood part. Ryan had a tendency to get squeamish, and Spencer hadn’t felt like cleaning up vomit along with blood.
“After Trivia, they’ll be a little bit. Can’t keep Brendon away from that damn stage.” Jon laughs, and Spencer thinks that he wouldn’t mind hearing that every day. When that hits him, he shakily takes his drinks and turns away from the bar.
Fuck, this avoidance of stupid gay crushes is not going well.
---
Trivia, as it turns out, is a lot more difficult than Spencer had thought.
He silently thanks his mother for forcing him to watch ten years of Jeopardy, but still, some of the questions are just plain ridiculous.
Who the hell knows what the longest, undammed blackwater U.S. river is, anyway?
“The Edisto River,” Brendon whispers into their hunched over attempt at privacy. Spencer just stares at him, because what?
“That’s not a river,” Spencer says. “Let’s just guess the Colorado River, or something. No one is going to know this.”
Spencer thinks that the Trivia Leader, someone with bright blue eyes and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude, Bob something, is just making shit up to see all the townies hurt their heads.
“I think Brendon’s right,” Ryan says, and Spencer shoots him an incredulous look.
“Whatever,” he says, and he watches as Brendon grins so fucking bright and writes down Edisto River in loopy, over exaggerated cursive.
“Sometimes Bob gives us hints when he compiles the questions,” Brendon says. “Jon and I like to poke him until he cracks.”
Spencer has only known Brendon for a short time - Ryan talks about him so much that it’s like he’s known Brendon for-fucking-ever - but already, Spencer’s developed a habit of tuning Brendon out. At Jon’s name, however, he jerks and listens closely.
“Bob loves us,” Brendon says, laughing. “But don’t tell the team next to us.” He points at a table where a couple of Hell’s Angel type are sitting. “I may be a savant with U.S. geography, but I’m pretty sure they could kick our asses.”
Ryan shakes his head, eyes wide and serious. “Spencer’s a bad ass. He can kill people with his mind.”
Brendon turns to Spencer at that, face delighted. “I guess it’s a good thing that you’re on my side, then, Spencer Smith. You have mind powers! You might even be able to help convince me to get Jon to sing. I have a theory that his range would be perfect for Peter Gabriel.”
“Uh,” Spencer says oh-so-eloquently. “I think that Jon is immune to my mind powers.”
Brendon’s grin turns the tiniest bit sneaky. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
And Spencer knows that Brendon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Even if he does know the longest blackwater, undammed river in the United States.
Bastard.
---
Spencer knows there was a time when everything he drank didn’t come from a pretty straight boy with really, really nice eyes. But, of course, the universe exists specifically to fuck Spencer over.
“You work at Starbucks, too?” Spencer asks, as the pre-teen boy with a fucking beanie moves so that Spencer can lean against the countertop. He can’t help the flirtatious tone that comes out, but he can at least lean back so he doesn’t look like he’s asking for Jon to fuck him next to the day-old muffins.
“Gotta pay the bills,” Jon says. “You want me to slip some liquor into your coffee? Irish it up a bit?”
Spencer laughs. It comes easy for once, without any sort of second guessing, and Spencer thinks for a moment that in another reality, at a different time or a different place, he and Jon could have been great friends. Now, though, there’s an aching absence of something that Spencer knows he will never have.
“Just regular coffee. I have to be sober enough to get through midterms,” Spencer says. “I can’t wait for this all to be over so I can get wasted and forget that numbers even exist.”
Jon nods. “Ryan said that you’re pretty stressed out.”
“When did you talk to Ryan?” Spencer asks, but all he can think about is that Jon is apparently interested enough to remember things about him. But he can’t really think too much into it. He really shouldn’t.
“It always seems like he’s over nowadays,” Jon says. Spencer watches as Jon picks up a cup and starts doodling on the side. Behind him, Spencer is aware that other customers are starting to get antsy.
“Yeah, well, Honeymoon Stage and all that,” Spencer says. He pulls out his wallet, ready to pay, because the girl behind him has started bitching about the guy in front of her who won’t stop flirting with the obnoxious pink shirt (and Spencer loves this shirt, thank you very much). “How much?”
“On the house,” Jon says, and Spencer knows - he really does know - that it’s just a friend thing, but two minutes later, when he gets his coffee, and there’s little flowers sprouting out from his name, he still feels his heart thud dangerously fast in his chest, and he smiles at Jon before the door swings shut behind him.
---
It was a bad idea. Spencer knew it was when Gabe had suggested it, but for some reason, Spencer found himself completely wasted on Thursday night. Well, afternoon, sort of.
Finishing midterms with a functional brain definitely deserves some sort of alcoholic reward.
When Ryan comes in a little after seven, he takes one look at Spencer and Gabe sitting next to a row of recently downed shot glasses and laughs. “Good for you, Spencer,” Ryan says, and when Ryan talks, he seems a little fuzzy around the edges. He also isn’t making much sense.
Spencer’s really fucking drunk.
“What’s good for Spencer?” Gabe asks, and Spencer nods his head thankfully at Gabe, because Gabe has his back. He really, really does.
“Jon would be good for me,” Spencer says. Fuck. He closes his mouth quickly, but the words had already left. Whatever happened to internal conversations? “Forget that. I didn’t say anything.”
Ryan laughs delightedly, though. “I told Brendon you liked him!”
He sounds smug, as if he had figured out something difficult, but Spencer just frowns. “You talked to Brendon about me and Jon?” That’s not right. No, that’s wrong. Very wrong. Wrong like pickles and peanut butter wrong.
“Well, yeah,” Ryan says, shrugging, and Spencer feels something like anger and embarrassment swirling through him. “I was just over at his apartment. He lives like right around the corner, you know, and-”
“Where?” Spencer demands. Well, he tries to demand. The words come out more like a slip-n-slide.
Next to him, Gabe is humming to himself and texting someone - probably Victoria - and he says, “Spencer, Spencer, you have a boyfriend?”
Spencer ignores him. “Where does he live?”
Ryan’s biting his lip now. It’s something he does when he thinks he’s fucked up in some way, and Spencer’s glad, because yeah, he shouldn’t be talking to Brendon about him, and Spencer can’t wait to tell Brendon to mind his own fucking business. He just hopes that he can get all the words out before the fuzzy sides of the room move in on him.
“Spence, how about we just play video games or something else, instead, huh?” Ryan suggests.
“No.” Spencer stands up and shakes his head at the same time. It’s kinda a bad idea, and he’s really dizzy for a disorienting moment. “I need to tell Brendon that I do not like his straight roommate.”
Ryan looks worried and confused, and before he can say anything, Gabe stands up and says, “Dude, I know Brendon! He’s got this amazing ass.”
Ryan glares. “You know Brendon? Like you know Brendon?”
Gabe laughs, loud and abrasive. It’s too loud. Spencer tells him to shhhh. “Fuck, I wish. But no.” Ryan looks relieved. “I did make out with him that one time, though,” Gabe adds. “Good kisser.” Ryan’s red face is back at that. “But, Spencer, I know where he lives!” Gabe says it joyfully, and Spencer thinks that it’s a good thing that Gabe is so smart.
He looks at Gabe and says, “Let’s go. I want to talk to him.” It’s important that he tells Brendon the truth. Well, not the truth, but it’s important that he tells Brendon what’s not going to bite him in the ass.
Ryan makes a noise of objection, but Spencer pulls Gabe out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
He doesn’t really remember much about the walk over, but it’s not like he has to make a fucking map or anything, so he just let’s Gabe lead him, and when they stop, he sways a little as Gabe knocks on the door.
When the paint-chipped door opens and Jon is standing on the other side of it, Spencer forgets what he was going to say.
Next to him, Gabe says, “Jon!” and then pushes past him, saying, “I’m gonna pee, but I’ll be back, motherfuckers!”
Jon’s face isn’t nearly as blurry as Ryan’s, but it’s still disorienting, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do.
“Brendon thinks I like you,” Spencer says, because apparently that’s all he can think of to say. He stumbles for a moment, and he reaches out to sturdy himself, grabbing a hold of Jon’s shoulder. Jon’s skin is warm through the t-shirt he’s wearing. “But you have a girlfriend.”
“I, what? Spencer-”
“And liking a straight guy is never okay,” Spencer says. Jon’s lips look soft. His skin is warm and his lips are soft, and Spencer doesn’t know what goes into his decision, but the last thing he can remember before the blackness is leaning forward jerkily and having Jon’s lips on his, and that they were just as soft as they looked.
---
Spencer wakes up with a hangover.
He wakes up with a glass of water next to him. He wakes up to seven missed calls from Ryan on his cell phone. He wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, but most of all, he wakes up with Jon standing next to him.
“Oh, fuck,” Spencer groans, burying his face in the pillow that is most likely Jon’s pillow.
This is not good.
“You need some aspirin?” Jon asks.
What Spencer really needs is a time machine. And a new life. Possibly a shotgun.
“Can we just pretend like I didn’t come over here last night and yell at you and then try to make out with you?” Spencer asks, mortified.
“You didn’t really yell at me,” Jon says. There’s a laugh in his voice, but Spencer doesn’t see anything funny about anything right now.
“Let’s forget it, and I’ll just go.”
Spencer tries to get out of the bed, but Jon’s warm, strong hand stops him. “Spence, don’t run away. Don’t be embarrassed.”
Spencer really doesn’t want to listen to an ‘everything-is-okay-talk’ where Jon is all sweet and perfect about a completely horrible and embarrassing event.
“Jon. Please. Let’s not do this. I like you. You’re dating Cassie. And straight. And-”
Jon interrupts. “Spencer, what are you talking about?”
Spencer looks away. “You’re with Cassie.”
“No, I’m not,” Jon says, and for some reason, he’s fucking smiling.
“Yes, you are,” Spencer insists. “You’re straight, and you’re dating Cassie.”
“No, I’m not,” Jon repeats. “Spencer, the first night I met you, I was trying to flirt with you. And you made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested.”
Spencer furrows his eyebrows. This wasn’t helping his hangover at all. “You were just being a bartender,” Spencer says. “You weren’t flirting.”
Jon laughs. “Well, apparently not well.”
“But you-” Spencer starts to say, but for the second time, Jon interrupts Spencer, but this time, it isn’t with words. Instead, it’s Jon’s lips that stop Spencer’s babble.
“Spencer, shut up,” Jon says, leaning in to kiss Spencer again - morning breath and all.
---
(Epilogue)
“We are not double dating with Brendon and Ryan,” Spencer tells Jon. “I don’t care how big the puppy dog eyes were that Brendon gave you, that is the worst idea of all time.”
Jon shakes his head, and pours Spencer another Jack and Coke, nodding at a girl at the other end of the bar, telling her he’ll be with her in a second. “It’s not like it would be any different from any other day, really.”
“And it’s bad enough already,” Spencer objects.
“Stop being an asshole, Spence,” Jon says, leaning over the bar to give Spencer a quick kiss before he moves to the help the other customers.
Spencer glares, but he smiles, too. He can’t help it.
On the stage, Brendon is singing, fucking serenading Ryan as he stands to the side, looking up with a wide smile, but Spencer feels even luckier as Jon comes back and winks at him.
“Thank you for not singing me a song like a douche bag,” Spencer says, and Jon laughs.
Brendon sings, “And I breathe just for you,” and as Jon kisses him again, Spencer thinks this is all he needs.
Author: ivesia19
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spencer/Jon (side Brendon/Ryan and tiny Pete/Mikey)
POV: 3rd limited (Spencer)
Summary: Karaoke bar AU Or the one where Spencer doesn’t get serenaded - I promise.
Disclaimer: AU. Fiction. False. Fabrication. Other “f” words. (The title is taken from Joss Whedon. With love.)
Author Notes: Written for the joncerjumpstart and especially for silver-etoile, who makes Joncer what it is for me. ♥
***
“College is a useless concept,” Ryan says for the fifth time this semester from where he’s lying on the futon, feet pressed up against the wall. “I don’t know why you bother, Spencer. It’s just a waste of time.”
Spencer huffs, trying to ignore his roommate and best friend of eighteen years and focuses back on his Accounting book. “I’m not going to engage in this conversation with you, because I know that you are fully aware of how fucking stupid you sound right now,” he says, flicking his eyes over to watch Ryan eat a stick of beef jerky. It seems as though the vegetarian thing is over, then. “Shouldn’t you be studying? It’s midterms.”
Ryan makes some sort of unconcerned humming and flicks the plastic from his jerky to the side of the futon, making Spencer clench his fist. Is it really that hard to throw it in the trash can three feet away?
“If you really think about it,” Ryan muses through a half-full mouth, “college is just an invention to prolong adolescence.”
“Then you should love it,” Spencer says. “You’re like Peter fucking Pan or some shit.” He shakes his head and flips a page, the numbers swirling around his head, and he thinks not for the first or last time that he should have just majored in Communications or something else easy. “Last night you were out until three singing shitty songs at that new karaoke place.”
Spencer had been up studying for his midterm while Ryan was belting out Queen or some other retro pop hit. Fucking Ryan.
“You need to actually study or go to class, Ryan, or you’re going to fail and end up mooching off of me for the rest of your life.” Spencer has every reason to be concerned, because no matter how overdramatic he sounds right now, he knows that his fears aren’t unwarranted.
Ryan just shrugs, though, stretches his legs out, and says, “It’s Thursday night, Spence. Come out tonight. You need to unwind a little. All this studying is going to hurt you, in the long run.”
Despite the fact that Spencer knows there is no possibility that Ryan could actually have a well-thought out argument for that ridiculous statement, he still asks, “And how the fuck did you come to such an enlightening discovery?”
“I always do fine,” Ryan says, and it’s true. Somehow, Spencer thinks only a little viciously, his dirty hippie of a best friend always passes everything without really trying. “Besides,” Ryan continues, “if you study too much, you’ll overflow your brain. You need a break.”
Spencer shakes his head. “Why don’t you take a break, Ryan? I’ll stay here and study so I can support us both when you eventually end up on the streets.”
Ryan doesn’t seem to be bothered by Spencer’s words. He stands up and peers over Spencer’s shoulder, looking down at all the numbers, and Spencer wonders if they make any more sense to Ryan than they do to him.
“That shit is like a fucking alien language,” Ryan says closing the book shut, and Spencer thinks apparently not. “Come on, let’s go to Pete’s.”
Spencer goes to open the book again, because he really does need to keep his grades up if he’s going to keep his scholarship, but Ryan’s faster. He grabs the book out of Spencer’s fingers and hurls it behind him. Spencer watches as the book skids across the floor, landing with a bent spine against the television stand.
“Hey!” Spencer says, but his objection is broken short as Ryan pulls him out of the chair.
“Believe me,” Ryan says. “You’ll be thanking me for this when you don’t have a nervous breakdown sometime next week.”
Ryan pulls Spencer toward the hall closet, releases him for a moment, and then throws the coat that he pulled out of the closet at Spencer.
“I just don’t see why you love this stupid karaoke place so much,” Spencer huffs as he puts his jacket on. It’ll do him no good to object. Not when Ryan is really set on something. Spencer’s been friends with Ryan for long enough to know that when he has a mission, he won’t stop until he’s won. It strange, really, considering the fact that Spencer doesn’t think he’s seen Ryan go to class in over a week.
“It’s fun,” Ryan says, leaning into the closet to grab his own coat, but just before his face vanishes behind the wood door, Spencer thinks he can see a faint blush of red bloom on Ryan’s cheeks. When Ryan comes back with his jacket seconds later, though, he looks normal.
“I’m only staying for an hour,” Spencer says, conceding that his night of studying isn’t going to go as planned.
Ryan nods distractedly as he searches for his keys. Ryan is always losing his keys. “Sure thing.”
“And I’m not singing,” Spencer says firmly. There is no way in hell that he’s going to get up in front of a bunch of townies and belt out some Mariah Carey.
He looks back over at the floor where his Accounting book is taunting him, spine only a little bit broken from the impact of Ryan’s throw.
“Okay, let’s go,” Ryan says, and his voice is more excited than Spencer’s heard it in weeks. It almost makes Spencer curious about this Pete’s Bar, just to see what it has that keeps Ryan coming back.
Ryan opens the door, car keys jingling in his hand, and Spencer sighs, turns the lights off, and closes the door behind Ryan.
---
Pete’s Bar and Grille isn’t far from Ryan and Spencer’s apartment right outside the college. It’s strategically placed close enough to the campus so that students who are ‘definitely okay to drive home’ don’t have to worry about too many miles between them and a DUI, and it’s far enough away that townies flock there, too.
Sometimes, when Spencer thinks about just why Ryan loves this stupid bar so much, he comes to the conclusion that Ryan probably just misses being the smartest person in any given room now that he’s in college and the townies look up to him and write down words he says on old receipts to look up later in the dictionary. Or something.
The bar itself is shaped like a barn with dark red wooden panels and a hitched up roof. As Ryan pulls into the unpaved parking lot, dust kicking up as they go, Spencer sincerely thinks about knocking Ryan unconscious and driving them back to the apartment. There is no way is he going into a barn. Karaoke is bad enough. Spencer doesn’t want to sit on a haystack or something equally as terrible.
“Seriously, Ryan?” Spencer asks just as Ryan parks the car. “A barn?”
Ryan shrugs. “I like it here. Besides, the inside is better.” He unbuckles his seat belt and opens the door, and Spencer follows, slamming the door a little harder than is probably necessary behind him.
“There better not be any animals,” Spencer says.
“Why would there be animals in a bar?” Ryan asks, but he doesn’t wait for anyone to answer - as if anyone would - and goes to open the door to the bar for Spencer.
The inside of the barn bar is bigger than Spencer had been expecting. The bar is set up toward the back, right in front of them, and to the left, there’s a stage set up with three microphone stands and bright lights shining down facing a sea of cafeteria style looking wooden tables and chairs.
“Karaoke starts in five,” Ryan says as Spencer looks around. “I’ll go grab us some beers. Find a table. Or go put in a request for a song.”
Spencer glares and walks off to find a table. He picks one close enough to the stage so that he can snap some incriminating pictures with his iPhone in case Ryan decides to sing, but far enough away so that Ryan can’t pull him up, too.
The bar is more crowded than Spencer had been expecting. It’s still pretty early, really, but maybe people just really like karaoke. It’s possible. Completely insane and moronic, but possible.
God, he hopes no one sings a love song to their wife or husband or life partner. Spencer cannot deal with that. Especially since the last bit of action he’s seen was when Gabe tried to drunkenly unhook Spencer’s non-existent bra.
“Hope you like PBR,” Ryan says, setting down two bottles of beer in front of them. Spencer actually doesn’t like PBR, but he should have said something sooner, because it’s not like Ryan was going to get anything other than the Indie Hip Drink of the Month.
“Thanks,” he says and takes a sip. He might as well, if Ryan’s paying, and then a thought hits him, because Ryan never pays. “You’re not trying to get me drunk so that do something stupid like sing, are you?” he asks.
Ryan blinks. “I would never do something so devious,” he says, face blank and voice flat, and Spencer’s known Ryan just long enough to know for certain that Ryan deserves a smack on the shoulder. “Ow,” Ryan says, holding his arm, but Spencer just grins.
Just as he’s about to give Ryan another lecture on exactly why he will never, without a doubt, sing karaoke, Ryan shushes him, and the light on the stage grows brighter as a person hops up.
The guy on the stage is pretty short, and the first thing he does is go up to the middle microphone stand and lower it a few inches. He seems to be bouncing with a vibrant sort of energy as he scans the crowd, and when his eyes move over the table where Spencer and Ryan are sitting, his face breaks out in the largest, most ridiculous smile Spencer’s ever seen.
Beside him, when Spencer looks, Ryan has gone red, and Spencer laughs a little, because of course Ryan’s newfound love for karaoke has nothing to do with 90s Billboard hits and everything to do with a guy with full lips and dark eyes. Fucking typical.
“That guy’s pretty hot,” Spencer says low, out of the corner of his mouth, to Ryan, who is still looking up at the stage.
Ryan coughs a little, clears his throat, and suddenly, when he turns around to face Spencer, the dreamy, glazed over expression is gone. “I guess,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
Yeah, right. Whatever.
Spencer turns his attention back to the stage, where Ryan’s obvious crush is opening the stage for karaoke.
“Welcome, everyone! Welcome to Pete’s. My name is Brendon.” The voice is rich and loud, and he smiles at everyone, but his eyes keep darting back to Ryan. It’s all so obvious that Spencer wants to smack his head against the probably fake wood-grain table. “Karaoke is going to start in just one minute, but first, since it’s our favorite bartender’s birthday, I’d like to dedicate this song to him. Sing along, if you know it. And buy him a shot!”
“He’s working tonight, Urie!” a voice calls out, and Brendon laughs.
“Alright, Pete!” Brendon salutes, and then he says, “Buy yourself an extra shot or two, then, in his honor and leave him an obscene tip.” He grins so bright, and Ryan lets out something suspiciously close to a happy sigh next to Spencer. “Better?”
“Much,” a voice from the back agrees. Pete, apparently. “Double tips for the birthday boy!”
Brendon laughs at that and says, “Oh, don’t turn red, Jon.”
Spencer turns at that, just to see just how red this poor bartender is, because if this were him, he’d be both bright red and furious.
The light in the bar is pretty dim, but the bright lights from the stage cast rays that gleam off of the bottles, and when Spencer turns, he knows that it must be the strange way the light is thrown that makes his breath hitch, because really, the bartender isn’t that hot. He’s short and scruffy, and he’s smiling up at the stage and Brendon with an easy smile and a wave of his hand. Spencer takes a sip of his watered down beer and turns back around.
Brendon is singing on stage, belting out The Beatles “Birthday Song”, and he’s good. He’s really good, even, but Spencer can’t really force himself to tell Ryan that even though it’ll probably make him blush and try to stoically agree. For some reason, all of his energy is focused on not turning the fuck around to look at a stupid pretty bartender who is most likely a high school dropout who has no life aspirations besides learning how to throw and catch a handle of vodka blindfolded.
Still, right when Brendon finishes the song and says, “Anyone who wants to sing is now invited to sign up,” while he looks straight at Ryan, beaming, Spencer tells Ryan, “I’m gonna go get us two more beers.”
Ryan waves his hand distractedly, already standing up, and when Spencer moves toward the bar, he tries not to stare down the bartender. Thankfully, Jon seems to be busy making drinks, so he doesn’t notice just how much Spencer is failing.
Spencer gets to the bar and leans against the countertop, trying to look good but also look like he’s not trying to make sure that his hip is perfectly cocked and his good side is showing. It only takes a couple of seconds of Spencer flicking the hair out of his eyes for the bartender to get to him.
“You’re a new face,” Jon says, and up close, Spencer can see that the bartender’s eyes are soft and dark brown. There’s something so trusting about them, something that makes Spencer feel like leaning over the bar so he can be just the tiniest bit closer to this guy that he doesn’t even know.
“I’m not one for karaoke,” Spencer says.
Jon smiles at that. “Me neither.” He points his chin over at Brendon, who is grinning on the side of the stage at a pretty horribly off-pitch thirty-something business person. “We can’t all be like Brendon.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, because it’s the first thing that comes out. It sounds pretty stupid though, and even though Jon seems to want to make at least some sort of conversation despite there being other people waiting at the bar and the other bartender is glaring at Jon, frazzled, Spencer tries to recover from his stupidity by saying, “I’ll, um, have two PBRs, please.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jon says. He nods, smile faltering for a second. “Just one second.”
Fuck, Spencer thinks. He doesn’t want Jon to think he isn’t interested in talking or, you know, more.
It’s not like he’d say no.
When Jon comes back with the two beers and says, “Five Dollars,” Spencer tries to throw him one of his patented Spencer Smith Smiles.
Jon either doesn’t notice or it doesn’t affect him, because he grabs the money without a second look.
---
Ryan ends up singing, but Spencer doesn’t. Spencer watches as Ryan sings “Penny Lane” and looks at Brendon the whole time with what could probably be called by a lame person as hearts in his eyes, and Spencer tries not to say anything more than “Great job” when Ryan sits down, even though he was a little pitchy and zoned out for a couple of measures somewhere there in the middle.
When they leave the bar, Spencer has been sitting at the same table for two hours, only getting up to go to the bathroom, and every time he had passed the bar, he made it a point not to make eye contact with Jon. It’s stupid, but he feels a little embarrassed even though he didn’t really flirt with the bartender or anything. Still, he makes Ryan get the rest of the drinks, handing him money and pushing him toward the bar.
“Did you have fun?” Ryan asks Spencer as they walk toward the car in the dusty parking lot. Ryan’s wearing a small smile on his face - just the tiniest upturn of his lips.
“Yeah,” Spencer says. He doesn’t want to bother Ryan with stupid miscommunications.
“Good,” Ryan says. They’re close to the car now, and as Spencer rounds the hood, he can see the bartender, Jon, sitting in the front seat of the car next to him. There’s a girl in the driver’s seat - the other bartender - and Spencer sees her kiss Jon’s cheek.
Now Spencer feels even more stupid, because of course Jon’s straight. Of course he wasn’t flirting. He was just being a bartender - doing what bartenders do to get good tips, and Spencer must be lonelier than he thought if he’s willing to read into a smile from any guy who looks him straight in the eye.
Spencer gets into the car, and just as they drive away, Spencer catches Jon’s eye for one long second that makes his chest constrict and his face flame.
He steps harder on the gas.
---
It turns out, Spencer finds out later, that Brendon actually goes to college with them.
“He’s a music major,” Ryan says as grabs a handful of popcorn from the large bowl in front of Spencer.
“Makes sense,” Spencer comments, eyes focused on the screen and the stupid, pretentious Indie movie that Ryan swore wouldn’t make his head hurt.
Stupid Ryan.
“We actually have the same lunch schedule as him,” Ryan continues. “I told him he should eat with us sometime.”
Spencer doesn’t really want to eat with a hyperactive karaoke diva every day, but he doesn’t tell Ryan that, and if Brendon makes Ryan happy, then he’s not going to complain. “Sure,” he says.
“And his roommate, too,” Ryan says. “You know him, right? That bartender.”
Of fucking course Spencer thinks bitterly. Of course the universe wants to make this as embarrassing as possible by prolonging the awkwardness of maybe picturing a straight guy fucking him over a bar.
“Sounds fun,” Spencer says without any inflection in his voice, but Ryan doesn’t notice and just smiles.
At least someone is happy.
---
Eating lunch with Brendon and Ryan is a little bit like seeing a sitcom in person. One of those romantic comedy shows that plays at 8 on Thursday nights and always has a romantic exclamation right before Sweeps.
Every day around one, Ryan tries to be cool and smart without seeming like the pretentious tool he is and fails miserably, and every day, Brendon doesn’t seem to notice, and his grin grows bigger and bigger. Despite it all - it all being Ryan having to tell every fucking single embarrassing childhood story that always involves Spencer doing something mortifying - it’s sort of adorable.
Even though Ryan’s not really the relationship type - in fact, he’s pretty infamous for just how bad he is at relationships - Spencer would bet good money on Brendon and Ryan holding hands and skipping through a field of daisies within a month.
“They’re kinda like new puppies,” a voice next to Spencer says, and warm air hits just under Spencer’s ear, making a shiver run through him. It’s quickly followed by something like a shiver of panic over being so unbelievably stupid.
And yeah, things with Jon are a little less white-picket-fence.
“You know,” Jon grins at Spencer as Brendon and Ryan laugh and play fight over the last French fry, “like how they’re precious, but you also sometimes just want five minutes to yourself?” To keep his words low, Jon leans in closer to Spencer. Their arms touch.
Spencer’s not a fucking middle school girl, though, so he wills himself not to lean up against Jon’s strong upper arm. “I take it Brendon won’t stop talking about Ryan, then?”
Jon grins. “Understatement. I may have to ban Ryan’s name, if Brendon keeps obsessing the way he is now.” He laughs. It’s easy and rich, and Spencer is so completely fucked.
To the side, Brendon has his head ducked down a little, a sly smile playing at his lips, and Spencer can see that Ryan’s fucking beaming. Spencer turns away.
He can’t think about how happy his best friend is right now with someone who doesn’t have a pretty girlfriend, and so he tries to change the subject - get his mind on something else, anything else. “So, uh, how’s work?”
He sounds like a fucking uncle at a family picnic, but it’s better than watching Ryan’s fingers linger against Brendon’s palm. He takes a long sip of his drink, trying to down his stupidity.
Jon doesn’t seem to notice what a social failure Spencer is, though, which is amazing and unbelievable, and he says, “Good. Pete lets us do pretty much anything we want as long as we get shit done and don’t open the door to the backroom when Mikey drags him in there.” Jon shakes his head, laughing. “This one time, Cassie had to get more Bud Light from the backroom and Mikey had just come back from some weird comic tour with his brother… Let’s just say that Pete’s apparently a lot more flexible than he looks.”
At the mention of Cassie’s name - the other bartender, Spencer remembers the fancy curve of the C on her nametag - Spencer takes another long sip of his drink. It’s just Dr. Pepper, but for some reason, it seems to help.
Spencer had seen the way that Cassie’s hand had cupped Jon’s face - a lot more obvious than the imagined flirting between him and Jon that Spencer had thought he’d been part of earlier that night.
“Hey, guys, Brendon wants to stop by the mail center before his next class, and I was gonna go with him,” Ryan says, interrupting Spencer’s thoughts of Jon’s perfect girlfriend. “I’ll see you back at the apartment later, Spence?”
Spencer nods, not really paying much attention to Ryan, lost in his own stupid problems that he knows he’s creating, but when Jon nudges Spencer’s shoulder, he sees how close Ryan and Brendon are as they walk out of the dining room and how Ryan keeps looking over at Brendon, smile so out of place after years of scowls.
When Jon meets Spencer’s eyes, a look in them that is strangely like the one that was shining in Brendon’s eyes - in Ryan’s - something inside Spencer sinks.
“So, how long have you known Cassie?” Spencer asks.
Jon’s brow furrows for a minute. He probably didn’t think he was being nearly as obvious as he was. “Oh,” he says. “Uh, I guess since she started working at Pete’s.”
“She seems nice,” Spencer says. He looks back down at his salad. The lettuce seems to be wilting, just to spite him.
“She’s great,” Jon says.
Spencer nods. “It must be nice working with her,” he says, because yeah, it probably is nice working with your girlfriend. Stealing kisses between rounds of beer. Having someone there to laugh with you and roll their eyes with you when a drunken frat boy throws up on your polo shirt.
The thought makes Spencer a little sick and more than a little jealous.
“I guess,” Jon agrees. He takes a bite of Ryan’s forgotten French fries. Of course he didn’t take the tray. Bastard. “I don’t have class the rest of the day. You don’t either, right?” Jon asks.
“No, I’m done,” Spencer says.
“Cool. You want to go get coffee or something?”
Spencer doesn’t know if he could handle that - handle his stupid crush sitting across from him drinking overpriced coffee and talking about just how great his life is without a type A Accounting major in it.
“I’m going to try and catch up on some work,” Spencer says, not meeting Jon’s eyes. Pity coffee non-dates aren’t really his thing. He gets up, gathering his stuff together. “I’ll probably see you at Pete’s or something this weekend. No doubt Ryan’ll drag me.”
“Yeah,” Jon says, and his voice doesn’t have the usual richness that makes Spencer think that maybe breaking up a couple and convincing a straight guy that homosexuality is for him isn’t a bad idea, after all, but he doesn’t give it much thought.
---
Tuesdays at Pete’s means Trivia Night. The fact that no one will be singing old Backstreet Boys songs is the only reason that Spencer agrees to go with Ryan. Well, that, and Ryan may have said “But Spencer, I need you on my team - you’re the smartest guy I know” complete with flutters of his eyelashes.
When they get to the barn, it looks exactly the same as the last time Spencer was there. The karaoke stuff is still up, the stage is still illuminated, and when Spencer looks toward the back, Jon is still behind the bar.
Of course, just as Spencer looks over, Jon looks up, their eyes meeting for a second, and when Jon gives Spencer a smile and wave, Spencer tries not to notice how his stupid heart starts beating fast fast fast.
He looks away.
“So, how do we do this?” Spencer asks Ryan, sitting down at a table far enough from the bar to be safe, but close enough to not seem like he’s avoiding Jon or anything. Because he’s not.
Ryan shrugs, sitting down and sprawling his legs up on another wooden chair. “Just write down the right answers when they ask.” His cheeks flush red for a moment. “And, uh, Brendon’s going to be on our team.”
Spencer raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything beyond, “Isn’t he working tonight?”
“Not during Trivia,” Ryan says.
If Spencer is going to have to sit at a small, splinter-filled wood table while Brendon and Ryan make eyes at each other, he’s going to have to have some sort of drink. He stands up. “You want anything from the bar?”
Ryan nods as Spencer sees Brendon come up, and so he just moves toward the bar, laughing a little to himself as he hears Ryan stumble a little over a probably well-thought out greeting.
As Spencer approaches the bar, Jon is finishing up with a girl in her early twenties who is trying to manage a tray of jello shots in precariously high heels. He moves out of the way, just as she stumbles by.
“Twenty jello shots for you, then?” Jon asks, smiling up at Spencer, and Spencer’s heart does not skip a beat or anything else moronically clichéd. “You could probably get Ryan to down them all if you’re sneaky about it.”
It’d be great if Spencer could think of something clever and witty to say, but he’s pretty much resigned himself over to being neither when he’s around Jon. “Um, yeah. I’ll, uh, just take two PBRs and a Jack and Coke.” Jon’s smile has faltered a little - no doubt because of just how bad Spencer seems to be with simple communication, so he adds a “Please”, because manners mean some sort of understanding of human communication.
Jon nods, moving to get Spencer’s order. “Sure.” He’s humming a little to himself, and before Spencer can stop himself, he asks, “Do you ever sing karaoke?” He swallows, throat suddenly dry, as Jon looks over at him again. “Uh, you have a pretty good voice.”
The smile is back. “I’m not one for public embarrassment,” Jon says. He pours some Jack into a flimsy looking plastic cup. “Brendon tries to drag me up every once in a while, but he’s pretty ticklish. And Cassie sometimes tries.”
“Oh,” Spencer says. It makes sense that Cassie would want Jon to sing. Serenade her. Maybe sing a duet.
“You gonna sing tonight?”
Spencer frowns. “Ryan said that there wasn’t any karaoke tonight because of Trivia.” In fact, Spencer had made him swear a blood oath. Without the blood part. Ryan had a tendency to get squeamish, and Spencer hadn’t felt like cleaning up vomit along with blood.
“After Trivia, they’ll be a little bit. Can’t keep Brendon away from that damn stage.” Jon laughs, and Spencer thinks that he wouldn’t mind hearing that every day. When that hits him, he shakily takes his drinks and turns away from the bar.
Fuck, this avoidance of stupid gay crushes is not going well.
---
Trivia, as it turns out, is a lot more difficult than Spencer had thought.
He silently thanks his mother for forcing him to watch ten years of Jeopardy, but still, some of the questions are just plain ridiculous.
Who the hell knows what the longest, undammed blackwater U.S. river is, anyway?
“The Edisto River,” Brendon whispers into their hunched over attempt at privacy. Spencer just stares at him, because what?
“That’s not a river,” Spencer says. “Let’s just guess the Colorado River, or something. No one is going to know this.”
Spencer thinks that the Trivia Leader, someone with bright blue eyes and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude, Bob something, is just making shit up to see all the townies hurt their heads.
“I think Brendon’s right,” Ryan says, and Spencer shoots him an incredulous look.
“Whatever,” he says, and he watches as Brendon grins so fucking bright and writes down Edisto River in loopy, over exaggerated cursive.
“Sometimes Bob gives us hints when he compiles the questions,” Brendon says. “Jon and I like to poke him until he cracks.”
Spencer has only known Brendon for a short time - Ryan talks about him so much that it’s like he’s known Brendon for-fucking-ever - but already, Spencer’s developed a habit of tuning Brendon out. At Jon’s name, however, he jerks and listens closely.
“Bob loves us,” Brendon says, laughing. “But don’t tell the team next to us.” He points at a table where a couple of Hell’s Angel type are sitting. “I may be a savant with U.S. geography, but I’m pretty sure they could kick our asses.”
Ryan shakes his head, eyes wide and serious. “Spencer’s a bad ass. He can kill people with his mind.”
Brendon turns to Spencer at that, face delighted. “I guess it’s a good thing that you’re on my side, then, Spencer Smith. You have mind powers! You might even be able to help convince me to get Jon to sing. I have a theory that his range would be perfect for Peter Gabriel.”
“Uh,” Spencer says oh-so-eloquently. “I think that Jon is immune to my mind powers.”
Brendon’s grin turns the tiniest bit sneaky. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
And Spencer knows that Brendon doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Even if he does know the longest blackwater, undammed river in the United States.
Bastard.
---
Spencer knows there was a time when everything he drank didn’t come from a pretty straight boy with really, really nice eyes. But, of course, the universe exists specifically to fuck Spencer over.
“You work at Starbucks, too?” Spencer asks, as the pre-teen boy with a fucking beanie moves so that Spencer can lean against the countertop. He can’t help the flirtatious tone that comes out, but he can at least lean back so he doesn’t look like he’s asking for Jon to fuck him next to the day-old muffins.
“Gotta pay the bills,” Jon says. “You want me to slip some liquor into your coffee? Irish it up a bit?”
Spencer laughs. It comes easy for once, without any sort of second guessing, and Spencer thinks for a moment that in another reality, at a different time or a different place, he and Jon could have been great friends. Now, though, there’s an aching absence of something that Spencer knows he will never have.
“Just regular coffee. I have to be sober enough to get through midterms,” Spencer says. “I can’t wait for this all to be over so I can get wasted and forget that numbers even exist.”
Jon nods. “Ryan said that you’re pretty stressed out.”
“When did you talk to Ryan?” Spencer asks, but all he can think about is that Jon is apparently interested enough to remember things about him. But he can’t really think too much into it. He really shouldn’t.
“It always seems like he’s over nowadays,” Jon says. Spencer watches as Jon picks up a cup and starts doodling on the side. Behind him, Spencer is aware that other customers are starting to get antsy.
“Yeah, well, Honeymoon Stage and all that,” Spencer says. He pulls out his wallet, ready to pay, because the girl behind him has started bitching about the guy in front of her who won’t stop flirting with the obnoxious pink shirt (and Spencer loves this shirt, thank you very much). “How much?”
“On the house,” Jon says, and Spencer knows - he really does know - that it’s just a friend thing, but two minutes later, when he gets his coffee, and there’s little flowers sprouting out from his name, he still feels his heart thud dangerously fast in his chest, and he smiles at Jon before the door swings shut behind him.
---
It was a bad idea. Spencer knew it was when Gabe had suggested it, but for some reason, Spencer found himself completely wasted on Thursday night. Well, afternoon, sort of.
Finishing midterms with a functional brain definitely deserves some sort of alcoholic reward.
When Ryan comes in a little after seven, he takes one look at Spencer and Gabe sitting next to a row of recently downed shot glasses and laughs. “Good for you, Spencer,” Ryan says, and when Ryan talks, he seems a little fuzzy around the edges. He also isn’t making much sense.
Spencer’s really fucking drunk.
“What’s good for Spencer?” Gabe asks, and Spencer nods his head thankfully at Gabe, because Gabe has his back. He really, really does.
“Jon would be good for me,” Spencer says. Fuck. He closes his mouth quickly, but the words had already left. Whatever happened to internal conversations? “Forget that. I didn’t say anything.”
Ryan laughs delightedly, though. “I told Brendon you liked him!”
He sounds smug, as if he had figured out something difficult, but Spencer just frowns. “You talked to Brendon about me and Jon?” That’s not right. No, that’s wrong. Very wrong. Wrong like pickles and peanut butter wrong.
“Well, yeah,” Ryan says, shrugging, and Spencer feels something like anger and embarrassment swirling through him. “I was just over at his apartment. He lives like right around the corner, you know, and-”
“Where?” Spencer demands. Well, he tries to demand. The words come out more like a slip-n-slide.
Next to him, Gabe is humming to himself and texting someone - probably Victoria - and he says, “Spencer, Spencer, you have a boyfriend?”
Spencer ignores him. “Where does he live?”
Ryan’s biting his lip now. It’s something he does when he thinks he’s fucked up in some way, and Spencer’s glad, because yeah, he shouldn’t be talking to Brendon about him, and Spencer can’t wait to tell Brendon to mind his own fucking business. He just hopes that he can get all the words out before the fuzzy sides of the room move in on him.
“Spence, how about we just play video games or something else, instead, huh?” Ryan suggests.
“No.” Spencer stands up and shakes his head at the same time. It’s kinda a bad idea, and he’s really dizzy for a disorienting moment. “I need to tell Brendon that I do not like his straight roommate.”
Ryan looks worried and confused, and before he can say anything, Gabe stands up and says, “Dude, I know Brendon! He’s got this amazing ass.”
Ryan glares. “You know Brendon? Like you know Brendon?”
Gabe laughs, loud and abrasive. It’s too loud. Spencer tells him to shhhh. “Fuck, I wish. But no.” Ryan looks relieved. “I did make out with him that one time, though,” Gabe adds. “Good kisser.” Ryan’s red face is back at that. “But, Spencer, I know where he lives!” Gabe says it joyfully, and Spencer thinks that it’s a good thing that Gabe is so smart.
He looks at Gabe and says, “Let’s go. I want to talk to him.” It’s important that he tells Brendon the truth. Well, not the truth, but it’s important that he tells Brendon what’s not going to bite him in the ass.
Ryan makes a noise of objection, but Spencer pulls Gabe out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
He doesn’t really remember much about the walk over, but it’s not like he has to make a fucking map or anything, so he just let’s Gabe lead him, and when they stop, he sways a little as Gabe knocks on the door.
When the paint-chipped door opens and Jon is standing on the other side of it, Spencer forgets what he was going to say.
Next to him, Gabe says, “Jon!” and then pushes past him, saying, “I’m gonna pee, but I’ll be back, motherfuckers!”
Jon’s face isn’t nearly as blurry as Ryan’s, but it’s still disorienting, and Spencer doesn’t know what to do.
“Brendon thinks I like you,” Spencer says, because apparently that’s all he can think of to say. He stumbles for a moment, and he reaches out to sturdy himself, grabbing a hold of Jon’s shoulder. Jon’s skin is warm through the t-shirt he’s wearing. “But you have a girlfriend.”
“I, what? Spencer-”
“And liking a straight guy is never okay,” Spencer says. Jon’s lips look soft. His skin is warm and his lips are soft, and Spencer doesn’t know what goes into his decision, but the last thing he can remember before the blackness is leaning forward jerkily and having Jon’s lips on his, and that they were just as soft as they looked.
---
Spencer wakes up with a hangover.
He wakes up with a glass of water next to him. He wakes up to seven missed calls from Ryan on his cell phone. He wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, but most of all, he wakes up with Jon standing next to him.
“Oh, fuck,” Spencer groans, burying his face in the pillow that is most likely Jon’s pillow.
This is not good.
“You need some aspirin?” Jon asks.
What Spencer really needs is a time machine. And a new life. Possibly a shotgun.
“Can we just pretend like I didn’t come over here last night and yell at you and then try to make out with you?” Spencer asks, mortified.
“You didn’t really yell at me,” Jon says. There’s a laugh in his voice, but Spencer doesn’t see anything funny about anything right now.
“Let’s forget it, and I’ll just go.”
Spencer tries to get out of the bed, but Jon’s warm, strong hand stops him. “Spence, don’t run away. Don’t be embarrassed.”
Spencer really doesn’t want to listen to an ‘everything-is-okay-talk’ where Jon is all sweet and perfect about a completely horrible and embarrassing event.
“Jon. Please. Let’s not do this. I like you. You’re dating Cassie. And straight. And-”
Jon interrupts. “Spencer, what are you talking about?”
Spencer looks away. “You’re with Cassie.”
“No, I’m not,” Jon says, and for some reason, he’s fucking smiling.
“Yes, you are,” Spencer insists. “You’re straight, and you’re dating Cassie.”
“No, I’m not,” Jon repeats. “Spencer, the first night I met you, I was trying to flirt with you. And you made it pretty clear that you weren’t interested.”
Spencer furrows his eyebrows. This wasn’t helping his hangover at all. “You were just being a bartender,” Spencer says. “You weren’t flirting.”
Jon laughs. “Well, apparently not well.”
“But you-” Spencer starts to say, but for the second time, Jon interrupts Spencer, but this time, it isn’t with words. Instead, it’s Jon’s lips that stop Spencer’s babble.
“Spencer, shut up,” Jon says, leaning in to kiss Spencer again - morning breath and all.
---
(Epilogue)
“We are not double dating with Brendon and Ryan,” Spencer tells Jon. “I don’t care how big the puppy dog eyes were that Brendon gave you, that is the worst idea of all time.”
Jon shakes his head, and pours Spencer another Jack and Coke, nodding at a girl at the other end of the bar, telling her he’ll be with her in a second. “It’s not like it would be any different from any other day, really.”
“And it’s bad enough already,” Spencer objects.
“Stop being an asshole, Spence,” Jon says, leaning over the bar to give Spencer a quick kiss before he moves to the help the other customers.
Spencer glares, but he smiles, too. He can’t help it.
On the stage, Brendon is singing, fucking serenading Ryan as he stands to the side, looking up with a wide smile, but Spencer feels even luckier as Jon comes back and winks at him.
“Thank you for not singing me a song like a douche bag,” Spencer says, and Jon laughs.
Brendon sings, “And I breathe just for you,” and as Jon kisses him again, Spencer thinks this is all he needs.