100 Steps: Home
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[5] would rather be - christmas
Brendon's hands roll effortlessly across the keys, white then black, over and over. It's a nonsense melody, something he's making up on the spot. For some reason, it reminds him of When You Wish Upon a Star and he stops abruptly, fingers fitted between the black keys. They're a little warm against his skin and he looks over at the clock in the living room, startled to find that he's been sitting there for two hours.
He misses Jon already. Which is stupid since Jon actually lives here in Chicago and didn't go traipsing all the way home to Vegas like other people in the house. Brendon drops his head onto the piano, sighing.
Jon may live in Chicago, but he's not going to be home for a few days. Apparently his old high school girlfriend is back in town; Jon's spent the last week wandering around the house, phone constantly in hand and a stupid, warm smile on his face. He looks like the biggest love-addled idiot Brendon's ever seen and Brendon's so jealous he can barely see straight.
Even Spencer deigned to come down out of his self-imposed exile to hide a grin as Jon nearly fell over the couch for the third time. Of course, he'd disappeared the second Brendon grinned at him, finally happy to be able to share the ridiculousness that was Jon Walker In Love. Spencer is stupid, Brendon thinks spitefully and then feels bad.
So Jon's gone, back to his parent's house and Cassie. Brendon wants to dislike her, but she'd called Jon's phone two nights ago and Brendon had picked up since Jon was in the shower. Thirty minutes later, Jon finally had to wrestle the phone away from Brendon. He can't begrudge Jon his crush now, Cassie seems ace.
Brendon can admit to himself that he'd held out a little hope for Spencer. Not a lot of course, but some part of him was really, really hoping that Spencer wouldn't go home for Christmas.
But Spencer had left this morning, tension in his shoulders as he moved through the living room with the phone to his ear. He wasn't responding much, just a yes, sir here or the of course, sir that was said in such a cold, flat tone that Brendon winced every time he heard it. Brendon's a tactile guy in general, but Spencer looks like he could use a lot of hugs. Unfortunately, whatever bond forged during finals was nowhere to be seen. Brendon remembers waking up alone in the hallway, a wicked neck-ache and drool on his shirt, but no Spencer in sight. So he'd keept his hugs to himself and just waved when Spencer glanced back toward the house.
Another sigh slips out and his fingers press down on the keys. It's discordant, sounding exactly like he feels. He's still sitting there, considering the level of pathetic it will be if he makes some hot chocolate and sits down to watch Moulin Rouge when his cell goes off, startling him. He answers without looking.
"Bden, yo." Warmth curls up in his stomach at Jon's soft drawl. He's worse than his kids sometimes, but it's nice to have a nickname he likes.
"S'up, Jonathan Jacob Walker? Gotten to third base yet?" It's a little crass, but Jon just laughs.
"No, no, Young One. The path to the garden of delights is slow; only the patient persevere and gain entrance. You should know this." Brendon snorts. His experience is limited to the six-month relationship with a girl he'd met in a coffee shop across town, and the time that Bobby's dad had asked him to dinner. Brendon had accepted before he'd realized that he was being hit on, but it did turn out that Bobby's father was actually a pretty good kisser. Brendon shakes his head. Anyway.
"Anyway," Brendon says out loud and Jon huffs out a laugh, not saying anything about Brendon's obviousness. Instead, Jon asks, "What are you doing right now?"
Brendon looks down. He makes a conscious effort to relax his fingers; they're aching a little from the grip he's got on his leg. Jon says his name again and he jumps in with a quick, "Nothing, really, just chillin' with the place all to myself for once."
His voice is too eager, too bright and he winces, knowing Jon can hear it too. There's a soft sigh on the other end, like Jon's about to say something placating or sympathetic and Brendon doesn't want the pity. Instead he says, "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be wining and dining your way into a certain lady's affections?"
Fortunately, Jon lets it go. Brendon's ridiculously grateful until he finally hears what Jon's actually saying.
"What?"
"I said-" Jon's voice is fondly exasperated. "We're heading out to Santino's for some pizza and Cassie really wants to meet you, so we were hoping you'd hit the train and come join us."
He wants to. God, he wants to go so fucking bad. He hates how empty the house feels, hates feeling this alone. But-
"Man, that sucks." Jon makes an inquisitive noise and Brendon lies through his teeth. "I just ate this monster sandwich, like, five minutes ago. And seriously, I don't think I can eat anything else until tomorrow." As lies go, it's horrible. Jon's going to see through it immediately. "Bden-"
"And besides," Brendon rushes on, interrupting. "You don't need me hanging around on your date. Seriously, dude. That's bad date etiquette, even I know that."
There's another sigh on the other end of the line and Brendon holds his breath. Jon doesn't push though, just tells Brendon in a quiet tone, "Well, if you change your mind, we'll be there in about an hour. Okay?"
Brendon hums a response, throat tight. His leg hurts and he looks down to find his fingers digging in again. Jon hangs up a moment later, his I wish you would come ringing in Brendon's ear.
Wrapping both hands around the phone in his lap, he stares down at the screen, watching as the call ended fades into his wallpaper. He shouldn't go. Jon deserves time alone with his maybe-okay-totally girlfriend and he shouldn't intrude on that, no matter what Jon says.
His stomach rumbles.
Glaring down at it, he mumbles, "Traitor." A second later, he unlocks his phone and types in a number in. It's not one that gets called very often, but he remembers it nonetheless.
Hows it going?
He's not expecting an answer, so it startles him when his phone buzzes in his hands a minute later.
Rather be at home
The word home hits Brendon hard. Spencer's with his family in Vegas and he wants to be back here. The corner of his mouth tilts up and his stomach growls again.
All of a sudden, he's starving.
[6] hipstamatic - christmas
[5] would rather be - christmas
Brendon's hands roll effortlessly across the keys, white then black, over and over. It's a nonsense melody, something he's making up on the spot. For some reason, it reminds him of When You Wish Upon a Star and he stops abruptly, fingers fitted between the black keys. They're a little warm against his skin and he looks over at the clock in the living room, startled to find that he's been sitting there for two hours.
He misses Jon already. Which is stupid since Jon actually lives here in Chicago and didn't go traipsing all the way home to Vegas like other people in the house. Brendon drops his head onto the piano, sighing.
Jon may live in Chicago, but he's not going to be home for a few days. Apparently his old high school girlfriend is back in town; Jon's spent the last week wandering around the house, phone constantly in hand and a stupid, warm smile on his face. He looks like the biggest love-addled idiot Brendon's ever seen and Brendon's so jealous he can barely see straight.
Even Spencer deigned to come down out of his self-imposed exile to hide a grin as Jon nearly fell over the couch for the third time. Of course, he'd disappeared the second Brendon grinned at him, finally happy to be able to share the ridiculousness that was Jon Walker In Love. Spencer is stupid, Brendon thinks spitefully and then feels bad.
So Jon's gone, back to his parent's house and Cassie. Brendon wants to dislike her, but she'd called Jon's phone two nights ago and Brendon had picked up since Jon was in the shower. Thirty minutes later, Jon finally had to wrestle the phone away from Brendon. He can't begrudge Jon his crush now, Cassie seems ace.
Brendon can admit to himself that he'd held out a little hope for Spencer. Not a lot of course, but some part of him was really, really hoping that Spencer wouldn't go home for Christmas.
But Spencer had left this morning, tension in his shoulders as he moved through the living room with the phone to his ear. He wasn't responding much, just a yes, sir here or the of course, sir that was said in such a cold, flat tone that Brendon winced every time he heard it. Brendon's a tactile guy in general, but Spencer looks like he could use a lot of hugs. Unfortunately, whatever bond forged during finals was nowhere to be seen. Brendon remembers waking up alone in the hallway, a wicked neck-ache and drool on his shirt, but no Spencer in sight. So he'd keept his hugs to himself and just waved when Spencer glanced back toward the house.
Another sigh slips out and his fingers press down on the keys. It's discordant, sounding exactly like he feels. He's still sitting there, considering the level of pathetic it will be if he makes some hot chocolate and sits down to watch Moulin Rouge when his cell goes off, startling him. He answers without looking.
"Bden, yo." Warmth curls up in his stomach at Jon's soft drawl. He's worse than his kids sometimes, but it's nice to have a nickname he likes.
"S'up, Jonathan Jacob Walker? Gotten to third base yet?" It's a little crass, but Jon just laughs.
"No, no, Young One. The path to the garden of delights is slow; only the patient persevere and gain entrance. You should know this." Brendon snorts. His experience is limited to the six-month relationship with a girl he'd met in a coffee shop across town, and the time that Bobby's dad had asked him to dinner. Brendon had accepted before he'd realized that he was being hit on, but it did turn out that Bobby's father was actually a pretty good kisser. Brendon shakes his head. Anyway.
"Anyway," Brendon says out loud and Jon huffs out a laugh, not saying anything about Brendon's obviousness. Instead, Jon asks, "What are you doing right now?"
Brendon looks down. He makes a conscious effort to relax his fingers; they're aching a little from the grip he's got on his leg. Jon says his name again and he jumps in with a quick, "Nothing, really, just chillin' with the place all to myself for once."
His voice is too eager, too bright and he winces, knowing Jon can hear it too. There's a soft sigh on the other end, like Jon's about to say something placating or sympathetic and Brendon doesn't want the pity. Instead he says, "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be wining and dining your way into a certain lady's affections?"
Fortunately, Jon lets it go. Brendon's ridiculously grateful until he finally hears what Jon's actually saying.
"What?"
"I said-" Jon's voice is fondly exasperated. "We're heading out to Santino's for some pizza and Cassie really wants to meet you, so we were hoping you'd hit the train and come join us."
He wants to. God, he wants to go so fucking bad. He hates how empty the house feels, hates feeling this alone. But-
"Man, that sucks." Jon makes an inquisitive noise and Brendon lies through his teeth. "I just ate this monster sandwich, like, five minutes ago. And seriously, I don't think I can eat anything else until tomorrow." As lies go, it's horrible. Jon's going to see through it immediately. "Bden-"
"And besides," Brendon rushes on, interrupting. "You don't need me hanging around on your date. Seriously, dude. That's bad date etiquette, even I know that."
There's another sigh on the other end of the line and Brendon holds his breath. Jon doesn't push though, just tells Brendon in a quiet tone, "Well, if you change your mind, we'll be there in about an hour. Okay?"
Brendon hums a response, throat tight. His leg hurts and he looks down to find his fingers digging in again. Jon hangs up a moment later, his I wish you would come ringing in Brendon's ear.
Wrapping both hands around the phone in his lap, he stares down at the screen, watching as the call ended fades into his wallpaper. He shouldn't go. Jon deserves time alone with his maybe-okay-totally girlfriend and he shouldn't intrude on that, no matter what Jon says.
His stomach rumbles.
Glaring down at it, he mumbles, "Traitor." A second later, he unlocks his phone and types in a number in. It's not one that gets called very often, but he remembers it nonetheless.
Hows it going?
He's not expecting an answer, so it startles him when his phone buzzes in his hands a minute later.
Rather be at home
The word home hits Brendon hard. Spencer's with his family in Vegas and he wants to be back here. The corner of his mouth tilts up and his stomach growls again.
All of a sudden, he's starving.
[6] hipstamatic - christmas