(no subject)
Constructed Of Paper
Brendon/Jon, Brendon/Spencer, Brendon/Dallon, Spencer/Brendon/Dallon, Ian/Dallon if you squint.
~ 5,000 words.
PG-13.
Brendon loves Jon in the way that Jon will sing stupid songs with him; Jon will put Brendon on his shoulders when neither of them can reach the box in the top of the closet; Jon will drive Brendon to the nearest Starbucks even if they have to be on stage in an hour; Jon always shares his bunk when Brendon can’t sleep, even if the air conditioning on the bus stops working and everyone is cramped and hot.
Brendon is in love with Jon.
It’s not something Brendon realizes suddenly, like an epiphany in the middle of a grocery store parking lot. His feelings grow inside of him from the moment he meets Jon, sitting on the Academy bus with Tom talking about one of the settings on Tom’s new camera. It hadn’t even started when Jon started to sing Aladdin with Brendon; it had been before that, when they’d first made eye contact. Something had snuck into Brendon’s brain, traveled down through his veins and arteries and into his heart, and squeezed.
So Brendon knows what’s going on when, over the years of touring and hanging out at parties, each time he sees Jon with someone new, he gets jealous. He knows why, but it doesn’t make it easier. He holds the feelings in, lets them curl in his stomach and sink, heavy, to the bottom. He holds them in until they bust.
*
Standing this close to the window, Brendon’s breath makes a misty fog over the glass. The smell of mint toothpaste floats back at him, rebounding and hitting him directly in the nose. He wipes the cloud away with two fingers and smiles at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Downstairs, he can hear Ryan talking. He can hear Jon playing video games, always with the television too loud. He imagines, in his head, the crunch of Spencer’s breakfast as he sits at the cabin’s small kitchen table and eats cereal or toast or, if Jon was feeling extra-focused this morning, maybe, maybe box-mix waffles.
He turns away.
Brendon stumbles down the stairs and into the hallway. His bare feet hit the hard wood floors and he immediately remembers that the door isn’t sealed properly and he really needs socks. Instead of turning around, he walks past Jon and into the kitchen; he sits down at the table and grabs the box of Captain Crunch from in front of Spencer. There’s already an extra bowl and spoon out, a folded paper towel and half a glass of grape juice.
“Hey,” Spencer says around a mouthful. He would scowl if Brendon ever did that - talked with his mouth full of food. Brendon almost smiles at the though, but stops himself and instead kicks Spencer lightly in the shin. Spencer eyes narrow and he repeats, darkly, “Hey.”
Brendon smiles, showing his teeth. “Hi, Spence.”
Spencer kicks him back, hard. Brendon carefully tucks his feet into the chair and pours his cereal.
Leaning against the counter and dutifully ignoring them, Ryan reads out of his book, “How hast thou purchased this experience? By my penny of observation.”
Spencer looks like he’s this close to telling Ryan to shut the fuck up.
Jon’s game pauses on the TV in the living room, and his voice says, “Hello?” There’s a moment of silence and then, “Hey, man, how’s it going!”
Ryan keeps reading from Act 3. Brendon crunches loudly on his cereal so he has an excuse not to listen. When Spencer is halfway through with the daily newspaper word search, Brendon steals the pen and circles a word that isn’t even on the list.
“How did you do that?” Spencer demands. Brendon just shrugs.
Jon noisily ends his phone call and comes stomping into the kitchen. Hobo follows along behind him, tongue lolling from her mouth. She trips over her own feet and lands on the floor next to Brendon’s chair. She looks up at him with big, excited eyes, and he can’t help but lean to pet her. He almost loses his balance, flailing, but Jon catches him around the waist and sits him up right.
“Feet on the floor, Bren,” Jon says sweetly. Brendon frowns.
Under the table, Spencer kicks his feet. Brendon’s yelped, “Motherfucker!” is ignored.
*
“Erase that,” Ryan commands from the arm of the chair Spencer is perched in. He waves his cell phone at Brendon’s head. “The exclamation point, that’s so fucking old. Take it out, we don’t need that anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Spencer asks before Brendon can open his mouth. Even Jon looks confused.
“I don’t think we need the exclamation point anymore,” Ryan says calmly, but also like he’s talking to a bunch of five-year-olds. “It’s something we never really needed, anyway.”
“I like it,” Brendon says. He means for his voice to come out softly - he doesn’t want to start a fight again - but it comes out loud and angry. “It’s part of us, part of the band. We can’t just take it away.” He glances between Jon and Spencer helplessly. “It would be like - like losing a member of the band, it’s part of our name. Our identity.”
Ryan sighs. Even from across the coffee table, Brendon can smell the remnants of smoke drifting off of him in waves. He and Jon shouldn’t have smoked up before they started practice. “You’re being ridiculous,” Ryan says. “It’s childish, okay? We’ve changed. Our music has changed. We’re still Panic! At The Disco, okay, so you don’t have to freak out. We’re just showing how much we’ve changed.”
Spencer doesn’t look happy. Jon is staring at his hands. Brendon wonders vaguely if Jon feels like this has nothing to do with him; he wasn’t in the band when they named themselves, anyway. The thought makes Brendon’s heart clench. Jon is as much a part of this band as any of them, and he definitely knows it. Brendon wants to hear his voice, to know what Jon wants.
Almost like Ryan is reading his mind, he says, “Jon agrees with me, right Jon? We were just talking about how much we’ve changed. We don’t have to be the same band we were when we started, right?”
Jon looks torn. Spencer glares at Ryan. “You can’t make Jon agree with you just because you bought the fucking weed, Ryan. This is a band decision, okay? Don’t push it.”
Ryan stands up and storms out of the room. He doesn’t bring the subject up again, but on the next article they have in a magazine, it’s titled Panic At The Disco. Brendon rips the magazine in half and throws it away.
*
Brendon is incredibly excited to be back on stage. In the crowd, some of the kids are dressed differently, and some of them look bored when they start in on the new songs. Brendon tires to make the stage show more interesting, but it’s hard to do with a longer set and more things to remember, more props not to trip over on the first night. He worries about flowers falling from their clips and worries about the strength of the new guitar straps.
He laughs when, after one of the first shows, Spencer goes backstage and trims his beard shorter than he has in a while. He uses the excuse, “It’s way too fucking hot out there,” and no one laughs. Brendon is already glad he ditched the facial hair; he’s soaked even without the extra mass.
Halfway through the tour, Brendon is sleepy and really kind of just wants a hug, but Jon and Ryan are both on their cell phones and Spencer is video-chatting with his sisters in the back lounge. Brendon climbs into Jon’s bunk to wait, but he ends up falling asleep. He wakes up when Jon climbs into the bunk less than an hour later, saying, “Move over, B.”
Jon lets him cuddle through the whole night and even half of the next morning. Spencer gives Brendon a knowing look over lunch. Brendon just drops his eyes and stabs at his spaghetti.
*
It takes a while to talk Zack into it, but Brendon manages to break away after sound check to run across the venue to the concession stand. He buys a plate of nachos with extra cheese and two giant corn dogs. He finds Jon sitting with Ryan and Alex, but it’s easy enough to pull him away with the offer of hot food. They climb into the stands and sit high above the stage, feet propped on the chairs in front of them.
After they eat, they shove the trash under one of the seats and climb back onto flat ground. Before parting ways to head back to their previous activities, Brendon happily says, “Well, that was a great movie, wasn’t it?” Jon laughs.
*
Brendon is drunk. Just a little, but enough that when he touches the wall, it feels like the paint is moving under his fingers, each individual chip rearranging itself just to fuck with him. He pulls his hands away like he’s been burned and nearly stumbles over. Just before his hands touch the wall again, there’s an arm around his waist, breath on his neck.
Jon’s fingers dig into Brendon’s hip bone, almost painful. Brendon sinks back into it, into Jon, against his chest. “I’ve got you,” Jon’s voice says, but it doesn’t connect because Brendon can’t see his face. He squirms, tries to turn around, but Jon has him held down pretty well; it only takes a few seconds for him to give up and go boneless.
Brendon is maybe very drunk.
“Let’s go, Bren,” Jon’s voice says again, but this time his lips are close enough to Brendon’s ear that he can feel the words ghosting over his skin. He gets hard so fast that everything goes fuzzy. They make it outside, out to Jon’s car (Ryan’s car, his spare, his extra) and Jon has to lean him up against the door while he digs around in his pocket for the keys. Brendon hits his head going in, but doesn’t say anything. Jon must notice; he ruffles Brendon’s hair just before closing the door.
They’re home for two nights before heading off to finish the tour. Brendon still doesn’t remember when they decided that flying home from New York for two night would be a good idea; Ryan must’ve talked them into it by saying, “But Alex is having a party. I told him I’d be there.” Brendon slumps against the window and closes his eyes.
“Don’t pass out,” Jon says from somewhere to Brendon’s left. Brendon opens his eyes and sees nothing but the road moving outside the window. He closes his eyes before he can puke. Ryan would kill him. “Don’t pass out,” Jon repeats, but the words stick more this time because his hand ends up on Brendon’s thigh. It takes a lot of energy and will power, but Brendon manages to lift his arm up, drop his hand on top of Jon’s.
Jon turns his hand over, palm up, and twines his fingers with Brendon’s.
It takes Brendon a while to figure out where they are once the car has stopped. It might have something to do with the fact that his eyes are still closed. Hearing the key in the lock makes Brendon’s eyes shoot open; his head spins, his eyes water, his fingers clench. His mind still works. Key. Key. Brendon has a touch pad.
“What - ” He says, but talking just makes him tired, so he stops. Jon’s half-carrying him anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
He fucking hates being drunk.
“Spencer told me to bring you here,” Jon says. “He’s following. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” The stairs are a long, painful process, mostly for Jon, who is doing almost all of the work. Brendon really wants to throw up. He doesn’t.
Jon gets him into bed - the guest room, Brendon’s room. He’s the only one that uses it. Jon tries to take his shoes off once Brendon is in the bed, but Brendon wants to help. He can, he isn’t that drunk. He tries, reaches down to help, but as soon as his hands bump Jon’s, Jon gently pushes on his shoulder and says, “Lay down.”
Brendon does.
He really, really fucking hates being drunk.
And, on top of that, he’s still hard.
And now Jon is working on his jeans.
Brendon closes his eyes.
He wakes up and Jon is gone. The house is quiet. The clock on the bedside table says something, but without his glasses, Brendon can’t see. He fumbles around on the table for a while until he finally grabs them by the lens, and he automatically swears under his breath because, shit, fingerprints aren’t easy to wipe off without smearing them everywhere.
Before he can look at the clock, he has to run for the bathroom. He pukes up everything he’s eaten in the last week. By the time he’s done, cheek against the cool porcelain, Spencer is there, rubbing his back. Spencer’s features are soft, unguarded like he was asleep. Brendon mumbles, “Sorry,” and Spencer replies with a whisper-soft, “Idiot.”
He doesn’t look like he means it; Brendon knows he doesn’t.
Brendon lets Spencer manhandle him upright, but he refuses to walk anywhere. He leans in, hugs Spencer, and doesn’t let go for a long time.
*
The tour ends almost suddenly.
They all head back to Vegas, even Jon, with Clover and Dylan in tow. Three days later, Jon drags Ryan over to the shelter and brings home Marley. Ryan’s back yard is the biggest, so Brendon brings his dogs over to let them play with Ryan and Jon and Spencer’s dogs. Ryan calls it a play-date a total of twelve times before Spencer cuffs him in the shoulder and tells him to stop acting middle-aged. Ryan glares, but he shuts up about it.
Spencer follows Brendon home afterwards. The dogs run around Brendon’s living room and knock over Brendon’s weird phone table. Spencer laughs. Nothing is broken, so it’s all good. They watch a movie once it’s dark outside, something on HBO about a single mother with two children and a stupid-as-fuck boyfriend. Brendon vaguely wonders when the world became Lifetime.
When the movie is over, Brendon leans against Spencer and says quietly, “I’m maybe a little bit in love with Jon Walker.” He glances up to see what Spencer’s reaction is, but there really isn’t one. Spencer’s just smiling softly, his eyes turned sympathetic.
Spencer says, “I know.”
Brendon calls Jon after Spencer leaves. He says, “Hey, do you wanna come over for a while? Hang out with me?”
Jon’s smile is contagious, even over the phone. “Sure,” He says. “Ryan’s leaving for one of his weird cult parties in a few minutes, anyway.”
Ryan yells, “Hey!” in the background. Brendon laughs.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Jon says, and he hangs up.
Brendon waves Jon into the living room when he gets there and heads to the kitchen to get some beer out of the fridge. His phone rings, so he answers, “What’s up?” without looking to see who’s calling. In the living room, Jon is wrestling with Boggart. His voice can be heard clearly in the kitchen. Spencer must hear it over the line, because instead of saying “Hey, Brendon,” he says, “Jon’s there?”
Brendon freezes and almost drops a bottle. He catches himself in time and shuts the Refrigerator door with his foot. “Yeah,” He says nonchalantly. “So?”
“Are you gonna tell him?” Spencer asks softly.
Brendon doesn’t know, so he says, “Maybe. I don’t - maybe.” Spencer makes a small noise over the phone, something almost like, be careful. Brendon’s tired; it’s late, and he tired, and his heart is beating, so he says again, “Maybe.” Spencer doesn’t say anything. Brendon says, “I think I will. I mean, what - what could happen? He could say no, right?”
To Spencer, it doesn’t sound like a question. Spencer says, “Be careful, okay? Call me. I mean it.”
“Sure,” Brendon says. “I promise.” He hangs up the phone, slips it into his pocket, and carries the beers out into the living room.
Jon looks up just has he comes in through the doorway. Boggart jumps up and darts over between Brendon’s feet, barking playfully, ears at attention. Jon gets up and takes one of the beer bottles from Brendon. The bottles are already sweating, leaving Brendon’s palm wet with condensation. He wipes his hands on his jeans, pops the bottle top and takes a drink.
They sit down and watch a movie, but Brendon is fidgety. Less than half way through, Jon picks up on his mood and says, “What’s up?” with his hand resting on Brendon’s knee. Brendon carefully leans over and set the almost-empty bottle on the floor, then turns, twists, and presses his lips gently against Jon’s. Jon doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss back, either. Brendon pulls back after a few seconds; his heart drops.
Jon doesn’t look mad, exactly, just. Confused, a little, but more like he knows what Brendon’s thinking and he wants that to stop, now. Jon doesn’t get angry, but this almost feels like it to Brendon.
“I love you,” Brendon says, so quietly that he thinks Jon might not hear.
Jon definitely hears.
Jon puts his hand on Brendon’s neck, gentle like he always is, runs his thumb under Brendon’s jaw. Brendon can’t help but arch his neck, tilt his head back to bare his throat. Jon makes a soft sound, but it isn’t something like want, more like, no. Jon pulls his hand away.
Brendon wants to cry.
“I don’t - I’m sorry, Bren. I really am, I.” Jon looks torn, the almost-anger in his eyes replaced by pity, maybe, or sympathy. Both, Brendon thinks. Probably. “I’m gonna leave now, okay?” Brendon can’t do anything but nod. “I’ll see you later.” Jon doesn’t hug him. Brendon buries his face in his hands and tries, tries not to cry. It doesn’t work very well.
*
The phone rings early the next morning. Brendon is watching reruns of Jeopardy, but it isn’t making him feel better, even though he knows a lot of the answers. He answers the phone unthinkingly. His voice is hollow when he says, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?” Spencer asks.
Brendon hasn’t slept. He shakes his head no, but realizes belatedly that Spencer isn’t here, Spencer is at home, not in this room where Brendon needs him. Brendon doesn’t say any of this. Brendon put the spoon back in his half-empty gallon of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream and says, “No.” He says, “I think I’m going to go puke now.” He throws the phone down and runs.
He retches until there’s nothing left. He rinses his mouth out twice and then rinses the sink, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. He slowly walks back to the living room, picks his phone up off of the couch. He says, “Are you there? Spence?”
Brendon can hear the sound of a car starting behind Spencer’s breathing. Spencer says, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Spencer lets himself in through the front door. One of the dogs has peed on the kitchen floor. The food bowl is empty. Brendon is sitting on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, ice cream discarded on the coffee table. Spencer drops his keys beside the ice cream carton and curls up on the couch with Brendon. Brendon throws himself into Spencer’s lap, hides his face in Spencer’s neck, and cries.
“I knew he could say no,” Brendon says, an hour later, after his tears are dried - everywhere except Spencer’s collar. Brendon almost laughs at that, at the dampness in the cotton, but he doesn’t. “I knew he could, but.”
“It’s hard,” Spencer says. Brendon nods.
Yeah. It’s hard.
*
Ryan calls that afternoon and bitches him out. He yells, “Stop fucking up the band, Brendon. Stop fucking with Jon.” Brendon’s breath catches angrily in his throat. Ryan yells, “Stop being so fucking childish.”
Brendon can’t help himself. He knows Ryan is only trying to make things better, but he still yells back, “How am I being the childish one? I told the fucking truth.”
Ryan hangs up on him.
The next morning, Brendon rents a Uhaul. He packs up all of his things and moves to LA.
*
Brendon spends a lot of time surfing.
He moves into Shane’s spare bedroom, laughs when Dylan - the shy, timid, shakes-in-her-boots Italian greyhound - chases after his much more outgoing dogs. He feels bad, almost, about taking up half of Shane’s space, but Shane won’t listen to him complain. He just says, “Fuck, Brendon, this is - this isn’t, like. It’s like old times, right? Like when I was in Vegas, and staying with you. Were you tired of me after the first day?”
“No,” Brendon says hesitantly. It’s different, he thinks, than before Shane moved out to LA. Shane wasn’t living with Regan then. Now, Regan is constantly there. It’s their apartment, not Shane’s. Brendon feels like he’s intruding on both of them. Regan just ruffles his hair and makes him eggs for breakfast.
Spencer comes to visit after a week.
“Vegas is boring without you,” He offers as an excuse.
Brendon rolls his eyes. “You can go into casinos now,” He says. “Strip clubs. Dress up like Elvis, run down the strip and have tourists follow you. That’s boring?”
Spencer cuffs him in the back of the head. He smiles, though, and it’s easy, like old times. “Shut the fuck up.”
Brendon’s king sized bed takes up most of the second bedroom - Brendon’s bedroom. Spencer says, “I didn’t bring my air mattress,” and, “I don’t think you have enough floor space for me to set it up, anyway.” Brendon shoves Spencer down on the mattress, climbs on top of him, and wiggles his fingers menacingly. Spencer narrows his eyes, hands on Brendon’s hips.
Something Brendon learned soon after joining the band is that Spencer is very ticklish. Insanely, unheard-of ticklish. Brendon goes for his ribs, the backs of his knees, his wrists. He pins Spencer’s arms down with his knees, but Spencer is stronger, and Brendon is little. Spencer flips them easily, gets Brendon a headlock and accidentally bites his shoulder. Brendon laughs.
“I’ll share, fuck, I’ll share!” Brendon squirms.
Spencer lets go of him. “You can sleep on the floor.”
Brendon pouts.
*
Shane drags them down to the beach the day after Spencer arrives. Spencer doesn’t really know how to surf, and too many late-night Discovery Channel marathons have left him slightly afraid of sharks. Brendon hands him Shane’s camera, already dressed in a wetsuit and carrying his board. It may be summer, but it’s early-morning and the salty water is chilly, a little.
“You can take pictures of us doing stupid shit,” Brendon says. Spencer smiles and captures each of Brendon’s wipeouts on video.
*
In a folder under Brendon’s mattress, there’s a stack of paper filled with music notes and lyrics, notes written in the margins, chords doodled out in the corners. Spencer finds the folder two weeks into his stay when he’s stripping Brendon’s bed of its sheets. (Brendon showers after each surf session, but never quite manages to rinse out all the sand. Spencer is tired of sleeping in all the grit.)
He sits down on the half-stripped bed and reads through everything. Brendon finds him an hour later, half of a meatball sub in his hands. He sits down beside Spencer and offers him a bite.
“What’cha lookin’ at?” Brendon asks around a mouthful of sauce and cheese.
Spencer shrugs and offers up a paper, but thinks twice about it when he catches a glimpse of Brendon’s messy fingers. He says, “You tell me.”
“It’s just stuff,” Brendon says. “I get bored a lot.”
“It’s good,” Spencer says. “I like it - a lot.”
“Yeah?” Brendon takes another bite of his sandwich and they sit in silence while he chews.
Finally, Spencer says, “So, the bass parts - ”
*
Spencer meets Ryan for lunch the day after he gets back to Vegas. He’s wearing a pair of Brendon’s sunglasses when he sits down, outside under an umbrella. Ryan arches an eyebrow at him, questioning. They both know Spencer outgrew the gaudy, oversized glasses back during Fever. Spencer just shrugs.
They don’t talk until the waitress serves them their food.
“So, how long are you back for?” Ryan asks.
Spencer looks at him over the glasses. “I was visiting. I still live here, you know.”
Ryan presses his lips together and gives Spencer a knowing look. He changes the subject. “I’ve been working on some new music with Jon. It’ll sound good on the next album.”
“Me and Brendon have been writing, too,” Spencer says.
“Huh,” Ryan hums. “I bet the drums are pretty good.” He takes a sip of his water. “Brendon writes shitty lyrics, though.”
Spencer almost drops his fork. He glares at Ryan from across the table. “Just because his lyrics are different than what you write doesn’t make them shitty.”
Ryan glares back, and it’s like they’re ten years old again, fighting over whose turn it is on the skateboard. “All of his music sounds more and more like Fever.”
“It doesn’t,” Spencer shoots back, “It sounds more like things you just don’t want to listen to. It isn’t like Fever at all. You haven’t heard it, anyway, so shut the hell up, Ryan.”
Ryan goes rigid. “He’s not acting his age,” He says carefully.
“He’s acting twenty-two,” Spencer says. “You’re the one who’s acting forty-years-old.”
“Maybe,” Ryan says quietly. “He shouldn’t write music for us anymore.”
“You can’t kick Brendon out of the band.” Spencer says harshly. “He’s the lead singer. We can’t replace that.”
“I can sing,” Ryan says.
“Fine.” Spencer stands up. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and throws it down on the table. “If you’re kicking Brendon out, I’m gone, too.”
“Fine,” Ryan says sharply. “Me and Jon are working on stuff that doesn’t have drums you can play, anyway. You’d have to learn new things.”
Spencer leaves. He doesn’t look back.
*
Ryan calls Spencer when Spencer’s halfway back to LA.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I was being a dick.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “You were.” They’re quiet for a minute. Spencer sighs. “Jesus, Ryan, I’ve known you longer than anyone else. I know when you’re being a jackass and don’t realize it, but. You know? Brendon’s better off without you and Jon, anyway.”
Ryan asks quietly, “What about you, Spence?”
It’s easy for Spencer to say, “I’m better off with Brendon.”
*
Spencer moves in with Brendon.
Shane laughs when Spencer says, “You don’t mind having another roommate, do you?”
“No sex on the couch,” Shane says. “That’s rule number one.”
“What’s rule number two?” Spencer asks, smiling.
“The second rule,” Shane starts, making his voice deep and gravely, “Is that you do not talk about Fight Club.”
Spencer laughs.
Brendon comes running down the hallway. He jumps onto Spencer’s back and hollers, “Yes! You’re back! I knew you missed me!” Spencer dumps Brendon onto the floor. He lands on his ass and yelps.
In the bedroom that night, Spencer strips off his shirt and Brendon laughs. “You’re sharing a bed with me,” He sing-songs.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you bite,” He says.
Brendon bites him.
*
Brendon hits his head against the wall; Spencer laughs, but it doesn’t last long. He says, “Shit, are you okay?” Brendon laughs, too. Taking that as a yes, I’m fine, Spencer continues with the pillow fight.
They are such girls.
Brendon loves it.
*
Brendon loves Dallon in the way that Dallon will dance to Lady Gaga and Shakira with him; Dallon will play scrabble with him and not call him a cheater; Dallon will play Mario Kart with him when it’s five in the morning and none of them can sleep; Dallon will share his ice cream with Brendon, even when there are sprinkles, which are Dallon’s favorite, and he never shares with anyone else.
Brendon is not in love with Dallon, but it’ll do.
“Guys,” Ian yells. “Guys!”
Brendon spins around to face the computer. “Oh, hey, it connected!”
“Yeah,” Ian laughs, hair bouncing, mouth stretched into a pretty smile. Brendon loves Ian. “Like five minutes ago. What the fuck are you guys doing?”
“Dancing,” Spencer says, shoving Brendon out of the way.
Brendon squawks his protest. Everyone ignores him.
“We’re dancing and you’re not,” Dallon says. He and Ian share a smile, something secret, and Spencer feels almost like he shouldn’t be seeing it.
Ian is in Detroit with his family until the start of the Blink tour. Brendon is a little sad that the rest of (all of, Brendon thinks giddily, like he stole something) The Cab is on tour, so they can’t hang out at all. He’s had lunch with Pete once this week, but Pete is constantly going places for FBR and Clan. He’s always got something to do. The three of them have mostly been hanging around practicing, video-chatting with Ian on the computer.
“Shit,” Ian says, looking back over his shoulder. There’s some quiet yelling in the background. “Mom’s calling us for dinner.” He looks sheepish, almost. Embarrassed.
“Go,” Spencer says. They understand that.
“See you later,” Ian says, and then he’s gone.
*
There’s another reason Brendon really, really loves Dallon: he doesn’t leave the room when Brendon kisses Spencer.
*
The really awesome thing about Brendon’s bed is that he can fit three people in it if that all huddle together. He doesn’t call it cuddling because it makes Dallon laugh like a little kid and Spencer scowls - he’s still, after all this time around Brendon, not a cuddly person - but Brendon thinks of it as cuddling in his head, regardless. They’re packed for the tour, bags sitting in the dining room, ready to be loaded into the car and onto the plane.
Ian calls them at some ungodly hour and says, “Shit, sorry, time difference. I forgot.”
“ ‘s okay,” Brendon mumbles into the phone. Spencer steals it from him, has an amazingly-coherent conversation about flight times, and then shoves at Brendon’s shoulder after he hangs up.
“Go back to sleep,” Spencer says, eyes closed, lips against Brendon’s neck. Dallon mumbles his agreement against Brendon’s collarbone.
Brendon closes his eyes.
Brendon/Jon, Brendon/Spencer, Brendon/Dallon, Spencer/Brendon/Dallon, Ian/Dallon if you squint.
~ 5,000 words.
PG-13.
Brendon loves Jon in the way that Jon will sing stupid songs with him; Jon will put Brendon on his shoulders when neither of them can reach the box in the top of the closet; Jon will drive Brendon to the nearest Starbucks even if they have to be on stage in an hour; Jon always shares his bunk when Brendon can’t sleep, even if the air conditioning on the bus stops working and everyone is cramped and hot.
Brendon is in love with Jon.
It’s not something Brendon realizes suddenly, like an epiphany in the middle of a grocery store parking lot. His feelings grow inside of him from the moment he meets Jon, sitting on the Academy bus with Tom talking about one of the settings on Tom’s new camera. It hadn’t even started when Jon started to sing Aladdin with Brendon; it had been before that, when they’d first made eye contact. Something had snuck into Brendon’s brain, traveled down through his veins and arteries and into his heart, and squeezed.
So Brendon knows what’s going on when, over the years of touring and hanging out at parties, each time he sees Jon with someone new, he gets jealous. He knows why, but it doesn’t make it easier. He holds the feelings in, lets them curl in his stomach and sink, heavy, to the bottom. He holds them in until they bust.
*
Standing this close to the window, Brendon’s breath makes a misty fog over the glass. The smell of mint toothpaste floats back at him, rebounding and hitting him directly in the nose. He wipes the cloud away with two fingers and smiles at the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Downstairs, he can hear Ryan talking. He can hear Jon playing video games, always with the television too loud. He imagines, in his head, the crunch of Spencer’s breakfast as he sits at the cabin’s small kitchen table and eats cereal or toast or, if Jon was feeling extra-focused this morning, maybe, maybe box-mix waffles.
He turns away.
Brendon stumbles down the stairs and into the hallway. His bare feet hit the hard wood floors and he immediately remembers that the door isn’t sealed properly and he really needs socks. Instead of turning around, he walks past Jon and into the kitchen; he sits down at the table and grabs the box of Captain Crunch from in front of Spencer. There’s already an extra bowl and spoon out, a folded paper towel and half a glass of grape juice.
“Hey,” Spencer says around a mouthful. He would scowl if Brendon ever did that - talked with his mouth full of food. Brendon almost smiles at the though, but stops himself and instead kicks Spencer lightly in the shin. Spencer eyes narrow and he repeats, darkly, “Hey.”
Brendon smiles, showing his teeth. “Hi, Spence.”
Spencer kicks him back, hard. Brendon carefully tucks his feet into the chair and pours his cereal.
Leaning against the counter and dutifully ignoring them, Ryan reads out of his book, “How hast thou purchased this experience? By my penny of observation.”
Spencer looks like he’s this close to telling Ryan to shut the fuck up.
Jon’s game pauses on the TV in the living room, and his voice says, “Hello?” There’s a moment of silence and then, “Hey, man, how’s it going!”
Ryan keeps reading from Act 3. Brendon crunches loudly on his cereal so he has an excuse not to listen. When Spencer is halfway through with the daily newspaper word search, Brendon steals the pen and circles a word that isn’t even on the list.
“How did you do that?” Spencer demands. Brendon just shrugs.
Jon noisily ends his phone call and comes stomping into the kitchen. Hobo follows along behind him, tongue lolling from her mouth. She trips over her own feet and lands on the floor next to Brendon’s chair. She looks up at him with big, excited eyes, and he can’t help but lean to pet her. He almost loses his balance, flailing, but Jon catches him around the waist and sits him up right.
“Feet on the floor, Bren,” Jon says sweetly. Brendon frowns.
Under the table, Spencer kicks his feet. Brendon’s yelped, “Motherfucker!” is ignored.
*
“Erase that,” Ryan commands from the arm of the chair Spencer is perched in. He waves his cell phone at Brendon’s head. “The exclamation point, that’s so fucking old. Take it out, we don’t need that anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Spencer asks before Brendon can open his mouth. Even Jon looks confused.
“I don’t think we need the exclamation point anymore,” Ryan says calmly, but also like he’s talking to a bunch of five-year-olds. “It’s something we never really needed, anyway.”
“I like it,” Brendon says. He means for his voice to come out softly - he doesn’t want to start a fight again - but it comes out loud and angry. “It’s part of us, part of the band. We can’t just take it away.” He glances between Jon and Spencer helplessly. “It would be like - like losing a member of the band, it’s part of our name. Our identity.”
Ryan sighs. Even from across the coffee table, Brendon can smell the remnants of smoke drifting off of him in waves. He and Jon shouldn’t have smoked up before they started practice. “You’re being ridiculous,” Ryan says. “It’s childish, okay? We’ve changed. Our music has changed. We’re still Panic! At The Disco, okay, so you don’t have to freak out. We’re just showing how much we’ve changed.”
Spencer doesn’t look happy. Jon is staring at his hands. Brendon wonders vaguely if Jon feels like this has nothing to do with him; he wasn’t in the band when they named themselves, anyway. The thought makes Brendon’s heart clench. Jon is as much a part of this band as any of them, and he definitely knows it. Brendon wants to hear his voice, to know what Jon wants.
Almost like Ryan is reading his mind, he says, “Jon agrees with me, right Jon? We were just talking about how much we’ve changed. We don’t have to be the same band we were when we started, right?”
Jon looks torn. Spencer glares at Ryan. “You can’t make Jon agree with you just because you bought the fucking weed, Ryan. This is a band decision, okay? Don’t push it.”
Ryan stands up and storms out of the room. He doesn’t bring the subject up again, but on the next article they have in a magazine, it’s titled Panic At The Disco. Brendon rips the magazine in half and throws it away.
*
Brendon is incredibly excited to be back on stage. In the crowd, some of the kids are dressed differently, and some of them look bored when they start in on the new songs. Brendon tires to make the stage show more interesting, but it’s hard to do with a longer set and more things to remember, more props not to trip over on the first night. He worries about flowers falling from their clips and worries about the strength of the new guitar straps.
He laughs when, after one of the first shows, Spencer goes backstage and trims his beard shorter than he has in a while. He uses the excuse, “It’s way too fucking hot out there,” and no one laughs. Brendon is already glad he ditched the facial hair; he’s soaked even without the extra mass.
Halfway through the tour, Brendon is sleepy and really kind of just wants a hug, but Jon and Ryan are both on their cell phones and Spencer is video-chatting with his sisters in the back lounge. Brendon climbs into Jon’s bunk to wait, but he ends up falling asleep. He wakes up when Jon climbs into the bunk less than an hour later, saying, “Move over, B.”
Jon lets him cuddle through the whole night and even half of the next morning. Spencer gives Brendon a knowing look over lunch. Brendon just drops his eyes and stabs at his spaghetti.
*
It takes a while to talk Zack into it, but Brendon manages to break away after sound check to run across the venue to the concession stand. He buys a plate of nachos with extra cheese and two giant corn dogs. He finds Jon sitting with Ryan and Alex, but it’s easy enough to pull him away with the offer of hot food. They climb into the stands and sit high above the stage, feet propped on the chairs in front of them.
After they eat, they shove the trash under one of the seats and climb back onto flat ground. Before parting ways to head back to their previous activities, Brendon happily says, “Well, that was a great movie, wasn’t it?” Jon laughs.
*
Brendon is drunk. Just a little, but enough that when he touches the wall, it feels like the paint is moving under his fingers, each individual chip rearranging itself just to fuck with him. He pulls his hands away like he’s been burned and nearly stumbles over. Just before his hands touch the wall again, there’s an arm around his waist, breath on his neck.
Jon’s fingers dig into Brendon’s hip bone, almost painful. Brendon sinks back into it, into Jon, against his chest. “I’ve got you,” Jon’s voice says, but it doesn’t connect because Brendon can’t see his face. He squirms, tries to turn around, but Jon has him held down pretty well; it only takes a few seconds for him to give up and go boneless.
Brendon is maybe very drunk.
“Let’s go, Bren,” Jon’s voice says again, but this time his lips are close enough to Brendon’s ear that he can feel the words ghosting over his skin. He gets hard so fast that everything goes fuzzy. They make it outside, out to Jon’s car (Ryan’s car, his spare, his extra) and Jon has to lean him up against the door while he digs around in his pocket for the keys. Brendon hits his head going in, but doesn’t say anything. Jon must notice; he ruffles Brendon’s hair just before closing the door.
They’re home for two nights before heading off to finish the tour. Brendon still doesn’t remember when they decided that flying home from New York for two night would be a good idea; Ryan must’ve talked them into it by saying, “But Alex is having a party. I told him I’d be there.” Brendon slumps against the window and closes his eyes.
“Don’t pass out,” Jon says from somewhere to Brendon’s left. Brendon opens his eyes and sees nothing but the road moving outside the window. He closes his eyes before he can puke. Ryan would kill him. “Don’t pass out,” Jon repeats, but the words stick more this time because his hand ends up on Brendon’s thigh. It takes a lot of energy and will power, but Brendon manages to lift his arm up, drop his hand on top of Jon’s.
Jon turns his hand over, palm up, and twines his fingers with Brendon’s.
It takes Brendon a while to figure out where they are once the car has stopped. It might have something to do with the fact that his eyes are still closed. Hearing the key in the lock makes Brendon’s eyes shoot open; his head spins, his eyes water, his fingers clench. His mind still works. Key. Key. Brendon has a touch pad.
“What - ” He says, but talking just makes him tired, so he stops. Jon’s half-carrying him anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
He fucking hates being drunk.
“Spencer told me to bring you here,” Jon says. “He’s following. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” The stairs are a long, painful process, mostly for Jon, who is doing almost all of the work. Brendon really wants to throw up. He doesn’t.
Jon gets him into bed - the guest room, Brendon’s room. He’s the only one that uses it. Jon tries to take his shoes off once Brendon is in the bed, but Brendon wants to help. He can, he isn’t that drunk. He tries, reaches down to help, but as soon as his hands bump Jon’s, Jon gently pushes on his shoulder and says, “Lay down.”
Brendon does.
He really, really fucking hates being drunk.
And, on top of that, he’s still hard.
And now Jon is working on his jeans.
Brendon closes his eyes.
He wakes up and Jon is gone. The house is quiet. The clock on the bedside table says something, but without his glasses, Brendon can’t see. He fumbles around on the table for a while until he finally grabs them by the lens, and he automatically swears under his breath because, shit, fingerprints aren’t easy to wipe off without smearing them everywhere.
Before he can look at the clock, he has to run for the bathroom. He pukes up everything he’s eaten in the last week. By the time he’s done, cheek against the cool porcelain, Spencer is there, rubbing his back. Spencer’s features are soft, unguarded like he was asleep. Brendon mumbles, “Sorry,” and Spencer replies with a whisper-soft, “Idiot.”
He doesn’t look like he means it; Brendon knows he doesn’t.
Brendon lets Spencer manhandle him upright, but he refuses to walk anywhere. He leans in, hugs Spencer, and doesn’t let go for a long time.
*
The tour ends almost suddenly.
They all head back to Vegas, even Jon, with Clover and Dylan in tow. Three days later, Jon drags Ryan over to the shelter and brings home Marley. Ryan’s back yard is the biggest, so Brendon brings his dogs over to let them play with Ryan and Jon and Spencer’s dogs. Ryan calls it a play-date a total of twelve times before Spencer cuffs him in the shoulder and tells him to stop acting middle-aged. Ryan glares, but he shuts up about it.
Spencer follows Brendon home afterwards. The dogs run around Brendon’s living room and knock over Brendon’s weird phone table. Spencer laughs. Nothing is broken, so it’s all good. They watch a movie once it’s dark outside, something on HBO about a single mother with two children and a stupid-as-fuck boyfriend. Brendon vaguely wonders when the world became Lifetime.
When the movie is over, Brendon leans against Spencer and says quietly, “I’m maybe a little bit in love with Jon Walker.” He glances up to see what Spencer’s reaction is, but there really isn’t one. Spencer’s just smiling softly, his eyes turned sympathetic.
Spencer says, “I know.”
Brendon calls Jon after Spencer leaves. He says, “Hey, do you wanna come over for a while? Hang out with me?”
Jon’s smile is contagious, even over the phone. “Sure,” He says. “Ryan’s leaving for one of his weird cult parties in a few minutes, anyway.”
Ryan yells, “Hey!” in the background. Brendon laughs.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Jon says, and he hangs up.
Brendon waves Jon into the living room when he gets there and heads to the kitchen to get some beer out of the fridge. His phone rings, so he answers, “What’s up?” without looking to see who’s calling. In the living room, Jon is wrestling with Boggart. His voice can be heard clearly in the kitchen. Spencer must hear it over the line, because instead of saying “Hey, Brendon,” he says, “Jon’s there?”
Brendon freezes and almost drops a bottle. He catches himself in time and shuts the Refrigerator door with his foot. “Yeah,” He says nonchalantly. “So?”
“Are you gonna tell him?” Spencer asks softly.
Brendon doesn’t know, so he says, “Maybe. I don’t - maybe.” Spencer makes a small noise over the phone, something almost like, be careful. Brendon’s tired; it’s late, and he tired, and his heart is beating, so he says again, “Maybe.” Spencer doesn’t say anything. Brendon says, “I think I will. I mean, what - what could happen? He could say no, right?”
To Spencer, it doesn’t sound like a question. Spencer says, “Be careful, okay? Call me. I mean it.”
“Sure,” Brendon says. “I promise.” He hangs up the phone, slips it into his pocket, and carries the beers out into the living room.
Jon looks up just has he comes in through the doorway. Boggart jumps up and darts over between Brendon’s feet, barking playfully, ears at attention. Jon gets up and takes one of the beer bottles from Brendon. The bottles are already sweating, leaving Brendon’s palm wet with condensation. He wipes his hands on his jeans, pops the bottle top and takes a drink.
They sit down and watch a movie, but Brendon is fidgety. Less than half way through, Jon picks up on his mood and says, “What’s up?” with his hand resting on Brendon’s knee. Brendon carefully leans over and set the almost-empty bottle on the floor, then turns, twists, and presses his lips gently against Jon’s. Jon doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t kiss back, either. Brendon pulls back after a few seconds; his heart drops.
Jon doesn’t look mad, exactly, just. Confused, a little, but more like he knows what Brendon’s thinking and he wants that to stop, now. Jon doesn’t get angry, but this almost feels like it to Brendon.
“I love you,” Brendon says, so quietly that he thinks Jon might not hear.
Jon definitely hears.
Jon puts his hand on Brendon’s neck, gentle like he always is, runs his thumb under Brendon’s jaw. Brendon can’t help but arch his neck, tilt his head back to bare his throat. Jon makes a soft sound, but it isn’t something like want, more like, no. Jon pulls his hand away.
Brendon wants to cry.
“I don’t - I’m sorry, Bren. I really am, I.” Jon looks torn, the almost-anger in his eyes replaced by pity, maybe, or sympathy. Both, Brendon thinks. Probably. “I’m gonna leave now, okay?” Brendon can’t do anything but nod. “I’ll see you later.” Jon doesn’t hug him. Brendon buries his face in his hands and tries, tries not to cry. It doesn’t work very well.
*
The phone rings early the next morning. Brendon is watching reruns of Jeopardy, but it isn’t making him feel better, even though he knows a lot of the answers. He answers the phone unthinkingly. His voice is hollow when he says, “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?” Spencer asks.
Brendon hasn’t slept. He shakes his head no, but realizes belatedly that Spencer isn’t here, Spencer is at home, not in this room where Brendon needs him. Brendon doesn’t say any of this. Brendon put the spoon back in his half-empty gallon of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream and says, “No.” He says, “I think I’m going to go puke now.” He throws the phone down and runs.
He retches until there’s nothing left. He rinses his mouth out twice and then rinses the sink, wipes his mouth on his sleeve. He slowly walks back to the living room, picks his phone up off of the couch. He says, “Are you there? Spence?”
Brendon can hear the sound of a car starting behind Spencer’s breathing. Spencer says, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Spencer lets himself in through the front door. One of the dogs has peed on the kitchen floor. The food bowl is empty. Brendon is sitting on the couch, knees pulled to his chest, ice cream discarded on the coffee table. Spencer drops his keys beside the ice cream carton and curls up on the couch with Brendon. Brendon throws himself into Spencer’s lap, hides his face in Spencer’s neck, and cries.
“I knew he could say no,” Brendon says, an hour later, after his tears are dried - everywhere except Spencer’s collar. Brendon almost laughs at that, at the dampness in the cotton, but he doesn’t. “I knew he could, but.”
“It’s hard,” Spencer says. Brendon nods.
Yeah. It’s hard.
*
Ryan calls that afternoon and bitches him out. He yells, “Stop fucking up the band, Brendon. Stop fucking with Jon.” Brendon’s breath catches angrily in his throat. Ryan yells, “Stop being so fucking childish.”
Brendon can’t help himself. He knows Ryan is only trying to make things better, but he still yells back, “How am I being the childish one? I told the fucking truth.”
Ryan hangs up on him.
The next morning, Brendon rents a Uhaul. He packs up all of his things and moves to LA.
*
Brendon spends a lot of time surfing.
He moves into Shane’s spare bedroom, laughs when Dylan - the shy, timid, shakes-in-her-boots Italian greyhound - chases after his much more outgoing dogs. He feels bad, almost, about taking up half of Shane’s space, but Shane won’t listen to him complain. He just says, “Fuck, Brendon, this is - this isn’t, like. It’s like old times, right? Like when I was in Vegas, and staying with you. Were you tired of me after the first day?”
“No,” Brendon says hesitantly. It’s different, he thinks, than before Shane moved out to LA. Shane wasn’t living with Regan then. Now, Regan is constantly there. It’s their apartment, not Shane’s. Brendon feels like he’s intruding on both of them. Regan just ruffles his hair and makes him eggs for breakfast.
Spencer comes to visit after a week.
“Vegas is boring without you,” He offers as an excuse.
Brendon rolls his eyes. “You can go into casinos now,” He says. “Strip clubs. Dress up like Elvis, run down the strip and have tourists follow you. That’s boring?”
Spencer cuffs him in the back of the head. He smiles, though, and it’s easy, like old times. “Shut the fuck up.”
Brendon’s king sized bed takes up most of the second bedroom - Brendon’s bedroom. Spencer says, “I didn’t bring my air mattress,” and, “I don’t think you have enough floor space for me to set it up, anyway.” Brendon shoves Spencer down on the mattress, climbs on top of him, and wiggles his fingers menacingly. Spencer narrows his eyes, hands on Brendon’s hips.
Something Brendon learned soon after joining the band is that Spencer is very ticklish. Insanely, unheard-of ticklish. Brendon goes for his ribs, the backs of his knees, his wrists. He pins Spencer’s arms down with his knees, but Spencer is stronger, and Brendon is little. Spencer flips them easily, gets Brendon a headlock and accidentally bites his shoulder. Brendon laughs.
“I’ll share, fuck, I’ll share!” Brendon squirms.
Spencer lets go of him. “You can sleep on the floor.”
Brendon pouts.
*
Shane drags them down to the beach the day after Spencer arrives. Spencer doesn’t really know how to surf, and too many late-night Discovery Channel marathons have left him slightly afraid of sharks. Brendon hands him Shane’s camera, already dressed in a wetsuit and carrying his board. It may be summer, but it’s early-morning and the salty water is chilly, a little.
“You can take pictures of us doing stupid shit,” Brendon says. Spencer smiles and captures each of Brendon’s wipeouts on video.
*
In a folder under Brendon’s mattress, there’s a stack of paper filled with music notes and lyrics, notes written in the margins, chords doodled out in the corners. Spencer finds the folder two weeks into his stay when he’s stripping Brendon’s bed of its sheets. (Brendon showers after each surf session, but never quite manages to rinse out all the sand. Spencer is tired of sleeping in all the grit.)
He sits down on the half-stripped bed and reads through everything. Brendon finds him an hour later, half of a meatball sub in his hands. He sits down beside Spencer and offers him a bite.
“What’cha lookin’ at?” Brendon asks around a mouthful of sauce and cheese.
Spencer shrugs and offers up a paper, but thinks twice about it when he catches a glimpse of Brendon’s messy fingers. He says, “You tell me.”
“It’s just stuff,” Brendon says. “I get bored a lot.”
“It’s good,” Spencer says. “I like it - a lot.”
“Yeah?” Brendon takes another bite of his sandwich and they sit in silence while he chews.
Finally, Spencer says, “So, the bass parts - ”
*
Spencer meets Ryan for lunch the day after he gets back to Vegas. He’s wearing a pair of Brendon’s sunglasses when he sits down, outside under an umbrella. Ryan arches an eyebrow at him, questioning. They both know Spencer outgrew the gaudy, oversized glasses back during Fever. Spencer just shrugs.
They don’t talk until the waitress serves them their food.
“So, how long are you back for?” Ryan asks.
Spencer looks at him over the glasses. “I was visiting. I still live here, you know.”
Ryan presses his lips together and gives Spencer a knowing look. He changes the subject. “I’ve been working on some new music with Jon. It’ll sound good on the next album.”
“Me and Brendon have been writing, too,” Spencer says.
“Huh,” Ryan hums. “I bet the drums are pretty good.” He takes a sip of his water. “Brendon writes shitty lyrics, though.”
Spencer almost drops his fork. He glares at Ryan from across the table. “Just because his lyrics are different than what you write doesn’t make them shitty.”
Ryan glares back, and it’s like they’re ten years old again, fighting over whose turn it is on the skateboard. “All of his music sounds more and more like Fever.”
“It doesn’t,” Spencer shoots back, “It sounds more like things you just don’t want to listen to. It isn’t like Fever at all. You haven’t heard it, anyway, so shut the hell up, Ryan.”
Ryan goes rigid. “He’s not acting his age,” He says carefully.
“He’s acting twenty-two,” Spencer says. “You’re the one who’s acting forty-years-old.”
“Maybe,” Ryan says quietly. “He shouldn’t write music for us anymore.”
“You can’t kick Brendon out of the band.” Spencer says harshly. “He’s the lead singer. We can’t replace that.”
“I can sing,” Ryan says.
“Fine.” Spencer stands up. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet and throws it down on the table. “If you’re kicking Brendon out, I’m gone, too.”
“Fine,” Ryan says sharply. “Me and Jon are working on stuff that doesn’t have drums you can play, anyway. You’d have to learn new things.”
Spencer leaves. He doesn’t look back.
*
Ryan calls Spencer when Spencer’s halfway back to LA.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I was being a dick.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says. “You were.” They’re quiet for a minute. Spencer sighs. “Jesus, Ryan, I’ve known you longer than anyone else. I know when you’re being a jackass and don’t realize it, but. You know? Brendon’s better off without you and Jon, anyway.”
Ryan asks quietly, “What about you, Spence?”
It’s easy for Spencer to say, “I’m better off with Brendon.”
*
Spencer moves in with Brendon.
Shane laughs when Spencer says, “You don’t mind having another roommate, do you?”
“No sex on the couch,” Shane says. “That’s rule number one.”
“What’s rule number two?” Spencer asks, smiling.
“The second rule,” Shane starts, making his voice deep and gravely, “Is that you do not talk about Fight Club.”
Spencer laughs.
Brendon comes running down the hallway. He jumps onto Spencer’s back and hollers, “Yes! You’re back! I knew you missed me!” Spencer dumps Brendon onto the floor. He lands on his ass and yelps.
In the bedroom that night, Spencer strips off his shirt and Brendon laughs. “You’re sharing a bed with me,” He sing-songs.
Spencer rolls his eyes. “It’s not like you bite,” He says.
Brendon bites him.
*
Brendon hits his head against the wall; Spencer laughs, but it doesn’t last long. He says, “Shit, are you okay?” Brendon laughs, too. Taking that as a yes, I’m fine, Spencer continues with the pillow fight.
They are such girls.
Brendon loves it.
*
Brendon loves Dallon in the way that Dallon will dance to Lady Gaga and Shakira with him; Dallon will play scrabble with him and not call him a cheater; Dallon will play Mario Kart with him when it’s five in the morning and none of them can sleep; Dallon will share his ice cream with Brendon, even when there are sprinkles, which are Dallon’s favorite, and he never shares with anyone else.
Brendon is not in love with Dallon, but it’ll do.
“Guys,” Ian yells. “Guys!”
Brendon spins around to face the computer. “Oh, hey, it connected!”
“Yeah,” Ian laughs, hair bouncing, mouth stretched into a pretty smile. Brendon loves Ian. “Like five minutes ago. What the fuck are you guys doing?”
“Dancing,” Spencer says, shoving Brendon out of the way.
Brendon squawks his protest. Everyone ignores him.
“We’re dancing and you’re not,” Dallon says. He and Ian share a smile, something secret, and Spencer feels almost like he shouldn’t be seeing it.
Ian is in Detroit with his family until the start of the Blink tour. Brendon is a little sad that the rest of (all of, Brendon thinks giddily, like he stole something) The Cab is on tour, so they can’t hang out at all. He’s had lunch with Pete once this week, but Pete is constantly going places for FBR and Clan. He’s always got something to do. The three of them have mostly been hanging around practicing, video-chatting with Ian on the computer.
“Shit,” Ian says, looking back over his shoulder. There’s some quiet yelling in the background. “Mom’s calling us for dinner.” He looks sheepish, almost. Embarrassed.
“Go,” Spencer says. They understand that.
“See you later,” Ian says, and then he’s gone.
*
There’s another reason Brendon really, really loves Dallon: he doesn’t leave the room when Brendon kisses Spencer.
*
The really awesome thing about Brendon’s bed is that he can fit three people in it if that all huddle together. He doesn’t call it cuddling because it makes Dallon laugh like a little kid and Spencer scowls - he’s still, after all this time around Brendon, not a cuddly person - but Brendon thinks of it as cuddling in his head, regardless. They’re packed for the tour, bags sitting in the dining room, ready to be loaded into the car and onto the plane.
Ian calls them at some ungodly hour and says, “Shit, sorry, time difference. I forgot.”
“ ‘s okay,” Brendon mumbles into the phone. Spencer steals it from him, has an amazingly-coherent conversation about flight times, and then shoves at Brendon’s shoulder after he hangs up.
“Go back to sleep,” Spencer says, eyes closed, lips against Brendon’s neck. Dallon mumbles his agreement against Brendon’s collarbone.
Brendon closes his eyes.