Fic -That's No Way to Say Goodbye (Brendon/Spencer)
That's No Way to Say Goodbye // NC-17 // Brendon/Spencer // 13,000 words
This is a continuation of the fic I wrote for bandombigbang. This will probably make more sense if you read that one first. It can be found here if you are interested.
Thanks to lissa_bear and stephanometra for betaing. Rachel, you were, as always, a huge help. Thanks for listening to me whine and for offering ideas when I ran out. <3
Summary: "Everything is changing," Brendon says softly.
Part One
It's not like Spencer can randomly approach his boyfriend of five-plus years and say, "So, I'm randomly moving to California, and I think you should come with me." Spencer's not sure quite how to do it, but he's positive that's probably not the best approach.
Instead he says, "I need you to make time for me every now and then."
Brendon stares wide-eyed from the couch and says, "I get caught up in my own head sometimes. I know it isn't fair, but if you just remind me now and again, I'll try to be better about it."
Spencer nods, but he knows the conversation isn't anywhere near finished, the situation not anywhere near fixed. He figures he can hash all of that out when he figures out how to tell Brendon about California. He doesn't really know when that will be, but it's not happening tomorrow, so Spencer figures it can wait.
He gets a realtor and starts looking online, anyway. The houses cost a fortune; Spencer's not hurting for money, but he's not Jay-Z either. He is, however, a frugal sort of person (minus the shoes), and he's got enough money for a decent-sized down payment. He's pretty sure he can get a loan, too, but he probably needs a job for that. He ends up calling Patrick because the idea of talking to Pete, while pleasant, is also kind of exhausting.
"Hey," Patrick says, and he sounds either frazzled or confused. Considering his busy schedule and the fact that Spencer rarely ever calls him, it's probably a little bit of both.
"Hi," Spencer says. "So, I was wondering if you had any suggestions for what a semi-retired drummer might do for a job while the rest of his band goes out and has babies and makes solo albums."
Patrick says, "Does this semi-retired drummer have any skills worth mentioning?"
Spencer laughs and says, "He's been known to recognize talent in other young up-and-comers. He has excellent organizational skills, and I hear he plays a really mean cowbell."
Patrick says, "I'll talk to Pete. I'm sure someone somewhere has use for a guy that knows his way around a cowbell."
Spencer laughs again and says, "Thanks."
Spencer knocks softly on the door to their music studio, but he can hear Brendon at the drums, so he doesn't wait for an answer before he pushes the door open. Brendon's at Spencer's kit, his hands wrapped around a pair of sticks, and his hair clinging to his neck in a sweaty mess. It's getting long again after more than a month of not touring, and Spencer knows it'll get longer still before Brendon bothers to get it cut.
He waits in the doorway until Brendon notices him and puts the sticks down. It's eerily quiet once the cymbals fade out and Spencer says, "Hey," just to fill the silence up with sound.
Brendon smiles and shakes his head, sending drops of sweat flying out. "Hi," Brendon says. "Did you need me?"
It's on the tip of Spencer's tongue to say yes, yes because it's still like that for him with Brendon. Even approaching almost a decade of knowing him; the wanting him, the needing him, hasn't really changed.
Instead he says, "I'm going to L.A. this weekend to sit down with Pete about a job."
Brendon looks surprised. "What kind of a job?" he asks.
Spencer shrugs. "We were going to talk about it, but probably A&R stuff."
Brendon looks down at the drum kit, runs his fingers through his hair, and stands up. He rolls his shoulders and asks, "Have you gotten plane tickets yet?"
Spencer shakes his head. "Pete's people are taking care of it. They're supposed to e-mail me the info later today."
Brendon says, "I think I'll go with you, if that's okay."
Spencer's heart speeds up a little, even if some jaded part of his brain is telling him Brendon's only doing it because he thinks Spencer is still mad. But whatever Brendon's reasons, it's an olive branch of sorts, and Spencer would be an asshole not to take it. He smiles, says, "I'll call Pete."
Brendon nods and walks around the kit. He's covered in sweat, but Spencer lets him wrap his arms around Spencer's neck anyway. Brendon kisses him lightly over and over, just a small brush of lips, and Spencer puts his hands on Brendon's hips and drags him closer.
They stay like that for a long time, standing near the door with their mouths touching until Brendon tilts his head and swipes his tongue along Spencer's lower lip. Spencer lets himself be kissed, lets his tongue meet Brendon's half way, until he feels his blood start humming under his skin.
Brendon pulls away finally and says, "I love you, you know?"
Spencer does know. He knows Brendon loves him, he just doesn't know why it's not enough to make him happy anymore. "I love you, too," Spencer says, because it's the truth, even if Spencer is starting to feel like something is really, really wrong between them.
"You should call Pete about a plane ticket for me while I shower, and then we should go out and do something," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "Okay," as Brendon kisses his chin, messy and quick, and then lets him go to head upstairs for a shower. He knows he should be happy that Brendon's making time for him, but he can't help feeling like he forced Brendon's hand. He can't help feeling like he's just one more obligation Brendon has to fulfill, like he's a burden, an afterthought. It sits ugly in Spencer's stomach, and Spencer doesn't know how to make it go away.
Pete still knows how to throw a party despite the fact that he's a thirty-something, married father of two, with a third on the way. Pete's house is loud and full of people and alcohol, and Spencer's starting to get a headache.
"We're celebrating, Spence," Pete says when he sees him rubbing his temple. "Good friends, new jobs, new babies." He smiles over at Ashlee then, and she smiles back as she lays a protective hand over her still very, very flat stomach.
"Congratulations, by the way," Spencer shouts.
Ashlee says, "Thank you," and she's beaming again, skin flushed a pretty pink that Spencer knows has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with being really, really happy.
Something loud crashes from some other room, and Pete smiles, almost like he's proud that someone is taking the initiative to get the party really rolling by destroying his house. "I should go see what that's about," he says as he ambles off toward the noise. Spencer thinks he's just as likely to join in as he is to stop whatever is going on.
Spencer can still see Brendon in the corner. He's been drinking pretty steadily since they got here, and now he's got Gabe hanging all over him as further encouragement. Spencer's really glad they're staying here; the mere thought of hauling Brendon into a cab and then up the floors of a hotel is exhausting.
"He's having fun," Ashlee says, and Spencer startles a little. He forgot she was there for a moment.
Spencer says, "Yeah."
Ashlee grabs Spencer's hand and says, "Come with me."
They head out of the room and down a hall, and then on to another hall until Ashlee opens the door to a large room with various instruments and sound equipment. "Stay here for a second. I'll be back," she says shoving him inside and closing the door.
Spencer wanders around the room, fiddles with the drum kit and the keyboard a bit until the door opens and Ashlee comes back inside. She walks over and hands Spencer the bottle of water she has in her hand, along with four Advil.
"This room is mostly soundproof," she says, and it's only then that Spencer realizes she's right. The room is blissfully quiet.
Spencer takes the Advil and says, "Thanks."
Ashlee shrugs. "Mom instincts," she says. "You okay?"
Spencer says, "Headache."
Ashlee purses her lips and looks at him for so long that Spencer starts to feel uncomfortable. Finally she says, "You can hang in here for as long as you want."
"Thanks," Spencer says, as Ashlee nods and turns back toward the door.
She pauses with her hand on the knob and says, "I know we're not super-close or anything, but if you ever wanted an unbiased ear, I've got two."
Spencer nods even though she's not looking at him, and he'd really love to get an unbiased opinion about... things. But, if talking to Ryan about Brendon felt like a betrayal, he can only imagine how talking to Ashlee about him would feel. "I'll remember that," he says, "but I'm good right now."
Ashlee says, "Okay," and leaves him alone.
Brendon flies home a few days later, but Spencer stays on another week, ironing out details and signing papers. He has a job now. He has a job that's totally different from what he's been doing for the last eight years of his life. He feels excited about something other than his band and his music and Brendon for the first time in a long time.
Pete says, "Ryan called. He says you have to come home. Apparently Jon's in town and your presence is required."
Spencer finds it amusing and strangely endearing that Ryan basically called Spencer's boss to see if it was okay for him to leave. Spencer tells Pete, "You don't have to tell me twice," as he picks up his cell phone to make flight arrangements.
Brendon doesn't answer his cell or the house phone, so Spencer ends up calling Ryan. Ryan picks him up from the airport with Jon in tow.
"Brendon is MIA," Ryan says, slinging one of Spencer's bags over his shoulder.
Spencer's eyes linger on the baggage carousel, spinning round and round, littered with bags in various shapes, sizes, and colors. Spencer wonders how it's possible to fit so much of someone into such a small space.
"He's probably working," Spencer says quietly.
Ryan says, "Yeah, but Jon's here," like that explains everything, and it does, or it did.
Spencer doesn't know how to judge anything anymore. He feels raw and open and wrong, like a chewed-through wire that someone put back together with electrical tape. He thinks a month ago -- maybe even a week ago -- this wouldn't have been a big deal. Now, it feels like something Brendon is doing on purpose. It feels like Brendon is leaving them all behind, Spencer most of all.
Spencer says, "Drop me at the house. I'll get him, and we'll come over."
Jon's been quiet the entire time. Spencer realizes he hasn't even said hello, so he curves his arm around Jon's waist as they walk toward the airport exit.
"Hi, there, Jon Walker," Spencer says.
Jon gives him a strained smile and then tilts his head slightly, resting it against Spencer's shoulder. Spencer rubs his cheek over the top of Jon's head and cherishes the moment. Spencer has always liked being needed.
Brendon's car isn't in the driveway when they pull up, so Spencer just throws his bags in the foyer and gets back into Ryan's car. They go out and get drunk, just the three of them. Jon's withdrawn and quiet, and Ryan keeps looking at him like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Is anyone going to clue me in?" Spencer asks.
Jon looks at Ryan and shrugs, signaling the waitress for another beer.
Ryan says, "Cassie and Jon broke up."
Spencer knew they were having problems, but he hadn't realized they were this bad. Cassie's been a part of Jon's life for longer than the band, and Spencer feels like a shitty friend for not being more aware.
"I'm sorry," Spencer says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Jon shakes his head and swigs his beer. Spencer lets it go, because Jon will come to them when he's ready. Jon knows he can always come to them.
Spencer doesn't know how long they drink, but it's a long time. Long enough that Spencer's really glad he's not driving. He calls two cabs for the three of them, and they sit together, shoulder to shoulder on the curb while they wait for them to show up.
Jon says, "Growing up, whenever my dad would go away on business or go to work or even just go down the street to the store, my mom would always tell him this quote. I don't remember who it's by, but she would say, 'If you aren't gone too long, I'll wait here for you all of my life.'"
Ryan says, "It's Oscar Wilde."
Jon smiles sadly and nods. "Yeah, that's it, Oscar Wilde."
Spencer says, "Jon?" He doesn't know what he should say, but Jon looks sadder than Spencer's ever seen him, making Spencer feel helpless and lost.
Jon curls into a little ball on the pavement between them, his knees tucked up to his chest and his head on Spencer's leg. "She stopped waiting for me," Jon says.
Spencer doesn't think there's anything to say to that, so he puts his fingers in Jon's hair and waits for the cabs to show up.
Spencer gets home late and feeling pretty drunk. Brendon's car is in the drive, and despite his inebriated state, it doesn't escape Spencer's attention that Brendon didn't bother to call him. Spencer fumbles with his keys and the lock a few times before he finally gets it right and gets through the door.
The lights in the living room are on, and when Spencer passes by, he sees Brendon, head bowed and hands clasped, sitting on the couch.
"Honey, I'm home," Spencer says bitterly, leaning against the door jamb.
Brendon's head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes. "Have fun?" he asks.
"Sure, tons," Spencer says, and then because he's feeling a little mean, he adds, "Jon and Cassie broke up."
Brendon inhales sharply, and Spencer watches with a little satisfaction when Brendon looks away guiltily. "I didn't know," he says.
Spencer pushes off the door frame and comes into the room. "You would have," he says. "If you had bothered to answer your phone."
Brendon turns back then, launching himself off the couch and pushing into Spencer's space. "I have been answering the phone. All week in fact," he spits. "Why just this morning I got a call from your realtor in California. It seems she's found the perfect place for you."
Spencer doesn't know what to say. This wasn't supposed to go down like this. He was supposed to have more time, so that he could think of what to say -- of how to word this -- so that when he goes, Brendon will come with him
"I-" Spencer starts.
The corners of Brendon's eyes look shiny and wet. "You're leaving me," he says.
Spencer doesn't think he's ever heard Brendon sound like this in his entire life. There's no life behind his words, and for as long as Spencer's known him, of all the things Brendon can be, alive has always been the greatest of them all. Spencer feels like he's being pressed, like his organs are shifting and coming together, like his ribs are cracking.
"I was going to ask you to come with me," Spencer says.
He knows it sounds lame, and the part of his brain that's been getting louder lately also screams; too late, too late, too late.
Brendon huffs, running his fingers through his hair. "How was this supposed to work, exactly?" he asks. "You buy your house, in the place you've always wanted to live, and you get everything your way, and I'm just supposed to follow along?"
Spencer says, "Well, I've been doing it for years, and that's worked pretty well for you so far."
Spencer doesn't think Brendon could look more shocked if Spencer had just gone ahead and slapped him. Spencer wants to take it back now that it's out there, but it's how he feels, and he's so tired of hiding it.
"You think I have everything my way?" Brendon asks.
"Don't you?" Spencer counters. "We live in a house we bought together, in our hometown, so you can be close to your family. A family that you see whenever you want, but I hardly know, even though we've been living here together for going on five years. Do you know what that's like? To be hidden and kept secret and separate from this whole other part of your life?"
Brendon says, "I'm not going to apologize for that. You knew how it was going to be. You didn't come into this blind, Spencer. I never lied to you."
Spencer can't look at him. He can't look at Brendon's eyes, because he feels like his skin is barely holding him together. He feels like he's unraveling on the inside and any moment Brendon will be able to see it. "No," Spencer whispers. "You never lied."
Brendon says, "You said you could do this. You said you wanted this enough... You wanted me enough."
Brendon's voice cracks, sharp and high, like Spencer hasn't heard it since they were teenagers. He gets up and takes two steps forward, closing his eyes when Brendon takes two back. Spencer thinks he really is going to fly apart if he doesn't put his hands on Brendon, so he keeps going.
Brendon backs himself all the way to the living room wall, and Spencer stands in front of him, reaching out tentatively to put his hands on Brendon's hips. He feel s a little better just from that contact, and he wonders wildly how he's going to do this without him. He hasn't been without any of them in a very long time.
"Brendon," Spencer says gently. "I can't. I just can't anymore."
Brendon leans in and buries his face against Spencer's neck. Spencer feels his skin get wet, and he feels like the world's biggest piece of scum, but he can't take it back. He can't.
Brendon says, "I don't know what you want me to do," muffled and strained against Spencer's skin.
Spencer steps back, and Brendon looks up, their eyes locking and holding for an endless measure. Spencer says, "I want you to choose me. Just this once I want you to think about us first, and just let everything else go."
Brendon closes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath. Spencer feels desperate. He feels like he's losing. "Please," he says. "I told you once that it wasn't home without you, and I've followed you. Follow me now."
Brendon swallows hard. He says, "I'm scared, Spencer."
Spencer's not sure he'll ever understand this part of Brendon anymore than he understands it in Ryan. Spencer's never been scared of the people he loves. He never thought that was something he should be thankful for, but he is now. He sees things differently now.
"I'm right here," Spencer says. "I know I didn't do this right, but I'm asking you now. Come to California with me?"
Brendon shakes his head, eyes wide and panicked. He steps into Spencer's space, curling his fingers into Spencer's shoulders so hard it hurts. "I can't," he says. He kisses Spencer's mouth hard, scraping his teeth along Spencer's lip as he breaks away. "I can't."
He pushes, and Spencer takes a step back. Spencer lets him step away. Spencer lets him go.
Spencer tries to do some work. He tries not to wonder what Brendon is doing or where he's gone or if he's okay. He tries not to think about the fact that Brendon went out, and he's probably not coming back -- not to stay, anyway.
Not thinking about it doesn't really work. Spencer can't concentrate, and he's still a little woozy from all the beers he had with Jon and Ryan. It's late and Spencer's really, really tired, but he's not sure he can sleep. He's not sure he can go to their bedroom and sleep by himself, even though he's done it a hundred times before, even though he's been doing it more often than not for months.
He lies down on the couch and thinks about going upstairs and getting undressed. He wonders if he can slide under the covers and pretend like Brendon's just out of town or over at his sister's for the night. Spencer touches his fingertip to his wrist and counts off the beats -- one, two, three, four -- counting until his eyes get heavy, until he can't remember what number came before. Spencer figures it doesn't matter anyway. It's an endless number and losing the count won't change that. He starts over again at one, two, three, four, and falls asleep counting.
He wakes up before the sun and calls Ryan. He knows it's cruel, what with Ryan getting drunk the night before and also having an infant, but if Spencer hasn't earned the right to call Ryan at four in the morning, he doesn't know who has.
Ryan's phone goes straight to voicemail, so Spencer gets up and brushes his teeth and grabs his keys off the entry table. He stops by Starbucks and gets four coffees as a peace offering, just in case he accidentally wakes up Jon and Keltie, too.
He pulls in to Ryan's driveway, coffee cups balanced precariously in the passenger seat, and almost loses the whole tray when he slams on his brakes hard. Brendon's car is parked at the curb, and Ryan is leaning against it in a white t-shirt, pajama pants and bare feet.
Ryan pushes off the car and walks to Spencer's. Spencer rolls down his window, and then twists his hands around his steering wheel.
"I brought you coffee," Spencer says.
Ryan nods and says, "Put the car in park, Spencer."
He walks around to the passenger side and opens the door while Spencer puts the car in park. Ryan picks up the coffees and slides into the car, placing them back on his lap before fastening his seat belt. Spencer thinks it's probably more from habit than an actual desire to go somewhere.
Ryan says, "Do you want to drive around?"
Spencer doesn't know what he wants to do. Spencer doesn't know what he wants.
"Why is he here?" Spencer asks.
Ryan asks, "Why are you here?"
Spencer says, "You're my best friend."
Ryan looks at Spencer hard, almost like he's disappointed in him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah."
Spencer bites the inside of his lip hard enough that he thinks he might end up with a blister. There's a panicked part of Spencer's brain that wonders if they're all going to leave him, but louder than that is the part of him that's telling him Ryan is his. Ryan will always be his, and nothing is ever going to change that.
"I get you," Spencer says.
Ryan looks confused, so Spencer clarifies, "In the divorce. I get you."
Spencer tries to keep it light, and he guesses it works a little, because Ryan snorts and rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. "You both get me," he says.
Spencer says, "He left me."
Ryan looks out the window, his eyes focused on a patch of fast moving clouds. He sips his coffee and hands Spencer one of the cups. "Funny," he says. "He said the same thing."
They get quiet after that. Spencer listens to the sounds; the early morning birds just starting to wake up and the chirping crickets just about to go to bed. He listens to Ryan breathe and tries to match him breath for breath -- inhale, exhale, inhale -- like Ryan is showing him how. Ryan reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
"What can I do?" Ryan asks. "I'll do whatever you need me to do."
Spencer says, "I'm going to California."
Ryan doesn't say anything. He nods and drinks his coffee and waits.
Spencer says, "Will you take care of him for me?"
"Yes," Ryan says. "Of course."
Spencer looks at seven houses and finds something wrong with all of them, but his first thought when he walks into the eighth is, Brendon would love this view. The realtor drones on about the neighborhood and the school district and the various amenities the house has to offer.
Spencer stares at the ocean through the large, arched windows in the living room. He watches two seagulls fight over some hard-won scrap of food. There's a boat on the horizon, tiny and white and rolling along with the waves. The sand is so white it's almost blinding.
"What do you think?" the realtor asks.
Spencer says, "This is it," as he turns from the window. "I'll take it."
The realtor beams and goes to get the paperwork out of her briefcase.
The first thing Spencer does is put together the music room. It's what he and Brendon did with their house in Vegas, and even though Spencer hasn't picked up sticks in months, he doesn't think to do it any differently this time around.
When the room is soundproofed and painted, Spencer methodically puts together his drum kit. It's the only substantial thing he brought with him, and even though there's an entire room full of instruments at the house in Vegas, this is the only one that belongs solely to Spencer. He feels better just putting his hands on it.
He gets it put together and sits and sits and sits, sticks in hand, and can't bring himself to play anything. He get frustrated, and he's tired, and he still hasn't fed the dogs yet, so he gets up and goes to the kitchen. Boba and Milo look miffed even though it's not that late, and Spencer pats their heads in apology as he pours food in to their bowls.
The house is quiet except for the dogs chomping on their food, and Spencer startles when his cell phone rings. It's a Vegas number, but it's not someone he has programmed in, and there's a moment of indecision -- his heart pounding in his ears -- before he flips the phone open and answers.
"Hello?" he says.
There's a moment of quiet on the other end before a woman says, "May I speak to Spencer?"
"Speaking," Spencer says, tersely.
"Hi," the woman says. "This is Kara... Brendon's sister."
Spencer's at a loss for words. He can count on two hands the number of times he's spoken to Brendon's sister. He can't think of any reason she could possibly have to call him unless something's happened to Brendon, and that thought sends his heart racing.
He can hear Kara breathing loudly on the other end of the phone, still waiting for Spencer to speak. Spencer takes a deep breath of his own and says, "Yes?"
"Look," Kara says. "I don't really know what happened, or why you moved, but I can tell that Brendon really misses you. Whatever fight you had... well I was hoping you could call him and talk to him."
Spencer suddenly has a violent urge to snap his phone shut. He's not sure how much Kara knows, but knowing Brendon and his relationship with his family, Spencer assumes it's not much. Of course, it's so typically Brendon to have everyone around him trying to fix his problems, that Spencer figures he shouldn't be all that surprised.
"He has my number," Spencer snaps.
He knows he's being rude, and that it's not really Kara's fault, but the person Spencer really wants to be angry at isn't here. That's sort of the whole damn problem.
Kara says, "I know. I stole it out of his phone this morning."
Spencer says, "Then I don't really know why we're having this conversation. Obviously we have nothing to say to one another."
"He's sorry," Kara says. "I'm sure that whatever he did to make you mad, he's sorry."
Spencer bites his tongue so hard that he's surprised he doesn't break the skin. "Not sorry enough to call me," he says. "He's twenty-five years old, Kara. Let him make his own apologies."
Kara laughs, and Spencer thinks if she's trying to break the tension, she's failing at it miserably.
"Just because he's twenty five, doesn't mean he's not a complete moron," she says. "I'm just trying to help fix things here."
"Maybe that's part of the problem," Spencer says angrily. "Let him clean up his own mess for once."
Spencer snaps his phone closed and paces across the room. He feels like steam in a pot -- like there's something building inside him -- and if it doesn't get out, he's going to explode. He wants to throw something. He wants to throw something hard, but he's standing in his empty kitchen, which is next to his empty living room, which connects to a hall that leads to two empty bedrooms.
Spencer sets his phone down on the counter and storms down the hall to the music room. He's got an entire house full of nothing and a drum set he can't bring himself to play. He closes the door, closes himself in, and screams and screams and screams. When that doesn't make him feel any better, he walks over and kicks his drums. He keeps kicking until he doesn't recognize them anymore.
Spencer calls Ryan.
"I killed my drum set," he says. "I just literally kicked the shit out of my drum set."
Ryan says, "Why did you do that?"
Spencer smiles and says, "I don't know. I hated it, I guess. You should come out and take a look. I bet you a hundred dollars I killed it better than that guitar you burned."
Ryan laughs and says, "I can't come out, Spence. Keltie has the flu, so I'm on Jude patrol, but if you wanted to come to Vegas I'm sure we could scrounge up some more instruments for you to assault."
Spencer feels a pang of regret, before he can shake it off. There was a time in their lives where they would have dropped anything to be there for each other, and Spencer is still getting used to the changes, to the shifts in priority. He's happy for Ryan though. Ryan's happy -- happier than Spencer ever thought he would be -- and Spencer doesn't want to be the kind of friend that would begrudge him that.
"Nah," Spencer says. "I'm good. Tell Keltie I hope she feels better."
"I will," Ryan says. "Oh, and call Jon. He misses you."
Spencer calls Jon. "I bought a house," he says, once they've gotten all the preliminary stuff out of the way.
Jon says, "So I hear."
There's a lot of background noise, making it almost impossible for Spencer to hear what Jon is saying. "Where are you?" he asks.
Jon says, "At my parents' house. My mom is yelling at us to come to dinner. I feel like I'm in high school again. I have a curfew."
Spencer laughs. He's relieved to find he still can after the last few weeks, and he suddenly misses Jon fiercely. "Come visit me," Spencer says. "You can sleep on my couch, and I'll let you stay out as late as you want."
Jon takes a turn laughing. He says, "Do you even have a couch?"
Spencer says, "I will by the time you get here."
Spencer picks Jon up from the airport, and they stop at a corner store on the way back to the house to pick up a case of beer. Jon buys Corona even though they both know he prefers Blue Moon.
Spencer puts the beer in the fridge before he gives Jon the grand tour. He still doesn't have much in the way of furniture, but he's getting there.
"It has potential," Jon says.
Spencer punches Jon's arm, lightly. "It's fucking amazing," he says.
Jon says, "Yeah," and goes to get them beers.
They get tipsy together sitting out on the back porch watching the beach. There's an old lady walking her dog, and she stops every so often and bends down to pick up a shell and inspect it. Spencer wonders what she's looking for, and if she'll ever find it.
"This really is fucking amazing," Jon says, breaking the comfortable silence they've got going.
Spencer leans against him, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. Jon puts his hand on Spencer's leg and pats him companionably.
Spencer says, "Yeah," and Jon sighs, squeezing Spencer's leg.
Jon says, "So, we should go out tomorrow and get you a new kit."
Spencer wants to be mad, but he kind of likes knowing that Ryan's looking out for him even if he can't be here himself.
Spencer says, "That would probably be good. Even though I don't know if I can even play anymore."
Jon says, "What are you doing here, Spence?"
Spencer turns his head until he's looking at Jon's profile. Jon looks like he might cry, which is something Spencer's never actually seen him do. He's not sure what to do, or even if there is anything to do, but he's glad to be here just in case. He's glad to have a friend.
"I'm waiting," Spencer says.
Jon says, "For how long?" and Spencer says, "As long as it takes."
Spencer gets into a routine. He goes to shows, looking for bands to sign to Pete's empire. He sleeps past 10 o'clock every morning, eats breakfast when he should be having lunch, and takes the dogs for a walk after noon, when it's a little cooler outside.
The dogs like to race ahead, chasing birds and sniffing at spots that smell like dead fish or other dogs. Spencer likes the way the sand squishes between his toes when he walks close to the water. He lets the hems of his jeans get wet and rough and heavy. His hair falls in his face and whips around his head, so that he has to hold it back to keep it from hitting him in the eyes. He thinks about getting a haircut, but never quite gets around to it.
He spends a lot of time listening to music. He starts playing the drums again, using his spare time to slowly put the music room back togther. He looks through magazines at furniture and art and paint swatches, and thinks about finishing the house.
He spends a lot of time with Pete and Ashlee, which isn't something he ever thought he'd find himself doing. It turns out Pete's a pretty good father, and his kids are just about the cutest things Spencer has ever seen.
"Anybody thirsty?" Pete asks.
Both kids start jumping up and down and shouting. Ashlee pushes herself up off the couch, her belly leading the way. "I'll get it," Ashlee says, waving Pete back into his chair.
"You should stay off your feet," Pete says, blocking the doorway.
"I could kick you in your shin, and then I'd be off one of my feet," Ashlee says, smiling at Pete. "I'm pregnant, not sick."
Pete smiles back and asks, "Can you get your foot that high?"
Ashlee says, "I'd barely have to lift my foot at all, shorty."
They both hold out about three seconds before they start laughing. Spencer watches them bicker a bit longer before Pete says, "You want anything, Spencer?"
Spencer's pretty sure he looks like an idiot sitting in their living room, smiling at the two of them, but he doesn't care. He likes to see his friends happy. "Water," he says.
Ashlee says, "You two munchkins come help Mommy in the kitchen."
The kids get up and go running ahead down the hall, shrieking loudly.
Pete says, "You should show me what you have before they come back. We're going to have about a ten minute window before chaos descends upon us again."
They listen to a couple of demos, some of them more promising than others, but they both have a good feeling about two of the bands, and Spencer feels excited about something for the first time in a long time.
Ashlee comes back in with drinks, and the kids turn on the TV, filling the room with noise. Spencer watches them, whispering and giggling together.
Pete says, "Speaking of promising demos, Brendon's doing amazing things. I'm really excited about some of the stuff he's sent me."
Spencer's head whips around, wide-eyed. He doesn't know what to say, so he looks to Ashlee for help. She's too busy glaring daggers at Pete to notice.
Pete says, "He hasn't sent me anything in a few weeks, though. It happens, writer's block can be a bitch."
Spencer feels like a piece of broken glass. Part of him doesn't want to know that Brendon's having problems; he doesn't want to think about Brendon sitting in their house in Las Vegas, hurting. But there's another part of him that's starving for any scrap of information he can get his hands on. All Ryan will ever tell him is that Brendon's doing fine, not that Spencer ever comes right out and asks him.
Spencer realizes that Pete's still waiting for some kind of response, and that the room has gotten eerily quiet except for the noise from the TV.
"That's too bad," Spencer says quietly.
"Peter," Ashlee says, through gritted teeth.
Pete looks genuinely confused. "What?" he asks.
Ashlee rolls her eyes and says, "How's the new house, Spencer?"
Spencer sends her a look of thanks, and the two of them talk about the house.
Spencer says, "I have no idea what to do with it, honestly."
Ashlee smiles and says, "I can come out and take a look. We could go shopping, if you want."
Spencer finds himself strangely excited by the idea.
"Yeah," Spencer says. "That sounds like fun."
Spencer gets home late enough on Saturday night, that it's actually more early Sunday morning. He's surprisingly not tired, so he goes to his kit and plays Fever all the way through, twice. He decides he still hates it, but it's more from unwanted memories now than just being sick to death of hearing it.
He's sweaty and the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, so he grabs the dogs and heads out to the beach. He swims in his boxer shorts, letting the waves roll over his head until he can't breathe anymore, and he has to surface.
People are starting to wake up, and he knows some of his neighbors will be coming out soon to walk their dogs. He gets out and pulls on his jeans, working them up his wet legs and rolling the cuffs up, so he can walk without soaking them.
He walks until his calves burn, the dogs running here and there, jumping into the water and then shaking themselves dry near enough that Spencer gets pelted with droplets. He turns around and heads back. He says hello to everyone he passes and watches the water or the birds or the sand under his feet to keep his mind off the burning in his leg muscles.
The dogs run ahead. He can see them in the distance, running for the house, tripping across the sand in their sprint up the beach. Something small and grey comes shooting off the porch to meet them, and Boba and Milo dance around it, barking and sniffing.
Spencer yells, "Hey, sit," even though he's too far away to do anything about it. He starts jogging up the beach, and is half-way to the house when he realizes the grey thing is Dylan. His eyes fly up to the porch, his heart tripping even faster in his chest when he sees Brendon sitting on the steps.
Brendon must see him too, because he gets up, dusting the legs of his pants off as he steps off the wooden deck and onto the sand.
Spencer feels like he's walking through quicksand. It's slow and painful, and every step that takes him closer to Brendon makes him want to turn around and run. The dogs are still running and chasing and yipping happily at each other.
The wind is blowing strong today, making Brendon raise his voice when he says, "Hi."
Spencer doesn't know what he should say. He doesn't know why Brendon is here, and that is going to make all the difference.
"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks.
Brendon looks down at his feet. He looks Spencer in the face and says, "I told my parents about us."
Spencer's first instinct is to reach for Brendon, and his hand is already halfway from his body before he can think to stop himself. He lets it fall awkwardly back to his side. He says, "Are you okay?"
Brendon smiles sardonically, but he seems relaxed. "Yeah," he says. "It's going to be okay."
Spencer nods, and they fall silent. It's not -- this isn't anything Brendon couldn't have said over the phone, and Spencer's still not sure. Spencer doesn't know if he can handle any more bruises right now.
"But, what are you doing here, Bren?" Spencer asks again.
Brendon licks his lips and shuffles his feet. He takes a step closer, close enough that he has to lean his head back slightly to look Spencer in the eye. He doesn't look away as he says, "I was hoping you would let me come home. That is... I was hoping you wanted me to come home."
Spencer thinks about all the places he's been. He thinks about buses and hotels and practice spaces. He thinks about their house in Vegas, and Ryan's place, and his parents' house in Summerlin. He thinks about the beach house, with its pretty view and its wood floors and its still mostly unused rooms.
He reaches out and pulls Brendon to him, their arms clinging, as Brendon buries his face against Spencer's chest. It's not perfect, but Spencer's never wanted perfect anyway. Spencer likes things that need time and attention and care.
Spencer buries his nose in Brendon's hair and holds on. He tips his head to the side, rubbing his cheek along the crown of Brendon's head and says, "I was waiting for you."
This is a continuation of the fic I wrote for bandombigbang. This will probably make more sense if you read that one first. It can be found here if you are interested.
Thanks to lissa_bear and stephanometra for betaing. Rachel, you were, as always, a huge help. Thanks for listening to me whine and for offering ideas when I ran out. <3
Summary: "Everything is changing," Brendon says softly.
Part One
It's not like Spencer can randomly approach his boyfriend of five-plus years and say, "So, I'm randomly moving to California, and I think you should come with me." Spencer's not sure quite how to do it, but he's positive that's probably not the best approach.
Instead he says, "I need you to make time for me every now and then."
Brendon stares wide-eyed from the couch and says, "I get caught up in my own head sometimes. I know it isn't fair, but if you just remind me now and again, I'll try to be better about it."
Spencer nods, but he knows the conversation isn't anywhere near finished, the situation not anywhere near fixed. He figures he can hash all of that out when he figures out how to tell Brendon about California. He doesn't really know when that will be, but it's not happening tomorrow, so Spencer figures it can wait.
He gets a realtor and starts looking online, anyway. The houses cost a fortune; Spencer's not hurting for money, but he's not Jay-Z either. He is, however, a frugal sort of person (minus the shoes), and he's got enough money for a decent-sized down payment. He's pretty sure he can get a loan, too, but he probably needs a job for that. He ends up calling Patrick because the idea of talking to Pete, while pleasant, is also kind of exhausting.
"Hey," Patrick says, and he sounds either frazzled or confused. Considering his busy schedule and the fact that Spencer rarely ever calls him, it's probably a little bit of both.
"Hi," Spencer says. "So, I was wondering if you had any suggestions for what a semi-retired drummer might do for a job while the rest of his band goes out and has babies and makes solo albums."
Patrick says, "Does this semi-retired drummer have any skills worth mentioning?"
Spencer laughs and says, "He's been known to recognize talent in other young up-and-comers. He has excellent organizational skills, and I hear he plays a really mean cowbell."
Patrick says, "I'll talk to Pete. I'm sure someone somewhere has use for a guy that knows his way around a cowbell."
Spencer laughs again and says, "Thanks."
Spencer knocks softly on the door to their music studio, but he can hear Brendon at the drums, so he doesn't wait for an answer before he pushes the door open. Brendon's at Spencer's kit, his hands wrapped around a pair of sticks, and his hair clinging to his neck in a sweaty mess. It's getting long again after more than a month of not touring, and Spencer knows it'll get longer still before Brendon bothers to get it cut.
He waits in the doorway until Brendon notices him and puts the sticks down. It's eerily quiet once the cymbals fade out and Spencer says, "Hey," just to fill the silence up with sound.
Brendon smiles and shakes his head, sending drops of sweat flying out. "Hi," Brendon says. "Did you need me?"
It's on the tip of Spencer's tongue to say yes, yes because it's still like that for him with Brendon. Even approaching almost a decade of knowing him; the wanting him, the needing him, hasn't really changed.
Instead he says, "I'm going to L.A. this weekend to sit down with Pete about a job."
Brendon looks surprised. "What kind of a job?" he asks.
Spencer shrugs. "We were going to talk about it, but probably A&R stuff."
Brendon looks down at the drum kit, runs his fingers through his hair, and stands up. He rolls his shoulders and asks, "Have you gotten plane tickets yet?"
Spencer shakes his head. "Pete's people are taking care of it. They're supposed to e-mail me the info later today."
Brendon says, "I think I'll go with you, if that's okay."
Spencer's heart speeds up a little, even if some jaded part of his brain is telling him Brendon's only doing it because he thinks Spencer is still mad. But whatever Brendon's reasons, it's an olive branch of sorts, and Spencer would be an asshole not to take it. He smiles, says, "I'll call Pete."
Brendon nods and walks around the kit. He's covered in sweat, but Spencer lets him wrap his arms around Spencer's neck anyway. Brendon kisses him lightly over and over, just a small brush of lips, and Spencer puts his hands on Brendon's hips and drags him closer.
They stay like that for a long time, standing near the door with their mouths touching until Brendon tilts his head and swipes his tongue along Spencer's lower lip. Spencer lets himself be kissed, lets his tongue meet Brendon's half way, until he feels his blood start humming under his skin.
Brendon pulls away finally and says, "I love you, you know?"
Spencer does know. He knows Brendon loves him, he just doesn't know why it's not enough to make him happy anymore. "I love you, too," Spencer says, because it's the truth, even if Spencer is starting to feel like something is really, really wrong between them.
"You should call Pete about a plane ticket for me while I shower, and then we should go out and do something," Brendon says.
Spencer says, "Okay," as Brendon kisses his chin, messy and quick, and then lets him go to head upstairs for a shower. He knows he should be happy that Brendon's making time for him, but he can't help feeling like he forced Brendon's hand. He can't help feeling like he's just one more obligation Brendon has to fulfill, like he's a burden, an afterthought. It sits ugly in Spencer's stomach, and Spencer doesn't know how to make it go away.
Pete still knows how to throw a party despite the fact that he's a thirty-something, married father of two, with a third on the way. Pete's house is loud and full of people and alcohol, and Spencer's starting to get a headache.
"We're celebrating, Spence," Pete says when he sees him rubbing his temple. "Good friends, new jobs, new babies." He smiles over at Ashlee then, and she smiles back as she lays a protective hand over her still very, very flat stomach.
"Congratulations, by the way," Spencer shouts.
Ashlee says, "Thank you," and she's beaming again, skin flushed a pretty pink that Spencer knows has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with being really, really happy.
Something loud crashes from some other room, and Pete smiles, almost like he's proud that someone is taking the initiative to get the party really rolling by destroying his house. "I should go see what that's about," he says as he ambles off toward the noise. Spencer thinks he's just as likely to join in as he is to stop whatever is going on.
Spencer can still see Brendon in the corner. He's been drinking pretty steadily since they got here, and now he's got Gabe hanging all over him as further encouragement. Spencer's really glad they're staying here; the mere thought of hauling Brendon into a cab and then up the floors of a hotel is exhausting.
"He's having fun," Ashlee says, and Spencer startles a little. He forgot she was there for a moment.
Spencer says, "Yeah."
Ashlee grabs Spencer's hand and says, "Come with me."
They head out of the room and down a hall, and then on to another hall until Ashlee opens the door to a large room with various instruments and sound equipment. "Stay here for a second. I'll be back," she says shoving him inside and closing the door.
Spencer wanders around the room, fiddles with the drum kit and the keyboard a bit until the door opens and Ashlee comes back inside. She walks over and hands Spencer the bottle of water she has in her hand, along with four Advil.
"This room is mostly soundproof," she says, and it's only then that Spencer realizes she's right. The room is blissfully quiet.
Spencer takes the Advil and says, "Thanks."
Ashlee shrugs. "Mom instincts," she says. "You okay?"
Spencer says, "Headache."
Ashlee purses her lips and looks at him for so long that Spencer starts to feel uncomfortable. Finally she says, "You can hang in here for as long as you want."
"Thanks," Spencer says, as Ashlee nods and turns back toward the door.
She pauses with her hand on the knob and says, "I know we're not super-close or anything, but if you ever wanted an unbiased ear, I've got two."
Spencer nods even though she's not looking at him, and he'd really love to get an unbiased opinion about... things. But, if talking to Ryan about Brendon felt like a betrayal, he can only imagine how talking to Ashlee about him would feel. "I'll remember that," he says, "but I'm good right now."
Ashlee says, "Okay," and leaves him alone.
Brendon flies home a few days later, but Spencer stays on another week, ironing out details and signing papers. He has a job now. He has a job that's totally different from what he's been doing for the last eight years of his life. He feels excited about something other than his band and his music and Brendon for the first time in a long time.
Pete says, "Ryan called. He says you have to come home. Apparently Jon's in town and your presence is required."
Spencer finds it amusing and strangely endearing that Ryan basically called Spencer's boss to see if it was okay for him to leave. Spencer tells Pete, "You don't have to tell me twice," as he picks up his cell phone to make flight arrangements.
Brendon doesn't answer his cell or the house phone, so Spencer ends up calling Ryan. Ryan picks him up from the airport with Jon in tow.
"Brendon is MIA," Ryan says, slinging one of Spencer's bags over his shoulder.
Spencer's eyes linger on the baggage carousel, spinning round and round, littered with bags in various shapes, sizes, and colors. Spencer wonders how it's possible to fit so much of someone into such a small space.
"He's probably working," Spencer says quietly.
Ryan says, "Yeah, but Jon's here," like that explains everything, and it does, or it did.
Spencer doesn't know how to judge anything anymore. He feels raw and open and wrong, like a chewed-through wire that someone put back together with electrical tape. He thinks a month ago -- maybe even a week ago -- this wouldn't have been a big deal. Now, it feels like something Brendon is doing on purpose. It feels like Brendon is leaving them all behind, Spencer most of all.
Spencer says, "Drop me at the house. I'll get him, and we'll come over."
Jon's been quiet the entire time. Spencer realizes he hasn't even said hello, so he curves his arm around Jon's waist as they walk toward the airport exit.
"Hi, there, Jon Walker," Spencer says.
Jon gives him a strained smile and then tilts his head slightly, resting it against Spencer's shoulder. Spencer rubs his cheek over the top of Jon's head and cherishes the moment. Spencer has always liked being needed.
Brendon's car isn't in the driveway when they pull up, so Spencer just throws his bags in the foyer and gets back into Ryan's car. They go out and get drunk, just the three of them. Jon's withdrawn and quiet, and Ryan keeps looking at him like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Is anyone going to clue me in?" Spencer asks.
Jon looks at Ryan and shrugs, signaling the waitress for another beer.
Ryan says, "Cassie and Jon broke up."
Spencer knew they were having problems, but he hadn't realized they were this bad. Cassie's been a part of Jon's life for longer than the band, and Spencer feels like a shitty friend for not being more aware.
"I'm sorry," Spencer says. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Jon shakes his head and swigs his beer. Spencer lets it go, because Jon will come to them when he's ready. Jon knows he can always come to them.
Spencer doesn't know how long they drink, but it's a long time. Long enough that Spencer's really glad he's not driving. He calls two cabs for the three of them, and they sit together, shoulder to shoulder on the curb while they wait for them to show up.
Jon says, "Growing up, whenever my dad would go away on business or go to work or even just go down the street to the store, my mom would always tell him this quote. I don't remember who it's by, but she would say, 'If you aren't gone too long, I'll wait here for you all of my life.'"
Ryan says, "It's Oscar Wilde."
Jon smiles sadly and nods. "Yeah, that's it, Oscar Wilde."
Spencer says, "Jon?" He doesn't know what he should say, but Jon looks sadder than Spencer's ever seen him, making Spencer feel helpless and lost.
Jon curls into a little ball on the pavement between them, his knees tucked up to his chest and his head on Spencer's leg. "She stopped waiting for me," Jon says.
Spencer doesn't think there's anything to say to that, so he puts his fingers in Jon's hair and waits for the cabs to show up.
Spencer gets home late and feeling pretty drunk. Brendon's car is in the drive, and despite his inebriated state, it doesn't escape Spencer's attention that Brendon didn't bother to call him. Spencer fumbles with his keys and the lock a few times before he finally gets it right and gets through the door.
The lights in the living room are on, and when Spencer passes by, he sees Brendon, head bowed and hands clasped, sitting on the couch.
"Honey, I'm home," Spencer says bitterly, leaning against the door jamb.
Brendon's head snaps up, and he narrows his eyes. "Have fun?" he asks.
"Sure, tons," Spencer says, and then because he's feeling a little mean, he adds, "Jon and Cassie broke up."
Brendon inhales sharply, and Spencer watches with a little satisfaction when Brendon looks away guiltily. "I didn't know," he says.
Spencer pushes off the door frame and comes into the room. "You would have," he says. "If you had bothered to answer your phone."
Brendon turns back then, launching himself off the couch and pushing into Spencer's space. "I have been answering the phone. All week in fact," he spits. "Why just this morning I got a call from your realtor in California. It seems she's found the perfect place for you."
Spencer doesn't know what to say. This wasn't supposed to go down like this. He was supposed to have more time, so that he could think of what to say -- of how to word this -- so that when he goes, Brendon will come with him
"I-" Spencer starts.
The corners of Brendon's eyes look shiny and wet. "You're leaving me," he says.
Spencer doesn't think he's ever heard Brendon sound like this in his entire life. There's no life behind his words, and for as long as Spencer's known him, of all the things Brendon can be, alive has always been the greatest of them all. Spencer feels like he's being pressed, like his organs are shifting and coming together, like his ribs are cracking.
"I was going to ask you to come with me," Spencer says.
He knows it sounds lame, and the part of his brain that's been getting louder lately also screams; too late, too late, too late.
Brendon huffs, running his fingers through his hair. "How was this supposed to work, exactly?" he asks. "You buy your house, in the place you've always wanted to live, and you get everything your way, and I'm just supposed to follow along?"
Spencer says, "Well, I've been doing it for years, and that's worked pretty well for you so far."
Spencer doesn't think Brendon could look more shocked if Spencer had just gone ahead and slapped him. Spencer wants to take it back now that it's out there, but it's how he feels, and he's so tired of hiding it.
"You think I have everything my way?" Brendon asks.
"Don't you?" Spencer counters. "We live in a house we bought together, in our hometown, so you can be close to your family. A family that you see whenever you want, but I hardly know, even though we've been living here together for going on five years. Do you know what that's like? To be hidden and kept secret and separate from this whole other part of your life?"
Brendon says, "I'm not going to apologize for that. You knew how it was going to be. You didn't come into this blind, Spencer. I never lied to you."
Spencer can't look at him. He can't look at Brendon's eyes, because he feels like his skin is barely holding him together. He feels like he's unraveling on the inside and any moment Brendon will be able to see it. "No," Spencer whispers. "You never lied."
Brendon says, "You said you could do this. You said you wanted this enough... You wanted me enough."
Brendon's voice cracks, sharp and high, like Spencer hasn't heard it since they were teenagers. He gets up and takes two steps forward, closing his eyes when Brendon takes two back. Spencer thinks he really is going to fly apart if he doesn't put his hands on Brendon, so he keeps going.
Brendon backs himself all the way to the living room wall, and Spencer stands in front of him, reaching out tentatively to put his hands on Brendon's hips. He feel s a little better just from that contact, and he wonders wildly how he's going to do this without him. He hasn't been without any of them in a very long time.
"Brendon," Spencer says gently. "I can't. I just can't anymore."
Brendon leans in and buries his face against Spencer's neck. Spencer feels his skin get wet, and he feels like the world's biggest piece of scum, but he can't take it back. He can't.
Brendon says, "I don't know what you want me to do," muffled and strained against Spencer's skin.
Spencer steps back, and Brendon looks up, their eyes locking and holding for an endless measure. Spencer says, "I want you to choose me. Just this once I want you to think about us first, and just let everything else go."
Brendon closes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath. Spencer feels desperate. He feels like he's losing. "Please," he says. "I told you once that it wasn't home without you, and I've followed you. Follow me now."
Brendon swallows hard. He says, "I'm scared, Spencer."
Spencer's not sure he'll ever understand this part of Brendon anymore than he understands it in Ryan. Spencer's never been scared of the people he loves. He never thought that was something he should be thankful for, but he is now. He sees things differently now.
"I'm right here," Spencer says. "I know I didn't do this right, but I'm asking you now. Come to California with me?"
Brendon shakes his head, eyes wide and panicked. He steps into Spencer's space, curling his fingers into Spencer's shoulders so hard it hurts. "I can't," he says. He kisses Spencer's mouth hard, scraping his teeth along Spencer's lip as he breaks away. "I can't."
He pushes, and Spencer takes a step back. Spencer lets him step away. Spencer lets him go.
Spencer tries to do some work. He tries not to wonder what Brendon is doing or where he's gone or if he's okay. He tries not to think about the fact that Brendon went out, and he's probably not coming back -- not to stay, anyway.
Not thinking about it doesn't really work. Spencer can't concentrate, and he's still a little woozy from all the beers he had with Jon and Ryan. It's late and Spencer's really, really tired, but he's not sure he can sleep. He's not sure he can go to their bedroom and sleep by himself, even though he's done it a hundred times before, even though he's been doing it more often than not for months.
He lies down on the couch and thinks about going upstairs and getting undressed. He wonders if he can slide under the covers and pretend like Brendon's just out of town or over at his sister's for the night. Spencer touches his fingertip to his wrist and counts off the beats -- one, two, three, four -- counting until his eyes get heavy, until he can't remember what number came before. Spencer figures it doesn't matter anyway. It's an endless number and losing the count won't change that. He starts over again at one, two, three, four, and falls asleep counting.
He wakes up before the sun and calls Ryan. He knows it's cruel, what with Ryan getting drunk the night before and also having an infant, but if Spencer hasn't earned the right to call Ryan at four in the morning, he doesn't know who has.
Ryan's phone goes straight to voicemail, so Spencer gets up and brushes his teeth and grabs his keys off the entry table. He stops by Starbucks and gets four coffees as a peace offering, just in case he accidentally wakes up Jon and Keltie, too.
He pulls in to Ryan's driveway, coffee cups balanced precariously in the passenger seat, and almost loses the whole tray when he slams on his brakes hard. Brendon's car is parked at the curb, and Ryan is leaning against it in a white t-shirt, pajama pants and bare feet.
Ryan pushes off the car and walks to Spencer's. Spencer rolls down his window, and then twists his hands around his steering wheel.
"I brought you coffee," Spencer says.
Ryan nods and says, "Put the car in park, Spencer."
He walks around to the passenger side and opens the door while Spencer puts the car in park. Ryan picks up the coffees and slides into the car, placing them back on his lap before fastening his seat belt. Spencer thinks it's probably more from habit than an actual desire to go somewhere.
Ryan says, "Do you want to drive around?"
Spencer doesn't know what he wants to do. Spencer doesn't know what he wants.
"Why is he here?" Spencer asks.
Ryan asks, "Why are you here?"
Spencer says, "You're my best friend."
Ryan looks at Spencer hard, almost like he's disappointed in him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah."
Spencer bites the inside of his lip hard enough that he thinks he might end up with a blister. There's a panicked part of Spencer's brain that wonders if they're all going to leave him, but louder than that is the part of him that's telling him Ryan is his. Ryan will always be his, and nothing is ever going to change that.
"I get you," Spencer says.
Ryan looks confused, so Spencer clarifies, "In the divorce. I get you."
Spencer tries to keep it light, and he guesses it works a little, because Ryan snorts and rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. "You both get me," he says.
Spencer says, "He left me."
Ryan looks out the window, his eyes focused on a patch of fast moving clouds. He sips his coffee and hands Spencer one of the cups. "Funny," he says. "He said the same thing."
They get quiet after that. Spencer listens to the sounds; the early morning birds just starting to wake up and the chirping crickets just about to go to bed. He listens to Ryan breathe and tries to match him breath for breath -- inhale, exhale, inhale -- like Ryan is showing him how. Ryan reaches for his hand and squeezes it.
"What can I do?" Ryan asks. "I'll do whatever you need me to do."
Spencer says, "I'm going to California."
Ryan doesn't say anything. He nods and drinks his coffee and waits.
Spencer says, "Will you take care of him for me?"
"Yes," Ryan says. "Of course."
Spencer looks at seven houses and finds something wrong with all of them, but his first thought when he walks into the eighth is, Brendon would love this view. The realtor drones on about the neighborhood and the school district and the various amenities the house has to offer.
Spencer stares at the ocean through the large, arched windows in the living room. He watches two seagulls fight over some hard-won scrap of food. There's a boat on the horizon, tiny and white and rolling along with the waves. The sand is so white it's almost blinding.
"What do you think?" the realtor asks.
Spencer says, "This is it," as he turns from the window. "I'll take it."
The realtor beams and goes to get the paperwork out of her briefcase.
The first thing Spencer does is put together the music room. It's what he and Brendon did with their house in Vegas, and even though Spencer hasn't picked up sticks in months, he doesn't think to do it any differently this time around.
When the room is soundproofed and painted, Spencer methodically puts together his drum kit. It's the only substantial thing he brought with him, and even though there's an entire room full of instruments at the house in Vegas, this is the only one that belongs solely to Spencer. He feels better just putting his hands on it.
He gets it put together and sits and sits and sits, sticks in hand, and can't bring himself to play anything. He get frustrated, and he's tired, and he still hasn't fed the dogs yet, so he gets up and goes to the kitchen. Boba and Milo look miffed even though it's not that late, and Spencer pats their heads in apology as he pours food in to their bowls.
The house is quiet except for the dogs chomping on their food, and Spencer startles when his cell phone rings. It's a Vegas number, but it's not someone he has programmed in, and there's a moment of indecision -- his heart pounding in his ears -- before he flips the phone open and answers.
"Hello?" he says.
There's a moment of quiet on the other end before a woman says, "May I speak to Spencer?"
"Speaking," Spencer says, tersely.
"Hi," the woman says. "This is Kara... Brendon's sister."
Spencer's at a loss for words. He can count on two hands the number of times he's spoken to Brendon's sister. He can't think of any reason she could possibly have to call him unless something's happened to Brendon, and that thought sends his heart racing.
He can hear Kara breathing loudly on the other end of the phone, still waiting for Spencer to speak. Spencer takes a deep breath of his own and says, "Yes?"
"Look," Kara says. "I don't really know what happened, or why you moved, but I can tell that Brendon really misses you. Whatever fight you had... well I was hoping you could call him and talk to him."
Spencer suddenly has a violent urge to snap his phone shut. He's not sure how much Kara knows, but knowing Brendon and his relationship with his family, Spencer assumes it's not much. Of course, it's so typically Brendon to have everyone around him trying to fix his problems, that Spencer figures he shouldn't be all that surprised.
"He has my number," Spencer snaps.
He knows he's being rude, and that it's not really Kara's fault, but the person Spencer really wants to be angry at isn't here. That's sort of the whole damn problem.
Kara says, "I know. I stole it out of his phone this morning."
Spencer says, "Then I don't really know why we're having this conversation. Obviously we have nothing to say to one another."
"He's sorry," Kara says. "I'm sure that whatever he did to make you mad, he's sorry."
Spencer bites his tongue so hard that he's surprised he doesn't break the skin. "Not sorry enough to call me," he says. "He's twenty-five years old, Kara. Let him make his own apologies."
Kara laughs, and Spencer thinks if she's trying to break the tension, she's failing at it miserably.
"Just because he's twenty five, doesn't mean he's not a complete moron," she says. "I'm just trying to help fix things here."
"Maybe that's part of the problem," Spencer says angrily. "Let him clean up his own mess for once."
Spencer snaps his phone closed and paces across the room. He feels like steam in a pot -- like there's something building inside him -- and if it doesn't get out, he's going to explode. He wants to throw something. He wants to throw something hard, but he's standing in his empty kitchen, which is next to his empty living room, which connects to a hall that leads to two empty bedrooms.
Spencer sets his phone down on the counter and storms down the hall to the music room. He's got an entire house full of nothing and a drum set he can't bring himself to play. He closes the door, closes himself in, and screams and screams and screams. When that doesn't make him feel any better, he walks over and kicks his drums. He keeps kicking until he doesn't recognize them anymore.
Spencer calls Ryan.
"I killed my drum set," he says. "I just literally kicked the shit out of my drum set."
Ryan says, "Why did you do that?"
Spencer smiles and says, "I don't know. I hated it, I guess. You should come out and take a look. I bet you a hundred dollars I killed it better than that guitar you burned."
Ryan laughs and says, "I can't come out, Spence. Keltie has the flu, so I'm on Jude patrol, but if you wanted to come to Vegas I'm sure we could scrounge up some more instruments for you to assault."
Spencer feels a pang of regret, before he can shake it off. There was a time in their lives where they would have dropped anything to be there for each other, and Spencer is still getting used to the changes, to the shifts in priority. He's happy for Ryan though. Ryan's happy -- happier than Spencer ever thought he would be -- and Spencer doesn't want to be the kind of friend that would begrudge him that.
"Nah," Spencer says. "I'm good. Tell Keltie I hope she feels better."
"I will," Ryan says. "Oh, and call Jon. He misses you."
Spencer calls Jon. "I bought a house," he says, once they've gotten all the preliminary stuff out of the way.
Jon says, "So I hear."
There's a lot of background noise, making it almost impossible for Spencer to hear what Jon is saying. "Where are you?" he asks.
Jon says, "At my parents' house. My mom is yelling at us to come to dinner. I feel like I'm in high school again. I have a curfew."
Spencer laughs. He's relieved to find he still can after the last few weeks, and he suddenly misses Jon fiercely. "Come visit me," Spencer says. "You can sleep on my couch, and I'll let you stay out as late as you want."
Jon takes a turn laughing. He says, "Do you even have a couch?"
Spencer says, "I will by the time you get here."
Spencer picks Jon up from the airport, and they stop at a corner store on the way back to the house to pick up a case of beer. Jon buys Corona even though they both know he prefers Blue Moon.
Spencer puts the beer in the fridge before he gives Jon the grand tour. He still doesn't have much in the way of furniture, but he's getting there.
"It has potential," Jon says.
Spencer punches Jon's arm, lightly. "It's fucking amazing," he says.
Jon says, "Yeah," and goes to get them beers.
They get tipsy together sitting out on the back porch watching the beach. There's an old lady walking her dog, and she stops every so often and bends down to pick up a shell and inspect it. Spencer wonders what she's looking for, and if she'll ever find it.
"This really is fucking amazing," Jon says, breaking the comfortable silence they've got going.
Spencer leans against him, resting his head on Jon's shoulder. Jon puts his hand on Spencer's leg and pats him companionably.
Spencer says, "Yeah," and Jon sighs, squeezing Spencer's leg.
Jon says, "So, we should go out tomorrow and get you a new kit."
Spencer wants to be mad, but he kind of likes knowing that Ryan's looking out for him even if he can't be here himself.
Spencer says, "That would probably be good. Even though I don't know if I can even play anymore."
Jon says, "What are you doing here, Spence?"
Spencer turns his head until he's looking at Jon's profile. Jon looks like he might cry, which is something Spencer's never actually seen him do. He's not sure what to do, or even if there is anything to do, but he's glad to be here just in case. He's glad to have a friend.
"I'm waiting," Spencer says.
Jon says, "For how long?" and Spencer says, "As long as it takes."
Spencer gets into a routine. He goes to shows, looking for bands to sign to Pete's empire. He sleeps past 10 o'clock every morning, eats breakfast when he should be having lunch, and takes the dogs for a walk after noon, when it's a little cooler outside.
The dogs like to race ahead, chasing birds and sniffing at spots that smell like dead fish or other dogs. Spencer likes the way the sand squishes between his toes when he walks close to the water. He lets the hems of his jeans get wet and rough and heavy. His hair falls in his face and whips around his head, so that he has to hold it back to keep it from hitting him in the eyes. He thinks about getting a haircut, but never quite gets around to it.
He spends a lot of time listening to music. He starts playing the drums again, using his spare time to slowly put the music room back togther. He looks through magazines at furniture and art and paint swatches, and thinks about finishing the house.
He spends a lot of time with Pete and Ashlee, which isn't something he ever thought he'd find himself doing. It turns out Pete's a pretty good father, and his kids are just about the cutest things Spencer has ever seen.
"Anybody thirsty?" Pete asks.
Both kids start jumping up and down and shouting. Ashlee pushes herself up off the couch, her belly leading the way. "I'll get it," Ashlee says, waving Pete back into his chair.
"You should stay off your feet," Pete says, blocking the doorway.
"I could kick you in your shin, and then I'd be off one of my feet," Ashlee says, smiling at Pete. "I'm pregnant, not sick."
Pete smiles back and asks, "Can you get your foot that high?"
Ashlee says, "I'd barely have to lift my foot at all, shorty."
They both hold out about three seconds before they start laughing. Spencer watches them bicker a bit longer before Pete says, "You want anything, Spencer?"
Spencer's pretty sure he looks like an idiot sitting in their living room, smiling at the two of them, but he doesn't care. He likes to see his friends happy. "Water," he says.
Ashlee says, "You two munchkins come help Mommy in the kitchen."
The kids get up and go running ahead down the hall, shrieking loudly.
Pete says, "You should show me what you have before they come back. We're going to have about a ten minute window before chaos descends upon us again."
They listen to a couple of demos, some of them more promising than others, but they both have a good feeling about two of the bands, and Spencer feels excited about something for the first time in a long time.
Ashlee comes back in with drinks, and the kids turn on the TV, filling the room with noise. Spencer watches them, whispering and giggling together.
Pete says, "Speaking of promising demos, Brendon's doing amazing things. I'm really excited about some of the stuff he's sent me."
Spencer's head whips around, wide-eyed. He doesn't know what to say, so he looks to Ashlee for help. She's too busy glaring daggers at Pete to notice.
Pete says, "He hasn't sent me anything in a few weeks, though. It happens, writer's block can be a bitch."
Spencer feels like a piece of broken glass. Part of him doesn't want to know that Brendon's having problems; he doesn't want to think about Brendon sitting in their house in Las Vegas, hurting. But there's another part of him that's starving for any scrap of information he can get his hands on. All Ryan will ever tell him is that Brendon's doing fine, not that Spencer ever comes right out and asks him.
Spencer realizes that Pete's still waiting for some kind of response, and that the room has gotten eerily quiet except for the noise from the TV.
"That's too bad," Spencer says quietly.
"Peter," Ashlee says, through gritted teeth.
Pete looks genuinely confused. "What?" he asks.
Ashlee rolls her eyes and says, "How's the new house, Spencer?"
Spencer sends her a look of thanks, and the two of them talk about the house.
Spencer says, "I have no idea what to do with it, honestly."
Ashlee smiles and says, "I can come out and take a look. We could go shopping, if you want."
Spencer finds himself strangely excited by the idea.
"Yeah," Spencer says. "That sounds like fun."
Spencer gets home late enough on Saturday night, that it's actually more early Sunday morning. He's surprisingly not tired, so he goes to his kit and plays Fever all the way through, twice. He decides he still hates it, but it's more from unwanted memories now than just being sick to death of hearing it.
He's sweaty and the sun is just starting to peek over the horizon, so he grabs the dogs and heads out to the beach. He swims in his boxer shorts, letting the waves roll over his head until he can't breathe anymore, and he has to surface.
People are starting to wake up, and he knows some of his neighbors will be coming out soon to walk their dogs. He gets out and pulls on his jeans, working them up his wet legs and rolling the cuffs up, so he can walk without soaking them.
He walks until his calves burn, the dogs running here and there, jumping into the water and then shaking themselves dry near enough that Spencer gets pelted with droplets. He turns around and heads back. He says hello to everyone he passes and watches the water or the birds or the sand under his feet to keep his mind off the burning in his leg muscles.
The dogs run ahead. He can see them in the distance, running for the house, tripping across the sand in their sprint up the beach. Something small and grey comes shooting off the porch to meet them, and Boba and Milo dance around it, barking and sniffing.
Spencer yells, "Hey, sit," even though he's too far away to do anything about it. He starts jogging up the beach, and is half-way to the house when he realizes the grey thing is Dylan. His eyes fly up to the porch, his heart tripping even faster in his chest when he sees Brendon sitting on the steps.
Brendon must see him too, because he gets up, dusting the legs of his pants off as he steps off the wooden deck and onto the sand.
Spencer feels like he's walking through quicksand. It's slow and painful, and every step that takes him closer to Brendon makes him want to turn around and run. The dogs are still running and chasing and yipping happily at each other.
The wind is blowing strong today, making Brendon raise his voice when he says, "Hi."
Spencer doesn't know what he should say. He doesn't know why Brendon is here, and that is going to make all the difference.
"What are you doing here?" Spencer asks.
Brendon looks down at his feet. He looks Spencer in the face and says, "I told my parents about us."
Spencer's first instinct is to reach for Brendon, and his hand is already halfway from his body before he can think to stop himself. He lets it fall awkwardly back to his side. He says, "Are you okay?"
Brendon smiles sardonically, but he seems relaxed. "Yeah," he says. "It's going to be okay."
Spencer nods, and they fall silent. It's not -- this isn't anything Brendon couldn't have said over the phone, and Spencer's still not sure. Spencer doesn't know if he can handle any more bruises right now.
"But, what are you doing here, Bren?" Spencer asks again.
Brendon licks his lips and shuffles his feet. He takes a step closer, close enough that he has to lean his head back slightly to look Spencer in the eye. He doesn't look away as he says, "I was hoping you would let me come home. That is... I was hoping you wanted me to come home."
Spencer thinks about all the places he's been. He thinks about buses and hotels and practice spaces. He thinks about their house in Vegas, and Ryan's place, and his parents' house in Summerlin. He thinks about the beach house, with its pretty view and its wood floors and its still mostly unused rooms.
He reaches out and pulls Brendon to him, their arms clinging, as Brendon buries his face against Spencer's chest. It's not perfect, but Spencer's never wanted perfect anyway. Spencer likes things that need time and attention and care.
Spencer buries his nose in Brendon's hair and holds on. He tips his head to the side, rubbing his cheek along the crown of Brendon's head and says, "I was waiting for you."