your earthquake was just cracks: part ii
Part i
It's good to be off tour again, only if it's not even for a month; they don't practice for a week, deciding their fingers need rest as much as their ears.
The concept of headlining - headlining the UK - seems too strange for Spencer to grasp, but he figures he better get used to it, since they'll be back on the road - plane - again on April, 17th.
*
The thing is, Pete doesn't exactly ask them first before making initial arrangements for a tour. He calls Spencer after the venues are scheduled, after the bus is booked, after their label has given the OK. There's no doubt Pete's skills of persuasion played a part in everything.
It's 5 in the morning in Vegas when Pete calls and Spencer rolls to his side to blindly grab for his phone, mumbling a sleepy hello. Fifteen minutes later, he's sitting cross-legged and heavy-eyed in the guestroom on Ryan's bed, his sidekick perched on a pillow between them, set to speaker.
They're shellshocked, dumbfounded, euphoric; Spencer is clenching the sheets so tightly - as he listens to Pete rattle down the details of their contract - that the tips of his fingers start hurting.
*
Spencer calls Jon that night and catches him drunk, but intelligible, soft voiced and amused.
"I heard, dude!" Jon says and Spencer can hear the grin in his voice, honest and genuine and wide. "That's so fucking awesome!"
"I know," Spencer says, "and a little scary," he adds after a moment. "Very."
Jon laughs, then hums, as if he's thinking, and then finally continues. "Yeah, seriously. But really, you're all pros now. It'll be amazing."
Spencer nods, hesitant; he tells Jon about their week at home, and listens to Chicago stories and about how Bill nearly fell in the lake and how Pete Wentz is nothing but clinically insane. He, Spencer realizes, missed this; he missed talking to Jon because it's easy, because there is no hesitation, because he knows he doesn't have to be afraid to say what he's thinking.
"I'm afraid," he says after a moment of comfortable silence, "I'm afraid of taking Brent with us on tour. I'm afraid it'll mess him up and that it'll mess us up. I don't- I haven't told Ryan or anyone yet, but it worries me so much. We can't headline and then not have our bassist show up at concerts or rehearsals or soundcheck." He bites his lip, rubbing his eyes for a moment, sighing. "He' hasn't done a single rehearsal with us since we got back from tour."
Jon is silent for a long moment and Spencer listens to him think, consider, evaluate. "Yeah," Jon says finally, "I'm sure he has his reasons and there's always two sides to every story, but- sometimes, in a band, things that worked before just stop working. It's like as if a gear on a wheel gets lost or breaks, and then the whole machine is in danger of collapsing."
"Yeah," Spencer says. His chest feels tight, and for the first time he nearly wishes they hadn't signed that contract at Taco Bell with Pete's Cheshire Cat grin looming over their shoulders.
*
"So have you texted him yet?" Ryan says one day when they're sitting in the garden in the already biting light of the April sun; it's two days to Brendon's birthday and it's in the air, a hum, like fizzling electricity because Brendon's excitement is just that overwhelming.
"Who?" Spencer says, blinking his eyes a few times, trying to pay closer attention to their conversation.
"Tom," Ryan says and rolls his eyes. He's peeling a tangerine, pushing his finger through the peel at the top and slowly pulling stripes of orange skin over the flesh.
"Hm," Spencer replies. He can feel his lips curl into a small smile before he can stop it, so he shrugs a bit and pokes Luke's toy duck with the toe of his shoe and kicks it away, watching the Retriever run after it, barking.
"You know, your boyfriend," Ryan continues and pops a piece of fruit in his mouth.
Spencer lets out a little laugh and shakes his head, feeling very much like Ryan's tangerine. "He's not. My boyfriend, okay."
Ross snorts and shakes his head, breaking off another piece of tangerine. "Oh, really," he says, chewing. "So you don't mind that he hasn't texted you?"
Spencer bites his lip and reaches out to snatch what's left of the fruit out of Ryan's hands. "No. Yes. I mean." He shrugs and pops two pieces into his mouth, chewing concentratedly for a few moments.
"Have you heard from Brent?" he finally says, sidetracking to a topic he knows Ryan can't ignore.
Ryan blinks, once, twice, obviously confused for a second before he reaches down into the fruitbasket to their feet and starts peeling another tangerine. "No," he says. "He's been M.I.A. for like, ever."
Spence nods. He doesn't know what to say; he doesn't want to be mad at Brent, but he also thinks that this isn't the way things are supposed to be. "Maybe he'll show at Brendon's birthday," he eventually replies.
"Yeah," Ryan says, "he better."
*
"Hi," Spencer says tentatively, "Hi, I know we haven't talked in forever and I. I don't know, I sort of just wanted to hear your voice." He stops again, listening to the silent hum of the voicemail, suddenly embarrassed. "I guess. I guess you're busy," he continues, biting his lip, stomach twisting a little. "Call me when you have more time?"
He hangs up and drops his Sidekick on his bed, watching it tumble down his pillow and onto the duvet. He stares at it for a moment and then gets up when his mom calls from downstairs. Down the hall and down the stairs, down, down and he's trying to tell himself he's not sad, because it's not like he and Tom are together or dating or whatever. They had sex a few times and Tom kissed him goodbye but didn't say he'd call or anything. Spencer is not disappointed, he's not. He's old enough, he knows how these things go.
He smiles at his mom when he gets downstairs and helps her set the table, his shoulders feeling a little tense. Ryan returns from the garden a few minutes later, sunglasses and redtipped nose and all, blinking as he takes off his shades, squinting as his eyes adjust. Spencer smiles at him a bit, but there must have been something in his eyes, showing, because Ryan tilts his head questioning.
His glance flies over Spencer's mom preparing the salad and then back to Spencer, and he mouths "later" at Spencer; Spence nods. Later is better; he'd rather not talk about a gay sex affair he's had (is having?) with a guy his mother would surely not approve of.
*
There's two calls from Tom's number on his phone when they return back upstairs and Ryan tilts his brows at him, knowingly. Spencer scrambles to his phone and Ryan sits on the couch, knees drawn up to his chest, face stern as if he's prepared to kill Tom from a distance if there's bad news.
Spencer hits call back and waits for the dull ring indicating the setup of the line; it rings, twice, three times, and then Tom picks up, voice gruff.
"'ello?" he says and Spencer feels his voice get caught in his throat. He throws a helpless glance towards Ryan, suddenly embarrassed to be on the phone while he's in the same room.
"Hey," he says hesitantly, and Ryan seems to get the hint because he gets up, nodding softly at Spencer and slipping out the door, closing it quietly.
"Hey," Spencer says again, a little more confident, heart beating fast.
"You said that already," Tom replies and he sounds a little more awake now.
"Sorry," Spence says and bites his lip. He sits down on his bed gingerly, staring at his socked feet. They're not matching, one with tiny stars and the other a bright green, and Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate.
"I missed your voice, too," Tom says, and it sounds earnest and tired. Spencer closes his eyes for a moment and then lies back on the bed, turning onto his side. He inhales to speak, but Tom keeps talking.
"Sorry I didn't call," he says, "Things have been so crazy. With- with Mike and Bill and shit."
"What's wrong?" Spencer reaches up and rubs his eyes, feeling very far away.
"Nothing just-" Tom stops again as if he's not sure what to say, then continues. "It's hard at the moment. Writing music."
"Oh," Spencer says. "I'm sorry." He doesn't know what else to say, helpless and unprepared.
Tom is silent for a long moment and Spencer closes his eyes, listens to their breathing, the shared quiescence on the line, then sighs softly.
"Hey," he says for a third, and then again, "hey, hey."
"Hey," Tom finally replies, laughing a little, amusement in his voice. "I'll see you again in, like, eight days."
"Yeah," Spence says with a smile, "England will be crazy again." He closes his eyes, trying to picture Tom's expression, his smile, crooked, teeth and lips and three-day beard.
"We're doing a summer tour. Headlining," he continues after hearing Tom's agreeing hum. "That's so crazy."
"Yeah, it is." Tom is quiet for a long moment and Spencer tries to read through the silence. "Pete's a madman. You scared?"
Spence nods for a moment, trying to imagine headlining a whole tour, a whole summer long, through dozens of cities, with tens of thousands of kids, there just to see them. "Yeah, yeah I am."
*
Spencer gets tired of calling Brent and getting kicked off the line each and every time, so he stops after the sixth day. It's not like he doesn't want to talk to Brent - he does, Brent is his friend, still, even if Ryan isn't really talking to him anymore - but Spencer has a sense for personal space and he respects it.
He hangs out with old friends, gets drunk more than two times and sneaks into a casino with his dad.
It's all strange - not like the last time they were back home; he's gotten used to the to and fro and the hugs and the sad looks his mother sometimes throws him - and Ryan - when she thinks they're not watching. He's gotten used to not unpacking everything completely and to not starting anything that he can't finish within two weeks.
Now Spencer feels nervous. He wakes one night - in cold sweat and breathing hard, his chest heaving from a nightmare like he hasn't had in years; he never dreams, or remembers, and suddenly he's scared to go to England again.
*
Brendon's birthday party at his parents' house is sort of a mix between a kids party, a circus, a barbecue and a family reunion; Spencer feels oddly out of place, even though he's always gotten along very well with Brendon's family. They're nice - easy going, friendly, loving, easy to talk to, and Spencer's had dinner with them so often he's stopped counting. He keeps checking his phone for messages, not really sure what he's waiting for. He'll see Tom again in six days, less even, and it took them nearly two weeks of radio silence to finally talk to each other the last time.
He sighs a little and reaches for another chicken wing, carefully ripping it apart. Across from him Brendon gives him a funny look, then reaches out and grabs a wing himself.
"Just today," he says, and Spencer snorts and shakes his head; meat is always just-today for Brendon when it's hard to resist; Shane nudges his elbow against Brendon's, laughing a little, and Brendon pushes back. Spencer watches them for a moment until Shane looks up and meets his eyes with a questioning look. He tilts his head, curious, neutral, and Spencer smiles and shrugs, looks away.
Ryan's perched in his chair, balancing precariously on the edges of the hind-legs, texting furiously; his brows are furrowed, his lip bitten, his eyes flickering. Spencer doesn't have to ask to know who he's texting with.
Ryan notices his gaze and smiles a little, nearly embarrassed, and flips his phone shut; he shrugs a little and awkwardly moves his legs, letting his chair drop back onto the floor.
"Hey, hey, so," Brendon says suddenly, leaning over, eyes flicking to glance at his parents for a moment.
"Hm?" Ryan hums. Shane, too, scoots closer, hands folded on the table as if he's already in on the secret, which he probably is. Spencer tilts his head, curious, smiling a little.
"What," he says and Brendon's face splits into a grin.
"Can we party tonight?" He sits back in his chair, tilting it back until it nearly tips over, eyes shining.
*
They don't discuss Brent not showing for Brendon's birthday party the same way they don't discuss the fact that Brent has not returned any of their calls.
He calls on the last day before England to confirm the dates and times of the flight, and Spencer answers begrudgingly, suppressing the surge of smoldering anger he suddenly feels.
"I don't think this is how it should be," he finally says that night after dinner when he and Ryan are sitting in his room, packing and unpacking and packing again.
Ryan is quiet for a very long moment, carefully folding one of Spencer's T-shirts, eyes lowered, brows furrowed as if he's considering each word. "I know," he says finally, "it shouldn't be like this at all."
"Jon says," Spencer starts, poking a pair of shoes with the very tip of his fingers, watching it rocking for a moment. "Jon says that one missing tooth on a wheel in a machine can make the entire thing collapse." He looks up again and meets Ryan's eyes, folding his hands in his lap. "I'm scared," he says, "because I don't want this or us or him to collapse, or all of it- and." He stops, shrugging.
Ryan swallows visibly, then finally nods. "Yeah, neither do I." He takes a breath, then another, folding two, three of Spencer's shirts, and then finally continues. "Let's wait. Let's wait and see how this goes."
*
Brent is on time at the airport in Las Vegas, but Tom, as they board their connecting flight in Chicago, is not. Spencer texts him, furiously, and when Tom finally shows up, he nearly wants to walk over and punch him. He sits still instead, squeezed between Ryan and Jon, and watches William wander over, hands in his pockets, face serious. They argue and Spencer tries not to watch; he can't read Tom's expression behind his Ray Ban sunglasses anyway.
Tom storms off to check his baggage and then sits alone in the smoker's area with a coffee and a cigarette, eyes fixed on his phone.
Spencer sits next to Ryan on the plane, blocking the noise of the people around him out with his earphones. He falls asleep soon after takeoff and when he wakes up again, it's because Tom and Ryan are awkwardly exchanging seats, Spencer's iPod has gone to sleep.
"Just wanna sit closer to the window," Tom says and Ryan nearly laughs and shakes his head.
"Sure, whatever," Ryan replies and then sits down in the empty seat in their row, making room for Tom to sit next to Spencer.
Spencer squints at Ryan, blinking himself fully awake, and turns sideways in his seat to look at Tom. He's taken off his glasses and he looks tired, his eyes a little red. Spencer sighs softly and closes his eyes again, too sleepy to complain or accuse, and then Tom's hand finds his thigh, squeezing softly.
"Hey," he says, and then again until Spencer opens his eyes again, "Sorry I didn't text you back. I was trying to juggle my suitcases and a stupid fucking cabdriver."
"It's alright," Spence says; his body is tingling a little, not arousal but something else, something sweeter. He looks around, catches Ryan's eyes for a moment, gets a mocking look, and then leans in a little, tugging Tom down by his T-shirt.
"Hmph," Tom says, but then kisses back lightly, nipping at his lips until Spencer pulls away again. He reaches out and gently cups Spencer's cheek in his palm, and then kisses him again, more deeply until Ryan nudges them, rolling his eyes.
"Get a room," he says, glaring, but Spencer can see the smile tugging at his lips.
*
Spencer doesn't quite notice the tension until the third day, when Tom pulls him into an empty room backstage after the show in Glasgow and kisses him like he's afraid it'll be the last time. Tom bites and nibs at his lips, groaning against his lips, tugging and pulling at Spencer's jeans until Spencer shakes his head and reaches down to stop him.
"Hey," he says, "hey, Tom, what."
"Nothing," Tom replies, voice tight, and leans in for another kiss, pushing Spencer into the wall, his hands on Spencer's hips, keeping him still. His pupils look blown and Spencer can't remember seeing him drink that much tonight, but then, he'd been busy busy trying to keep his own band together tonight. He arches up against Tom, instinct driving his tired muscles, gripping Tom's shoulder tightly, and kisses him again, nipping at his lips softly.
He can feel the tension in Tom's stance, in his muscles and his kiss and the way he breathes against Spencer's lips like he's having troubles breathing. Tom presses closer against him, covers Spencer's body with his own, hungry, needy, and Spencer groans a little and lets his head drop back when Tom moves to kiss over his neck, pulling the hem of his T-shirt down over his collarbone and shoulder, biting.
He wants to ask what happened, what shook Tom so, but he knows he won't be getting any answers, not right now, not right here, when all Tom seems to want is the sweet feel of skin against skin.
"I love your freckles," Tom breathes against his skin and tucks his hands under Spencer's T-shirt, pushing it up and over his head. Spencer exhales harshly and tips his head back against the wall, his knees weak. "I- can we?" Tom says, and Spencer appreciates the hesitant, questioning tone in his voice, his body tingling.
He reaches down and fumbles Tom's fly open, dipping his hands inside, biting his lip as he watches Tom's face. "Yeah, yeah," he says, and drops his head back against the cold concrete of the wall to grant Tom access.
*
They're falling apart and Spencer sees it now; Brent spends his days and nights in his bunk, eats, texts, reads, watches TV in there, and only braves going outside during morning calls and before soundcheck; sometimes not even then. Brendon is jittery, he stumbles over his words during songs and there's dark rings under his eyes. And Ryan. Ryan. Spencer worries about Ryan - more than anything else, more than the fact that Brent avoids them, the fact that they've all stopped clicking, more than this band.
He's quiet and pale, and Spencer has to remind him to eat during meals, push his plate over the table and nudge his elbow. He's glued to his Sidekick, more than usual, fingers racing over the keys to relay one message after another across the ocean. Spencer knows it's just idle lyrics and tiny thoughts, most of them directed at Pete - because Pete is Ryan's output, but he also wonders if Ryan has told Pete about this. This situation. He wonders if he's supposed to tell him.
"Call him," Tom says, when Spencer asks him, curled up against him in Tom's bunk, rain drumming heavily against the metal skin of the bus, a steady thrum, cold seeping in from outside. Spencer hums and thinks and only belatedly notices a tone in Tom's voice, something grim and solid and decided.
"He'd wanna know, 'cause he's Pete and he always wants to know every shitty little thing," Tom continues, softer, voice nearly joking, his nose pressed into Spencer's hair, his breath warm. "Hell, maybe he can help."
"Alright," Spencer says.
He calls that night after the show in Leeds - two more to go, two more to go - hoping he got the time zones right this time.
Pete answers, mumbling, sleepy, but conscious, intelligible; he sounds like he's been up too long, only just went to bed, and Spencer, for a moment, feels guilty and questions whether this is actually important enough to call.
"Uh, hi," Spence says. He reaches down and tugs at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans, stopping when it won't budge. "Hi."
"Spencer," Pete says sleepily, "Spence Wentz, my favorite, how's England, dude?"
Spencer is quiet for a moment, throat feeling tight. He feels like he's going to spoil his dad's Christmas enthusiasm by telling him that the present he bought isn't actually what he wanted. "It's," he starts hesitant, "it's awesome." He bites his lip, considers, rethinks, then continues. "We love it- just."
Pete must have heard the tone in his voice, because when he speaks now, he sounds more aware, worried, awake. "What's wrong, Spence?"
"We're not-" Spencer starts, and then he's lost all the carefully collected words, all the phrases and explanations. "We're not working anymore and it's like one wheel in a gear and it goes missing or something, or it's still there but misses a tooth, and then-"
He stops, rubbing his eyes, and listens as Pete thinks for a moment.
"Okay," Pete finally says, "Okay. Did- Start again. Slowly, dude." He laughs a bit, but it sounds hollow and worried, and Spencer buries his forehead against his knees and starts over.
*
They ask Brent to leave on the eleventh of May; Spencer thinks for a moment, hysterically elated before they call him, that this is like Caesar's death, but then remembers that the Ides referred to are actually sometime in March. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, hitting the 'Call' key on his phone.
He stumbles over his words, over and over, and Brendon takes his hand and holds it, staring away at the far wall, foot tapping against the floor, his bottom lip pulled tightly between his teeth.
They don't talk afterwards. Ryan has his knees pulled up to his chest, his face dark and determined. Spencer drops the phone in his lap and closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the backrest of the couch.
*
"He said," Spence says, "he's not gonna play Weenie Roast with us." He's curled up in his bed, phone tucked under his ear, blanket over his head.
"Huh," Tom says. He sounds tired and worn, like he does when he doesn't sleep enough. "No?"
"No," Spencer repeats. He doesn't know why he has to say this again, and why Tom is not offering advice, why Tom is not saying anything useful - their band is threatening to fall apart, and all Tom has to say is huh.
Tom stays quiet. Spencer can hear him breathing, remembers the sound and rhythm of his heartbeat and feels his stomach drop.
"Fine, y'know what," he says, "I'm calling Jon. At least he'll have something to say."
"You do that," Tom says angrily, "I have my own shit to deal with, you know?" He hangs up and Spencer sits up and stares at his phone, dumbfounded for a moment. He switches it off before he can do anything stupid like call Tom again.
*
Spencer doesn't call Jon. Brendon calls Pete for advice and Brendon calls Jon, setting him to speaker while Spencer is lying on the couch, his head on Ryan's shoulder. Jon doesn't sound surprised when Brendon breaks the news to him.
Spencer listens to his voice and closes his eyes, his nose turned against the crook of Ryan's neck. He'll come, Jon says, and take the next flight and be there tonight. It's no big deal and he wants nothing but a tour through Vegas and a crepe at that awesome place Ryan knows.
*
Tom doesn't call again until Weenie Roast, and then he's actually calling Jon, asking him where he is. Spencer watches Jon talk on the phone, grinning and gesturing, as they agree on a meeting point, and bites his lip to contain his anger.
He wants to rip the phone from Jon's hands and tell Tom to call him and not Jon and to stop being a dick, but all he can do is turn around and walk away. They're playing in the evening and it's two hours until soundcheck and Spencer would really like some dinner before then, if possible.
He finds a burger booth and buys something greasy and wonderfully gross that Brendon would terribly disapprove of, and sits in front of the tent to eat. It's warm, even for a May day at the west coast, and Spencer can already feel a light sunburn starting to spread on his exposed neck.
He finishes his fries and his burger and when he gets up to buy a soda, William walks past him, face dark and stern, Tom on his heels; they're arguing, indignant, nearly shouting.
Spencer stares after them, confused, squinting against the sun, feeling it burn through his eyelids to his retinas. Huh, he thinks, huh.
*
They ask Jon to go on tour with them after the concert, when they're all sitting in the audience listening to the Red Chili Peppers playing their last song.
"Would you?" Spencer says, trying to keep his voice neutral. Ryan is curled up against his side, half asleep already, and Brendon is clinging to Jon like a little monkey, eyes big and black and wet.
"Yeah," Jon says thoughtfully, looking on ahead, eyes fixed on the stage, "yeah, I think I would."
Ryan shifts against Spencer and he curls his arm more tightly around Ryan's shoulders, holding him or holding on.
"It's not gonna be-" Ryan starts quietly, nearly inaudible, "it'll be for the tour, for now, alright?"
Jon smiles softly, turning his head to meet Spencer's eyes, his face soft, peaceful. "Yeah, I know," he replies. He drops his cheek against his knees, Brendon's arms around his neck, and taps a cigarette from his battered pack.
"One summer," he repeats, grinning, and lights his cigarette.
*
He caves in a week before the tour starts and calls Tom, who picks up at the second ring and doesn't say anything until Spencer does.
"I hate you," Spencer says, and buries his forehead in his pillow.
"I'm sorry," Tom responds, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." He sounds tired and worn and beaten and Spencer immediately feels guilty.
"I thought we were," Spencer says and inhales hot, sticky air through the fabric of his pillow. "I thought-" he stops again, unable to form words around the concept in his head.
"I know," Tom says. "I have so much fucking shit going on right now, so much, it's all eating me up."
"What's wrong?" Spencer still can't see, is still breathing pre-filtered air, poor in oxygen, to keep his hysteria down.
"Nothing," Tom starts and then sighs, exasperated, "Everything."
"I'm sorry," Spencer says and doesn't even know why he's apologizing.
"It's not your fault," Tom says with a sigh. "It's nobody's fault."
"Tell me what's happening, Conrad," Spencer sighs and finally turns onto his back, breathing in fresh, cool air. His heart is beating so hard and so fast that he can feel the rhythm echoing through his chest, vibrating through his bones. Tom is quiet for a long moment, inhaling as if to start a few times, but stopping himself each time, until the tension inside Spencer is so big he thinks he's going to burst.
"I can't," Tom eventually says. "I can't. It's- it's band shit-"
Spencer swallows tightly, feeling vile bitterness on his tongue and blinks rapidly a few times, not wanting to cry over this. "Okay."
"I miss you," Tom continues. Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and feels like the biggest idiot in the world.
*
It's a little crazy, headlining is. Spencer never realized how many people actually know and like them until he sees all those kids showing up to their shows, specifically for them, buying tickets and merch and standing in line, camping outside the venue just to be the first inside.
The band has costumes, which is even crazier, but Spencer puts on his funny pants and his funny shirt without complaining because this was Ryan's idea and this sort of is Ryan's band, and it's not that bad, really. Ryan draws on their faces before the show, eyeliner for Jon, smudgy smokey eyes for Brendon and blue eye shadow for Spencer. He draws birds on his face and is happy on stage, so Spencer will do nothing to spoil this for him.
He gets used to the buzz after a few shows, and even Brendon gets calmer, more collected, voice growing more and more practiced.
They sit together before they go on stage, rarely talking but focused, huddled together, and Spencer thinks that this is how it should be.
*
Spencer doesn't quite know what to think of the fact that Pete texts Ryan about seven billion times a day and Ryan flushes hotly every time somebody talks about Pete Wentz. He watches Ryan's face at night after their shows, when he texts to and fro, and feels inexplicably jealous.
He texts Tom again on their date in Las Vegas, sitting in the backyard of his house, with Jon talking amiably to his mother. He cranes his neck to peek through the open patio door into the kitchen, watching his sisters, watching Jon and his parents, and then turns back to stare at his phone.
Jon notices him looking, he must have, because he excuses himself and steps outside, sitting cross-legged next to him, head tilted back and eyes squinting against the morning sun.
"Hey," he says and Spencer waits a second or two before dropping his head on Jon's shoulder for exactly five seconds.
"Hey," he responds and sits up again, arms wrapped around his knees.
"You ok?" Jon asks and Spencer nods and then shakes his head, and sighs a little.
"Don't know," he finally says and tries to smile. He doesn't know how much Jon knows - how much he gathered from Tom and Spencer's sneaking around, how much Tom told him, and just how much Jon has turned a blind eye to - so he doesn't know how much he can tell him.
"It's all fucked up," he finally says, "I don't know anymore what's going on and how and why and-" He stops shrugging and meets Jon's eyes, feeling young and helpless.
"Ditto," Jon says, eyes weirdly soft. He raises his hand as if to touch Spencer, but then moves to play with his lighter.
*
Spencer thought they could've stayed friends because that's how they started out, and this, this is only a band, it's business. Hearing Brent's anger - justified or not - over the phone makes him realize that this is not just a band. They've grown to become more than that.
*
They don't read the Spin article; Zack buys the magazine because he collects everything that mentions the band, but he won't show it to them, and Spencer is actually thankful. He calls Pete that night and asks how bad it is, and Pete only laughs and tells him it's not nearly as bad as anything that's ever been said about him.
"That's true, dude," Spencer says laughing, shaking his head. "Nobody ever spread nudes of us on the internets either."
Pete laughs out loud. "Oh, Spence, that can be arranged."
Spence snorts. "I wouldn't take my clothes off for you in a million years, Peter."
"Damn," Pete says, "here you got me hopin' already."
*
The fans love Jon. Spencer spends one lazy afternoon with Brendon, giggling and biting his fist, scrolling through various boards and internet communities, looking for reactions. There appears to be general agreement that Jon Walker can do no wrong and that he's made of puppies, rainbows and sunshine.
Brendon laughs and shakes his head, grin wide, eyes sparkling with amusement.
*
The summer is hot - mostly full of warm evenings and sweat on stage and sticky dressing room air. It doesn't cool down at night, not too much; Spencer learns to appreciate the cool hours of dawn, when they're not driving between cities, to just be outside and breathe fresh air again.
At some point - Spencer can't exactly remember anymore where, possibly Fort Lauderdale
or St. Petersburg - Jon starts joining him, carrying two cups off double shot cappuccinos and his camera. They sit together outside in the twilight, watching the sun rise between trees or skyscrapers or mountains.
"Thanks," Jon says in Orlando. Nearly a month has passed since they started touring, and there is a routine now: getting up early for Spencer if he knows they've stopped somewhere overnight and sleeping in the afternoon.
"Thanks for taking me on tour," Jon continues. He sounds genuine and thankful and Spencer closes his eyes, still sipping his perfectly made coffee, and tips his head onto Jon's shoulder.
"Hey," Jon says. "Don't fall asleep on me here and leave me alone with the morning."
*
Jon is like a puzzle piece, Ryan tells him one cold morning on the bus, when the two of them wake curled around one another in Spencer's bunk, huddled together for warmth. Ryan's voice is sleepy, but he sounds lucid and clear, as if he's had some big revelation, as if it's all coming together.
"He is," Spencer agrees.
*
Spencer keeps texting Tom at night and sometimes receives little, one-syllable answers. Tom is on Warped, he knows, and the band must be busy and festivals tours are hell, but he still wishes there'd be some sign of life once in a while.
He emails Tom one night, with pictures Jon took on a lazy morning in Norfolk, their bus parked next to an open space of green and grass and trees. There's the sun rising between leaves with Spencer's freckly face haloed.
Spencer checks all the pictures carefully to make sure he doesn't look stupid in any of them and realizes, surprised, that he doesn't hate himself in any of them, that Jon appears to be the only person capable of taking pictures of him that Spencer actually likes.
This is us, he writes, in Norfolk, VA. It was not even six when I got up and I had to nap again in the afternoon, but I guess this morning was worth it.
It reminded me of England. Here's some pictures.
He hits send, telling himself he doesn't expect a reply.
*
"Jon, Jon!" Brendon says at the breakfast table in a little diner in Hampton Beach. Spencer grins and leans forward, putting his chin in his hands, waiting for Brendon to break the news. Ryan is wibbly, pulling out his computer and setting it down on the table top.
"Look," he says and smiles, "look."
Jon looks at the screen. After a moment he tilts his head at Ryan, then flicks his gaze over to Spencer, who just grins wider, waiting for him to notice.
"Look more closely," Brendon says. "Check the memberlist."
Jon's eyes flicker back to the screen and then they widen; he stares at the screen for a few moments and Spencer watches his face change, his heart racing a little.
"Yeah?" Ryan says and nudges his shoulder against Jon's. "Say yes."
"You guys," Jon says, laughing, "that's like, totally romantic, seriously." He covers his grin with his left hand, twisting around a little; he shakes his head, sitting back, laughing again.
"I know, we're totally proposing band marriage to you right here and now," Brendon says.
"Alright," Jon says. "And by that I mean fuck yes."
Brendon wraps his arms around him and squeezes him, and Jon moves to wrap his arm around Ryan's shoulder to pull him close too. Spencer looks at them, smiling, feeling like this is one of the best decisions they've made in a long time.
*
Spencer calls Tom again in Columbus after the show, drunk on beer and whiskey. The TV in the dressing room was on and there was footage of Warped playing, which made Spencer's stomach twist and sting until he couldn't take it anymore.
He climbs on top of the venue's flat roof, up the fire ladder, sneakers scraping over the rusty metal. He leans back against the chimney, scrolls down to Tom's number and hits call with his head spinning, patterns appearing in the starry sky.
Tom picks up after six rings; Spencer, nearly half asleep, jerks awake at the rough sound of Tom's voice.
"Yeah?" Tom says.
"It's me," he replies and drops his head back against the warm concrete.
"I know." Tom is quiet for a long moment. "How are you?"
"I don't know," Spencer says. He really doesn't. He misses Tom so much he can barely breathe and all he's getting is generic smalltalk. "I miss you so much I can't breathe." It comes out before he can stop himself and he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to make his head stop spinning.
"I'm sorry," Tom says, "I don't deserve you."
Spence huffs out a cynical laugh and shakes his head. "Maybe." He swallows tightly. "No, no, you do," he reiterates, suddenly scared.
"I'm falling apart," Tom says and Spencer only now realizes that Tom might be as drunk as he is, if not more. "We just rocked motherfuckin' San Diego and I feel like I want to puke out the whole world."
"We're in Columbus," Spencer says helplessly.
"I know," Tom replies. "I looked it up. One day and nine hours away. I looked it up tonight before the show and thought about how to get there."
"Me too," Spence says and feels his heart sting a little. "Why didn't you guys come on tour with us?"
Tom laughs a little. "Because that shitty Wentz dude booked us for Warped."
"Fuck that dude," Spence says, smiling a little.
"Where are you when we play Denver, Spence?" Tom is starting to sound tired, and so is Spencer. He should get off the roof before his feet refuse to let him get up again.
"On our way to Salt Lake City? We have no show on that day." He bites his lip. "But I can ask."
"Okay," Tom says. "Okay."
*
"Damn," Spencer says and smudges his eyeliner again, trying to correct his obvious failure. He sets the tip down on his skin again and aims for an exact line, sighing when it doesn't work again. Ryan looks at him through the mirror and then scoots over, snatching the pen from Spencer's fingers.
"You're doing it all wrong," he says. "You're messing it all up." Half his face is already covered in red eyeshadow, scrawny squiggles making their way up his cheek.
"Sorry," Spencer says with a sigh and looks up so Ryan can fix him. He's gotten used to this, and even though Jon would laugh at him if he said it, he's started to feel weird going on stage during soundcheck with no makeup on.
Jon is still bravely resisting Ryan's attempts to draw him (literally) to the dark side, although he's caved in and puts on some eyeliner before each show himself to, as he says, fit in.
*
thanks for lending us your best friend; he's awesome. we might not give him back., he texts Tom one day after Jon hands him a cup of coffee in the dim light of a cold morning, as they wait between nameless cities.
He attaches a picture of himself and Jon hidden behind their cups, the mess of the bus, and half of Brendon's ear.
Tom doesn't reply but Spencer is getting used to that.
*
"I'm not in love with Pete Wentz," Ryan says indignantly. "I'm not, and he's not in love with me." Spencer gives him a raised brow and reaches for another chocolate covered marshmallow.
"Right," Spencer says. He's sitting back against the couch in the bus lounge, the O.C. running on the TV, an episode they've already seen a hundred times. He nudges Ryan's leg with his big toe.
"Seriously," Ryan says and shakes his head, popping a piece of candy in his mouth, "I'm not gay."
"But you kissed him," Spencer counters, because he knows Ryan did kiss Pete Wentz, because he found Pete's blogspot not too long ago and there were some more or less cryptic entries there.
Ryan rolls his eyes and nudges back, but then breaks into a huge grin. "So what," he says. "That doesn't make me gay, still."
Spencer laughs and shakes his head, answering Ryan's grin with one of his own, and doesn't think about Tom, really.
*
Every time Jon is on the phone with Tom, Spencer wants to smash something. He can't even explain it to himself, this jealousy, because that's not who he is, and he knows that Tom and Jon have known each other for a long time. Spencer realizes that whatever's going on between him and Tom obviously does not span the distance between their separate tours.
One night in Toronto, where it's hotter than Spencer thought it would be for Canada, he and Jon are sitting outside the venue before the show, listening to the dim sounds of The Hush Sound playing their last few songs.
Jon has been unusually restless lately, smoking more than his occasional cigarette, and Spencer had gone with him to buy a new pack just before soundcheck that day.
"What's up?" Spencer sighs, playfully nudging his body against Jon's, taking another sip from his diet coke.
Jon is quiet for the time it takes him to shake out a cigarette from his battered pack and light it. Before the first drag he says, "You- and. You and Tom."
Spencer looks up and watches him blow smoke from his nose, his heart racing. "What about me and Tom," he replies, trying to sound nonchalant.
"I don't know," Jon says. He's staring on ahead and Spencer feels his chest get tight.
"There's nothing," he says, and doesn't know why. He's going to see Tom in eight days and he just lied to Tom's best friend even though things will be obvious then anyway. "Why?" He tilts his head and tries to hide his expression.
Jon just shrugs a little, his expression softening a little as he continues to drag on his cigarette. He lets the smoke curl from his mouth and then reaches out to tug a strand of Spencer's hair behind his ear, nearly smiling.
"You should get it cut," he says. "You're starting to look like a chick."
Spencer laughs a bit and turns away, Jon's hand accidentally ghosting down his cheek before withdrawing. "Shut up, dude," he says, shaking his head.
*
Spencer doesn't think Jon meant to kiss him. Spencer thinks Jon is really, really drunk, and Spencer has just gotten his hair cut so it's nice to touch, he understands that, so he really thinks that it was an accident.
He makes a tiny, surprised sound, his eyes wide and open, and watches Jon's flutter shut. He has a light shadow of a beard, scruff, but not painful, and his lips are soft yet assertive, nipping at Spencer's until Spencer's alcohol-muddled brain tells him to give in because Jon tastes like whiskey and it doesn't matter, and Spencer probably won't remember this in the morning anyway.
Jon presses closer, pushes away the couch pillow Spencer had placed in his lap as they watched the Ring for the fourth time (not to hide his face, really) practically climbing on top of him, his breath hot and fast as their kiss breaks.
Spencer stares up at him for a moment and then snaps back a little, trying to roll away, twisting his hips against Jon's grip on them.
"Okay, no," he says. "Sorry, I just-" He squeezes out from under Jon and stumbles to his feet, wobbly, steadying himself against the TV when he finally comes to stand. Jon turns a little, squinting up at him, mouth agape, confusion written in his face.
"I'm drunk," Spencer says. "I can't, I'm drunk- sorry-"
He rubs his hand over his face and stumbles away to the empty bunk area, crawling into Ryan's bunk on instinct.
*
He calls Tom later that night, stumbling from the bus and outside into the fresh night air, hands shaking as he fumbles for his phone.
"Please pick up, please pick up," he chants and Tom finally does after three rings. Spencer collapses on a nearby step, putting his head between his knees to stop himself from hyperventilating.
"Hi," he says, "hi."
"Spence," Tom responds. "I missed you," he says, atypically.
Spence opens and closes his mouth, barely able to keep the truth from spilling between his lips. Instead he says, "I wish you could come on tour with us."
Tom laughs a bit, his voice rough, and Spencer can nearly feel his chest quiver beneath his ear, like he knows it does when Tom is laughing. "I would in a heartbeat," he says. "But things are going haywire here."
"We can always use another guitarist," Spence says, smiling. "You could sleep in my bunk, I wouldn't mind."
Tom makes an amused sound. "I bet you wouldn't."
*
Spencer nearly tells Ryan because he tells Ryan everything, but this. He can't. He tries to tell himself that there's nothing to tell because nothing happened; they were drunk and seriously, drunk dudes do a lot of stupid shit, so he's not going to make a big deal out of it.
He does remember, though, playing Halo through his hangover, what Jon asked him outside that venue in Toronto. His legs were crossed and he still remembers Jon's beard scraping over his cheek. He's going to see Tom in exactly seven days, and he's already freaking out.
He curses and drops the controller at the fifth game over that day, and looks up to find Jon waiting at the door with two mugs of coffee.
"Can I-?" he says tentatively and Spencer nods and scoots over a little, giving over some of the space he's hogged. Jon drops down heavily next to him, handing him a mug, and Spencer takes a sip so he doesn't have to say anything.
They're quiet for a very long time, staring at the intro sequence play over and over, until Jon finally shifts a little, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, mug cupped safely in his hands.
"Sorry," he says. "I was- really drunk."
Spencer bites his lip and nods. "Me too." He searches Jon's profile, but it's unreadable, pale and tired.
"We're cool, right?" Jon says and tilts his head to meet Spencer's eyes, and Spencer feels his chest tighten a little, inexplicably so, and nods.
"Yeah, of course we are."
*
It's not like Spencer thought it would be. They meet with the Academy guys at the Warped field, the sun burning down on their backs. Spencer can already feel another sunburn coming on, even though he's been so careful, and he's probably growing three freckles a minute. There's a lot of handshaking and fist-bumping, dudeing, shoulder bumping and all that.
Spencer hugs William tightly, laughing a bit, and says hello to the Butcher and Mike and Adam, grinning, bumping shoulders with Jon who's tightly holding onto Tom.
"Hey," Tom says to Spencer or Jon, and Spencer feels his cheeks flush a bit.
"Hey," he says back, and that's all they exchange for a while. They all fall back into their old routine, and it feels so familiar, hanging out, and it's England all over again. They have lunch in the park, hamburgers and soda and fries, and Spencer kicks his feet, talking about his new set of drums to the Butcher and how they feel way more organic.
There is tension, he can feel it, and Bill sits away from Tom, hogging Brendon all to himself for the longest time.
*
Spencer skin is prickly where Tom's fingers touch him; his skin is flushed and Tom's breath is warm and moist against his collarbone.
"I fucking missed-" Tom breaks off and bites his skin lightly, groaning a little, and Spencer shifts against him in the confined space of his bunk, Tom's scent all around him.
"Me too," he pants out, his chest rising and falling fast in the frantic rhythm of their mutual pulses. He digs his fingers into Tom's hair and pulls him up, kissing him hungrily, nipping at his lips. He tastes clean, like Spencer's mints, and Spencer moans a little and shifts up against him, wanting more.
"How much time do we have?" he asks, breathless, and Tom groans loudly, tugging Spencer's lower lip between his teeth.
"Enough time to fuck," he says, and Spencer is very much alright with that.
*
It's fast and frantic, and Tom comes so quick he slides out of Spencer and goes down on him, shoving two fingers inside him when he begs for them; Spencer comes arching off the mattress until his knees hit the wall of the bunk, face turned into the pillow to muffle his sounds.
Tom pulls away and spits into a tissue, wiping his fingers, then slides on top of him again, kissing him almost softly. Spencer frowns at the taste of his own come on Tom's tongue, but wraps his arms around him anyway.
There's so many things he wants to ask, like whether Tom is jealous of Jon or whether Tom knows anything or what he wants. Spencer isn't even sure he wants to know the answers and he feels guilty and scared that once they start talking, he'll tell Tom everything. He just digs his fingers into Tom's hair and kisses him back instead.
*
Ryan's dad dies when they're in Vancouver. They play their show and when they get backstage, Zack is waiting for them, phone in hand. Spencer sits and holds Ryan's hand while Ryan talks on the phone to his aunt. He doesn't know what to say and Ryan is so pale Spencer thinks that he's going to pass out.
They board the bus and Jon and Brendon vanish to their bunks. Spencer feels helpless as Ryan curls up against him, eyes red. He hasn't said a word since they left the venue and Spencer knows he won't all night. Ryan's body is cold and shaking a little, and when he finally falls asleep Spencer thinks he's going to pass out from holding own his body in the same position for two hours.
But he can't move, especially now that Ryan is finally breathing calmly, limbs twitching occasionally in his sleep. He closes his eyes and lets his head drop against the backrest of the couch, trying to ignore the numbing pain in his arm.
When he opens his eyes again, Jon is standing over him with a pillow, hand reached out in mid-movement to touch his shoulder.
"Hey," he whispers, wincing, and Jon smiles a little.
"C'mon," he says and helps Spencer switch his shoulder under Ryan's head for the pillow, making sure he doesn't wake. He pulls Spencer to his feet by his hands, helping him up, and steadies him a little when he wobbles.
"I made some hot chocolate," he says, "with whipped cream, and almond liquor."
Spencer groans a little and pads after him to the kitchenette, stomach rumbling even before Jon hands him his cup. He takes a sip, falling down onto the bench, sighing at the taste.
"God, you're fucking amazing," he says and wipes some cream off his upper lip. He can feel the hot milk and alcohol settling comfortably in his stomach and sighs again, starting to feel the tension fall off him.
"I know, right," Jon says, sitting down next to him, their thighs pressed together, and he feels warm and safe and calm. Spencer leans against him, unable to help it, feeling pliant and tired.
"Hey," Jon says, "hey, hey." He finishes his cocoa and leans over a little, nuzzling his nose against Spencer neck, prompting shivers that make their way up Spencer's spine.
"Sorry," Jon says, "I already had three of these. There's a lot of booze in them actually, even if you can't taste it." His breath is warm on Spencer's cold skin, so he closes his eyes, taking another sip.
"It's alright," he responds and doesn't pull away, just reaches up, rubbing his fingers through Jon's short hair.
*
They cancel Seattle, naturally, and San Francisco, and Spencer flies home to Vegas with Ryan to help, with what he's not exactly sure. His mom picks them up from the airport and Spencer squeezes in with the twins in the backseat, listening to them be unusually quiet, both of them leaning their heads on his shoulder.
They miss three days of the tour, which they spend mostly at Spencer's house, holed up in his room. Spencer knows that Ryan had planned to pack his father's things and find closure and all that, but Spencer also knows that Ryan can't do any of these things right now because it's just too soon.
They fly back and play Anaheim, and Ryan doesn't cry anymore after the show until Jon pulls him into a hug where he can hide his face.
*
The tour ends in Chicago, and Spencer hasn't seen Jon this happy since they showed him how they'd changed their Myspace page. His hair has gotten long, and Spencer grins at him, caught, as he watches him during their last show.
Ryan is quiet so often that Spencer sometimes fears he's lost his voice, but Brendon will sit with him for hours when Spencer can't and talk enough for both of them, idle chatter and song ideas, his voice calm.
He calls Tom that night and tells him about Ryan and how he doesn't know what to do, but that at least he's not as afraid anymore. He tells Tom that he wants to fly out if he can, that he doesn't want to leave Ryan alone for too long, but that he'll try. When he's done, Tom is quiet for a long time, so long that Spencer is afraid one of them lost their signal or that Tom fell asleep.
Finally Tom says, "I think, by the end of this tour, I won't be in this band anymore."
Part iii