Turning Corners [1/1]
Title: Turning Corners
Author: jawice24
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Don’t be afraid to turn corners and see what’s behind.
Brendon's a music student at NYU. One day he starts receiving photographs in the mail from an anonymous sender. With every picture he learns something more about this sender.
Words: ~5.250
Disclaimer: Fiction. Don't own.
All pictures used are taken by Jon Walker, except for kitchen by ablueromance on deviantart, and this one of Brendon that I don’t know who took it.
Author Notes: I was writing something entirely different, got stuck, and then suddenly~ this existed. Just a little piece of cute, really.
Thanks to anyone who reads. Feedback = awesome.
Brendon flips through the mail while he walks into the apartment. Most of it is advertisement he doesn’t think worthy of his time, some bills... and then there’s a bigger envelope that has his name on it in neat, square handwriting. He throws everything except for that on the kitchen counter when he passes it on his way into the living room.
“Hey,” his roommate, Shane, says from his place on the couch in front of the TV.
“Hey,” Brendon responds a little absent-mindedly, pushing a finger between the top fold and the side flap of the envelope. His finger breaks the seal and he flips back the fold before pulling out the content.
“What do you have there?” Brendon hears Shane ask him, but he doesn’t respond, just studies the print that he’s now holding up. It’s not something Brendon recognizes: water on the left side, with a dark blue line of the horizon, a pale evening sky and a deserted, seemingly endless boulevard.
“Were you expecting something?” he asks and looks at Shane. After all, Shane is the photographer, and Brendon is the music student; they could've mixed their names up or something.
“No, why?”
Shane gets up from the couch and walks over to Brendon, who furrows his eyebrows in confusion and looks back at the photograph. He studies it again before turning it around in hopes of more clues. On the back, in the same neat handwriting, it says: Don’t be afraid to turn corners and see what’s behind.
Brendon looks back at Shane, who has come to stand next to him and read over his shoulder. Shane shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. It’s a good picture, though.”
Brendon agrees.
***
Having a Starbucks across the street from your apartment is very convenient. Especially when it’s ten pm and it doesn’t close for another hour, and you feel like you really can’t write that essay without your fix of Caffè Verona.
Brendon really likes one of the employees there, too.
He's a short guy, with slight scruff on his chin and broad shoulders, a grin that never leaves his face, and a sticker in the shape of a speech bubble that says rocks! on his name tag, making Brendon smile.
When Brendon walks up to the counter, his backpack hanging off of one shoulder and a pen already in his hand, and says, “Hey Jonrocks,” Jon’s smile gets just that little wider and he simply asks, “Verona?”
When Brendon nods, he follows with, “Essay?” and when Brendon nods again, he says, “Go ahead and sit down, I’ll bring it over to you in a sec.”
Brendon really likes him, yeah.
***
He’s almost forgotten about it, but five days after the first one, there’s another envelope in the mail with the same handwriting on the top. Brendon almost trips over his own feet when he hurries his way inside the apartment, his fingers already tearing the seal of the envelope to find out what’s inside.
This time it’s something he does recognize: Navy Pier. He sees the Ferris Wheel, the lights from the theatres, shops, restaurants and other, most of it reflected in the water of the lake in enthralling colors of white, blue, purple and more. He studies it for a little while longer before remembering the message on the back of the other photograph, and he quickly turns it.
This was once home. It always will be, but I’m hoping more than one place can be my home.
He reads it three times, silently mouthing the words along. He figures that whoever is sending him these things must be from Chicago, and that this person is trying to make a home of where they are currently living. It still doesn’t make sense, though, why Brendon is the one receiving this, and what the purpose of it is. He turns the picture back around, looks some more at the lights and the colors, trying to make out the separate elements in the still: the boats and buildings, before getting up to find a thumbtack and pinning the picture on his wall. He rummages through a pile of papers on his desk to retrieve the previous photograph he received, and pins it on the left of the second.
Brendon takes a step back and looks at them, lined up on the wall between his cupboard and his bed. He has to admit that it is kind of weird, finding things in your mail from an anonymous sender, but yet he’s not freaking out. Someone sending you pictures is pretty harmless, and if he’s right, he’ll find out who the sender is, eventually. After all, the text on the back of the pictures is trying to tell him something about the sender, he’s sure, and he expects to learn a little more with every picture he gets, as this probably won’t be the last one.
***
Brendon totally forgot about that assignment on music cultures of the recent past that he has to hand in tomorrow, and when he hurried his way home to get on it fast, he rode his bike through some glass and got a flat tire, forcing him to walk the rest of the way and getting home much later than he normally would’ve. Needless to say: Brendon’s not in the best of moods.
“Uh, hey,” Shane says a little uncertainly when Brendon stomps through the door.
“Caffeine,” Brendon mutters. “Caffeine, and my laptop, in my room.”
“Uh,” Shane says again, and follows Brendon into the kitchen. “Ryan was here earlier. He’d thought you would be home and he waited around for a bit, but he had to leave again before you got even here.”
“Had a flat tire,” Brendon explains. “I’ll call him later.” He expects Shane to retreat back to the living room, but he doesn’t move. Brendon glances at him while flicking the ‘on’-switch on the coffee maker, turns his head back, and flicks it again. And again, and why won’t the fucking thing turn on?
“He tried to make tea with the coffee maker,” Shane says. “It didn’t really work out.”
“Are you kidding me? The water boiler’s right there!” Brendon exclaims, pointing at the thing sitting right next to the coffee maker as if Shane doesn’t know, and looks at him incredulously.
“Uh, yeah. That’s what I told him.”
Brendon lets out a pathetic moan. “I can’t do that assignment without coffee, Shane,” he says, as if that’ll make Shane be able to fix the machine, while he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and texts omg u ass u owe me a nw coffee makr to Ryan.
Shane wordlessly grabs Brendon’s wrist and drags him out of the kitchen, to the window looking out on the street, where he discreetly points to the Starbucks on the street corner. And yeah, okay, Brendon probably would’ve ended up there anyway, seeing as his own coffee just isn’t a Verona, but still, “Fucking tea in my coffee maker, Shane, you could’ve told him not to.”
Shane looks at Brendon a little helplessly. “It’s Ryan,” he says.
Right at that moment Brendon’s phone buzzes, and he opens Ryan’s reply to his text. All it says is: :* .
Brendon sighs, “Yeah. Point,” and grabs his backpack from where he dropped it on the floor before making his way outside and to his Caffè Verona, all the while muttering, “Right fucking next to it,” under his breath.
***
There aren’t any customers anymore; it’s almost 11 pm and Jon’s spraying some detergent on the counter before wiping it with a cloth. He’s the only barista still there, and Brendon knows he has to leave soon so Jon can lock the place up, but he isn’t quite finished yet so he decides to stay until Jon will shove him out.
He types away frantically, and the next time he looks up Jon is sliding into the seat across from Brendon, pushing another venti Verona across the table. The clock in the corner of his laptop screen tells Brendon that it’s 11:26 and he gives Jon a surprised look. Jon bounces his eyebrows at him.
“How’s it coming?”
“Uh, yeah, okay, I think,” Brendon says, still confused. “I- what…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jon says, giving him that trademark easy smile before getting up again and going to continue his cleaning duties.
Brendon stares at his coffee for a moment before taking a sip, and then he starts on his assignment again. Every now and then, though, he finds himself looking away from the screen, looking at Jon instead. Jon grins at him every time he notices, and Brendon grins back every time, then ducks his head and starts typing again.
***
It’s almost midnight when Brendon closes the lid of his laptop, and stretches his arms above his head. Jon’s in the seat across from him. He’s flipping through Brendon’s Ethnomusicology textbook, but looks up when he hears Brendon’s spine pop.
“Aah,” Brendon sighs with a satisfied smile.
“Done?” Jon asks. Brendon nods and Jon says, “Good.” He hands Brendon back his book, who puts it in his backpack after he’s slid in his laptop.
“Now you can finally throw me out, huh?”
“Finally, yeah,” Jon teases, and a wide grin is perched on his face. “Been waiting to do that the whole evening.”
Brendon holds a hand over his heart and gives Jon a hurt expression. “You don’t mean that,” he gasps.
“No, I don’t. Now get up so I can lock up.”
Brendon can’t help himself from mirroring Jon’s ever-present grin while he gets up and zips up his hoodie. Jon takes his own hoodie from the backrest of his chair and puts it on, but doesn’t zip it up. He waits for Brendon to start walking before following him, and at the door he sets the alarm before they both get out and he can lock the door.
“Thank you, Jonrocks,” Brendon says when he looks up at him.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Jon says softly, and Brendon thinks that he likes Jon’s voice. He also thinks that he wants to reach out and run his fingers over the clover on the front of Jon’s shirt, before Jon sniffles and Brendon blinks.
“No,” Brendon says, and clears his throat. “Thank you.”
Jon touches his elbow. “Anytime.”
Brendon guesses he'd better start walking before he really starts thinking about Jon’s hand on his arm. “I’ll come around soon!” he calls out over his shoulder. He sees Jon nodding, still standing there by the door.
***
It’s been only two days since the second picture. This time Brendon brings the small parcel straight to his bedroom, and opens it while sitting on his bed. It’s a picture of a kitchen counter. There’s a basket filled with peppers in the still, a bread baking appliance, and something that Brendon thinks contains spices. A warm light comes through the blinds, and it makes Brendon think of home. He turns it around to read this time’s message.
I miss home, and most of all I miss my mom. When I was little, she always let me sit on the counter while she was baking cookies. I can still recall the way I felt back then, even now.
Brendon runs his fingers through his hair, tugging a little on the end of the strands, and bites his lip. He’s even more convinced than last time that the sender wants Brendon to find out who is sending him this. It’s getting more personal, revealing more to Brendon than a real meeting with someone probably would.
He’s dying to put a name and a face with this, as he pins the third picture next to the second, but he knows that all he really can do is be patient.
***
Shane is wearing the biggest smile when Brendon walks in. Brendon smirks and ignores him for as long as possible with Shane following him around everywhere and smiling excitedly every time Brendon glances in his general direction. He stalls some more, straightening the sheets on his bed, pushing around some papers on his desk, taking a glass of water, before he says, “Okay, what’s up?”
“You’re an ass,” Shane informs him happily, but before Brendon can respond to that he continues, “NYU asked me to lecture! Three times a week for the next two months.”
“That’s great!” Brendon steps forward to hug him. “I really am an ass, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay, ‘cause NYU asked me to lecture.”
“That’s true,” Brendon has to admit. “So, we’re gonna celebrate, right?”
“That I get to lecture or that it’s okay that you’re an ass?” Shane inquires.
“Let’s go crazy and do both,” Brendon smirks. Shane high-fives him, then all but runs to the living room to turn on the Wii.
“Mario Kart?” he asks, and shoves the second controller in Brendon’s hands.
***
The fourth time there’s a message, Brendon almost misses it. He’s sitting on the couch and flips through a Fender catalogue he just got, even though he’s pretty sure you have to sign up to get that, when he gets to the bass pages and a folded piece of paper lands in his lap. He unfolds it and immediately recognizes the handwriting.
I’ve always loved music. Every aspect of it, but most of all the bass: simple yet essential.
Brendon pins it on his wall too, even though it’s not a photo.
***
Today Brendon has an early class, and with his coffee maker still broken, he decides to stop by Starbucks real quick beforehand.
It’s only seven am, but the place is crowded, and Brendon has to wait in line a while before he can order. Except that he doesn’t have to: Jon hands him his coffee before he can even say anything. He gives Jon his widest smile, and Jon returns it right away.
“Hold on a second,” Brendon says and takes his wallet, but before taking out the money he opens his bag and takes out a pen, even though there are still people in line behind him. “Napkin?” he asks Jon, and Jon hands it to him, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking at Brendon curiously. Brendon:, he scribbles on the napkin, followed by his phone number. He takes his money, folds the napkin, and hands it to Jon. Jon’s still smiling, only a different smile. Not the easy, ever-present one, more excited, and his eyebrows are raised.
“Bye Jon,” Brendon says, smiling coyly, and then he turns around and leaves for class.
***
It’s only been one day since the fourth message, but when Brendon comes home Shane says, “There’s another one. I put it in your room.”
“Thanks,” Brendon says, and immediately walks over to his room.
There’s no address on the envelope this time, just his name. He feels a bit silly, just standing there and contemplating this fact, taking in the envelope perched on his pillow. Then he blinks and picks the thing up.
Inside is the picture of a cat, white and grey fur with darker grey stripes, resting on its side but with pricked up ears. Brendon smiles at the picture before turning it around. It starts out the same way the previous did.
I’ve always loved music. But most of all I love the music of people that went their own way, and Bob Dylan is someone who fits into that category.
This is my own Dylan, except this one doesn’t have ‘homesick blues’. He seems convinced that New York is as much of a home as Chicago was.
I think I'm starting to believe him.
It’s weird, really, but he feels glad that this messenger of his has something to find comfort in, and he catches himself humming ’Subterranean Homesick Blues’, thinking back to when his dad would listen to it in the car. Then he gets up and pins the picture in place.
"How was the lecture?” Brendon asks when he comes back into the living room.
“Great!” Shane beams at him. “There’s some real talent there, I’ll tell ya.” His face changes into a smirk that tells Brendon that Shane knows something he doesn’t. “Know who’s in that class also?” he asks.
“Well?”
“Jon Walker, the one from Starbucks.”
“Really?” Brendon can’t suppress his smile. “Jonrocks?”
Shane nods. “That’s the one,” and he’s still looking at Brendon with that smirk.
“Hey, and did you know that they have a school paper kind of thing? And every month they feature a student’s work.”
“Uh,” Brendon says, because it’s not like he knew or didn’t know, more like he never gave it thought. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” Shane nearly sighs. “It’s pretty awesome.”
Brendon looks at him suspiciously, but then Shane calls out “Guitar Hero?” and Brendon says, “Yes!” because really, denying himself a game of Guitar Hero just because Shane is acting weird would be plain stupid.
***
Brendon’s sitting behind his keyboard when his phone rings. He slides down his headphones to around his neck and leans sideways to where the phone is on his desk. He doesn’t recognize the number and his stomach twists because of who he hopes it might be.
“Hello?”
“Brendon? It’s Jon.”
“Yeah, Jon, hey,” Brendon says, absent-mindedly pressing his fingers down on the keys and hearing the sound come muted through the headphones. “You don’t have to work this evening?” he asks.
“Nah,” Jon says. “I have class early tomorrow, so I didn’t want to work that late.” Brendon hums in agreement. “So what are you up to?” Jon then asks.
“Oh, not much,” Brendon says. “I was just playing my keyboard when you called.”
“Oh really? Play something?”
Brendon laughs. “What would I have to play?”
“I don’t know.” Brendon can hear Jon’s smile, even through the phone. “First thing that comes to mind?”
Brendon’s silent for a moment, contemplating. He’s good, he knows he is, but he has never played the first song that comes to mind, nor does he have sheet music for it. “Okay, let me try,” he says then. “Hold on, I’ll put you on speakerphone.”
He waits until Jon says, “Yeah,” before pressing a few buttons and putting the phone down on his desk. He unplugs his headphones from the keyboard, hovers his fingers over the keys, and starts playing. After a little while he hears Jon’s laughter coming through the phone.
“Bob Dylan?”
”Yeah! You recognize it?”
“Yeah, you’re really… You’re really good, Brendon.”
“Thank you,” Brendon says softly. “I love playing.”
“Again?” Jon asks. “Do it again?”
Brendon does, and then Jon starts singing along to Brendon’s playing, and a few words in Brendon is singing too. They finish the whole song, and then Brendon turns off the keyboard and lies down on his bed with the phone next to him on the pillow.
“Wow,” Jon sighs, and Brendon chuckles a little breathlessly, his one arm resting next to his head and the other slung over his stomach. “I’m glad I called you,” Jon tells him.
Brendon’s stomach twists again and he curls his finger into the hem of his shirt. “I’m glad you called me, too.”
***
Apparently, Jon didn’t mind talking to Brendon until long after his shift had ended would he have been working, even with his early class the next morning. Brendon’s still smiling hours after they’ve hung up and he can’t sleep, but he doesn’t really mind. He can’t say he’s tired, not after Jon’s hopeful, “See you soon, yeah?”
***
Ryan comes by with a new coffee maker. Brendon doesn’t use it.
***
Number six is a picture of a baseball field. On the back it says
I spent a lot of time in Grant Park, together with my brothers, pretending it was Wrigley Field and we were the Cubs. Back then I thought that one day I would be Rookie of the Year.
Dreams can change, but don’t stop having them.
Brendon pins it to his wall just like every other time, but not before he makes a copy of the back and hangs that up on the wall right above his keyboard.
***
“I don’t have that much time,” Brendon tells Jon when he comes to get his Verona. “I have to go pick up my bike.” He’d taken his bike to a shop by the train station to get his tire fixed. Normally he would do that himself, but it was the back tire and he didn’t have the right equipment for that.
“We should go biking together sometimes,” Jon says when he hands Brendon his cup.
“Yeah,” Brendon beams. “Good idea!”
Jon touches his elbow before Brendon turns around to leave, and when Brendon walks by the window outside, Jon’s still standing in the same spot at the counter, looking at him, and he gives Brendon a wave.
Brendon blushes.
***
They do end up biking, not sometimes, but the next day.
It’s cold. Brendon’s wearing a thick coat and a scarf, and he doesn’t understand how Jon can survive in just a hoodie. Jon also carries a backpack, but when Brendon looks at him questioningly, Jon just smiles that easy smile and asks, “Are you coming?” before he pedals away.
After a while, Jon decides they need ice cream, and Brendon’s not one to say no to ice cream, even with the cold. He waits by their bikes while Jon goes to fetch them Sundaes.
It then turns out that Jon has brought his camera, too, because when Brendon looks up, Jon snaps his picture with one hand, his other hand holding the ice cream cups to his body. When Brendon blinks at Jon, Jon grins, shrugs, and says, “There’s a really pretty lighting here,” and hands Brendon his ice cream.
“Can I see?” Brendon asks. Jon nods, presses the quick-view button and turns the camera so that Brendon can see his shot.
“Oh my god,” he moans. “Jon you have to delete that.”
“No,” Jon says determinately. “Why would I?”
Brendon stares at the small screen some more before saying, “I look as if I’m not having fun,” and then he looks up as if he’s shocked that he just said that.
Jon seems amused. “And you are having fun?”
“I am,” Brendon answers honestly.
“As long as I know that,” Jon says and moves to take the camera back from Brendon.
“But my eye,” Brendon says. “It’s like… closed.”
”Oh come on,” Jon reaches out and ruffles his hair. “You look good,” he simply says, and easily takes the camera from Brendon’s hands.
“Don’t forget your ice cream,” Jon says, and he takes his bike to a nearby bench, sets it down and takes place on the bench Indian style. Brendon wills the heat in his face to die down before he follows him, and when he sits down too Jon nudges him and says, “I am too, you know.”
Brendon looks up.
“Having fun,” Jon smiles, and then he takes Brendon’s hand from where it is resting on his thigh and entwines their fingers.
***
Brendon flops down backwards on the couch, head landing on Shane’s thighs, and he lets out a long sigh.
“Had fun?” Shane smirks, looking down on him.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Yeah.”
***
Number seven is on the coffee table when Brendon emerges from his room the next morning, rubbing his eyes sleepily and almost walking straight past it on his way to the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks, stares the package down for a second and then picks it up, flopping down on the couch to open it.
Brendon can’t help the sharp intake of breath when he slides out the picture. It’s another boulevard, lake on the left, trees on the right and lights ahead. In the left bottom corner, there’s a bike, and Brendon subconsciously bites his lip and turns the print around.
Sometimes I think that everything in life is about light. Light can change the way something looks, the way you feel; light makes a difference. But the best thing is, light is always there, no matter where you are at the moment.
He reads the words a second time before he stands up and takes the picture to his room. When it’s on the wall, he leans in close, eyes roaming it once more. It’s beautiful, but he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing here.
***
Jon’s just leaving Starbucks, cup of coffee in hand, when Brendon cycles past on his way to class. Jon slips on his jacket, waving at Brendon afters he’s zipped it up.
Brendon steers onto the sidewalk and brakes, coming to a halt right in front of Jon. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless.
“Brendon,” Jon smiles. “On your way to class?”
“I am,” Brendon tilts his head. “What about you?” He couldn’t care less about his class right now, not if Jon has time, and the thought actually kind of startles him.
“Can I come?” Jon asks, and offers Brendon his cup. Brendon takes a sip of the coffee while thinking it over. That day’s lecture will be about notation and editing of early music, and fairly boring, he’s sure. Having Jon there would probably make it a lot easier to sit through without falling asleep on top of his notebook.
“You won’t get bored?” he asks.
Jon smiles. “I’m sure I won’t.” Brendon feels kind of warm all of a sudden. “Can I pedal?” Jon asks. Brendon nods and swings his leg over the saddle so now he’s standing next to his bike, letting Jon take the steer. When Jon gets on and pushes off of the sidewalk, Brendon jumps on behind him and wraps his arms securely around Jon’s waist.
***
Brendon doesn’t have a clue what the professor told them, but at least he didn’t fall asleep, and that has to count for something.
***
Brendon drops Jon off at Starbucks after they’ve finished their subs. Jon unzips his jacket before he goes inside. Brendon sees a flash of the clover, a shirt much like the one he saw Jon wearing before, but this time above the image it says Wrigley Field, the white letters clearly standing out against the green of the shirt.
“Wrigley Field,” he mumbles, tasting the words on his tongue. He reaches out and traces the three leafs on Jon’s chest.
Jon smiles his smile. “Yeah. The Cubbies,” he says, as if he’s agreeing with something Brendon just said.
Brendon feels Jon’s voice against the palm of his hand and realizes what he’s doing. He flushes and goes to pull his hand back, but Jon reaches out and grabs his wrist. Jon’s other hand comes up, index and middle finger under Brendon’s chin and thumb moving over his cheek. Brendon gets that familiar twisting of his stomach again, and then Jon gives a short tug on his wrist and pulls him into a hug.
“Thanks for taking me with you today,” Jon says close to Brendon’s ear.
“Yeah, you better thank me. You were such a burden,” Brendon huffs.
“Oh really?” Jon puts his hands on Brendon’s shoulders and pushes him back a little, looking up at him.
“No, not really.”
Jon laughs and lets go. “I better go in now. Come by tonight?”
Brendon smiles back and nods. “Definitely.”
***
Shane’s not home when Brendon gets there, but there’s some kind of magazine on the table with a post-it on the top.
Thought you might find this interesting, it says, and Brendon curiously folds the top page. It’s the magazine that Shane told him about, and Brendon smiles when he looks at the index and reads, 23 - This month’s featured: Jonathan Walker. He quickly flips through the pages until he gets to page twenty-three.
Jonathan Walker, it says, and underneath the name is a picture of the Chicago skyline by night , with Jon in shorts and on flip-flops, his head leaning on his arms on the railing and looking at the buildings.
Brendon turns the page, and almost drops the magazine. He stares at the picture of Navy Pier, blinks, and stares some more. He slowly gets up and walks to his room, and there he holds up the magazine next to the pictures on his wall. He looks at the next page, and it’s his number seven.
Next page, and it’s number six, the one taken in Grant Park. “Wrigley Field,” Brendon mumbles to himself.
God damn, he thinks. God damn.
***
Brendon’s still in his room when Shane comes home. He looks up when he hears the footsteps, and a moment later Shane appears in his doorway, leaning against the frame.
“So,” he says.
“Yeah. So,” Brendon agrees.
“What are you thinking?”
Brendon shrugs. “I don’t know.” He honestly doesn’t know. “Why would he… I mean. I don’t think…”
Shane pushes himself off of the doorframe and walks over to Brendon, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Jon studies photography,” he says. “What better way of telling you about himself than through his work?”
“But why-”
“-Oh come on, Brendon,” Shane interrupts him. “I come there, what, once a month? And even I knew that he liked you. You go there nearly every single day and you honestly still don’t know?”
Brendon feels his face heat up.
“Which reminds me…” Shane trails off. He gets up from the bed and walks out of the room, returning a moment later with an envelope in his hand. “I think I have your number eight.”
Brendon takes it and tears it open. It’s a picture of a Starbucks cup , and when Brendon turns it around, there’s nothing on the back. He looks up at Shane.
“Uh, go?” Shane suggests.
Brendon smiles widely and gets up.
***
It’s fairly quiet inside the Starbucks, and there’s another barista besides Jon, so it’s not too big of a problem for Jon to follow Brendon to a table and sit with him for a while.
“So Chicago,” Brendon prompts.
“You're turning corners?” Jon shoots back.
Brendon studies Jon’s face, and Jon doesn’t look anything but genuinely curious.
“Yeah, probably,” Brendon breathes. “Yes,” he says then, and the crinkles around Jon’s eyes grow a little deeper as his smile grows wider.
“I’m glad.”
”Why me, though?” Brendon asks.
“I wanted you to know me, because I wanted to know you,” Jon says, and it sounds so simple, as if he didn’t offer Brendon something that’s a huge part of him without knowing if Brendon would appreciate it.
Brendon takes Jon’s hand under the table and squeezes it. “Thank you,” he says. And then just like that, Jon leans forward and kisses him. Jon kisses like he is, Brendon decides: laidback and genuine, and Brendon really wants to protest when Jon pulls back.
“I have to go back to work,” Jon whispers, and it’s the first time Brendon’s ever heard Jon breathless.
“Yeah,” he whispers back, and presses his lips on Jon’s once more. It’s just a dry press of lips, Jon’s scruff tickling Brendon, but Brendon thinks it’s pretty much perfect.
“Come by when you’re finished?” Brendon asks after Jon pulls back the second time. “I think you know where I live,” he jokes, earning him a light shove in the shoulder.
“I will,” Jon promises.
They get up and Jon gets behind the counter again. He starts making coffee and Brendon knows it’s a Café Verona when Jon hands it to him.
“Will you play something for me again?” Jon asks.
“Maybe,” Brendon says, and then he smirks. “We could bake cookies. I’ll let you sit on the counter.”
“Sounds perfect to me.”
Author: jawice24
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jon/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Don’t be afraid to turn corners and see what’s behind.
Brendon's a music student at NYU. One day he starts receiving photographs in the mail from an anonymous sender. With every picture he learns something more about this sender.
Words: ~5.250
Disclaimer: Fiction. Don't own.
All pictures used are taken by Jon Walker, except for kitchen by ablueromance on deviantart, and this one of Brendon that I don’t know who took it.
Author Notes: I was writing something entirely different, got stuck, and then suddenly~ this existed. Just a little piece of cute, really.
Thanks to anyone who reads. Feedback = awesome.
Brendon flips through the mail while he walks into the apartment. Most of it is advertisement he doesn’t think worthy of his time, some bills... and then there’s a bigger envelope that has his name on it in neat, square handwriting. He throws everything except for that on the kitchen counter when he passes it on his way into the living room.
“Hey,” his roommate, Shane, says from his place on the couch in front of the TV.
“Hey,” Brendon responds a little absent-mindedly, pushing a finger between the top fold and the side flap of the envelope. His finger breaks the seal and he flips back the fold before pulling out the content.
“What do you have there?” Brendon hears Shane ask him, but he doesn’t respond, just studies the print that he’s now holding up. It’s not something Brendon recognizes: water on the left side, with a dark blue line of the horizon, a pale evening sky and a deserted, seemingly endless boulevard.
“Were you expecting something?” he asks and looks at Shane. After all, Shane is the photographer, and Brendon is the music student; they could've mixed their names up or something.
“No, why?”
Shane gets up from the couch and walks over to Brendon, who furrows his eyebrows in confusion and looks back at the photograph. He studies it again before turning it around in hopes of more clues. On the back, in the same neat handwriting, it says: Don’t be afraid to turn corners and see what’s behind.
Brendon looks back at Shane, who has come to stand next to him and read over his shoulder. Shane shrugs. “I don’t know, dude. It’s a good picture, though.”
Brendon agrees.
***
Having a Starbucks across the street from your apartment is very convenient. Especially when it’s ten pm and it doesn’t close for another hour, and you feel like you really can’t write that essay without your fix of Caffè Verona.
Brendon really likes one of the employees there, too.
He's a short guy, with slight scruff on his chin and broad shoulders, a grin that never leaves his face, and a sticker in the shape of a speech bubble that says rocks! on his name tag, making Brendon smile.
When Brendon walks up to the counter, his backpack hanging off of one shoulder and a pen already in his hand, and says, “Hey Jonrocks,” Jon’s smile gets just that little wider and he simply asks, “Verona?”
When Brendon nods, he follows with, “Essay?” and when Brendon nods again, he says, “Go ahead and sit down, I’ll bring it over to you in a sec.”
Brendon really likes him, yeah.
***
He’s almost forgotten about it, but five days after the first one, there’s another envelope in the mail with the same handwriting on the top. Brendon almost trips over his own feet when he hurries his way inside the apartment, his fingers already tearing the seal of the envelope to find out what’s inside.
This time it’s something he does recognize: Navy Pier. He sees the Ferris Wheel, the lights from the theatres, shops, restaurants and other, most of it reflected in the water of the lake in enthralling colors of white, blue, purple and more. He studies it for a little while longer before remembering the message on the back of the other photograph, and he quickly turns it.
This was once home. It always will be, but I’m hoping more than one place can be my home.
He reads it three times, silently mouthing the words along. He figures that whoever is sending him these things must be from Chicago, and that this person is trying to make a home of where they are currently living. It still doesn’t make sense, though, why Brendon is the one receiving this, and what the purpose of it is. He turns the picture back around, looks some more at the lights and the colors, trying to make out the separate elements in the still: the boats and buildings, before getting up to find a thumbtack and pinning the picture on his wall. He rummages through a pile of papers on his desk to retrieve the previous photograph he received, and pins it on the left of the second.
Brendon takes a step back and looks at them, lined up on the wall between his cupboard and his bed. He has to admit that it is kind of weird, finding things in your mail from an anonymous sender, but yet he’s not freaking out. Someone sending you pictures is pretty harmless, and if he’s right, he’ll find out who the sender is, eventually. After all, the text on the back of the pictures is trying to tell him something about the sender, he’s sure, and he expects to learn a little more with every picture he gets, as this probably won’t be the last one.
***
Brendon totally forgot about that assignment on music cultures of the recent past that he has to hand in tomorrow, and when he hurried his way home to get on it fast, he rode his bike through some glass and got a flat tire, forcing him to walk the rest of the way and getting home much later than he normally would’ve. Needless to say: Brendon’s not in the best of moods.
“Uh, hey,” Shane says a little uncertainly when Brendon stomps through the door.
“Caffeine,” Brendon mutters. “Caffeine, and my laptop, in my room.”
“Uh,” Shane says again, and follows Brendon into the kitchen. “Ryan was here earlier. He’d thought you would be home and he waited around for a bit, but he had to leave again before you got even here.”
“Had a flat tire,” Brendon explains. “I’ll call him later.” He expects Shane to retreat back to the living room, but he doesn’t move. Brendon glances at him while flicking the ‘on’-switch on the coffee maker, turns his head back, and flicks it again. And again, and why won’t the fucking thing turn on?
“He tried to make tea with the coffee maker,” Shane says. “It didn’t really work out.”
“Are you kidding me? The water boiler’s right there!” Brendon exclaims, pointing at the thing sitting right next to the coffee maker as if Shane doesn’t know, and looks at him incredulously.
“Uh, yeah. That’s what I told him.”
Brendon lets out a pathetic moan. “I can’t do that assignment without coffee, Shane,” he says, as if that’ll make Shane be able to fix the machine, while he takes his cell phone out of his pocket and texts omg u ass u owe me a nw coffee makr to Ryan.
Shane wordlessly grabs Brendon’s wrist and drags him out of the kitchen, to the window looking out on the street, where he discreetly points to the Starbucks on the street corner. And yeah, okay, Brendon probably would’ve ended up there anyway, seeing as his own coffee just isn’t a Verona, but still, “Fucking tea in my coffee maker, Shane, you could’ve told him not to.”
Shane looks at Brendon a little helplessly. “It’s Ryan,” he says.
Right at that moment Brendon’s phone buzzes, and he opens Ryan’s reply to his text. All it says is: :* .
Brendon sighs, “Yeah. Point,” and grabs his backpack from where he dropped it on the floor before making his way outside and to his Caffè Verona, all the while muttering, “Right fucking next to it,” under his breath.
***
There aren’t any customers anymore; it’s almost 11 pm and Jon’s spraying some detergent on the counter before wiping it with a cloth. He’s the only barista still there, and Brendon knows he has to leave soon so Jon can lock the place up, but he isn’t quite finished yet so he decides to stay until Jon will shove him out.
He types away frantically, and the next time he looks up Jon is sliding into the seat across from Brendon, pushing another venti Verona across the table. The clock in the corner of his laptop screen tells Brendon that it’s 11:26 and he gives Jon a surprised look. Jon bounces his eyebrows at him.
“How’s it coming?”
“Uh, yeah, okay, I think,” Brendon says, still confused. “I- what…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jon says, giving him that trademark easy smile before getting up again and going to continue his cleaning duties.
Brendon stares at his coffee for a moment before taking a sip, and then he starts on his assignment again. Every now and then, though, he finds himself looking away from the screen, looking at Jon instead. Jon grins at him every time he notices, and Brendon grins back every time, then ducks his head and starts typing again.
***
It’s almost midnight when Brendon closes the lid of his laptop, and stretches his arms above his head. Jon’s in the seat across from him. He’s flipping through Brendon’s Ethnomusicology textbook, but looks up when he hears Brendon’s spine pop.
“Aah,” Brendon sighs with a satisfied smile.
“Done?” Jon asks. Brendon nods and Jon says, “Good.” He hands Brendon back his book, who puts it in his backpack after he’s slid in his laptop.
“Now you can finally throw me out, huh?”
“Finally, yeah,” Jon teases, and a wide grin is perched on his face. “Been waiting to do that the whole evening.”
Brendon holds a hand over his heart and gives Jon a hurt expression. “You don’t mean that,” he gasps.
“No, I don’t. Now get up so I can lock up.”
Brendon can’t help himself from mirroring Jon’s ever-present grin while he gets up and zips up his hoodie. Jon takes his own hoodie from the backrest of his chair and puts it on, but doesn’t zip it up. He waits for Brendon to start walking before following him, and at the door he sets the alarm before they both get out and he can lock the door.
“Thank you, Jonrocks,” Brendon says when he looks up at him.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Jon says softly, and Brendon thinks that he likes Jon’s voice. He also thinks that he wants to reach out and run his fingers over the clover on the front of Jon’s shirt, before Jon sniffles and Brendon blinks.
“No,” Brendon says, and clears his throat. “Thank you.”
Jon touches his elbow. “Anytime.”
Brendon guesses he'd better start walking before he really starts thinking about Jon’s hand on his arm. “I’ll come around soon!” he calls out over his shoulder. He sees Jon nodding, still standing there by the door.
***
It’s been only two days since the second picture. This time Brendon brings the small parcel straight to his bedroom, and opens it while sitting on his bed. It’s a picture of a kitchen counter. There’s a basket filled with peppers in the still, a bread baking appliance, and something that Brendon thinks contains spices. A warm light comes through the blinds, and it makes Brendon think of home. He turns it around to read this time’s message.
I miss home, and most of all I miss my mom. When I was little, she always let me sit on the counter while she was baking cookies. I can still recall the way I felt back then, even now.
Brendon runs his fingers through his hair, tugging a little on the end of the strands, and bites his lip. He’s even more convinced than last time that the sender wants Brendon to find out who is sending him this. It’s getting more personal, revealing more to Brendon than a real meeting with someone probably would.
He’s dying to put a name and a face with this, as he pins the third picture next to the second, but he knows that all he really can do is be patient.
***
Shane is wearing the biggest smile when Brendon walks in. Brendon smirks and ignores him for as long as possible with Shane following him around everywhere and smiling excitedly every time Brendon glances in his general direction. He stalls some more, straightening the sheets on his bed, pushing around some papers on his desk, taking a glass of water, before he says, “Okay, what’s up?”
“You’re an ass,” Shane informs him happily, but before Brendon can respond to that he continues, “NYU asked me to lecture! Three times a week for the next two months.”
“That’s great!” Brendon steps forward to hug him. “I really am an ass, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but that’s okay, ‘cause NYU asked me to lecture.”
“That’s true,” Brendon has to admit. “So, we’re gonna celebrate, right?”
“That I get to lecture or that it’s okay that you’re an ass?” Shane inquires.
“Let’s go crazy and do both,” Brendon smirks. Shane high-fives him, then all but runs to the living room to turn on the Wii.
“Mario Kart?” he asks, and shoves the second controller in Brendon’s hands.
***
The fourth time there’s a message, Brendon almost misses it. He’s sitting on the couch and flips through a Fender catalogue he just got, even though he’s pretty sure you have to sign up to get that, when he gets to the bass pages and a folded piece of paper lands in his lap. He unfolds it and immediately recognizes the handwriting.
I’ve always loved music. Every aspect of it, but most of all the bass: simple yet essential.
Brendon pins it on his wall too, even though it’s not a photo.
***
Today Brendon has an early class, and with his coffee maker still broken, he decides to stop by Starbucks real quick beforehand.
It’s only seven am, but the place is crowded, and Brendon has to wait in line a while before he can order. Except that he doesn’t have to: Jon hands him his coffee before he can even say anything. He gives Jon his widest smile, and Jon returns it right away.
“Hold on a second,” Brendon says and takes his wallet, but before taking out the money he opens his bag and takes out a pen, even though there are still people in line behind him. “Napkin?” he asks Jon, and Jon hands it to him, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking at Brendon curiously. Brendon:, he scribbles on the napkin, followed by his phone number. He takes his money, folds the napkin, and hands it to Jon. Jon’s still smiling, only a different smile. Not the easy, ever-present one, more excited, and his eyebrows are raised.
“Bye Jon,” Brendon says, smiling coyly, and then he turns around and leaves for class.
***
It’s only been one day since the fourth message, but when Brendon comes home Shane says, “There’s another one. I put it in your room.”
“Thanks,” Brendon says, and immediately walks over to his room.
There’s no address on the envelope this time, just his name. He feels a bit silly, just standing there and contemplating this fact, taking in the envelope perched on his pillow. Then he blinks and picks the thing up.
Inside is the picture of a cat, white and grey fur with darker grey stripes, resting on its side but with pricked up ears. Brendon smiles at the picture before turning it around. It starts out the same way the previous did.
I’ve always loved music. But most of all I love the music of people that went their own way, and Bob Dylan is someone who fits into that category.
This is my own Dylan, except this one doesn’t have ‘homesick blues’. He seems convinced that New York is as much of a home as Chicago was.
I think I'm starting to believe him.
It’s weird, really, but he feels glad that this messenger of his has something to find comfort in, and he catches himself humming ’Subterranean Homesick Blues’, thinking back to when his dad would listen to it in the car. Then he gets up and pins the picture in place.
"How was the lecture?” Brendon asks when he comes back into the living room.
“Great!” Shane beams at him. “There’s some real talent there, I’ll tell ya.” His face changes into a smirk that tells Brendon that Shane knows something he doesn’t. “Know who’s in that class also?” he asks.
“Well?”
“Jon Walker, the one from Starbucks.”
“Really?” Brendon can’t suppress his smile. “Jonrocks?”
Shane nods. “That’s the one,” and he’s still looking at Brendon with that smirk.
“Hey, and did you know that they have a school paper kind of thing? And every month they feature a student’s work.”
“Uh,” Brendon says, because it’s not like he knew or didn’t know, more like he never gave it thought. “That’s cool.”
“Yeah,” Shane nearly sighs. “It’s pretty awesome.”
Brendon looks at him suspiciously, but then Shane calls out “Guitar Hero?” and Brendon says, “Yes!” because really, denying himself a game of Guitar Hero just because Shane is acting weird would be plain stupid.
***
Brendon’s sitting behind his keyboard when his phone rings. He slides down his headphones to around his neck and leans sideways to where the phone is on his desk. He doesn’t recognize the number and his stomach twists because of who he hopes it might be.
“Hello?”
“Brendon? It’s Jon.”
“Yeah, Jon, hey,” Brendon says, absent-mindedly pressing his fingers down on the keys and hearing the sound come muted through the headphones. “You don’t have to work this evening?” he asks.
“Nah,” Jon says. “I have class early tomorrow, so I didn’t want to work that late.” Brendon hums in agreement. “So what are you up to?” Jon then asks.
“Oh, not much,” Brendon says. “I was just playing my keyboard when you called.”
“Oh really? Play something?”
Brendon laughs. “What would I have to play?”
“I don’t know.” Brendon can hear Jon’s smile, even through the phone. “First thing that comes to mind?”
Brendon’s silent for a moment, contemplating. He’s good, he knows he is, but he has never played the first song that comes to mind, nor does he have sheet music for it. “Okay, let me try,” he says then. “Hold on, I’ll put you on speakerphone.”
He waits until Jon says, “Yeah,” before pressing a few buttons and putting the phone down on his desk. He unplugs his headphones from the keyboard, hovers his fingers over the keys, and starts playing. After a little while he hears Jon’s laughter coming through the phone.
“Bob Dylan?”
”Yeah! You recognize it?”
“Yeah, you’re really… You’re really good, Brendon.”
“Thank you,” Brendon says softly. “I love playing.”
“Again?” Jon asks. “Do it again?”
Brendon does, and then Jon starts singing along to Brendon’s playing, and a few words in Brendon is singing too. They finish the whole song, and then Brendon turns off the keyboard and lies down on his bed with the phone next to him on the pillow.
“Wow,” Jon sighs, and Brendon chuckles a little breathlessly, his one arm resting next to his head and the other slung over his stomach. “I’m glad I called you,” Jon tells him.
Brendon’s stomach twists again and he curls his finger into the hem of his shirt. “I’m glad you called me, too.”
***
Apparently, Jon didn’t mind talking to Brendon until long after his shift had ended would he have been working, even with his early class the next morning. Brendon’s still smiling hours after they’ve hung up and he can’t sleep, but he doesn’t really mind. He can’t say he’s tired, not after Jon’s hopeful, “See you soon, yeah?”
***
Ryan comes by with a new coffee maker. Brendon doesn’t use it.
***
Number six is a picture of a baseball field. On the back it says
I spent a lot of time in Grant Park, together with my brothers, pretending it was Wrigley Field and we were the Cubs. Back then I thought that one day I would be Rookie of the Year.
Dreams can change, but don’t stop having them.
Brendon pins it to his wall just like every other time, but not before he makes a copy of the back and hangs that up on the wall right above his keyboard.
***
“I don’t have that much time,” Brendon tells Jon when he comes to get his Verona. “I have to go pick up my bike.” He’d taken his bike to a shop by the train station to get his tire fixed. Normally he would do that himself, but it was the back tire and he didn’t have the right equipment for that.
“We should go biking together sometimes,” Jon says when he hands Brendon his cup.
“Yeah,” Brendon beams. “Good idea!”
Jon touches his elbow before Brendon turns around to leave, and when Brendon walks by the window outside, Jon’s still standing in the same spot at the counter, looking at him, and he gives Brendon a wave.
Brendon blushes.
***
They do end up biking, not sometimes, but the next day.
It’s cold. Brendon’s wearing a thick coat and a scarf, and he doesn’t understand how Jon can survive in just a hoodie. Jon also carries a backpack, but when Brendon looks at him questioningly, Jon just smiles that easy smile and asks, “Are you coming?” before he pedals away.
After a while, Jon decides they need ice cream, and Brendon’s not one to say no to ice cream, even with the cold. He waits by their bikes while Jon goes to fetch them Sundaes.
It then turns out that Jon has brought his camera, too, because when Brendon looks up, Jon snaps his picture with one hand, his other hand holding the ice cream cups to his body. When Brendon blinks at Jon, Jon grins, shrugs, and says, “There’s a really pretty lighting here,” and hands Brendon his ice cream.
“Can I see?” Brendon asks. Jon nods, presses the quick-view button and turns the camera so that Brendon can see his shot.
“Oh my god,” he moans. “Jon you have to delete that.”
“No,” Jon says determinately. “Why would I?”
Brendon stares at the small screen some more before saying, “I look as if I’m not having fun,” and then he looks up as if he’s shocked that he just said that.
Jon seems amused. “And you are having fun?”
“I am,” Brendon answers honestly.
“As long as I know that,” Jon says and moves to take the camera back from Brendon.
“But my eye,” Brendon says. “It’s like… closed.”
”Oh come on,” Jon reaches out and ruffles his hair. “You look good,” he simply says, and easily takes the camera from Brendon’s hands.
“Don’t forget your ice cream,” Jon says, and he takes his bike to a nearby bench, sets it down and takes place on the bench Indian style. Brendon wills the heat in his face to die down before he follows him, and when he sits down too Jon nudges him and says, “I am too, you know.”
Brendon looks up.
“Having fun,” Jon smiles, and then he takes Brendon’s hand from where it is resting on his thigh and entwines their fingers.
***
Brendon flops down backwards on the couch, head landing on Shane’s thighs, and he lets out a long sigh.
“Had fun?” Shane smirks, looking down on him.
“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Yeah.”
***
Number seven is on the coffee table when Brendon emerges from his room the next morning, rubbing his eyes sleepily and almost walking straight past it on his way to the kitchen. He stops dead in his tracks, stares the package down for a second and then picks it up, flopping down on the couch to open it.
Brendon can’t help the sharp intake of breath when he slides out the picture. It’s another boulevard, lake on the left, trees on the right and lights ahead. In the left bottom corner, there’s a bike, and Brendon subconsciously bites his lip and turns the print around.
Sometimes I think that everything in life is about light. Light can change the way something looks, the way you feel; light makes a difference. But the best thing is, light is always there, no matter where you are at the moment.
He reads the words a second time before he stands up and takes the picture to his room. When it’s on the wall, he leans in close, eyes roaming it once more. It’s beautiful, but he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s missing here.
***
Jon’s just leaving Starbucks, cup of coffee in hand, when Brendon cycles past on his way to class. Jon slips on his jacket, waving at Brendon afters he’s zipped it up.
Brendon steers onto the sidewalk and brakes, coming to a halt right in front of Jon. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless.
“Brendon,” Jon smiles. “On your way to class?”
“I am,” Brendon tilts his head. “What about you?” He couldn’t care less about his class right now, not if Jon has time, and the thought actually kind of startles him.
“Can I come?” Jon asks, and offers Brendon his cup. Brendon takes a sip of the coffee while thinking it over. That day’s lecture will be about notation and editing of early music, and fairly boring, he’s sure. Having Jon there would probably make it a lot easier to sit through without falling asleep on top of his notebook.
“You won’t get bored?” he asks.
Jon smiles. “I’m sure I won’t.” Brendon feels kind of warm all of a sudden. “Can I pedal?” Jon asks. Brendon nods and swings his leg over the saddle so now he’s standing next to his bike, letting Jon take the steer. When Jon gets on and pushes off of the sidewalk, Brendon jumps on behind him and wraps his arms securely around Jon’s waist.
***
Brendon doesn’t have a clue what the professor told them, but at least he didn’t fall asleep, and that has to count for something.
***
Brendon drops Jon off at Starbucks after they’ve finished their subs. Jon unzips his jacket before he goes inside. Brendon sees a flash of the clover, a shirt much like the one he saw Jon wearing before, but this time above the image it says Wrigley Field, the white letters clearly standing out against the green of the shirt.
“Wrigley Field,” he mumbles, tasting the words on his tongue. He reaches out and traces the three leafs on Jon’s chest.
Jon smiles his smile. “Yeah. The Cubbies,” he says, as if he’s agreeing with something Brendon just said.
Brendon feels Jon’s voice against the palm of his hand and realizes what he’s doing. He flushes and goes to pull his hand back, but Jon reaches out and grabs his wrist. Jon’s other hand comes up, index and middle finger under Brendon’s chin and thumb moving over his cheek. Brendon gets that familiar twisting of his stomach again, and then Jon gives a short tug on his wrist and pulls him into a hug.
“Thanks for taking me with you today,” Jon says close to Brendon’s ear.
“Yeah, you better thank me. You were such a burden,” Brendon huffs.
“Oh really?” Jon puts his hands on Brendon’s shoulders and pushes him back a little, looking up at him.
“No, not really.”
Jon laughs and lets go. “I better go in now. Come by tonight?”
Brendon smiles back and nods. “Definitely.”
***
Shane’s not home when Brendon gets there, but there’s some kind of magazine on the table with a post-it on the top.
Thought you might find this interesting, it says, and Brendon curiously folds the top page. It’s the magazine that Shane told him about, and Brendon smiles when he looks at the index and reads, 23 - This month’s featured: Jonathan Walker. He quickly flips through the pages until he gets to page twenty-three.
Jonathan Walker, it says, and underneath the name is a picture of the Chicago skyline by night , with Jon in shorts and on flip-flops, his head leaning on his arms on the railing and looking at the buildings.
Brendon turns the page, and almost drops the magazine. He stares at the picture of Navy Pier, blinks, and stares some more. He slowly gets up and walks to his room, and there he holds up the magazine next to the pictures on his wall. He looks at the next page, and it’s his number seven.
Next page, and it’s number six, the one taken in Grant Park. “Wrigley Field,” Brendon mumbles to himself.
God damn, he thinks. God damn.
***
Brendon’s still in his room when Shane comes home. He looks up when he hears the footsteps, and a moment later Shane appears in his doorway, leaning against the frame.
“So,” he says.
“Yeah. So,” Brendon agrees.
“What are you thinking?”
Brendon shrugs. “I don’t know.” He honestly doesn’t know. “Why would he… I mean. I don’t think…”
Shane pushes himself off of the doorframe and walks over to Brendon, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Jon studies photography,” he says. “What better way of telling you about himself than through his work?”
“But why-”
“-Oh come on, Brendon,” Shane interrupts him. “I come there, what, once a month? And even I knew that he liked you. You go there nearly every single day and you honestly still don’t know?”
Brendon feels his face heat up.
“Which reminds me…” Shane trails off. He gets up from the bed and walks out of the room, returning a moment later with an envelope in his hand. “I think I have your number eight.”
Brendon takes it and tears it open. It’s a picture of a Starbucks cup , and when Brendon turns it around, there’s nothing on the back. He looks up at Shane.
“Uh, go?” Shane suggests.
Brendon smiles widely and gets up.
***
It’s fairly quiet inside the Starbucks, and there’s another barista besides Jon, so it’s not too big of a problem for Jon to follow Brendon to a table and sit with him for a while.
“So Chicago,” Brendon prompts.
“You're turning corners?” Jon shoots back.
Brendon studies Jon’s face, and Jon doesn’t look anything but genuinely curious.
“Yeah, probably,” Brendon breathes. “Yes,” he says then, and the crinkles around Jon’s eyes grow a little deeper as his smile grows wider.
“I’m glad.”
”Why me, though?” Brendon asks.
“I wanted you to know me, because I wanted to know you,” Jon says, and it sounds so simple, as if he didn’t offer Brendon something that’s a huge part of him without knowing if Brendon would appreciate it.
Brendon takes Jon’s hand under the table and squeezes it. “Thank you,” he says. And then just like that, Jon leans forward and kisses him. Jon kisses like he is, Brendon decides: laidback and genuine, and Brendon really wants to protest when Jon pulls back.
“I have to go back to work,” Jon whispers, and it’s the first time Brendon’s ever heard Jon breathless.
“Yeah,” he whispers back, and presses his lips on Jon’s once more. It’s just a dry press of lips, Jon’s scruff tickling Brendon, but Brendon thinks it’s pretty much perfect.
“Come by when you’re finished?” Brendon asks after Jon pulls back the second time. “I think you know where I live,” he jokes, earning him a light shove in the shoulder.
“I will,” Jon promises.
They get up and Jon gets behind the counter again. He starts making coffee and Brendon knows it’s a Café Verona when Jon hands it to him.
“Will you play something for me again?” Jon asks.
“Maybe,” Brendon says, and then he smirks. “We could bake cookies. I’ll let you sit on the counter.”
“Sounds perfect to me.”