Fic: How Brendon Urie Saved the New Year
Title: How Brendon Urie Saved the New Year
Author: Mokuyoubi
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Rating: PG (13 for language, maybe?)
WC: 4150
Summary:
Brendon thought about it for a moment, wondered if there was any resolution worth actually writing down-not, apparently, that it would mean anything to this crowd. After a moment’s deliberation, though, he just wrote down, get my best friends to stop being such dickheads to each other.
Z gave him a soft little smile and Jon promptly ignored it, looking a little trapped. Ryan, though, he just stared at it with this thoughtful expression on his face, until Alex snorted and said, “So, do you want I go ahead and erase that one now?”
Brendon hated. His face.
AN: This is a story about two best friends. Or wait, no, about how Brendon is a little girl at heart. Or maybe it’s about stupid boys who are married. I’m not entirely sure, because I wrote it over two lunch breaks in the past couple of days and I didn’t plan it out at all and it’s a little random and all the fuck over the place, but. Whatever. Happy New Year’s, Bandom.
Maybe it was cheesy or stupid or a bit girly, but Brendon had always wanted a kiss under the mistletoe. You’d think it would be an easy enough goal to achieve. Sure, he’d been a total dork in high school, but he’d come a long way since then, what with the fame and all. And yet, even with the girlfriends, flings and fans, none of his kisses, even during the holidays, had been under the mistletoe. It was pathetic, if you thought about it.
Spencer was the one who insisted on hosting the New Year’s Eve party. Brendon didn’t really get it, but he knew it had to do with the one Ryan was hosting across town with all his new friends.
Spencer could be really petty and cruel, and he held a grudge like, forever. Brendon might have pointed out that when people were really good friends for a seriously long time, they tended to pick up each other’s personalities and shit. Brendon kept his mouth shut, though, because he’d rather not have Spencer’s bitch face aimed at him.
Pete and Shane were pitching in on the party effort, which meant the guest list was approximately double what they could probably legally have in their house, and full of A-listers that made Brendon feel distinctly uncomfortable.
Still, Ashlee was so thankful that she didn’t have to host the party at her house that Brendon didn’t utter a word of protest. Besides, Pete and Spencer threw some awesome parties. Spencer went on about themes and caterers while Pete took care of securing the DJ and getting out the invites, somehow including the stipulation that all party-goers must be wearing at least one article of clothing made out of sequins or lame before they would be allowed inside.
Shane was in charge of booze, and Brendon went shopping with him, dragging him costume shopping at the mall after. He found the most amazingly gaudy outfit known to mankind in a girl’s boutique-blue jeans practically covered in sequins hearts, peace signs and smiley faces. Blue Seal had an awesome blue tank top to match that looked close enough to lame, and Shane voted that it counted, and it was Brendon’s house, anyway, so he could bend the rules a little.
At Spencer’s they got lots of sparkly, festive hats and tiaras and noise makers, plus they had nifty little shot glasses made out of candy. Brendon thought that perhaps that was the height of mankind’s ingenuity. What else could he ask for out of life, but than to have booze and to have candy, and have them simultaneously?
They came home showing their bags proudly-the bags had Spencer’s name on them, too, which just made them infinitely cooler. Spencer, however, did not seem to share Brendon’s enthusiasm for novelty shot glasses, and was not impressed.
“That’s not part of the theme,” Spencer said, with a little disdainful curl of his lip.
“Okay, Ryan Ross,” Brendon muttered under his breath. Spencer didn’t snap at him, but he also didn’t talk the rest of the day.
~*~
Jon called the morning of the thirtieth, all apologetic, talking about showing solidarity, and Brendon understood, right?
The thing was, Brendon figured he had just as much reason as the rest of them to be hurt over the whole thing. Brendon hadn’t wanted to split up. His band had been his fucking family. He’d lost his family in this whole thing, and Jon talked about solidarity like Brendon didn’t deserve it anymore.
Whenever Jon called to relay a message, Brendon just wanted to snap at him to stop being such a pussy and talk to Spencer himself. Instead, Brendon just pasted on a smile that Jon couldn’t even see, and said everything was alright, because this new, perpetually sad Jon sort of broke Brendon’s heart, on top of everything else.
~*
Neither of them had been home for Christmas, and they hadn’t decorated beyond a few lights in the yard. Now, Spencer had the place all done up in white and blue lights and elegant silver dishes alongside cut crystal glasses. Maybe Spencer didn’t like the idea, but Brendon privately thought it would be awesome to see everyone’s tacky outfits alongside Spencer’s classy decorations.
“I want mistletoe,” Brendon said, lying on the sofa and idly munching on caramel corn while Spencer placed pretty strings of white and silver flowers around the room.
“Mistletoe is green,” Spencer said patiently, like Brendon was slow. It was better than all the nagging at Brendon to help from earlier, so…
“Yeah,” Brendon said reasonably, “but I still want it.”
“Who’ve you got to kiss under it?” Spencer asked darkly.
It made Brendon’s stomach jump like he’d just missed a step, made his heart beat faster, like no matter what he said, Spencer would see the truth right through it. “I don’t know,” Brendon said, fighting to keep his tone casual. “The guest list was made by Pete Wentz.”
Spencer rolled his eyes and didn’t seem to think anything odd about that, and Brendon swallowed back a sigh and sunk further into the couch cushions.
The thing was, maybe Brendon had someone very specific in mind, to kiss under the mistletoe. But that was neither here nor there.
~*~
“It’s a fucking New Year’s party,” Ryan said. “The theme is booze and making out. Who the fuck actually has a theme?”
At the beginning of the split, Brendon had been very deferential toward Ryan. He had got Spencer, after all. That had lasted all of two months, maybe. “Fuck off,” Brendon said. “You love theme parties. You’re just pissy you didn’t think of it first.”
Ryan huffed loudly into the phone, but didn’t disagree. “You doing anything tonight?”
“Hiding in my room?” Brendon ventured.
“We’re getting high and having a Weeds marathon.”
“Very original,” Brendon said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ryan grumbled. “Bring some beer. The good stuff, not that shit Spencer drinks.”
“You’re so classy, Ryan Ross, how can I resist such an invitation?”
~*~
Spencer glared at Brendon when he came downstairs, eyeing his hoodie. “You’re going out?”
Brendon refused to feel guilty. In theory. It didn’t work so well at making him feel any less guilty in application. “Just hanging out,” he mumbled.
“I can’t understand how you can still stand to be around him,” Spencer snapped. “After what he’s done and all the stupid little insults and back-handed compliments in his interviews.”
Brendon bit his tongue-it was either hilarious or really tragic, he couldn’t decide. He remembered Ryan’s call, how shaky his voice was, how livid and absolutely wrecked he’d sounded over the phone, saying, “Brendon, did you read what he said?” It had taken Brendon over an hour and a half to reassure Ryan about his musical talent, and Brendon knew it still stung even now.
Brendon considered all he could say and settled on, “We’ve all said and done some stupid things, and you especially should know how Ryan Ross acts when he’s been hurt.”
Spencer turned back to his decorating and muttered, “Whatever, have fun.”
And Brendon wanted to scream or punch something, or cry. He wanted to say he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d chosen his side, and it was Spencer’s. Brendon could have sung Ryan and Jon’s stupid songs forever and been happy if they could have stayed together as they’d been. Spencer had made the decision, and in the end picking a side hadn’t even really been a choice for Brendon.
“Spence,” Brendon said, and rubbed his forehead in a weary gesture.
“Forget it,” Spencer said. “Go. I really don’t care.”
Brendon slammed the front door behind him on his way out.
~*~
He was still in a foul mood when he got to Ryan’s and he’d forgotten the beer. Ryan took one look at him and didn’t say shit about it, on the plus side.
Alex and Jon had brought in an extra tv from one of the guest rooms and were playing Mario Cart. They offered him a wheel, but he felt too tense and wound up. Ryan gave him a speculative look and sat him on the couch with a drink, then he and Z cuddled up on either side of Brendon. Z was warm and soft and Ryan was all familiar, sharp angles, and Brendon felt something in him relax a little.
Jon rolled another joint and gave Brendon a sort of apologetic look when he passed it over, and shit, Brendon couldn’t stay mad at that. By halfway through the second episode, all the tension was gone, and if Brendon closed his eyes and just listened to the gentle hum of conversation around him, he could pretend things were normal again.
He slept in Erik’s room and felt a little guilty about staying out all night. He wondered if Spencer had waited up for him, but then he snorted at himself for thinking it, because seriously, right now Spencer probably couldn’t care less what Brendon was doing.
Brendon sighed, long and heavy, and Erik tossed a light, companionable arm over his stomach and said, “Spence?”
Brendon frowned and said, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
~*~
Except for Jon, no one was allowed to use any kitchen appliances other than the microwave. Everyone remembered the time Z had caught the wall on fire, Alex’s attempt at using glassware on the stove top that had resulted in an exploded dish and three stitches on his part, or that time when Erik and Ryan had got distracted by an idea for a new song while dish washing and left the water on in their haste.
The floor was permanently warped from that incident, tiles peeling up at the corners in what looked like, according to Alex, the mouth of hell. Ryan said it added character to the place. Brendon personally thought the place had enough character, given who lived there.
Jon made waffles and Brendon helped by slicing fruit and chopping nuts to add. Jon made Brendon’s chocolate chip without Brendon even having to ask and Brendon’s heart hurt a little bit, inexplicably.
There was a dry erase board stuck to the side of the fridge and Brendon noticed, as he was getting out the milk, that the normal random quotes and poetry had been erased in favour of a list.
“Those are our resolutions,” Ryan explained, stumbling blearily into the room.
Brendon had guessed as much, what with the names next to each number, and things like “smoke less weed” and “write more often” and “remember their names” scribbled down. It was sort of amusing because it looked like the resolutions had been written down by someone other than the person named at the beginning of each.
“It’s dry erase so we can erase them as soon as we break them, see?” Alex said all excited, like it was the greatest idea in the world.
“That’s optimistic,” Brendon said.
“Just realistic, kiddo,” Alex said, and ruffled Brendon’s hair on the way past.
Sometimes, Brendon really hated Alex’s stupid face.
“You should put yours up there,” Z said.
“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agreed, and Z pressed the marker into Brendon’s hand.
Brendon thought about it for a moment, wondered if there was any resolution worth actually writing down-not, apparently, that it would mean anything to this crowd. After a moment’s deliberation, though, he just wrote down, get my best friends to stop being such dickheads to each other.
Z gave him a soft little smile and Jon promptly ignored it, looking a little trapped. Ryan, though, he just stared at it with this thoughtful expression on his face, until Alex snorted and said, “So, do you want I go ahead and erase that one now?”
Brendon hated. His face.
~*~
There were already caterer’s vans in the driveway when Brendon got home, and Pete’s car was parked in Brendon’s normal spot. It was probably pretty shitty of him, coming home in the afternoon on the day of the party. He expected Spencer to say something bitchy, or maybe ignore him, but when he came in through the garage door, Spencer gave him a sort of sheepish look and said, “Sorry about being an asshole last night.”
Brendon was a little astounded, honestly. “Yeah, no, I understand,” he said.
“I didn’t even-you know, if you wanted to go to Ryan’s party-”
“What?” Brendon interrupted, incredulous, before Spencer could finish his awkward, stumbling speech.
“Just. I know how you are about him,” Spencer said in a quiet voice and Brendon’s brain went what??!? while Spencer went on, “and I should have checked with you about what you wanted before just announcing a party.”
“Maybe,” Brendon drawled, with an indulgent smile.
Spencer smiled back hesitantly. “So, if you want to go to his, instead.”
“Spence,” Brendon said, seriously exasperated and charmed. “I don’t want to go to his party. Even if we weren’t having one, hanging out with his friends is not my idea of an awesome New Year’s Eve. I want to spend it here, with you, at our house. And if there’s music, food and lots of our friends, too, then that’s just icing on the cake.”
“Well,” Spencer said, “good,” and he wouldn’t look at Brendon, busying himself with some decorations, but his cheeks were pink.
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed, and swooped in for a quick hug and a peck against Spencer’s jaw, gone down the hall before Spencer had time to react. “Gonna go shower and get dressed,” he called. “I’ll be down to help in a bit.”
Pete was in the kitchen giving instructions to one of the delivery people, but when he caught Brendon’s eye, the smirk he gave said he’d heard everything. He made a stupid kissy face and Brendon didn’t even bother flipping him off, he just ignored him altogether.
There’s a resolution, he thought to himself, standing under the warm spray of the shower, be less obviously stupid about Spencer Smith.
That would be awesome.
~*~
The party wasn’t supposed to start until ten, but some of their closer friends showed up earlier. Regan had showed up with Shane around seven to help finish up the setup, and Zack and Ian had arrived at eight and had done absolutely nothing to help. Instead, they spent a half hour fighting over who got to be first player at Mario Party, until Regan threatened to hide all the controllers.
By eleven, the party was in full swing, and even though Brendon didn’t know half the people personally, he had to say it was a pretty good party. The music was really good and a lot of people were actually dancing which always made Brendon happy at a house party. Plus, the little appetizers Spencer had ordered were fucking delicious, and Shane had sprung for the good champagne, and kept it flowing.
Also, Spencer had put mistletoe up everywhere. It hung in every doorframe in the downstairs of the house, including the bathroom and laundry room doorframes, and sometimes he’d just hung it in the middle of a room, and Brendon was okay with that, too. Maybe he wouldn’t get to kiss anyone under it, but it was the thought that counted, right?
He should have written his Spencer resolution on Ryan’s fridge. Alex could probably have pre-emptively erased it.
Spencer was in the kitchen chatting with Ashlee and a couple of her friends, holding Bronx on his hip, when Brendon found him. Ashlee had obviously been listening to Pete’s horrible lies about Brendon’s affections, because as soon as she saw him coming she made up some lie about needing to change Bronx’s diaper and took him from Spencer even as he protested he’d help.
“Nah,” Ashlee said, wrinkling her nose. “Kate and Tiffany can help.” At her pointed look, both girls followed her from the kitchen.
“Hey,” Brendon said, shaking his head at the antics. Spencer looked vaguely bemused, but laid his arm over Brendon’s shoulders when Brendon came close, looping an arm around Spencer’s waist. “Good party,” he said, laying his head on Spencer’s chest.
Spencer hummed, and drew a breath like he was about to say something, but then he just shook his head. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Pete and Shane came in looking a bit wild in the eyes, and Pete said, “I didn’t invite them,” and looked at Shane, who threw his hands in the air and said, “Well I didn’t invite them, either.”
Spencer made an exasperated noise and Brendon asked, “Who,” though he already had a good idea.
“Just so we’re clear, it had nothing to do with us,” Pete said, and he and Shane disappeared through the French doors to the back yard.
Brendon wasn’t at all surprised when they went into the living room to find Ryan and Jon hanging out near the entrance, Alex, Z and Erik hovering behind them. They had to have talked to somebody, because they were all wearing the requisite clothing-Ryan in a pink and silver sequins scarf, Alex in a gold lame t-shirt and a sequins headband with a feather sticking out of it, Jon in sparkly, Hello Kitty flip flops, and Z in a stunning little dress of black and silver lame.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer demanded, voice low and potentially dangerous.
Ryan shrugged. “Celebrating New Year’s, I guess,” he said.
“I thought you were having your own party,” Spencer said.
“I am,” Ryan said, and gestured to the group behind him. “This is it. My party is crashing your party.”
“You can’t just-You aren’t-You can’t-”
Brendon looked back and forth between them, wide-eyed, frankly terrified of the outcome, his stomach twisted up in knots.
Then Ryan’s face went soft and he stepped closer. “It’s been over six months, Spence,” he said. “I’m sick of trying to hate my best friend.”
Spencer’s bitchface didn’t lose any of its intensity, but he dropped his crossed arms and shifted his hips. Ryan tilted his chin toward the hallway and raised a brow and Spencer gave a little jerky nod, and the two of them disappeared together.
Zack, who’d been watching the whole thing from the sidelines, walked out of the room, ruffling Brendon’s hair and giving Jon a thumbs up on the way out, which answered the question of who had given the party details. Brendon was going to buy Zack a pony. Or, you know, something better and more Zack specific.
~*~
It wasn’t that Brendon was nervous, or anything, but he couldn’t help but to keep checking the clock. They’d been gone for twenty minutes, then twenty-five, then forty, and now it was almost time for the countdown and, okay, look, Brendon had no illusions about how that was going to turn out for him, but it would still be fun to ring in the New Year with Spence, kiss or no.
At eleven-fifty-five, Regan and Ashlee went around topping off everyone’s glasses with champagne, and Spencer sidled up next to Brendon, looking suspiciously red-eyed.
“Where you crying?” Brendon said, and he hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but it was Spencer. Spencer didn’t cry. He hit things and screamed a lot. He hoped it was good crying.
“Fuck you,” Spencer said, and didn’t deny it.
“Are things okay?” Brendon asked.
“He said you didn’t ask him to come,” Spencer said, not meeting Brendon’s gaze.
“I didn’t,” Brendon said quickly.
“Yeah,” Spencer said, and he sounded so sad. So bad tears?
“Are things okay?” Brendon repeated.
Spencer sort of nodded. “It’s. It’s complicated, Brendon.”
Brendon gave him a sour look. “Like I don’t know that.”
“I mean, it wasn’t about the split. It wasn’t entirely about the split.”
It wasn’t really a surprising revelation. Brendon had certainly hoped there was more to it, to break up such a long-standing, close friendship as the one between Spencer and Ryan.
“Are you going to tell me?” Brendon asked, after a long moment of silence passed between them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said. “I don’t think it’s going to be a problem anymore.”
Brendon gave him a long look with raised brows to show he was unimpressed. “Look,” Spencer sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He’s here now, you should go over there.”
“I’m talking to you,” Brendon said.
“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and he’s over there,” Spencer said, and pointed a little, like Brendon couldn’t fucking see him. Ryan was sort of hard to miss even in this crowd. “You should go over there.” He said it in a really slow, precise way that inexplicably made anger bloom in Brendon’s chest, tight and hot.
“And why,” Brendon said, in the same voice, “would I do that?”
“Because he’s here, okay, isn’t that what you wanted?” Spencer snapped. “He’s here, and I put mistletoe up everywhere for you, so go have your perfect fucking kiss with Ryan fucking Ross!”
There were strangers nearby pretending not to listen in and Brendon didn’t care. He took a step closer to Spencer, ‘til they were toe to toe. “Fuck you and fuck the goddamned mistletoe,” Brendon hissed. “I don’t want to kiss Ryan.”
“Fine, go kiss whoever the fuck you want,” Spencer growled, and there was something in his voice that got past the haze of rage building up inside Brendon, made him really look at Spencer. His eyes were dark and hooded, his lips pink and wet and parted, his breathing heavy. He was jealous.
Just like that the anger switched to something heavier and more desperate and Brendon’s mouth went dry but he managed to whisper, “Fine,” before grabbing Spencer by the collar and hauling him down.
Their lips met violently and Brendon stumbled backwards until his shoulder hit the doorframe. Pain shot down his arm and he gasped into Spencer’s mouth and Spencer slid an arm down his hip and held tight. His tongue chased Brendon’s gasp, turning it into a low moan, his teeth caught Brendon’s lip and gave a sharp tug as they parted, just long enough for Brendon to open his eyes and meet Spencer’s, and then they surged back together.
Spencer pressed in close, and for all the desperateness Brendon felt between them, it was slow and delicate, as if Spencer was worried it might somehow break. There was something unsure and questioning about Spencer’s mouth slanting over Brendon’s, forcing his head back, and Brendon gave into it, clinging to Spencer’s shirt, answering with the small sounds curling up in the back of his throat.
Brendon was sort of distantly aware of the crowd around them counting down and then the cheer that went up when they reached zero. But Brendon was hot everywhere they touched and his lips were tingling and Spencer just kept kissing him, like the whole fucking world could come falling down and it wouldn’t matter compared to this.
Brendon made his fingers uncurl from Spencer’s shirt and trailed them up the skin of Spencer’s neck, drawing out a shiver. His fingers sank in Spencer’s hair and he tugged gently, just enough to press a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, nip at the skin of his throat, and Spencer let out a shaky breath and dipped his head for another kiss.
“Uh,” Pete said, “the countdown ended, like, five minutes ago.”
“Dude,” Gabe hissed. “Don’t ruin the show for the rest of us, man.”
Brendon turned his head out of the kiss, laughing weakly, and Spencer made a small noise and chased his mouth, pressing his nose to the skin behind Brendon’s ear when he couldn’t reach.
“Seriously,” Regan said. “Don’t stop on our account.”
“Don’t be bitter just ‘cause I kept all the Spencer Smith kisses to myself,” Brendon said, and was very proud of the way he managed to keep his voice level, even with the way Spencer was sucking a hickey onto his neck.
“So,” Spencer breathed against Brendon’s neck, low enough that only he could hear. “I guess I’ve been a douche.”
Brendon put enough space between them to give Spencer a “duh” look. He didn’t think it had the desired impact, seeing as how Spencer responded with a fast, demanding kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said, when they parted.
“You’re just saying that so you can get laid,” Brendon said, feeling a little brave.
Spencer’s breathing went shallow. “So, there’s a chance of that, tonight?”
Brendon tried to look speculative, but he was pretty sure it just across as lamely eager. Spencer pressed his face into Brendon’s throat and said, “I hung up mistletoe. Everywhere. For you.”
Brendon laughed, tilting his head back so Spencer could trail his kisses higher. In fact, there, just above them, all shiny red and green, a sprig was suspended. Brendon sighed happily and squeezed his fingers in Spencer’s hair, pulling him back up.
“What the hell,” he said, “I’ve already broken my resolution anyway,” and grinned against Spencer’s lips.
Author: Mokuyoubi
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Rating: PG (13 for language, maybe?)
WC: 4150
Summary:
Brendon thought about it for a moment, wondered if there was any resolution worth actually writing down-not, apparently, that it would mean anything to this crowd. After a moment’s deliberation, though, he just wrote down, get my best friends to stop being such dickheads to each other.
Z gave him a soft little smile and Jon promptly ignored it, looking a little trapped. Ryan, though, he just stared at it with this thoughtful expression on his face, until Alex snorted and said, “So, do you want I go ahead and erase that one now?”
Brendon hated. His face.
AN: This is a story about two best friends. Or wait, no, about how Brendon is a little girl at heart. Or maybe it’s about stupid boys who are married. I’m not entirely sure, because I wrote it over two lunch breaks in the past couple of days and I didn’t plan it out at all and it’s a little random and all the fuck over the place, but. Whatever. Happy New Year’s, Bandom.
Maybe it was cheesy or stupid or a bit girly, but Brendon had always wanted a kiss under the mistletoe. You’d think it would be an easy enough goal to achieve. Sure, he’d been a total dork in high school, but he’d come a long way since then, what with the fame and all. And yet, even with the girlfriends, flings and fans, none of his kisses, even during the holidays, had been under the mistletoe. It was pathetic, if you thought about it.
Spencer was the one who insisted on hosting the New Year’s Eve party. Brendon didn’t really get it, but he knew it had to do with the one Ryan was hosting across town with all his new friends.
Spencer could be really petty and cruel, and he held a grudge like, forever. Brendon might have pointed out that when people were really good friends for a seriously long time, they tended to pick up each other’s personalities and shit. Brendon kept his mouth shut, though, because he’d rather not have Spencer’s bitch face aimed at him.
Pete and Shane were pitching in on the party effort, which meant the guest list was approximately double what they could probably legally have in their house, and full of A-listers that made Brendon feel distinctly uncomfortable.
Still, Ashlee was so thankful that she didn’t have to host the party at her house that Brendon didn’t utter a word of protest. Besides, Pete and Spencer threw some awesome parties. Spencer went on about themes and caterers while Pete took care of securing the DJ and getting out the invites, somehow including the stipulation that all party-goers must be wearing at least one article of clothing made out of sequins or lame before they would be allowed inside.
Shane was in charge of booze, and Brendon went shopping with him, dragging him costume shopping at the mall after. He found the most amazingly gaudy outfit known to mankind in a girl’s boutique-blue jeans practically covered in sequins hearts, peace signs and smiley faces. Blue Seal had an awesome blue tank top to match that looked close enough to lame, and Shane voted that it counted, and it was Brendon’s house, anyway, so he could bend the rules a little.
At Spencer’s they got lots of sparkly, festive hats and tiaras and noise makers, plus they had nifty little shot glasses made out of candy. Brendon thought that perhaps that was the height of mankind’s ingenuity. What else could he ask for out of life, but than to have booze and to have candy, and have them simultaneously?
They came home showing their bags proudly-the bags had Spencer’s name on them, too, which just made them infinitely cooler. Spencer, however, did not seem to share Brendon’s enthusiasm for novelty shot glasses, and was not impressed.
“That’s not part of the theme,” Spencer said, with a little disdainful curl of his lip.
“Okay, Ryan Ross,” Brendon muttered under his breath. Spencer didn’t snap at him, but he also didn’t talk the rest of the day.
~*~
Jon called the morning of the thirtieth, all apologetic, talking about showing solidarity, and Brendon understood, right?
The thing was, Brendon figured he had just as much reason as the rest of them to be hurt over the whole thing. Brendon hadn’t wanted to split up. His band had been his fucking family. He’d lost his family in this whole thing, and Jon talked about solidarity like Brendon didn’t deserve it anymore.
Whenever Jon called to relay a message, Brendon just wanted to snap at him to stop being such a pussy and talk to Spencer himself. Instead, Brendon just pasted on a smile that Jon couldn’t even see, and said everything was alright, because this new, perpetually sad Jon sort of broke Brendon’s heart, on top of everything else.
~*
Neither of them had been home for Christmas, and they hadn’t decorated beyond a few lights in the yard. Now, Spencer had the place all done up in white and blue lights and elegant silver dishes alongside cut crystal glasses. Maybe Spencer didn’t like the idea, but Brendon privately thought it would be awesome to see everyone’s tacky outfits alongside Spencer’s classy decorations.
“I want mistletoe,” Brendon said, lying on the sofa and idly munching on caramel corn while Spencer placed pretty strings of white and silver flowers around the room.
“Mistletoe is green,” Spencer said patiently, like Brendon was slow. It was better than all the nagging at Brendon to help from earlier, so…
“Yeah,” Brendon said reasonably, “but I still want it.”
“Who’ve you got to kiss under it?” Spencer asked darkly.
It made Brendon’s stomach jump like he’d just missed a step, made his heart beat faster, like no matter what he said, Spencer would see the truth right through it. “I don’t know,” Brendon said, fighting to keep his tone casual. “The guest list was made by Pete Wentz.”
Spencer rolled his eyes and didn’t seem to think anything odd about that, and Brendon swallowed back a sigh and sunk further into the couch cushions.
The thing was, maybe Brendon had someone very specific in mind, to kiss under the mistletoe. But that was neither here nor there.
~*~
“It’s a fucking New Year’s party,” Ryan said. “The theme is booze and making out. Who the fuck actually has a theme?”
At the beginning of the split, Brendon had been very deferential toward Ryan. He had got Spencer, after all. That had lasted all of two months, maybe. “Fuck off,” Brendon said. “You love theme parties. You’re just pissy you didn’t think of it first.”
Ryan huffed loudly into the phone, but didn’t disagree. “You doing anything tonight?”
“Hiding in my room?” Brendon ventured.
“We’re getting high and having a Weeds marathon.”
“Very original,” Brendon said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ryan grumbled. “Bring some beer. The good stuff, not that shit Spencer drinks.”
“You’re so classy, Ryan Ross, how can I resist such an invitation?”
~*~
Spencer glared at Brendon when he came downstairs, eyeing his hoodie. “You’re going out?”
Brendon refused to feel guilty. In theory. It didn’t work so well at making him feel any less guilty in application. “Just hanging out,” he mumbled.
“I can’t understand how you can still stand to be around him,” Spencer snapped. “After what he’s done and all the stupid little insults and back-handed compliments in his interviews.”
Brendon bit his tongue-it was either hilarious or really tragic, he couldn’t decide. He remembered Ryan’s call, how shaky his voice was, how livid and absolutely wrecked he’d sounded over the phone, saying, “Brendon, did you read what he said?” It had taken Brendon over an hour and a half to reassure Ryan about his musical talent, and Brendon knew it still stung even now.
Brendon considered all he could say and settled on, “We’ve all said and done some stupid things, and you especially should know how Ryan Ross acts when he’s been hurt.”
Spencer turned back to his decorating and muttered, “Whatever, have fun.”
And Brendon wanted to scream or punch something, or cry. He wanted to say he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d chosen his side, and it was Spencer’s. Brendon could have sung Ryan and Jon’s stupid songs forever and been happy if they could have stayed together as they’d been. Spencer had made the decision, and in the end picking a side hadn’t even really been a choice for Brendon.
“Spence,” Brendon said, and rubbed his forehead in a weary gesture.
“Forget it,” Spencer said. “Go. I really don’t care.”
Brendon slammed the front door behind him on his way out.
~*~
He was still in a foul mood when he got to Ryan’s and he’d forgotten the beer. Ryan took one look at him and didn’t say shit about it, on the plus side.
Alex and Jon had brought in an extra tv from one of the guest rooms and were playing Mario Cart. They offered him a wheel, but he felt too tense and wound up. Ryan gave him a speculative look and sat him on the couch with a drink, then he and Z cuddled up on either side of Brendon. Z was warm and soft and Ryan was all familiar, sharp angles, and Brendon felt something in him relax a little.
Jon rolled another joint and gave Brendon a sort of apologetic look when he passed it over, and shit, Brendon couldn’t stay mad at that. By halfway through the second episode, all the tension was gone, and if Brendon closed his eyes and just listened to the gentle hum of conversation around him, he could pretend things were normal again.
He slept in Erik’s room and felt a little guilty about staying out all night. He wondered if Spencer had waited up for him, but then he snorted at himself for thinking it, because seriously, right now Spencer probably couldn’t care less what Brendon was doing.
Brendon sighed, long and heavy, and Erik tossed a light, companionable arm over his stomach and said, “Spence?”
Brendon frowned and said, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
~*~
Except for Jon, no one was allowed to use any kitchen appliances other than the microwave. Everyone remembered the time Z had caught the wall on fire, Alex’s attempt at using glassware on the stove top that had resulted in an exploded dish and three stitches on his part, or that time when Erik and Ryan had got distracted by an idea for a new song while dish washing and left the water on in their haste.
The floor was permanently warped from that incident, tiles peeling up at the corners in what looked like, according to Alex, the mouth of hell. Ryan said it added character to the place. Brendon personally thought the place had enough character, given who lived there.
Jon made waffles and Brendon helped by slicing fruit and chopping nuts to add. Jon made Brendon’s chocolate chip without Brendon even having to ask and Brendon’s heart hurt a little bit, inexplicably.
There was a dry erase board stuck to the side of the fridge and Brendon noticed, as he was getting out the milk, that the normal random quotes and poetry had been erased in favour of a list.
“Those are our resolutions,” Ryan explained, stumbling blearily into the room.
Brendon had guessed as much, what with the names next to each number, and things like “smoke less weed” and “write more often” and “remember their names” scribbled down. It was sort of amusing because it looked like the resolutions had been written down by someone other than the person named at the beginning of each.
“It’s dry erase so we can erase them as soon as we break them, see?” Alex said all excited, like it was the greatest idea in the world.
“That’s optimistic,” Brendon said.
“Just realistic, kiddo,” Alex said, and ruffled Brendon’s hair on the way past.
Sometimes, Brendon really hated Alex’s stupid face.
“You should put yours up there,” Z said.
“Yeah, sure,” Ryan agreed, and Z pressed the marker into Brendon’s hand.
Brendon thought about it for a moment, wondered if there was any resolution worth actually writing down-not, apparently, that it would mean anything to this crowd. After a moment’s deliberation, though, he just wrote down, get my best friends to stop being such dickheads to each other.
Z gave him a soft little smile and Jon promptly ignored it, looking a little trapped. Ryan, though, he just stared at it with this thoughtful expression on his face, until Alex snorted and said, “So, do you want I go ahead and erase that one now?”
Brendon hated. His face.
~*~
There were already caterer’s vans in the driveway when Brendon got home, and Pete’s car was parked in Brendon’s normal spot. It was probably pretty shitty of him, coming home in the afternoon on the day of the party. He expected Spencer to say something bitchy, or maybe ignore him, but when he came in through the garage door, Spencer gave him a sort of sheepish look and said, “Sorry about being an asshole last night.”
Brendon was a little astounded, honestly. “Yeah, no, I understand,” he said.
“I didn’t even-you know, if you wanted to go to Ryan’s party-”
“What?” Brendon interrupted, incredulous, before Spencer could finish his awkward, stumbling speech.
“Just. I know how you are about him,” Spencer said in a quiet voice and Brendon’s brain went what??!? while Spencer went on, “and I should have checked with you about what you wanted before just announcing a party.”
“Maybe,” Brendon drawled, with an indulgent smile.
Spencer smiled back hesitantly. “So, if you want to go to his, instead.”
“Spence,” Brendon said, seriously exasperated and charmed. “I don’t want to go to his party. Even if we weren’t having one, hanging out with his friends is not my idea of an awesome New Year’s Eve. I want to spend it here, with you, at our house. And if there’s music, food and lots of our friends, too, then that’s just icing on the cake.”
“Well,” Spencer said, “good,” and he wouldn’t look at Brendon, busying himself with some decorations, but his cheeks were pink.
“Yeah,” Brendon agreed, and swooped in for a quick hug and a peck against Spencer’s jaw, gone down the hall before Spencer had time to react. “Gonna go shower and get dressed,” he called. “I’ll be down to help in a bit.”
Pete was in the kitchen giving instructions to one of the delivery people, but when he caught Brendon’s eye, the smirk he gave said he’d heard everything. He made a stupid kissy face and Brendon didn’t even bother flipping him off, he just ignored him altogether.
There’s a resolution, he thought to himself, standing under the warm spray of the shower, be less obviously stupid about Spencer Smith.
That would be awesome.
~*~
The party wasn’t supposed to start until ten, but some of their closer friends showed up earlier. Regan had showed up with Shane around seven to help finish up the setup, and Zack and Ian had arrived at eight and had done absolutely nothing to help. Instead, they spent a half hour fighting over who got to be first player at Mario Party, until Regan threatened to hide all the controllers.
By eleven, the party was in full swing, and even though Brendon didn’t know half the people personally, he had to say it was a pretty good party. The music was really good and a lot of people were actually dancing which always made Brendon happy at a house party. Plus, the little appetizers Spencer had ordered were fucking delicious, and Shane had sprung for the good champagne, and kept it flowing.
Also, Spencer had put mistletoe up everywhere. It hung in every doorframe in the downstairs of the house, including the bathroom and laundry room doorframes, and sometimes he’d just hung it in the middle of a room, and Brendon was okay with that, too. Maybe he wouldn’t get to kiss anyone under it, but it was the thought that counted, right?
He should have written his Spencer resolution on Ryan’s fridge. Alex could probably have pre-emptively erased it.
Spencer was in the kitchen chatting with Ashlee and a couple of her friends, holding Bronx on his hip, when Brendon found him. Ashlee had obviously been listening to Pete’s horrible lies about Brendon’s affections, because as soon as she saw him coming she made up some lie about needing to change Bronx’s diaper and took him from Spencer even as he protested he’d help.
“Nah,” Ashlee said, wrinkling her nose. “Kate and Tiffany can help.” At her pointed look, both girls followed her from the kitchen.
“Hey,” Brendon said, shaking his head at the antics. Spencer looked vaguely bemused, but laid his arm over Brendon’s shoulders when Brendon came close, looping an arm around Spencer’s waist. “Good party,” he said, laying his head on Spencer’s chest.
Spencer hummed, and drew a breath like he was about to say something, but then he just shook his head. “Yeah,” he agreed.
Pete and Shane came in looking a bit wild in the eyes, and Pete said, “I didn’t invite them,” and looked at Shane, who threw his hands in the air and said, “Well I didn’t invite them, either.”
Spencer made an exasperated noise and Brendon asked, “Who,” though he already had a good idea.
“Just so we’re clear, it had nothing to do with us,” Pete said, and he and Shane disappeared through the French doors to the back yard.
Brendon wasn’t at all surprised when they went into the living room to find Ryan and Jon hanging out near the entrance, Alex, Z and Erik hovering behind them. They had to have talked to somebody, because they were all wearing the requisite clothing-Ryan in a pink and silver sequins scarf, Alex in a gold lame t-shirt and a sequins headband with a feather sticking out of it, Jon in sparkly, Hello Kitty flip flops, and Z in a stunning little dress of black and silver lame.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer demanded, voice low and potentially dangerous.
Ryan shrugged. “Celebrating New Year’s, I guess,” he said.
“I thought you were having your own party,” Spencer said.
“I am,” Ryan said, and gestured to the group behind him. “This is it. My party is crashing your party.”
“You can’t just-You aren’t-You can’t-”
Brendon looked back and forth between them, wide-eyed, frankly terrified of the outcome, his stomach twisted up in knots.
Then Ryan’s face went soft and he stepped closer. “It’s been over six months, Spence,” he said. “I’m sick of trying to hate my best friend.”
Spencer’s bitchface didn’t lose any of its intensity, but he dropped his crossed arms and shifted his hips. Ryan tilted his chin toward the hallway and raised a brow and Spencer gave a little jerky nod, and the two of them disappeared together.
Zack, who’d been watching the whole thing from the sidelines, walked out of the room, ruffling Brendon’s hair and giving Jon a thumbs up on the way out, which answered the question of who had given the party details. Brendon was going to buy Zack a pony. Or, you know, something better and more Zack specific.
~*~
It wasn’t that Brendon was nervous, or anything, but he couldn’t help but to keep checking the clock. They’d been gone for twenty minutes, then twenty-five, then forty, and now it was almost time for the countdown and, okay, look, Brendon had no illusions about how that was going to turn out for him, but it would still be fun to ring in the New Year with Spence, kiss or no.
At eleven-fifty-five, Regan and Ashlee went around topping off everyone’s glasses with champagne, and Spencer sidled up next to Brendon, looking suspiciously red-eyed.
“Where you crying?” Brendon said, and he hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but it was Spencer. Spencer didn’t cry. He hit things and screamed a lot. He hoped it was good crying.
“Fuck you,” Spencer said, and didn’t deny it.
“Are things okay?” Brendon asked.
“He said you didn’t ask him to come,” Spencer said, not meeting Brendon’s gaze.
“I didn’t,” Brendon said quickly.
“Yeah,” Spencer said, and he sounded so sad. So bad tears?
“Are things okay?” Brendon repeated.
Spencer sort of nodded. “It’s. It’s complicated, Brendon.”
Brendon gave him a sour look. “Like I don’t know that.”
“I mean, it wasn’t about the split. It wasn’t entirely about the split.”
It wasn’t really a surprising revelation. Brendon had certainly hoped there was more to it, to break up such a long-standing, close friendship as the one between Spencer and Ryan.
“Are you going to tell me?” Brendon asked, after a long moment of silence passed between them.
“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer said. “I don’t think it’s going to be a problem anymore.”
Brendon gave him a long look with raised brows to show he was unimpressed. “Look,” Spencer sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He’s here now, you should go over there.”
“I’m talking to you,” Brendon said.
“Yeah, but it’s almost midnight and he’s over there,” Spencer said, and pointed a little, like Brendon couldn’t fucking see him. Ryan was sort of hard to miss even in this crowd. “You should go over there.” He said it in a really slow, precise way that inexplicably made anger bloom in Brendon’s chest, tight and hot.
“And why,” Brendon said, in the same voice, “would I do that?”
“Because he’s here, okay, isn’t that what you wanted?” Spencer snapped. “He’s here, and I put mistletoe up everywhere for you, so go have your perfect fucking kiss with Ryan fucking Ross!”
There were strangers nearby pretending not to listen in and Brendon didn’t care. He took a step closer to Spencer, ‘til they were toe to toe. “Fuck you and fuck the goddamned mistletoe,” Brendon hissed. “I don’t want to kiss Ryan.”
“Fine, go kiss whoever the fuck you want,” Spencer growled, and there was something in his voice that got past the haze of rage building up inside Brendon, made him really look at Spencer. His eyes were dark and hooded, his lips pink and wet and parted, his breathing heavy. He was jealous.
Just like that the anger switched to something heavier and more desperate and Brendon’s mouth went dry but he managed to whisper, “Fine,” before grabbing Spencer by the collar and hauling him down.
Their lips met violently and Brendon stumbled backwards until his shoulder hit the doorframe. Pain shot down his arm and he gasped into Spencer’s mouth and Spencer slid an arm down his hip and held tight. His tongue chased Brendon’s gasp, turning it into a low moan, his teeth caught Brendon’s lip and gave a sharp tug as they parted, just long enough for Brendon to open his eyes and meet Spencer’s, and then they surged back together.
Spencer pressed in close, and for all the desperateness Brendon felt between them, it was slow and delicate, as if Spencer was worried it might somehow break. There was something unsure and questioning about Spencer’s mouth slanting over Brendon’s, forcing his head back, and Brendon gave into it, clinging to Spencer’s shirt, answering with the small sounds curling up in the back of his throat.
Brendon was sort of distantly aware of the crowd around them counting down and then the cheer that went up when they reached zero. But Brendon was hot everywhere they touched and his lips were tingling and Spencer just kept kissing him, like the whole fucking world could come falling down and it wouldn’t matter compared to this.
Brendon made his fingers uncurl from Spencer’s shirt and trailed them up the skin of Spencer’s neck, drawing out a shiver. His fingers sank in Spencer’s hair and he tugged gently, just enough to press a kiss to Spencer’s jaw, nip at the skin of his throat, and Spencer let out a shaky breath and dipped his head for another kiss.
“Uh,” Pete said, “the countdown ended, like, five minutes ago.”
“Dude,” Gabe hissed. “Don’t ruin the show for the rest of us, man.”
Brendon turned his head out of the kiss, laughing weakly, and Spencer made a small noise and chased his mouth, pressing his nose to the skin behind Brendon’s ear when he couldn’t reach.
“Seriously,” Regan said. “Don’t stop on our account.”
“Don’t be bitter just ‘cause I kept all the Spencer Smith kisses to myself,” Brendon said, and was very proud of the way he managed to keep his voice level, even with the way Spencer was sucking a hickey onto his neck.
“So,” Spencer breathed against Brendon’s neck, low enough that only he could hear. “I guess I’ve been a douche.”
Brendon put enough space between them to give Spencer a “duh” look. He didn’t think it had the desired impact, seeing as how Spencer responded with a fast, demanding kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said, when they parted.
“You’re just saying that so you can get laid,” Brendon said, feeling a little brave.
Spencer’s breathing went shallow. “So, there’s a chance of that, tonight?”
Brendon tried to look speculative, but he was pretty sure it just across as lamely eager. Spencer pressed his face into Brendon’s throat and said, “I hung up mistletoe. Everywhere. For you.”
Brendon laughed, tilting his head back so Spencer could trail his kisses higher. In fact, there, just above them, all shiny red and green, a sprig was suspended. Brendon sighed happily and squeezed his fingers in Spencer’s hair, pulling him back up.
“What the hell,” he said, “I’ve already broken my resolution anyway,” and grinned against Spencer’s lips.