White Tea and Ginger (This is How My Body Works, Baby) | Spencer Smith/Jon Walker | Part 1/3

[repulsive_x]

white tea and ginger (this is how my body works, baby)
spencer smith/jon walker (ryan ross/brendon urie, brief mentions of brendon urie/shane valdes) | 14a | 21,756 words
spencer works at bath & body works, and is in love with one of the regular customers who just so happens to be his sisters new boyfriend.

this was actually basically done awhile ago, and the day that i had planned to go over the last few pages and finish it for good was the day of the infamous split. i was almost tempted to say 'screw it' all together, but i didn't want to let 20,000+ words just go to waste, so i tried to force myself to finish it a few times but i just couldn't until now and i'm so relieved.

i just want to say thanks to ssuukkii and
panic_smile for betaing for me, and to sowrongitsbec for holding my hand and listening to me bitch and complain throught this(as always).



It’s not like he meant for this to happen. That he’d be standing here in his bedroom with his sister just downstairs, unknowing to the fact that his tongues currently shoved down her boyfriends throat. It’s not like he knew the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams was his sister’s new boyfriend. It’s not like he meant for him to find out about his secret longing; and he definitely didn’t expect for him to feel the same way either. It’s not like he was the one who threw him against the wall and attacked his mouth with his lips.

It’s not like he knew, but it’s not like he was going to stop it either.

*

Spencer works at Bath & Body Works. Why? He doesn’t know. (Okay, so maybe it has a little bit to do with the fact that he was poor and his mom’s best friend was the manager, and anywhere else willing to hire an inexperienced seventeen year-old involved flipping greasy hamburgers all day long.)

He doesn’t really mind most of the time. The people he works with are really nice (even if they’re mostly all girls), and he gets awesome discounts that leave him smelling pretty, like cherry blossom or, his favorite, warm vanilla sugar, everyday.

His liking for his job may or may not also have a little something to do with that boy who comes wandering in every once and awhile. He’s gorgeous to say the least; like breathtaking, butterfly-inducing kind of gorgeous. So gorgeous that Spencer feels a little weak in the knees whenever he stands there, all hot and smoldering, looking over the new soap fragrances.

Why a boy (okay, maybe more like a man) with a face full of hair and flip-flops find the need to come into Bath & Body Works at least once a week is entirely beyond him. He’s never quite mentioned it though, no way, because well, questioning it would actually involve talking to the guy first, and just. No. That’s just not going to happen. Spencer’s not his sister, he didn’t pick up that magical gift where all boys fall to his feet at the bat of an eyelash, he knows what he’s like when he’s around attractive boys and it is not pretty.

So, whenever he (known as the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams to him and all his friends) comes in, Spencer usually (okay, always) stays hidden behind the accessories stand, cowering (and drooling), until he makes his purchases and leaves. Spencer, then, usually spends the remainder of his shift (or day, even) somewhere between ridiculous giddy, and ridiculously pissed off at himself for being a stupid, dumb coward once again.

The really sad thing is, is that before every shift Spencer will get himself all pumped up, telling himself that today is the day. Today he’ll march right on up to him, and say, can I help you with anything? just like he does with every other goddamn person that ever walks into the store. He tells himself that it’s not going to be a big deal, and that he can do it. That this guy is just another person (a really freaking hot person, mind you) and that all he has to do is form proper words in his head and he’ll be okay.

But -

But then he’ll come sauntering in, all hot and sexy in his bright orange flip-flops and American Apparel hoody, and all the courage he had been building up for the past week will get shot to hell right in that one moment. It sucks, it really, really does, and he knows it’s just a matter of time before he turns into his Aunt Sophie who has no one but her five fucking cats to keep her company.

It’s sad, but he’s learned to come to terms with it, at least.

*

Apparently everyone in the whole entire world decided that today (the day they’re short an employee and a manager) they’d all go shopping at Bath & Body Works. Somehow, Spencer wound up stuck on till while Katie and Amanda go flying around the store, faces flushed and perspiration running down their necks. The thing is, Spencer doesn’t mind cash on normal days, but when it’s days like this, when it’s constant customer after customer with no break, he just can’t handle it. His brain just - it stops functioning. It’s kind of like how he gets when he talks to an attractive boy for example, he’ll get all flustered, forget how to form proper words and ends up giving the customers either too much money back or too little. It’s common knowledge around the store, so he just doesn’t get how he got stuck on till out of everyone else.

It’s about two hours into the shift, when all the faces are starting to blur together, and Spencer can’t think about much else other than an ice-cold glass of water, when all of a sudden he’s standing right there, arms full of facial masks and body wash. He dumps it all onto the counter, and doesn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed over his purchases as he grins up at Spencer, and says a simple, but marvelous, “Hi.”

If Spencer didn’t think he was going to faint before, he certainly does now. He grabs onto the Best of Spa Set a bit too tight, holds the barcode under the scanner and watches as the $38.21 appears on screen. He mumbles a faint hi back, head ducked and cheeks hothothot.

“Busy day?”

If he was anyone else but him, Spencer would probably deck him in the face for asking such a stupidly, obvious question. But, since it is him, and he is perfect, it just makes him all the more endearing.

Spencer nods, face still burning as he scans the Coconut Lime Verbena body butter. He kind of wants to cry a little (okay, a lot, and then maybe curl up in a dark corner and slit his wrists) because how pathetic could he possibly be? The man of his dreams is standing right there in front of him, talking to him, and Spencer can’t do much else but nod like a brain-dead idiot. He is so going to hate himself for the rest of his life because of this. Maybe he should start looking for those cats now.

Spencer scans the rest of the items in silence, and he hopes to God his face isn’t as red as it feels, but since he’s him and his life sucks, he really wouldn’t doubt it if it is. He stuffs all his items into a bag, along with the receipt and just kind of thrusts it out at him while looking down at an invisible speck of dirt on the counter. He doesn’t look up to see the expression on his beautiful face, and he doesn’t think he has to either, because he can pretty safely assume it’s somewhere along the lines of, what the fuck is wrong with this kid?

“Well, have a good day,” he says, so softly that Spencer almost doesn’t hear it over the blood rushing in his ears and the volume of the customers around them.

Spencer mumbles back a thanks, but he’s already turned and left, and he really doubts he heard him even in the slightest.

He spends the rest of his shift alternating between attempting to bring his heart rate back down to regular speed and kicking himself in the head for being such a moron.

*

“I think you should just talk to him.” Brendon shrugs from where lies on his bed, flipping idly through his older sister’s Cosmopolitan magazine (that Spencer does not secretly steal from her bedroom to read very late at night when everyone else is asleep).

Spencer rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, Brendon, you are so right! Thank you for your insightful wisdom and advice,” he drawls sarcastically, spinning around on his computer chair. “I’ll get right on that one.”

“Whatever. Sorry,” Brendon scoffs. “I was just trying to help.”

Spencer groans, throwing his hands over his face in full dramatics. “I hate my life!”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Spin.” Ryan sighs, stretching his abnormally long legs out until they’re resting comfortably just under Brendon’s abnormally large butt.

Spencer tries really hard not to laugh at Brendon’s sudden expression change, or the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps, or even how he stares down at the glossy pages of the magazine as if he’s trying to set fire to them.

It’s funny sometimes, watching how clueless his two best friends can be. They’ve been so obviously in love with each other for as long as Spencer can remember, and neither of them can take their heads out of their asses long enough to notice. Spencer tried telling Ryan once (well, more like vaguely hinted), and the only thing that got him was claw-marks and clumps of hair missing (he is not even kidding, Ryan is fucking vicious). It goes without saying, Spencer’s never attempted again.

“He’s just a human-being,” Ryan continues. “He can’t possibly be that gorgeous where you can’t say anything to him, Spence.”

Spencer stares, and blinks, once, twice. Ryan’s only known him since he was three years-old. No big. It doesn’t mean he has to know him at all. “Um, yeah, he can be.” He sits up straight, looks Ryan in the eye, and says, “Think of the hottest person you have ever laid eyes on.”

Ryan makes a face, and Spencer watches as a nice long strip of pink makes its way across his cheeks and nose. Spencer has a pretty good idea whose picture is in Ryan’s head.

“Okay,” Ryan mumbles, and nods.

“Yeah, and now times that by a thousand.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and scoffs. “Oh, whatever.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow, and smirks, challengingly. “Why, Ryan, who were you thinking of?”

Brendon snaps his attention away from the magazine, and tilts his head so he’s looking up at Ryan with round, hopeful eyes. It’s so obvious, it’s pathetic. Too bad it’s even more pathetic that Ryan doesn’t even notice.

“None of your business,” Ryan shoots back, face prickling red.

“Come on, Ry,” Brendon presses, batting his eyelashes while sticking out his lower lip. At least Brendon’s not clueless enough to know that Ryan cannot resist that face for the life of him. “It’s me, isn’t it?” he asks, grinning. “It’s okay, you can admit it. We won’t blame you, we all know how dead sexy I am.”

Ryan attempts a scowl, but it’s believability level goes down a few notches over how red his face is turning. “Shut up!” he says, shoving the back of Brendon’s head forward. “Actually, I was going to say Jac.”

Brendon’s face drops entirely, and he instantly turns back to stare down at the magazine, eyes droopy and wounded-puppy-dog like. As funny as it may be, watching his two best friends dance around each other like two thirteen year-olds, it can also be quite ridiculously depressing. Sometimes, all he really wants to do is shake them back and forth while screaming, are you stupid? Open your eyes!

“I don’t think she’s that pretty,” Brendon retorts bitterly.

“That’s because you’re gay.”

Brendon snorts, and mumbles, “like you’re not,” so softly that it’s barely audible. In fact, the only reason Spencer picks it up is because he was thinking the exact same thing himself.

Ryan, on the other hand, sits there, clueless as always.

*

It’s Friday night, and once again, Spencer’s stuck closing.

He doesn’t understand when exactly it was when all his managers got together and decided that it was okay for him to never have a life. He just doesn’t find it fair how he’s always the one that is scheduled to work every Friday and Saturday night. What if he has a date to go on or a party to attend? (Okay, so not like he ever does, but it’d be nice to have the option every once and awhile).

To top off the shittiness of working for the tenth Friday in a row, it is so dead that Spencer is really considering shoving one of the twenty dollar eyeliner sticks into his eye. It is so dead that Spencer can count the number of customers that have come in, in the past two and a half hours on one hand. It doesn’t help that he’s stuck working with the two oldest, most dullest employees out of them all.

His work, it really does hate him. A lot.

Three hours and fourteen long, grueling minutes into his shift, while Spencer is organizing the self-tanners display for the umpteenth time that night, Brendon and Ryan come wandering in, half-eaten popcorn bags in hand, looking pretty happy with themselves.

“Spencer, baby!” Brendon coos as he comes all but flailing up to him, pulling him in for a long, dramatic hug. “It’s just been too long.”

Spencer would point out that he seen him at school only five hours ago, but he’s far too busy watching the change of expression on Ryan’s face; the tight pull of his lips, the deep lines that form between his eyes. It’s only there for a second though, before he’s pulling a large, carefree smile back onto his lips. That’s how pathetically in love Ryan is with Brendon; he feels threatened over any ounce of affection that Brendon shows anyone else who isn’t him. Even Spencer, who would never in a million years think of Brendon in that way, and he’s pretty positive Brendon wouldn’t either.

Brendon pulls back, and Spencer eyes the popcorn bags again, suspicious. “So… you guys went to a movie?”

Brendon nods, overeager, and beams, face radiating with the kind of glow only pregnant women possess. “Yeah! We saw He’s Just Not That Into You!”

Spencer quirks an amused eyebrow, attempting to force back the obvious smirk fighting its way across his lips. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah - ”

“He forced me,” Ryan bites back, cutting Brendon off. “It was terrible, and I’m pretty sure we were the only guys in that movie. Besides, of course, the ones that were dragged by their girlfriends.”

Spencer can’t help as a tiny bit of smirk sneaks out at that one. “I thought you were broke, Bren,” he says casually, separating the sunscreen lip balm from the sunscreen lip shine. Spencer wasn’t even aware your lips could get burnt in the first place.

“Ryan paid for me.”

Spencer has to completely duck his head that time, hiding the grin that makes its way from cheek to cheek. “Oh yeah?” he repeats, covering his giggle with a cough.

“Yeah.” Brendon nods, oblivious to Spencer’s clear amusement. “I liked it, and don’t listen to what Ryan says, he totally loved it. I even saw a tear at the end when Ben Affleck proposed to Jennifer Aniston.”

Ryan, who was in the middle of smelling the new, ‘romantic’ Butterfly Flower body fragrance, turns around and punches him square in the shoulder. “Fuck off, I did not!”

Brendon doesn’t even flinch (Ryan would never have it in himself to actually cause Brendon harm), instead he grabs a hold of his arm and squeezes. “Aw, Ryro, it’s okay. It was a really touching moment. I even felt some tears surfacing.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and scowls, but he’s betrayed by the soft pink that creeps across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t move his arm away, and Brendon doesn’t let go.

Spencer can’t decide if he wants to hug them for being so adorable or smack them for being so stupid. This has been a reoccurring issue for him since the ripe age of fourteen, when both of them had grown a sex drive and realized that, oh hey, I totally want to do my best friend. You could say that was the beginning of the end of Spencer’s love life (not that he would ever be interested in them that way, but it’d be nice to be wanted for once).

Brendon starts going on about something that Spencer can only assume happened in the movie, when Spencer hears Lydia chirp out her regular greeting when a new customer enters the store. Spencer looks up, briefly, and almost dies when he sees who it is.

“Oh my god!” Spencer shrieks after a moment, once his brain is capable of forming words again. “He’s here!” He can feel his heart begin to pick up speed already, and sometimes, he really wishes he weren’t so pathetic.

“Who’s here?” Brendon asks with a bit of an edge to his voice, like he’s actually annoyed that Spencer interrupted his oh-so-important story about a movie they had both just watched together.

Spencer widens his eyes, and motions with the jerk of his chin over to where the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams stands with Lydia, who’s bouncing on the heels of her feet, most likely attempting to sell him the three for ten bath soaps. Brendon and Ryan both follow his gaze, and Brendon is naturally the one to grab him by the elbows a second later, squealing, “Oh my god! That’s him?! As in the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-Your-Dreams, him?!”

“Could you say it any louder?” Spencer hisses under his breath, feeling his cheeks, ears and fucking toes turn a nice shade of red. “I don’t think he heard you quite clear enough.”

“Oh, calm down,” Brendon hushes. “He didn’t hear me.” He looks back over his shoulder, and Spencer keeps his eyes trained to the floor. “Although, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if he did. Maybe it might force you to do something for once instead of just standing around like a five year-old girl.”

“Shut up,” Spencer mutters.

There’s a pause, and Spencer sneaks a quick glance from the floor to see the two of them with their eyes still on him, curious expressions on their faces. “Could you stop staring?” he snaps, smacking Ryan in the arm.

Ryan turns his attention back to Spencer, glaring and clutching onto his wounded arm, while Brendon ignores him all together. “He is cute, Spin,” he remarks with a low whistle.

If Spencer’s brain wasn’t currently a puddle of goo on the floor, just like it is every time his Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams is anywhere in his vicinity, he’d probably look over to see the apparent expression of envy on Ryan’s face - and then maybe laugh a little. “Brendon!” he repeats through bared teeth, giving a hard tug at his arm.

He obeys this time, but only with an eye-roll and some attitude on top of it. Brendon can be about as bratty and stubborn as a six year-old in a candy shop when he wants to be. “Oh, take a fucking pill, would you?” He yanks his arm from Spencer’s grip, and says, “I don’t see why you’re so paranoid. He obviously likes you. Why else would he come into fucking Bath & Body Works as much as he does? He was totally looking at you while you were so busy staring at the floor like an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he says difficultly, “because you two were staring at him like freaks.”

“He was looking at you, Spencer!” Brendon cries out in frustration. He even tugs at his hair a little, as if to get his point across.

Spencer folds his arms across his chest and scowls. He really fucking wonders why he’s friends with Brendon sometimes. “Whatever.”

“Whatever yourself,” he shoots back.

“You guys, could you just shut up for one second?” Ryan finally speaks up from beside them, gazing snapping from somewhere over Brendon’s head and over to Spencer. “He’s coming over here,” he whispers, an excited edge to his voice that is almost completely foreign to Ryan.

“What?” Brendon squeals, looking up to see for himself while Spencer keeps his eyes glued to the floor, praying that it’ll open up and swallow him whole.

Sure enough, not even a moment later, he sees a new pair of flip-flopped feet come to a stop next to his and a warm, slightly familiar voice ask, “Hey, I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something?”

Spencer counts to three in his head, takes a deep breath, and forces himself to look up, eyes landing somewhere around the Hot-Mystery-Man’s shoulder and keeps them there. “Yes?” he squeaks.

“I was just wondering what fragrance you think suits me better.”

Spencer stares at him, eyes wide, and oh god, he has to be kidding. There’s no way he’s actually being serious, is there? He looks over his expression, his warm smile, and sees no hint of amusement whatsoever. “Uh…”

“Okay, see you around, Spence!” Ryan gives him a nice smack on the back, and a sickeningly sweet smile that Spencer can see right through. He wonders why he’s friends with Ryan sometimes too.

“Yeah, bye, Spence!” Brendon drawls, and gives him a look that’s in obvious enjoyment over his pain. “Have fun!” he adds quickly before skipping off behind Ryan.

Spencer shoots them daggers with his eyes. They so just lost the first two spots on his list of BFF’s (not like there’s any other possible candidates on that list, but okay. Shut up).

He turns, slowly, remembering that the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams is still standing there, waiting, and oh dear God, he actually has to tell him what smells better on him? Just shoot him right now, seriously. Why couldn’t he just have asked Lydia? She would’ve gladly done it. “So, uh… do you have the um, the bottles?”

“No, here,” he says thrusting his wrists out, insides up, towards Spencer, “I just sprayed a little on myself.”

Spencer stares down at them, and nearly pukes. “Uh… Um. Okay. Sure. Yeah.” He takes a quick whiff of his right wrist, and then his left, and yup, that was him dying and going straight to heaven.

It’s a difficult decision, choosing, considering his brain hasn’t quite caught up to the current situation. “Um, I’d have to say the, uh - the White Tea and Ginger is my favorite. It, um - I like the Sensual Amber, I just think that the um, the other one suits you um, better.” Spencer resists the urge to do a giant face-palm right there. God, could he be anymore pathetic?

“Okay,” he grins, shoving his hands back into his hoody pockets, “I think that settles it then. The White Tea and Ginger it is.”

“Well, good - good. I’m glad I could um, help you,” Spencer stumbles out, already devising a plan of escape. He really just wants to get out of here as fast as humanly possible so he can go to the back and cry a little. “You can just bring your purchases up to Lydia, and she’d be, um - she’d be happy to - ”

“I’m Jon, by the way,” he says, and Spencer kind of wants to punch him in the face for being so calm and collected while he’s freaking the fuck out.

Instead, he stops and stares at him, mouth open like a fish out of water, because it’s one thing to come all the way over from across the store and ask his opinion when there’s another employee perfectly capable of smelling, but it’s another to randomly introduce yourself when not asked.

“…and from what I can see, you’re Spencer.” He motions to his nametag after a moment or so of no reply.

Spencer guesses his insides are blushing as well now, too. “Uh, yeah. Spencer. Sorry.”

“Spencer,” he echoes with a tiny lisp, and Spencer locks away the sound of him saying his name away in his mind forever. “I like that name.””

“Um,” Spencer starts, then stops, brain forgetting how to form words on him, once again. “Uh, thank… you,” he finishes awkwardly.

Jon smiles, wide, revealing his mildly coffee-stained teeth. Usually, Spencer would find something like that to be a complete turn-off, having been obsessed with his teeth since he was like, in the womb, but on him he finds it all the more endearing, maybe even a little sexy. “Well, I guess I should leave before you get into trouble.”

Spencer almost says, “No, stay. Getting fired is worth listening to you talk,” but he doesn’t because he’s Spencer, and come on, he can’t even talk to the guy properly without adding in a thousand um’s and uh’’s every three words. “Oh. Um. Okay,” he says instead, and yeah, that sounds a little more Spencer-like.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” he says, giving a wave that lingers in the air a little longer than needed. Spencer nods eagerly. “Hopefully soon,” he adds, and then winks - fucking winks - before turning around and heading towards the entrance of the store, leaving Spencer to stand there, flabbergasted. He turns and gives him one last stunning smile before disappearing around the corner.

Five minutes later, with the hopefully soon echoing over and over in his mind, Spencer realizes he didn’t even buy the stupid White Tea and Ginger.

*

When Spencer gets home from work the next day, his house is more or less a war zone. His sisters running around screaming something about missing her new, cute yellow top she bought from Garage last week, while his mom scurries around dusting every known possible surface in the household, and pots and pans bang around in the kitchen, his dad’s voice cutting in with curses every few minutes. Spencer takes one look at it all and wishes he had never come home.

He’s about to ask what the special occasion is when it dawns on him - Reagan’s new boyfriend who she’s been seeing for the past three weeks (a record!) is coming over for dinner. He’s about to sneak back out the door and pretend he was never there, maybe head over to Brendon’s (cause chances are, that’s where Ryan is too) when his dad calls from the kitchen, “Is that you, Spin? I could really use your cooking skills in here!”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he grudgingly pulls off his shoes and kicks them into the hall closet.

“What was that?” his dad calls from the next room. Sometimes, Spencer forgets about his dad’s supersonic hearing.

“I said I’ll be there in a second,” he grumbles.

Once he reaches the kitchen, he’s met by his father, covered to his elbows in tomato sauce. “Oh god, dad,” he groans, “what are you doing?”

“Attempting to make pasta,” he huffs, and turns to face Spencer, forehead wrinkled in frustration. “It’s not working out too well.”

Spencer sighs, and makes a little shooing gesture with his hands. “Okay. Whatever. Just leave it, I’ll handle it from here.” No one in their family really understands where Spencer got his gift to cook from, seeing as both his parents are dreadful cooks, either burning or adding way, way too much salt to whatever they attempt to cook. Spencer doesn’t know where he got it either, just one day when he was thirteen he picked up a cookbook and the rest was history. In the end, his gift doesn’t leave him much but the burden of cooking most of the family meals.

“Spencer, my son,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief, “what would I do without you?”

“No idea, dad,” he replies with only a hint of sarcasm to it. “Probably be a very lost soul.”

“Ooh, someone’s being a little cheeky today,” Mr. Smith observes, and smirks, running his soiled hands under the sink. “But you have my permission to be since you’re doing my dirty work.” He turns to Spencer, giving him a straight face as he says, “but only until your sister’s new boyfriend gets here. You wouldn’t want to embarrass her.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, not amused, as he taps some basil into the sauce.

“Oh, cheer up, kid,” he says, ruffling Spencer’s hair with his newly washed hands.

Spencer smacks his hand away, and all but hisses, “How about you not mess up my hair?”

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Smith says quickly, throwing his hands up in the air in defense as he backs out of the kitchen. “You’re worse than your sister sometimes, you know that?” He ducks out of the room just in time, laughing, and he’s lucky too, because Spencer would have totally thrown the sauce covered spoon at him. He likes to think he has a pretty good aim too.

Spencer isn’t usually this big of a bitch (well, okay, fine, maybe 45% of the time he is, but he just can’t help it) it’s just he’s moody and irritable after working seven hours in the gates of hell, and he didn’t even see the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams. And now, to top it all off, he’s stuck cooking dinner for his sisters stupid, new boyfriend who will probably be gone in another week. He just gets bitter sometimes, that’s all. You know, with his sister on her hundredth boyfriend in the past year, and Spencer can’t even get one.

Fifteen minutes later, his sister comes breezing into the room, all smiles and cotton candy (even after all the time he’s offered up his work discount to her, she still insists on using her over the top, way too sweet perfumey crap). “Oh thank god!” she cries once she sees that he’s the one grueling over the stove (okay, so maybe he actually likes cooking, but still. He’s totally grueling). “I was getting so worried with dad cooking. At least with you I know it will be good.”

Spencer shakes his head, and he doesn’t mean to smile, but it kind of just made its way across his face anyway. Of course though, because that’s just so Reagan-esque to come all waltzing in here, and then compliment him so it’s entirely impossible for him to be mad at her anymore. His sister is an evil genius.

“Oh my god, Spin,” she moans, pressing her hand in front of her eyes (but not touching of course, she doesn’t want to ruin her perfectly applied makeup). “I’m so nervous.”

He snakes a glance over at her from where he’s stirring the noodles, and raises a single, inquisitive eyebrow. “What? Why? You’ve had plenty of boyfriends come over here before.”

“I know,” she says, dramatically throwing herself onto the kitchen barstool. “But,” she starts, then lowers her voice, almost bashful, “I think this one’s different. I really like him.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms.

“Well,” Spencer says, turning off the noodles, “good for you then,” and he means it. Really.

She beams. “Thanks.” She watches as Spencer taste tests the sauce, then asks, “What about you?”

“What about me?” he repeats.

“Like… how are guys going for you?” she elaborates, slow. “What about that guy from your work? Have you seen him lately?”

Spencer shrugs, feeling the slight blush creep across his cheeks. “Yeah, he came in yesterday,” he replies, attempting to sound nonchalant even though all he really wants to do is jump on the counter and scream in joy.

“And?” she urges.

Spencer turns around to face her and shrugs, face growing redder at the thought. “And… I don’t know. He asked me what fragrance he thought smelt better on him…”

“Oh my god, Spin!” she squeals. “He must like you! Why else would he come into Bath & Body Works all the time? There’s only so much soaps and lotions a guy needs.”

“That’s what Brendon said too,” Spencer replies, turning back to the oven. He feels his heart skip a beat at the thought of someone actually liking him, let alone the guy he’s been lusting over for months now. It all seems a little too good to be true.

“That’s ‘cause it’s true,” she replies, matter-of-factly.

Spencer shrugs again, not wanting to get his hopes up, and turns the sauce onto low. They sit there for a few minutes, in silence, and just as Spencer’s about to ask when her boyfriend’s supposed to get there the doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” she cries, flinging herself off the barstool and racing into the living room.

Spencer stays in the kitchen, making the finishing touches on the meal and listening to the faint chatter and laughter in the next room. He daydreams of the day he brings the Hot-Mystery - no, the day he can bring Jon home for dinner. Jon, what a beautiful name.

“And this is my little brother, Spencer,” Reagan’s voice comes from behind him, and he turns to face her, stomach dropping as she says, “and Spencer this is - ”

Jon.

“Jon.”

And, that is when Spencer’s life as he knew it came to a screeching, earth-shattering end.

*

It goes without saying, dinner that night is excruciatingly long.

Spencer spends the entire time staring intently down at his plate of pasta, knowing that if he was to look up for even just a moment his eyes will, without a doubt, wander over to Jon and that. Well, that just can’t happen. Not while his sister is hanging off him, giggling and blushing, and just. God, he realized his life sucked before, but this is just a whole new level to suckiness. This is a 999999 on the scale of suck.

The fact that Jon’s the Hot-Mystery-Man-Of-His-Dreams that he’s been gushing over for a month is still unknown to his sister, and it’s going to stay that way if it’s the last thing Spencer James Smith V does.

Jon was close to letting it slip too, so close to giving away his secret identity with the shocked beginning of “Sp - ” before Spencer was quickly cutting him off with a, “it’s so nice to finally meet you, Jon,” while his heart was lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his butt. Reagan had given them both a strange, steady look, a little suspicious, but it was only two seconds of held breath from Spencer before she was grinning and wrapping her fingers tightly around Jon’s.

Spencer’s been trying hard all dinner not to think about the fact that those eight words were the most clear, most unjumbled sentence he’s ever spoken to Jon, and it’s after finding out that he’s dating his older sister for God sakes. Yeah, and that scale? Keeps getting higher.

After dinner his parents excuse themselves to the living room, and Spencer’s just rinsing his dish, about five seconds away from fleeing into his room to sob into his pillows, when Jon comes up and leans a hip against the counter next to him. “Hey,” he says all simple and calm and fucking perfect.

Spencer hates his life. Hates, hates, hates it.

Spencer looks behind him, beside him, around him, and sees that the kitchen is completely empty except for the two of them - Reagan probably gone to fix up her makeup after the long, grueling supper. He takes a deep breath, turns off the water and places the plate on the counter in front of Jon. He manages a ‘hi’ with only a bit of a squeak. He doesn’t dare look up at Jon, he only continues to stare down the sink drain as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“What a coincidence, huh?” He laughs, and he’s so close that Spencer can feel his hot breath against his jaw.

Spencer chokes back a breath and grips harder onto the counter. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Coincidence.”

Jon doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither does Spencer. He doesn’t take his eyes off the sink to see what Jon’s doing either, but he has fleeting feeling he’s watching him. When Jon finally does speak, he wishes he hadn’t.

“So, is there a reason why your sister can’t know that we’ve already been acquainted?” he asks, and Spencer’s not stupid, he can sense the amusement in his tone.

Spencer ducks his head to the side, away from Jon, hiding his rapidly coloring cheeks. “No,” he says quickly, “I just - ”

“Ah! Good!” His sister voice exclaims from the doorway. Jon turns to face her, and Spencer takes this as his perfect moment to escape. He’s never been more relieved to see his sister in his whole entire life. “I see you guys are getting acquainted already.”

“We sure were,” Jon replies with a wide smile.

“That’s great.” She smiles, making her way under the comfort of Jon’s arm. “I had a feeling you guys would get along well.”

Jon meets his eyes, just briefly, the same amused glint in his eyes, before Spencer’s gaze meets the ground, listening to his heart pounding wildly in his eardrums.

There’s a pause, and then Spencer’s breaking it with a fake yawn, and, “Well, I guess I’m going to head up to my room now. You two have fun.” He’s halfway out of the room before he mutters a quick, half-hearted, “Nice meeting you, Jon.” He doesn’t wait for his sisters protests before he’s dashing out of the room and up the stairs to his room.

Once he reaches his bedroom he all but throws himself under the covers, pressing his face into his pillow. When he closes his eyes, he finds that all he can think about is the feeling of Jon’s hot breath against his skin.

*

Since apparently finding out that his sister’s new boyfriend is the same guy that he’s been lusting after for the past two and a half months isn’t quite enough to make this the shittiest week that’s ever existed, God decides to throw in Brendon getting some - some boyfriend thing (one that Spencer nor Ryan even knew existed until now) on top of it, causing Ryan to be as bitchy as a fifty year-old women going through menopause. Whose husband just left her. And her cat died.

To top it all off, Reagan stuck to her whole plan of Jon and Spencer getting to know each other better, forcing Spencer to spend the entire afternoon watching the two of them making googly eyes at one another.

Oh, not to mention that after the painful, painful dinner the previous week, Jon hasn’t come into his work. Not even once. Then again, it’s probably for the better, he figures.

“I just don’t get it,” Ryan says, hostility thick in his voice, “he’s not even good-looking. His nose is huge. Did you see that thing? It takes up his entire face.”

Ryan’s been going on like this for the past two days since he found out Brendon was suddenly seeing some guy. It’s been a constant, “Oh my god, he’s so short,” and “he doesn’t even have a personality. Two minutes into talking to him and I wanted to shoot myself,” and, “God, did you see that eyelash on his right eye? It’s totally shorter than the rest.” (Okay, so, maybe he’s lying about the last one, but he really wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to hear something like that come from Ryan’s mouth.)

Ryan pauses, long enough to take a tiny breath, and Spencer gives him a half-hearted, “Mm-hmm,” before he’s continuing on his rampage - this time, bitching about the size of his feet.

Spencer just really needs someone to talk to, someone to get all his frustrations out, but with Ryan busy constantly bad-mouthing Brendon’s new - thing and Brendon busy with said thing (Shane is his name) and with his sister being a big part of the cause for his frustration, he really has no one to talk to. Leaving him to wallow in his own self-pity while Ryan blabs on.

When Spencer gets home, he finds Jon in his kitchen, alone, pouring himself a glass of chocolate milk. He looks up, a warm smile spreading lazily across his lips, and Spencer’s not going to lie, the sight of it still makes him swoon. “Hey,” he says. “Whatsup?”

Spencer shrugs. “Nothing,” he mumbles, and fiddles with his hoody string, twisting it anxiously around his index finger and back again.

Jon falls silent, eyes sweeping over Spencer, with an expression that Spencer can never quite place. Spencer catches Jon doing this a lot, and maybe if it wasn’t for the fact that Jon is his sister’s boyfriend, he’d feel flattered instead of uncomfortable. Spencer’s never had anyone look at him the way Jon looks at him - never mind from someone as gorgeous as him - and he doesn’t need to be reminded every single fucking day that he can’t have him. He gets it, okay? He does.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably, ready to book it into his room and hide forever when Jon finally snaps his eyes back to Spencer’s, the tips of his ears turning red as if just realizing now that he was staring. He turns back to the fridge, sliding the chocolate milk onto the rack as he says, “Me and your sister are just about to watch a movie if you wanted to join us.”

No, Spencer does not want to join them. Being stuck in a room with his sister and the object of his affections while they sit there and cuddle is not Spencer’s idea of a fun time. In fact, he’d much rather stick a pin through his eye.

Spencer starts to politely decline the invitation, thanks but no thanks, when Reagan comes flouncing into the room all smiles and sunshine and cotton candy. “Oh yeah, Spin!” she says excitedly. “You have to! We’re watching Fight Club, and I know how much you love it.”

“Actually, that’s Ryan,” Spencer corrects, but he falls short, knowing that it will make no difference.

“Invite him over too,” she says, and when Spencer looks over at her smiling expression, he knows that he has no choice.

Spencer calls him up, saying nothing more than, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get over here. We’re watching Fight Club,” and hangs up before Ryan has a chance to deny it.

*

After the movie, in the confinement of his bedroom, Spencer is sure that the first thing to come from Ryan’s mouth will be another stab at Shane, but surprisingly enough, he says instead, “Shit man, I feel so bad for you.”

“What are you talking about?” Spencer asks testily, as he presses play on his stereo and Smashing Pumpkins promptly fills the room. It’s a known fact that after any amount of time he’s forced spent in the company of Reagan and Jon, a minute to an hour, he becomes incredibly bitchy.

Ryan blinks. “The Jon thing,” he replies slowly, like it should be obvious. “I swear to God, the entire time he just sat there and stared at you.”

“Whatever,” Spencer mutters, rolling his eyes, but he feels his heart lurch inside his chest anyway, despite his best efforts. He takes a seat at his computer desk, back to Ryan and says, “It doesn’t matter even if he did because he’s with Reagan. You know, my sister.”

“Yeah, hence the ‘I feel so bad for you.’ God Spence, keep up,” he replies dryly.

“Looks like we’re in the same boat then, I guess,” Spencer murmurs under his breath before he has a chance to stop it. He snaps his mouth shut and stares ahead at his computer screen, feeling as Ryan’s eyes burn holes into the back of his neck. He can’t really be blamed though, he thinks. There’s only so much Ryan whining you can take before you finally snap, after all.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing…” Spencer says slowly, dragging it out, and gives a small shrug of his shoulders, bringing the believability of his statement down to exactly zero point five.

Ryan says nothing for a long moment, and even though Spencer can’t see him, he can picture exactly what his face must look like. Confusion, shame, anger, all twisted into one facial expression. Finally, he says, just as slow, “No, really. Why would you say that?”

Spencer sighs, swiveling around in his computer chair to look Ryan straight in the eye. It’s been three years, three fucking years, and Spencer will be damned if he goes even another second without finally saying something. He might end up with one eye and no hair, but at least ten years down the road he can say he tried. “Ryan,” he starts, deadpanned, “come on. I know.”

“Know what?” he shoots back, feigning innocence, and maybe Spencer would buy it if he didn’t catch the noticeable twitch of his leg or the way his eyes quickly dart away as he talks. Maybe Spencer would buy it if Ryan wasn’t such a horrible actor.

Spencer lets out a sharp, slightly irritated breath of air, and gives himself a moment to regain his composure. If he’s going to get Ryan, the most stubborn of all people, to admit the secret he’s been keeping close to his heart for years, he’s going to have to at least be nice about it. “That you’re in love with Brendon,” he says, calmly as possible, and then quickly braces himself for the attack.

For a moment, Ryan just stares at him, shocked in a completely obvious, deer-in-the-headlights kind of way. “What the fuck?” he says after a minute. He’s trying to sound pissed off, offended even, that’s clear, but it mostly fails due to the squeak that slips out and the way his ears burn bright red. “Why - Why would you - no. I’m not, okay? That’s fucking stupid. I can’t even believe you’d accuse me of that. I don’t like guys. I wouldn’t - no. I’m not in - I don’t like Brendon, okay?” he splutters, and then after a moment adds in, just for good measures, “That’s sick, man.”

“Uh huh,” Spencer mumbles, unconvinced. “Okay, whatever, Ry. You tell yourself that, but I know you do, just like you know you do, whether you want to admit it or not.” Ryan opens his mouth to deny, deny, deny, face burning five shades of red, but Spencer stops him by saying, “Honestly, I’m so sick of sitting around while you two dance around each other like idiots.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryan mutters, stubbornly.

“Oh Christ,” Spencer groans, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. That being nice thing? Totally thrown out the twelve story window and landed on the concrete with a splat. “I don’t understand how someone can be so fucking stupid. He’s in love with you too, can’t you see that? You’ve been lusting after each other since you were fourteen years old and you both can’t open your eyes long enough to see it.”

“Shut up, Spencer,” he hisses through clenched teeth, not a single inch of smooth, pale skin visible underneath the crimson. “Just shut up. You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’m your guys’ best friend, have been since we were kids. I know you two a little more than you give me credit for,” Spencer points out matter-of-factly.

Ryan says nothing for a long time. Instead, he stares down at Spencer’s comforter, head hung low, picking at a loose thread. Truth be told, Spencer’s surprised he’s still sitting there, taking this all in. He expected Ryan to go storming off before the words even came properly out of his mouth. Eventually, Ryan takes a tiny breath, and mumbles, almost too quiet to be heard, “But - but he has a boyfriend.”

Spencer stares, blinks, and what was that? Was that Ryan actually kind of, sort of admitting to something? “So?” he says slowly, lowering his voice level down a few notches due to Ryan’s sudden abundance of vulnerability. “It’s obviously because he was getting sick of waiting for you to get your head out of your ass.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but it lacks the enthusiasm it usually brings. “Well… whatever. He never said anything to me.”

“Cause, Ryan, you’re the ‘straight’ one. He can’t do much if you’re still trying to convince the world - and yourself - that you don’t like cock.” He wait’s a moment, then adds, “I can’t even count how many times he’s given you the perfect opportunity to say something, and you always shut him down. I can only imagine what goes on when I’m not there. You can’t really blame the guy.”

“I - ”

“Don’t even bother trying to deny it, Ross. Cause sorry, you can try all you want, but I’m done pretending I believe you,” Spencer says frankly.

“Whatever,” he attempts sharply, voice quivering. He takes a moment, face scrunched up in a slightly painful looking manner, before letting out a long, distressed sigh and drops his head in defeat. Quietly, he says, “There’s nothing I can do about it now. He’s got a boyfriend.”

“Ryan,” he says evenly, resisting the urge to jump up and kick his heels together over the fact that they’re finally, finally, getting somewhere. He repeats his name, this time more stern, forcing Ryan to look up and meet his eyes. “Think about it, a guy he’s been seeing for two weeks or a guy he’s been in love with for years. Who do you think he’d choose?”

Ryan shrugs, a little helplessly, like he actually doesn’t know. He looks a bit like a wounded puppy whose just been kicked out in the pouring rain, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s seen him like this since he was seven years old and his dad wouldn’t let him take in that stray cat. “I don’t know, Spence. I mean, like, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Ryan, if you don’t tell him, I will,” he threatens.

Ryan sits up straight, eyes widening to the size of saucers as he grabs a handful of comforter, fingers clenching anxiously onto the soft material. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Spencer replies solemnly.

A cast of pure betrayal spreads across Ryan’s face, and it looks as if he’s re-evaluating their entire eleven years of friendship, trying to decide whether walking out right now and never speaking to Spencer again would be worth it. He would probably have done just that too, if Spencer hadn’t have started talking. “Look, I’ve spent the past three years watching you two dance around each other. I was waiting for you guys to do something about it yourselves, but clearly that’s not going to happen, so now it’s my job as your best friend to step in and do something about it before it’s too late. I can’t watch my two best friends put themselves through all this misery anymore, especially over something so stupid and unnecessary because you two are too fucking blind to notice what’s right in front of your face.”

By the end of his speech, Spencer has to take a few gasps of air while Ryan stares back at him, white as a sheet. He gives him a moment to let the information sink in, until Ryan takes a tiny breath of air himself, and then says, meekly, “It could ruin everything.”

“Or it could give you everything - it could give you Brendon.”

Ryan seems pleased with this answer because his face relaxes considerably, wrinkles disappearing from his forehead and grip loosening from Spencer’s spaceship comforters (his other ones are in the wash, shut up). “You really think so?” he asks, voice high with hope. He vaguely reminds Spencer of a kid in a candy store whose just been told he can have whatever he wants.

“I pretty much know so.”

Ryan gnaws on his bottom lip, fear suddenly flashing through his eyes. “Oh god, Spin, I don’t know… what if he doesn’t - ” he looks down at his knees, and mumbles, “like me like that?”

“Ryan, seriously,” Spencer says, a little more fondly this time, “he does, okay? Trust me.”

“But - but you don’t know that for sure. It’s not like he’s ever told you.” He snaps his eyes up to meet Spencer’s, ears perking, “Has he?”

Spencer considers lying, telling him that, yes, yes he is, but then decides against it at the last minute. “No, but like I said, I’ve been noticing for three years now. I’ve seen plenty of signs that couldn’t have meant anything else. I see the way he looks at you, like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather see, or how he literally lights up when you walk into the room. Trust me, Ry, he fucking adores you.”

Pink creeps up Ryan’s neck, spreading rapidly across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He smiles goofily, and says, “Really?”

“Really,” Spencer confirms.

Ryan doesn’t mention Brendon for the next hour that they hang out, but by the silly grin and the flushed cheeks that remain on his face the entire time, Spencer knows that there’s nothing else on his mind.

*

part two