Bandfic: Dreams From the Other Side [3/5] (Brendon/Spencer. R.)
It gets easier, though. Things, Spencer has learned, always get easier. Because a few days pass and Brendon doesn’t start acting any differently, so apparently Spencer doesn’t have a neon sign over his head that says, ‘So! So! Fucked!’
And, okay, so maybe Spencer finds himself tuning out once or twice (or five times) while Brendon’s talking about the new Regina Spektor record because he’s been looking at the way Brendon’s lips are forming the words. Maybe he finds himself staring at Brendon’s fingers as they tap out unknown rhythms on the edge of the breakfast table. Maybe he feels like he’s laughing too hard at Brendon’s jokes.
Still, it gets better, and this knowledge moves from the sudden shock of realization to a more subtle awareness. It probably helps that they still have a fuck load of things that they need to get ready to do. Like choose whom they’re going to ask to join them on tour. Choose who’s going to take Ryan and Jon’s places on the stage with them.
It’s probably not a coincidence that they choose to have the discussion while playing an epic game of Mortal Kombat. Because it’s easier to discuss things like that while trying to beat the shit out of your opponent.
Pete has actually been good about not pressing them too hard, but they’re getting to a point where people are going to need to make arrangements, plans, learn their fucking songs. Pete had sent over a list of people he knew who were currently without bands, or who were on hiatus from their bands, or who are studio musicians who Pete feels deserve to be more. There are some that Spencer knows, others he doesn’t, and-
Really, no matter how pleased he is with what he and Brendon have accomplished over the last month, he suddenly wants to call Ryan up and tell him to go fuck himself. Because they shouldn’t have to be doing this. They’d been perfectly happy with their band lineup since they were, what, 15? Surely they could have waited another three months to go their separate ways?
The more rational part of his brain is telling him that they made the right decision at the right time. That it was better to part when they did, as friends, than to keep pushing until they exploded beyond any sort of repair. And Spencer has no doubt that that is what eventually would have happened.
Still.
It really fucking hurts to sit here, jabbing his fingers at his controller, trying to kill Brendon’s character, as they go through Pete’s list. Guys they know, guys they don’t know but whose bands they’ve liked, guys who are (or were) in bands who they’ve never even heard of.
“Or,” Brendon says finally, “we could just ask Ian.”
Spencer nods. “We could.”
He and Brendon are pretty much agreed that Ian’s one of the best guitarists out there right now, and perhaps best of all, Spencer knows he has no desire to join another band at this time, especially this soon after leaving The Cab. He wants to do his own music, his own style, and-
It could be perfect, actually, because there’s been no talk about replacing Ryan and Jon yet-Spencer’s going to need to be really, really drunk to have that talk-and it would be nice to tour with a friend who knew that it wasn’t going to be anything permanent.
“And maybe, if we’re looking at our friends,” Spencer says, looking over at Brendon as they wait for the next level of the game to load. “Dallon?”
Brendon’s grin at that is bright. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “Yes, yes, we totally have to ask Dallon.”
He’d spent a week on the Honda Civic Tour, visiting with Alex and the rest of the guys in Phantom Planet and, well, pretty much, he’d cracked all of their shit up. Totally weird in that way that Spencer totally understood.
“Can you even imagine?” Brendon’s asking, and Spencer’s thinking yeah, yeah. Because this tour, it’s really more about proving that he and Brendon can do this, that they can get out on stage without Ryan and Jon. That the two of them can be Panic! at the Disco. And having friends out there with them, friends who would be there to back them up… that would be-
“I think we should,” Spencer says. “I think, yeah.”
And he thinks that they’re good choices. He does. But despite that, the thought of going up on stage without Ryan and Jon right there beside them-a thought that is suddenly feeling more and more real-fucking hurts. And maybe Brendon realizes it, too, because he pauses the game, puts down his controller, and slides over to where Spencer’s sitting propped up against the couch. Brendon bumps his shoulder against Spencer’s, then shifts so he can settle his head on it, and Spencer tenses up, thinks that he should really discourage Brendon from doing this, because it’s not helping Spencer, but. But it is, at least tonight. So Spencer leans his head on top of Brendon’s and they stay there for… Spencer doesn’t even know how long.
A long time.
Until Shane comes out of his studio, Bogart and Dylan trailing at his heels. He stops in the doorway to the living room, then raises an eyebrow at Spencer as Brendon slowly pulls away, already asking, “So, do you think Ian might be interested in going on tour? Or do you think it’s too soon?”
Shane holds Spencer’s gaze for a moment longer, before dropping it so that he can look over at Brendon. So he can say, “I think you should ask him.”
*
So, it gets easier, this whole new way of looking at Brendon fading back to something manageable, something that Spencer can just let be while he deals with everything else that needs to be dealt with, except.
Except that on Saturday they go surfing with their group, the group that Spencer now considers his own, and it’s totally normal, exactly like any number of days they’ve gone surfing since Spencer arrived in California at the beginning of the year. And it’s a good day. It’s a fucking awesome day. Not too warm, not too cold, the waves just on the challenging side of manageable.
Mid-afternoon, though, Spencer, Joe, and Regan are the ones to make the trek to one of the kiosks along the beach to get food for the whole group, while the rest of them stake out a good stretch of sand. When they get back, Spencer sees that Brendon’s saved him a spot on a towel, which is fine, totally normal, and not something Spencer would have thought about at all two weeks ago. Still, Spencer finds himself sitting down a little more carefully, conscious to leave space between them, only in part because Shane is watching him again, just like he’s seemed to be watching Spencer more recently, with an almost knowing look in his eyes.
Spencer really doesn’t want to do anything that’s going to prompt conversations about Brendon with Shane.
Still, it’s not like this day is any different than any other day they’ve spent out with this crowd, but Spencer’s maybe just a little bit more aware of where Brendon is in relation to Spencer’s space. And then suddenly it’s completely different, because Amanda’s sitting on the other side of Brendon, telling him some story, Spencer thinks he hears mention of skydiving, and Brendon’s laughing just a little too hard, and Amanda’s reaching over to ruffle his wet hair, and Spencer just-
When Brendon glances over at him, to see if Spencer’s sharing the joke (Spencer’s not), he knows that his smile is more than a little strained.
So Regan, pretty much, is a lifesaver, because she chooses that moment to sit down on a spot of sand next to him and start asking something about their latest song. With her there, it’s easier for Spencer to tune out the conversation happening on the other side of him, which Spencer is grateful for. It makes it easier to pretend that this really is just another normal day, albeit one where Spencer’s conscious of every centimeter that Brendon seems to migrate towards him, the sound of his laughter loud in Spencer’s ear.
Still, Spencer’s doing just fine, really, until their whole crew is packing up for the day, attaching boards to cars, trying to de-sand themselves as much as possible before heading home. That’s the point at which Amanda asks Brendon if they’re heading out to dinner now, and Brendon says, “Yeah, yeah, sure.” Then, “Spence? Shane? Regs? Joe? You in?”
Shane, Regan, and Joe are agreeing already, everyone else in their group nodding along, but Spencer-
He’s totally fine, okay, but he just can’t go out to dinner and sit and listen to Amanda make Brendon laugh for the next however many hours. He has absolutely no desire to do it at all.
So, he says, “Actually, I’m feeling-I think I’m going to head back to the house. I mean, um, the dogs are probably going a little stir crazy in the backyard, right?”
Brendon’s smile fades almost instantly, a little line forming between his eyes, one that Spencer knows only appears when he’s concerned. And Spencer really, really doesn’t want concern, or for Brendon to think too hard about this, so he tries to grin, to look like he’s telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“I’m just tired,” Spencer says, which isn’t totally a lie, so he doesn’t feel badly telling it.
After staring at him for another moment, Brendon finally nods, still frowning slightly, then looks at Shane and says, “You can give me a ride, right?”
Spencer feels like a little bit of an ass, making Brendon catch a ride back with them just because he’s feeling, well, whatever it is that he’s feeling, but apparently not like enough of one to change his mind. So, he just says goodbye and then he heads back to the house.
They’d let the dogs out into the backyard before they left that morning and, indeed, they are beyond ready to be let back in. Bogart and Dylan circle Spencer’s feet, tails repeatedly thwapping against his thighs, until he kneels down and actually scratches ears. As soon as she’s licked his hand a few times, Dylan throws her head back and starts barking, probably telling him about her day and how much it had sucked being out in the yard, and they are never to leave her out there for so long again. Bogart, on the other hand, is content to try to get Spencer to scratch every inch of his back, and his flanks, and his chin, too.
Spencer indulges them for about five minutes before finally standing up again. He heads to the shower first, feeling grimy with sand and ocean water, and when he gets out again, both of the dogs are lying on his futon. He gets dressed, ready for bed even though it’s only six o’clock at night, and then pads down to the kitchen to see what’s there. Not much, but there are the makings of a salad, so he puts that together, then goes down to the TV room to collapse.
Bogart tries to crawl into his lap as soon as Spencer sits, but Spencer elbows him away. He turns the TV on and flips through the channels until he hits the CSI Miami marathon, then drops the remote onto to the cushion beside him.
It’s easy to lose himself in the mindlessness of the show, for one episode to fade into the next, but he thinks he’s only on episode two of the evening when he hears the front door open again, the sound of footsteps on floor.
Spencer’s lying down at this point, Bogart curled up against him, between his arm and his chest, and he doesn’t look up when Brendon comes into the room. He does lift his head just a little, though, when Brendon picks his feet up off of the couch, slides underneath them, and then sets his feet back down in Brendon’s lap.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at Brendon, a question, but Brendon is looking resolutely at the TV. At least for that moment, because it’s only a few seconds later that he starts tapping out a rhythm on Spencer’s sock-covered foot, which means that Spencer’s pretty much obligated to call him on it.
“I didn’t think you’d be back for another few hours,” he says, and Brendon shrugs.
“I was tired, too, I guess,” Brendon says. Then he does look at Spencer. “I had Shane drop me off. He, um. He’s meeting everyone else back at The Otheroom. I was, um, ready to call it a night, though? And, I mean. I wanted to make sure everything was all right? Everything’s all right, right?”
Spencer wants to say no, no, everything’s not all right, but he also knows this look on Brendon’s face: skittish, like he’s ready to bolt. Or he thinks that Spencer’s going to bolt, because of course Brendon would think that this was something having to do with everything else going on in their lives. It makes sense. Even if Spencer can’t tell him how wrong he is.
“Everything’s fine,” Spencer says. “Just. Tired, like I said.” And he is. Maybe not as tired as he was, now that Brendon’s got a hand resting on his ankle, now that his touch is pretty much all Spencer can concentrate on, but still.
It does feel good just to relax in front of the TV and turn his brain off.
“Good,” Brendon says. Then he smiles at Spencer, shyer than Spencer’s used to seeing on his face. “I was-it’s not like you to beg off, you know?”
Which is pretty much true, especially recently, because he’s needed this group of people as much as Brendon has, as much as Ryan’s apparently needed the group of friends he’s been building up, and Jon’s needed his Chicago crowd.
“I’m fine,” Spencer says again, pulling his leg back and kick Brendon lightly. “Dork.”
“Dork yourself,” Brendon says, flicking at Spencer’s ankle, and Spencer thinks that they might have actually devolved into a kicking war at that point, except that Horatio Caine says something oh-so-profound on screen, and Brendon’s attention is diverted.
He starts talking to the TV, softly, in a way that Spencer’s learned to tune out over the years, and Spencer spends more time watching Brendon watch the show than he does actually watching himself, and it’s nice, it’s really nice. Especially when Brendon apparently unintentionally starts drawing an unknown pattern on Spencer’s leg, his fingertip a light warmth through Spencer’s pajama pants.
It’s apparently a soothing gesture, too, because at some point later, Spencer wakes up to the sound of muffled laughter: Shane, giggling, his voice too loud for him to be even the slightest bit sober.
When Spencer slits his eyes open to see what’s so funny, he sees Brendon conked out at the other end of the couch, Spencer’s feet still in his lap, and now both dogs are curled up against them, Dylan draped across Brendon’s legs, head on Spencer’s ankle, and Bogart having somehow balanced himself between Spencer’s hip and the back of the couch.
“Shhh,” Regan says. “You don’t want to wake them up!”
If Brendon was awake, or Spencer was admitting to being awake, Spencer thinks that one of them would absolutely be telling the other two to shut the hell up at this point, but Brendon’s not and Spencer won’t.
Instead, he just closes his eyes again and pretends to fall back asleep, until he actually does.
*
In the morning Spencer wakes up alone on the couch with a crick in his neck; the throw pillows that Brendon and Shane invested in, as comfortable as they are to lounge against, are really not meant to be slept on all night long.
He spends a long moment staring up at the ceiling, listening for the usual morning sounds of the Urie-Valdés household, but the house, as far as he can tell, is quiet. He takes another few seconds to disentangle himself from the blanket that someone had draped over him at some point in the night, and then cards his fingers through his hair as he makes his way up the stairs.
And the thing is, see, given the quietness of the house, he’s not expecting Bogart to be in the kitchen eating his breakfast, Shane at the table, drinking the milk from his cereal bowl.
If he’d been expecting Shane, he might have spent more time downstairs preparing what, exactly, he was going to say right now. Or, more likely, he probably would have headed right past the kitchen, up the stairs to his room for a change of clothes. He would have entered this moment feeling far more ready to face the day. Or, well, he would have taken his time, lots and lots of time, in hopes that Shane might not actually be in the kitchen any longer when Spencer finally did decide to descend.
Instead, Spencer’s already stepped through the door and there’s absolutely no way to turn back without Spencer looking like he’s fucking running. Because Shane’s looking at him with that knowing expression on his face, and Spencer does not need this right now, okay? He needs to just keep doing what he’s doing (it’s mostly been working well so far, right?) and-
“Hey,” Shane says. “Sleep well?”
It sounds like an innocent question, it does, but-
Spencer shrugs and brings a hand up to rub at his neck.
“I guess?” he says as he walks across the room to the fridge to see if they have any bread. He’s thinking it’s a toast sort of day. Maybe. “I must have been, uh, more tired last night than I thought.”
Shane makes a ‘hmm’ noise and for a few brief, blessed minutes, Spencer thinks that Shane is going to leave it at that. That he’s not going to call Spencer on the fact that he spent who knows how long asleep last night with his feet in Brendon’s lap. Or that he’d bailed on dinner and drinks because he’d just needed to be… not there. Or-
Spencer is not that lucky, though, because despite the fact that he takes his time getting his toast buttered and pouring his glass of juice, Shane is still there when Spencer sits down. As Spencer takes his first bite.
Spencer’s just about to ask, ‘what?’ as grumpily as possible in hopes of discouraging further conversation when Shane asks, “How long?”
Spencer swallows once, hard, then says, “How long what?” before deliberately taking another bite of his toast. Because he doesn’t know what Shane’s talking about. And maybe he really doesn’t. Shane could be asking about lots of things, right?
Shane just keeps looking at Spencer, though, until Spencer lets his gaze drop. “It’s nothing,” he says. “It’s… it’s nothing, you know?”
“It’s not-“ Shane starts, then breaks off. “I know you both well enough, I think, to know that it’s not nothing.”
“It is,” Spencer says, because it will be. Eventually. Maybe. He tries to make himself stop talking there, he does, but maybe this has been building up inside of him for too long, and the lure of actually being able to just say these things is too great.
“It has to be, because we’re fucking-You know everything that’s going on and the last thing we fucking need is for me to complicate anything by making him feel fucking, I don’t know, uncomfortable, and I-I refuse to do anything that will make this-“
Shane is the one to drop his gaze this time and when he looks back up, Spencer thinks he looks… sympathetic? Pitying? Something which Spencer really can’t deal with. He puts his toast back on his plate and pushes it away, his appetite gone.
“Brendon wouldn’t-“ Shane starts, then looks away again. “Brendon might… You could talk to Brendon, you know? I don’t think he’d-“
Care? Spencer wants to ask. Return your feelings?
Because yes, on top of trying to deal with the breakup of their band, Brendon really needs to be thinking about how Spencer sometimes has a hard time looking away from Brendon’s lips, or he finds himself checking out Brendon’s ass, or how when Brendon comes up with a particularly awesome idea on one of their songs, something that makes them both so excited their shaking with it, what Spencer really wants to do is push him up against the music room wall and kiss him until they’re both breathless with it. Because that’s really something they both want to be dealing with right now.
Right.
Which is why Spencer just stares at Shane, one eyebrow raised, until Shane sighs.
“I think Brendon might surprise you, is all,” he finally says, and Spencer shakes his head. Because-
Because he’s dealing with it. He is. Maybe not well all of the time (now, for instance), but he is.
“Just-“ Shane starts again, then meets Spencer’s gaze. “Think about it.” And with that, he stands up from the table and leaves his dishes in the sink, before walking out of the kitchen.
After he’s gone, Spencer stares out the window, watching the people across the street leave for work for the day. The girl that’s skipping rope, relishing her first few days of summer vacation. Bogart, as he starts nosing a rawhide around the kitchen floor.
When he picks his toast back up again, it’s gone cold.
*
The problem is, Shane said think about it, and Spencer-
It’s totally futile to hope for anything more, Spencer knows, but once-
Well. Once the idea’s in his head (see: that fucking conversation with Jon fucking Walker that started this whole mess) it won’t fucking leave. So Spencer wonders. Because hope springs ever-fucking-eternal, right?
Like, when Brendon sits down next to him on the couch for their late night video game battle, and his knee is pretty much pressed against Spencer’s, is it because he’s Brendon and Spencer’s Spencer and they’ve lived in each other’s space for too long for there to be any boundaries left? Or is it something else?
Or the next night, when Brendon begs off dinner out with Amanda and Joe to watch an evening full of Cartoon Network with Spencer, is it because Brendon’s as tired as he says? Or is it because Ryan fucking tweeted about playing guitar on one of Eric’s tracks and it’s still as hard for him to hear about it as it is for Spencer? Or is it something else?
He only gets to wallow in his wondering for so long, though, before it’s back to business, because Pete invites himself to the studio one afternoon, to see what they’ve been working on, and it’s not that Spencer’s worried?
It’s just that he’s really fucking worried.
But it’s only because- Okay, it’s not that they’re a band without a direction, see, or that Spencer doesn’t trust Brendon to get the job done (he does, more than he can put into words). It’s just. Everything. It’s not that he feels like they’re auditioning again, or getting songs ready for the audition. It’s more, just.
It’s more that Spencer so desperately wants Pete to like what they’ve come up with that he can’t really stand it. Also because he’s not quite sure what will happen if Pete doesn’t like it.
Pete seems intent on drawing out the torture, too, because he doesn’t let them drag him down to the music room when he first arrives. Instead, he insists on going out to the backyard and shooting the shit for awhile, where ‘shooting the shit’ means that Pete tells them approximately 5,000 Bronx stories, and then lets Bogart entice him into a game of tug of war with a ratty old knotted rope.
And it’s weird, okay? Because Spencer starts to relax with the conversation-it’s hard not to laugh at the tales of Bronx’s antics-but the desire to just get the music portion of the afternoon over with just coils more tightly inside of him.
Eventually, Pete seems to have had enough of a social hour, and he lets Brendon lead them all downstairs. Pete is the one to shut Bogart-he’d proudly followed them down the stairs ready to continue hanging-out of the room, and then he sits down in one of the chairs in the corner as they start to tune their instruments.
“Hemmy would be starting to howl right about now,” Pete says. “Which would set Bronx and Rigby off. Which is probably why I will never be doing another demo in my house until Bronx is in kindergarten. Or at least preschool.”
Spencer laughs, then starts his warm-ups, watching Brendon out of the corner of his eye. He’s acting mostly relaxed, mostly, seeming just a bit frazzled around the edges, but given the way that Spencer’s feeling, he’s pretty sure that that’s to be expected. Spencer has no doubt that even that will fade away once they actually start playing. Indeed, by the time Brendon grins at Pete, his ‘on stage’ smile, he already seems looser, ready to let the music flow.
They start with the song they submitted for the Jennifer’s Body soundtrack, because Pete hasn’t heard it live yet, and from there they move into ‘Oh Glory’ and then on to the Sinatra piece, the cabaret, and the one that Spencer’s been trying to develop more of a Latin beat for.
And Pete, whenever Spencer looks over, is nodding his head in what Spencer considers to be all the right places. Midway through, he starts tapping his foot along with the beat and-
“Yeah,” he says, when they finally break off. “Fuck, yeah.” His grin is wide.
And Spencer-
Spencer feels a tension he hadn’t quite been aware he was carrying around with him drain out of his body. He feels giddy with it and Brendon looks just as giddy as Spencer feels and all Spencer wants to do is just hug the fuck out of Brendon, because if Pete likes it-Pete, who’s believed in them from the very start-the chances of other people liking it are-
So, Spencer doesn’t even think. He just stands up from behind his kit and goes over to where Brendon’s standing, putting his guitar back on the stand over by the wall, and maybe Brendon’s feeling exactly what Spencer is, because Brendon’s the one to wrap himself around Spencer, holding on as tightly as he can.
Spencer doesn’t let go until Pete clears his throat behind them, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He says, “So, I think we need to celebrate. Tonight? The two of you want to come on over for dinner at our place? Get some Bronx stories of your very own?”
“Absolutely,” Brendon says, then looks at Spencer for confirmation. He’s still standing in Spencer’s space, their shoulders brushing, and Spencer nods. “Yeah,” he says.
Spencer has no doubt that there’s going to be more to the dinner than celebration, that there will be talk about the announcement, the ‘what next’. But for now, Spencer’s content to let things play out as they will.
As soon as the door to the music room opens, Bogart is bounding in, barking his hellos, and then he leads the way back upstairs as they show Pete out.
“Six o’clock,” Pete says. “We’ll see you there.”
“You will,” Brendon says. “Absolutely.”
Then Pete’s gone and it’s just Brendon and Spencer again, and Brendon is bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and he looks like he wants to give Spencer another hug, so Spencer opens up his arms and says, “Come here.”
Brendon does.
He presses his nose to Spencer’s neck, so Spencer allows himself to do the same. And again, he just holds on. The two of them just stand there, for who knows how long, and Spencer just breathes.
*
Ashlee greets them at the door, Bronx balanced on her hip. She says, “I would give you guys hugs, but my arms are a little full right now.” Her smile is wide, her hair up in a sloppy ponytail.
“Bah,” Bronx says, as if agreeing with his mom, and he holds the sippy cup full of water that he’s currently got clutched in his hands out to Brendon. Brendon says, “Thank you, Bronx!” then holds out his hands to take the baby from Ashlee. Because he’s Brendon, and one of the things that Spencer’s learned over the years is that Brendon and babies are pretty much magnets for each other.
Bronx giggles as he makes the trip from Ashlee’s arms to Brendon’s, then immediately makes a grab for Brendon’s glasses. “Yeah, no,” Brendon says, disengaging Bronx’s fingers as gently as possible. “We’ve got to leave the glasses alone, okay? Okay?”
“Bronx takes bribes,” Pete says from the doorway to the dining room, and Spencer starts, because he’d apparently been so wrapped up in watching Brendon and Bronx that he hadn’t even heard Pete approach. Although, in his defense, Pete can be a sneaky fucker when he wants to be.
“Toys,” Ashlee says. “Walks.”
“Songs,” Pete says. “I bet he’d totally leave your glasses alone if you sang him a lullaby later tonight. Just, um. Don’t let him know it’s a lullaby, ‘cause he’s not really down with the whole bedtime thing.”
“Because all of the exciting things in life happen after he goes to bed,” Ashlee says. Brendon nods, like he knows what they’re talking about, and Spencer feels like he should, but it’s been a long time since his sisters were this little, and he’s not that much older than they are.
“So if I sing you a l-u-l-l-aby tonight, you’ll leave my glasses alone?” Brendon asks Bronx very seriously, and Spencer watches Bronx watch Brendon for a long moment, before he starts giggling and kicking his feet.
“Okay,” Brendon says. “It’s a deal.” He sticks his finger out for Bronx to grab, then shakes it, like they’re sealing the deal. A moment later, Brendon looks over his shoulder at Spencer, his smile so bright, and that’s when Spencer realizes that he’s already smiling back. And, well, it’s not like he didn’t acknowledge his change of feelings days ago, weeks ago, but he can’t help thinking it again: so, so fucked.
They move to the back porch pretty much immediately, because that’s where Pete and Ashlee do most of their entertaining. Spencer takes the chair facing back towards the house, leaving Brendon, Pete and Ashlee to fight over who gets to sit next to the baby. Ashlee wins, of course, by virtue of raising one perfectly groomed eyebrow in her husband’s direction. Pete pouts, then motions for Brendon to take the other seat.
“He’s going to try to steal your pizza,” Pete says. “You’ll probably have to bribe him with another song tonight, just to get him to leave your food alone.”
“I made pizza,” Ashlee says. “In case that wasn’t obvious already.”
“And it’s going to fracking rock your taste buds,” Pete says. “Or scorch them.” He winces, then, and given the calm smile on Ashlee’s face, Spencer’s guessing that she just kicked at his leg under the table.
“One time,” she says. “One time!”
“But my taste buds died happy,” Pete adds, nodding sagely. At which point, Spencer hears the sounds of a kitchen timer, and Ashlee jumps up.
Brendon gets up, too. “Do you need help with anything?” he asks, but he’s already following Ashlee into the house before she responds. Which leaves Pete, Spencer and Bronx out on the porch.
Pete closes his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back, then says, “I know I said that this was going to be a celebration, but at some point we’re going to need to talk about when to announce.”
Spencer nods. He was expecting this, after all.
“Have you dudes talked about it at all?”
“Not yet,” Spencer says, and he knows that there were good reasons for not announcing the split immediately-mostly so that all of them, both bands, could get a firm grip on this post-split world, without their fans, the media, everyone analyzing every move that they make. There will be more than enough analyzing for all of them, Spencer’s sure, to come in the future.
Now, though, when they’ve been sitting on the news for almost six weeks, Spencer almost wishes that they’d just gotten it over with already, because if they had, they already be through the worst of everything. They could just… concentrate on the music. Get ready for the tour.
“We talked to Ian about going out on tour with us,” Spencer says.
Pete nods his head, like it was a logical choice. In Pete’s head, it probably was. Ian may not technically be on DecayDance anymore, but Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if Pete weren’t ready to offer Ian a solo contract the moment it looked like the kid might actually take him up on it.
“He said yes,” Brendon says, coming back out onto the porch, carrying an oversized salad bowl in one hand, three bottles of dressing clutched in the other. “In case you were wondering.”
“Like he’d be crazy enough to say no,” Pete says. Whether he means saying no to playing with Brendon and Spencer or going on tour with Blink, Spencer doesn’t know. And Spencer has to swallow then, because there are at least two people who chose not to. He looks up, meets Brendon’s gaze, and Brendon’s smile is a little tight, too.
“And on the most important instrument on stage?” Pete asks. He sounds a little more carefree than he had a moment ago, like maybe he’d realized what he said could have possibly been interpreted the wrong way.
“Do you know Dallon?” Brendon asks. “Weekes? Of the Brobecks? He’s, um. He’s friends with the guys in Phantom Planet?”
“Of course he is,” Pete says. “Because you dudes all like to keep it in the family. I mean, what, Ryan’s been talking about hanging out in the studio with Alex, and-“
“We like Dallon,” Spencer says. “And he’s, you know. He’s not looking for anything. He’s already got a band.”
“That’s good,” Ashlee says, and Spencer hadn’t actually noticed her bring the pizzas out: two of them, one balanced on each hand. “You all, you just need to get back on your feet, you know? Get back out there on stage.”
“We do,” Brendon says. “That is so exactly what we need.”
“But,” Pete says. “They’ve got a new song, which is fuc- um , awesome, and their demos are-You’ve got to let Ash listen to the cabaret one, okay? She’s going to love it.”
“Because cabaret is the way to a girls heart,” Ashlee says. Then, “You aren’t going to talk business all night, are you? Because I was pretty sure this was supposed to be a celebration?”
“And it is,” Pete says. “So I guess we aren’t talking business anymore.”
And while part of Spencer feels like they need to keep talking business, that they should, more of him wants to thank Ashlee for putting a stop to that conversation. Because he really just. He wants to celebrate.
So, they start talking about pretty much anything but the next few weeks. If Spencer thought Pete had a lot of Bronx stories, Ashlee has even more, and Brendon starts chiming in with tales of his nieces and nephews, and then Hemmy and Rigby decide to join them out on the porch, which starts up the dog stories, and then the dog and baby together stories, and Spencer just lets the whole conversation wash over him. Because it does feel good to be sitting here, with friends, just hanging out.
Until, that is, Pete pulls out his phone and starts flipping through the 80 million pictures of Bronx (and really, Spencer thinks that 80 million might be an under-estimation), to find the one of Hemmy and Bronx fast asleep together in the middle of Pete and Ashlee’s bed.
At which point, Brendon pulls out his phone and starts flipping through his own pictures (mostly of his dogs, Spencer’s pretty sure), until he apparently finds the one he wants because he then says, “Ah ha! I see your sleeping Bronx and Hemmy and raise you a sleeping Spencer with two sleeping dogs.”
And Spencer wants to say, ‘What?’ He wants to say, ‘What the ever-loving fuck?’ because-Because the only picture that he remembers Brendon taking of him and the dogs, when they were all asleep, was way, way back when, right after Spencer had moved in.
“Shit,” Pete says when he takes Brendon’s phone to look at it, and he’s pretty much cackling, and then he shows Spencer the picture, and indeed, it’s that one from his first day of surfing, where he was too tired to move. “That is fuc-um, fracking awesome, dude. You totally need to send me a copy of this. We can put it in the Clandestine holiday card.”
“The fuc-um, hell you will,” Spencer says. Then he looks at Brendon, one eyebrow raised, and his heart is beating maybe just a little bit faster than he’d like it to be, and he’s sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for why Brendon still has that picture on his phone. Really. Like he just hadn’t cleaned out the files in awhile. Or. Something. And he should really just leave it alone, he knows, but before he really thinks about it, he says, “You took this, like, months ago.” He leaves the ‘why do you still have it?’ unsaid.
He expects Brendon to laugh it off, give his excuses. Instead, Brendon ducks his head and turns just a shade pinker than he was a moment ago; not enough, Spencer thinks, for Pete to notice and call him on it. But Spencer, who’s known Brendon for so long now that he almost doesn’t remember a time before Brendon; Spencer, who feels like he knows Brendon better than perhaps anyone else right now-
Well, Spencer can tell.
“My dogs,” Brendon says just a moment too late. “They’re fuc-um, flipping adorable. I can never have too many pictures of my dogs. You know this. You know how this goes.” He carefully does not look at Spencer as he says it, and Pete says something in response, but Spencer doesn’t hear it, because he’s too busy thinking, huh.
Because Shane had said-
Because if Shane had-
If Spencer thinks-
If Brendon-
Before his thoughts can continue along that path too far, though, Bronx starts to get fussy, twisting and turning, first in Brendon’s grasp, then Pete’s, and finally Ashlee’s, moving the conversation from pictures to soothing words. He starts crying three times in ten minutes, calming down relatively quickly each time, but still, Spencer’s not surprised when Ashlee says, “Okay, baby, I think it’s time for you to go to b-e-d.”
“So I get to sing now?” Brendon asks.
“Absolutely,” Pete says, and somehow that turns into all of them heading up to Bronx’s bedroom after Ashlee changes him into his PJs and gets him one last bottle. It’s a fucking huge bedroom for a seven month old, but that also means that four adults can crowd around the crib and it’s not actually so crowded.
Spencer doesn’t start to feel slightly out of place until Brendon sits down in the rocking chair and Ashlee puts Bronx down on his lap. Then Brendon says, “I, um. There’s one I used to sing to my nephew? Way back when?”
“Go for it,” Pete says, and Ashlee nods. She’s leaning against Pete’s shoulder, and he’s got an arm wrapped around her waist, and Spencer feels even more like this is an intimate moment, one he shouldn’t be here for, except then Brendon starts singing. Softly, more tenderly than Spencer’s used to him singing, and Spencer watches as Bronx goes from shifting restlessly in Brendon’s arms, looking for his parents, to staring up at Brendon’s face, smiling.
Brendon sings a second song without being prompted, and Bronx stays quiet throughout, his hand fisted loosely in Brendon’s shirt. Tiredly. Spencer can already tell that he’s fading.
He only starts feeling awkward again when Brendon falls silent, because Pete is leaning over to give Ashlee a kiss, and Brendon’s just sitting there and holding the baby, and-
“So basically,” Pete says a minute later, quietly, because Bronx is pretty much settled now, “we need to just employ you to come over every night and sing our baby to sleep. Think you might be interested?”
“Of course,” Brendon says. “Except that might be hard, what with the whole touring musician thing and all.”
“So we’ll just get a recording,” Ashlee says. “We already have Patrick’s lullaby; we can start a collection.”
“I would be down with that,” Brendon says, and then Pete, Spencer, and Brendon take their leave, while Ashlee puts Bronx to bed, for real.
They don’t stay too much longer after that, and when Pete shows them to the door, he says, “This was fun. I think we need to do this again next week, yes?”
“Yeah,” Brendon says, and Spencer echoes him only a moment later.
The ride home is quiet, Brendon still humming the lullaby under his breath for the first few miles, before he puts on the new Imogen Heap and starts singing along with that. He’s tapping his foot on the gas pedal, his fingers on the steering wheel, and Spencer, he just can’t stop looking over. So, eventually, he doesn’t stop trying; he just watches Brendon, knowing he looks far too fond, because half an hour ago, Brendon had been singing Bronx to sleep. Because Brendon still has a five-month old picture of Spencer on his phone. Because Shane had said Brendon might surprise him, and for the first time, Spencer’s actually letting himself think that Shane knew what he was talking about.
Finally, at a red light, Brendon looks over at Spencer and says, “What?”
Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Just. It was a good night.”
Brendon grins at him, bright. “It was,” he says. “It was.” Then, “So, when we get back, do you want to help me record a lullaby?”
“Of course,” Spencer says.
*
They don’t get up until late the next day. Spencer wakes up at 11 to find a note on the fridge from Shane, saying that he and Regan are off looking at furniture for their new place, and no sign that Brendon has rejoined the world of the upright and awake. So Spencer makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, pours the dregs of the coffee pot into a cup, and goes outside to sit on the back porch.
It’s calm, quiet, muted sounds of the city around him, and he sits there, staring out at the yard, thinking.
About Brendon. About Shane’s comments. About all of the little things that he’d decided that he was reading too much into, really, no really.
And they’re good thoughts, ones that make warmth curl in his stomach, his chest. Ones that make him smile out over the yard as Dylan wrestles Bogart to the ground, head butting him repeatedly, then yelping as Bogart retaliates and starts chasing her. And he- He lets himself think what might happen if Shane actually knows what he’s talking about.
In his mind, it’s easy to test it: he’ll crowd up close to Brendon in the kitchen and Brendon’s breathing will quicken, catching in his throat, and Spencer will have no choice but to push him back against the counter and kiss him. Or maybe they’ll play an epic Guitar Hero match and when they beat a tricky song on hard, there will be celebrating, hugs from which Spencer does not let go. Or maybe-
There are a hundred different ways for this to play out, Spencer thinks, most of them badly or awkwardly, but the ones that don’t… The ones where Shane is right, where Spencer is not reading too much into anything, where he actually takes the chance and Brendon doesn’t run away, doesn’t let things get awkward, doesn’t decide he can’t work with Spencer and embarks on a solo career or goes back to Ryan and Jon, well-
Which brings up the other, less happy thoughts.
Because Pete’s right. They do need to talk to Ryan and Jon; they need to make it official. Because they’re joining the Blink tour in five weeks, and FBR is already talking about a date to release the single, and-And Spencer has never had any doubts that they made the right decision, that the split is a good thing, but six weeks into this new world order, there has been no talk of getting back together, reconciling. And Spencer knows (knows) that if it was going to happen, it would have happened already.
It’s not going to happen.
These are the thoughts he’s thinking when he hears the door out onto the porch open again. When he looks over his shoulder, Brendon’s standing there dressed in sleep pants and a ratty t-shirt. He’s got a mug in one hand, a cup of yogurt and a spoon in the other, and Spencer-if he was thinking about anything else, anything at all, he’d let himself look. Well, more.
As it is, Brendon’s smile fades just a little in the face of Spencer’s serious expression, but he still comes forward, still sits down in the chair next to Spencer’s. He opens his yogurt, then looks at Spencer and asks, “Everything okay?”
Spencer nods, then shrugs. “We need to call Ryan and Jon,” he says. “We-we need to make the announcement soon.”
Brendon stills, then he jerks his head up and down, once, twice.
And after that, there’s really not much for Spencer to do but go into the house and get his phone. He sits back down in his chair, looks at Brendon who’s studiously looking out at the dogs, playing, then takes a deep breath and dials.
Ryan answers on the third ring, sounding giggly and out of breath, and Spencer can’t help his wince. Beside him, Brendon shifts in his chair and when Spencer looks over, he sees that Brendon’s watching him with a concerned expression.
“Spence!” Ryan says, and Spencer takes a deep breath before he makes himself smile and say, “Ry, hey.”
“What’s up?” Ryan asks, sounding more serious now, like he’s able to tell that quickly from Spencer’s tone that this isn’t a social call. At some point, Spencer thinks, they will be able to call each other up again and shoot the shit, laugh about respective recording stories, tour stories. At some point every word they say won’t be weighted with, well, everything else that’s going on. History.
“We-“ Spencer starts, then looks back down at the boards of the deck beneath his feet. He rubs his toe lightly over the grain of the wood. He swallows, then says, “Brendon and I, we were over at Pete’s last night, and he pointed out-We need to make the announcement soon.”
There’s silence on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, Spencer wonders if Ryan’s feeling regret? Anger? Because five years ago, the idea of hanging out at Pete’s was just about everything Ryan had ever wanted in this world. And now Spencer and Brendon are the ones who are doing that. They’re the ones who have Pete coming into the studio to listen to them.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Yeah, we do.”
“FBR’s talking about announcing our single,” Spencer says, and the words taste sour on his tongue, because fuck. For the best or not, it still fucking hurts. It still feels completely fucking wrong. “They’re talking August drop. They want to get the word out there.”
“That’s-“ Ryan starts and he doesn’t sound giggly anymore. He swallows audibly, maybe biting back what he really wants to say. Beside Spencer, Brendon stands up, the legs of the chair scraping back loudly over wood. Spencer thinks he’s going to go inside; that’s what Spencer would do. He wants to be pretty much anywhere else, not having this conversation.
Brendon doesn’t go inside.
Instead he walks over to the corner of the porch and picks up a bedraggled tennis ball. He bounces it once, drawing the dogs attention, then tosses it across the yard and sits down on the steps, waiting for one of the dogs to bring it back. His knee, Spencer sees, is bouncing up and down spastically.
“So we need to announce,” Spencer says. “We should, um. The four of us should probably get together, you know? So we can figure out exactly what to say.”
And it shouldn’t be that hard to suggest meeting up, Spencer thinks. The idea of the four of them getting together in one room should never be something he worries about like he’s worrying now.
“I’ll talk to Jon?” Ryan says. “We’ll get back to you?”
And it’s-it’s not the answer Spencer wants, but he says, “Okay, yeah. Let us know.”
“I will,” Ryan says. And then there’s a pause, like he doesn’t know what to say, and Spencer-they didn’t even fucking part on bad terms. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.
“So, um, I’ll talk to you later,” Spencer finally says, and Ryan says the same, and then Spencer’s hanging up. He’s hanging up and staring at his phone, then closing his eyes and tipping his head back so that he can feel the sun on his face, hoping it dissipates this sudden chill that he’s feeling.
He opens his eyes when he hears Dylan bark once, sharp, and looks over in time to see Brendon toss the ball again. Bogart barks at Dylan, as if scolding her for getting a head start on him, and Spencer, well. He smiles.
He also gets up and walks over to where Brendon’s sitting, then sits down next to him. Brendon doesn’t look over at him; instead, he’s sitting with his arms almost wrapped around his knees, looking down at the ground. His shoulders are tight, his foot jerking up and down, his leg trembling with it.
“Ryan’s going to let us know,” Spencer says.
Brendon nods, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t look over at Spencer.
“It’ll be fine,” he continues, and he thinks he sounds pretty sure of himself, because as much as it still hurts to hear about Ryan and Jon’s stuff, well. He is happy that they’re getting to do what they want to do. Just like he’s happy that he and Brendon are getting to do what they want to do.
Bogart brings the ball back this time, after taking a detour through most of the yard, Dylan right on his tail. Brendon reaches out to take the ball from Bogart’s mouth, then tosses it again immediately before wiping his hand on his sleep pants and letting his legs drop back to the ground.
“Brendon?” Spencer asks, and they’re sitting close enough that Spencer can almost feel the deep breath that Brendon takes, the way he steels himself with it. Then Brendon’s looking at him, an expression in his eyes that Spencer hasn’t seen since that day in the dog park, when Brendon flipped out about whether or not he’d be able to carry the album.
“I-“ Brendon says, and he’s sitting up so fucking straight. “I’m, um. I’m going to do something now, and Shane said that I-he said that you might surprise me and-“
And Spencer thinks, oh fuck, because suddenly he can guess where this is going. He opens his mouth to say, well. He’s not sure what. Something. But Brendon’s still talking.
“I mean, if you, like-I need to do this now, because, I mean. It’s not too late for you to go with Ryan and Jon, right? I mean-“
And now Spencer’s frowning (despite the fact that he’d been thinking similar thoughts earlier), because seriously.
“And I just, I-“
And even though Spencer had been this close to just leaning over and kissing Brendon to shut him up, he’s actually caught off guard when Brendon closes the space between them, when he feels lips pressed to his. It doesn’t start out as a good kiss, because it’s an awkward angle, and Spencer’s nose is bending against Brendon’s, and Brendon’s too tense, as if he’s expecting Spencer to pull away now, now, any second now, and Spencer-
It takes him a moment, but then he raises his hand to Brendon’s cheek, thumb brushing against Brendon’s stubble, and he manages to tilt his head just a bit to the right, keeping Brendon where he is, and then, there, and he hears a moan, and he’s not sure if it’s Brendon or him. He decides that it doesn’t really matter, though, because Brendon’s bringing a hand up to Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer’s hand is sliding from Brendon’s cheek to his neck, fingers slipping through Brendon’s hair, and it’s so easy for Spencer just to hold on, to let his lips part, for one of them to deepen the kiss.
Spencer’s not actually sure how long they stay sitting there, kissing, but they don’t pull back until they hear a sharp bark. Spencer doesn’t know which one of them actually breaks the kiss, but they stay sitting there, foreheads pressed together, for another long moment. Spencer lets his eyelids slip open, watches Brendon’s lashes flutter against his cheeks, and then they’re eye to eye, nose to nose, and Brendon looks a little dazed, but it fades quickly into a fucking huge grin.
“Um,” Brendon says, which makes Spencer laugh. “Yeah,” he says.
Bogart barks a second time, and when Spencer looks down, he sees the dirty old tennis ball at their feet, ready to be tossed again. Spencer rolls his eyes and picks it up, lobbing it in a long arc about halfway across the yard.
He turns back towards Brendon and sees Brendon watching him, looking-not uncertain, but a little confused maybe, like he hadn’t expected that reaction from Spencer at all.
“Shane possibly told me I should talk to you weeks ago,” Spencer says. “That you might surprise me.”
That makes Brendon laugh. “Fucker,” he says, but fondly. “He totally knows how fucking gone I’ve been on you for fucking-I don’t even know how long.” And Spencer wants to say, ‘me too. I’m totally fucking gone, too.’ He doesn’t, though.
Except all of a sudden he realizes that he could. That he can. Because Brendon is- Because Brendon feels- And that, Spencer’s pretty sure, is a thought worthy of a kiss right there, and that’s something that Spencer can do now.
So he does.
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