Archive of Our Own ^beta

 

You gotta swim, swim in the dark
There's no shame in drifting
Feel the tide shifting and wait for the spark

Yeah, you gotta swim, don't let yourself sink
Just find the horizon
I promise you, it's not as far as you think
- "Swim," by Jack's Mannequin

 

There is a split-second glimpse of dark, curly hair and an oversized, orange-and-white striped sweater at the entrance to the student union, and Spencer dives behind the table, nearly taking his bagel and cream cheese and Ryan's coffee with him. "Oh, crap. Hide me!" he wheezes, wincing as his kneecap connects painfully with the tile flooring.

"Dude!" Brendon frowns as Ryan fumbles the coffee upright, quickly offering a napkin to mop up the milky brown puddle as it runs toward the edge of the table and Ryan's lap. "What the fuck is up with you?"

"It's Clarissa," Spencer hisses, trying to angle his body so that Ryan's wiry frame will shield his bulkier one from view. "I can't let her see me."

Ryan swats at him irritably. "She didn't even come in. I saw her and Janice just walk off in, like, the complete opposite direction."

Spencer can't help the sigh of relief that escapes his lungs. Safe, at least for now. He heaves himself back up into his seat, his eyes darting around the café. Just to be certain; you can never be too certain. Once he's seen for himself that the coast is clear, he glances sheepishly at his friends. "Sorry." Ryan is glaring at him, holding his coffee cup up expectantly. Spencer sighs and gets up again, heading for the counter.

When he gets there, Jon is putting a lid on a to-go cup, which he then hands to Spencer. Jon is awesome. "I saw what happened," Jon says with a concerned expression. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just..." Spencer flaps a hand. "Complicated relationship issues."

"Ah, I gotcha," Jon says sympathetically. "Well, good luck with that. Oh, and there's no charge for this one," he adds with a sideways smile when Spencer reaches for his wallet.

"Thanks, man." Spencer returns his smile gratefully. Jon is awesome. "You are awesome."

"So they say," Jon concedes amiably, and waves him away.

Brendon is still frowning at him when he returns to their table. "What was that all about? I thought you were dating her."

"Just a couple of times!" Spencer protests, lowering his voice when Brendon's eyes widen and a few heads turn toward them. "It was seriously, like, twice, and then she got all weird and clingy and, like... stalkery." Spencer shudders at the memory of Clarissa 'just happening' to show up in all sorts of places where she had no business being. "And she kept taking pictures of me to send to her mom, and making me weird little presents and sending angry texts when she caught me talking to other girls... She's psychotic, I'm telling you."

"Wow, get buried under projects for a week and miss everything!" says Brendon, smirking.

"Ooh, Spence, tell him about the part where you caught her sleeping outside your dorm room," Ryan interjects enthusiastically.

"No way," Brendon says, sounding fascinated and smiling just a little more than Spencer thinks the occasion warrants.

"It's not funny," Spencer scowls. "There is seriously something wrong with that chick. She made these dolls for me? They were supposed to be the two of us, right, and she sewed our hands together."

"Aw, that's actually kind of sweet," Brendon coos.

"With red thread," Ryan clarifies.

"And a couple of staples," Spencer adds, taking a certain satisfaction in Brendon's horrified expression. He slumps in his seat and picks distractedly at a callous on his index finger. "I wish I could figure out how to get rid of her for good."

Ryan peers at him with interest. "You mean, like, kill her?"

"No, dumbass," Spencer growls back. "I just want her to leave me alone." He rolls his eyes at Ryan's disappointed expression.

"This is probably a dumb question," Brendon says slowly, "but have you tried telling her you're just not interested?"

"Oh, my god, yes," Spencer groans, dropping his face into his hands. "So many times." He presses his fingers against his eye sockets, wishing he could just push Clarissa and all his memories of her out of his brain and his life.

The table is silent for a few moments. "What if you told her you have a girlfriend?" Brendon offers.

Spencer shakes his head sadly. "She wouldn't believe it. She's always watching me -- it's so creepyyyyy," he moans.

"Every breath you take, every move you make," Ryan sings under his breath, and Spencer punches his arm. "Ow," he says flatly, covering the wounded spot protectively. "Every bond you break, every step you take, I'll be watching you," he finishes defiantly, and sticks out his tongue. Spencer rolls his eyes.

"Well," Brendon says, his tone thoughtful, "what if you actually had a girlfriend? Like, you know, even one that was actually fake, but Clarissa didn't know that?"

A tiny sprout of hope starts to push its way into Spencer's chest, only to be crushed in the next instant. "She'd probably try to kill whoever it was. I can't do that to anyone I know." He thunks his head down onto the tabletop. "If only I was gay. She'd have to leave me alone, then." A flash of white light slices through his brain like the sky opening up and he lifts his head so fast that the room swims a little in his peripheral vision. "That's it. I'll go gay. I just need a boyfriend." He ignores Ryan's snort and looks hopefully at Brendon. "Be my boyfriend? Please?"

Brendon's eyes go comically wide. "What? No!"

"Come on, I'm desperate, here."

Brendon's startled look morphs into one of annoyance. "Nice. You only want me because you're desperate? Fuck you." He crosses his arms over his chest, but Spencer doesn't think he looks or sounds all that offended.

"Who else am I gonna ask? Ryan?"

They both turn toward Ryan, who gives a single, resolute shake of his head. "No one would believe I'm gay. I only date girls."

Spencer lifts an eyebrow. The weird thing about Ryan is that he totally looks like he should be gay, with his tight girl-jeans, deep v-neck t-shirt, and flat-ironed and perfectly coiffed hair. Spencer refrains from mentioning it, though. "By 'date,' I assume you mean 'have sex with.' I don't think that actually counts as dating."

"It's the same thing," Ryan says, waving a dismissive hand. "Besides, you've proved my point."

Spencer turns his best puppy-eyed expression on Brendon again. "Brendon, please, I'm serious. I really need you to do this for me," Spencer pleads. "You don't know what she's like!" Brendon opens his mouth and closes it again, his eyebrows quirking uncertainly, and Spencer knows he's almost got him. "Pleeeeease?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ryan interjects, his eyes on Brendon.

Spencer waves him off. "Brendonnnnn," he whines.

Brendon's eyes shift sideways like he's afraid of being overheard, and he leans forward. Spencer can see a light flush beneath his dusting of freckles. "Spencer, I'm. I'm not exactly out," he says hesitantly.

Spencer blinks at him, taking in his red glasses, bright green hoodie and pink and purple sneakers, and thinks, Really? "I thought it was common knowledge," he says. Brendon frowns, and he hurriedly adds, "Among people we know, I mean. It's just sort of... unspoken?"

Brendon's mouth twists a little bit, but he shrugs and sits back, visibly letting it go. He contemplates Spencer for a moment before saying, "People besides Clarissa will think you're gay, too, y'know." It sounds a bit like a challenge, but Spencer is already ahead of him.

"I'll just tell them later that I'm bi," he shrugs. "But only after I'm sure Creepy Clarissa is out of my life for good."

Brendon just stares at him for a minute, his expression unreadable. "Okay," he says, finally. "But if she kills me, I'm so coming back to haunt you. And then you'll learn what creepy really is."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So, we should probably hold hands a lot, right?" Spencer asks, picking tiny fuzz balls off his blanket. Now that it's come down to the details, talking and even just thinking about the whole thing is uncomfortable and awkward. He's never felt awkward around Brendon before. He glances up, but Brendon is just nodding and staring down at the floor, his heels kicking against one of the drawers below Spencer's mattress. "And we should probably sit together whenever we can."

A crooked smile curls Brendon's lips as he looks up at Spencer. "We kind of already do that."

"Yeah, well." Spencer inexplicably feels his face grow hot. "Just. Closer together, then," he clarifies. Though, even that is not that different from how they normally are; Spencer has grown so accustomed to Brendon's easy, physical affection that he's barely aware that their sense of personal space -- which is practically nonexistent -- is not the same as it is for most people.

"Do you want to, like, purposely go somewhere that she'll be sure to see us, or anything?"

Spencer mulls that over for a few moments. "No... I think we should just go places and do stuff that we would, anyway. Just, be as normal as possible. Only... gayer."

Brendon turns his face away from Spencer. "Just how far do you want to take this?" he asks quietly. "Do you want me to sleep here?" Surprised, Spencer almost laughs, but the look Brendon sends his way -- a weird mix of wary, sad and hopeful -- stops him.

"Um, no. No, I don't think that's necessary." Brendon's face goes carefully blank. "I mean, I probably wouldn't... I haven't even... What I mean is that I." Seeing Brendon's eyebrows lift toward his hairline, Spencer flops backward onto the bed and throws an arm over his eyes. "Oh, god, now I'm babbling. Fuck. Just shoot me now." The bed dips beside him, the mattress creaking as Brendon lies down beside him. Spencer can't bear to move his arm, sure that his face is as red as a stoplight.

"Hey," Brendon breathes. There's a light touch on his free hand, Brendon's fingers weaving loosely through his own. "It's okay. Me, too." Spencer huffs a little and squeezes Brendon's fingers. He doesn't take his arm off his face for awhile, though.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Brendon insists on picking Spencer up at his dorm, arguing that it will make them look more 'attached.'

"Plus, this way I can protect you," he says, his voice ringing with bravado. "Gallantry. Chivalry. It's what I do, Spence." Spencer rolls his eyes and grabs Brendon's hand, pulling him toward the cafeteria and breakfast. As they cut across the lawn, Brendon seems a little preoccupied, a little quieter than usual. Spencer bumps shoulders with him, just checking in, and Brendon grins sideways at him. "My parents would be so scandalized right now."

Spencer glances away, something uncomfortable scratching across his skin. For the first time since he got the idea, Spencer kind of feels like a dick for making Brendon do this. It didn't go all that well for Brendon when he told his family he was leaving the Mormon church, and Spencer doesn't actually know whether or not Brendon came out to them, in addition.

He sneaks a look at Brendon from the corner of his eye, and as if he can read Spencer's mind, he says, "Dude, it's fine. Seriously." Unable to think of a response, Spencer casts another sideways glance, just to see if Brendon looks as okay as he claims he is. "And if you keep checking up on me, I swear to god I'm gonna kick your ass. And that would kind of wreck this whole chivalry thing I've got going here."

Spencer snorts, mollified. "As if you could take me. Wimp."

"Wuss."

"Pussy."

"Pansy."

Grinning, Spencer glances at Brendon again, and fortunately, Brendon is too busy laughing to notice.

 

Holding hands with Brendon is kind of weird. Spencer's palm gets all sweaty and he's hyper-conscious of both the contact and the other people on campus, just sure everyone's eyes are drawn to their linked hands. He shakes it off, though, because as long as the person who is supposed to see it actually does, any amount of discomfort is worth it. He switches his grip, lacing their fingers together instead. At least this way the air can reach the clammy places, right?

It gets easier as the day wears on. By the time he finds Brendon waiting outside the music building for their Advanced Music Theory class, he's automatically reaching for Brendon's hand, hardly even thinking about it. It's actually kind of nice; it's been awhile since Spencer had anyone to hold hands with, and even in make-believe it's sort of comforting. Every time they hook their fingers together, Brendon casts a look at him, a sweet smile curling his lips, and Spencer has to smile back. Brendon makes a perfect fake boyfriend.

By the third day, Spencer has become bold enough to improvise, throwing his arm over Brendon's shoulders as they head for the dorms at the end of the day. Something warm and pleased blossoms behind his breastbone when Brendon curves an arm around Spencer's waist. They must look very convincing as a couple.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ryan has already staked out a table at the student union café when they show up for their morning kill-time-between-classes bagels and coffee. His eyes drop to their joined hands before he looks back up and intones dryly, "So, Operation Gaydream continues apace, I see."

"Jesus, who talks like that?" Brendon mutters as he pulls out a chair.

Spencer lifts an eyebrow and hooks his thumb toward Ryan. "Have you met Ryan Ross?"

"Oh, yeah," Brendon says, feigning sudden enlightenment.

Ryan sniffs. "It's not my fault that my eloquence is lost on you two."

"Riiiight," Spencer drawls. Gesturing at Brendon to sit, he says, "I'll just... go get our stuff, okay? The usual?"

"Really?" Brendon asks, his pleased surprise shifting into comprehension. "Oh, okay, yeah. That'd be great. Thanks."

Spencer joins the short line to place his order, and sees that Jon already has Brendon's bagel plated and is working on his hot chocolate. There are not enough words for how awesome Jon is. Spencer beams at him.

"Your usual non-fat double-shot latte?" Jon asks him.

"As if I'd drink anything else," Spencer scoffs.

"Well, there was that one time you got a double-shot mocha..."

"Yeah, but that was just because Brendon wanted to try one and insisted that I get the same thing, for moral support, or something. And I can't believe you remember that!" Spencer adds, impressed.

"Like a steel trap, baby," Jon says, tapping the side of his head. "Well, at least until it comes to finding my keys," he admits. Spencer laughs. "Speaking of Brendon, I couldn't help but notice that you two are, uh..."

Spencer's face heats. "Uh, yeah. Kind of."

"More of those complicated relationship issues you mentioned the other day? Say no more," Jon says expansively, handing Spencer his tray of food. "I'm not a bartender, after all."

 

Back at the table, Spencer sets Brendon's bagel and hot chocolate down in front of him, then produces extra cream cheese and strawberry jam with a flourish. "Wow, thanks," Brendon grins at him.

"Best boyfriend ever, right, Urie?" Spencer brags.

Brendon drops his head and busies himself with his bagel. "Yeah, sure," he says, sounding a little too cheerful. "Not that I have any basis for comparison," he adds.

"Stop it," Spencer admonishes, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "I don't know why you don't already have an awesome boyfriend."

"Yeah, me neither," Brendon says quietly into his cream cheese.

Ryan shoots Spencer an inscrutable look. "Yeah," he says. "Me neither." Spencer sends back a What the fuck? with his eyebrows, but then Ryan is asking him if he's seen Clarissa since they started 'Operation Gaydream.'

"Oh, my god, will you stop calling it that?" Spencer grumps. "It's stupid. And, no, I haven't seen her, which is weird."

"Not necessarily," Ryan shrugs, sipping at his coffee. "Considering that she has to have seen the two of you together by now, she's probably just keeping out of sight, trying to figure out exactly what's going on."

"So she's out there spying on us?" Brendon looks a little freaked. "Holy shit. I really am going to wake up dead, aren't I?" Spencer wants to be reassuring, but he's feeling a little freaked, too. He remembers that he can hold Brendon's hand, though, so he does.

"Probably not," Ryan says, sounding noncommittal, "but the more convincing you guys can be, the more likely it is that she'll give up on Spencer altogether." Ryan glances over Spencer's shoulder, his calm expression turning startled before smoothing out again. "Er, not to alarm you, but she just came through the door." It takes everything Spencer's got to not turn around, and he clutches Brendon's hand tightly. Clearly trying to sound encouraging, Ryan suggests, "Just, you know, act normal."

"Only gayer. Right," Brendon murmurs, then turns to look at Spencer, his expression determined. "Look, don't freak out, okay? I'm going to kiss you. Just a peck on the lips. Okay?" Spencer swallows and nods. "Don't freak out," Brendon repeats, and then leans in. Afraid he's going to blow their whole charade, Spencer slams his eyes shut and waits. The moment stretches, seeming to take way too long, and then he's gasping in a tiny breath, surprised at the soft pressure on his lips even though he was expecting it. It's warm and damp and petal soft, and Spencer might actually find it nice if he wasn't so busy being completely hysterical inside his brain.

It ends as suddenly as it began, and Spencer pries his eyes open to find Brendon smiling shyly at him before turning away. Spencer stares helplessly, instinctively licking his lips. They taste of chocolate, the chocolate in the cup that Brendon is currently trying to hide his pink face behind. Spencer blinks and forces his eyes away when he realizes Ryan is speaking.

"Ooh, she doesn't look happy," Ryan says, hiding a grin behind his hand. "Nice going, guys."

"Is she... is she still there?" Spencer asks him.

"No, she's gone now." Ryan drops his hand, and his grin is wide. "She sort of stormed out, actually."

Spencer slumps in his chair, the tension whooshing out of his body. "Thank god," he breathes.

"I'd high five you, but, um..." Brendon trails off, and directs a significant look at the table where Spencer still has Brendon's hand in a death grip.

"Oh, sorry, dude," Spencer apologizes, opening stiff fingers to let him go. "That was some intense shit."

Brendon gingerly flexes his fingers a few times. "So, is that it? Are we done?"

"Um," Spencer says, "are we?" They both look at Ryan, like he's suddenly the plan's mastermind. Ryan, of course, doesn't even blink.

"I'm pretty sure that it would be better if you can keep it up for at least a few more days. I doubt that Clarissa is going to give up just like that, so you have to make it look serious. She has to lose all hope of getting Spencer back."

"She never had me in the first place," objects Spencer.

"Details," Ryan responds airily.

"So, a few more days, huh? Just to be certain." You can't be too certain. Spencer looks at Brendon. "You good with that?" Brendon chews his lip and nods without looking at Spencer. His leg is bouncing a rapid rhythm under the table, and Spencer stills it with his hand. He doesn't move until Brendon looks up at him. "We don't have to keep going if you don't want to. You've already done way more than I had any right to expect. So it's okay if you want to stop."

Brendon shakes his head fiercely. "No, no, I'm. I'm good. A few more days is no big deal, it's fine." He smiles, but there's something off about it. Spencer eyes him doubtfully.

"Well, okay. But if you change your mind-"

"I won't. It's cool." Brendon scoots his chair back and stands, saying, "I'm gonna go beg a refill out of Jon before we go. Then I'll walk you to your Lit class, okay?"

 

Spencer and Ryan dump their garbage and wait for Brendon by the door. "So," Ryan says, leaning casually against the door frame, "You just kissed a guy."

"Hm?" Spencer is distracted, watching Brendon talk and laugh with Jon. He likes seeing Brendon smile so happily; he hasn't looked all that happy for the last few days, and now Spencer is putting him through more of this... thing. God, Spencer really is a jerk. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I did." Spencer shrugs; his memory of the kiss is mostly lost in a fog of adrenaline. The surprise is that he kind of regrets that.

The other surprise is that he had expected to feel relieved when they could stop pretending, and instead... instead he feels relieved that they'll be pretending for a few more days. What the fuck is that all about?

"Huh," says Ryan succinctly, and leaves it at that. It's pretty much Spencer's exact sentiments.

 

On the way to class, Brendon stuffs their clasped hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. It's warm and pleasant, and a very couple-y thing to do. Impulsively, he squeezes Brendon's fingers, and Brendon gives him a smile before rambling on about a party that Jon told him he was having at his apartment on Saturday.

"We should go," Brendon urges. "He invited us, and Ryan, and whoever Ryan is dating at the moment..."

"You mean 'whoever Ryan is currently having sex with,'" Spencer interjects. Brendon laughs, making Spencer grin. "I mean, I'm not sure he can really bring a girl to this party, because that might constitute an actual date, and I'm pretty sure that's against the rules."

Brendon laughs harder. "You are a bad friend, Spencer Smith," he wheezes.

"Hey, I just call it like I see it," Spencer argues. They grin to themselves for a few yards, until Brendon says carefully, "I told him to invite Clarissa," and Spencer stops so suddenly that Brendon is dragged back by Spencer's hand in his pocket.

"What? Why?"

"Think about it, Spence. If she's there, and we're there, she'll see us together and it'll reinforce what she saw today." He looks at Spencer uncertainly. "It makes sense, right?"

Spencer looks down at his feet. "Yeah, I guess so. Duh." He's unexpectedly disappointed; he'd actually been thinking of the party as a fun thing to go to with Brendon. Like... just a chance to spend some time together, rather than a continuation of a pretend relationship. God, he's an idiot. A jerk and an idiot.

"You're right. We should go," Spencer says, keeping his tone light but decisive. He gives Brendon a smile that he doesn't really feel, and this time it's Brendon who squeezes Spencer's fingers.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Brendon's dorm is pretty quiet for a Saturday night, just a few doors open with music spilling out into the hallway, handfuls of people wandering between rooms. Spencer weaves his way through them to the second-to-last door, which is closed, so he raps out the rhythm of the Blink-182 song that is playing a couple of doors down. The door swings open to Brendon grinning and singing, "Na-na na-na na-na na-na na..." He trails off, grin fading. "Spencer?"

Spencer has forgotten how to breathe, speak, move -- pretty much anything that goes beyond standing and gawking. Brendon is dressed simply, in a tight black v-neck t-shirt and even tighter jeans, with his dark hair spiked up a little and black-framed glasses in place of his usual red ones. But, behind the glasses, Brendon's eyes are lined in black, accentuating his eyelashes and the deep brown of his irises. Spencer has to mentally shake himself and remind himself to exhale.

"Is it... is it too much?" Brendon stammers, his hand making an abortive gesture toward his hair and then his face before fluttering uncertainly at his side. "I can tone it down a little, if you think I've overdone it."

That jerks Spencer back from his reverie. "No! No, I mean... it looks great. You should leave it." Eyeliner is not new to Spencer; Ryan wears it sometimes -- he thinks it makes him look artsy and brooding, or something. But eyeliner on Brendon is a revelation. It's a trick he's been keeping up his sleeve for far too long, and Spencer can's stop looking.

"Really?" Brendon gives him a small, pleased smile. "Okay, if you're sure. I just... I don't get many opportunities to dress up, y'know?"

Spencer looks at Brendon and can't figure out why every gay guy on campus isn't knocking down his door. It kind of makes Spencer want to punch something. Brendon is seriously stunning; it just doesn't make sense.

"Really," Spencer tells him sincerely. "You look awesome, dude." Trying to ignore the expanding warmth in his chest at Brendon's widening smile, Spencer asks, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah." Brendon slips his key in his front pocket (seriously, it's about the only thing that would fit in that tight space) and calls back into the room, "Later, duder!" Brent's grunted response barely makes it out the door before Brendon slams it shut and grabs Spencer's wrist, practically dragging him back down the hallway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spencer hears the party before he sees it. They're a block away, and by the time he and Brendon round the corner and catch their first glimpse of revelers, Spencer is seriously impressed and Brendon is grinning. "Holy shit," Brendon says in awe.

Jon actually graduated the previous year, but he kept his apartment, which is near the edge of the campus, and his job at the café, which doesn't pay all that well, but 'suits his lifestyle.' How he can afford living expenses, let alone this massive a party, is a mystery, but Ryan's theory is that Jon is just such a great guy that people willingly 'contribute to the cause.' Like Jon's their favorite charity, or something.

Whatever the case, the upshot is that Jon knows a shit-ton of people, and it looks like they're all at this party.

Grabbing Brendon's hand -- almost a necessity to avoid being separated in the crowd -- Spencer wends his way through the partiers who have overflowed down the stairs and spilled out into the courtyard. People are even perched on the stairway itself, and line the walkway-slash-balcony that runs in front of the apartment entrances. They pick their way around bodies and over sprawled legs, following the thumping bass to Jon's open doorway where they're met with an almost solid wall of people, every one of them holding a cup or a bottle or a can of something liquid.

Spencer takes a deep breath. "Ready to make like a sardine?" Brendon nods and smiles, biting his lower lip. "Alrighty, then." They squeeze their way inside.

They've been to Jon's place many times, either to just hang out or to jam a little and daydream about starting a band someday. But they've never seen it like this; it's so packed that they can barely see the furniture, and Spencer catches Brendon wistfully eying the guitars that Jon has hung up on the wall to get them out of the way. They pass them by, though, pushing their way toward the kitchen in search of Jon and something to drink.

"I feel like an ant," Brendon shouts into Spencer's ear, and at Spencer's raised eyebrows continues, "like in one of those nature programs where they show the inside of the nest, and all the ants in the colony climbing over and around each other, trying to get where they need to go."

"That is totally this party," Spencer agrees.

"So, who's the queen, do you suppose?"

"Ryan," Spencer answers without missing a beat. "He always lets everyone come to him at one of these things." Brendon's cackle is easily audible over the beat of the music. "You just wait and see."

They finally break through into the kitchen, which is just as crowded as the rest of the apartment, but with food. There's booze, too: beer, wine, and a small selection of hard liquor and mixers. Jon is nowhere in sight, though.

"You want a beer?" Spencer asks. Brendon wrinkles his nose. "I think that would be a very bad idea," he replies. Spencer has to agree; they're sort of on a mission here, after all. Best not to impair their faculties, or whatever. He grabs them each a can of Coke.

They resume their search for Jon, squeezing down the short hallway to the bedrooms and choosing the one that smells most strongly of weed. Sure enough, Jon is draped over a beanbag chair, and he gives them a lazy wave when they push close enough. "Looking good, Bren. Spence." Brendon colors a little; it's a good look on him. Spencer grins and wiggles his eyebrows at Jon, out of Brendon's line of sight.

"Have you seen Clarissa?" Brendon asks Jon, trying to speak loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to be overheard.

"I think so, yeah," Jon drawls. "Not in awhile, but I'm pretty sure she's here. Somewhere." Grinning a syrupy smile, he holds up a bong, clearly an offer. Spencer exchanges a look with Brendon, and turns him down. Jon shrugs. "Suit yourself. There's food and shit in the kitchen, if you want it."

"Thanks, we saw," Spencer says, turning away with a wave of his hand. Into Brendon's ear he says, "And we're going to get a contact high if we stay in this room much longer!"

"Yeah," Brendon sighs, his expression longing. Spencer hesitates. "Do you want-" he starts, but Brendon cuts him off. "Nah. Another very bad idea," he says, smirking ruefully. "Come on."

 

The proportion of people they actually know in the crowd is pretty small, but they mingle and find a few friends here and there. They spot Ryan -- not budging (but accepting visitors), just like Spencer knew he'd be, and Spencer aims a wink at Brendon, who has to slap a hand over his mouth to hold in his mirth -- on the balcony outside the second bedroom and stop to talk for awhile. It turns out that he came alone, and Spencer stage whispers in Brendon's ear, "It's because he's afraid that if he takes a girl on an actual date, he would have to admit that she's his girlfriend. Can you imagine the horror?" He's rewarded with an eye-roll from Ryan and giggles from Brendon. Spencer considers it a job well done.

Ryan says he hasn't seen Clarissa, either, but like Jon, he's 'pretty sure she's here.' Though it seems possible that their pretend date is going to end up going to waste, Spencer's enjoying himself anyway, so maybe it's not that big a deal.

 

After a while, the claustrophobia gets to be too much, and Spencer grabs Brendon's hand and weaves his way out of the apartment, snagging an acoustic guitar on his way past. He spends a moment admonishing himself for not asking Jon first, but the guilt is totally worth it when he sees Brendon's face light up.

They find a spot out in the courtyard, a large boulder near a lamp post for Brendon to sit on while Spencer makes do with grass. It's a little cold through Spencer's jeans, now that the sun is down, but he barely notices; watching Brendon settle into the music is like seeing him take on a second skin, one that fits him even better than the one he was born with.

A few people drift over to listen, and before too long, Brendon has a small but appreciative audience as he works his way through songs ranging from The Beatles to Sublime. Spencer has seen him sing and play before, of course, when they jam together or when Brendon is just noodling around on his guitar, but it occurs to Spencer that he has never seen him perform. It's like someone flipped a switch and Brendon lit up from the inside, those watching him like moths drawn to a brightness that seems beyond the light that a mere streetlamp could cast.

Or maybe Spencer got a slight contact high after all.

But no... He closes his eyes and does a quick mental inventory, finding nothing else that would lead him to believe that he might be even slightly stoned. Returning his attention to Brendon and his tiny audience only reinforces Spencer's earlier opinion: Brendon has what can only be described as charisma. Who knew?

Spencer doesn't even try to look away.

Eventually, it begins to get downright cold and Spencer practically has to pry the guitar out of Brendon's hands and drag him back inside. Brendon protests, but he's beaded with sweat from his exertions and letting Brendon get sick is the last thing Spencer is going to allow to happen. Thank god some people have already left, because with everyone moving inside there is even less room to move than there was before, if that's even possible.

They look around, but they never do spot Clarissa. Either there are just too damn many people, or she is doing her best to stay out of sight. Or both.

Brendon tugs Spencer toward a spot in the hallway not far from the kitchen, and they just park there; it only gets bad when too many people try to crowd past at once, and Spencer has to try to squeeze next to Brendon against the wall to get out of the way.

Even conversation isn't impossible now, since some sane person realized that it was getting late and turned the music down a bit. So they end up doing what they nearly always end up doing: arguing good-naturedly about music.

"I can't even believe you'd think that," Brendon exclaims. "Paul Simon wrote way better music for Simon & Garfunkel than he ever has since he's gone solo."

"Oh, come on... 'Slip-Sliding Away'? The entire 'Graceland' album? Come on," Spencer argues. He's pretty sure Brendon agrees with him, but is just being obstinate.

"Well," Brendon says slowly, and knowing that he has at least partially won this round, Spencer is about to fist-pump when he is shoved roughly from behind and has to throw his arms out to catch himself against the wall to keep from crushing Brendon.

"Sorry, man," someone slurs on their way past. Spencer is readying a retort when he glances down between his arms to make sure that Brendon is okay, and for the second time that night, Spencer loses the ability to breathe.

Brendon's face is tilted up, his lined eyes wide and dark behind his glasses. Spencer's gaze drops to Brendon's mouth, he can't help it, and Brendon's lips are slightly parted and shiny, like he just licked them.

It's like Spencer doesn't have a choice, really. He leans down and slides his lips against Brendon's, inhaling sharply at Brendon's tiny gasp of surprise. Slotting their mouths together more carefully, he captures Brendon's full lower lip between his own, tentatively touching his tongue to the silky, wet parting of Brendon's lips. He feels, more than hears, the soft, throaty sound that Brendon makes, his mouth opening slightly against Spencer's. Spencer doesn't take advantage of it, though, instead nipping lightly at Brendon's bottom lip before pulling back.

Brendon is flushed and breathing unevenly, and his eyes search Spencer's face for a moment before glancing up and down the hallway.

"Did you... Did you see Clarissa?" Brendon asks, his voice sounding a little strained.

Spencer blinks. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, what did he just do? "Uh, I thought I did, yeah," he lies, trying to cover. "I wasn't completely sure, but I figured, you know. Better safe than sorry?" Pretend. This is pretend. He pushes down the panicky feeling clawing its way up his throat and gives Brendon a smile. "I'll bet that got her!"

"Yeah," Brendon says and looks away, removing his hands from Spencer's chest. Spencer hadn't even realized that they were resting there; maybe Brendon was going to use them to push him away if the kiss had gone on any longer. "Yeah, I'll bet it did. Um. I'm kinda beat. Do you mind if we go now?" His eyes flick to Spencer and away again. Spencer wants to stab himself in the foot.

 

The walk home is not exactly awkward, but it's terribly quiet. They hold hands, because there's still the Clarissa matter, but what had started to seem natural to Spencer now makes him twitchy and uncomfortable, the easy drape of their linked hands turned stiff and clumsy. If he's totally honest with himself, he actually kind of likes holding hands with Brendon, likes the contact, the connection, even if it's just part of an act. He's pretty sure that Brendon would rather not have to hold hands with him, now or ever again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spencer spends all of Sunday in his room. He opens a book to study, but spends most of his time staring out the window and reminding himself of every possible definition of the words 'pretend,' 'make-believe' and 'fake.'

Ryan doesn't come home, but he does text Spencer, saying, Busy. Go ahead & have dinner without me. Spencer texts back, K, but he doesn't bother to go eat.

Spencer expects Ryan again when his phone buzzes later in the evening, and his stomach does an unhappy flip-twist when he sees Brendon's name on the text alert. Same routine tomorrow? it says.

Oh, Spencer thinks, biting the inside of his cheek. Part of Spencer can't believe that Brendon is still willing to help him out with this thing. But of course he is, because he's Brendon. Another part of Spencer is aware that he's a giant douche for feeling so relieved about it. Spencer seriously does not deserve a friend as great as Brendon.

Yes please, he types, see u in the a.m. Thanks! It sounds as desperate and stupidly grateful as he feels. He changes the yes please to sure and deletes the thanks altogether. Giant, colossal douche, Spencer thinks, and presses 'send.'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If there's anything that could make Spencer feel worse than a quiet, withdrawn Brendon, it's a falsely cheerful Brendon. From the moment they meet on the sidewalk in front of the dorms, Brendon wears a smile that doesn't reach his eyes and chatters on about people that Spencer only vaguely knows and doesn't really care about. Spencer is torn between wanting to slap him and wanting to hug him really hard, but of course he just grits his teeth and doesn't do either.

On the plus side, the constant stream of words keeps Spencer from having to make any real conversation, only needing to contribute the occasional monosyllabic response.

They hold hands on the way to class and don't talk about Saturday night.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first thing out of Ryan's mouth when they walk up to his table is, "Don't you think you're being just a little overcautious?"

Spencer freezes in the middle of pulling out a chair, the scraping sound echoing in his ears. "What do you mean?"

Ryan's eyebrows lift. "Didn't Jon tell you? Clarissa left his party in tears. Whatever you guys did must have been very convincing."

"Yeah," Spencer says faintly, very carefully not looking at Brendon. Instead, he looks down at their joined hands. "I guess we don't need to do this anymore, then." He tells his hand to let go, watching his fingers uncurl as Brendon's do the same, and once his hand is empty, Spencer can't figure out what to do with it. Letting it dangle uselessly at his side, he waits for the feeling of relief to wash over him. It doesn't happen.

Spencer forces a smile. "Thanks, man," he says, risking a look at Brendon. Brendon's face is opaque, none of his usual expressiveness leaking through. Spencer didn't even know he could do that. "You really saved my ass."

And here is how fucked up his life has become: two weeks ago, Spencer would have gone for a hug, without a thought. Now, the best he can manage is to hoist his newly-unoccupied hand into the air for a high five, which Brendon obliges him with, the smile on his face an exact copy of the one he's been wearing all morning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Determined to return to some sort of normalcy, Spencer resolutely goes through his days doing exactly the same things and acting exactly the same way he did before this whole debacle. He's only thrown off his rhythm when he bumps into Brendon unexpectedly, his stomach dropping like he's suddenly supposed to give a speech that he hasn't prepared for.

Still, he thinks he's doing pretty well making everything look normal even if it doesn't feel that way. Or maybe he isn't doing as well as he thinks, because Ryan keeps shooting him assessing looks, raising his eyebrow when he catches Spencer's eye. It's only because Ryan knows Spencer way too well and he can probably tell that something's off. Spencer ignores Ryan's unasked question, and it's because of that same, long familiarity that Ryan doesn't press.

If only Spencer were as good at ignoring his brain: it keeps replaying Saturday night's kiss, analyzing how it happened, how it could have happened differently, and how he could have prevented it from happening at all. Plus, every possible permutation of how it could have turned out, from Brendon punching him in the face to the most ridiculous version, in which the kiss turns into a long make-out session, and they fall madly in love with each other. It's this last scenario that Spencer finds himself thinking about the most. He is, perhaps, less surprised about this than he thinks he should be.

After a short period of denial, Spencer is forced to confront the fact that he seems to have a bit of a crush on Brendon. It happens, right? You're around someone you really like enough, sometimes these things just... develop. But, it's especially weird, not only because Brendon's a guy, but because he's also one of Spencer's best friends, someone he's known for years; if it was going to happen, why didn't it happen before now?

Not that it really matters. It will pass; these things always do. Spencer mentally prepares himself to wait it out.

As for Brendon, he seems really... normal. Maddeningly so. When they were pretending to be a couple, it had felt like they were in it together, a united front. Now, Spencer just feels incredibly alone, and whenever he's around Brendon, he can't quite extinguish the tiny ache behind his ribs. He chalks it up to guilt over fucking up their friendship. He just hopes that they can get past it.

Spencer's quest for normalcy leads him to accept an invitation from Jon to come over for an evening of pizza and bad horror films. When Spencer arrives, Ryan and Brendon are already sprawled on the sofa with Jon, and the three of them shuffle over to make room for him. 'Normal' would not include sitting in the chair off to the side, tempting as it is, so Spencer wedges himself into the small space between Brendon and the armrest. He spends the next few hours painfully aware of Brendon's body heat in all the places where their arms, hips and thighs touch, and eventually finds himself wishing that he had an excuse to hold Brendon's hand.

Spencer mentally shakes himself; when did he get this pathetic?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Any shot at normalcy goes out the window a few days later. It's the dumbest little thing: Spencer and Brendon are sitting in one of the lounge areas of the student union -- big, overstuffed chairs and low tables, conducive to studying or quiet conversation -- and Spencer looks up from his book to see that Brendon has fallen asleep, his legs drawn up, body curled into the armchair like it's a nest.

Spencer allows himself to look, a rare opportunity with Brendon uncharacteristically still and also unlikely to catch Spencer looking. In repose, Brendon looks younger than his years, shadows on the planes of his face softened by light filtering through the windows, his lashes charcoal smudges below pale, smooth eyelids. His hair feathers against his cheekbone, too long between haircuts, and Spencer's fingers itch to push it back from his face.

It would be nice to wake up to that, Spencer thinks idly. It's like a sharp kick to the gut, the wind knocked right out of his lungs as he realizes that he wants that. He wants to wake up with Brendon sleeping beside him, wants to go to sleep listening to the rhythm of his breathing, wants to spend every possible moment just being near him.

Brendon sleeps on, oblivious, features smooth, his mouth very slightly open. Spencer aches to kiss him again.

He has to tear his eyes away and concentrate on breathing, feeling lightheaded and out of his depth. He needs to go, get the hell out of there, but he can't bring himself to just leave Brendon there sleeping. Leaning forward, his hand hovering over Brendon, Spencer is reluctant to shake him awake, any way he could touch him suddenly too intimate, charged with something that Spencer's not ready to deal with. He pulls his hand back.

"Brendon," Spencer says, and has to clear the gravel from his voice. "Hey, Brendon. Dude, you gotta wake up." The moment Brendon blinks awake, bleary-eyed and groggy, Spencer says, "Hey, I gotta go. Catch you later," and beats it out of there before Brendon can respond.

Fuck normal. Spencer is so far away from normal now that he can't even remember what it looked like.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spencer makes it through the rest of the day on autopilot; he gets done what he needs to, goes to class and takes notes, holds conversations, smiling and laughing in all the right places. His brain is somewhere else entirely, though, still reeling with shock. He tries to stop thinking about it, about Brendon, but it's a hopeless effort.

It's with a sickening flop of his stomach that he realizes just how much he's been thinking about Brendon lately. Apparently, the denial ran deeper than he realized.

He stays up later than he normally would on a weeknight, hoping to exhaust himself, and by the time he finally pours himself into bed he's almost too tired to care that Brendon is in his thoughts right up until he finally falls asleep.

 

The sound of his phone's alarm slices through his subconscious the next morning, melding dream with reality and leaving him momentarily confused. He groans, his brain thick and heavy as it flounders into consciousness. He can't remember why he feels like death, but he knows it's Wednesday because of the time his alarm was set for. That means that he has to survive one class before he sees Brendon and-

Brendon. Oh, god. Yesterday comes flooding back into Spencer's brain and panic creeps toward him. How can he be near Brendon, now? How can he still sit next to him in class, calmly have coffee with him at the same table, walk back to the dorms with him after class? Spencer buries his face in his pillow and tries to think soothing thoughts. The attempt is interrupted by a half-formed memory of the dream he was having when his alarm woke him: he has no idea what was actually happening in the dream, but he does know with certainty that it involved Brendon.

"I am so fucking doomed," Spencer tells his pillow. From the other bed, Ryan grumbles something unintelligible and turns over, but Spencer is pretty sure that he and his pillow are in agreement.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Brendon is already there when Spencer gets to his second class of the day; he doesn't look up as Spencer braces himself, taking a deep breath and gripping the straps of his backpack tightly as he crosses the room. "Hey," he says as he flumps down into the seat next to Brendon, but Spencer doesn't look at him.

"Hey, yourself," Brendon chirps. Spencer busies himself with his backpack, studiously digging for his pen and notebook. "You okay?" Brendon asks, some of the cheerfulness gone from his voice.

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dunno." Spencer sees the shrug out of the corner of his eye. "That's why I asked."

Unable to think of anything to say, Spencer is stupidly relieved when the professor begins the day's lecture.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If he had to describe it, Spencer would probably say that it's like his own skin doesn't fit right anymore. Nothing feels the way it should, and he's awkward and uneasy and distracted. Walking with Brendon toward the student union, Spencer is constantly adjusting the amount of space between them, trying to find a compromise between too close and too far away. There is no comfort zone anymore, no clear indication of where their personal space begins and ends, and Spencer can't remember what is 'normal' for them. He's never had to think about it, before.

He's so preoccupied that they're over halfway to the student union before Spencer realizes that Brendon's gone awfully quiet. Spencer can't even remember what Brendon had been talking about when they left class. Shit. Spencer Smith: doomed and a failure as a friend.

A sideways glance tells Spencer that Brendon is looking down at his feet as they walk. Spencer bites the inside of his lip and manages to come up with, "Um." Brilliant.

But Brendon's head comes up and something that might have been relief flickers across Brendon's face as he looks at Spencer. Spencer forges ahead. "You still up for our study session for our Theory midterm this weekend?"

"Hell, yeah," Brendon says, grinning crookedly. "I know you need me, Smith. I expect cookies," he adds loftily.

Spencer rolls his eyes. "With chocolate chips and M&Ms. I remember."

"It's sort of endearing, how much you suck at theory. Works out nicely for me, though."

Spencer sticks his tongue out, and Brendon just grins wider. I know you need me, Smith, Spencer's brain echoes, and he grits his teeth. Brendon doesn't know the half of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They beat Ryan to the café for a change. Brendon offers to go place their order, and Spencer uses the opportunity of his absence to breathe a sigh of relief -- though it turns out to be short-lived. He catches himself watching Brendon's retreating ass and drops his head onto the table with a thunk. "So doomed," he groans.

"What's up?" Ryan's voice asks, and Spencer is treated to a noogie before Ryan drops his backpack and slouches into the chair across from him.

Spencer closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before lifting his head and looking at Ryan imploringly. "Will you be home tonight?"

"Not until about nine. I've got a study group." Ryan tilts his head, a tiny crease between his eyebrows. "Seriously, what's up?"

Putting his elbows on the table, Spencer plants his face in his palms and just says, "Tonight."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's almost half past nine by the time Spencer hears Ryan's key in the lock. He'd been very nearly climbing the walls in anticipation, but now that Ryan's here, Spencer's humiliation over what he's about to admit out loud is overwhelming.

Ryan takes one look at him and goes to his dresser drawer. "You wanna smoke up?"

Oh, god, yes, a thousand times, yes. "I think I really need to do this sober," he says instead.

Ryan shrugs and grabs a pack of guitar strings and his acoustic and folds himself cross-legged onto his bed. "All right, let's have it," he says, and starts removing a broken string from the guitar.

Spencer watches for a moment, rubbing his palms on his thighs. He could be about to do something that he's really going to regret. But, no; he and Ryan have been friends for most of their lives, and Spencer knows -- once Ryan is done laughing at him -- that he will do everything he can to help Spencer figure out how to fix this mess.

"So, uh," he begins, and runs his fingers over where the fabric has worn smooth and thin over his knees. He could really use some new sweats. "I seem to have a... a sort of thing for Brendon."

Surprisingly, Ryan doesn't laugh. In fact, he doesn't even really seem fazed, unless you count the way he pauses for just a fraction of a second before he continues unwinding the string. "A thing? You mean, a thing-thing?" he asks.

"Yes?" For some reason, the fact that Ryan still isn't laughing leaves Spencer a little rattled. He tries to ignore the knot in his chest and keep his breathing even.

"What makes you think so?"

"Well... Like, I can't stop thinking about him." In, out, in, out.

Ryan eyes him curiously. "What do you mean?"

Oh, god, did Ryan really just ask him for details? Spencer bites his lip. "Like... I think about him all day, wondering how he is and what he's doing when I'm not with him. I even think about him when I am with him. And I think about... him. Like, all of him," Spencer finishes lamely, and feels the blush climb up his cheeks. "And I miss holding his hand, okay?" In for a penny, in for a pound.

Spencer doesn't know why he suddenly feels defensive. Maybe he's still waiting for Ryan to laugh, or to brush Spencer off and tell him that he's making something out of nothing, and he should just get over it. Instead, Ryan taps his fingers thoughtfully, the sound resonating inside the body of the guitar, and then says something completely unexpected: "Maybe you should tell him."

After gaping at Ryan for a few moments, Spencer tries to imagine actually doing such a thing, but his mind balks. "I-- no. There's no way. I just... I can't."

"Why not? What do you think will happen?"

Spencer waves a hand in the air, like he's fanning away mosquitoes. "He won't believe me; he knows I'm straight. He'd probably just end up hating me."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Straight." A few weeks ago, Spencer would have laughed. But Ryan is dead serious, and Spencer couldn't laugh now if he tried.

He thinks about the last girl he genuinely had a crush on, the soft mounds of her breasts and her sharp collarbones, the way her skirt would sway when she walked, the curve of her calves. It all still seems really appealing. Then Brendon pops into his head, all bright smiles and dark eyes, and his mouth, oh, god. "Okay. I think I'm, like, maybe sixty-five percent straight?"

"Then you should tell him that."

"But that's only thirty-five percent gay!" Spencer protests.

Ryan huffs at him. "Spencer. Did you ever think that maybe the person is more important than whatever sex they are?"

"This coming from Mr. I-Only-Date-Girls," Spencer snaps in annoyance.

Mouth twisting sideways, Ryan pins Spencer with a shrewd look. "It would probably be fair to add 'so far' to that title."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Ryan starts winding the new string onto the peg. "Do you remember that guy from Bio last year? Damien?"

Spencer thinks for a moment. "Weird piercing on the bridge of his nose, scene hair?" Ryan nods, and Spencer wonders where this is going. Damien seemed like a cool dude, and as he recalls the skinny girl-jeans and certain mannerisms, Spencer would not be at all surprised to hear Ryan say that Damien was gay.

That's not what he says.

"Me and him almost hooked up once."

For the second time that night, Spencer finds himself gawking at Ryan. "Say what?"

"I ran into him at a party last year, and we kind of made out for awhile. He had to leave early, though, so it didn't go any farther than that. And the next time I saw him, he had a boyfriend, so." Ryan carefully tightens the peg, pulling the string taut. "The point is that I would have, if the timing had been better."

He sounds so nonchalant, and Spencer's world is tilting sideways. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this before."

Ryan just shrugs. "Nothing really happened, after all. It didn't seem important."

"Well, it seems pretty fucking important now!"

"And I'm telling you now, aren't I?" Spencer makes a face and Ryan returns his attention to his guitar. "You should tell him, Spence."

Spencer stares at him while the knot in his chest doubles over on itself. "Dude," he says, and his voice sounds hoarse, "I'm afraid I'll fuck up our friendship."

"Don't you think it's kind of fucked up already?" Spencer has no response for that. Setting his guitar aside, Ryan asks, "Time to get high?" Spencer can only nod fervently.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Thursday passes in a bit of a blur, a byproduct of getting stoned and not enough sleep. Spencer manages to avoid Brendon, mostly, so he considers the day a success.

However, his likewise successfully uneventful Friday takes a momentary side-trip into the absurd when he walks into his Music Theory class. Brendon is already in his seat, too busy unwrapping a Tootsie Pop to notice Spencer's arrival. Setting his jaw, Spencer makes his way to the empty chair beside Brendon. He slides into it and looks up to say 'hi' at the precise moment that Brendon puts the lollipop in his mouth and obliviously proceeds to do obscene things to it with his tongue.

Spencer barely manages to cut off the embarrassing, pathetic whimper that threatens to escape him, but he doesn't quite manage to close his mouth before Brendon looks over at him. Brendon doesn't seem to notice that anything's amiss, though. "Oh, hey," he says, smiling brightly, not even bothering to take the candy from his mouth. "Hey," replies Spencer faintly. He watches Brendon fit his lips around the shiny, red sucker and slide it in and out several times in rapid succession. Predictably, Spencer's face goes up in flames.

Tearing his eyes away, Spencer forces his attention to the front of the room. He really, really wants to pass this class; he can't afford to be distracted during today's review, and Brendon couldn't be more distracting at this moment if he tried. Spencer doesn't know if he wants to drag Brendon somewhere and put his mouth to better use, or just kill him and be done with this whole mess. Fortunately, the professor walks in at that moment and saves Spencer from having to make the decision.

 

When class is over, exhaustion hits Spencer right between the eyes, his brain buzzing and overloaded with information, his body running on too little sleep and too much weed. He doesn't have the energy to think up an excuse to not walk with Brendon back to the dorms, so he stumbles along beside him, listening to the constant stream of sound pouring from Brendon's mouth. Brendon doesn't seem to realize that the conversation is mostly one-sided, and eventually he tires of making fun of Spencer and lapses into cracking himself up with random quotes from "This Is Spinal Tap" with a sprinkling of Monty Python for good measure. Add to that the intermittent screech-singing of guitar parts to songs that only he can hear, and, well... it occurs to Spencer that it could all be really annoying if it weren't for the fact that he's so fucking fond of this ridiculous human.

The thought tears Spencer right down the middle, almost a physical pain that threatens to double him over. It takes a second for him to recognize it as fear: fear that any choice that he makes will be the wrong one, and it's almost incapacitating; he is so afraid of losing Brendon from his life.

Still overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings when they reach the dorms, Spencer is unprepared when Brendon folds him into a quick hug, just there and gone, before he waves and hurries off.

It wasn't that long ago that hugs from Brendon were so common that Spencer simply took them for granted. But they've become rare, lately, and Spencer can't help but wish that he'd known that one was coming so that he could experience it properly, instead of feeling like he blinked and missed it.

Brendon rounds the far corner of Spencer's building, and Spencer can only stand and watch him go, imagining his own insides spilling out all over the sidewalk.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Somehow he must make it up to his room, because he wakes up in the dark, disoriented and face down on his bed. He has to have slept through dinner, but he can't bring himself to care, and after spending some time making a list in his brain of everything he regrets from the last few weeks, he falls asleep again. He doesn't wake up until morning.

'Serious hermit mode' is what Ryan calls Spencer's antisocial, homebody attitude for the next couple of days. He doesn't leave their room except to eat, and even that doesn't happen very often. Ryan frowns at him but otherwise leaves him alone.

On Sunday afternoon, he finally drags himself to the corner grocery store to pick up Brendon's fee for helping him study. He spends several minutes just staring until he finally focuses and finds the Keebler cookies that he knows Brendon loves. He leaves the store with two packages of cookies, a bag of Twizzlers and a box of Capri Suns, because you can't know Brendon for as long as Spencer has without recognizing that it's just good sense to have certain things on hand for him.

Spencer watches the time tick down to Brendon's arrival with growing agitation. His inability to keep still finally drives Ryan to seek a quieter place to study, leaving Spencer alone in the room and guiltily pleased to be getting Brendon to himself. He tries to review the material on his own, but it's pretty much a lost cause, so he waits, paces, fidgets, and waits some more.

Brendon knocks a couple of minutes early, blowing through the door and promptly taking up all the oxygen in the room. Or so it seems to Spencer. In reality, Brendon gets right down to business (after snagging a fistful of cookies and a Capri Sun), and Spencer has to shake off the distraction of being near Brendon and catch up or be left behind.

Once Spencer manages to concentrate, it goes pretty smoothly. Brendon is really good at explaining all the shit that Spencer just doesn't get, and before long, they're sprawled on their bellies on Spencer's bed with textbooks and spiral notebooks spread around them. They barely notice when Ryan comes home, steals a couple of cookies, pokes fun at them, and slips into bed, leaving them whispering over their notes by the light of Spencer's desk lamp.

He doesn't even really know how it happens, but sometime later, Brendon is asleep with his face on a pad of staff paper and his arm flung across Spencer's stomach. Spencer's nowhere near sleep, though, staring at the ceiling and drawing soft circles with his fingertips through the downy hair on Brendon's forearm. No matter how hard he wills his brain to stop thinking, he can't make it shut up, and he lies there guiltily enjoying Brendon's closeness, while simultaneously cataloging all the reasons why he should pull away.

Spencer lets his gaze drift to the side, where it lands on Ryan's shadowed face. He can just make out his features, realizing with a start that Ryan's eyes are open and watching, and Spencer hopes that it's too dark for Ryan to see his face flush as a fresh wave of guilt washes through him.

Ryan mouths something at him that Spencer doesn't catch, and he shakes his head and mouths back, "What?" He catches it the second time, though, with Ryan's lifted chin and over-exaggerated, "Tell him," and Spencer groans. "Shut up," he says wearily and without thinking, and Brendon startles awake, going stone still before pulling his arm away with a muttered, "Sorry," and sitting up. "No, I'm sorry," Spencer starts, meaning to tell Brendon that he's sorry for waking him, but Brendon is appealingly rumpled, his hair sticking up on one side, and he looks sleepy and confused, and Spencer finds that he's mostly sorry that this isn't a world where he can pull Brendon back down and curl around him and soothe him back to sleep, so he doesn't finish.

Brendon just stares at him for a moment before glancing in Ryan's direction and then hurriedly gathering his things together, repeating, "Sorry, sorry," while Spencer looks on helplessly. With a small, sheepish smile, Brendon is out the door and Spencer just feels bewildered and empty.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spencer walks out of the Theory midterm -- coincidentally both his last test and the one that he was dreading the most -- and can't even manage to feel relieved. He's barely glimpsed Brendon in the two days since their study session; there wasn't even a seat open near him during the midterm; and, of course, Brendon was long gone by the time Spencer finished the test. He's unsettled and itchy, like there's sand under his skin that he can't reach or get rid of.

Once back at his dorm, he pauses at the door, unable to can't face going home yet (whether Ryan is there or not), so he keeps going. It's almost without conscious thought that he ends up in front of Brendon's door. He stares at it, with its scuffed paint and dorky Spongebob dry-erase message board, mostly clean except for If the house is a-rockin', don't bother knockin' in Brendon's all-upper-case printing in a hand-drawn speech bubble coming from Spongebob's mouth.

It's quiet inside, from what Spencer can tell, but he can't bring himself to knock. He doesn't even know what he's doing there, but he can't make himself leave, either. So, he's still standing there when the door opens without warning and Brent nearly collides with him.

"Whoa, dude, sorry! Timing, though, huh? Like picking up your phone just before it rings, or something." Brent wiggles "spooky" fingers, widening his eyes before calling over his shoulder, "Urie, Spencer's here!" He smirks at Spencer. "Well, gotta go. Hot date," he says smugly as he steps past.

"You stepping out on your girlfriend, Wilson?" Spencer cracks, ducking the smack Brent aims at the back of his head.

"Yeah, with your mom," Brent drawls. They grin and flip each other off as Brent slips into the stairwell.

"Spencer?" Brendon peers around the door, his smile small and hesitant when he sees Spencer. "Hey." His hair is sticking out in clumps, like he's been scrubbing his fingers through it, and Spencer's hands itch to reach up and smooth it down. "Hey," he replies with a smile that is probably the mirror image of Brendon's.

"So, how did it go?"

"What? Oh, the test. It went... You know, I don't even know. Like, I finished it? But it's kind of a blur in my head."

"Spencer," Brendon chastises, "All that work."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure I passed," Spencer placates, then blurts, "Look, um. Can I come in? I need to talk to you." His stomach lurches; is he really going to do this?

"Sure, yeah," Brendon says, stepping aside to let him pass. "It's perfect timing, actually, since Brent only leaves at, like, the full moon." He closes the door and then plops down on his bed, eying Spencer as he stands uncertainly before deciding on the desk chair. "Dude, you're making me nervous."

"Sorry, just." Spencer drops his backpack and sits down, the chair creaking under his weight. He takes a deep breath and looks up. Brendon is folded up cross-legged, looking expectant and wary, and Spencer knows that if he gives himself time to think about this, he will lose his nerve, so he just launches into it. "Look, something happened to me after we stopped pretending to be boyfriends."

Brendon's eyes widen. "Oh, my god. Is it Clarissa? Did she--"

"No, no." Brendon looks relieved and Spencer realizes that he hasn't even though about Clarissa in days. He should probably be grateful for that, but it will have to wait. "It's nothing like that. The plan actually seems to have worked, as far as that goes."

"But?" Brendon interjects when Spencer pauses, looking puzzled.

Spencer squirms a little, the desk chair protesting. "Well, not exactly a 'but.' More like a... an unforeseen side effect."

"Spencer," Brendon throws his hands up, exasperated. "What the fuck happened?"

"I." Spencer swallows, his throat dry and uncooperative. "I kind of. I think I like you, okay?" He watches Brendon's face carefully, mortified at the thought of having to explain himself further. Brendon blinks and Spencer can tell he gets it, though, sees the flicker of shock turn pained before Brendon schools his expression into something approaching neutral.

"Spencer. Spence." Brendon's mouth twists, his eyebrows quirking up in the middle. "Dude, you don't... No. No, you're not..." Dragging an impatient hand through his hair, Brendon glances away from Spencer and back again. "It was just play-acting, man. Pretend," Brendon tells him with a sympathetic smile. "You're just... you're just falling for your own make-believe." Seeing Spencer wince, Brendon hesitates before continuing, his voice low. "It's just... Dude, it's not real," he insists. "It'll go away. Just wait and see."

Spencer sighs. "Which is pretty much exactly what I told Ryan you would say."

Brendon's gapes. "You told Ryan?"

"Yeah. I've been kind of going crazy. I had to tell somebody."

"What... What did he say?" Brendon asks, looking down at his hands.

"Not much, surprisingly. He just told me that I should tell you. Which, you know," Spencer adds bitterly, "Best advice ever, right?"

Brendon ducks his head. "Look, I'm sorry-"

"No," Spencer interrupts. He's not sure how to feel; he really doesn't know what he expected Brendon to say, or how he thought he'd react. But right now, Spencer is too hollow on the inside to feel much of anything except a little sick. "No, I'm sorry. Really. I shouldn't have dumped this on you. I'm sure you're right about it. Can we..." His stomach twisting unhappily at what he has to ask, he forges ahead. "Are we okay? Like, still friends, and stuff?"

For a brief moment, Brendon looks as terrified as Spencer feels awaiting his answer, and then he just looks kind of sad. "Yeah, of course," Brendon says gently, and smiles. "It'd take a lot more than that to get rid of me."

He gets up when Spencer does and follows him to the door, pulling him into a quick hug as he tells him, "It's gonna be okay. Just give it time." Brendon lets go before Spencer can finish wrestling with himself over whether or not to hug back, and then there is a door between them, solid and unyielding.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The thing is, Spencer's had it with "giving it time" -- been there, done that, bought the t-shirt in every color of the rainbow. Rainbow -- Spencer snorts humorlessly at the unintentional gay reference as he trudges toward his own dorm room.

How long has he been waiting for this feeling to fade, now? If it wasn't real, like Brendon said, wouldn't he be over it already? And he could have saved himself the humiliation of admitting it to Brendon. He mulls over Brendon's words about how Spencer is buying into his own fictional feelings, and it occurs to him that Brendon never... Brendon never said...

Spencer stops in his tracks, nearly causing the guy walking behind him to slam into his back. "Sorry," Spencer says faintly, but the guy is already hurrying away.

Brendon never said that he wasn't interested in Spencer. Like that. He just... doesn't believe that Spencer's feelings for him are real. Against all logic, a tiny seed of hope plants itself in his brain, telling him that all he has to do is convince Brendon that it's not just Spencer's imagination, that Spencer honestly wants Brendon.

Deliberately ignoring the skeptical brain voice that's arguing that Brendon still might not want him back, Spencer heads into the dormitory feeling better than he has in a very long time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spencer's new-found optimism carries him through the night and into the next morning, when he spots Brendon eating alone in the cafeteria. Brendon seems surprised (and pleased, Spencer's pretty sure) when Spencer plants his tray with its bowl of Froot Loops across the table from Brendon's identical one and drops into the chair facing him. "Dude, your cereal is so gay," Spencer sneers derisively. He keeps a straight face when Brendon gapes for a second before scoffing, "Please. 'Gay' is not a synonym for 'fruity.'" He pauses. "Well... except for how it is," he admits. Spencer gives him his best shit-eating grin and lobs a green Froot Loop at Brendon's chest.

"That's okay," Spencer tells him, tossing the next piece into his own mouth and chewing it with his mouth open. "I'm actually a fan of both gay and fruity." Brendon just stares at him, and then retaliates with a Froot Loop of his own, bouncing it off Spencer's head. Spencer just shoves a fistful of cereal into his mouth and grins around it, chewing obnoxiously.

 

The rest of breakfast is remarkably ordinary. Just as if Spencer hadn't confessed his Big Gay Love the night before, and Brendon hadn't shot him down. It's nice, and Spencer is just that much more sure that he's on the right track. He just needs to be patient, wear Brendon down. He can do this.

Before they split up for their respective classes, Spencer talks Brendon into meeting off-campus for lunch at the deli next to the University Book Store. It will probably be packed, but Spencer has a secret plan to get their sandwiches to go and then find a bench on campus where they can eat in relative quiet and talk. Maybe one of the ones on the sculpture square in front of the art building; not that many people just hang out there.

It's a good plan.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's a terrible plan.

When Spencer gets to the deli, it's so jammed with bodies that he can barely get inside, and after forcing his way through the crowd, he doesn't see Brendon anywhere. Waiting inside isn't really an option, and since they may have to formulate a Plan B anyway, Spencer works his way back outside again.

He glances around at the people out front -- none of them Brendon -- and then up past the bookstore. What he sees makes his stomach turn to ice.

Brendon is sitting on the low wall that borders the bookstore's flowerbed, pink-cheeked and grinning as a tall, long-limbed and very pretty boy chatters at him animatedly. As Spencer watches, the boy shifts closer to Brendon and puts a hand on Brendon's thigh, brushing it lightly up and down as he leans in and murmurs something into Brendon's ear that makes Brendon's eyes widen. And then, to Spencer's horror, the boy drops a kiss on Brendon's cheek before pulling back and grinning, watching Brendon with sparkling eyes as Brendon laughs and ducks his head.

Suddenly Spencer gets it, gets it so completely that getting sick right there on the sidewalk, right in front of everyone, seems like a distinct possibility. He can't be here anymore. He can't face this, can't even think about it, so he pivots on his heel and walks away blindly down the crowded sidewalk. Over the roaring in his ears, he hears Brendon call his name, but Spencer doesn't turn or even pause.

No one follows him.

 

He makes it back to his dorm room, which is blessedly empty and quiet. Dropping his backpack on the floor, he pulls the curtains as tightly closed as they will go and climbs into bed.

He's awakened sometime later by the metallic slide of Ryan's key in the lock. Ryan takes one look at him and before he can even draw breath to speak, Spencer preempts him with, "Don't, Ryan." Ryan hesitates, visibly struggling to hold his tongue, but he backs down. Spencer ignores Ryan's pointed look of concern and rolls over to face the wall.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He lets himself wallow for the entirety of Friday and Saturday before hunger and nagging worry about falling behind with studying gets the better of him. He knows on an intellectual level that he's not really sick, but he's felt so terrible that he might as well be. Unable to convince himself to make the trip down to the cafeteria, he makes his Sunday morning breakfast the last two cookies from the packs that he bought for Brendon, and immediately regrets it when his stomach starts to ache. He sticks with water for the rest of the day, refusing Ryan's offer to bring him something.

 

Monday morning, Spencer feels up to braving dorm food, but even so, he has trouble just choking down a piece of toast; food is, evidently, something that he'll have to work his way back up to. He has better luck with some apple juice; it will have to be enough.

Spencer hoists his backpack and squares his shoulders. He's had three days to feel sorry for himself, and now he's going to move past it and get on with his life. He can be an adult about this. He can be the bigger person and just be glad that Brendon is happy.

(Mostly, though, he's just glad that Brendon isn't in the cafeteria this morning, because he's not quite ready to deal with that. But, hey, at least he got up this morning; one small victory at a time.)

He's tempted -- really, really tempted -- to try to avoid Brendon as much as possible. But as much as he thinks that might be easier, he decides against it for several reasons. One of those reasons is stupid, selfish pride: he simply doesn't want to be that obvious. Spencer is nineteen; he's not some high-school sophomore crying over a one-sided crush, and he'll be damned if he lets anyone think he is. And that includes Brendon.

Part of him is actually angry and a little hurt that Brendon wasn't honest with him in the first place. Maybe Brendon has his reasons for not telling him (or anyone, evidently) about this other guy, but Spencer can't imagine what they are. Whatever. Spencer is never going to let Brendon know just how devastated he felt when he found out.

And then, the part of him that isn't pissed at Brendon doesn't want to do anything that might hurt him back, or even worse, endanger their friendship. He and Brendon have been friends since they met at a video-game store their junior year in high school, both geeking out over the same games, and then bonding while playing them together at Spencer's house. It was a natural progression from there for Brendon to meet Spencer's friends Ryan and Brent, and when they all became close, it was just logical for them all to end up at the college that Ryan attended for a year before the rest of them graduated and could join him.

Spencer reluctantly acknowledges that another big reason for not avoiding Brendon is Brendon himself; as much as it's going to hurt to be around him, not to mention having to pretend that everything is okay, Spencer's pretty sure that not being around him would be the far more painful option of the two.

The conclusion that Spencer reaches is a sort of compromise: he's not going to stay away from Brendon, but he is going to avoid situations where he might have to deal with Brendon on a one-on-one basis, because Spencer's pretty sure that that could only end badly. So, the plan is to always have other people around, and just avoid that situation entirely.

So. Act normal, and stick with groups. Spencer tells himself that it (he) will be okay, and hurries across campus to class.

 

Staying late to pick up his midterm exam and missed assignment at his previous class gets Spencer to Advanced Music Theory just as the professor begins the lecture. Disregarding the confused, happy-sad lurch of his stomach upon seeing Brendon, Spencer slides into the seat next to him with an up-nod and tries not to think about his proximity for the duration of the class.

He shoos Brendon away afterward, staying to speak to the professor about what he'd missed. He's not surprised to find Brendon waiting outside for him, though, killing time by throwing pine cones at god-knows-what. Spencer sighs. So much for avoiding one-on-one situations.

"What," he says simply, walking up behind Brendon.

"Well, I was throwing them at a squirrel," Brendon answers, as if Spencer had actually asked the question. "But the chicken-shit ran up a tree. So, now I'm trying to see if I can make a pile at the bottom of the tree by bouncing them off the same spot on the tree trunk." He punctuates this by throwing another cone like he's pitching a baseball.

"You are such a factory reject," Spencer tells him, the fondness an ache in his chest. "C'mon -- Ryan's probably getting cranky waiting for us."

"More cranky, you mean," Brendon says, brushing his hands off on his jeans as he joins Spencer on the path to the student union building.

"Obviously."

"So, are you okay?" Brendon asks, tipping a look at Spencer over the rim of his glasses.

"What?" Spencer tries not to show that the question startled him; he wonders if he's been more obvious than he thought, and then he remembers. "Oh. Yeah, I just had some sort of stomach bug over the weekend. No big deal."

"Oh, dude." Brendon grimaces in sympathy. "I was worried when you disappeared before lunch. And then you didn't answer any of my texts. It must have been pretty bad."

Spencer watches his feet trudge down the path. The image of Brendon, flushed and happy and with the other guy flashes vividly into Spencer's mind. "Yeah. Kinda. Sorry about lunch."

"No, it's okay! I just... I was worried."

Spencer can't think of anything to say besides 'sorry' again, so he doesn't say anything. They finish their walk in silence.

 

Ryan is uncharacteristically not cranky when they arrive, the lift of his eyebrows turning to a faint frown when all Spencer offers in exchange is a shrug. Ryan doesn't push for anything else, though, and Spencer is grateful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The days drag by, Spencer's routine to just get through each one as it comes along. "Manageable" is the most optimistic term he can come up with to describe the ache that settles into his bones, making it hard to get up in the morning and all too easy to fall asleep when he gets home from class and throws himself onto his bed.

Even so, Spencer must be putting up a pretty good front, because no one seems to notice that anything's amiss. Except for Ryan, of course, because Ryan can read Spencer better than his own mother can. In fact, Ryan tries several, increasingly creative ways of trying to get him to "talk about it," but, frankly, Spencer doesn't see the point. It's awful when Ryan finally just yells at him, and the guilt is almost unbearable when Ryan apologizes, but Spencer can't help but be relieved when Ryan seems to give up entirely. And, Ryan's air of lingering frustrated concern is not that difficult for Spencer to ignore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Having settled into a sort of numbed acceptance of the situation, Spencer is not emotionally prepared when he stumbles across a despondent-looking figure outside his dorm one evening. Brendon is sitting with his back against the brick building, his head resting on his drawn-up knees, his arms curled loosely around his shins, and his cellphone lying in the dirt beside him. Spencer's stomach clenches at the sight, and he knows he can't obey the panicked brain voice that is telling him to back away and get out of there.

"Brendon?" Brendon lifts his head and looks up, and Spencer is shocked into silence by the haunted look in Brendon's eyes before Brendon turns his face away.

Brendon's voice is flat when he says, "I'm okay," and it might have been convincing if his voice hadn't broken on the last syllable. Spencer breathes out and sinks down next to him. "Brendon, what?" he says softly.

Brendon is quiet for a long moment. "I was talking to my mom," he says, face still turned away, and gestures vaguely at the phone still lying on the ground. "We were just... chatting. Talking about school and stuff. And I, I tried to tell her about-" He stops, glances at Spencer, and Spencer can see him mentally reset. He looks down, plays with his shoelaces. "Something that's been going on. The subject just came up, and. Let's just say it didn't go well," he says and huffs a humorless laugh. He glances over again, and Spencer's incomprehension must show on his face, because Brendon just shrugs and shakes his head before explaining. "When I- when I came out to my parents, they were very quiet, and then they hugged me and told me it was going to be okay.

"They made an appointment for me to see a counselor, and I went to see him the whole summer before I started college. I was supposed to keep going, but. See, at first it seemed... supportive, you know? But then it became clear that... Well, they wanted to help me make a different 'choice.'" The quote marks are audible. Brendon shakes his head abruptly, his lips a hard line. "Anyway. Fucked up doesn't begin to cover it."

Spencer's brain is trying to reconcile his shock and anger with the image he has of Brendon's parents; Mr. Urie and his warm good-humor, Mrs. Urie with a ready smile and a tray of just-baked chocolate-chip cookies. He looks at the tight, unhappy lines of resignation around Brendon's eyes and mouth and feels utterly helpless. "Brendon..."

"The thing is, my parents love me. They do. But. Their love comes with, like, conditions, and stipulations, and they." Brendon rests his head on his knees again, and smiles sadly at Spencer. "They think I can change, Spence. They want me to change. I know they think that they only want what's best for me, but, I- I keep hoping that.... I don't know. I don't know." He turns his face away again, leaving it at that.

Spencer gives up trying to figure out what all that must feel like and knows that he would do anything, anything to be able to make it better. He pushes aside everything that's been going on in his brain for the last several weeks and turns to his friend, nudging gently at his shoulder. "Hey," he murmurs, reaching with both arms, "Hey, come on." Brendon folds into him, face buried against Spencer's shoulder, breath ghosting softly and unsteadily across Spencer's throat. It's all awkward, uncomfortable angles, and they just sit there hanging on, Brendon's abandoned phone on the ground below their bent knees.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Somewhere between trying to comfort Brendon and making it back to his room, Spencer unthinkingly agrees to join Brendon at Jon's apartment the following evening for some "video games and recreational drug use" to help keep Brendon's mind off of things for awhile. He's avoiding questioning the wisdom of that (non-)decision, telling himself that helping out a friend takes precedence over his own... issues. Besides that, he's got other things on his mind that have him dialing his own phone, once he's alone in the dorm room.

"Spencer! And I didn't even have to guilt-trip you into calling. This time."

"Hey, Mom." Spencer is fully aware of his sheepish half-smile before it drops away as he settles onto his bed. "I just needed... I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Sure, honey," his mother replies, voice immediately earnest, serious. "What's on your mind?"

She's mostly quiet while Spencer talks, recounting what Brendon told him about his parents, the only sounds coming through the speaker small ones of acknowledgment and, occasionally, disbelief. When he finishes, he hears her let out a long breath, like she's been holding it in.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey. I can't really say I'm that surprised, though, given what I know of their beliefs."

"Well, I was surprised. And pissed off! I mean... they seem like such nice people!"

"They are nice people, Spencer. It's just that faith can lead people to do things that seem really wrong to those who don't share their beliefs."

"But it is really wrong!"

"And I agree with you. You must have known that before you even called, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I was pretty sure. I mean, it's not like we've actually talked about it. Like, specifically. But, yeah. It's just..." Spencer spends a few seconds picking at blanket fuzz. "What if it was me that was gay? Or even just bi?" he rushes to add.

"Spencer," she says in her 'how many times have I told you this' voice. "What have I been telling you for as long as you can remember?"

Spencer suddenly feels like he's five again, but he gives her what he knows is the right answer: "That you'll love me no matter what?"

"And that's the truth."

"Yeah, but see, Mom, Brendon's parents love him, too, but--"

"Yes, well, that's where we differ. There is no 'I love you, but.' It's just 'I love you.' Period. No conditions."

Spencer lets out a breath of his own. "Thanks, Mom." He suddenly wishes that he were close enough to get one of her hugs.

"That's what I'm here for," she says, voiced warmed by a smile. "Listen, you don't have to answer this, if you'd rather not, but... are we just speaking theoretically, here?"

Even though he knew that it might come up, and he's not afraid to tell her, especially given the conversation they've been having, Spencer experiences a moment of panic where he considers... not lying, just... putting off telling her for awhile. He takes a deep breath, sits up a little straighter. "I think... I might be bi?"

"Uh huh? And what makes you think so?" She sounds very matter-of-fact, like she's asking him about his grades, or something. It's weirdly encouraging.

"Well, there's this guy that I really like. Like, a lot. Only... he doesn't feel the same way about me."

"Aw, I'm sorry, hon. Unfortunately, that can happen no matter what your sexual orientation is."

"Yeah. I know. I'll deal."

"I know you will. And I know it's not helpful, but it will be okay. Someone else is bound to come along, if that's what you want."

"I guess. Thanks."

"I love you, you know. And give Brendon a hug from me. You don't have to tell him what for, just... say I miss him disturbing the peace and quiet of my household, or something." Spencer grins because he knows that it's actually probably true. "Oh, and if he ever needs somewhere to stay, make sure he knows that he's welcome here, okay?"

Spencer flushes with gratitude and tries not to think about how supremely awkward that scenario would be for him right now. "Thanks, Mom. That's... that's really awesome of you," he tells her, and means it. "I'll tell him."

They say their good-byes, and Spencer spends a few moments thinking about how lucky he is before lapsing into wishing he were as lucky with his love life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They're still arguing over what to play when Jon's cellphone rings. Spencer continues to debate with Brendon, weighing the merits of killing zombies against pretend guitar playing, but when he glances up and sees the way Jon is sadly eying the plastic bag of weed on the coffee table, his insides go cold with fear because Spencer knows, he knows what's coming. No no no no, his panicking brain chants, but Jon hangs up and says the words, anyway: "I have to go in to work."

"What? Now?" Brendon squawks, but Spencer just stares at Jon desperately and thinks, No, no, you can't leave me alone with him.

"It's just for a couple of hours. Greta called in sick, and Adam has never closed on his own." Spencer is ready to stand up and just bolt when Jon adds, "You guys can stay, if you want."

NO NO NO NO, Spencer's brain says, loud and insistent. He risks a glance at Brendon and sees that his expression is already closed off, resigned and distant. Spencer bites the inside of his cheek, thinks, This is such a monumentally bad idea, and says, as nonchalantly as possible, "Really? Are you sure?" Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Brendon look at him in surprise.

Jon gives a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah. I mean, there's pizza on the way, and everything. So, just," he smiles crookedly, "don't steal my stuff. And don't molest my weed. Not without me, anyway." He grabs a sweatshirt and tugs it over his head, pausing at the door just long enough to add, "Be good. And save me some pizza!"

"Okay, Dad," Spencer throws after him and smirks in Brendon's direction. Brendon smiles back, a little shaky around the edges. And then the door is closed and it's suddenly very, very quiet. "So," Spencer says, hoping his cheerfulness doesn't sound as forced as it feels, "what do you want to play?"

"Ummm," Brendon hums, picking up a controller and randomly clicking buttons, "I think it would be more fun to play Guitar Hero when we're stoned, so can we save that until Jon gets back?"

"Sure, yeah," Spencer replies, reaching for the second controller. "Multi-player, okay?" he asks, because no way does he want to have to sit there with his brain unoccupied for a second longer than he has to.

"Bring it," Brendon smirks, goading, and Spencer smirks back, feeling himself relaxing into the familiarity of the exchange. They slump back into the sofa cushions, prop their feet on the coffee table, and click their way into the game.

 

"Jesus, Spencer!"

Half an hour into the game, and Spencer can't concentrate for shit. Brendon has just saved his character's sorry ass yet again, spraying zombie blood across the screen with a last-second shot to the head. "Thanks, man," he mumbles, vowing to do better, but he can tell that it's hopeless. There is no room in his brain for zombies with Brendon this close for this long.

Though Brendon started out a little quiet, a bit reserved, his proximity only a vague distraction in Spencer's mind, it wasn't long before he seemed very much his old self, whooping, swearing, laughing... and leaning into Spencer, his body heat and shifting muscles stealing all of Spencer's focus. Now, Spencer is stuck with all this stupid longing and nearly-overwhelming want, and god damn it, he wanted to help, he really did, but his chest fucking aches, and why is he the one here with Brendon instead of Brendon's fucking boyfriend?

A zombie missing half its face lurches in from the side and is on him before he can adjust his aim. Then it's all over but the fade-to-black, and Spencer thinks maybe he let it happen, just to get it over with. He tosses his controller onto the table with a snarled, "Fuck."

"Whoa, hey," Brendon soothes, "It's okay, dude. Pizza's probably almost here, anyway. We can just... take a break."

"I can't do this anymore, I can't," Spencer groans, grinding the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

"Okay, that's cool," Brendon says easily. "We can play something else, or... we could watch a movie."

"No, I mean... this. I mean...." He drags his palms down his face, pulling at his eyelids, his skin, his lips, and glances sideways. Brendon's expression is uneasy, tinged with fear, and none of this is fair to either one of them, and Spencer doesn't know how to fix it. "I don't know what to do anymore," he says helplessly. "It's like I can't be anywhere, anymore. I tried to stay away, but I couldn't. And I can't... with you..." He gestures meaninglessly, hands flailing in frustration. A look at Brendon's face tells him that he's not making any sense. "Fuck. I just." Sucking in a huge breath, Spencer looks away from Brendon, picking a spot over his left shoulder to focus on. "I'm having trouble being what you want me to be, what you need me to be. I want to be here for you, but I... I'm having trouble just being near you. Like, I can't even sit next to you and not want to...." He has to stuff his hands under his thighs just to keep from acting on what he's thinking about. It feels like his face is in flames. "I just don't know what to do.

"I know I'm supposed to get over this, I know it was all just supposed to be pretend, but I didn't expect it to feel so much like... like falling in love." Oh, god, he can't even believe that he just said that out loud. He shoves himself up and off the sofa, but Brendon launches himself upward, his hand shooting out to catch Spencer's wrist, preventing him from leaving.

"Spencer," Brendon says with quiet urgency. Spencer turns his head, looks down pointedly at Brendon's fingers circling his wrist and Brendon snatches his hand back. "Spencer. Spence, look at me."

Turning slowly, Spencer drags his eyes up to Brendon's face, and oh... it hurts. Brendon's expression is determined, hopeful and terrified all at once. He looks fierce and beautiful, and Spencer's chest tightens. He closes his eyes against the sight, takes a deep breath, opens them again. "Your friendship means everything to me, Brendon. But, I can't..." Spencer takes a small backwards step. "I think I need some time away from you, so I can get over this... thing that's wrong with me." He takes another couple of steps toward the door; Brendon makes a small, plaintive sound and starts to look panicky.

"Thing?" he asks, jittering in place, clearly torn between following Spencer and holding his ground. "What thing, Spencer? Please," he implores, when Spencer hesitates, "I need... please. What makes you think there's something wrong with you?"

"I." Spencer swallows. His ribs are so tight around his lungs that it's hard to take a breath, his constricting throat making words difficult. "It hurts. All the time," he forces out. "It hurts to be away from you. It hurts even more to be near you."

"Spencer," Brendon whispers, his arms lifting slightly, reaching forward before he aborts the movement and crosses his arms instead, tucking his hands under his biceps. Spencer aches for the hug that Brendon doesn't offer, that Spencer can't have, anyway. Brendon turns his head away, clearly struggling with himself. "Fuck," he curses softly. When he looks back at Spencer, his eyes are wet.

Great. Now Spencer has made Brendon cry. Good going, Smith, you asshole. His own eyes prickle hotly. "I'm so sorry, Brendon. Fuck, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fuck us up. I'm s-"

"What if," Brendon interrupts hoarsely, and clears his throat. Taking off his glasses, he smears a hand quickly across his eyes before continuing. "What if I told you that you're not the only one that feels that way?" he finishes in a rush.

Spencer flashes back to the sight of Brendon sitting on the stone wall with that other guy, the way he touched Brendon and made him laugh. Fresh pain slices through Spencer's chest. "Right. Your boyfriend. I already know. Just... what the fuck.... Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asks incredulously.

"What?" Brendon's expression turns blank and then puzzled. "Boyfriend. What boyfriend?"

Spencer is suddenly very, very tired. "I don't know why the hell you want to keep it secret in the first place. But I saw you together outside the bookstore." Brendon frowns, and Spencer continues, impatient. "You were sitting on the wall together. Remember that day we were supposed to have lunch a couple of weeks ago? You called to me as I was walking away but I... I pretended not to hear you."

"What? I..." Brendon's face clears suddenly. "Oh, shit. Spencer, fuck -- that wasn't my boyfriend. That was just William!" Spencer can't figure out why Brendon looks so relieved; maybe Brendon doesn't think of this 'William' as a boyfriend, but Spencer knows what he saw. Brendon must read it on Spencer's face, because he continues, "He was just... Look, William is the vice president of the GLSA -- he's a friend. And what you must have seen was him telling me about how his boyfriend first asked him out. I swear."

"So you're not..." Spencer pauses to process this new information. Something still doesn't make sense. "But then... what did you mean when you said I'm not the only one who feels that way?" Another possibility makes his impatience flare into anger. "Was that just, like, 'everyone hurts, you're not alone'? What the fuck kind of brush-off is that, Brendon?"

Brendon is shaking his head frantically. "No! Fuck. No, I mean, like..." He catches his lower lip between his teeth and lets it go. "Me. I mean me. I feel that way. About you." Then he just stands there, looking at Spencer expectantly.

But... what? Feeling light-headed and oxygen-deprived, Spencer's sure he must be drowning. There is no water in sight, but somehow it's closed overhead and he's sinking fast into its dark depths. He knows that if he breathes in it's all over. He doesn't breathe.

"You. I. What?" Spencer says weakly, using the last of his air.

Brendon takes a tentative step forward. "I feel exactly the same way as you, you moron. Only for way longer." Somehow Brendon's arms are suddenly wrapped tightly around Spencer and Spencer's head breaks the surface. He gasps in huge, gulping breaths of air, the tight tangle in his chest starting to loosen and unravel as Brendon's words sink in. Clutching handfuls of Brendon's hoodie, Spencer clings to him, burying his face in the crook of Brendon's neck. "So much longer."

"Why..." Spencer asks, his voice thick, because it hurts and he has to know. "If that's how you felt, why did you turn me away before?"

Brendon makes a small, unhappy sound, pushing his face into Spencer's shoulder. "I almost didn't. It was so tempting, I'd wanted...." He trails off and Spencer holds his breath, his fists clenching tighter into thick fabric. "But I didn't believe you, couldn't let myself believe you. I thought..." Brendon takes in a shaky breath. "I thought that you would eventually figure out that you were wrong, that you didn't really want me, and I. I couldn't face that. I'm sorry," he finishes in a small voice.

"Shit, Brendon. No," Spencer manages through his tight throat. He knows that if Brendon starts crying, he's going to lose it, too. "Hey, it's okay. Really. I get it." He rubs soothing circles into Brendon's back. "It's okay," he says again, softly, and waits while Brendon slowly relaxes in his arms. "And you believe me now, right?" Brendon nods against Spencer's shoulder, and Spencer gives him a tight squeeze and exhales hugely, feeling like he's expelling a lot more than air.

When he can breathe properly again, maybe for the first time in weeks, Spencer says into Brendon's collar, "So, what we're actually saying here is that we're both kind of stupid, huh." They laugh weakly together, the sound muffled against skin and clothing, and sniffle a little. Spencer kind of wants to stay this way forever.

"Don't you lump me in with yourself, Smith. I am nowhere near as stupid as you," Brendon says wetly, leaving damp spots where he pressed his eyes against Spencer's t-shirt.

"You fell for a straight guy."

Brendon pulls back far enough to look at Spencer, protesting, "Who didn't even know he wasn't entirely straight!"

"Yeah, well..." Spencer starts, faux-defensive. "I still think I'm mostly straight."

Lifting an eyebrow, Brendon just says, "Yeah?" His expression mischievous, he continues, "Lucky for you I'm the kind of guy who is willing to help you test that theory."

Spencer swallows, his mind suddenly flooding with possibilities for the sort of tests that Brendon might be considering. Feeling his face flush, he bites his lip and a look of triumph flickers across Brendon's face before he pins Spencer with a solemn gaze. His fingers are hot through the thin t-shirt at the small of Spencer's back. "You should probably kiss me, now," Brendon declares. Spencer laughs, and Brendon lifts his eyebrows, but he's grinning back. "What?"

"I just don't think anyone's ever demanded a first kiss from me, before."

"But... we've already kissed, like, twice."

"Okay, then: first real kiss," Spencer amends.

"Um." Brendon fidgets. "That second one? At Jon's party? That was... kind of real for me."

"Yeah..." Spencer breathes, remembering. "For me, too."

They smile shyly at each other.

Spencer's face is hot again; is he ever going to stop blushing in front of Brendon? They roll their eyes at each other, grinning in embarrassment. "Oh, fuck, okay," Brendon says gruffly, "We're a couple of girls. Jesus." They both chuckle, and Spencer notices that Brendon's cheekbones are a little pinker than usual, too. He lifts his hand and touches the color, Brendon's skin smooth and warm beneath his fingertips. Brendon goes utterly still.

"So," Spencer says, his fingers splaying across Brendon's cheek and sliding down to cup his jaw. Brendon's eyes are so, so dark. "We should have a first kiss that both of us know is real."

So, they do.

 

Epilogue

 

"Ryan, just go find something to do for a couple of hours," Spencer says. "Go hang out with Jon, or something."

Ryan blinks at him. "Wow, two hours? You're pretty confident, there, buckaroo." Brendon giggles, looking completely unrepentant when Spencer glares at him.

"Shut the fuck up and go away, dick-smack," Spencer demands. "It's not like you've never kicked me out of my own room."

"Yeah, but you didn't mind." Spencer raises an eyebrow and Ryan crosses his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you're sexiling me. Why can't you go to Brendon's room?"

"Because, these days, except for classes, Brent is always, always there," Brendon tells him. "Either by himself or with his girlfriend. It's really fucking annoying, if you wanna know."

Ryan scowls. "I think I liked you better when you were just pretend boyfriends. Even Spencer's pining was preferable to this."

Brendon's head whips around toward Spencer, grin firmly in place. "You pined?"

Spencer feels his face heat. "Shut up," he says, aiming for off-hand and landing closer to petulant.

"Awww, you did!" Brendon presses himself against Spencer's side and kisses his cheek with a loud smacking sound. His soft lips trace the line of Spencer's jaw, finishing with a toothy nip to Spencer's earlobe that makes him gasp.

"Gross," Ryan complains. "At least wait until I'm gone."

"So, go!" Spencer and Brendon say together.

"So gross," Ryan mutters, heading out the door.

"See you tomorrow at band practice," Brendon calls after him brightly.

"I keep telling you, we don't have a band!" retorts Ryan from the hallway, without even turning around.

Disengaging himself from Brendon, Spencer leans out the doorway, saying, "And I keep telling you we do. And if you'd just show up to practice, you'd know that."

"Whatever," Ryan says, finally vanishing into the stairwell.

With the door closed and the lock firmly clicked into place, Spencer turns and can't help but laugh when he finds that Brendon is already nearly naked and shimmying out of his bright orange briefs. If there's one thing that Spencer has learned in the three weeks they've been together, it's that Brendon might be inexperienced, but he certainly isn't shy about going after what he wants. Though privacy is at a premium, they've managed plenty of making out and groping, and where Spencer alternates feeling awkward and tentative with fevered desperation, Brendon is more of a driven, gonna-make-you-come-in-your-pants kind of guy. It's really... kind of awesome.

Brendon kicks off his underwear and straightens, and then Spencer's laughter cuts off, his throat catching stickily on the convulsive swallow that follows as it hits him that Brendon is standing naked in Spencer's room. Brendon takes a couple of slow steps -- still naked -- toward Spencer and Spencer's skin breaks out all over in prickles of heat. Then, Brendon is in Spencer's personal space, and Spencer suddenly can't figure out what to do with his hands.

He watches as Brendon takes off his glasses and holds them out, looking up at Spencer through his eyelashes. "Would you mind holding onto these for me for a sec?" he asks conversationally. Spencer can't even answer; he just tries to pretend that his fingers aren't trembling as he lifts the glasses from Brendon's fingers, clutching them by the earpiece as Brendon tilts his face up and fits his lips to Spencer's.

Just like always, it still feels like the first time, the newness not yet worn off, and Spencer lets his eyes slide shut. The wet heat of Brendon's mouth is overwhelming, the tug of it something that Spencer can feel all the way down to his toes. At the light touch of Brendon's hands on his hips, Spencer automatically brings his arms up around Brendon's back, the palm of his unoccupied hand meeting warm, satin-smooth skin that goes on for miles, and Spencer can't stop the embarrassing noise that squeaks high in his throat, and he can't stop touching.

Just as Spencer is considering protesting the lack of a second hand, Brendon takes their slow, heated kiss and turns it deep and dirty for just a few moments before abruptly pulling away. Spencer can only blink at Brendon as he gives Spencer a dark smirk and plucks the glasses from his fingers. "Thanks," Brendon says easily, and Spencer would complain about the sudden absense of kissing, if not for the fact that Brendon, in turning to put his glasses on Spencer's desk, has given Spencer a breathtaking view of his ass. It's as perfect as Spencer had suspected it was, and he's almost disappointed when Brendon turns around again, except that it's still Brendon naked, and that hard-on he's sporting is for Spencer, and Spencer nearly misses it when Brendon says, "Less clothing would be nice, Spence."

"What? Oh," Spencer says distractedly, hurrying to peel his t-shirt over his head. As he moves to unbutton his jeans, he realizes that Brendon is sitting on the bed watching him, his gaze nearly a physical sensation on Spencer's skin, and Spencer's fingers fumble the button before he grabs it firmly and pushes it through the hole. The heat in Spencer's cheeks spreads down his neck and onto his chest as he pulls down his zipper and pushes his jeans and underwear down and off, stepping out of them and standing uncertainly among piles of discarded clothing.

One glance at Brendon and Spencer forgets to be self-conscious, because Brendon is looking at him with immense, dark eyes, his outstretched hands beckoning, drawing Spencer to him. In the space of a breath, Spencer is standing between Brendon's knees, and Brendon's hands are hot on his skin, touching everywhere, leaving goosebumps in their wake and making Spencer's breath shudder out of his lungs. Brendon presses open-mouthed kisses to Spencer's stomach, wet and intimate, his eyes fluttering shut when Spencer threads his fingers into Brendon's hair. A gasp escapes Spencer as the head of his cock drags against Brendon's neck, and before he knows what's happening, Brendon has a hand around him and is stroking softly, almost reverently.

"Jesus, Brendon," Spencer groans, "You're going to make me come before we've even done anything."

"Well, I think that would be proof that we did, in fact, do something," Brendon grins up at him.

"No, seriously," Spencer says, wrapping his fingers around Brendon's to still them. He has to take a moment to just breathe, composing himself before carefully removing himself from Brendon's grasp and continuing, "I was thinking that we could do something that we've both never done before. Like, I don't know, blow jobs, or something."

"Oh. Well..." Brendon's gaze shifts down and sideways. "I've actually, uh, kind of given someone a blow job before." Spencer knows his mouth has dropped open in surprise, but before he can formulate a question, Brendon continues. "It was at a party, in the bathroom. We were both sort of drunk. Well, I was sort of drunk; he was really drunk," Brendon clarifies, fidgeting with his hair. "Anyway. I blew him, but he passed out before he could reciprocate. Not my best moment."

"Hey," Spencer says, dropping to his knees in an attempt to catch Brendon's eye. "That's okay, because I've actually had a blow job -- a couple of times, even -- but, guess what? I've never given one." Brendon sucks a breath and looks at him, and Spencer doesn't miss the way Brendon's eyes drop to his mouth.

When Brendon speaks, his voice is husky. "If that's an offer, you have to know that there is no way in hell that I am turning it down."

"I kind of figured," Spencer says smugly, but his stomach is fluttering in anticipation. He's been thinking about this for awhile, now, and it's right up there on the list just after Brendon blowing him... but that can wait for another time. Right now, he's right where he wants to be, and he settles in on his knees between Brendon's spread legs.

He takes Brendon's dick carefully in his fist, admiring the velvety heat of it; Brendon must be holding his breath, he's so quiet and still. Spencer smiles up at him and licks his lips, watching Brendon unconsciously mirror the action before hooking his free hand behind Brendon's neck and tugging him down into a kiss. The little nip he gives Brendon's lower lip as he pulls away makes Brendon's cock twitch in his hand, and Spencer can't help but be a little awed by the way Brendon is responding to him. It makes him bold.

Spencer looks down at Brendon's dick, the head flushed red and leaking, and decides to just go for it. He fits his lips around it and sinks down, using his tongue to get it nice and wet as he pulls up and back down a couple of times. For just a moment, Spencer is surprised that doing this doesn't seem weirder to him than it does, but then Brendon is groaning, "Oh, my god," above him, and Spencer smiles to himself. There is a bitterness on the back of his tongue, but it's not unpleasant. Just knowing that he's got Brendon in his mouth and that it's Brendon that he's tasting is so hot that he finds himself squeezing his own erection, trying to relieve some of the pressure without actually coming. He moans a little at the contact, and Brendon makes a guttural sound, his legs opening a little wider as he leans back on his hands.

Trying to figure out what would feel good, Spencer switches to some hard suction as he pulls up nearly to the end before sinking back down and repeating the process. He hasn't been at it very long before Brendon's thighs start trembling, and Spencer glances up to see Brendon's head drop back, a sheen of sweat coating his neck and chest. Nearly whimpering at the sight, Spencer returns his concentration to his task, speeding up as he begins to also stroke the base of Brendon's cock, slippery with his own saliva. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Brendon hisses tightly, and then he's sitting up and pushing at Spencer's head, breathlessly chanting, "Spencer, Spencer." Spencer takes the hint and pulls off while continuing to pump his hand up and down the slick length as Brendon curls in on himself and starts to shake apart, emptying himself against his stomach and over Spencer's fist.

Weakly batting Spencer's hand away, Brendon flops back on the bed, breathing hard and looking absolutely wrecked. Spencer can only stare, so turned on that he can't help but fist himself with come-slicked fingers, stroking hard as he closes his eyes, Brendon's orgasm replaying in his head.

"Spencer, hey. Spencer." Brendon is tugging at him, and Spencer opens his eyes to see Brendon shifting back onto the bed, pulling at Spencer to move along with him. Spencer is on his knees on the bed when Brendon says, "Wait," and swipes his fingers through the splatters of come on his belly, wiping it between his thighs before lying down and pulling Spencer with him. "Come on," Brendon urges, and Spencer settles into place on top of him without really knowing what he has in mind until his dick slips down between Brendon's thighs, and Brendon tightens his muscles around it. Hissing at the sudden slick pressure, Spencer gives an involuntary thrust of his hips. "Yeah, come on," Brendon says again, and it's all the direction Spencer needs to start pumping in earnest, driving down again and again while Brendon mumbles quiet encouragement into his ear and smooths his hands up and down Spencer's back and arms.

Sensation overwhelms him: Brendon touching, the slide of sweat-slick skin as they move together, the perfect amount of slip and friction in the tight warmth between Brendon's legs. Abruptly, Spencer recalls the image of Brendon slicking his thighs with his own come. "Fuck, Brendon," he moans, pushing himself up on his elbows. Brendon's hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead and cheeks, his mouth open and panting. He looks a little dazed, but his eyes are bright as he meets Spencer's gaze. "Spencer," he breathes, surging up to capture Spencer's mouth in a kiss. Spencer is almost too far gone to kiss back; he whines in the back of his throat as Brendon bites at his lips and tugs him down, blunt fingernails digging into his back. Spencer's hips stutter and still, pressed hard against Brendon's thighs as he comes, groaning helplessly, with his face pushed into the crook of Brendon's neck.

They lie there panting for awhile, and Spencer would be content to stay, but Brendon starts making gasping noises and flopping his arms around, so Spencer rolls off of him, laughing.

 

As it turns out, Brendon is a cuddler. Spencer can't say he's surprised. And though he makes a show of rolling his eyes when Brendon snuggles up to him, he can't say he really minds, either.

"You're going to make Ryan come to Jon's for band practice, right?" Brendon asks, picking right back up where they left off before they had mind-blowing sex. Spencer grins and lets his mind linger on those events for just a moment before answering, "Duh."

"You realize that Ryan is going to want to sing, right?" Brendon asks.

"Not once he's heard you sing, he's not." Spencer thinks for a minute. "But he is probably going to want to write all the songs."

"So, we'll let him," says Brendon breezily. "For now. And with our input, obviously." He smacks his palm down on Spencer's stomach, making him oof. "I have a plan for world domination, Smith," Brendon declares. "It has bullet points!"

Spencer grins and pokes Brendon in the ribs until he squirms. If anyone can give Ryan Ross a run for world domination, Spencer figures it's Brendon Urie. But there's no sense in letting it go to his head.

"Spencer?"

"Mm."

"Can we have Pop-Tarts for breakfast?"

Spencer's stomach flips pleasantly at the thought of Brendon still being there in his bed in the morning. "Sure."

"Awesome." Brendon is quiet for a few moments. "Do you really have Pop-Tarts?"

"'Course. What's your favorite?"

"Uh... Frosted strawberry. Or maybe s'mores; I can never decide."

"Cool. No problem, then."

"Best boyfriend ever," Brendon mumbles sleepily, and a bubble of warmth expands in Spencer's chest.

Spencer waits until Brendon's breathing evens out, and then reaches for his phone. Bring poptarts & I'll let you back in, he types.

The response comes quickly: Why

Bden's breakfast.

GROSS

Nothing else appears, and Spencer bites his lip and waits.

Fine. What kind?

Spencer grins and allows himself a mental fist pump. Frosted strawberry. Bonus points for smores too.

You owe me, Smith.

I know.

& I hate you.

I know. See you soon. xox

Spencer puts his phone down and curls his arm around Brendon, smiling when Brendon presses in closer. "Spencer?"

"Dude, I thought you were asleep! What is it?"

"How long before Ryan gets back?"

Spencer thinks about it for a moment. "Mmm.... Probably at least half an hour. Why?"

Brendon raises up and half-drapes himself over Spencer's chest. He is grinning like he knows the best secret ever. "I know a lot of things we can do in half an hour," he confides, adding, "and they all end in orgasms," just in case Spencer doesn't get it.

Spencer laughs, but sure enough, his dick twitches with interest. "Half a sec," he tells Brendon and reaches for his phone, typing, Don't hurry home.

The response is almost instantaneous: So. Much. Hate. But Spencer doesn't see it until almost half an hour later.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~