Team Jon: If You Love Something, Let it Go
When Every Breath Feels Like Drowning



...

Jon doesn't know how it started. Or at least that's what he maintains. He's not brave enough to start delving through his own thoughts, just to find out. It's something he hides, and it crept up on him in such a way that suddenly it was there in full force and he hadn't even noticed its advance.

He's ashamed of the way he can't help but feel inferior, especially when he speaks about it. It makes him feel trivial, unjustified. He doesn't like sharing this part of him with anyone, but if anyone was to know about it, it should be Spencer - Jon's choking a little, just on the idea of telling him, the feel of the words in his mouth, weighty on his tongue - because Spencer knows him too well, knows him well enough it would be hiding something to not let him see the day where, for the first time, Jon looked in the mirror and knew that he was inferior, the way he couldn't help but feel lured in by his reflection. His thoughts were those of disgust, loathing.

Spencer would make an attempt to understand, but still not fathom, not understand Jon's confusion at how that one glance in the mirror turned into long minutes in front of a substitute reflective surface, anything at all, the stainless steel of his fridge, his distorted shadow on the footpath, his vague outline on the exterior of a car, stretched and warped like the lines his mind fed him. How that turned into long minutes spent grasping at flesh, pinching and prodding what he saw to be a substandard figure.

Any sane, standard person would see this and realise that it wasn't normal, that he should quit this behaviour and go back to whatever the hell it was he was doing before this. Not that he remembers. This is what he's telling Spencer. That it makes him feel silly, like a petty teenage girl, curled up in bed on a Sunday morning, bodies tangled with the sheets, tangled with the covers and cuddling up into soft pillows, all bare skin and stretched limbs.

The morning sunlight makes him feel hazy, soft and inviting the way it only ever is in the early hours of the weekend, before you start counting down your coming week. He's telling Spencer how he went to an outpatient therapy place nearby, how he sat in his car and clenched the steering wheel, hunched against it, his head screaming at him to turn the key again and drive away, because his mind insisted this was a bad idea. He's strong and he doesn't have a problem. It was the longest twenty meters he's ever fought through, just walking to the front door.

"-Longer than the night I met your parents, Spence, and that scared me shitless," Jon chuckles, his attempt at a joke feeble, Spencer laughing a little from above him. He shifts closer on the bed and pulls him in as tight as possible. Spencer smiles and rubs his back. "Shit Spence - I have an eating disorder. I have an eating disorder and I'm going into therapy."

…

Spencer sits down in front of the computer later and he opens two windows, typing 'outpatient therapy' into one window and 'eating disorders' into another. He isn't sure whether to believe what he sees, or whether he should just close the windows, erase the search and the history, and shut the computer down. There are pages upon pages of information, websites for sufferers, support rooms, websites that talk about how eating disorders are a lifestyle. Spencer freaks a little at that thought and shuts those sites, quickly changes windows to the information covering outpatient therapy.

Outpatient therapy can be anything from a session once a week with a psychiatrist to three or four sessions a week with a team of dietitians and counselors, group therapy sessions and even entire days at the center, eating meals and learning how to live again. Spencer discovers that there is so much he doesn't know, more than he ever wants to know, to be aware of. There is more depth in each of these eating disorders than he ever thought possible, and it's scaring him, just a little, that people can live each day with something like this. That his Jon is living each day with something like this.

…

Spencer returns to the computer after he's eaten breakfast and Jon's in the kitchen making coffee. Spencer knew that Anorexia and Bulimia existed, but he didn't know that you could throw up your food and be an anorexic, or not shove your fingers down your throat to make yourself throw up, and still be bulimic.

There's another eating disorder known as Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, which, while rather self-explanatory, covers patients who might not fit into the diagnosis for anorexia or bulimia or another eating disorder, but still have problems with food. Every website he visits stresses that any disorder is fatal, that any one of these could kill. That scares him even more, scares him shitless even.

He finds pages of warnings against developing the diseases (although it's something he doesn't get, because it sounds like going out and trying to deliberately contract AIDS or develop cancer); he finds a page stating all the risks of purging. The risk of heart attack, of killing yourself from the inside out. He finds pictures of a girl leaning against a toilet, and she isn't that thin. Spencer feels guilty thinking that after he reads on further, scrolling nervously down the page. The photos he looked at, that's the way she was when they found her dead, draped across a bathroom floor after getting rid of that last little piece of an unwanted meal. She has a bruise spread across her torso and she killed herself by throwing up. Spencer bookmarks the link, just in case.

It's then that Jon wanders over to the computer desk with Spencer's coffee and asks, "What're you looking at?" Spence fumbles nervously with the mouse and struggles to open up another window in time. Jon looks suspicious when he hands over the cup of murky, warm liquid, but doesn't say anything else. Spencer trawls through pages of information, scribbles down links for support places for supporters of patients to go to, and maybe he'll get the chance to look at these pages sometime. When he looks further at outpatient therapy places in their area, he finds a page that looks like the one Jon was talking about. It's called 'The Oak House', and it's close, within five minutes drive. He downloads brochures and reads the information, a little overwhelmed, a little scared. He carefully makes sure he has deleted each file from the computer's history, except that bookmark, and he scrunches the notepaper with the links into a ball before shoving it carefully into the pocket of his jeans, making sure that Jon can't find it. He shuts the windows and buries his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the desktop. He's seen enough. He's so damn scared.

…

Jon asks Spencer if he can take the following Monday off of work, because he's made an appointment with the therapy centre. They've scheduled him in for an Initial Consultation and want either a friend, parent, partner or some other supporter to be present, to help them gain a better idea of the history.

Spencer tells his boss, Gerard, at work that he won't be in for Monday or Tuesday, just in case, and when he reenters the bedroom he smiles nervously at Jon as he notices the fear spark in his eyes.

…

Monday arrives, and Jon and Spencer lie in bed for a good part of the morning. Jon's appointment is at 11:00. He's at a loss when it comes to what to say, they both are, and so they lay under the covers, chest to chest, legs intertwined. Jon massages a hand into the hair at the base of Spencer's neck and kisses him quickly on the lips before nuzzling into his cheek. Jon's quiet, even quieter than usual, as they get dressed.

Spencer's trying to assess how he's coping, how he's taking this, and it's then that he realises that he can't read him, can't work out how he's feeling, and he's left feeling lost. When did that start, when did his boyfriend become so closed? Would Spencer have noticed if it weren't for this?

…

"It'll be okay babe," Jon says over breakfast.

When Spencer thinks about it, he can't remember when he last saw Jon eat in the morning. When did he stop noticing so much about his partner? Even now that he is, Jon chews slowly, timidly at his cereal, looking down at each mouthful like it might be his last, like it could kill him any second now.

Jon says, "I want this. I want to get out of here." Spencer doesn't know where here is, what here means, but he's going to help Jon in anyway he can.

…

They're parked in a small care park outside a neat white house, two floors high with the words, 'Welcome to The Oak House' stated crisply on the fence outside, and it's not really what Spencer expected. It's light and welcoming, airy even, and yet still professional, without being clinical. It's surprising really. He almost expected to find a dingy little clinic, with little old women toddling around smiling sympathetically at frail young girls. But before he even gets out of the car he's pretty sure that's not what he's going to find inside the doors of the crisp modern house.

"I thought I was meant to be the one shitting myself babe?" Jon says, laughing over from the other seat. Spencer doesn't know how he's so relaxed.

He glances over a Jon and giggles, saying, "Oh shush, I'm just scared for you, ya dork," before leaning over and pecking Jon on the lips one last time, squeezing his hand tight once more. He lets go to unbuckle his seat belt, opening the door and stepping out onto the crisp gravel.

The Oak House is small, yet the rooms are spacious and well set up, and it's quiet, no radio playing frustrating music or children screaming. It's welcoming and modern inside, and it makes Spencer relax a little more.

Jon seems to be winding himself up tight though, breathing quicker and rubbing his hands on the legs of his jeans. Jon pokes his head nervously around the corner into what appears to be an office, and gives a small smile to the woman at the desk, who's talking on the phone. She waves at him and covers the mouthpiece, mouthing "Won't be a second," before returning to the call. Jon shuffles back towards Spencer, head down, shoulders pulled forward, like he's trying to make him self as small as possible.

Spence pulls him in for a hug, kissing the top of his head, holding him tight. Spencer hears the click of a phone in its receiver and holds onto Jon tighter. He whispers, "You're doing fine, you're gonna be just fine babe," into Jon's ear and leaning down to kiss him again on the forehead, because Jon really has gotten smaller in here. Spencer pulls him in to his chest, as close as possible and doesn't want to let go, but the woman at the desk appears around the corner.

She smiles and he lets go of Jon with one arm, still holding him tight to one side, maintaining as much contact and support as possible, pulling him in as he turns and looks up at this woman. "Hey Jon," she says, softly, and then, turning, "You must be Spencer. I'm Margot." Spencer nods and holds out his hand, which she shakes firmly. Looking at both of them, she says, "I'm the business manager here, so I'm mostly an organizing/information officer of sorts, you know, keep the world going round, that sort of thing…" She pauses and smiles at them, no judgement in her eyes. Continuing, she says, "I've asked Greta to look after you today, taking your through everything, and I've let her know you're here, so she should be on her way down now."

As if on cue a young woman (Spencer almost thinks 'girl' but then realises that she's probably older than him) wanders down the stairs, her face pulled into a small smile. "Hey," she says, her voice only as loud as it needs to be. Spencer can't decide what kind of impressions he's getting from her, whether it's one that he likes. That is, until she smiles wider, and it's as if any judgement and doubt that might have been flowing from her disappears. Here she's going to be soft and sweet and Spencer just hopes she's as good at her job as she is at convincing him of that. "I'm Greta. Greta Salpeter," she says, and holds out her hand.

Spencer shakes it and the lets go of Jon for the second he takes to shake her hand as well, before Spencer greedily clasps it back into his hand, holding on tight. Jon's hand squeezes for a second, just enough to be reassuring, and Spencer releases a breath he didn't realise he was holding. This isn't even his place to be nervous.

"We're going to go upstairs for today, to one of the bigger rooms up there and get comfortable if that's alright with you boys?"

Spencer and Jon nod and follow her up the stairs, hands still fused tight.

…

Jon curls up against Spencer on the longest couch, grasping at their drinks with two cradle hands and blowing at the steam coming off the top of the hot liquid. Greta smiles at them again, sweet, if a little condescending and asks, "So how long have you boys known each other?" as if this isn't what it really is, as if she just met them on the street.

Spencer maybe feels a little like he's at couples therapy, but he hides it and smiles over at Jon, who says, "Three years? Four years maybe?" Jon smiles back at him and Spencer nods in agreement. It doesn't seem that long.

"You look good together, like a real couple." Greta smiles and starts the session properly.

…

It's a long session. Greta covers everything from when Jon thinks his problems with food started, cross referencing with Spencer, to seeing them separately, asking Spencer when he thinks Jon changed, whether he was like this as long as he can remember or whether there was a time that this all changed. With Jon, she asks him what he wants from this, what he wants to change, to gain back, and all he says is, "I want my life back."

…

Greta recommends 3 or 4 sessions, split between his two therapists for at least for the first month or two, to try and get Jon back on track as fast as possible with his eating behaviours, to try and stabilize him physically. One or two of these each week would be with a dietary counselor, to work through Jon's problem areas with food, to find out what needs to change. He'll have to have weekly check ups with their GP to manage his physical well being for close to the first two months, changing to fortnightly when the team deems he's ready. She looks at Spencer pointedly when she says that he's going to need all the support he can get, and as much understanding as those around him can muster, if this is going to work. The only way people don't recover from eating disorders is if someone gives up on them. "That's the only way this won't work," Is what she says. Spencer believes her.

…

Jon and Spencer go and hole themselves up in a corner of their favourite coffee shop, where Gerard, their favourite barista, who recognises them as regular customers, makes up their coffees and delivers the drinks to them personally, grinning wildly at them. Jon smiles timidly back and Gerard's grin falters, his eyes filling with sadness, sympathy. But he doesn't ask any questions, and this just confuses Spence. It's as if this is something so obvious that Gerard knows what's going on, and yet Spencer didn't even have a clue.

When they have their drinks, Jon huddles further against Spencer and tucks his head into the space on his shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric of his hoodie, his hair brushing the soft skin of his neck. Spencer doesn't say anything, and they huddle into the corner of the booth until the lights come on outside and Jon's asleep in Spencer's lap. Spencer doesn't have the heart to wake him, watching down over him and pushing his hair away from his bleary eyes when he stirs slowly from his wake. "You're beautiful, you do know that right?" he says.

Jon just shrugs and looks away.

…

The next morning the alarm goes off and Spencer rolls over and hits at it, hands slapping the bedside table two or three times and then the fumbling at the clock before turning off the horrid beeping. He groans and rolls back over, tucking himself up in Jon's arms. Five minutes later, Jon's nudging at him, tucking his chin over his shoulder and whispering his name in his ear. "Jon, Jon, it's okay, I got today off. It's okay."

Spencer expects Jon to shrug, murmur maybe, but not to sit bolt upright in bed and look at him like he was mad. "What? Why Spencer, why?" he speaks, the words harsh and dissonant, his voice breaking.

"I-. I just thought you might like me here Jon, that's all."

"Spencer, I am not fucking fragile. I don't need you here watching over me, trying to be my fucking Mother or something!" Jon yells, throwing the covers aside and stalking over to the dresser, every step causing his feet to hit the carpet with a loud thump.

"Jon, calm down, come back to bed, that's not wh-."

"Spencer, why the fuck else would you take the day off?"

Spencer is starting to get frustrated with Jon's antics, not understanding where this could be coming from. "Jon, what about the fact that I'm your boyfriend, that I care about you, wanted you to be okay. Just. What the hell, what is this?"

"Spencer, I'm not a kid. I don't. Need. looking. After."

"And I already told you, that's not what this is. Look, whatever, I'm going downstairs, come talk to me when you've had some sense knocked into you." Spencer flips the remainders of the covers from his lap and leaves the room, bare feet barely making a sound as he pads down the hallway and into the bathroom, splashing some water onto his face. Staring in the mirror he sighs and shakes his head. What the hell was going on this morning? This was going to be their day together, and it's just not happening. Spencer eventually makes it down to the kitchen and grabs some coffee, arching his back against the countertop and curling his fingers around his mug, sighing and relaxing at the feeling of the warm, creamy liquid as he took a sip. He just hopes Jon will come around eventually. He knows he will, he just hopes it'll be okay.

…

Half an hour later Spencer finally hears footsteps on the soft carpet of the stairs and deliberately doesn't turn to look at Jon from his spot curled in the couch. He does however, hunch his shoulders and stare further into his second cup of frothy coffee.

"Spence? Spence, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Jon rushes, his voice quiet and breathy.

Spencer looks up to see Jon standing at the base of the couch, his face covered by his hands, head down, not looking for Spencer's reaction. "Jon, Jon God, Jon come here."

Jon's hands move from in front of his face and he raises his eyes sheepishly at Spencer.

"Jon, seriously, come here, stop being such a fucking pansy," Spencer laughs.

Jon giggling and shuffling forward until he is standing next to where Spencer is lying spread out on the couch.

"No, seriously Jon, here," says Spencer, smiling up at his boyfriend and patting the curve of his hips. Spencer moves his hands then to grab at the elastic on Jon's pajama pants and hauls him forward until he has no choice but to collapse on the couch.

Jon smiles from above Spencer before leaning down to kiss him gently on the lips. Spencer laughs and grabs onto the hair at the base of Jon's neck, hands splaying, criss-crossing out towards the start of Jon's shoulders, massaging at the muscle there before pulling forwards, pulling Jon towards him, kissing him deeper probing his mouth with his tongue and pushing back against his mouth, harder, faster. Jon moans into the kiss, allowing Spencer to pull him forward, pushing back against Spencer and slotting his hips to fit into the space between the gentle spread of his legs. Spencer ruts against Jon as he pushes down with one strong leg, pushing down against Spencer's hips and oh god, rutting against Jon as his hands splay out around Spencer's waist, fingers rubbing against the soft skin revealed by the rising base of Spencer's shirt.

Breaking to breathe, Spencer looks out from under his messed up hair, his eyes dark with intent as he looks at Jon. "Wanna go back to bed?" he breathes out into Jon's skin, lips brushing the soft flesh at the curve of his neck, nibbling slightly on his earlobe afterwards. His voice is already raspy, and he ignores the dash of uncertainty that runs through Jon's eyes, thinking he imagined it, because the next thing that happens involves Jon moaning in his ear and hauling him to his feet.

Together they both are trying to kiss, make it to the bedroom and remove various items of clothing all at the same time. After it is clear that this isn't working, Spencer pulls back to look down at himself, soft pants half way off of his hips, cock half hard, his shirt rucked up around his waist. Looking up and laughing at Jon he grabs his hand before taking off up the stairs, landing on the bed to be followed by Jon settling himself on all fours above his body.

Spencer breathes out, looking at Jon carefully and arching his body off the bed to connect their lips again, breaking apart only to slide his hands up Jon's soft skin, over his ribs, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Jon seems to curl a little, but Spencer doesn't know what to do, and instead reaches up again for another kiss. Jon's body seems to have seized up somewhat, even his lips moving slower, like he's drugged. "Jon?" Spencer asks, their lips still touching, dragging together, sharing air, gasping at each other's mouths.

"Spencer, I can't… Spencer I can't do this, I can't, not now, I just can't," Jon splutters out, withdrawing himself back from Spencer, grabbing for his shirt and throwing it back over his head.

Spencer watches as he seems to withdraw into his mind, part of the emotion in his eyes sinking back behind heavy glass doors, glossing over. "Jon, what'd I miss, what's happened, how could I be so fucking stupid?" Spencer stutters out, voice tense, breaking over between syllables.

"Spencer it has nothing to do with you, nothing at all it's just all in my fucking head and I don't know how to get rid of it, I don't know what to do, I don't know what's fucking wrong with me-" he rambles, the sound of tears evident in his voice.

Spencer moves back and watches his boy cradle his head in his hands and whimper. Fuck. "Oh fuck, fuck, Jon, come here, come here, it's okay, you're safe, it's okay."

"Spencer, just-. Just don't-. I can't get rid of this and it's just floating in my head all the time and it's so stupid because you've done nothing to make me feel this way but I do, I don't know why, but I do," Jon sobs, his chest heaving and shaking.

Spencer knows this because he can feel it rocking through to where he is sitting on the bed, and could hear the quiet sharp intakes of breath that fit the timing of Jon's chest heaving in huge, laborious movements. "Jon, what are you talking about, what are you saying? What do you think I think, is that what it is? You think I think something bad about you?" Fuck. Jon's shoulders only start to shake harder, really visible now, shaking back and forth on the bed. What had Spencer said to make it worse? He doesn't understand what he'd said that was wrong. "Jon?" Spencer says quietly.

"Spencer…. Just… I'll never-. Fuck. Fuck. I'll just-. I'll-"

"Jon, Jon come up this end, lie down, calm yourself down first, please. I don't want to lose you." Again, anything Spencer says seems to make Jon's shoulders shake harder.

Jon doesn't know how to explain. Greta had said to him yesterday during the consultation that he was going to have to do a lot of explaining, try anything and everything to make Spencer see what was going on, to try and make him understand what was going on in his head. That is just a lot harder to put into action that it sounds. "Spence-… Spence. I just don't know how to say this. I'm-. I'm so fucking scared Spencer."

"Oh Jon, please, don't. Just-. Just don't be. I-. I really don't know what to say. I mean-. Can you tell me why you're scared, what you think is going on?"

"Spencer I just -. I feel like I'll never be good enough for you, and it's so cliché and it's horrible and I feel like such a goddamn girl, but I don't know how else to put it. Something in my head, this stuff in my head, it makes me second-guess everything and it's just making me feel like this relationship is not what it seems. I don't know how else to put it, I just want you to believe that it's not necessarily me, but really well and truly just this stuff in my head, the little voice that tells me that I'm not good enough, no here, not at work. I mean fuck, I think that someone on the other end of the call I'm taking is going to somehow know that I'm an idiot who's too afraid to get a real job where someone is going to actually have to see me."

"Come here Jon. No, seriously, get up here, I need you up here." Jon looks up again, the same look on his face as that earlier in the day, unsure, uncertain. "Jon, I-. I love you, I really really do. I want to do anything to make you see that, to make you believe it. Now please, come up here and lie down, you need to rest more, I'm sorry. I'm really trying here, I want to help you. I just want you to believe that, to believe that I'm not going to run away on you."

"I guess I believe you?"

"Good enough. Come here, seriously, how many times do I have to say it?" Spencer says, laughing, and just like that the tension in the air is lifted, the tension melts out of Jon's shoulders, his torso and arms, out of everywhere, and he crawls up the bed and wraps his arms around Spencer's hips, pulling him close and tucking his face into the skin of Spencer's neck.

…

Jon's first appointment with Greta, because as it turned out, it was decided that she was going to be the person best for him, is on the following Thursday. The boys spend all day curled up in bed, and Spencer doesn't know what he is supposed to think, because they have literally been in bed all day, and that means that Jon hasn't eaten anything all day. On his lunch break the next day at work Spencer figures the best course of action is to call Greta, and so when he has his coffee and roll and is seated in a corner of the quiet café, he dials the number she had given him at the end of the consultation. It rings just over three times before she answers.

"Hello!"

"Uh-. Hi Greta. This is Spencer. How are you?"

"Good good, hi Spencer. What's going on that made you decided to give me a call? I mean, sure I'm a nice girl, but we both know you don't swing that way."

Spencer laughs nervously. "Uh… Well I just wanted to ask... Um… I just don't know… how I'm meant to be helping Jon, you know? I mean – if you can promise that this won't come up, that you won't bring it up, I took yesterday off and we had a bit of a talk and he had a bit of a freak out and we managed to get through it, but then we were in bed all day, and sure, I didn't eat anything all day, but neither did he, and I'm not sure whether I should say something, whether I should be trying to get through this with him, but I don't want to become his keeper or anything, y'know?"

"Ah okay," Greta says, her voice slow and drawn out, "One of the things you have to remember throughout all of this is that Jon is an adult, and you can't make him feel like a child. He's going to think it anyway, but we all have to be really careful not to give him reason to feel like that. He's only going to get better if he wants to, and you might have to have the fights about how much he eats, but you need to make sure it remains on an adult level, to deal with it the same way any other conflict that occurs is dealt with."

"Uh huh. That makes a bit of sense?"

Greta laughs. "You don't quite sound that sure. It's going to take some time Spencer. This won't just go away overnight, and you really have to make sure you know that, that you aren't pressuring him to get ready faster than he wants to, unless it's a danger to him, such as if he drops a lot of weight really quickly. With something like yesterday, you need to just try and make it, 'Hey, we should get something to eat,' rather than, 'You should go and get something to eat.' Don't make it something about him, but just make eating a natural part of your relationship. And just-. Just be careful about going out on a dinner date or anything like that. That sort of thing takes time, because then you're not just relying on your opinion, on you and him together, but he's going to be constantly thinking about what others around you are thinking too."

Spencer pauses, thinking too hard, trying to absorb all this new information and instruction.

"Too much to think about?" Greta laughed, "Does it help at all?"

"Ye-. Yeah, no it does, it definitely does help. Yeah. It's just… It's like I'm realigning everything I knew about him and putting it into a different perspective, and it's all a bit weird, because I don't want to have this become what I think of him as. Like-. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah yeah, I get what you're saying. Just-. Literally some of the best advice I can give you until I get to know Jon better is to tell you to try and relax around him, to try and 'go with the flow' as such, as corny as that sounds. Try and let things happen the way they always did, try not to work at it."

"Okay yeah, I can do relaxed. I think so anyway!" Spencer laughs, and he is actually relaxing a little, the idea that he won't have to change all at once himself is also nice to know.

"Good, good… Oh and Spencer? – While I have you on the phone – you're coming to the sessions on Monday evenings aren't you, you're going to be there?"

Oh God, he's been trying not to think about it, because really he has no idea how he is going to handle it. "Yeah – I'll be there. Um… Yeah."

"Alright, I'll let you go then Spencer. Just take it easy, okay? Don't try to hard, that's probably the best thing I can tell you at the moment."

"Okay. Okay, sure. I'll see you Monday then I guess, right?"

"Yep, I'll see you Monday Spencer. You take care, okay, of yourself as well as Jon. We don't need both of you falling apart worrying about this." Spencer laughs again, a little uneasily. It is a little confusing, he'll give Greta that, but he wants to try, try and try hard.

"I'll see you Monday Greta." Spencer says smiling, listening to her reply,

"Bye Spencer," and then to the beep of the dial tone as she hangs up, returning to her day.

As he finishes off his coffee and the remainder of his lunch that he's been nibbling on listening to Greta talk, he thinks about just how much work he wants to put into this to help Jon. He just hopes it is enough.

…

Jon's first session is awkward. As much as he wants this, he knows he wants it and needs it, he just can't bring himself to just open up to Greta, can't just talk about this shit like it's nothing.

At the end of the session she turns and smiles, a little wistfully, at him, saying, "I know you're worried. I know it seems strange to have to try and spill your heart out to someone you've never met before, but just give it time, okay Jon? Just… Give it all a lot of time, and promise me you'll at least try to go easy on yourself? For both of you."

…

That night they go out for dinner with the better part of Jon's work, because really, working in a call centre like Jon does isn't exactly conducive to an active social life. So, every once in a while, they meet up at a bar somewhere, bring their partners or friends along, and have some fun. The thing is, Jon and Spencer have made some good friends through it, mostly because Spencer insists that they go before Jon "turns into some kind of hermit-creature," so Jon has no real reason to complain, but does anyway.

Tonight is no different. Spencer ushers Jon out of one door, down to the car, drives them to the bar, gets them out of the car and pushes him through the doors again. Jon's maybe a little more enthusiastic than he'll ever let on, and Spencer maybe suspects this, but neither of them ever say anything. Jon's made some good friends through this, but he's not going to change his attitude just now.

Tonight it's just a small group of them, some of them with partners, some with friends, some going solo. Frank and Mikey are here, so are Brendon and Ryan, both couples, and William is there with a couple of friends, some who Jon has known in the past. They all get a long well, and they always have a good time. Brendon and Ryan are cute together, infact they're down right adorable, and Spencer and Jon have known them for so long that they've grown really close, going on double dates to the movies and out on dinner dates, to bars and clubs with each other. Spencer might sometimes secretly hope that some of the cute will rub off and then he looks at Jon and decides that maybe they don't need much more cute.

They have a good time eating, drinking, laughing their way through the night, and Spencer is smiling wide, easygoing with the soft lull of alcohol, curling fingers around Jon's waist as they climb the stairs to the apartment. Spencer fumbles with the lock on the door when Jon brushes aside the hair on the back of his neck and nips gently on the curve of his shoulder, at the hard feel of the bone of his spine. Jon listens to the sharp intake of breath when he nibbles his way to the spot just behind Spencer's earlobe and laughs low in his throat when Spencer kicks the door open and turns to face him, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

They don't waste and time, kissing hard, and Spencer's body is hot and rough against Jon's, his hands pulling his hips close, rutting against his body and causing a pit of heat to curl leisurely in the base of his stomach. It feels good like this. Fluid and easy, the way it should, like they fit together, two halves of a whole. Jon thinks he's maybe even more cliché drunk than he is sober. Jon stops thinking anything when he feels Spencer's dick rub hard against the front of his pants.

They rut against each other, grasping at purchase holds, at hips, ribs, shoulders and hair, pulling each other as close as possible. Spencer pulls away to catch his breath and giggles a little, Jon eyeing him questioningly. "The door's still open!" Spencer hisses, still laughing, and Jon laughs too, just long enough to kick the door shut and pull Spencer towards him again.

He grabs at Spencer's hips and presses their lips together once more. Spencer groans into his mouth and starts to push Jon backwards, back towards the wall, but Jon pushes back and wins, guiding the two of them to the couch in front of the television, the blank screen reflecting their image as they shed layers of clothing, layers of fabric being peeled off one by one, until it's just the two of them in their underwear, lined up against each other on the couch.

Spencer's lips trail down Jon's chest, mouthing over his collarbones, biting his way down to his nipples before he pulls off to ask, "Lube?"

Jon growls and tips his head back, baring his neck, and Spencer moves back up to mouth at the skin there before pulling back to let Jon say, "In the draw, the draw over there."

Spencer near leaps off of Jon, rattling the cabinet in his haste to find the bottle and a condom, and Jon watches him for a second before flipping over onto his stomach and resting his arms against the arm of the lounge. He closes his eyes as Spencer makes his way back over to him, runs a cool hand down his back, fingers tapping over his spine. Jon shivers a little at the touch and leans back towards Jon, spreading his legs. "Fuck Jon, fuck you look hot like this," Spencer whispers in his ear, kneeling with his legs in the small space between Jon's, bending up and over Jon to rasp the words into his ear.

Jon groans and pushes his ass back into Spencer's hips and gasps in a breath when he hears the cap of the lube snapping open, feels the first touch of fingers down the crack of his ass.

Spencer's hands are slippery and wet with the feel of the lube and Jon's body is firm under his touch, making him groan as he touches it, imagining what it'll be like to fuck him, to make him come first and then fuck him down hard into the couch. Spencer presses the first finger into Jon, pushing gently against the tight muscle and groans again, just from imagining the feel of that around his dick. He feels Jon tense a little with the first finger, but he continues to push in, crooks his finger to reach where he knows it feels good and waits for Jon to relax a little. He hears him hiss out a breath against the intrusion of a second finger and stills for a count, wrapping a hand around his cock, the weight firm and solid in his palm.

Jon starts at the contact and pushes himself back onto Spencer's fingers, crooked at just the right angle, and Jon shakes a little underneath him.

Spencer maybe revels just a little at the feeling. It doesn't take long for Jon to beg Spencer to add another finger, fucking himself back onto Spencer's hand and so it's then that Spencer pulls away, pushing down his boxers and throwing them somewhere behind him, rolling on the condom and slicking himself up with the remnants of the lube on his hands. He presses up against Jon, pushes his dick into the crack of Jon's ass, he runs his hands up and down his sides, planting a kiss to the back of his neck. When he pushes in he can feel Jon tense around him and it takes a lot of drunken willpower not to come right now, because Jon's tight around him. He stills and rubs one hand up and down Jon's side again, the other planted firmly on his hip.

He only starts to move again when Jon pushes himself back towards him, arching his back away from Spencer in order to tilt his hips at just the right angle. Spencer fucks into Jon with earnest, watches the way his arms shake where they're leaning against the rough grain of the fabric, watches the flush of his skin spread from the base of his neck to further down his back, and when it's spread as far as he thinks it will go he wraps a hand around Jon's dick again, finding a rhythm and pumping in time with his thrusts, listening to Jon's sounds, his noises, the way his breath starts to stutter as he gets closer to his climax. Spencer knows Jon's nearly there when his back arches even further and he starts to heave in great breaths, panting a pattern of "Fuck, Spence, fuck," into the arm of the couch where his head is now resting.

Spencer curses as well when he feels Jon clench around him, making himself impossibly tighter, and he feels the hot heat of Jon's come on his fist. He grabs his hips and hauls him closer, thrusting in erratically until he comes too. Spencer pulls out quickly and ties off the condom, throwing it onto the floor somewhere before pulls Jon against him and curls around him on the couch.

They fall asleep like that, naked and sweaty on the couch, post-coital and sated.

They wake up cold in the middle of the night, without a blanket, and even then they simply source a blanket from behind the couch and huddle back against each other, falling asleep once more.

…

Jon stands up, or tries to at least, attempting to haul himself up through sheer willpower, hands holding his weight up on the seat of the toilet, waiting, recovering. His heart beats wildly in his chest, banging up into his throat, and it kind of feels like he's going to crash again. There's black creeping into the outskirts of his vision and he just tries to breathe again. He can hear footsteps coming up the stairs and maybe Spencer's voice ringing down the hallway. He's waiting for the door to open and he knows what Spencer's going to see if he's wrapped around the toilet bowl like this, if he could just push flush and move away it would least look like he tried to hide it. Problem is his head is spinning and his heart really does feel like its going to escape through the front of his chest, he can hear it in his ears, feel it throbbing in his stomach, filled with guilt. He doesn't know how to push through this, his legs feel weak and his arms are shaking.

Spencer's voice calling out, "Jon?" is starting to sound less like, "Honey I'm home!" and more like, "Honey, are you alright?" It feels like forever has passed between the moment Jon heard the front door click open downstairs in the quiet of the house and the moment where he hears Spencer's footsteps stop outside the door of the bathroom.

Jon tenses and his stomach drops even further because he knows that Spencer's only seconds away from finding him like this, but he actually can't. The worst part is not being found out like this, but the fact that Spencer will have seen him at his worst remains. He knows that this is himself at his most vulnerable point. He's stripped down bare and he just feels like he's about to break. Spencer's already picking up enough of the pieces that he doesn't need to be picking him up again, all over again like this. He's costing them enough money to pay for his therapy and here he is wasting their money, their time, everything just running down the drain. Fairly literally, too. He's not really sure why he did it, but he knows that he has, that the weight sitting inside of him became too much to bear and he had to get rid of it somehow.

"Jon? Oh fuck hun are you okay?" Spencer says, voice taught, rushing forward to help Jon back from the toilet, shutting the lid and pushing flush without even looking at the contents.

"I let you down, I broke, I couldn't help it Spence!" Jon whimpers, voice raw and uneven, clammy hands clinging to Spencer like a lifeline.

"You let no one down babe. No one." Spencer says, cradling the older man in his arms, holding him to his chest.

"But I did, I did, I did, I did," Jon rushes out, sobbing into Spencer's arms.

"Shhh… Rest Jon, rest, come on babe, shhh…"

Jon's sobs eventually die down as Spencer rocks him back and forth, one hand rubbing at his back. He stops shaking as Spencer continues to rock, whispering nothings into Jon's ear, any words that could possibly be of comfort. Jon falls asleep in Spencer's arms, Spencer leaning against the tiled wall of the bathroom. Spencer wraps himself around Jon as much as he can and rests his head on top of Jon's, and if he cries a little, he'll never admit it.

…

It's two weeks later that Spencer wakes up to an empty bed and a mismatched, messy room. He walks out into the hallway and stops dead when he sees Jon standing near the door, staring wistfully at a pile of bags in the corner.

"Spence," Jon says, drawing his eyes away from the bags packed and piled in the door of the apartment.

"Jon? What-. What's going on babe?"

"I'm leaving Spencer. I can't do this, not here," Jon says, his voice level, emotionless. He is struggling to keep it that way, trying not to let Spencer see into his head, "I'm moving back in with my parents for a while, I can't do this, I can't do this here."

"You-. You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Wh-. Jon?" Spencer says, incredulous really, mind-blown, because really, "Where the fuck is this coming from?"

"I just-. Just don't make this harder than it already is, I'm leaving. I'll be in touch or something." With that, Jon picks up his bags and pushes past Spencer, out the door, no further explanation. He doesn't turn around; because he's afraid he can't go through with this. If he turns around he'd have to look at what he was leaving, however indefinitely, and he'd have to let Spencer see his face, no longer hiding anything. Fuck, he hopes this is the right thing to do.

…

Back in the apartment, Spencer sits stagnant on the couch, curled around a cushion still warm from Jon's weight. What. The. Fuck. He thought it was getting better, he thought it was all going to be ok. He thought Jon wanted to fight this with him, not leave him all along in an empty apartment. He thought that when Jon said he wanted him to be his support, that he actually meant it, that he would see it through. He thought he was something special, that he meant something, and now he just doesn't know. He couldn't have stopped Jon from leaving, he can't ever refuse him, but he'd give anything he has, anything he has to give and more to have Jon molded to him, hands, torso, legs, broken up into sections that leave heated imprints on Spencer's skin. But all he feels is ice cold, loneliness, and it doesn't even seem to be his fault. He just wishes he knew what was.

…

Brendon and Ryan are nice, but Jon is being abducted into some kind of alternative universe, where couples make each other breakfast in bed and giggle together at whichever television show they are watching at the time, cuddled up on the couch. It's kind of depressing. Jon misses Spencer, he really does, but surely he couldn't have stayed there when all he kept telling himself was that Spencer didn't believe him, didn't understand what was going on, and that Spencer never really loved him. It's a crying shame, Jon thinks, that maybe he never saw what was in front of him until it was too late.

…

The blood roars a little in Jon's ears as he stumbles down the dim hallway, one hand outstretched to the wall, caught with his stomach clenching and burning in his torso. He feels ill, like he's going to throw up, and really, that would defeat the purpose, because Ipecac would have done that hours ago. He never would have had to go through the panic in the line for the checkout at the supermarket, excusing himself and heading for the medications before he has a mental breakdown in a public place. He remembers wildly heaving in breath and listening to the blood pound through his head, fumbling with a packet of laxatives and racing back to the checkout. He remembers feeling like everyone saw him for what he was, a fuck up, right in that moment, like he'd laid all his cards on the table for anyone to see through. The dizziness, the ringing in his ears, this is why he never took the blasted pills, why he continually tells himself that he can do without them, but all he can think about is how empty he's going to feel, and that's why it comes back to haunt him, time and time again. It's stupid really, and he knows just how much, all of this for the price of feeling like he's fueled by nothing, like nothing can touch him, hurt him, because he's floating above the rest of the world, flying high on the adrenaline, the endorphins and the knowledge that the blood is still rushing through his body.

It's ten minutes later when he's lying on the floor of the bathroom, hot and sweaty for all the wrong reasons, it's then that he relaxes once more and starts to regain rational thought. It's worth it really, to some part of his mind, the part of his mind that doesn't want him to get better, and he doesn't know why or how, but this feeling is just good, and maybe he should be more worried about it than he really is. He crawls back to bed then, and that's when it hits him, like a road train at high speed, it's then that he realises that he's alone in an unfamiliar bed, in the guest room of a house where someone's been kind enough to take him in, and Spencer's just not there. Spencer's lying in their apartment somewhere, on the couch perhaps, maybe in bed, maybe he hasn't moved since Jon left, huddled in the corner of the kitchen making coffee. He doesn't want to think about it, but can't stop it, can't not, and it's tearing at him a little, creating an ache in his heart that won't just go away, not now, not like this. With that, curled around a pillow in a bed all alone, Jon realises just how much he's screwed up.

…

His footsteps fall harsh on the hallway, like it's not carpet, but wood or tile, making noise that seems to ring through his head with each step he takes. He thinks he's probably imagining it, but that doesn't make it go away, loud and angry in his mind. He reaches the door of their apartment and he has to stand there for a while, because really? He screwed this up, and he thinks, really, what if Spencer doesn't take him back? It's strange to knock at the door of his own apartment, especially because he actually has the key in his pocket, the keys to everything that's kept through that door in his pocket. Except maybe there's the part where he can't get to what he wants.

Spencer answers the door, first looking surprised at the intrusion, and then staring up at Jon, his face displaying surprise, shock, disbelief. He looks like shit. Jon's never seen him look this bad, as though he hasn't slept, hasn't showered, hasn't eaten anything. "What are you doing here?" he stammers out, eyes darting down to the floor, looking down at his bare feet and tangling his toes in the carpet.

"I-. I fucked up Spence. I realise that now." Jon says, his own eyes darting down, digging the toe of his shoe into the floor and rocking back and forth on his legs a little.

"I-. I don't think that's it?" Spencer questions, "I mean... It was just that you didn't trust me as much as you needed to, right?"

"Shit Spence. I know, I know, but how do I make you see that that wasn't all me? It wasn't, maybe a little bit, but mostly it wasn't."

"I think I get that, I'm trying, I really am Jon, but what happens if you panic again? I don't want to lose you like that again, ever again."

"I'm trying here Spencer, I'm trying so fucking hard, just give me one more go at this. I'm going to beat it, and if there's one thing I realise this past week, it's that I sure as hell can't do it without you. I can't Spence, I need you, need you so much," Jon's saying these words, he's pleading with Spencer, and it's only then that he forces his eyes up level with Spencer's, tries to express this as best he can. He just hope it works.

"Oh fuck, I love you Jon," Spencer says, pulling Jon forward into the apartment, holding him close. Spencer says, "Promise me you never run away like that again, just ever. I love you so much, I though you'd never come back, like. Ever," and Jon just sighs into Spencer's neck and pulls himself closer, wrapping his arms around Spencer's waist. It's going to be okay, because he's here, Spencer's never given up on him, and that's all that matters. Spencer won't ever give up on him, ever and that's more important than anything else.

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