Danie (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} danimpa) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} patdolym_shadow,@ 2008-09-06 23:45:00 |
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Team Spencer: All is Fair in Love and War [1/2]
Resistentialism
A/N: In my head, Ryan and Keltie break-up (for a multitude of reasons. All reasons concerning Ryan Ross' ineptitude in all things having to do with love, and nothing to do with Keltie.) Spencer, as the best friend, is completely there for Ryan. So much so, that it sparks an argument with Haley that starts with Spencer saying, “He doesn't say anything, but I know he's upset. I can see it in his eyes.” and ends with Haley saying, through tears, “Call me back when you're as invested in our relationship as you are with Ryan and Keltie's.”
It isn't RyanandKeltie that Spencer is concerned with, really. It's just Ryan. Spencer would correct Haley, but he doesn't see the point. Somehow he thinks it would make things worse.
Jon's break-up is completely separate. He ends it when he finds out Cassie had been cheating on him with her roommate throughout all of Panic's last tour. He couldn't exactly blame her for it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
Then they all went to the cabin(!!!).
Consider the above the prologue I didn't write (because if I did actually write it, we'd have another 10,000 words on our hands, and this would have been a month late.)
Anyway, that is not the point.
The point is:
---
Jon sighs, pulling the bass strap over his shoulder, and collapses onto the couch. Spencer puts his elbows on the drums, leaning over towards the rest of his band. Ryan thinks neither of them look as distressed as they should be. Brendon, Ryan corrects himself. None of them look as distressed as Brendon. It's about the same thing, anyway.
“This isn't working,” Spencer says.
Brendon stands in the middle of the room, looking helpless. Nothing he sings sounds right. None of Ryan words are anything anymore; he's repeated them over and over again until they don't mean anything more than letters. Nothing he plays sounds like a record. Ryan pats his shoulder consolingly. It doesn't soften the frown of Brendon's lips, but the tension in his shoulders evens out some.
Spencer taps a lazy beat across the skin of the drum. It sounds like something, just for a second, but as soon as he's paying attention he misses a beat, and the whole pattern unravels. He closes his eyes and stills his hands.
“This isn't working,” Spencer says again, softer.
“This isn't real,” Ryan says confidently. “Everything is fake.”
“It isn't, though,” Brendon says slowly, like he thinks Ryan should already know. “It's a story. It's fiction.”
Ryan's face twists. “It shouldn't feel like fiction.”
-
Spencer's chopping carrots for vegetable soup when Jon comes in and sits on one of the stools.
“What's for dinner?” he asks.
“Soup,” Spencer says. “Now, don't make that face at me, Walker,” Spencer scolds when Jon wrinkles his nose. “I make good soup.”
Jon seems unconvinced. A minute later he says, “Ryan thinks we should be like the vegetables.”
“Like the vegetables,” Spencer repeats. “Because that makes sense,” he says dryly. Ryan's weird ---Spencer knows---but he's not that weird.
“No, like, organic. Natural,” Jon corrects himself. “That made more sense in my head,” he admits.
“Figures,” Spencer mumbles, blinking away prickly tears as he slices an onion.
It takes him a moment to notice he's sliced himself – not a lot, just some of the skin off the tip of his finger. It doesn't even hurt, really. It's just a slow burn that Spencer doesn't notice over the sting in his eyes.
Jon notices, though, saying, “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Spencer looks down, sees the red staining his perfect dicing and scowls. “Fuck, this knife. One minute it's duller than a butter knife and the next it slices my finger off, what the fuck.” He's mostly pissed; this fucking kitchen is so hard to cook in, everything is old or cracked. The cabin didn't even have a motherfucking skillet. Spencer had to buy an overpriced piece-of-crap pan at the grocery store just to cook eggs.
“You should probably try and stop the bleeding,” Jon says. He wrinkles his nose again, “and throw out those onions.”
-
When the soup is done, and Spencer has bandaged his finger, he and Jon go to watch Brendon belt out Ryan's newest lyrics. Spencer has the little camcorder he brought to the cabin. He's been filming things on and off the whole time they've been there.
The fans will love to know what we've been up to, Spencer thinks. Maybe all of this will end up on the DVD. He presses 'RECORD' and listens, watching Ryan's reactions to Brendon's voice.
It sounds good to Spencer, right up until Brendon sings, “You scratch my phosphorus skin.”
“So much for organic,” Spencer mumbles. Jon sags against his shoulder.
“Dinner's ready,” Spencer says, loud enough for Ryan and Brendon to hear.
Brendon pulls off the head set and drops it a little too hard. “I don't fucking know the melody.”
Ryan rubs his temples, asking, “What'd you make?”
-
“Hey, so I was thinking Character's great love shouldn't be Amandine, but Scarlet, instead,” Brendon says over dinner.
“What?” Ryan asks, staring at Brendon like he's crazy. “The same Scarlet that killed Character's father?”
“We still don't have a name?” Jon asks. “For Character.”
“No,” Ryan and Brendon say at the same time.
“But, like, exactly, right? Character doesn't know who he should be loyal to!” Brendon says, bouncing.
“How could he fall in love with someone he's sworn to kill?” Spencer asks.
“Well, he doesn't know it was Scarlet who killed his dad, duh.”
“Whatever happened to Julia?” Jon questions. “I liked her.” He's having trouble following the conversation. The plot is mostly Ryan's thing, and Brendon's been helping him iron out the details since the beginning. Spencer always seems to know what's going on, too --- Jon suspects Ryan tells Spencer everything when no one else is around, which leaves Jon as the odd man out. He thinks this is maybe why Brent left. Spencer and Ryan and Brendon are so close, it's hard to even imagine ever being more than superficially part of their group.
Ryan frowns. “Julia dies, Jon, in like, the second song.” Jon frowns, too, while Ryan pushes on, saying, “Anyway, Brendon, what if Character thinks he loves Amandine, but he doesn't know who she is at all, really, and in the end, he realizes Scarlet is his true love?”
Spencer snorts. “Been done already, Ross.”
Ryan looks affronted. “What!? It totally hasn't.”
“You ever read Gone with the Wind?” Brendon asks, catching the joke.
“Well, maybe it's reverse Gone with the Wind. We could name Character 'Rhett,' and instead of Scarlet ruining things, Rhett does,” Jon says thoughtfully. Ryan stares at Jon like he's crazy.
“Ryan doesn't want to copy someone. He's already sick of being compared to Fall Out Boy,” Spencer says quietly.
There's a long moment of silence.
“Shit. Why is this so damn complicated?” Ryan mumbles.
-
Brendon hears someone playing the piano, and he suppresses a grimace.
“That sounds awful!” Brendon says cheerfully. Jon looks up sharply from the piano.
“Okay,” he says, and stands up. “Alright. Thanks for telling me.”
Brendon is confused. “What? What are you talking---Jon?” Brendon asks. Jon's leaving the room, walking quickly across the floor and past Brendon without another word.
“The piano's out of tune?” Brendon offers, too late. Jon's already gone.
Brendon sits down and plays a few sad notes. They sound sour and wrong in his ears. The piano was fine an hour ago, Brendon knows. He played it and it was fine. Fucking pianos. This fucking cabin.
-
“What happened to your hand?” Ryan asks. He can hear someone playing something on the piano, and he'd think it was Brendon, but Brendon usually plays happy, jumpy things that skip across the keys, and the melody he hears is slow and soft. It might be Jon. Ryan wonders if they could make it a song.
“The knife attacked me,” Spencer says, as if that's explanation enough.
“Oh,” Ryan says. Spencer goes back to catching up on the O.C. (He'll never admit Jon got him hooked, but Ryan knows Spencer watches every episode, sitting in front of the TV for hours to catch up when he falls behind Jon and Tom and can't join their discussions.)
Jon walks past Spencer and Ryan in the living room, not even stopping to tease Spencer for being completely in his own world, watching Seth moon over Summer. Ryan guesses that means it's not Jon who's at the piano.
Ryan thinks about getting up to ask after whatever Brendon's playing, but he's comfortable on the couch, and whatever is happening on the screen is making soft breaths of laughter come out of Spencer's throat. Ryan's content to just keep listening to them both, Spencer's unconscious amusement mixing with Brendon's somber tune.
Maybe Ryan will ask Brendon later, not now, though; not while Spencer's warm next to Ryan on the couch, pressed to his side.
-
Ryan wakes up early that morning, and he can't find Spencer anywhere. Not that he was looking for Spencer, specifically, but Ryan was looking to see if anyone was up, and Spencer wasn't in his bed, and he wasn't anywhere else in the cabin.
Ryan makes coffee and doesn't think about it a lot; Spencer probably went shopping or something. Something.
-
“Hey,” Spencer says, shutting the sliding glass door behind him. “You're up early.”
“Where have you been?” Ryan asks right away. He's been wondering it for the past half hour. He sounds anxious and a little worried --- Spencer didn't come in the front door like Ryan expected. Ryan's not sure why he cares so much. Spencer can take care of himself. He's a big boy.
“I was taking a hike, why? Were you...” Spencer's lips fight to curve into a smile. Ryan likes the way his eyes crinkle when he tries not to laugh. “You were worried,” Spencer accuses.
“Well,” Ryan mumbles.
“I should have left a note, I guess,” Spencer says thoughtfully, “but I've been doing it the whole time we've been here. You guys have just never been awake by the time I got back.”
“Wait, really?” Ryan asks. “Where do you even go? Are there trails?”
Ryan takes a minute to look at Spencer. There's a ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt, and a leaf in his hair. His cheeks are slightly flushed, but it's fading every second he's in the air-conditioned room. He has a half-full water bottle dangling from his fingers. His thumb nails are dirty, stained orange with specks of dirt underneath --- and that's kind of a weird thing to notice, but Ryan does, anyway. Spencer's also looking at Ryan like he's a dumbass.
“Yes, there are trails,” Spencer says patronizingly; his eyes crinkle again. “There usually are, you know, in the middle of the woods. On a mountain. In a state park. Seriously, Ryan.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “ Well, 'Scuse me,” he replies flippantly. Ryan pours himself another cup of coffee and turns back around to look at Spencer, holding up an empty mug questioningly.
“No, thanks, I'm gonna shower. I'm all sweaty and gross,” Spencer explains.
Ryan nods and doesn't wonder what Spencer smells like, not even for a second. If he actually was thinking about not thinking about it he'd be proud. Which he's not. Thinking about it, that is. --- Ryan has a nearly uncontrollable urge to slam his head on the counter.
“Take me with you, next time. I'd be up for a hike or something one morning. I'm so sick of not doing anything,” Ryan adds, instead of injuring himself. It feels like all he does is write music, and play video games. It gets monotonous after a while.
Spencer turns around and blinks, once. “Sure,” he says after a moment, voice even. Ryan can't think of a reason why it wouldn't be, though, so he doesn't know why he keeps noticing all these stupid details. He hates his brain, sometimes.
-
Ryan goes and sits on the couch, trying to finish up the song he started yesterday. If he can get it done he'll make Brendon sing it later, maybe; see if they can get a piano-part sorted out. Ryan likes it, the whole thing feels less forced than the rest of the songs, even if he keeps hitting blocks about the phrasing. It's nothing major anyway, and Ryan mostly thinks the problems are just in his head.
Spencer comes back from his shower, freshly changed, with wet spots on the back of his shirt from his hair. He tries to help, but Spencer is hopeless with lyrics and Ryan keeps getting distracted by the way Spencer's shampoo smells.
-
“Hey, sing for me,” Ryan says when Brendon stumbles into the living room; Brendon turns right back around and doesn't come back for a long time.
Later, coffee mug in hand, Brendon pokes his head through the door.
“Is it safe?” he mock-whispers to Spencer.
“Get over here,” Ryan says. By now, he's already finished the lyrics --- at least as finished as they'll ever get--- and has moved on to watching the news with Spencer.
“You missed Best Week Ever.” Spencer's curled around Ryan on the couch, and his voice is muffled by Ryan's shoulder. “There's nothing interesting on, now.”
“It's Saturday already?” Brendon mumbles. “Jesus, it was Monday like, two days ago.”
“Can you sing now?” Ryan asks impatiently. “You showered, you got coffee, I assume you called your family. And Shane.” Ryan gropes around the floor, looking for his journal. The movement upsets Spencer's position, and he scoots away. Ryan stretches, frowning.
“I was comfortable,” Ryan groans. Spencer rolls his eyes.
It's early, too early for Brendon to want to deal with all of this. He's not even on his second cup of coffee. Dealing with Ryan Ross is definitely a second-cup activity. “Please, Brendon?” Ryan thrusts the journal at him, making his most pleading expression.
“Do we have to do this now?” Brendon whines. “Let's work on it later. I just woke up, like a few---”
“Hours ago?” Spencer interrupts without looking up from the magazine he's just stuck his nose in. Brendon pouts more, mumbling something Spencer can't hear.
“No, come on, please,” Ryan tries. “Spencer, make Brendon sing.”
“Brendon,” Spencer says. Brendon glares.
“Traitor,” he says meanly. He pauses. “Okay, how does the melody go?” Brendon takes the paper from Ryan's hand. Ryan grins cheekily, softly singing the words for Brendon. It's hard to look that smug while you're singing, but Ryan manages to pull it off.
Brendon nods. “Okay, so. Like this? 'Scarlet started singing to every ship in the harbor…'”
“Yeah, yeah. Exactly.”
“It needs another beat, I think,” Jon says, stretching out on the couch.
“Where did you even come from?” Brendon jumps, turning his glare form Spencer to Jon.
“Well, my mommy and my daddy loved each other very, very much...” Jon starts, before bursting into a fit of giggles with Brendon.
“You think so?” Ryan says, surprised.
“Yeah, like, what if you did...” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Scarlet started singing to every last ship in the harbor?”
Ryan shakes his head. “No, no. I mean.” He doesn't say 'that's not how I wrote it,' but he thinks it. They all know it's what he means when he says, “it just doesn't seem right.”
“Okay,” Jon says flatly, abruptly. “Well, whatever. We need milk. I'm going to go to the store. You guys can keep working. Obviously, I'm not helping.”
Brendon frowns. “Jon, wait---”
“What?” Jon's mouth is a thin line.
“We can try it.” Ryan says quietly.
Jon grimaces. “Thank you for humoring me Ryan, I really appreciate it.”
“I---We.” Brendon doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want Jon upset like this. “We're not out of milk?” he finally responds, way too late.
“You don't sound so sure of that. I'll get some just in case,” Jon says slowly. He leaves the room and no one can think of a way to make him stay.
Once the door closes, Brendon springs to life. “I'll go with him.”
Jon doesn't say anything when Brendon chases after the car and bangs on the passenger door window; he just stops long enough for Brendon to get in.
-
Ryan's sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring hard at his guitar.
“Whatcha doing?” Spencer asks, leaning against the door frame.
“I want to burn this guitar. I hate it,” Ryan says, holding the neck of the guitar like he thinks it's going to escape. Spencer regards him evenly.
“Why?”
Ryan looks up at him, his words are insane, but his eyes are clear and serious. “It made Jon mad at me. It made Brendon think his voice isn't good enough. It fucks up the chords I try to play.”
They both don't say anything for a long time. Finally, Spencer says, “You think we need gasoline?”
Ryan shrugs and Spencer grabs the little can by the fireplace and follows him outside. As an after-thought, he takes his camcorder off the mantle before shutting the door.
-
“This is the end of the electric guitar era,” Ryan laughs crazily, tossing his head back.
“I guess it is,” Spencer muses. He sounds normal, almost, but there's an evil glint to his eye that Ryan can't see in the dark. Spencer isn't a pyromaniac, he wouldn't normally be quite so excited about burning an inanimate object (he wouldn't be excited about burning something living, either, but that's a different story all together) but this guitar; these instruments. It feels like they're fucking everything up on purpose. Spencer loves his band, he loves them like family, but in that practice-space, as soon as Ryan picks up a pen or spews another close-to-album-worthy lyric; as soon as Jon strums something that might've sounded perfect a half a second later, if it was a slightly lower chord; as soon as Brendon opens his fucking mouth (does he ever shut up?)---It's not them. It's not their fault. Everywhere but that room Spencer loves them. It can't be their fault.
They end up using a lot of gasoline --- Spencer's thankful it rained earlier that day, this would be some sort of crazy fire hazard otherwise --- and Ryan's eyes flicker in the light of the fire.
“It's us against the world, Spencer Smith,” Ryan says. Spencer sits, quiet, filming the flames absently. Spencer thinks this will be another good story to tell on the DVD.
He keeps thinking about the stupid DVD. Like he knows there will be a DVD, someday. The thing is, though, the thing is, he doesn't know. Who knows if they'll ever finish enough songs to call it an album -- if they'll ever have something that resembles a CD.
“Fuck,” Spencer mumbles, too soft for Ryan to hear.
“It's just me and you and Brendon and Jon,” Ryan says.
Spencer doesn't hear anything past “me and you.”
-
“You did what to a guitar?” Brendon asks sourly when he and Jon get back from the store. Jon's in a decidedly better mood than he was earlier, unpacking groceries and trying not to laugh.
“I burned it alive,” Ryan repeats, calm.
“I--I cannot believe you ru---” Brendon starts to shriek.
“Now, come on, Brendon,” Spencer interrupts. “We have to show those instruments who's boss. There might be an uprising.”
He's only half making fun of Ryan. Spencer keeps having dreams his drum kit is out to get him.
-
That night, Ryan's comforter isn't on his bed. Or under it. Or in the closet.
“Damn it, Brendon,” Ryan swears, crawling under the thin sheets. It's too late and he's too tired to yell at anyone.
He wakes up two hours later because he can't stop shivering.
Ryan's on the way to the living room to find a blanket or a throw or something warm when he hears Spencer snoring. He cracks open the door and watches Spencer sleeping --- not in a creepy way, fuck. Ryan shakes away the thought, trying to clear his head. It's Spencer, for God sakes.
Spencer looks peaceful, curled against himself in a lump. He makes room when Ryan slips under the sheets.
“Brendon stole my quilt,” Ryan mumbles against the shell of Spencer's ear. Spencer throws an arm around Ryan's waist and says something incoherent. Something about Brendon or banana bread, Ryan isn't sure. Spencer likes both, so it could be either.
Ryan falls asleep in ten minutes. And he's warm.
-
Ryan pours Spencer a bowl of Cheerios and himself, a glass of orange juice. He puts a slice of bread in the toaster. Brendon bounces, agitated, at the table.
“Well?” Brendon asks. Spencer wonders how much sugar Brendon put in his coffee.
“Well?” Ryan repeats, finally, once the toast pops up and he sits down. Brendon looks like he's about to die. Spencer munches silently, watching the way Brendon's fingers twitch.
“Aren't you going to ask what happened to your quilt?”
Ryan looks bored. “What happened to my quilt?” He sounds kind of bored, too.
“I burned it alive,” Brendon says evilly. Ryan takes a bite of toast.
“Okay.” Ryan keeps an impossibly straight face, but Spencer can't stop snickering into his Cheerios.
-
“I didn't really burn your quilt,” Brendon says, later.
“Okay,” Ryan says.
“We would've lost the deposit,” Brendon explains. “It's just in the closet.”
Ryan kind of wishes Brendon actually burned the stupid thing. He takes it out of the closet and stuffs it under his bed.
-
Spencer does find Ryan, one morning. It's more surprising that it probably should be. It's mostly surprising because Ryan has no idea why Spencer's in his room, telling him to wake up. The sun isn't even up yet.
“What the... Spencer? Is the house on fire?” Ryan mumbles.
“No...?” Spencer says, confused. Ryan rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow. “No, the house isn't on fire, Ryan, but you still have to get up.”
“Why?” Ryan wails. He hears Spencer sigh something like 'as if I haven't already told you fifteen times' but he answers Ryan anyway.
“I'm going hiking. You said you wanted to go.” Spencer pauses. “I can go without you if you want. It's pretty early.”
“No kidding,” Ryan says, casting an eye out the window. The sky is practically black, still.
“But seriously, we're going to miss sunrise if we don't leave in like, two minutes.”
Ryan grumbles some more but gets up. He makes Spencer tie his shoes.
-
The sky's just brightening when they get to the end of the trail. There's a little clearing, and a big boulder that Spencer stretches out on, staring up at the hint of pink in the clouds.
“We almost missed it,” Spencer says. Ryan can't say anything, he's panting too hard.
They watch the clouds turn from pink, to orange, to purple; all the way to blue again. Spencer takes an orange out of his pocket and digs his thumbs into the peel. Juice run downs Spencer's fingers when he asks Ryan if he wants any.
“No, thanks,” Ryan declines, still panting some. “Jesus Christ, I'm out of shape.”
Spencer smiles at him fondly. “You really kind of are.”
-
It's not working. Again.
Ryan says as much. “It's not working.”
“Fuck,” Jon says. “I'm going outside.” He drops the bass to the floor neatly ---he's more gentle with the instruments than the rest of them--- and leaves the room.
Brendon and Spencer both look at Ryan. “Okay,” Ryan says. “Okay, yeah. I'll go.”
-
“It's not your fault,” Ryan says when he finds Jon outside. Ryan settles next to the bassist, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. It's cold outside --- the air's thinner up here in the mountains. Ryan likes it, though, likes having to take deep breaths to get a satisfying lungful of air.
“But this didn't happen before,” Jon says, taking a long drag on his cigarette.
“Well, no, but---”
“And have a single one of my ideas been any good?”
Ryan can't exactly say they're great, because he's shot down every one. Jon looks at him, lips curled cruelly. Like he wants Ryan to say it. “They're just... not right.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jon stands up. “At least I can actually play, right?” He flicks his cigarette onto the front lawn, and goes inside, leaving Ryan sitting on the cement steps.
The cigarette burns on the ground. A pine needle starts to smoke.
Ryan gets up and twists out the embers out with his shoe. The ash disappears into the pine needles, and Ryan keeps wishing he could make this whole mess disappear just as easily, as if he could twist Jon's insecurities out with his heel.
-
Somehow, Brendon loses the tambourine. And, it's not like it matters, really: they've used it all of twice since they've been here. But it's annoying. He knows he had it, but between arguing with Ryan about lyrics and getting caught up in---- Brendon stops himself. He's very studiously not thinking about that. Somewhere along the line, though, the tambourine disappears and Brendon can't find it anywhere.
-
Jon raises an eyebrow at Brendon, ass sticking in the air, arms sweeping back and forth underneath the couch.
“Looking for something?” Jon asks. His tone makes Brendon sit up too fast, yanking his arms out from under the dusty couch. Jon clears his throat, but raises the other eyebrow at the commotion.
“You have it?!” Brendon screeches as he falls backwards, the momentum throwing him so he ends up sprawled across the floor, staring up at Jon. A Jon who is not holding a tambourine.
“Damn,” Brendon says. Jon looks way too amused by the whole situation. Asshole. “You don't know where it is?” he asks, after a minute. Jon's voice was deep, rougher than usual. Brendon swears he was--- “You didn't steal it to make me miserable and now you're laughing at my futile search?”
Jon's amusement dissolves; now he's just confused. “Um. What is 'it'?”
“The tambourine!” Brendon says, exasperated. “If you don't know where it is, go away or help me look.”
Jon grins and turns around, retreating up the stairs.
“You fucker!” Brendon screeches after him, and goes back to searching.
-
Brendon can't exactly think why he would put it in Spencer's room, but Spencer's and Ryan's rooms are the only two places he hasn't looked. He checked Jon's room after the Living Room Incident (as Brendon thinks of it), but the place was clean. No tambourines anywhere.
“Hey,” Spencer says groggily when Brendon opens his door. He looks up, smiling, but the smile drops of his face as soon as he notices who it is. “Brendon?” he asks. His smile is back just as fast as it was gone, but it's different now, somehow. It's genuine, but softer, a little bit sad.
“Hey,” Brendon says, still trying to unravel Spencer's smile. It's not sad, really, Brendon finally decides. Maybe a bit disappointed. “Have you seen the tambourine?”
“No,” Spencer replies. He pauses. “What? Why would I have seen the tambourine?”
Brendon shrugs, wonders what Spencer was looking forward to, and starts searching. Spencer makes a displeased sound when Brendon looks through his drawers, sifting through shirts and jeans, and almost throttles Brendon when he starts for the closet.
“What are you doing?” Spencer barks. Eyes wide, Brendon looks back at Spencer, who's sitting half upright in the bed, mouth set hard and angry. He looks more protective than pissed, though.
“What---” Brendon starts to say, but Spencer interrupts with, “Don't you dare touch those shoes. I got them for twenty bucks at one of Ryan's stupid thrift stores on the way up to the cabin. They are hand painted, Brendon, if you fuck them up I'll kill you.”
Brendon blinks. The tambourine is probably not in Spencer's closet, he reasons, he can skip looking in just this one place.
Brendon decides that looking under the bed is probably less dangerous and sets to work. Spencer eyes him warily for a second, before mumbling, “Just be quiet. It's late.”
It's not really late; it's only eleven, but Spencer is an old man when it comes to bedtime. Sometimes, they get him to stay up with a movie, and after a show he'll be wired for hours, but when they're not working Spencer's in bed by ten-thirty.
Brendon shrugs and tries his best not to make any noise as he wriggles under the bed. It is Spencer's room; he might as well follow Spencer's rules.
“Hey,” comes Ryan's quiet voice.
“Hiya,” Spencer says, in the same voice he used earlier --- before he realized it was Brendon coming in his room.
Brendon raises both eyebrows, but he's still under the bed and the effect is lost in the dust bunnies skittering around with Brendon's movement, so he slides out and pokes his head up to look at Ryan.
“Um,” Ryan says. He looks kind of terrified, all the sudden. Brendon has no idea why. “I was just...” he takes a step back. “Saying goodnight. Okay. Goodnight. I'm gonna go now.” Spencer makes a noise, low in his throat, and if Brendon thought Spencer look disappointed before... now he looks distraught.
Brendon really has no idea what he's managed to get in the middle of, but he has enough sense to open his mouth before Ryan can leave. “Wait. Don't mind me, I'm. Just. Leaving, right now, okay, hold on.”
Brendon stands up and heads for the door; Ryan hasn't moved the whole time. Brendon mumbles, “'s not like the tambourine was in here, anyway,” when he slips out the door, wondering what the fuck that was all about.
Ryan can't move. Spencer's sitting up on the bed, eyes wide and shoulders squared, like he's ready to jump up and grab Ryan if he actually tries to leave. Ryan doesn't --- it's as if Spencer wanted Ryan invading his space.
“Um,” Ryan says. He doesn't really have anything to say after that.
After a while, Spencer settles down and says, “Ross, get over here. I won’t have you freeze.”
-
Brendon watches Spencer's door until four in the morning; Ryan never comes out. He can't stop grinning as he falls asleep, even if he's still tambourine-less.
-
“So I don't think this is working,” Jon says. He and Ryan are sitting on the roof. Brendon found the place a few days ago, poking around the attic, and Jon's been up here a lot ever since. He says the mountain air helps him think, but Ryan knows he's just trying to get away.
Ryan leans over and kisses Jon hard, tangling his fingers in his shirt. Jon doesn't move, just blinks and keeps his hands by his sides. After a minute, Ryan stops trying to kiss him.
“Um,” Ryan says. “That didn't work the way it did in my head.”
“No,” Jon replies, eyes wide. “No, I wouldn't...” Jon furrows his brows, looks out at the tree-line, at the shingles on the roof, at Ryan. He decides on staring intently somewhere between Ryan's eyes before saying, “What?”
Ryan keeps his expression cautiously blank. “Don't go, Jon, we need you, alright?” He sounds kind of desperate. “I love you.” When Jon thinks about it, he realizes it's definitely a question.
“You really don't,” Jon says. “Well,” he amends, “you might love me in a very, very blatantly non-sexual way.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says weakly.
And somewhere between Ryan's awkward apology and his even more awkward exit, Jon realizes he feels oddly better about everything.
-
There's a section of the trail that's very narrow, the edge of the path dropping off sharply into a steep slope. There's a metal railing at the edge, and every morning Spencer puts his weight on it as he skips down the little dip in the trail. He knows it's completely sturdy, which is why he's taken so off guard when it snaps under Ryan's thin frame.
Ryan slips, sliding across the damp leaves as he tumbles off the edge. Ryan crashes into a little sapling. (Thank God, he could have fallen off the fucking mountain. The fucking mountain, Spencer's mind shrieks.)
There's an audible smack that spurs Spencer into motion, and he screams and dives down after Ryan. It's not the best plan; Spencer ends up sprawled on top of him. But he's close enough to touch Ryan's ribs to check if they're broken. Spencer's close enough to hear Ryan whimper when either of them moves.
“What the fuck,” Spencer says, and helps Ryan stand up and crawl back to the trail.
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, mostly to himself. “You're okay? You want to go back?”
Ryan looks at the sky, it's brightening, and they'll have to rush to make sunrise, but he says, “No, let's go.”
They take up a brisker pace that usual, and Spencer feels like crying every time Ryan winces. Spencer just takes Ryan's hand and focuses on breathing properly.
-
The sunset looks like crap that morning; there are too many clouds for it to look like anything other than multi-colored vomit in the sky.
Spencer wants to cry again.
-
“Oh my God,” Brendon says. Ryan closes his eyes, he doesn't like seeing Brendon so openly horrified and concerned. Sometimes Ryan doesn't feel like he deserves all the love Brendon freely gives. Spencer knows it's bullshit, but he's never really figured out how to explain that to Ryan.
Jon says, “Shit, Ross.”
“We should take you to the hospital,” Brendon says.
“They’re just bruises.” Ryan shakes his head, sagging against Spencer.
Brendon still looks worried, so Spencer shrugs, backing Ryan. “I don't think anything's broken.”
“Oh,” Brendon says.
It's awkward and quiet, air clogged with worry, until Jon says, “I made pancakes. They're still hot if you two are hungry.”
-
Eventually, Ryan gets fed up with his songs and says, “Okay, fuck. Let's play I Am The Walrus or something, because I'm fucking sick of fucking fairy tales.”
“I was kind of liking 'Jealousy',” Jon says.
“But it's not a song about jealousy, so what's the point?”
“Huh?” Brendon asks. “What are you guys even talking about?”
“I showed Jon a song earlier, but it's bad, and we couldn't have even used it,” Ryan explains. Spencer frowns; that kind of stings, really. Ryan usually comes to Spencer with new songs. Even if Spencer doesn't know shit about writing lyrics, he always knows it he likes it or not. He hasn't even heard Ryan mention that song.
“It wasn't bad,” Jon insists.
“That's the problem with concept albums.” Ryan sighs loudly, waving his hands around. “The songs won't follow the stupid Goddamn concept.”
“The concept isn't stupid, Ryan. I think an album about the Seven Deadly Si---”
“Are we gonna play some Beatles or what?” Spencer groans, cutting Jon off. “You guys talk too much.”
-
Spencer wraps an arm around Ryan's waist and drags him close, nuzzling the back of his shoulder. Spencer's about to say goodnight when Ryan makes a pained noise high in his throat and stiffens.
They've slept like this every night for two weeks, almost; Spencer can't see what's wrong. It takes him a few seconds, but suddenly it hits Spencer in the face like a sack of bricks.
“Oh fuck, oh no, I'm so sorry,” Spencer apologizes, rolling away from Ryan instantaneously.
Ryan makes another discontented noise, and flips around, wincing hard when he puts his weight on his bruised ribs. “Nonono, Spencer, no,” he says. “No, it's okay, I---I don't care, you can.” He drops off mid-sentence, and Spencer is quiet, breathing heavily in the dark. Fuck. Spencer reaches over and flicks on the lamp, yellow light washing over Ryan's face.
“Are you. Can I---How bad is it?” Spencer whispers. “Can I see?”
Ryan shudders out a breath and mumbles, “Bad. But yeah, okay, just---” he cuts himself off.
“Just?” Spencer asks, his fingers on the hem of Ryan's shirt.
“Just don't freak out,” Ryan says, closing his eyes. “It looks worse than it is, I think. You know how I bruise.” And Spencer does. When they were kids, Ryan and Spencer were forever getting into trouble, and if Ryan so much as stumbled and fell on the pavement, his knees would be black and blue for a week.
Spencer readies himself for the worst, and pushes at Ryan's shirt. It's tight, and seriously, only Ryan wears tight shirts to sleep in, so Spencer fingers brush up Ryan's stomach as he pulls the shirt up around Ryan's arm pits.
“Fuck,” Spencer says, breathless. He wasn't prepared for this, for a long, dark, angry strip of purple across Ryan's chest. “I'm---I'm.”
“It's okay, I, Spencer,” Ryan insists. “I'm fine. Don't---you're freaking out.”
“Am not,” Spencer grits out, tracing his fingers lightly across the yellowed skin around the bruise. Ryan takes in a sharp breath, but it doesn't sound pained, so Spencer just mumbles. “Okay? Can I...?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan says shakily. Spencer pushes in his thumb, lightly, at the edge of the brown and purple blue splotch. Ryan takes another sharp breath. “Hurts.”
Spencer draws his hand back right away. “Sorry, sorry. I'll just---”
But Ryan cuts him off. “I didn't say stop.” He sounds bitchy and demanding and his voice is a notch deeper than Spencer is used too. Spencer can't think of anything else to do but stare at him. He stares until Ryan blushes and looks past Spencer's head, breaking eye contact, embarrassed.
“Oh,” Spencer says, even though he hasn't really realized anything. Ryan looks back though, quickly, and he looks lost, and slightly terrified. Spencer doesn't know what that's about. He's usually good at reading Ryan, but there's only so much you can know about someone while staying two separate people, so it's not ridiculous that Spencer doesn't know a few of Ryan's faces. All Spencer knows is he doesn't like the way Ryan looks now, so he does the first think he can think of to reassure him: Spencer ducks down and brushes his lips against Ryan's belly button, feather light.
“Remember how my mom always used to kiss your bruises, and make it better?” Spencer asks aimlessly. He bends down again, pressing little kisses against the dark sweep of purple, harder than before.
Ryan's breathing heavily above him, and he whispers, too breathy, “Your mom isn't here right now.”
“No,” Spencer agrees. “I'll have to do her job, I guess.”
Ryan hand gropes at Spencer's arm, and finding Spencer's hand. Ryan twists their fingers together. He squeezes hard and Spencer keeps skimming his mouth across Ryan's skin, across the contrast of pale white and dark, dark, dark. He slides lower, down past Ryan's bellybutton, to the end of the bruise, to the golden strip of skin Ryan's shirts don't always cover. (Ryan sometimes lies out on the patio, usually reading, but sometimes writing in his journal, and his shirt always creeps up, the sun tanning just that one, small strip of visible skin. Spencer can see the whole patio from his room, but anyone outside can't see in unless they're specifically looking; it's something Spencer discovered by accident, but he makes a point of trying not to stare when Ryan goes outside. It's a principle thing --- even if it'd be the perfect time to look, with such a small risk of getting caught.)
Ryan makes a soft noise, and Spencer realizes he's stopped moving, just resting his lips on Ryan's hip. On impulse, he scrapes his teeth sharply across the bone, eliciting a hiss out of Ryan.
“Fuck,” Ryan murmurs.
Spencer pulls back a quarter of an inch, breath feather-light against Ryan's stomach, and asks, “All better?”
Ryan nods and grabs Spencer's hair, tugging him up. Spencer goes with it, ends up close to Ryan, his breath hot on Spencer's face.
“Thank you,” Ryan says, and clutches Spencer closer. He starts to say something against Spencer's neck, but the words get lost somewhere between the air and Spencer's skin.
They fall asleep like that, pressed against each other, too hot where they're touching and too cold where they're not.
-
The seventh time Ryan and Spencer hike together --- Spencer wasn't counting on purpose, he just remembers --- Ryan says, “We should take Jon up here, sometime.”
Spencer keeps looking out across the trees, hoping Ryan can't see his frown.
“I think he'd really like it. He could take pictures and stuff,” Ryan continues.
“I guess. Doesn't digital ruin sunrises?”
“I dunno. We could ask Jon.”
Jon, Spencer thinks.
-
“That sounds great!” Jon says. “I haven't been taking enough pictures since we've been up here.”
“Okay. Awesome,” Spencer says weakly. “We have to leave around five, and don't wear flip-flops.” Spencer manages a chuckle at Jon's sheepish smile.
“I do wear real shoes, you know. Sometimes.”
“Yeah, sure,” Spencer says. “Whatever you say, Jon Walker.”
-
Jon is sitting outside on the patio when Spencer gets up. Spencer goes outside, and Jon's filling out a crossword puzzle from the paper, orange peels scattered on the stone in front of him.
Spencer frowns. “Morning,” he greets.
Jon looks up and smiles, waving at Spencer, pen in hand. “Hey, man.”
“Did you eat the last orange?” Spencer asks suspiciously. There was one left yesterday morning, and he didn't take it, saving it instead for today's hike, hoping to take the edge off Jon intruding on his and Ryan's ritual.
“Yeah, there wasn't any more cereal.” Jon turns to look at him, takes in Spencer's frown and immediately looks inappropriately remorseful --- like he killed Spencer's dog, instead of just stealing his orange. “Oh, hey, did you want it? I'm so sorry. I didn't realize---”
“It's okay,” Spencer says, even though it's not. He feels like an asshole, Jon looks so sad, and it was just an orange.
“We can get some more tomorrow, okay? I'm really sorry.”
Spencer grunts. “Just clean the mess up,” he says, gesturing to the scattered pieces of peel.
“Of course,” Jon says. Spencer goes inside to look for more fruit.
-
All they have is one sad apple. It's bruised and soft, but Spencer puts it in his bag anyway. It's a Fuji, at least. Those always taste good.
-
Jon chatters the whole way up the mountain, and Ryan talks to him easily. Something has changed between the two of them; Jon's not self-conscious, and he doesn't agonize over his words like he used to. He doesn't act like he's on thin ice anymore.
Intellectually, Spencer knows it's a good thing, but what he really wants is for Jon to shut up, or go away and give him Ryan back. He misses the quiet companionship, he misses listening to birds and looking for deer. He misses grabbing Ryan around the waist when he stumbles on rocky patches. He misses leaning on Ryan's shoulder and just listening to him breathe.
But Spencer can't hear anything. He's sitting on the big boulder next to Ryan, but they're almost six inches apart. Now Spencer is self-conscious, now that there's someone to see.
“This is gorgeous,” Jon says.
“How'd you guys even find this place?” Jon says.
“I hope these turn out, sunrises are hard to catch,” Jon says. (Digital does indeed ruin sunrises.)
“I wish I had more film,” Jon says.
He just keeps talking, and Spencer doesn't know if it's the noise or the distance, but he can't hear a sound out of Ryan other than an occasional murmur of agreement or sympathy.
Spencer takes the apple out of his bag, scowling as he takes a bite. He makes sure to glare at Jon the whole way back. He pretends not to see the hurt looks Jon sends back.
-
Brendon is kind of upset that he was left out, and Jon promises to take Brendon with them next time. And what the fuck, Spencer thinks. Since when can Jon invite people? This was him and Ryan's thing, Jon's not allowed to tag along all the time, not allowed to act like he's part of this. Spencer takes a longer shower than usual, trying not to fume about the whole thing and failing miserably.
-
“Okay, Spencer, what?” Jon asks, cornering Spencer in the hallway.
Spencer's freshly changed, just out of the shower, and he's mostly only thinking about coffee right now, so all he can manage is a completely eloquent, “Er...”
“Because, like, I don't know. Is this about the orange? We can get more and I'm sorry, alright? You don't have to be a jerk.”
“Um,” Spencer says, boggled. Jon crosses his arms and stares hard at Spencer. After a moment, he sighs, defeated.
“Fine, asshole, go caffeinate. Then we're going to talk about why you hate me.”
“I don't---” Spencer tries, but Jon waves his hand and says, “Later.” Then he turns around and leaves Spencer standing in the hallway.
Which is really the effective end of that conversation.
“Uh?” Spencer says to no one in particular, maybe to the walls or to the floor. The floor always seems to listen to him at home, but the cabin's carpet is unresponsive under Spencer's feet as he shuffles towards the kitchen. Spencer's already figured the cabin hates them, so he's not all that surprised, anyway.
-
Spencer hangs out with Brendon all day, plays video games and talks about music—does whatever he can to make sure he's never alone with Jon. Spencer doesn't feel like explaining to Jon that it feels like Jon's that dad who insists on tagging along to the movies when his daughter goes out on a date. And Ryan's that stupidly polite boy who invites the parents along in the first place.
Huh, Spencer thinks. That would make him the girl. He kind of feels like a girl though, thinking hiking with Ryan is anything like a date.
-
Part two
Resistentialism
A/N: In my head, Ryan and Keltie break-up (for a multitude of reasons. All reasons concerning Ryan Ross' ineptitude in all things having to do with love, and nothing to do with Keltie.) Spencer, as the best friend, is completely there for Ryan. So much so, that it sparks an argument with Haley that starts with Spencer saying, “He doesn't say anything, but I know he's upset. I can see it in his eyes.” and ends with Haley saying, through tears, “Call me back when you're as invested in our relationship as you are with Ryan and Keltie's.”
It isn't RyanandKeltie that Spencer is concerned with, really. It's just Ryan. Spencer would correct Haley, but he doesn't see the point. Somehow he thinks it would make things worse.
Jon's break-up is completely separate. He ends it when he finds out Cassie had been cheating on him with her roommate throughout all of Panic's last tour. He couldn't exactly blame her for it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
Then they all went to the cabin(!!!).
Consider the above the prologue I didn't write (because if I did actually write it, we'd have another 10,000 words on our hands, and this would have been a month late.)
Anyway, that is not the point.
The point is:
---
Jon sighs, pulling the bass strap over his shoulder, and collapses onto the couch. Spencer puts his elbows on the drums, leaning over towards the rest of his band. Ryan thinks neither of them look as distressed as they should be. Brendon, Ryan corrects himself. None of them look as distressed as Brendon. It's about the same thing, anyway.
“This isn't working,” Spencer says.
Brendon stands in the middle of the room, looking helpless. Nothing he sings sounds right. None of Ryan words are anything anymore; he's repeated them over and over again until they don't mean anything more than letters. Nothing he plays sounds like a record. Ryan pats his shoulder consolingly. It doesn't soften the frown of Brendon's lips, but the tension in his shoulders evens out some.
Spencer taps a lazy beat across the skin of the drum. It sounds like something, just for a second, but as soon as he's paying attention he misses a beat, and the whole pattern unravels. He closes his eyes and stills his hands.
“This isn't working,” Spencer says again, softer.
“This isn't real,” Ryan says confidently. “Everything is fake.”
“It isn't, though,” Brendon says slowly, like he thinks Ryan should already know. “It's a story. It's fiction.”
Ryan's face twists. “It shouldn't feel like fiction.”
-
Spencer's chopping carrots for vegetable soup when Jon comes in and sits on one of the stools.
“What's for dinner?” he asks.
“Soup,” Spencer says. “Now, don't make that face at me, Walker,” Spencer scolds when Jon wrinkles his nose. “I make good soup.”
Jon seems unconvinced. A minute later he says, “Ryan thinks we should be like the vegetables.”
“Like the vegetables,” Spencer repeats. “Because that makes sense,” he says dryly. Ryan's weird ---Spencer knows---but he's not that weird.
“No, like, organic. Natural,” Jon corrects himself. “That made more sense in my head,” he admits.
“Figures,” Spencer mumbles, blinking away prickly tears as he slices an onion.
It takes him a moment to notice he's sliced himself – not a lot, just some of the skin off the tip of his finger. It doesn't even hurt, really. It's just a slow burn that Spencer doesn't notice over the sting in his eyes.
Jon notices, though, saying, “Oh my God, are you okay?”
Spencer looks down, sees the red staining his perfect dicing and scowls. “Fuck, this knife. One minute it's duller than a butter knife and the next it slices my finger off, what the fuck.” He's mostly pissed; this fucking kitchen is so hard to cook in, everything is old or cracked. The cabin didn't even have a motherfucking skillet. Spencer had to buy an overpriced piece-of-crap pan at the grocery store just to cook eggs.
“You should probably try and stop the bleeding,” Jon says. He wrinkles his nose again, “and throw out those onions.”
-
When the soup is done, and Spencer has bandaged his finger, he and Jon go to watch Brendon belt out Ryan's newest lyrics. Spencer has the little camcorder he brought to the cabin. He's been filming things on and off the whole time they've been there.
The fans will love to know what we've been up to, Spencer thinks. Maybe all of this will end up on the DVD. He presses 'RECORD' and listens, watching Ryan's reactions to Brendon's voice.
It sounds good to Spencer, right up until Brendon sings, “You scratch my phosphorus skin.”
“So much for organic,” Spencer mumbles. Jon sags against his shoulder.
“Dinner's ready,” Spencer says, loud enough for Ryan and Brendon to hear.
Brendon pulls off the head set and drops it a little too hard. “I don't fucking know the melody.”
Ryan rubs his temples, asking, “What'd you make?”
-
“Hey, so I was thinking Character's great love shouldn't be Amandine, but Scarlet, instead,” Brendon says over dinner.
“What?” Ryan asks, staring at Brendon like he's crazy. “The same Scarlet that killed Character's father?”
“We still don't have a name?” Jon asks. “For Character.”
“No,” Ryan and Brendon say at the same time.
“But, like, exactly, right? Character doesn't know who he should be loyal to!” Brendon says, bouncing.
“How could he fall in love with someone he's sworn to kill?” Spencer asks.
“Well, he doesn't know it was Scarlet who killed his dad, duh.”
“Whatever happened to Julia?” Jon questions. “I liked her.” He's having trouble following the conversation. The plot is mostly Ryan's thing, and Brendon's been helping him iron out the details since the beginning. Spencer always seems to know what's going on, too --- Jon suspects Ryan tells Spencer everything when no one else is around, which leaves Jon as the odd man out. He thinks this is maybe why Brent left. Spencer and Ryan and Brendon are so close, it's hard to even imagine ever being more than superficially part of their group.
Ryan frowns. “Julia dies, Jon, in like, the second song.” Jon frowns, too, while Ryan pushes on, saying, “Anyway, Brendon, what if Character thinks he loves Amandine, but he doesn't know who she is at all, really, and in the end, he realizes Scarlet is his true love?”
Spencer snorts. “Been done already, Ross.”
Ryan looks affronted. “What!? It totally hasn't.”
“You ever read Gone with the Wind?” Brendon asks, catching the joke.
“Well, maybe it's reverse Gone with the Wind. We could name Character 'Rhett,' and instead of Scarlet ruining things, Rhett does,” Jon says thoughtfully. Ryan stares at Jon like he's crazy.
“Ryan doesn't want to copy someone. He's already sick of being compared to Fall Out Boy,” Spencer says quietly.
There's a long moment of silence.
“Shit. Why is this so damn complicated?” Ryan mumbles.
-
Brendon hears someone playing the piano, and he suppresses a grimace.
“That sounds awful!” Brendon says cheerfully. Jon looks up sharply from the piano.
“Okay,” he says, and stands up. “Alright. Thanks for telling me.”
Brendon is confused. “What? What are you talking---Jon?” Brendon asks. Jon's leaving the room, walking quickly across the floor and past Brendon without another word.
“The piano's out of tune?” Brendon offers, too late. Jon's already gone.
Brendon sits down and plays a few sad notes. They sound sour and wrong in his ears. The piano was fine an hour ago, Brendon knows. He played it and it was fine. Fucking pianos. This fucking cabin.
-
“What happened to your hand?” Ryan asks. He can hear someone playing something on the piano, and he'd think it was Brendon, but Brendon usually plays happy, jumpy things that skip across the keys, and the melody he hears is slow and soft. It might be Jon. Ryan wonders if they could make it a song.
“The knife attacked me,” Spencer says, as if that's explanation enough.
“Oh,” Ryan says. Spencer goes back to catching up on the O.C. (He'll never admit Jon got him hooked, but Ryan knows Spencer watches every episode, sitting in front of the TV for hours to catch up when he falls behind Jon and Tom and can't join their discussions.)
Jon walks past Spencer and Ryan in the living room, not even stopping to tease Spencer for being completely in his own world, watching Seth moon over Summer. Ryan guesses that means it's not Jon who's at the piano.
Ryan thinks about getting up to ask after whatever Brendon's playing, but he's comfortable on the couch, and whatever is happening on the screen is making soft breaths of laughter come out of Spencer's throat. Ryan's content to just keep listening to them both, Spencer's unconscious amusement mixing with Brendon's somber tune.
Maybe Ryan will ask Brendon later, not now, though; not while Spencer's warm next to Ryan on the couch, pressed to his side.
-
Ryan wakes up early that morning, and he can't find Spencer anywhere. Not that he was looking for Spencer, specifically, but Ryan was looking to see if anyone was up, and Spencer wasn't in his bed, and he wasn't anywhere else in the cabin.
Ryan makes coffee and doesn't think about it a lot; Spencer probably went shopping or something. Something.
-
“Hey,” Spencer says, shutting the sliding glass door behind him. “You're up early.”
“Where have you been?” Ryan asks right away. He's been wondering it for the past half hour. He sounds anxious and a little worried --- Spencer didn't come in the front door like Ryan expected. Ryan's not sure why he cares so much. Spencer can take care of himself. He's a big boy.
“I was taking a hike, why? Were you...” Spencer's lips fight to curve into a smile. Ryan likes the way his eyes crinkle when he tries not to laugh. “You were worried,” Spencer accuses.
“Well,” Ryan mumbles.
“I should have left a note, I guess,” Spencer says thoughtfully, “but I've been doing it the whole time we've been here. You guys have just never been awake by the time I got back.”
“Wait, really?” Ryan asks. “Where do you even go? Are there trails?”
Ryan takes a minute to look at Spencer. There's a ring of sweat around the collar of his shirt, and a leaf in his hair. His cheeks are slightly flushed, but it's fading every second he's in the air-conditioned room. He has a half-full water bottle dangling from his fingers. His thumb nails are dirty, stained orange with specks of dirt underneath --- and that's kind of a weird thing to notice, but Ryan does, anyway. Spencer's also looking at Ryan like he's a dumbass.
“Yes, there are trails,” Spencer says patronizingly; his eyes crinkle again. “There usually are, you know, in the middle of the woods. On a mountain. In a state park. Seriously, Ryan.”
Ryan rolls his eyes. “ Well, 'Scuse me,” he replies flippantly. Ryan pours himself another cup of coffee and turns back around to look at Spencer, holding up an empty mug questioningly.
“No, thanks, I'm gonna shower. I'm all sweaty and gross,” Spencer explains.
Ryan nods and doesn't wonder what Spencer smells like, not even for a second. If he actually was thinking about not thinking about it he'd be proud. Which he's not. Thinking about it, that is. --- Ryan has a nearly uncontrollable urge to slam his head on the counter.
“Take me with you, next time. I'd be up for a hike or something one morning. I'm so sick of not doing anything,” Ryan adds, instead of injuring himself. It feels like all he does is write music, and play video games. It gets monotonous after a while.
Spencer turns around and blinks, once. “Sure,” he says after a moment, voice even. Ryan can't think of a reason why it wouldn't be, though, so he doesn't know why he keeps noticing all these stupid details. He hates his brain, sometimes.
-
Ryan goes and sits on the couch, trying to finish up the song he started yesterday. If he can get it done he'll make Brendon sing it later, maybe; see if they can get a piano-part sorted out. Ryan likes it, the whole thing feels less forced than the rest of the songs, even if he keeps hitting blocks about the phrasing. It's nothing major anyway, and Ryan mostly thinks the problems are just in his head.
Spencer comes back from his shower, freshly changed, with wet spots on the back of his shirt from his hair. He tries to help, but Spencer is hopeless with lyrics and Ryan keeps getting distracted by the way Spencer's shampoo smells.
-
“Hey, sing for me,” Ryan says when Brendon stumbles into the living room; Brendon turns right back around and doesn't come back for a long time.
Later, coffee mug in hand, Brendon pokes his head through the door.
“Is it safe?” he mock-whispers to Spencer.
“Get over here,” Ryan says. By now, he's already finished the lyrics --- at least as finished as they'll ever get--- and has moved on to watching the news with Spencer.
“You missed Best Week Ever.” Spencer's curled around Ryan on the couch, and his voice is muffled by Ryan's shoulder. “There's nothing interesting on, now.”
“It's Saturday already?” Brendon mumbles. “Jesus, it was Monday like, two days ago.”
“Can you sing now?” Ryan asks impatiently. “You showered, you got coffee, I assume you called your family. And Shane.” Ryan gropes around the floor, looking for his journal. The movement upsets Spencer's position, and he scoots away. Ryan stretches, frowning.
“I was comfortable,” Ryan groans. Spencer rolls his eyes.
It's early, too early for Brendon to want to deal with all of this. He's not even on his second cup of coffee. Dealing with Ryan Ross is definitely a second-cup activity. “Please, Brendon?” Ryan thrusts the journal at him, making his most pleading expression.
“Do we have to do this now?” Brendon whines. “Let's work on it later. I just woke up, like a few---”
“Hours ago?” Spencer interrupts without looking up from the magazine he's just stuck his nose in. Brendon pouts more, mumbling something Spencer can't hear.
“No, come on, please,” Ryan tries. “Spencer, make Brendon sing.”
“Brendon,” Spencer says. Brendon glares.
“Traitor,” he says meanly. He pauses. “Okay, how does the melody go?” Brendon takes the paper from Ryan's hand. Ryan grins cheekily, softly singing the words for Brendon. It's hard to look that smug while you're singing, but Ryan manages to pull it off.
Brendon nods. “Okay, so. Like this? 'Scarlet started singing to every ship in the harbor…'”
“Yeah, yeah. Exactly.”
“It needs another beat, I think,” Jon says, stretching out on the couch.
“Where did you even come from?” Brendon jumps, turning his glare form Spencer to Jon.
“Well, my mommy and my daddy loved each other very, very much...” Jon starts, before bursting into a fit of giggles with Brendon.
“You think so?” Ryan says, surprised.
“Yeah, like, what if you did...” He pauses for a moment, thinking. “Scarlet started singing to every last ship in the harbor?”
Ryan shakes his head. “No, no. I mean.” He doesn't say 'that's not how I wrote it,' but he thinks it. They all know it's what he means when he says, “it just doesn't seem right.”
“Okay,” Jon says flatly, abruptly. “Well, whatever. We need milk. I'm going to go to the store. You guys can keep working. Obviously, I'm not helping.”
Brendon frowns. “Jon, wait---”
“What?” Jon's mouth is a thin line.
“We can try it.” Ryan says quietly.
Jon grimaces. “Thank you for humoring me Ryan, I really appreciate it.”
“I---We.” Brendon doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want Jon upset like this. “We're not out of milk?” he finally responds, way too late.
“You don't sound so sure of that. I'll get some just in case,” Jon says slowly. He leaves the room and no one can think of a way to make him stay.
Once the door closes, Brendon springs to life. “I'll go with him.”
Jon doesn't say anything when Brendon chases after the car and bangs on the passenger door window; he just stops long enough for Brendon to get in.
-
Ryan's sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring hard at his guitar.
“Whatcha doing?” Spencer asks, leaning against the door frame.
“I want to burn this guitar. I hate it,” Ryan says, holding the neck of the guitar like he thinks it's going to escape. Spencer regards him evenly.
“Why?”
Ryan looks up at him, his words are insane, but his eyes are clear and serious. “It made Jon mad at me. It made Brendon think his voice isn't good enough. It fucks up the chords I try to play.”
They both don't say anything for a long time. Finally, Spencer says, “You think we need gasoline?”
Ryan shrugs and Spencer grabs the little can by the fireplace and follows him outside. As an after-thought, he takes his camcorder off the mantle before shutting the door.
-
“This is the end of the electric guitar era,” Ryan laughs crazily, tossing his head back.
“I guess it is,” Spencer muses. He sounds normal, almost, but there's an evil glint to his eye that Ryan can't see in the dark. Spencer isn't a pyromaniac, he wouldn't normally be quite so excited about burning an inanimate object (he wouldn't be excited about burning something living, either, but that's a different story all together) but this guitar; these instruments. It feels like they're fucking everything up on purpose. Spencer loves his band, he loves them like family, but in that practice-space, as soon as Ryan picks up a pen or spews another close-to-album-worthy lyric; as soon as Jon strums something that might've sounded perfect a half a second later, if it was a slightly lower chord; as soon as Brendon opens his fucking mouth (does he ever shut up?)---It's not them. It's not their fault. Everywhere but that room Spencer loves them. It can't be their fault.
They end up using a lot of gasoline --- Spencer's thankful it rained earlier that day, this would be some sort of crazy fire hazard otherwise --- and Ryan's eyes flicker in the light of the fire.
“It's us against the world, Spencer Smith,” Ryan says. Spencer sits, quiet, filming the flames absently. Spencer thinks this will be another good story to tell on the DVD.
He keeps thinking about the stupid DVD. Like he knows there will be a DVD, someday. The thing is, though, the thing is, he doesn't know. Who knows if they'll ever finish enough songs to call it an album -- if they'll ever have something that resembles a CD.
“Fuck,” Spencer mumbles, too soft for Ryan to hear.
“It's just me and you and Brendon and Jon,” Ryan says.
Spencer doesn't hear anything past “me and you.”
-
“You did what to a guitar?” Brendon asks sourly when he and Jon get back from the store. Jon's in a decidedly better mood than he was earlier, unpacking groceries and trying not to laugh.
“I burned it alive,” Ryan repeats, calm.
“I--I cannot believe you ru---” Brendon starts to shriek.
“Now, come on, Brendon,” Spencer interrupts. “We have to show those instruments who's boss. There might be an uprising.”
He's only half making fun of Ryan. Spencer keeps having dreams his drum kit is out to get him.
-
That night, Ryan's comforter isn't on his bed. Or under it. Or in the closet.
“Damn it, Brendon,” Ryan swears, crawling under the thin sheets. It's too late and he's too tired to yell at anyone.
He wakes up two hours later because he can't stop shivering.
Ryan's on the way to the living room to find a blanket or a throw or something warm when he hears Spencer snoring. He cracks open the door and watches Spencer sleeping --- not in a creepy way, fuck. Ryan shakes away the thought, trying to clear his head. It's Spencer, for God sakes.
Spencer looks peaceful, curled against himself in a lump. He makes room when Ryan slips under the sheets.
“Brendon stole my quilt,” Ryan mumbles against the shell of Spencer's ear. Spencer throws an arm around Ryan's waist and says something incoherent. Something about Brendon or banana bread, Ryan isn't sure. Spencer likes both, so it could be either.
Ryan falls asleep in ten minutes. And he's warm.
-
Ryan pours Spencer a bowl of Cheerios and himself, a glass of orange juice. He puts a slice of bread in the toaster. Brendon bounces, agitated, at the table.
“Well?” Brendon asks. Spencer wonders how much sugar Brendon put in his coffee.
“Well?” Ryan repeats, finally, once the toast pops up and he sits down. Brendon looks like he's about to die. Spencer munches silently, watching the way Brendon's fingers twitch.
“Aren't you going to ask what happened to your quilt?”
Ryan looks bored. “What happened to my quilt?” He sounds kind of bored, too.
“I burned it alive,” Brendon says evilly. Ryan takes a bite of toast.
“Okay.” Ryan keeps an impossibly straight face, but Spencer can't stop snickering into his Cheerios.
-
“I didn't really burn your quilt,” Brendon says, later.
“Okay,” Ryan says.
“We would've lost the deposit,” Brendon explains. “It's just in the closet.”
Ryan kind of wishes Brendon actually burned the stupid thing. He takes it out of the closet and stuffs it under his bed.
-
Spencer does find Ryan, one morning. It's more surprising that it probably should be. It's mostly surprising because Ryan has no idea why Spencer's in his room, telling him to wake up. The sun isn't even up yet.
“What the... Spencer? Is the house on fire?” Ryan mumbles.
“No...?” Spencer says, confused. Ryan rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow. “No, the house isn't on fire, Ryan, but you still have to get up.”
“Why?” Ryan wails. He hears Spencer sigh something like 'as if I haven't already told you fifteen times' but he answers Ryan anyway.
“I'm going hiking. You said you wanted to go.” Spencer pauses. “I can go without you if you want. It's pretty early.”
“No kidding,” Ryan says, casting an eye out the window. The sky is practically black, still.
“But seriously, we're going to miss sunrise if we don't leave in like, two minutes.”
Ryan grumbles some more but gets up. He makes Spencer tie his shoes.
-
The sky's just brightening when they get to the end of the trail. There's a little clearing, and a big boulder that Spencer stretches out on, staring up at the hint of pink in the clouds.
“We almost missed it,” Spencer says. Ryan can't say anything, he's panting too hard.
They watch the clouds turn from pink, to orange, to purple; all the way to blue again. Spencer takes an orange out of his pocket and digs his thumbs into the peel. Juice run downs Spencer's fingers when he asks Ryan if he wants any.
“No, thanks,” Ryan declines, still panting some. “Jesus Christ, I'm out of shape.”
Spencer smiles at him fondly. “You really kind of are.”
-
It's not working. Again.
Ryan says as much. “It's not working.”
“Fuck,” Jon says. “I'm going outside.” He drops the bass to the floor neatly ---he's more gentle with the instruments than the rest of them--- and leaves the room.
Brendon and Spencer both look at Ryan. “Okay,” Ryan says. “Okay, yeah. I'll go.”
-
“It's not your fault,” Ryan says when he finds Jon outside. Ryan settles next to the bassist, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. It's cold outside --- the air's thinner up here in the mountains. Ryan likes it, though, likes having to take deep breaths to get a satisfying lungful of air.
“But this didn't happen before,” Jon says, taking a long drag on his cigarette.
“Well, no, but---”
“And have a single one of my ideas been any good?”
Ryan can't exactly say they're great, because he's shot down every one. Jon looks at him, lips curled cruelly. Like he wants Ryan to say it. “They're just... not right.”
“Yeah, okay.” Jon stands up. “At least I can actually play, right?” He flicks his cigarette onto the front lawn, and goes inside, leaving Ryan sitting on the cement steps.
The cigarette burns on the ground. A pine needle starts to smoke.
Ryan gets up and twists out the embers out with his shoe. The ash disappears into the pine needles, and Ryan keeps wishing he could make this whole mess disappear just as easily, as if he could twist Jon's insecurities out with his heel.
-
Somehow, Brendon loses the tambourine. And, it's not like it matters, really: they've used it all of twice since they've been here. But it's annoying. He knows he had it, but between arguing with Ryan about lyrics and getting caught up in---- Brendon stops himself. He's very studiously not thinking about that. Somewhere along the line, though, the tambourine disappears and Brendon can't find it anywhere.
-
Jon raises an eyebrow at Brendon, ass sticking in the air, arms sweeping back and forth underneath the couch.
“Looking for something?” Jon asks. His tone makes Brendon sit up too fast, yanking his arms out from under the dusty couch. Jon clears his throat, but raises the other eyebrow at the commotion.
“You have it?!” Brendon screeches as he falls backwards, the momentum throwing him so he ends up sprawled across the floor, staring up at Jon. A Jon who is not holding a tambourine.
“Damn,” Brendon says. Jon looks way too amused by the whole situation. Asshole. “You don't know where it is?” he asks, after a minute. Jon's voice was deep, rougher than usual. Brendon swears he was--- “You didn't steal it to make me miserable and now you're laughing at my futile search?”
Jon's amusement dissolves; now he's just confused. “Um. What is 'it'?”
“The tambourine!” Brendon says, exasperated. “If you don't know where it is, go away or help me look.”
Jon grins and turns around, retreating up the stairs.
“You fucker!” Brendon screeches after him, and goes back to searching.
-
Brendon can't exactly think why he would put it in Spencer's room, but Spencer's and Ryan's rooms are the only two places he hasn't looked. He checked Jon's room after the Living Room Incident (as Brendon thinks of it), but the place was clean. No tambourines anywhere.
“Hey,” Spencer says groggily when Brendon opens his door. He looks up, smiling, but the smile drops of his face as soon as he notices who it is. “Brendon?” he asks. His smile is back just as fast as it was gone, but it's different now, somehow. It's genuine, but softer, a little bit sad.
“Hey,” Brendon says, still trying to unravel Spencer's smile. It's not sad, really, Brendon finally decides. Maybe a bit disappointed. “Have you seen the tambourine?”
“No,” Spencer replies. He pauses. “What? Why would I have seen the tambourine?”
Brendon shrugs, wonders what Spencer was looking forward to, and starts searching. Spencer makes a displeased sound when Brendon looks through his drawers, sifting through shirts and jeans, and almost throttles Brendon when he starts for the closet.
“What are you doing?” Spencer barks. Eyes wide, Brendon looks back at Spencer, who's sitting half upright in the bed, mouth set hard and angry. He looks more protective than pissed, though.
“What---” Brendon starts to say, but Spencer interrupts with, “Don't you dare touch those shoes. I got them for twenty bucks at one of Ryan's stupid thrift stores on the way up to the cabin. They are hand painted, Brendon, if you fuck them up I'll kill you.”
Brendon blinks. The tambourine is probably not in Spencer's closet, he reasons, he can skip looking in just this one place.
Brendon decides that looking under the bed is probably less dangerous and sets to work. Spencer eyes him warily for a second, before mumbling, “Just be quiet. It's late.”
It's not really late; it's only eleven, but Spencer is an old man when it comes to bedtime. Sometimes, they get him to stay up with a movie, and after a show he'll be wired for hours, but when they're not working Spencer's in bed by ten-thirty.
Brendon shrugs and tries his best not to make any noise as he wriggles under the bed. It is Spencer's room; he might as well follow Spencer's rules.
“Hey,” comes Ryan's quiet voice.
“Hiya,” Spencer says, in the same voice he used earlier --- before he realized it was Brendon coming in his room.
Brendon raises both eyebrows, but he's still under the bed and the effect is lost in the dust bunnies skittering around with Brendon's movement, so he slides out and pokes his head up to look at Ryan.
“Um,” Ryan says. He looks kind of terrified, all the sudden. Brendon has no idea why. “I was just...” he takes a step back. “Saying goodnight. Okay. Goodnight. I'm gonna go now.” Spencer makes a noise, low in his throat, and if Brendon thought Spencer look disappointed before... now he looks distraught.
Brendon really has no idea what he's managed to get in the middle of, but he has enough sense to open his mouth before Ryan can leave. “Wait. Don't mind me, I'm. Just. Leaving, right now, okay, hold on.”
Brendon stands up and heads for the door; Ryan hasn't moved the whole time. Brendon mumbles, “'s not like the tambourine was in here, anyway,” when he slips out the door, wondering what the fuck that was all about.
Ryan can't move. Spencer's sitting up on the bed, eyes wide and shoulders squared, like he's ready to jump up and grab Ryan if he actually tries to leave. Ryan doesn't --- it's as if Spencer wanted Ryan invading his space.
“Um,” Ryan says. He doesn't really have anything to say after that.
After a while, Spencer settles down and says, “Ross, get over here. I won’t have you freeze.”
-
Brendon watches Spencer's door until four in the morning; Ryan never comes out. He can't stop grinning as he falls asleep, even if he's still tambourine-less.
-
“So I don't think this is working,” Jon says. He and Ryan are sitting on the roof. Brendon found the place a few days ago, poking around the attic, and Jon's been up here a lot ever since. He says the mountain air helps him think, but Ryan knows he's just trying to get away.
Ryan leans over and kisses Jon hard, tangling his fingers in his shirt. Jon doesn't move, just blinks and keeps his hands by his sides. After a minute, Ryan stops trying to kiss him.
“Um,” Ryan says. “That didn't work the way it did in my head.”
“No,” Jon replies, eyes wide. “No, I wouldn't...” Jon furrows his brows, looks out at the tree-line, at the shingles on the roof, at Ryan. He decides on staring intently somewhere between Ryan's eyes before saying, “What?”
Ryan keeps his expression cautiously blank. “Don't go, Jon, we need you, alright?” He sounds kind of desperate. “I love you.” When Jon thinks about it, he realizes it's definitely a question.
“You really don't,” Jon says. “Well,” he amends, “you might love me in a very, very blatantly non-sexual way.”
“Yeah,” Ryan says weakly.
And somewhere between Ryan's awkward apology and his even more awkward exit, Jon realizes he feels oddly better about everything.
-
There's a section of the trail that's very narrow, the edge of the path dropping off sharply into a steep slope. There's a metal railing at the edge, and every morning Spencer puts his weight on it as he skips down the little dip in the trail. He knows it's completely sturdy, which is why he's taken so off guard when it snaps under Ryan's thin frame.
Ryan slips, sliding across the damp leaves as he tumbles off the edge. Ryan crashes into a little sapling. (Thank God, he could have fallen off the fucking mountain. The fucking mountain, Spencer's mind shrieks.)
There's an audible smack that spurs Spencer into motion, and he screams and dives down after Ryan. It's not the best plan; Spencer ends up sprawled on top of him. But he's close enough to touch Ryan's ribs to check if they're broken. Spencer's close enough to hear Ryan whimper when either of them moves.
“What the fuck,” Spencer says, and helps Ryan stand up and crawl back to the trail.
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says, mostly to himself. “You're okay? You want to go back?”
Ryan looks at the sky, it's brightening, and they'll have to rush to make sunrise, but he says, “No, let's go.”
They take up a brisker pace that usual, and Spencer feels like crying every time Ryan winces. Spencer just takes Ryan's hand and focuses on breathing properly.
-
The sunset looks like crap that morning; there are too many clouds for it to look like anything other than multi-colored vomit in the sky.
Spencer wants to cry again.
-
“Oh my God,” Brendon says. Ryan closes his eyes, he doesn't like seeing Brendon so openly horrified and concerned. Sometimes Ryan doesn't feel like he deserves all the love Brendon freely gives. Spencer knows it's bullshit, but he's never really figured out how to explain that to Ryan.
Jon says, “Shit, Ross.”
“We should take you to the hospital,” Brendon says.
“They’re just bruises.” Ryan shakes his head, sagging against Spencer.
Brendon still looks worried, so Spencer shrugs, backing Ryan. “I don't think anything's broken.”
“Oh,” Brendon says.
It's awkward and quiet, air clogged with worry, until Jon says, “I made pancakes. They're still hot if you two are hungry.”
-
Eventually, Ryan gets fed up with his songs and says, “Okay, fuck. Let's play I Am The Walrus or something, because I'm fucking sick of fucking fairy tales.”
“I was kind of liking 'Jealousy',” Jon says.
“But it's not a song about jealousy, so what's the point?”
“Huh?” Brendon asks. “What are you guys even talking about?”
“I showed Jon a song earlier, but it's bad, and we couldn't have even used it,” Ryan explains. Spencer frowns; that kind of stings, really. Ryan usually comes to Spencer with new songs. Even if Spencer doesn't know shit about writing lyrics, he always knows it he likes it or not. He hasn't even heard Ryan mention that song.
“It wasn't bad,” Jon insists.
“That's the problem with concept albums.” Ryan sighs loudly, waving his hands around. “The songs won't follow the stupid Goddamn concept.”
“The concept isn't stupid, Ryan. I think an album about the Seven Deadly Si---”
“Are we gonna play some Beatles or what?” Spencer groans, cutting Jon off. “You guys talk too much.”
-
Spencer wraps an arm around Ryan's waist and drags him close, nuzzling the back of his shoulder. Spencer's about to say goodnight when Ryan makes a pained noise high in his throat and stiffens.
They've slept like this every night for two weeks, almost; Spencer can't see what's wrong. It takes him a few seconds, but suddenly it hits Spencer in the face like a sack of bricks.
“Oh fuck, oh no, I'm so sorry,” Spencer apologizes, rolling away from Ryan instantaneously.
Ryan makes another discontented noise, and flips around, wincing hard when he puts his weight on his bruised ribs. “Nonono, Spencer, no,” he says. “No, it's okay, I---I don't care, you can.” He drops off mid-sentence, and Spencer is quiet, breathing heavily in the dark. Fuck. Spencer reaches over and flicks on the lamp, yellow light washing over Ryan's face.
“Are you. Can I---How bad is it?” Spencer whispers. “Can I see?”
Ryan shudders out a breath and mumbles, “Bad. But yeah, okay, just---” he cuts himself off.
“Just?” Spencer asks, his fingers on the hem of Ryan's shirt.
“Just don't freak out,” Ryan says, closing his eyes. “It looks worse than it is, I think. You know how I bruise.” And Spencer does. When they were kids, Ryan and Spencer were forever getting into trouble, and if Ryan so much as stumbled and fell on the pavement, his knees would be black and blue for a week.
Spencer readies himself for the worst, and pushes at Ryan's shirt. It's tight, and seriously, only Ryan wears tight shirts to sleep in, so Spencer fingers brush up Ryan's stomach as he pulls the shirt up around Ryan's arm pits.
“Fuck,” Spencer says, breathless. He wasn't prepared for this, for a long, dark, angry strip of purple across Ryan's chest. “I'm---I'm.”
“It's okay, I, Spencer,” Ryan insists. “I'm fine. Don't---you're freaking out.”
“Am not,” Spencer grits out, tracing his fingers lightly across the yellowed skin around the bruise. Ryan takes in a sharp breath, but it doesn't sound pained, so Spencer just mumbles. “Okay? Can I...?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan says shakily. Spencer pushes in his thumb, lightly, at the edge of the brown and purple blue splotch. Ryan takes another sharp breath. “Hurts.”
Spencer draws his hand back right away. “Sorry, sorry. I'll just---”
But Ryan cuts him off. “I didn't say stop.” He sounds bitchy and demanding and his voice is a notch deeper than Spencer is used too. Spencer can't think of anything else to do but stare at him. He stares until Ryan blushes and looks past Spencer's head, breaking eye contact, embarrassed.
“Oh,” Spencer says, even though he hasn't really realized anything. Ryan looks back though, quickly, and he looks lost, and slightly terrified. Spencer doesn't know what that's about. He's usually good at reading Ryan, but there's only so much you can know about someone while staying two separate people, so it's not ridiculous that Spencer doesn't know a few of Ryan's faces. All Spencer knows is he doesn't like the way Ryan looks now, so he does the first think he can think of to reassure him: Spencer ducks down and brushes his lips against Ryan's belly button, feather light.
“Remember how my mom always used to kiss your bruises, and make it better?” Spencer asks aimlessly. He bends down again, pressing little kisses against the dark sweep of purple, harder than before.
Ryan's breathing heavily above him, and he whispers, too breathy, “Your mom isn't here right now.”
“No,” Spencer agrees. “I'll have to do her job, I guess.”
Ryan hand gropes at Spencer's arm, and finding Spencer's hand. Ryan twists their fingers together. He squeezes hard and Spencer keeps skimming his mouth across Ryan's skin, across the contrast of pale white and dark, dark, dark. He slides lower, down past Ryan's bellybutton, to the end of the bruise, to the golden strip of skin Ryan's shirts don't always cover. (Ryan sometimes lies out on the patio, usually reading, but sometimes writing in his journal, and his shirt always creeps up, the sun tanning just that one, small strip of visible skin. Spencer can see the whole patio from his room, but anyone outside can't see in unless they're specifically looking; it's something Spencer discovered by accident, but he makes a point of trying not to stare when Ryan goes outside. It's a principle thing --- even if it'd be the perfect time to look, with such a small risk of getting caught.)
Ryan makes a soft noise, and Spencer realizes he's stopped moving, just resting his lips on Ryan's hip. On impulse, he scrapes his teeth sharply across the bone, eliciting a hiss out of Ryan.
“Fuck,” Ryan murmurs.
Spencer pulls back a quarter of an inch, breath feather-light against Ryan's stomach, and asks, “All better?”
Ryan nods and grabs Spencer's hair, tugging him up. Spencer goes with it, ends up close to Ryan, his breath hot on Spencer's face.
“Thank you,” Ryan says, and clutches Spencer closer. He starts to say something against Spencer's neck, but the words get lost somewhere between the air and Spencer's skin.
They fall asleep like that, pressed against each other, too hot where they're touching and too cold where they're not.
-
The seventh time Ryan and Spencer hike together --- Spencer wasn't counting on purpose, he just remembers --- Ryan says, “We should take Jon up here, sometime.”
Spencer keeps looking out across the trees, hoping Ryan can't see his frown.
“I think he'd really like it. He could take pictures and stuff,” Ryan continues.
“I guess. Doesn't digital ruin sunrises?”
“I dunno. We could ask Jon.”
Jon, Spencer thinks.
-
“That sounds great!” Jon says. “I haven't been taking enough pictures since we've been up here.”
“Okay. Awesome,” Spencer says weakly. “We have to leave around five, and don't wear flip-flops.” Spencer manages a chuckle at Jon's sheepish smile.
“I do wear real shoes, you know. Sometimes.”
“Yeah, sure,” Spencer says. “Whatever you say, Jon Walker.”
-
Jon is sitting outside on the patio when Spencer gets up. Spencer goes outside, and Jon's filling out a crossword puzzle from the paper, orange peels scattered on the stone in front of him.
Spencer frowns. “Morning,” he greets.
Jon looks up and smiles, waving at Spencer, pen in hand. “Hey, man.”
“Did you eat the last orange?” Spencer asks suspiciously. There was one left yesterday morning, and he didn't take it, saving it instead for today's hike, hoping to take the edge off Jon intruding on his and Ryan's ritual.
“Yeah, there wasn't any more cereal.” Jon turns to look at him, takes in Spencer's frown and immediately looks inappropriately remorseful --- like he killed Spencer's dog, instead of just stealing his orange. “Oh, hey, did you want it? I'm so sorry. I didn't realize---”
“It's okay,” Spencer says, even though it's not. He feels like an asshole, Jon looks so sad, and it was just an orange.
“We can get some more tomorrow, okay? I'm really sorry.”
Spencer grunts. “Just clean the mess up,” he says, gesturing to the scattered pieces of peel.
“Of course,” Jon says. Spencer goes inside to look for more fruit.
-
All they have is one sad apple. It's bruised and soft, but Spencer puts it in his bag anyway. It's a Fuji, at least. Those always taste good.
-
Jon chatters the whole way up the mountain, and Ryan talks to him easily. Something has changed between the two of them; Jon's not self-conscious, and he doesn't agonize over his words like he used to. He doesn't act like he's on thin ice anymore.
Intellectually, Spencer knows it's a good thing, but what he really wants is for Jon to shut up, or go away and give him Ryan back. He misses the quiet companionship, he misses listening to birds and looking for deer. He misses grabbing Ryan around the waist when he stumbles on rocky patches. He misses leaning on Ryan's shoulder and just listening to him breathe.
But Spencer can't hear anything. He's sitting on the big boulder next to Ryan, but they're almost six inches apart. Now Spencer is self-conscious, now that there's someone to see.
“This is gorgeous,” Jon says.
“How'd you guys even find this place?” Jon says.
“I hope these turn out, sunrises are hard to catch,” Jon says. (Digital does indeed ruin sunrises.)
“I wish I had more film,” Jon says.
He just keeps talking, and Spencer doesn't know if it's the noise or the distance, but he can't hear a sound out of Ryan other than an occasional murmur of agreement or sympathy.
Spencer takes the apple out of his bag, scowling as he takes a bite. He makes sure to glare at Jon the whole way back. He pretends not to see the hurt looks Jon sends back.
-
Brendon is kind of upset that he was left out, and Jon promises to take Brendon with them next time. And what the fuck, Spencer thinks. Since when can Jon invite people? This was him and Ryan's thing, Jon's not allowed to tag along all the time, not allowed to act like he's part of this. Spencer takes a longer shower than usual, trying not to fume about the whole thing and failing miserably.
-
“Okay, Spencer, what?” Jon asks, cornering Spencer in the hallway.
Spencer's freshly changed, just out of the shower, and he's mostly only thinking about coffee right now, so all he can manage is a completely eloquent, “Er...”
“Because, like, I don't know. Is this about the orange? We can get more and I'm sorry, alright? You don't have to be a jerk.”
“Um,” Spencer says, boggled. Jon crosses his arms and stares hard at Spencer. After a moment, he sighs, defeated.
“Fine, asshole, go caffeinate. Then we're going to talk about why you hate me.”
“I don't---” Spencer tries, but Jon waves his hand and says, “Later.” Then he turns around and leaves Spencer standing in the hallway.
Which is really the effective end of that conversation.
“Uh?” Spencer says to no one in particular, maybe to the walls or to the floor. The floor always seems to listen to him at home, but the cabin's carpet is unresponsive under Spencer's feet as he shuffles towards the kitchen. Spencer's already figured the cabin hates them, so he's not all that surprised, anyway.
-
Spencer hangs out with Brendon all day, plays video games and talks about music—does whatever he can to make sure he's never alone with Jon. Spencer doesn't feel like explaining to Jon that it feels like Jon's that dad who insists on tagging along to the movies when his daughter goes out on a date. And Ryan's that stupidly polite boy who invites the parents along in the first place.
Huh, Spencer thinks. That would make him the girl. He kind of feels like a girl though, thinking hiking with Ryan is anything like a date.
-
Part two
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