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Anywhere You Let It Go: Part III

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[Part III]

Ryan is so not happy. The flowers. The flowers make it look like somebody died, okay, and who ordered that many calla lilies?

“Where are the roses?” he asks, hands on his hips, glaring at no one and everyone. Everyone is against him. Everyone wants him to live out his life in abject misery. He can’t believe Brendon and Spencer are making this horrible mistake. One day, Joe is going to pay. Pay for everything.

“Dude, chill,” Jon says, knocking his shoulder. He grins at him. Jon has a magical grin, damn it.

And then he spots Spencer, hovering just outside the door to the chapel, all handsome in his dark gray suit, biting his bottom lip and looking adorably nervous, and Ryan does not get teary-eyed. He totally doesn’t.

Jon slides an arm around his waist, leaning into his side. “You’re a softie, Ryan Ross,” he says, and Ryan can’t even scowl at him. Jesus.

“Ruin my life, why don’t you,” he mutters, and leans back.

**

The day Charles Peter Stump was born was the day Spencer realized he was in love with Brendon.

Spencer had never intended to even sleep with Brendon, let alone date him – Brendon had worn him down after months and months of pouting and highly inappropriate touching and increasingly bold and ridiculous come-ons and, seriously, Spencer was a guy; he could only hold out so long when someone was constantly sticking their hands down his pants - but somehow he’d ended up head-over-heels in fucking love with the douche.

Brendon was gushing over the photos Pete had sent Ryan of baby Charlie, fingers tracing the curve of Charlie’s tiny head on the computer screen, eyes big and awed, and it’d hit Spencer so hard he’d lost his breath.

He was so screwed.

*

Spencer did not like being in love. It was pretty much the worst thing ever, he decided, especially since Brendon was a complete ass about anything and everything.

But.

But Spencer woke up calmly content one morning, months after his revelation, with Brendon sprawled next to him, taking up more than his allotted share of the bed, a bony knee digging into Spencer’s side and hands tucked up under his pillow. Spencer stared at the ceiling and wondered how he’d gotten to that point, where Brendon – Brendon, who kissed him in the morning specifically because his breath was so bad - was the most important part of his day.

Brendon always woke up awake. Bushy-tailed and bouncy, even before caffeine, and he straddled Spencer and nosed his cheek. “Hey, hey, no frowns.”

Spencer said, “Just thinking,” and tugged at Brendon’s arms ‘til he was flat along top of him, legs tangled.

“Thinking shouldn’t hurt,” Brendon murmured into his throat, and Spencer laughed.

He laughed and slid his hands down to palm the small of Brendon’s back and then he said, “Brendon, Bren, I want to take you home.”

“What?”

Spencer turned his head and grinned against Brendon’s forehead, messy hair tickling his nose. “I want to take you home. Meet Mom and Dad.”

Brendon snorted. “Dude, I’ve already met your parents. A lot. They love me.”

“I want to take you home,” Spencer stressed, arms tightening around Brendon and Brendon sort of. Stiffened up.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” It wasn’t such a big deal, really. Spencer had been open with his folks for a while, but they didn’t actually know about Brendon.

Brendon pushed back and away from Spencer, stared at him. “As in, this is my boyfriend, take me home,” he said, not a question, and Spencer lost his smile.

Brendon was a complete ass about anything and everything, yeah, but Spencer never figured he’d get weird about coming out to his parents. Spencer’s parents had never been anything but supportive, and Brendon knew that, and Spencer had sort of expected Brendon to be ridiculously happy about it. Spencer was. This was a fucking grand gesture type of thing. This was small and sharp and important.

“It’s just my parents, Brendon,” Spencer said, eyes narrowed, and Brendon said, “Yes, no, I know, that’s cool,” when clearly it wasn’t. It wasn’t at all.

Brendon shook off Spencer’s loose grip and slipped off the side of the bed and changed the subject. He asked, “Do you think it’s too soon to fly down and see Charlie again?” and Spencer didn’t answer.

Spencer rolled over and took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

*

The fight, when it happened, was not so surprising, except in the way that it wasn’t really a fight at all.

“So you and Brendon are being weird,” Ryan said without looking up from his notebook. “You should stop it.”

“Sure, Ryan,” Spencer said, tapping his drumsticks on the coffee table. “I’ll get right on that.”

Ryan sighed. He set down his pen and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Spencer shook his head, kept on drumming absently.

Ryan grabbed his wrist, and he was frowning when Spencer arched an eyebrow over at him. “Seriously, Spence, are you all right?”

“I’m—”

“Hey,” Brendon pounced on the couch behind them, “hey, can I, um. Can I talk to you, Spencer?”

Spencer tipped his head back and stared at Brendon upside-down. “Sure.”

It was evident in the way Brendon didn’t touch him that something was wrong.

Ryan said, “I’m gonna just,” and pushed himself to his feet, and before he was even fully out of the den, Brendon said, “So I’m thinking maybe we should just—”

“Okay, no, I know.” Spencer jerked his head up, knew he was nodding like an idiot, but couldn’t seem to stop. “That’s fine.” Spencer thought maybe if he didn’t actually hear the words, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Right,” Brendon said, and then Spencer had to go and look at him, look at the way his brow was crinkled and his mouth was pulled down, how his fingers twisted in the hem of his t-shirt, like they always did when he was upset.

“It’s not.” Spencer paused, took a deep breath. “It’s not a big deal, Brendon. I don’t see why you can’t—”

“It’s your parents, Spencer,” Brendon said, and his dark eyes were oddly earnest and soberly sad; sad in a way that wasn’t puppy-dog blues, wasn’t hug-me-make-me-happy simple. “It’s a huge deal, and I. I wish I could—”

“Fine. Fine, we won’t. I can’t.” I can’t not want to have that, he didn’t say. He wanted to tell the whole fucking world, and he wanted Brendon to want that, too.

“Are we, like.” Brendon swallowed, bit the corner of his lip. “Is this it?” he asked.

Spencer’s eyes prickled and he looked down at his hands. That wasn’t it, not by a long shot. Spencer didn’t want them to be over because of all that. He was in love with Brendon, and that wasn’t going to go away just because Brendon didn’t want to, like, kiss him in front of his parents or whatever.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t get his mouth to say no. Couldn’t get the word up out of his suddenly dry throat. And when he looked up again, Brendon was gone.

*

After two weeks, when it was clear Brendon wasn’t coming back to the cabin, they all went home. Ryan was fucking pissed about it, but Spencer figured he must have looked pretty miserable, since he didn’t put up much of a fight, in the end. They just. Went home.

Spencer holed up in his parents’ house and ate obscene amounts of Fruit Rollups and his mom’s homemade chocolate pudding and ignored numerous calls from Ryan, until he woke up on morning and could actually smell himself and he couldn’t remember when he’d last had a shower or seen anyone other than his mom. His face itched with a half-grown beard and his pajama pants had mysterious stains on them.

“Okay,” he said to himself, and then he stripped and went to scrub his skin off – he smelled really bad - because he seriously had to pull himself together. This. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t a mess; he couldn’t afford to be.

It took the whole day. He showered and shaved, he talked himself into eating a sandwich, drinking a tall glass of orange juice, and finally he could breathe a little easier. His skin didn’t feel quite so tight.

And then he made his way over to Ryan’s.

“Hi,” he said, flopping down on Ryan’s couch.

Ryan eyed him warily from the armchair and Jon, sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV – a riveting episode of Judge Joe Brown was on - looked over his shoulder and asked, “Good?”

“Better,” Spencer answered, shrugging.

Jon stared at him, studied his face, and Spencer stared right back. Jon arched an eyebrow. Spencer arched both of his. Jon sucked in his lower lip and cocked his head, and Spencer squinched one eye and pressed his mouth into a flat line. Jon was asking, are you really good? and Spencer was saying, maybe for right now, and Spencer wasn’t sure why they didn’t just say all that out loud, since it wasn’t like Ryan couldn’t read their expressions anyway, but somehow it was easier to be honest when they weren’t actually talking.

“Okay, wow,” Ryan said, kicking Jon lightly in the side. “We completely fail as young adults. Who’s up for a movie?”

*

Ryan sounded like he was choking on pure rage when he told him about the proposed hiatus, standing in Spencer’s kitchen, and then Jon said, “Don’t worry,” with a true smile in his eyes.

“Okay,” Spencer said. He was kind of surprised he could speak at all, considering he felt like his entire world had crumbled to pieces, and that the least of it all, the very least, was the band. Hiatus meant not seeing Brendon, not talking to Brendon, not touching Brendon, for an indefinite length of time, and Spencer couldn’t care fucking less about the band. He didn’t say that out loud, though, since Ryan looked very close to stroking out.

“We’ll tell Pete,” Jon said - Ryan make an indescribable noise in the back of his throat and clenched his fingers so tight over the edge of the counter Spencer thought they might break – “and he’ll think of something, and everything’ll be fine.”

*

Two months after Brendon skipped off to Chicago, Spencer opened his door to find him on his front stoop, staring down at the ground, his hair tumbling past his ears and shading his eyes, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“So I’ve been having this reoccurring dream,” Brendon said without looking up. “I’m being eaten by a zombie Ryan, only, see, he’s just eating my arm, so it’s, like, cannibal Ryan or something, but.” He flicked his gaze up and away. “When I tell him to stop, he says that I’m the one who wanted a hiatus, which, okay. True. But that doesn’t have anything to do with Ryan eating my arm.” He frowned. “I don’t think so, at least. Maybe—”

“Brendon,” Spencer cut in. “What are you doing here?”

“It was a mistake.”

Spencer might have stopped breathing for a minute. Then he asked, “What?”

Brendon rubbed the back of his neck. “The hiatus. It was a bad idea, okay?”

Spencer nodded, felt his eyes start to prickle, because goddamnit. “Ryan’s not here,” he managed, and then shut the door in Brendon’s face.

*

They went back to the cabin. They went back to the cabin to bond and rehearse or whatever, make sure they still worked, and Spencer was fine. He was totally fine with everything, even though his room was no longer Brendon’s room and he no longer woke up with Brendon wriggling up and over to straddle his waist, humming his stupid morning songs in his ear.

“I really think,” Brendon said, sitting down across from Spencer at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal.

Spencer blinked at him. “What?”

“I really think you should talk to Ryan about the sad tragic clown song.” Brendon bobbed his head and then gave him a big, hopeful grin.

“Um. No,” Spencer said. After all, Spencer didn’t have to sing it. The drumming for it was actually kind of cool.

Brendon made a face. “He’s not happy with me right now.”

Spencer bit his lip, tore off a piece of toast and then just. Kept tearing it up, making a little pile of buttery cinnamon toast crumbs. His coffee was rapidly cooling at his elbow.

“You know?” Brendon added, cocking his head, and Christ, what the hell did Brendon think he was doing?

“I’m not.” Spencer took a slow breath, in and out and count to ten. He stared down at the tabletop and finally said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” Brendon said, voice small, and Spencer risked a glance up, just in time to catch Brendon darting his gaze away, towards the coffeemaker on the counter, the sink, the window framed by built-in cabinets.

Spencer said, “Brendon,” and Brendon’s eyes jumped to his, fluttering and wide and brows tilted just slightly up over his nose.

“Yeah?”

Spencer wanted to know what the fuck was going on inside his squirrelly little brain, wanted to know why he’d left, just took off without a word or a fight, and why he’d come back, and why he was acting like Spencer had maybe killed his dog. This was not Spencer’s fault. It wasn’t, it really, really wasn’t. “Nothing,” Spencer said with a slight shrug.

Brendon smiled at him, the grin cracking at the edges, like his lips were stiff and it was an effort to push up his cheeks, but his eyes. His eyes held a shine of affection, and his fingers were twitching, like he wanted to reach right out and catch Spencer’s hand, maybe press their palms together like he’d done millions of times before over sleepy morning breakfasts.

Or maybe that was what Spencer wanted to him do.

Spencer swallowed hard and pushed away from the table. He quietly cleaned up the mess he’d made and poured his cold coffee down the drain, and then he walked away.

*

Spencer was actually really glad that Ryan freaked out so badly when Brendon announced he was coming out. It gave him less time to freak out, to worry over the ramifications – for all of them, for the band, for Spencer alone, as Brendon’s unofficial ex.

“I want balloons,” Brendon said, arms wide. “I want ponies with ribbons in their manes and those circus dogs that twirl around on their back legs—”

“Brendon.”

“Seriously, it should be this huge party, right, because I’m gonna be fucking proud and strong and—”

Flaming, Jesus,” Ryan cut in, face red and hands clenched into fists. “Oh my god, I’m going to fucking kill you, Urie. You’re going down, you little weasel.”

Brendon frowned. “I think you need to be a little more support—ow, shit, did you—you bit me, dude,” Brendon flailed, stumbling backwards.

Spencer lunged and grabbed Ryan around his skinny little waist and hauled him back, because once Ryan started biting there was only about ten point five seconds before he burst into tears. He stuffed him into the downstairs bathroom and locked the door.

Ryan was heaving, that’s how hard he was breathing, and Spencer counted down until the heavy breaths deteriorated into broken sobs.

“He’s. He’s going to fucking ruin us, Spencer,” Ryan gasped, voice muffled by his hands pressed up over his mouth. Huge, fat tears were pooling at the corners of his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and dripping all over his fingers.

Spencer wanted to smack him. It was not the first time he’d wanted to smack Ryan when he technically, as the understanding best friend, should’ve been comforting him, but this issue was kind of touchy for Spencer to begin with.

Instead of hitting him, though, Spencer just grabbed a wad of tissues and tucked them into Ryan’s hands – still covering half his face – and then leaned back against the sink and waited for Ryan to calm down, arms crossed over his chest.

“Done?” he asked, when Ryan’s hiccupping, gaspy sobs wound down to the occasional wet sniffle.

Ryan rubbed the flat of his hand under his nose, tissues pressed up against his eyes. “Yeah,” he said thickly.

“Okay.” Spencer nodded. “Okay, so, I get that you’re upset, and I know Brendon’s being kind of a dick and a spaz about this,” god, did he ever, “but you’re going to have to get over it.”

“But—”

“We’ll figure something out. We’ll be fine.” Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t something we can stop him from doing, okay?” And he didn’t wish that he could have, not really, but he was honestly more confused by Brendon than he’d ever been by anybody in his entire life.

He knew they should talk. He knew that they had to talk, but he wasn’t sure when and he wasn’t sure how, and right then Ryan had to be coaxed out of his homicidal snit, so he calmly clasped Ryan’s wrists in his hands and shook his arms until Ryan’s red-rimmed eyes caught his.

“You’re allowed to be pissy,” Spencer said, because Ryan was kind of pissy about most things, and that shouldn’t have to change.

Ryan opened his mouth, but Spencer cut him off with, “But you can’t be mean, Ryan Ross, and you can’t stop him. You can’t say no.” Brendon wasn’t asking permission, not really, but Spencer knew if Ryan pushed him enough, was angry enough about it, Brendon would back off. That was just the way they worked.

Ryan scrunched up his nose. “Fine,” he said, shaking off Spencer’s grip. He pulled out some more tissues and swiped his eyes again. “Fine, but this is going to be a disaster.”

Spencer smiled a little, rueful, because he wasn’t going to bother arguing that. He pushed Ryan towards the door. “Come on. Put on your Brave Little Toaster face,” Spencer said.

“Fuck off,” Ryan said, but there wasn’t any real heat to it.

When they ducked back into the hall, Spencer could hear Patrick’s voice mingling with Jon’s and Brendon’s in the den, and he felt kind of relieved. Patrick liked Brendon, that was obvious, but Spencer didn’t think he’d let Brendon walk all over him, either.

He figured maybe he could at least talk him out of the circus dogs.

*

Technically, Spencer supposed he wasn’t really talking to Brendon. They weren’t exactly avoiding each other, but they weren’t normal, either; if the words weren’t about the music, about the band, then they weren’t saying them at all.

Spencer was maybe just the very least bit jealous of Patrick, and how he’d swept in to rescue Brendon and organize his notes and flowcharts, but he was mostly glad. Glad that someone knew what to do, how to handle everything.

And he got to spend some time with Charlie, who was sort of unbelievably adorable. Spencer wasn’t much of a kid person, but Charlie was so affable and downright pleasant that Spencer had a hard time not loving him.

Ryan seemed kind of put off by him, but it was Ryan, and Ryan was sort of put off by most humans.

Charlie was sitting up on his blanket, hands clutching his stuffed bunny. Jon was on his side next to him, and Ryan was eyeing him suspiciously from the couch.

“Hey, check this out,” Jon said, grinning, then asked, “Charlie, Chuck, hey, where’s the cat? Cat? Cat?”

Charlie’s head turned a bit, wobbling, eyes blinking, and he stuck a chubby finger out to where Dylan was lounging under a chair, tail flicking.

Spencer said, “Dude, he’s smart.”

Ryan looked skeptical. “He pointed out the cat.”

“He’s nine months old. He’s smart.” Jon smacked Ryan’s calf.

“Isn’t he supposed to be crawling already?” Ryan asked. “Babbling, maybe?”

“He hums,” Jon said. He wrapped his hands around Charlie’s back and nuzzled his stomach. Charlie hit him on the head with the bunny. “He’s, like, mini-Patrick.”

Spencer snorted, and Jon sent him a curiously soft look, and then later he cornered him in the hallway outside the bathroom with a quiet, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said automatically, and then he clutched Jon’s arm, right below the elbow, and asked, “What do you—do you think he’s thought this through?” and Spencer knew the answer to that before Jon followed his eyebrow arch of disbelief with a firm, “No.”

“Right.” Spencer sighed. He rubbed a hand over his forehead.

“Hey, hey.” Jon caught his wrist and pulled him into a hug. He hooked his chin over his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why Patrick’s here, right?” Jon’s voice hummed along the skin of Spencer’s neck.

Spencer nodded. “Yes, sure, I know.” He did know, but that really didn’t make him feel any better.

*

Spencer should have seen it coming. When he’d brought up Brendon’s family to Patrick, Patrick had gone wide-eyed and slightly panicky, and Spencer should have known that Patrick would have pushed the issue with Brendon – which had kind of been Spencer’s point, of course – and that Brendon wouldn’t have backed down. Which was what Spencer had been aiming for, even though he really knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t work. This was Brendon.

Brendon, who had left his home for a crappy job and a shitty apartment on the off chance that they’d be famous one day. The fact that it’d paid off, that they were exactly where they’d always planned on being, only made Brendon bolder.

“Brendon.”

Brendon glanced up at him from his coloring book, smiled. “Spencer, hey.”

Spencer crossed his arms over his chest and figured he could approach this several different ways, the most obvious being irrational yelling. That was more Ryan’s thing, though, and it seemed kind of wrong to bring up the whole ‘you wouldn’t come out to my parents but you’ll come out to the world’ issue, at least while Brendon faced the looming threat of disownment. He settled on a calm, “Pete said you’re visiting your parents tomorrow?”

Spencer recognized a fleeting spark of panic in Brendon’s eyes before he nodded and forced a bright, tight smile. “Yep.”

Spencer nodded back. He dropped his gaze to the floor, shrugged. “If you need anyone to come with—”

“No, no, that’s.” Spencer jerked his head up and Brendon was shaking his vehemently. “That’s cool, Spence, but I’ll be fine.”

“I didn’t mean, like, with you,” Spencer elaborated, even though maybe he did, because why the fuck not, right? Except for some reason Spencer still didn’t quite understand, they weren’t together anymore, and it made his chest fucking hurt sometimes.

Brendon kept shaking his head, not looking at Spencer at all. “No, this is. This is something I need to do by myself, right?” and it was like he was really asking Spencer that, like he needed to make sure, and Spencer thought oh fuck, no. Seriously, no. He wasn’t sure Brendon knew the difference between for and by, because there were reasons, good reasons, fucking awesome reasons to come out, and all of them were right, and it was always nice not to have to do it alone.

Ryan had been Spencer’s rock, and Spencer couldn’t even imagine what it would’ve been like if he’d had to face his parents without him hovering in the doorway, hiding behind a glass of water, ready to swoop in and steer him clear if any toxic waste had started to fall.

“Take Patrick, then,” Spencer urged. “But don’t take Pete.”

Brendon laughed, shook his head. “Seriously, I’ll be fine,” he insisted, and Spencer didn’t think he was lying, exactly, but he also didn’t think it was true.

*

“Why are we here again?” Ryan asked, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. He had on brown leather driver’s gloves, because he was a giant tool. Seriously.

Spencer glared at him. “We’re being supportive friends,” he said, and then Jon said, “Hey, I see him, they’re. Through the living room window, right?”

Jon had binoculars, because they were maybe half a block away from the Urie residence, on the opposite side of the street, hiding in Ryan’s car.

“Can you tell what’s going on?” Spencer asked. Brendon had been in there for a while, maybe an hour, and it was the first sign of movement they’d gotten.

“Flailing. Flailing can’t be good.”

“Are they—” Ryan paused, and Spencer reached over and squeezed his shoulder, held on, because they were all worried, despite Ryan’s bitching.

“No one seems to be—oh, wait, um, I think he’s—” And then the front door was flung open and Brendon tore outside, down the steps, and Spencer couldn’t tell his expression from that far away, but he had his shoulders hunched and his hands fisted. Jon said, “Mobilize,” and they all spilled out of the car just as Brendon was fumbling for his keys.

“Brendon,” Spencer called out as they crossed the street, and Brendon’s head came up, and he didn’t look surprised, just sort of. Wrecked.

Jon reached him first, grabbed the car keys out of his hand. He kissed his temple, quick, fingers wrapped around his nape, and then he turned to Brendon’s Mazda and unlocked the drivers’ side door. “See you at home,” he said, giving a little wave, and Spencer shackled Brendon’s wrist, gently tugging him along, back to Ryan’s car.

Brendon didn’t say anything, not even when Ryan curled around him in a tight hug, not even when Spencer pushed him into the backseat and climbed in after him.

“Brendon,” Spencer said, and Brendon shook his head, slumped down low in the seat. Spencer sighed and tugged on Brendon’s sleeve.

Brendon glanced at him, eyes dark with hurt and maybe something like anger.

“Come here,” Spencer half-whispered. He tugged on his shirt again, jerked his head, and Brendon kind of fell into his side.

He fell into his side and clutched at Spencer’s hip and pulled his knees up and suddenly Spencer had a lapful of Brendon, burrowed close, head on his shoulder, breathing a little ragged. “Spence,” Brendon rasped.

“Yeah.”

“Spence, they think that I—” Brendon’s fingers dug into the skin of Spencer’s waist, up under the hem of his t-shirt. “How can they think that?”

Spencer wasn’t exactly sure what Brendon was saying, what his parents had said to him, but he figured it was pretty fucking terrible. He tightened his hold and pressed his cheek onto Brendon’s head. “I don’t know,” he murmured.

He caught Ryan’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Ryan looked a little like he wanted to take out Brendon’s entire family with an Uzi.

“Let’s go,” Spencer said, and Ryan nodded grimly and pulled away from the curb.

*

“We made dinner,” Pete said, smiling, when they filed into the cabin, Brendon leaning heavily into Spencer, clasping his hand, and Ryan hovering behind them like an enraged mother hen. Jon had waited on the front stoop and then followed them inside, tossing Brendon’s keys on the coffee table.

Spencer was sure Brendon would pull away, tuck himself up in his room, but he should’ve known better.

Brendon rubbed a palm over his eyes and straightened up, smiling back at Pete. It didn’t even look strained or forced, and he kept his hand in Spencer’s, laced tightly, as he walked over to the kitchen table, prettily set for six.

“Smells good,” he said, voice only a little bit thick.

Spencer wrapped his free hand around Brendon’s wrist. “Brendon, hey, you don’t—”

“I’m hungry,” he said, slanting Spencer a look that was almost weirdly happy.

Later, he slipped into Spencer’s room after him. He turned off all the lights and slid into the bed behind him, plastering himself against Spencer’s back. He said, “God, Spencer, you,” into his neck, lips moving hotly along his skin.

“What?” Spencer asked, turning his head slightly.

Brendon sucked in a shuddery breath. “You. You did that before, with your parents?”

“I did that with Ryan, Brendon. Jesus, I.” He flopped over onto his back, hauling Brendon up into his side, hooking their legs together, and he whispered against his temple, “You went in there alone, you fucking lunatic.”

Brendon laughed into his collarbone, a single broken sound. “Wasn’t so bad.”

Spencer snorted. “You’re insane.” He shook his head. “Christ, I love you.”

“You.” Brendon jerked back, levering up on his hands, and Spencer suddenly had a flashback to that morning, that horrible fucking morning when Brendon had walked out, but Brendon just sort of beamed at him, teeth flashing white in the dim moonlight filtering through the open windows. “You love me.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure Brendon wasn’t, like, mocking him. “Maybe.”

“You so love me, Spencer,” he said. “You adore me,” and his tone, his tone wasn’t really teasing, as far as Spencer could tell, but it was sort of affectionate and awed, like he couldn’t believe it was true, but that he couldn’t believe it was not true at the same exact time. Like it was all so damn simple, so easy, and Spencer. Spencer’d had that revelation months ago, right?

Which was why he knew he could say, “You love me, too, dork,” with utter conviction.

Spencer was maybe not so prepared, though, for the breathless, “Marry me, Spencer,” that came right after.

Part IV

Comments

( 6 robots have taken off their pants — Take off your pants )
little_whittles
Aug. 11th, 2007 02:04 am (UTC)
You've made me love Ryan Ross, congratulations!!! Anyway, I love your Ryan so much it's silly.

I just got all weepy, this part was so beautiful and sweet. I can't wait for the next part.
skoosiepants
Aug. 12th, 2007 08:57 pm (UTC)
*g* thank you!
whatchamacall1t
Aug. 31st, 2007 07:10 am (UTC)
oh my god, please let me marry you.

Please let me marry you with Ponies, if only for Ryan's Driving Gloves,and that entire scene, SERIOUSLY, FOR REAL.

please, please, i love this, and Charlie, enough to tie my life irrevocably with yours forever, oh my god for serious, what.

also, it's really late. if this is not as coherent as i think it is whenever you get this, i apologize.

but not about the marriage proposal.
skoosiepants
Aug. 31st, 2007 05:47 pm (UTC)
*beams* oh, thank you! I'm happy you liked :) We could get married on ponies with horns taped to their heads!
daydreambeleevr
Oct. 10th, 2007 04:45 am (UTC)
“It was a mistake.”

Spencer might have stopped breathing for a minute. Then he asked, “What?”

Brendon rubbed the back of his neck. “The hiatus. It was a bad idea, okay?”

Spencer nodded, felt his eyes start to prickle, because goddamnit. “Ryan’s not here,” he managed, and then shut the door in Brendon’s face.


You make us feel that little flair of hope Spencer has only to have it wrenched away.

Spencer lunged and grabbed Ryan around his skinny little waist and hauled him back, because once Ryan started biting there was only about ten point five seconds before he burst into tears I love that good life long friends like those two would know that about each other.

He wasn’t sure Brendon knew the difference between for and by, because there were reasons, good reasons, fucking awesome reasons to come out, and all of them were right, and it was always nice not to have to do it alone.

The point you're having Spencer make, with for myself vs by myself, is important. I love how you have them all there stealthing out across the street. And I enjoyed Brandon's apparent realization that Spencer actually loves him. Sweet.

Kerry =)
skoosiepants
Oct. 10th, 2007 05:10 pm (UTC)
The Ryan-biting-crying scene is one of my favorites - Spencer knows him so well!
( 6 robots have taken off their pants — Take off your pants )

....

“You’re pack,” Derek says.

“Pack, right,” Stiles says absently. Derek’s skin is really hot under his hands. He runs fingers over Derek’s collarbone and Derek shivers. It occurs to him that they’re in a bed.

“Please don’t have sex in front of me,” Jackson says, nearly inflectionless.

“You could leave,” Stiles says, but Jackson makes a distraught noise and Derek reaches over Stiles to run a hand over Jackson’s head.

God damn cock-blocking puppy piles.

- Show You What All That Howl Is For

....







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panic - pants to match ver. 3
skoosiepants
master of karate and friendship
pants to match

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