no vows will be forgotten

It’s like, Jon doesn’t make noises when he eats, he totally doesn’t, but Spencer sometimes does and Brendon always does, and so tacos are an experience, and Ryan can sense this experience from miles away.

Jon should’ve remembered that. He hides his smiling mouth behind a hard taco shell, full of crunchy goodness, because Ryan just gets mad when he thinks they’re laughing at him.

Ryan’s got his hands on his tiny hips and his hair’s just starting to grow out, so maybe he looks like he’s finally reached puberty. Maybe. Jon isn’t making any snap decisions here.

“What?” Ryan asks.

“What, what?” Brendon asks around a mouthful.

Joe Jonas is squished into the corner of the kitchenette. Joe Jonas is really fucking adorable when he eats tacos.

“You know the others, the littler one with the curly hair and the neckerchief guy—you know they’re looking for him,” Ryan says.

“Looking for who?” Brendon asks. He’s got these huge, wide eyes and Jon almost chokes on his laugh, because what the fuck Brendon that never works on Ryan, but hang on.

“Wait. Wait, wait there’s a—one of them wears a neckerchief?” Jon says, coughing a little, because holy shit, that’s, like, if Gabe ever met Ozone from Breakin’. It’s electric. “Like—Ryan, Ry, is he your little protégé?”

Brendon cracks up. He loses half his taco, which is a crying shame, but Jon understands. He understands. Spencer buries his face into Jon’s neck. Jon can feel his smile, and maybe some taco crumbs.

Ryan scowls at them. The wrinkles in his forehead look like an old man frown-y face, and Ryan is totally an old man sometimes, especially when he wears that watch fob and the scarf with all the sailboats on it.

Jon says, “Taco?” because who can resist a fucking taco, right?

“So, really, can I leave now?” Joe Jonas asks.

Brendon pokes at him. “You haven’t finished your taco, dude. Taco. Taco taco taaaaaaaco. Who thinks tacos are awesome?”

Jon waves his hands around, because hell yes.

“Guys,” Ryan says. “Guys, you have to give him back.”

“Give who back?” Brendon asks. He turns a little and props his arm up on the table, like he’s hiding Joe Jonas behind his back. “Give Jon back? Ry, Ryan, I’m disappointed in you.”

Spencer giggles into Jon’s shirt. Jon’s pretty sure he says something like, “You can’t have him,” and Jon says, “I’m indispensable, Ryan Ross. I can do amazing jazz hands, you love me.”

Ryan huffs.

Jon says, “Tacos?”

“What’s with the tacos, seriously,” Joe Jonas says, and Brendon says, “The food of champions,” nodding, and Jon looks over at Joe again, all snug as a bug up against Brendon and the window. Joe Jonas has the best eyes, Jon’s sure. And, like, this perfect skin and hair that is only marginally less frightening than Pete Wentz’s and surely he’s been over that before, but it bears another think. Jon wants Spencer to kiss him. Jon wants Spencer to share his taco.

“You guys are fucking useless,” Ryan says, but with no heat and no inflection and this little twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s his Spencer-twitch, the one that means Spencer could murder Siska and he’d just help hide the body.

Not that anyone would want to murder poor little lost boy Adam. The shorn hair makes him seem more vulnerable. Jon just wants to hug him all the time, it’s true.

“We’ve got salsa, Ryan Ross. Sal-sa!” Brendon does a little dance in his seat and Jon plays the invisible maracas for him. Jon is almost as good on the invisible maracas as he is on bass.

“You are totally so good at that,” Spencer says, and Jon nods his solemn thanks.

Joe Jonas says, “Help.” It’s a little squeaky. Jon could squish his precious little cheeks.

“If you break him,” Ryan says. He flops a limp-wristed hand. “I’m just saying.”

“I will totally marry him, don’t you worry,” Brendon says grandly. “No vows will be forgotten on my watch.”

Joe Jonas makes a strangled sound, and Brendon gives him a firm pat on the back. Choking on tacos is a bad way to die. Or a great way, Jon thinks, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“Sal-sa,” Jon says. “Saaaaaalsa.” That should totally be in a song. Jon has the best ideas ever.

Ryan says, “Do we have any sour cream?” and Jon is at least sixty-seven percent sure they do.