Frequently lost in my own mind

I wanted to write a Jon POV companion piece to Hello, I'm too tired to smile today and it basically turned into a week and a half of me torturing subterrain with emails that started out with "I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW" and then stalking her every move as she made comments in the google doc. She puts up with a lot in being my friend.

title: don't hold back, feel a little longer
rating: R, for salty language
words: 7610
summary: Jon keeps hoping that time will smooth out the sharp edges, but Spencer isn't going to wait anymore.
notes: This may or may not make sense if you haven't read Hello, I'm too tired to smile today



Don't hold back, feel a little longer

more notes!: I really hope I didn't leave any beta comments in again, especially the one where subterrain mocks me for trying to fix a grammatical mistake by making it MORE WRONG. Also, when I started writing this fic I listened to All I Need by Hannah Georgas on repeat. If you would like to listen to it, you can! All I Need Because I'm at work I can't check to see if this link is working, so there is a chance that I screwed it up. Oops, in advance.

Jon thinks he might have been awake before the phone rang, dozing easily in the way he has when there's nowhere to be in the morning, when he can just curl up on his mattress and laze until he wants to get up. He stretches his arm across the duvet and his fingers fumble a little across the nightstand until he feels the hard plastic case of his phone, buzzing against his fingertips. He glances at the screen as he eyes dart back and forth between the highlighted name in the middle at the time stamp in the upper corner. Spence - 5:13 am - Spence - 5:13 am. Something blooms, cold and big, in his chest. He knows the time difference between Chicago and LA, either Spencer is drunk dialing him or something has happened. Jon honestly doesn't know which thought scares him more.

"Spencer," he says, swallowing hard around the name and mangling the syllables. He clears his throat a little, pushing the noise into the crook of his elbow as he rolls onto his side, burrowing into the pillows. Just in case.

"This pancake smile is very sinister," Spencer says. Jon's toes curl against the mattress. He ticks away at the possibilities in his mind. Definitely sober, but something is off. Brendon?

"Where are you?" seems like the safest question, the most likely to get a real answer. Jon knows better than to ask if something's wrong, Spencer always did hate stating the obvious. "Where's Brendon?"

"Brendon, I'm not sure. The last time I saw him he was drinking something very purple in Shane's kitchen."

Jon scrubs a hand over his face and closes his teeth around the question he wants to ask, tries to pretend he isn't even thinking about the possibility. Not drunk, something else? It didn't bother him so much when Ryan decided he wanted to try "something else", moving beyond the pot and the bourbon. It didn't bother him because Jon knew it was just a thing, just a little dalliance and he kept an eye on it but it didn't take Ryan long to dismiss that kind of partying. If Spencer is using, it won't be a dalliance, and Jon can't keep an eye on him. Not like that, not anymore.

"How long ago was that?" Jon asks. Maybe he can get Spencer to call Brendon.

"I don't know exactly. I guess, probably about six hours, no, no probably more like eight." Spencer is being uncharacteristically direct, he sounds vague, like he actually has to consider Jon's questions and not how to get around them. Jon knows he could just ask. Spencer would probably tell him. But he isn't brave enough.

"And you're eating sinister pancakes?" It’s pathetic. Something is wrong, and Jon can't even make himself say the words. Spencer called him, Spencer called him and not Brendon or Ryan and that means something.

"I probably won't eat them. I don't know why I ordered them." Spencer sounds sad, and a little confused, like he doesn't understand his own motives for something as simple as a food order. Jon takes a breath and reminds himself that whatever else is happening, he will never be able to look away when Spencer needs help.

"Spencer, where are you?"

"Um," for the first time Spencer sounds nervous. "A diner. Patti's."

Jon is sitting up in bed before he even realizes he's started moving. It is not possible, Spencer is not in Chicago. He just said he'd been at Shane's. Spencer is not in a diner blocks away, a diner they'd had breakfast at, once. It is not fucking possible and his hands need to just stop shaking.

"You're here?" Jon's heart is not going to break when Spencer says no. It's not.

"Yes," Spencer says.

"I'll be right there," Jon says, and hangs up. He can't say another word, not until he can see Spencer, he can't trust himself right now not to let out all the things he's been holding back. He stubs his toe on the bedpost as he rounds the corner. He can't think beyond getting to the diner. Spencer is here. It doesn't make any sense. Even before the break, when Jon wouldn't have hesitated to call Spencer one of his best friends, he knew he was never Spencer's refuge in a crisis. He wonders is Spencer called Ryan first, if Ryan was unavailable, or worse, if Ryan lashed out.

Jon contemplates walking to the diner for about five seconds, and then dismisses the idea just as quickly. It's cold and dark and he's in pajamas, and, more importantly, Spencer is waiting. Still, is a little glad for the minutes it takes to scrape the night's snowfall off the windshield, his muscles pulling with the effort of breaking through the ice where it has melted and frozen again on the glass.

Jon doesn't really believe that Spencer is sitting in Patti's Diner until he walks in, until he sees him sitting in a booth, staring blankly out the window. He gives no indication that he heard the bell ring when the door opened, doesn't blink or flinch like he knows Jon is staring at him, snow dripping off his boots and soaking the hem of the pajama pants he's wearing. His ankles are probably cold, but Jon doesn't feel it. He makes himself crossed the floor, feet slipping a little across the slick black and white tiles.

Spencer looks so small, small and lost. It hurts, seeing him this way. He's clean-shaven and thin, maybe even skinnier than when he lived in a rotation of pink t-shirts on Jon's first tour as Panic's bassist, and Jon might think he was still that boy if it weren't for the different hair, the weight that he's carrying on his shoulders, the bruises under his eyes. He can see all the years between then and now in the way Spencer holds himself, perfect posture and fixed eyes. Cautious, and closed off. Some of that falls away when Jon sits down across from him, and Jon can't help the warmth that spreads through him then.

He's startled when an arm reaches across him, turning over the white cup on the tabletop and Jon forces a smile for the waitress as she pours the coffee. "No menu, thanks," he says when it looks like she's about to ask. He looks further across the table then, at the plate that's pushed into the centre, whipped cream congealing on cold pancakes. "Those pancakes are a little sinister," he says, and wishes he'd thought to get the waitress to take them away. Spencer shrugs, lifts one shoulder and taps the edge of his own mug. Jon bites back a comment on Spencer's choice of outerwear - the jacket can't be warding off the chill that seeps through the windows of the diner, forget being suitable for outside. He wants to ask if Spencer took a cab from the airport, but that would lead to a line of questions he isn't sure either of them is ready for yet.

"I taught Dylan a new trick," Jon says, and pretends the story is for Spencer's benefit and not his own. He's suspicious of his own motives, but he can see the tremor in Spencer's hands start to fade. They go back and forth for a moment - pleasantries and banal conversation that starts to scratch the surface. Jon breaks first. It's only fair, after all. Flying to Chicago in the middle of the night is more of a statement than Jon can make with words, anyway.

"When was the last time you slept?" he asks. It doesn't matter how long it's been since they lived on top of each other, with each other, he knows the signs of a Spencer who is worn down and strung out on insomnia.

"A while," Spencer shrugs and looks to the side, and Jon knows that he isn't being avoidant, that he honestly can't count back to the last time he closed his eyes and slept. "Since Thursday, I guess."

Jon hands curl into fists on the tabletop. What the hell was Brendon thinking, partying and drinking something fucking purple when Spencer has been awake for fucking days. Jon is so stupidly relieved that he drove the short distance to the diner; he wonders how Spencer is functioning at all. "We should go," he says. "I have my car, you might not freeze."

Spencer doesn't seem at all concerned about the cold, about getting from here to there. Jon watches as he leaves a ridiculous amount for cold pancakes and a couple cups of bad coffee, stays close as they shuffle to the front door. Spencer doesn't react at all when they step outside, even Jon can't stop the reflex shiver that courses through him. The cold air makes his breath catch and Jon cups his palm around Spencer's elbow, just in case, but Spencer just ambles along quietly like they're still in LA, not trudging through a foot of snow in the dark of Chicago.

Jon resists the urge to turn the vents on full blast as soon as the car is started, he knows it is only going to push cold air in their faces, he just wants so badly to be able to do something for Spencer, even something as simple as pushing a button on the dashboard would feel like enough right now.

"I missed you," Spencer says as Jon is navigating through a sharp left turn in the slippery intersection. Jon doesn't know what he could say that would be equal, that would sound like something more than a platitude. By the time he's parking outside his building, he still hasn't figured it out.

Spencer is shaking hard enough to stumble by the time they make it inside, Jon doesn't know if its from the temperature or the exhaustion, but the need to have Spencer inside his apartment is like a physical pull. Jon practically drags him the rest of the way, Spencer quiescent and quiet a half step behind him. His own hand shakes when he tries to fit the key into the locks of the door.

Jon doesn't even consider directing Spencer to the guest bedroom. He leads him down the hallway to his own room, where he can put Spencer in his bed, covered with his duvet and wrapped in his arms, the one place he knows he can make Spencer safe.

Spencer doesn't balk or hesitate, he lets Jon steady him as he slips into a pair of sweatpants and crawls right into Jon's bed, like he belongs there. Jon slides in tight behind him and closes his eyes, tucks his face into the curve of Spencer's neck and breathes.

"I missed you, too," he says, but that isn't it, not really, it isn't enough to describe the ache he feels when he thinks of Spencer, when he's thought about having this, Spencer, in his bed. "I'm glad you came," he whispers, knowing that Spencer is listening. "When you wake up, I'm going to kiss you," he hesitates, just a little, and can't stop himself from adding, "If that's okay." In the dark, with his chest filled with something he can't name, it feels right.

"It's okay," Spencer says quickly, and Jon can feel the last of the tension melt out of his frame. Jon feels a little giddy. He did that.

"And I'll make you some friendly pancakes," he says, pressing his lips against the soft skin behind Spencer's ear. Sleep first, Spencer needs to rest, but then he needs to eat. He's hasn't been eating, that's clear. But Jon can fix that. "I'm so glad you're here," he says. "You can sleep now."

"I know," Spencer murmurs, already drifting off. Jon waits until Spencer's breathing has settled, deep and even, his limbs loose and heavy on the mattress, before pressing another kiss into Spencer's hair.

"You knew before I did, Spence," he whispers. "You knew I could keep you safe."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer doesn't stir when Jon slips out of bed several hours later. His elbow is bent on the pillow above his head and his face is tilted toward the window; Jon is itching to touch, to reach for his camera. Instead he hangs a bath towel over the blinds to keep the room dark and pads into the living room - he's too restless to lay quietly, too tempted to trace the curve of Spencer's jaw, and Dylan and Clover will be crying for attention soon. He doesn't want to wake Spencer, he needs time to rest, but Jon. Jon needs time, too.

Jon wasn't lying when he said he missed Spencer, that he's glad Spencer came to him, that he's the person Spencer believes in at that gut-level even after months of silence and tension and hurt feelings. The problem is, the bigger truth that has lived between them for years, is that the issue was never about Jon and Spencer. Jon has never doubted that he loves Spencer, that he could love Spencer until the end and find something real and good with him, and he thinks that Spencer knows the same thing. The things that made them keep their distance, Brendon and Ryan his mind whispers, were wrapped up in the band and the break up might feel like a neat solution, but it isn't. If anything, now it's more complicated. No one is admitting it, but there is a definitely feeling of "us versus them" when it comes to the Young Veins and Panic. Jon keeps hoping that time will smooth out the sharp edges, but this. He doesn't know where he and Spencer fit into that timeline, if they can fit. He hates the way things are now, that he can't just talk to Brendon and Spencer, that he has to forget their names entirely when he's with Ryan, but he's so fucking scared of making it worse.

Busying himself with putting fresh water in the cat dish and emptying the dishwasher doesn't stop the thoughts from looping round in Jon's head. If he's being honest, he knows that he and Spencer both hold a share in what went wrong with the four of them, and that some of it was beyond everyone. There was never any malice; just fear and guilt and sadness and regret that played out on a public stage. The split started out as amicable as it could have under any circumstance, but pressure from reporters, the fans, their friends and then themselves as they all started producing music built up and spilled over into dirty asides during interviews, trying to one-up each other on release dates, and finally a cold silence that was fraught with bruised egos and hurt feelings and the pain of turning your back on the people that you once loved the most, watching them turn their back on you.

But with Spencer sleeping in Jon's bed its hard to remember why any of that matters anymore.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

At noon Jon sneaks back into the bedroom to grab yesterday's jeans off the floor. Spencer is still out, almost totally obscured by a nest of pillows and blankets and Jon closes the door quietly behind him as he backs out. He needs to run to the market, wants to get the coffee cream that Spencer likes and some real food - he's been living on take out but wants to be able to cook something with vegetables, maybe fruit for smoothies, definitely strawberries for the friendly pancakes he promised. After half an hour of worrying that Spencer will wake to an empty apartment Jon decides that the chances of that are very, very low and bundles up for the most harried trip to the store he will ever make.

He bangs his hip on the edge of the deli counter as he grabs a container of goat cheese and knocks three apples to the floor with his elbow as he tries to sidestep an old woman pushing a cart seemingly full of only bananas before he makes himself take a breath and slow down. He still taps his foot impatiently when he gets to the check out and the man in front of him argues over the price of a box of Hamburger Helper with the cashier. He's about to offer to pay for the man's whole fucking grocery order when the cashier grudgingly accepts the outdated and dog-eared coupon they've been warring over.

Spencer doesn't seem to have moved by the time Jon gets back, and Jon can't help but lean in to make sure that he's still breathing. He can tell by the way Spencer's eyelashes aren't even fluttering that he's really asleep, the kind of deep unconsciousness that Jon knows from experience even an exploding can of cream soda and the resulting shrieks of delight won't shake him out of.

Jon traces the slope of Spencer’s nose with his index finger and dips down to follow the contour of his cheekbone. The dark smudges under his eyes have deepened in sleep, settled into something that looks like the makeup Ryan used to smear on them with careful fingertips. Jon remembers that the first time Ryan came at him with his palette of creams and powders and brushes how he’d felt; a little awkward, a little nervous, but mostly he’d felt accepted. He’d liked the way Ryan had cupped his face, had looked at him with such intensity, like he was trying to know Jon. He’d liked the attention, and he laughs a little at himself, looking back and realizing how much he had wanted Ryan’s approval, unspoken but demonstrated in the stroke of a brush on his skin.

“Jesus,” Jon says softly. Spencer shifts suddenly, rolls his shoulders and mewls a little as he rubs his face against the pillow. Jon leans back quickly, his heart hammering as he clambers off the bed. Spencer settles again, quiet breaths even as his fingers curl and uncurl around the duvet. Jon wants to put his hand there, thread his fingers through Spencer's and just hold on.

He leaves the room, instead. Spencer needs to rest.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It feels small in the apartment in a way Jon isn’t used to, like Spencer’s presence is filling up all the empty corners. He’s too aware of every noise, every point of contact he makes – is it too loud when he closes the kitchen cupboard? – and Jon ends up sitting on the living room floor with shoeboxes of photos he hasn’t dared to look at in months. The boxes are from their first tour together, pilfered from the detritus of Spencer’s shopping excursions. The pictures inside aren’t as easy to pinpoint. Brendon, standing in front of a street sign that Jon knows he took in St. Louis. He can’t remember which year it is – which St. Louis visit. The generic red t-shirt doesn’t offer any clues and the scruff on Brendon’s face is the same he gets after two days without using a razor. Jon stares hard, follows the curve of Brendon’s smile, where he’s pointing at something off camera. Jon remembers now. It was their first time in St. Louis, and Jon has a whole series of pictures of Brendon from that afternoon, dancing down the street to an off-the-cuff song about the pursuit of gyros. Onward Jonathan, Brendon had yelled, we are on a journey. No, no, a QUEST. A quest for gyros! Ryan had laughed. Jon knows that in one of these shoeboxes is a picture of Ryan and Brendon, holding hands and skipping with Zack just present in the corner, almost out of frame. It hurts to think about that moment without being able to consider that there are infinite more just like it around the corner. It hurts to look at their faces and remember how much they had just enjoyed being around each other, how any situation, no more how shitty, was always better if they were together.

There was nothing complicated in the smiling face that he’d captured that day, but Jon knows that if he’s being fair, if he’d taken another set of shoeboxes from the hall closet, that he could follow the whole messy timeline, watch the cracks shoot across the windshield. Its stupid to wish that people didn’t change, that new directions and new experiences and new relationships didn’t happen every day, and its really stupid that instead of trying to find each other again on this new terrain he’s wishing he could stay static inside the past.

Jon is startled when his phone rings, he kicks one of the boxes over as he lumbers to his feet, nerves tingling in his legs from being on the floor too long. He left it in his coat pocket, slung over one of the kitchen chairs and he winces as the ringtone brays out. He knows who it is, and he thinks about not picking up for a whole second before dismissing the idea.

“Hey Ryan,” he says.

“Brendon called me,” Ryan says, “Brendon called me and he is freaking out because Spencer is apparently missing? As in fucking disappeared from a party last night and didn’t come home and no one has seen him and he isn’t answering his phone and Brendon called me.”

“Whoa, dude, just. Um,” Jon scrubs a hand over his face. Fuck. It had occurred to him that Brendon would probably start wondering about Spencer’s whereabouts but he’s been pissed. Pissed that Brendon hasn’t been paying enough attention, had taken Spencer to a party on no sleep, and. And when Jon had thought about calling Brendon, he felt scared. Shit. He should have called. He should have called and now things were really fucked up and if Brendon had called Ryan he was upset and that. That was shitty. “Spencer is here. With me. In Chicago.”

“What?” Ryan says. “That doesn’t… what?”

“I don’t know,” Jon says. “He just kind of showed up. He’s been sleeping, like, since he got here, so. That’s why he isn’t answering the phone.”

“So, he just, what? Flew to Chicago? He left Shane’s and went to the airport? And you didn’t know?” Ryan is snapping out questions, his tone going flat.

“I didn’t know until he was here. He called me when he was already here.”

“When was this, exactly?”

“Uh, around five, I think?”

“Five. This morning. That is like, what time is it there now? Six? That is a whole day, Jon. It didn’t occur to you that we might be concerned?”

“Jesus, Ryan, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t think Brendon would call you, I didn’t think you’d even,” Jon stops himself there.

“Didn’t think I’d care?” Ryan asks softly. “Brendon always waits to the last possible second before asking for help. He always waits until a problem is just too big, you know? So when he called me I knew that it was, I knew something was wrong. And I tried to think about where Spencer would go, if he was,” Ryan stops. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t think of a single fucking place in this whole state. I don’t know those things anymore, Jon. Isn’t that, isn’t it,”

“What, Ry?” Jon closes his eyes. The hurt in Ryan’s voice is almost fucking unbearable.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ryan says. “He wasn’t here at all.”

"Ryan," Jon says.

"So what," Ryan says, strident and loud in Jon's ear. "You guys have been talking again?"

"No, look, don't get all," Jon waves his hand, tries to find a way to say pissy without actually saying it. He hates trying to deal with Ryan when he's like this, he's tired and confused enough already.

"I'm just trying to understand why the hell Spencer would just hop on a plane when the last I heard he didn't want to be the same room as you." Ryan says. Jon pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to bite back the retort he wants to make. It doesn't work.

"No, you're trying to understand why he didn't go to you," he says, and there's no way to miss Ryan's sharp inhale. "You haven't even asked me if he's okay."

"Do whatever the hell you want, Jon," Ryan hisses. "But remember, you're in a band with me."

Ryan hangs up. Jon doesn't bother trying to tell himself he isn't grateful. He's still standing in the doorway between the living room and the hall, phone clutched in his sweaty palm, trying to figure out if he can reasonably assume that Ryan will at least call Brendon, when he hears the bedroom door open. He turns in time to catch Spencer's half wave as he shuffles into the bathroom. His eyes are half closed and he bumps into the doorframe with a little oof.

"Fuck, dude," Spencer mumbles as he closes the door behind him. Jon types out a quick text to Brendon, Spencer here, is fine, talk later, before turning off his phone and making his way into his room. He stumbles a little across the threshold; with the towel over the window it is darker than he's used to. He takes careful steps across the floor until he bumps into the nightstand, sets down the glass and then fumbles with the bedside lamp. The low-watt bulb casts a warm light over half of the bed, the rest of the room dark enough for shadows. Jon sits on the edge of the rumpled bed and waits.

Spencer's face is a little damp and his bangs are wet, sticking up over his forehead where he'd pushed them back. He doesn't say anything, just crawls back onto the bed to collapse into the pillows.

"What time s'it?" he says, practically chewing on the pillowcase in an attempt to get the words out without lifting his face. Jon smiles and pushes the sting of Ryan's words away.

"Early still. You've been sleeping for a little over twelve hours." Jon says.

"Fuck," Spencer's eyes flutter closed. "Feel like I could sleep for another twelve."

"So do it," Jon says. He kicks off his jeans and slides his legs under the blankets. He stretches out and lays his head on the edge of Spencer's pillow. Spencer blinks at him.

"Yeah," he murmurs, smiling a little. "Turn off the light, okay?"

Jon turns at the waist, leans back and fumbles for the switch. He blinks in the sudden dark and rolls closer to Spencer, tugging and shifting until he's on his back with Spencer settled against his side, cheek and palm pressed to Jon's chest. Spencer hums and nods his head a little.

"When you're done sleeping, then we'll talk," Jon says, his hand sweeping up and down the length of Spencer's spine.

"Okay, Jon," Spencer says. Jon's not really tired, its still early and he's hyper aware of every point of contact between their bodies. He thinks he'll lay awake all night, just holding Spence and worrying and wondering and trying to figure out what comes next, but he closes his eyes and the next time he opens them he can tell that the sun has risen behind the blinds and makeshift towel-curtain.

"Shit," he says as he knuckles his gummy eyes. Spencer is curled up on his side facing Jon, close but not touching, squinting at the display on his phone.

"Uh, I have a lot of messages," Spencer says, voice burred with sleep.

"Probably mostly from Brendon," Jon says. "And maybe Ryan, too. They were, uh. Looking for you."

"Fuck," Spencer drops the phone on the mattress and rolls onto his back. "Fuck," he lays a hand across his eyes. "Brendon called Ryan?"

"Yeah," Jon sits up. "They both know you're here,"

"Well," Spencer moves his hand to scratch his chin idly.

"So, you're probably hungry. I'm gonna make breakfast, if you want to hop in the shower or whatever, well. You know where the towels are." Jon says quickly. Spencer levers himself up into a sitting position.

"Oh man, yes. A shower, that sounds awesome. Also food. Fuck. I actually don't remember the last time I ate."

"Well, I did promise you friendly pancakes." Jon laughs.

"You did," Spencer smiles, and Jon is reminded of the other promise he made the last time they talked, it feels so long ago now, and he winces when he remembers telling Spencer he was going to kiss him. He doesn't know what Spencer's thinking, still doesn't even really know why Spencer's here, and he feels awkward and almost presumptuous sitting on the mattress next to him right now. Jon doesn't exactly flee the room, but he walks a little too quickly to be casual. He hopes Spencer is too sleepy and distracted to notice.

When Spencer wanders into the kitchen half an hour later Jon has a sizable stack of pancakes warming in the oven, coffee brewing and two bowls full of sliced strawberries. Spencer is bundled in a fresh pair of Jon's sweats and a Decaydance hoodie that Jon got at one of Pete's many promotional events but never wore. He still looks a little dazed, but mostly awake with his hair making wet cowlicks around his face.

"Dude," Spencer says when Jon lays everything out on the table. He makes grabby hands at the mug of coffee that Jon brings over and Jon laughs when Spencer practically coos at the steaming contents.

"Freak," he says fondly, palming the top of Spencer's head briefly.

They don't talk much during breakfast; just eat in a companiable silence that reminds Jon of lazy mornings on the bus. The way his mouth goes dry when Spencer licks syrup off his knuckles is familiar, too. Jon wishes he and Spencer could stay in this moment forever, quiet over good coffee, enjoying each other's company in Jon's sunny kitchen. When he thought about missing Spencer, it was always the loud and bright moments, it never occurred to him to miss the everyday sharing of space.

"So," Spencer drags his fork across his empty plate. "You've been really awesome about not asking, but I guess we should probably talk about me just showing up at your door with my nervous breakdown."

Jon was hoping that he could delay the conversation a little longer by busying himself with kitchen clean up, but now that Spencer has raised the issue he makes himself forget about the dirty dishes. He does get up to grab more coffee, tops them both off. A little fortification might be necessary.

"Is it an actual nervous breakdown?" he asks when he's sitting again. Spencer straightens a little, and Jon can't see any of the confusion or uncertainty from the diner anywhere in his face. Spencer looks a little nervous, but resolved, like himself. Jon knows that Spencer isn't going to back down until he's said his piece, and instead of feeling cornered, Jon feels relieved.

"I don't know," Spencer says, pausing to take a sip of his coffee. He wraps both hands around the mug and holds it up under his chin, something to look at instead of Jon. "I didn't plan to come here, I don't even really remember being at Shane's party, or leaving, so. I didn't plan it, but I've been thinking about you a lot lately."

"Okay," Jon says. He wants to say me too, just to make it less awkward, more even, but he wasn't, not really. Not until he saw Spencer's name on his call display, and he hasn't been thinking about anyone or anything else since, but it's not the same. "Are you and Brendon, um, doing okay?" Maybe they've been fighting. Maybe the music isn't working. Maybe -

"What? We're fine, what do you - no, no. That's not what I mean," Spencer shakes his head, frustrated. He meets Jon's eyes for the first time. "This has nothing to do with the band, Jon."

"Sorry, I just. I'm just confused, I guess," Jon holds his hands up. Spencer flushes and looks away and back.

"I was seeing this guy, um, Andrew," Spencer ducks his head a little and Jon doesn't try to hide his scowl. He feels like the floor is shifting under him and he clutches the edge of the table. If Spencer came here to say, what, too late? "Christ. It was a fucking disaster."

"Oh?" Jon doesn't know what else to say, he feels twisted up inside, relieved and confused and angry and so fucking jealous. He knows what he wants to say, he wants to ask about this Andrew guy, wants to know what Spencer means by "seeing", if they kissed, if they fucked, was Andrew an asshole? Did Spencer love him?

"I'm sorry, I know I'm not explaining this very well," Spencer says. "It was, we fought a lot, right from the start, and it was stupid. But, he said something to me that made me realize why it wasn't working, why it was never going to,"

"What did he say?" Jon says, and he knows he sounds a little sharp despite his best effort not to, but. He can't pretend that it doesn't hurt.

"That I was stupid to try and be with him when I obviously had, uh, feelings for someone else," Spencer stares at a point over Jon's shoulders as he speaks, unable to meet Jon's gaze. Jon doesn't mind, he's not sure he could look into Spencer's eyes right now, either. Of course he knew that the conversation was leading to this point, but now that its here, Jon doesn't know what to do with it.

"Spence," Jon says.

"I was scared," Spencer talks over him in a rush. "Because, because what if it was just the idea of being with this person? How do you love someone for that long and never say it?"

Jon tries to swallow, but can't. He chokes a little and clenches his hands into fists. "I don't know," he says. "Did you," Jon doesn't know how to finish that question, so he just stops.

"I love you," Spencer says. "I'm in love with you, fuck, probably have been since the first time I met you." Spencer takes a long, deep breath. "I've been thinking about this for a little while and now I'm just here and telling you this and I know you probably haven't been thinking about it, but. I want you to. Think about it."

"You know how I feel about you, Spencer," Jon says quietly.

"Say it," Spencer is looking right at Jon now. He looks scared, scared and determined.

"I love you," Jon murmurs. "But, Spence, we might not, we're not a band anymore but that doesn't mean its simple all of a sudden."

"Don't, don't do that, Jon," Spencer shakes his head. "We've been doing that for years, making excuses, reasons why this was beyond our control. That's bullshit."

"It isn't bullshit," Jon says. "It's complicated."

"Yes, complicated. Not impossible." Spencer retorts. He leans back in his chair and visible releases a breath. "I'm not, I'm not trying to push you. I know it’s a lot to take in, but don't just shut me down, okay?"

"You're right," Jon rubs the back of his neck and smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry, I'm just. You're right. I haven't been thinking about this, but I know that when you were sleeping all I wanted to lie there with you, take care of you. And I really didn't like hearing about this Andrew dude."

"We don't have to figure everything out right now, I just want to know, I don't know. If you want to try," Spencer says.

"I don't know," Jon says. "What if," he trails off.

"What if what?" Spencer asks. "Just. Forget about everyone else for right now, okay? What do you want?"

"It isn't that simple, Spencer," Jon says.

"Yes it is. It is that simple. Jesus, Jon. What's the problem? Ryan? Brendon? I love them, I do, but I'm not going to give up on you just because it might piss them off. That's bullshit."

"It isn't just about Ryan and Brendon, okay? Its about us. What if it doesn't work? What if we can't be friends anywhere?" Jon pauses. "What if we lose what we have?"

"What we have? We haven't talked in months. We're not," Spencer says. "We're not friends right now."

"That's just, that's not. It isn't forever, Spencer. Things are just," Jon stops. He knows Spencer is right, but he doesn't know how to explain this fear he has when he thinks about screwing this up. "I don't want to make it worse."

"I don't want to pretend anymore," Spencer says.

Jon looks at Spencer, really looks at him, and he knows suddenly that he is on the cusp of losing Spencer right now. The thought makes him feel sick, makes him feel desperate. Spencer must see something in his face, because he leans forward and grips Jon's hand.

"I love you," he says fiercely. "I want to be with you and I know that we can figure everything else out, if you want the same thing."

"You gonna fight for me, Spencer Smith?" Jon smiles, he can feel himself blushing.

"Yes," Spencer says. Jon stands, uses his grip on Spencer's hand to pull him to his feet and against his chest.

"I want you," his lips brush the shell of Spencer's ear. Spencer shivers in his arms and clutches at Jon's t-shirt. "I want you," he says and presses his mouth to Spencer's. “Okay?”

“God, Jon,” Spencer presses in close, almost like he’s trying to burrow underneath Jon’s clothes. Jon strokes up over his shoulders until his fingers are tangled in Spencer’s hair and uses his hold to tilt Spencer’s head just a little as he leans in to kiss his mouth. He swipes his tongue along the curve of Spencer’s bottom lip and sighs when Spencer opens up for him. Even as the kiss deepens, its sweeter than Jon expects, the desperation he felt moments ago ebbs away. Spencer keeps his hands on the small of Jon’s back, but doesn’t move to slide under his shirt for bare skin, and Jon rubs his fingertips gently against Spencer’s scalp. When they finally break apart its only to press their foreheads together, eyes closed and sharing breath in the small space between their parted lips. Jon’s mouth feels swollen and sore, but he can’t help but lean in for more kisses.

"I did warn you that I was gonna kiss you," Jon says.

"Yeah, you did," Spencer murmurs.

Jon lets his hands slide down to rest between Spencer’s shoulder blades; that’s when he notices that Spencer is shaking. “Spence?” he murmurs, and Spencer tucks his face into the curve of Jon’s neck. Jon can smell his own coconut conditioner in Spencer’s hair as he wraps his arms tight around Spencer’s back. “What is it?”

“It’s just, I was pretty sure I knew how you felt, but,” Spencer shrugs a little, as much as he can with Jon’s arms around him. Jon nods, thinks about their conversation. Spencer had always been wary of exposing too much, but in Jon’s kitchen he had essentially laid himself bare, and trusted Jon not to break him.

“I would never hurt you,” Jon says, and hopes so much that he isn’t lying. Spencer lifts his head and leans back enough so that he can look into Jon’s eyes.

“It’s not the same, Jon. I know you would never hurt me on purpose, but if you had said no, you could have said no.”

“No, Spence. I couldn’t have,” Jon says. Spencer smiles, soft and shy and Jon can’t help but kiss him again.

“I should probably call Brendon,” Spencer says once they separate. “I didn’t ask earlier, you said he knows I’m here?”

“I texted him, I didn’t actually talk to him, though,” Jon explains. “It was, I wasn’t trying to make a point of not calling or anything, I was just. Um, distracted.”

Spencer laughs softly. “Dude, you don’t have to explain, just. I should definitely call him,” he winces a little. “I can’t believe he called Ryan.”

Jon doesn’t know what to say to that, he definitely doesn’t want to talk about the conversation he had with Ryan, which would be a pretty obvious violation of his “do not hurt Spencer” edict.

“He was probably pretty worried,” Jon says finally.

“Yeah,” Spencer twists his fingers in the hem of Jon’s t-shirt. “He’ll, uh, probably want to know when I’m coming back.”

“Can you stay? I mean, just until we can figure stuff out.” Jon can’t fathom being away from Spencer right now, there’s barely an inch of space between their bodies and he still wants Spencer to be closer.

“Yes, definitely. Maybe a week, or two?” Spencer says, tone lilting up into a question.

“Okay,” Jon nods, but a week or two doesn’t sound long enough at all. Suddenly there’s a deadline in his mind, an ominous countdown that he shies away from. What if they don’t figure anything out? What if Spencer leaves and things fall apart? What if-

“Hey,” Spencer taps his cheek lightly, then turns the touch into a caress across his jaw. “We’ll figure it out,” This time it’s Spencer who leans in, licks his way into Jon’s mouth for a kiss.

“Yeah,” Jon says, “We will. Okay,” with effort he pulls himself away. “Okay, you call Brendon and I’ll clean up in here.”

“Sure, I’ll just,” Spencer waves a hand in the direction of the living room. He pauses in the doorway, looks back at Jon. “We’re gonna be okay,” he says.

“I know,” Jon smiles. He forgoes the dishwasher, decides he needs something to do with his hands, and fills the sink with hot water. He can just hear the murmur of Spencer’s voice from the next room, so he turns the radio on, too. He doesn’t want to hear if Spencer’s voice rises or breaks, Spencer will tell him about it later. Right now, he’s the happiest he’s ever been with his hands in a messy sink.

Jon doesn't want to, but once the dishes are done and the countertops have been wiped down, he doesn't really have an excuse not to turn his phone on. He has a few missed calls and texts, but he doesn't bother to look past the one from Ryan. His hands don't shake when he clicks to open it, but he's holding his breath in the second it takes for the words to pop up on the screen.

I didn't have to ask if he was OK. He's with you.

Jon lets out a noisy breath. He wasn't fair to Ryan, Ryan wasn't fair to him, but he knows that Ryan was coming from a bad place, scared and hurt and stressed, and Jon had probably pushed him too hard. Jon puts his phone down. He doesn't have to call Ryan right now, it's enough to know that can, later.

When Spencer wanders back in almost an hour later, Jon is sitting at the table with his feet propped up on another chair and Dylan purring in his lap; the kitchen is probably the cleanest it has ever been. Spencer goes straight for Jon’s chair and puts his arms around Jon’s shoulders.

“Sorry it took so long,” Spencer mumbles, his words spoken directly into the curve of Jon’s neck, “He was, uh, upset. Not about this, but, that I just took off.”

Jon strokes up Spencer’s arm, Spencer is leaning heavily against him. “Tired?” he asks.

“God,” Spencer says. “Yes. I know I slept for two days, but can we go back to bed? Um, just to lay down.”

“Cuddle time sounds awesome,” Jon says. Spencer snorts and leans back far enough so that Jon can stand without knocking him over.

“We’re so lame,” Spencer says.

“The lamest,” Jon nods. He slings an arm around Spencer’s waist. Spencer is yawning and his eyes are half closed by the time they make it into Jon’s room. He practically collapses onto the mattress, and shuffles over to leave room for Jon. As soon as Jon has situated himself on his back, Spencer rolls over and presses his chest to Jon’s chest, slips his knee across Jon’s leg and an arm over his waist. Jon kisses his temple, nuzzles his hair a little and lets his eyes droop closed.

“You’re warm,” Spencer sighs happily.

“Your own personal heater,” Jon agrees. “Sleep, Spence. We’re both gonna need it. You have one outfit with you, and that coat you wore will not do. We’re going to have to brave the mall, I think.”

“Jon Walker, are you going to take me shopping?” Spencer laughs. “You really do love me.”

Jon hooks his finger under Spencer’s chin and tilts his face up for a kiss, then pulls back so he can look into Spencer's blue, blue eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “I really do.”