Like seagulls on crack (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} beggarsnotes) wrote,@ 2009-04-23 09:48:00 |
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The Homesick [2/6]
Author Notes: Go to the notes section for some glossary and terminology, download the super awesome mixtape, and check out the accent compilation for some laughs and/or help. Or just to hear Brendon do an English accent, because that will never stop being so darn cute.
Masterpost
Part One
II
If You Discover A Fire (In Your Lover’s Heart)
Foster’s, Guinness, Strongbow and Krušovice – Jon eyes the beer pumps in disapproval. They are missing Tennent’s, or maybe it’s just Jon who is missing Tennent’s. Most likely just him.
It’s a quiet afternoon in the pub, and Jon has one of his course books open on the counter, trying to get some studying in. He finds it hard to concentrate because it’s one of those days when he sees the bigger picture. See, it’s those little things in life you learn to acknowledge; like that Irn Bru is better than Diet Irn Bru, or that your eyes are brown, or that you will become middle-aged and sad and will get drunk in bars, desperately trying to find someone to mate with. Jon sees it happen every time he takes the night shift, men closing in on fifty trying to sleep with girls that could be their daughters.
It could be Jon’s future, that desperate and saddening search for company, that isolated loneliness, but he won’t let it be. He’s not worried because he understands life. He took his rucksack and zigzagged across Europe, spent four months washing dishes in an Italian restaurant in Copenhagen before catching a flight to Jakarta. He spent a week with a Vietnamese transvestite prostitute who knew ten words of English, and he never fucked the guy though he spent night after night in the guy’s apartment that was more appalling and shittier than Jon ever could even begin to describe. They drank beer and had a good time, both talking animatedly and laughing when they failed to communicate. Jon always paid for his time, and okay, maybe he finally cracked and let the guy blow him, but they never fucked. Jon likes to think they became friends, Lan and him.
Jon was on the shores of a beach in Queensland, watching his newly made Australian friends surfing in the distance as the open car doors emitted Jack Johnson’s voice in the air to fit the mood. And Jon was there, halfway around the world on his own, and it was at that moment that he got it. He turned around, walked back to the hostel, packed up, and flew back home.
Jon hasn’t seen it all, but he has seen enough.
Jon breathes on a pint glass, watching the surface fog up. He wipes it with his sleeve for extra sparkle and places it on the shelf behind the bar. One sad drunken fuck is sitting in one of the corner tables, and a few guys are doing shots after a band practice, with guitar cases carefully leaning against the walls.
When the door swings open and Spencer walks in with an easy smile, Jon feels himself perk up. “How’s ye?” he asks as Spencer settles on a stool.
“I heart isotopes?” Spencer asks, and Jon glances down to his t-shirt and grins.
“Ah dae, ah dae,” he confirms. Isotopes are fucking fascinating. “Did ye ken that in radiogenic isotopes, alpha decay produces helium nuclei wit two protons n two neutrons but nae electrons? N a gamma ray! Now that is kewl.”
Spencer blinks at him. “Ew’re a geek, Jon Walker.”
“My mum still loves us,” he smirks, watching the way Spencer’s hair is getting longer and longer. It suits him. “A pint of Krušovice?”
“Please,” Spencer says. The Czech beer is the closest he can get. “I miss Ochakovo Special,” he tells Jon as he passes the money. “Mah favourite of Russian beers.”
“Ah was just thinkin of Tennent’s n how they donae really serve it hir,” Jon sighs and lets his elbows lean on the counter. Spencer’s been coming by every now and then when Jon’s had his shift. They get along well, and Jon genuinely likes Spencer a lot. He’s forgotten about the gorgeously nice ass Spencer has because he is a realist. No point in pining after a guy with whom nothing is ever going to happen.
“One of my byts called me yesterday. Remeember the company I told ew aboot, the one I worked part-time for in Mooscow?” Spencer asks, and Jon nods obediently. “Apparently, they’re interested in hiring me, which is what I was hooping for, so...” Spencer pauses and tries to suppress a grin. “I think I might be moving there, good and proper, next summer.”
“That’s dead brilliant, man.”
Spencer fails in suppressing his grin. “I know.” He can’t wait to go back. He has been homesick ever since he stepped on the plane to London.
Jon straightens up, grabbing one of the glasses and getting himself some water. “Whut did yer lassie have tae say aboot that?”
Jon watches Spencer frown momentarily before he sees a bit of guilt there. Spencer hasn’t told Haley. “Donae worry. Ah donae believe in relationships miself. It happens,” Jon shrugs.
“Ew don’t believe in relaationships?”
“Ah donae believe in love.”
Spencer stares at Jon, who is still a relatively new acquaintance. Jon has a laidback and scruffy feel to him, warm and welcoming, and he doesn’t believe in love? How can anyone not believe in it?
It’s simple. People are constantly changing – it’s unrealistic to bind yourself to one person or to swear to always love them. You love them now. The person you are twenty years down the line might have nothing in common with the person they are twenty years down the line. Jon sees the promise of eternity as shackles and nothing more. Love with its permanent and romantic connotations? Jon doesn’t buy it. He is his life’s central character, and the cast will keep on changing.
And relationships, well. Those are just about the biggest scam Jon knows.
“The meaning of life, Spence, ah’m gonna tell ye it, right hir, right now,” Jon says. “Huv fun.”
“Have fun?”
“Aye. N by lookin at ye, pal, ah can see that the thing ye call love isnae makin ye very happy the now.”
Spencer sighs and nods. “We’ve just... grown apaart, Haley an me. But we’ll work through it. She might want to come to Mooscow with me. She viisited me last year, she loved it. Ew know?” His tone is hopeful. Jon feels sorry for him.
Love – find a person you think is beautiful inside and out, and bind them to you at all cost, even if it means they wither.
Relationship – the handy way of not having to deal with the fact that you are afraid to be alone.
Jon sympathises with the world. He’s told his friends he loves them, but he can accept that kind of love, an appreciation of someone. Romantic love is ugly and dirty, and most of all, it is false and fleeting, and every romantic comedy with Hugh Grant’s obnoxious face or Jennifer Aniston’s fake smile is just a big fucking scheme to make common people waste their lives chasing something that never existed in the first place.
“Such a waste,” Jon mutters to himself.
* * *
Ryan cancels Halloween, and Brendon says, “It’s okay,” hurries to his room, curls up in his bed and tries his best not to cry. He fails and mumbles, “Stupid, stupid, stupid...”
He has known Ryan for a few years now, and they became best friends the second they met. They used to have so much fun. They would go out and get shitfaced, wake up in a flat where they had attended an after-party or another, and Ryan would die laughing that Brendon had made out with a sworn Iron Maiden fan with a red beard, and Brendon would point out that the hickey on Ryan’s neck meant that Ryan was in no position to judge. Brendon remembers the mornings when they dragged themselves to Starbucks, getting coffees for their hangovers and lounging on one of the big armchairs in the back that didn’t fit the two of them, but they made them fit. Brendon loved feeling Ryan’s arm pressed to his side, Ryan’s scraped alcohol voice chuckling at the things they did, and Brendon would groan, “I feel so sick,” against Ryan’s neck and then just stay there and breathe Ryan in - cigarettes, Jack Daniels, a musky aftershave - and Ryan’s fingers would be carding through his hair.
Ryan was laidback until the day he decided that he would do a post-grad degree, and after that, it was nothing but studies all the time. No more Brendon.
Brendon has done some crazy shit with Ryan Ross. Now that boy doesn’t even exist.
And Halloween. They always do something insane on Halloween; it’s their tradition. But no, Ryan is too busy, wants to be upgraded to a Ph.D. student, has to show the department, the faculty, the world, yada yada yada.
“Stupid,” Brendon mumbles in a teary voice, sniffling as he lies on his back and wipes his cheeks. God, he is such a fucking wimp. Pathetic.
A soft knock sounds on his door, and he scrambles to sit up on the bed, clears his throat slightly. “Uh huh?” he calls out, trying to force his voice to sound normal.
Ryan walks in, giving him a careful smile. Ryan is holding his Beatles mug, the one Brendon bought him when they went to Liverpool that one time. Ryan had refused to pay the six quid for it, but Brendon wanted Ryan to get a souvenir of some kind. Something to remember him by.
“I’m sorry I can’t do Halloween this year,” Ryan says quietly. Steam is rising from the mug, Ryan’s thumb snugly in front of Paul McCartney’s face on the porcelain.
“It’s not a big deal,” Brendon shrugs.
Ryan sighs and looks around the room. “The first seminar group is handin in their essays the day before, and I really want to have those essays marked as soon as possible. Show the department how efficient I can be...”
“I get that,” Brendon lies.
Ryan pauses and looks at Brendon’s still slumped shoulders. His heart aches at the sight. He has to make this up to Brendon. “How about I come to that LGBT party next month?”
Brendon blinks. Ryan hates the LGBT parties, says it’s nothing but overly feminine gay guys wanting their ringpieces to be fucked until they bleed, butch lesbians with tattoos and army haircuts wanting to hit on the pretty bisexual girls who hang out with the transgendered ones to make themselves seem more interesting. And while that is a fair depiction of the typical LGBT crowd, Brendon is secretary of the society because he believes firmly that everyone deserves the same rights, no matter who they want to love. He is doing it for himself, for Ryan, for Jon, guys like them, and hell, he even does it for the butch lesbians. He does it for humanity.
“Really? You’d come?” Brendon asks. He’d love for Ryan to come along. He suddenly feels desperate to have Ryan be there because, fuck, it’d mean so much to him.
“Yeah. I’ll put it in me calendar. Sure it’ll be craic.”
Brendon forces himself not to smile too wide. “Okay.”
Ryan returns the smile and doesn’t feel quite so shitty anymore. He takes a sip from the mug and stands idly, letting his eyes fixate on Brendon’s David Bowie poster. “Righto, then,” he murmurs.
Jon walks through the open door, shirtless and hair sticking out everywhere. He’s just woken up and isn’t quite sure what day it is.
“Who’s up fir a pint?” he asks, and Ryan instantly checks his wristwatch. It’s only three o’clock.
“I am!” Brendon offers, getting up. Brendon is smiling now, and Ryan thinks that he put it there, that smile.
“Grand. If we hussle, ah bet we could git free burritos frae The Nest oan the way!”
“Excellent! Invite Spencer, too,” Brendon says, and Jon saunters back out of the room. Ryan stands where he is. Why is no one inviting him to go? Fine, he’d say no, but it’d be polite to bleeding ask. No one is even asking anymore.
Brendon pulls his shirt off, wanting to wear something a bit more inviting (just in case he meets some politically aware vegetarian hottie), and when he turns around to tell Ryan more about the LGBT party, Ryan’s already gone.
* * *
Pete Wentz has Polish, Slovakian, English and French blood in him. Spencer keeps saying that Pete should call himself European and be done with it, but Pete right out refuses. He says there is no such thing as “European” with forty-seven countries and over two hundred languages, and Spencer has seen enough of the world to know Pete’s right. Pete’s like a mongrel and acts like one, too. Maybe that’s why Spencer pretty much adores the man, not counting the times he wants to cut off Pete’s breathing with his own hands.
“Never been here before,” Pete observes as they sit around a table in The Nest.
“Never used to come mahself, but Jon works here, so I end up hanging aroond,” Spencer explains. “They play good music.” Sonic Youth is coming through the speakers, Kim Gordon’s vocals claiming some space in the world. Spencer already recognises Jon’s co-workers too – Tom is working behind the bar. He’s an American guy from Chicago with an accent that cuts through the air the second he opens his mouth. A bottle is a ‘bodle’, D’s where T’s should be. Tom’s lived on this side of the Atlantic for a few years now, but Jon still laments that, though Tom is a fantastic guy, he persistently thinks someone is ordering crisps when they say they want chips. “He asks, ‘What flavour?’ Potatoes don’t come in flavours!” Jon ranted one night.
Spencer met Pete through the Slavic Society in first year. Pete’s already graduated, but they still hang out a lot. Pete visited him in Moscow and stayed with him for a few weeks, getting drunk on vodka with all of Spencer’s Russian friends. And now Spencer is in rainy England that he has nothing against, really, except for all the English people in it.
“What do ew think of mah beard?” Spencer asks, giving Pete a quick glance.
“Very rugged. Very manly. When I met you, you looked like a lesbian, but now, Spence? You look like a man,” Pete says, and Spencer suddenly remembers why he sometimes wants to kill Pete.
“Ha bloody ha,” he retorts, his shoulders tense. He lets his fingers scratch his chin, feeling the beard prickling his fingertips.
“Nah, in all seriousness. It suits you. Why do you ask?”
“Haley doesn’t like it. She wants me to shaave.”
“Women,” Pete says like it’s the end of discussion. Spencer says nothing. He can’t fix something if he doesn’t know what the problem is. If he shaved, would Haley suddenly be happy? Because she’s not. He’s trying and trying, but she’s not happy, and he is slowly starting not to care about that. And that breaks him because he adores her.
He used to, anyway.
Spencer swallows and takes a long sip of his pint. He feels like shit these days. He doesn’t like not liking himself.
“Don’t take it on the chin, kid,” Pete says, and Spencer should have known Pete isn’t the person to go to about his relationship problems, but who else does he have? His old friends have graduated and left, and his new friends are still too new.
“Spencer, awright, lad?” comes Jon’s voice, and Spencer looks up to see Brendon and Jon. He didn’t know Jon would be working, and Jon must be telepathic because he says, “We’re just passin through. On our way tae town, a good ol’ Wednesday afternoon pub crawl.”
“Lush,” he says in agreement before making the necessary introductions. Brendon and Jon join their company, and Jon says he can get everyone some free fajitas if they want some. Pete is instantly convinced of Jon Walker’s awesomeness. Jon goes over to the bar to order them the food, and Brendon keeps his eyes on Jon with a focused expression. “What?” Spencer asks, feeling like he’s missing something.
“Watching for educational purposes,” Brendon informs them, paying attention to the way Jon is shamelessly flirting with Tom. Body language. Brendon needs to learn that, to be suave and seductive, lure the relationship type boys, not just the horny ones.
Jon leans over the counter to whisper something in Tom’s ear. Tom chuckles low in his throat, and they hear Tom ask, “Oh yeah?”
“Is that Jon’s boyfriend?” Pete asks.
“Nuh uh, more like an occasional fuck buddy,” Brendon informs them. A few times, a sex-haired Tom has wandered out of Jon’s bedroom in the morning, and once, Brendon woke up in the middle of the night to the loud moans of “Fuck, harder, harder,” and Brendon might have stayed up, jerking off to the sound of Tom and Jon fucking, but he is not going to tell that to anyone because he doesn’t need any creepy loser points. “And Jon is a bit of a flirt,” Brendon amends as an afterthought.
Jon turns to them and shouts, “Fajitas comin up!” He makes no attempt to leave the bar, seems now more interested in playing rounds of suggestive innuendos with Tom than their company. Pete excuses himself to go to the loo, and Spencer asks Brendon a worried, “What do ew think of mah beard?”
Brendon blinks. “I like it.”
“Do ew think I should trim it? Or maybe shaave the chin, keep a moustache? Or –”
“No, no. No moustache, you’re no Tom Selleck.”
Spencer has to admit Brendon’s got a point. He looks over to Tom and Jon. “Jon told me he doesn’t believe in relaationships, but look at that.”
Brendon shakes his head. “Jon doesn’t believe in relationships at all. Tom’s just a guy he’s having fun with.”
Jon’s golden advice – have fun. Well, Spencer just doesn’t think life can be seen as a merry stroll on a hillside. They only have eighty or so years, so shouldn’t they make that count? Shouldn’t they be grateful and not just shrug and go with the flow?
“I bet ew’ve all got some wild stoories I’ve no idea of,” Spencer prompts, now curious. While he practices monogamy, what is the average (gay) student experience? Spencer’s never done the drunken fucks thing; he’s been a loyal, loving boyfriend. He’s never complained. Before. Brendon only gives him a modest shrug. “Aw, go on,” he offers. He wants to hear one of Brendon’s stories.
Brendon stares at the table with a slightly crooked smile. “Um...” He brushes hair behind his ear. “I have no stories. I’ve never slept with anyone.”
Spencer pauses and stares. “What?”
“Never slept with anyone,” Brendon says and shrugs like it’s no biggie. Spencer doesn’t get it. Brendon is a really attractive young guy, who is also smart and funny and extremely social, and Spencer figured that the absence of a boyfriend was an indication of Brendon wanting something more casual – like a Friday night fuck that is a Saturday morning’s regret. But Brendon’s a... a....
“But – I mean, what about your, uh...” Spencer begins to object.
“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pleasure myself,” Brendon says pointedly, and holy shit. Did Soldier Boy pop Brendon’s cherry? Brendon’s cheeks are a bit flushed. “For god’s sake, Spencer, stop staring at me like I’m a freak of nature.”
Spencer instantly looks away. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised here. Ew’ve dated peeople too, I just assumed...”
“Yeah,” Brendon admits. He is maybe a bit surprised too. He never slept with Patrick, even though they dated for a good four months. They spent so much time making out, and there were nervous handjobs and a few awkward blowjobs, but it just never really progressed anywhere. Maybe that’s why Patrick broke up with him, he’s not sure. But it’s no big loss because Patrick wasn’t Brendon’s ideal. Patrick said that he never even votes in elections, and sometimes, Brendon can’t figure out what the hell he was thinking. Still. He and Patrick had feelings for each other, and he can’t just forget that.
You can wipe the blood off the sheets, but you can’t get rid of the stains.
“Ew’re a handsome guy. Just surprised,” Spencer shrugs. ‘Handsome’ sounds more politically correct than ‘ravishingly hot’, but Spencer is sure that would come out wrong.
“I could’ve,” Brendon rushes to say. “Plenty of opportunities when I could’ve. But I just want it to mean something, just...”
Want it to be special. To be love. Spencer gets that. Jon defies love, Brendon seeks it, and it is not at all compatible, yet the two get along like a house on fire.
Jon finally comes back with his and Brendon’s drinks, setting them on the table and grinning just a bit too much. Brendon lifts an eyebrow, and Jon shrugs with fake modesty. “Goin tae Tom’s tonight.”
“Ah. Is the American stud good in the sack?”
“Aw aye. Wouldnae bother wit him if he wasnae,” Jon says and realises that, at that moment, he sounds both cheap as well as an asshole. It’s not like that – he likes Tom, who is a good fuck and enjoys sex. Well, Jon enjoys sex too. It’s just a good match in that sense, but not anything more than that.
“Do you think Spencer should shave?” Brendon asks conversationally, and Jon turns to Spencer, grabs his chin and moves Spencer’s head from side to side. Spencer chuckles low in his throat and smiles at him.
Jon wants to say, “Doesnae matter as long as ye keep smilin like the fuckin sun,” but he is very efficiently working through his man crush on Spencer, so he says, “Not sure. Whut is the desired effect of sed shavin? Lookin younger? A twenty-somethin crisis, Spencer James Smith?”
Spencer pushes Jon away slightly and laughs. “Just trying to please the girlfriend.”
Brendon and Jon exchange glances and simultaneously say, “Women.”
Spencer just shakes his head. Why does everyone keep saying that?
Brendon is all for equality between the sexes, but he thinks no one should claim that women and men are the same. Even on a basic level, it’s different hormones at work affecting the human brain in different ways.
Pete and Spencer end up joining Brendon and Jon on their pub crawl, getting ridiculously pissed in the pub at the centre of town that serves one pound shots. Jon goes to the bar, hands the bartender a tenner and says, “Ten shots of vodka, please.” He shares them with Spencer, who is ridiculously skint. Spencer says that he’ll pay back, but Jon isn’t bothered. Spencer seems a bit down; maybe it’s the beard vs. girlfriend thing. Maybe it’s Spencer missing Moscow. Jon isn’t sure.
Pete and Brendon end up talking politics as Jon and Spencer discuss their favourite metal bands. The talking is constantly getting louder and less coherent. At one point, Spencer pulls his ringing phone out, stares at the screen unseeingly. “Oh, it’s Hales,” he says eventually and doesn’t sound happy. “She would disapprove of me being this drunk. She hates it when I’m drunk. I knows that.” He frowns at his own words.
“Ah’ll show ye a trick,” Jon offers, takes the mobile and cancels the incoming call. He grins and passes the phone back to Spencer, who grins at him widely.
“Spasiba.”
“Well, ye were lookin at yir phone like a fuckin time bomb,” Jon says, and because he is drunk enough, he adds, “Hey, Spence. Anythin tae make ye smile, ken? Anythin.”
“Ew’re a really good mate,” Spencer says, and they hug and pat each other’s backs. Jon thinks that Spencer smells really nice, but loads of guys smell nice. Jon is relatively sure that the majority of him just really likes Spencer as a human-being, and only a wee bit of him is still picturing Spencer naked. It’s an improvement.
When Tom calls Jon that he has finished work and is now free (for them to go to Tom’s and shag), Jon gives his company hasty goodbyes. He isn’t sure if Spencer looks disappointed or if he simply wishes Spencer did.
When Brendon and Spencer get home at three in the morning, Spencer rubs Brendon’s back as Brendon vomits beer and vodka mixed with what once was a veggie fajita. Brendon wonders if they’re waking up Ryan, and Spencer wonders what Haley would say to him if she only saw him now.
To Wish Impossible Things
Ryan spends a half an hour choosing a tie, in the end going with a dark green one. It has been ages since he last went out, and he just doesn’t remember how to do it anymore. Brendon is one of the members responsible for organising the LGBT party that is being held at one of the student unions, and as Jon went with Brendon to help get things ready, Ryan said he’d just meet them there. It’s an honest party with no other motives than sex and alcohol, though Ryan is only focusing on the latter.
He can’t remember the last time he got drunk. God, he can’t even remember the last time he got laid. Ryan closes his eyes and focuses on straightening the tie. Sex is overrated. Sex is for animals, and Ryan is an intellectual human-being who is above all of that.
He used to be a bit of a slut. Just a little. Back when he was sixteen and was sure that putting on skinny jeans, too tight t-shirts and showing off his hipbones would be a one-way ticket to happiness and attention. Well, he got attention, and he got laid alright, and for a while, he thought that getting laid meant he was an interesting person. One day, he realised that he didn’t even like himself.
Ryan likes himself now. Or, well... at least he’s not a slut anymore. It’s not about the sex.
“Not about the sex,” Ryan says firmly as he grabs his wallet. The condom that he keeps in one of the pockets is closing in on its expiry date, probably having lost all of its hope by now. Ryan slips the wallet to his back pocket and grabs his jacket. He doesn’t really want to go, but he promised Brendon.
Spencer walks into the flat just as Ryan is heading out. “How’s the craic?” Ryan asks distractedly, feeling his pockets to make sure he has his wallet, keys, phone. Spencer lifts his gaze to Ryan, and Ryan stops. Spencer looks shaken up and pale. Spencer looks devastated.
“We broke up.”
“What?”
“Just... Just now. We...” Spencer swallows. “We decided to split up.”
Oh shit.
“Are ye... Are ye sure yez didn’t just fight, or...” Ryan trails off, having no idea what to say. What can he say to that?
“No, we- we definitely broke up,” Spencer says, and it comes out choked. Spencer looks lost by the door, like even he has no idea what the hell has just happened.
Jon and Brendon both hang out with Spencer a great deal; they probably know a lot more about Haley and Spencer – Ryan wasn’t even aware the two were having problems, if they were. Ryan’s busy, always busy, constantly busy. “Um...” he begins. “Do ye... want to talk about it?”
It was different with Patrick and Brendon because Ryan knew all about that relationship and had wanted them to break up since day one. He had been waiting to enclose Brendon in his loving embrace and make all the memories of that idiot Patrick vanish into thin air, and he is pretty sure he succeeded in that. But Spencer? He’s known the guy for a few months, and Spencer’s been with Haley (was with Haley, he corrects) for a couple of years at least. Ryan is out of his league.
“I’m fine,” Spencer says, but it sounds like ‘It hurts so fucking much, I have no idea what to do’.
“Right,” Ryan mutters as Spencer heads for the couch and slumps down on it. Spencer buries his face in his hands, and Ryan looks at the front door longingly. If he just sneaks out and lets Spencer wallow on his own...
“Why are we breaking up? I mean, I fucking love her. This makes no sense, this –” Spencer pauses as the words pour out like an avalanche, filled with anguish.
Ryan gives in. He says, “Look, uh... I’ll make us some tea.” Tea always helps.
Spencer whispers a tired, “Thanks.”
When Ryan is waiting for the kettle to bring the water to boil, he texts Brendon a quick S n his mot split, he’s upset so i’m keepin him company. sorry 2 cancel. u guys have fun, i’ve got this.
Spencer seems to be holding up a bit better when Ryan goes back with two mugs of Earl Grey. Spencer stares into the distance, and Ryan doesn’t ask any questions. In the end, Spencer talks about Moscow, and Ryan talks about his research. Spencer’s usually lively eyes are dead. He excuses himself rather quickly, thanking Ryan again and going to bed. Well... that wasn’t very productive.
Ryan could still go to the party, but he only goes to bed instead. He jerks off in a practiced manner, just something to help him sleep.
He doesn’t hear Jon and Brendon coming back in the wee hours of the morning.
* * *
Spencer is fine. Really, he is fine. Shocked, yes. Well, he is shocked. He and Haley, they were supposed to get married and have kids and dogs and each other and happiness. All that shite. They were supposed to do all that, but Spencer has known it was coming. He knew it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Haley needed to say it first, because then he didn’t initiate it, let anyone down. He wouldn’t be the bad guy. She only had to say, “This isn’t working out.” And if she said it, it wouldn’t be Spencer’s fault; he wouldn’t be the asshole. Well, she said it, and he agreed. And she cried and he cried, and then they hugged and he went home, and... now they’re not together anymore.
What the fuck happened? It wasn’t supposed to go like that.
They met at a party. Haley had just started uni, Spencer instead already had one year on him. They were both a bit drunk and instantly ended up in the sack. On the morning after Spencer asked if she would like to do something some time, she said she would, and that was that. He fell madly in love with her, and because he felt so damn sure about it, they decided to still be together despite Spencer going to Moscow for a year. It was hard and he missed her, and they spent hours on Skype with the line crackling and breaking, Spencer banging and cursing at his laptop in Russian. Awkward phone sex, long emails, sending each other silly things in the mail, Haley visiting during the Christmas holidays. Spencer stayed the summer too though he wasn’t supposed to, and Haley was upset about it, but they talked it through. And when Spencer came back, she was beaming like the sun, and she was still just as stunning, and they went to Haley’s and spent the first fifteen hours taking turns between making love and sleeping.
Fifteen hours to cover up that they weren’t the same anymore.
Brendon bakes Spencer cupcakes. “I’m fine,” Spencer says as he pokes the one in his hand, sucking the frosting off his finger. “Peeople break up. It happens.” He tries to shrug, but he doesn’t have the energy.
Brendon nods and shows he is listening. It’s been a few days, and Spencer looks worse by the day. Spencer is acting like nothing happened, though he is obviously falling apart.
“I mean, I can’t believe it,” Spencer cuts in. “I can’t believe that it haappened. I’m fine, though. Just great. Lush.”
“Have another cupcake,” Brendon offers, and Spencer complies.
Jon ended up popping pills in the LGBT party on top of drinking enough to make his liver beg for mercy, and he has been trying to get back on top of things since. When he went for his lab practical the morning after, he had still been fucked out of his mind. Jon is therefore a bit late on doing his share for the benefit of Spencer Smith’s shattered heart. Spencer is antisocial and acts like he has died, and really. Spencer is only walking proof to Jon’s theory of relationships being fabrications. If Spencer and Haley had just made a deal to have fun for however long it lasts, then no one would be moping around right now.
“Spence, mate, this has got tae stop,” Jon says firmly when he stomps into Spencer’s room. Spencer is lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Robert Smith is wailing through the speakers, and Jon doesn’t want to listen to that bipolar fucker. Maybe Spencer’s related? Would definitely explain this wallowing in misery thing. “Spence, it’s Friday night. Ye ken whut that means? Yir first Friday as a single man. We’re goin out n getting fuckin drunk, that’s whut we’re doin.”
“Nyet spasiba.”
Jon stares. “Was ah askin? Naw. So git the fuck up, ye’ve got ten minutes.”
Jon walks out of the room, and Spencer only sighs and stares at the ceiling some more. He doesn’t want to socialise or talk to anyone. He wants to be alone.
That’s not true. Not alone, he... he misses Haley. It’s so stupid. They break up, and suddenly, he’s supposed to just stop caring about her. That’s so stupid. He wants to talk to her about things. It’s been days of no contact at all, and he hasn’t done that in years. From the day they met, they had some contact every damn day. Every day for over two years, and now, there’s this big void Spencer has no idea how to fill. God, it fucking aches.
He should call her. Just to make sure she’s okay, that’s she’s doing alright. What if she’s waiting for him to call her?
Spencer takes in a calming breath and reaches for his phone. She’s still on his speed dial. What’s the harm in calling? Really?
Jon and Brendon are waiting for Spencer in the living room, not wanting to pressure Spencer too much. Jon checks his phone to see that it has definitely been ten minutes now. “I don’t think he’s coming,” Brendon says, smiling sadly.
“Aye. It’s probably tae soon,” Jon admits.
Just then, Spencer walks out of his room. He’s changed his clothes to a pair of black jeans, a yellow t-shirt with a black waistcoat he’s left open.
“Right, let’s go,” Spencer says, an angry undertone to his words. Brendon and Jon exchange surprised looks, but Jon just shrugs.
* * *
“I mean, what the actual fuck?” Spencer snaps at them both. He finishes the rest of his drink and bangs the glass on the table. “That Marilyn girl’s a cunt,” he hisses angrily, voice loud to beat the music of the club they’re at. “A fucking cunt! I wants to talk to Hales, but she fucking tells me I can’t! ‘Ew broke her heart, Spencer. She doesn’t want to talk to ew’,” he repeats, anger making him curl his hands into fists. “It’s none of her fucking business! Fuck!”
Brendon, for his own amusement, is counting swear words. Spencer’s doing alright – thirty-seven since Brendon started counting five minutes ago.
“Ah agree. Haley’s friend should fuck off,” Jon nods. He’s as drunk as Spencer is. Brendon hasn’t had as much since he knows someone has to make sure they get home.
“I can’t believe she didn’t want to talk to us,” Spencer says in complete disbelief. Two years, and this is it? This is the glorious end? And he broke her heart? Well, that was news to him! What about his heart? What about the things Haley did?
That’s the thing, though. She never did anything. And Spencer is pretty sure he didn’t do anything either. Maybe that’s the problem. “Women!” he snaps angrily, and Jon and Brendon hum loudly in agreement.
If she no longer cares, then he won’t either. Fuck it. He is moving on. He’s like Kelly fucking Clarkson – he is so moving on. “Here goes,” he says angrily, and as he gets up and heads over to a group of easy looking girls, he feels like he is taking control of his life. He’s going to fucking show Haley.
Brendon and Jon are slightly stunned when, approximately six minutes later, Spencer is successfully making out with one of the girls.
Brendon scratches his cheek slightly. “Not wasting time, is he?”
“Nope,” Jon confirms. Spencer is beyond drunk, but so is everyone else. It’s what they do in clubs like those. Brendon feels embarrassed for both Spencer and Haley because a week ago Spencer wouldn’t have done that. It’s amazing how little it takes to destroy a long-term relationship and forget about the good times.
Brendon feels pointless now that Spencer has found a way to deal.
“Did ye tell Ryan aboot the party?” Jon asks, his eyes a bit glassy.
“Huh?”
“LGBT party. Aboot Patrick.”
“No,” Brendon says and shakes his head. “Nothing to tell.”
Jon just shrugs and goes to get them more drinks. Spencer saunters over, clutching the hand of a blonde girl he’s known for... twenty minutes? Brendon’s not sure. She looks nothing like Haley, and Brendon figures that’s the point.
“I’m off. I’ll see ews tomorrow,” Spencer says with a grin, and oh. Well.
“Sure,” Brendon says.
Haley and Spencer seemed happy. They were cute together. Brendon watches Spencer leave the club with the girl, and it makes him feel cheated.
So much for eternal love.
Part Three
Author Notes: Go to the notes section for some glossary and terminology, download the super awesome mixtape, and check out the accent compilation for some laughs and/or help. Or just to hear Brendon do an English accent, because that will never stop being so darn cute.
Masterpost
Part One
If You Discover A Fire (In Your Lover’s Heart)
Foster’s, Guinness, Strongbow and Krušovice – Jon eyes the beer pumps in disapproval. They are missing Tennent’s, or maybe it’s just Jon who is missing Tennent’s. Most likely just him.
It’s a quiet afternoon in the pub, and Jon has one of his course books open on the counter, trying to get some studying in. He finds it hard to concentrate because it’s one of those days when he sees the bigger picture. See, it’s those little things in life you learn to acknowledge; like that Irn Bru is better than Diet Irn Bru, or that your eyes are brown, or that you will become middle-aged and sad and will get drunk in bars, desperately trying to find someone to mate with. Jon sees it happen every time he takes the night shift, men closing in on fifty trying to sleep with girls that could be their daughters.
It could be Jon’s future, that desperate and saddening search for company, that isolated loneliness, but he won’t let it be. He’s not worried because he understands life. He took his rucksack and zigzagged across Europe, spent four months washing dishes in an Italian restaurant in Copenhagen before catching a flight to Jakarta. He spent a week with a Vietnamese transvestite prostitute who knew ten words of English, and he never fucked the guy though he spent night after night in the guy’s apartment that was more appalling and shittier than Jon ever could even begin to describe. They drank beer and had a good time, both talking animatedly and laughing when they failed to communicate. Jon always paid for his time, and okay, maybe he finally cracked and let the guy blow him, but they never fucked. Jon likes to think they became friends, Lan and him.
Jon was on the shores of a beach in Queensland, watching his newly made Australian friends surfing in the distance as the open car doors emitted Jack Johnson’s voice in the air to fit the mood. And Jon was there, halfway around the world on his own, and it was at that moment that he got it. He turned around, walked back to the hostel, packed up, and flew back home.
Jon hasn’t seen it all, but he has seen enough.
Jon breathes on a pint glass, watching the surface fog up. He wipes it with his sleeve for extra sparkle and places it on the shelf behind the bar. One sad drunken fuck is sitting in one of the corner tables, and a few guys are doing shots after a band practice, with guitar cases carefully leaning against the walls.
When the door swings open and Spencer walks in with an easy smile, Jon feels himself perk up. “How’s ye?” he asks as Spencer settles on a stool.
“I heart isotopes?” Spencer asks, and Jon glances down to his t-shirt and grins.
“Ah dae, ah dae,” he confirms. Isotopes are fucking fascinating. “Did ye ken that in radiogenic isotopes, alpha decay produces helium nuclei wit two protons n two neutrons but nae electrons? N a gamma ray! Now that is kewl.”
Spencer blinks at him. “Ew’re a geek, Jon Walker.”
“My mum still loves us,” he smirks, watching the way Spencer’s hair is getting longer and longer. It suits him. “A pint of Krušovice?”
“Please,” Spencer says. The Czech beer is the closest he can get. “I miss Ochakovo Special,” he tells Jon as he passes the money. “Mah favourite of Russian beers.”
“Ah was just thinkin of Tennent’s n how they donae really serve it hir,” Jon sighs and lets his elbows lean on the counter. Spencer’s been coming by every now and then when Jon’s had his shift. They get along well, and Jon genuinely likes Spencer a lot. He’s forgotten about the gorgeously nice ass Spencer has because he is a realist. No point in pining after a guy with whom nothing is ever going to happen.
“One of my byts called me yesterday. Remeember the company I told ew aboot, the one I worked part-time for in Mooscow?” Spencer asks, and Jon nods obediently. “Apparently, they’re interested in hiring me, which is what I was hooping for, so...” Spencer pauses and tries to suppress a grin. “I think I might be moving there, good and proper, next summer.”
“That’s dead brilliant, man.”
Spencer fails in suppressing his grin. “I know.” He can’t wait to go back. He has been homesick ever since he stepped on the plane to London.
Jon straightens up, grabbing one of the glasses and getting himself some water. “Whut did yer lassie have tae say aboot that?”
Jon watches Spencer frown momentarily before he sees a bit of guilt there. Spencer hasn’t told Haley. “Donae worry. Ah donae believe in relationships miself. It happens,” Jon shrugs.
“Ew don’t believe in relaationships?”
“Ah donae believe in love.”
Spencer stares at Jon, who is still a relatively new acquaintance. Jon has a laidback and scruffy feel to him, warm and welcoming, and he doesn’t believe in love? How can anyone not believe in it?
It’s simple. People are constantly changing – it’s unrealistic to bind yourself to one person or to swear to always love them. You love them now. The person you are twenty years down the line might have nothing in common with the person they are twenty years down the line. Jon sees the promise of eternity as shackles and nothing more. Love with its permanent and romantic connotations? Jon doesn’t buy it. He is his life’s central character, and the cast will keep on changing.
And relationships, well. Those are just about the biggest scam Jon knows.
“The meaning of life, Spence, ah’m gonna tell ye it, right hir, right now,” Jon says. “Huv fun.”
“Have fun?”
“Aye. N by lookin at ye, pal, ah can see that the thing ye call love isnae makin ye very happy the now.”
Spencer sighs and nods. “We’ve just... grown apaart, Haley an me. But we’ll work through it. She might want to come to Mooscow with me. She viisited me last year, she loved it. Ew know?” His tone is hopeful. Jon feels sorry for him.
Love – find a person you think is beautiful inside and out, and bind them to you at all cost, even if it means they wither.
Relationship – the handy way of not having to deal with the fact that you are afraid to be alone.
Jon sympathises with the world. He’s told his friends he loves them, but he can accept that kind of love, an appreciation of someone. Romantic love is ugly and dirty, and most of all, it is false and fleeting, and every romantic comedy with Hugh Grant’s obnoxious face or Jennifer Aniston’s fake smile is just a big fucking scheme to make common people waste their lives chasing something that never existed in the first place.
“Such a waste,” Jon mutters to himself.
Ryan cancels Halloween, and Brendon says, “It’s okay,” hurries to his room, curls up in his bed and tries his best not to cry. He fails and mumbles, “Stupid, stupid, stupid...”
He has known Ryan for a few years now, and they became best friends the second they met. They used to have so much fun. They would go out and get shitfaced, wake up in a flat where they had attended an after-party or another, and Ryan would die laughing that Brendon had made out with a sworn Iron Maiden fan with a red beard, and Brendon would point out that the hickey on Ryan’s neck meant that Ryan was in no position to judge. Brendon remembers the mornings when they dragged themselves to Starbucks, getting coffees for their hangovers and lounging on one of the big armchairs in the back that didn’t fit the two of them, but they made them fit. Brendon loved feeling Ryan’s arm pressed to his side, Ryan’s scraped alcohol voice chuckling at the things they did, and Brendon would groan, “I feel so sick,” against Ryan’s neck and then just stay there and breathe Ryan in - cigarettes, Jack Daniels, a musky aftershave - and Ryan’s fingers would be carding through his hair.
Ryan was laidback until the day he decided that he would do a post-grad degree, and after that, it was nothing but studies all the time. No more Brendon.
Brendon has done some crazy shit with Ryan Ross. Now that boy doesn’t even exist.
And Halloween. They always do something insane on Halloween; it’s their tradition. But no, Ryan is too busy, wants to be upgraded to a Ph.D. student, has to show the department, the faculty, the world, yada yada yada.
“Stupid,” Brendon mumbles in a teary voice, sniffling as he lies on his back and wipes his cheeks. God, he is such a fucking wimp. Pathetic.
A soft knock sounds on his door, and he scrambles to sit up on the bed, clears his throat slightly. “Uh huh?” he calls out, trying to force his voice to sound normal.
Ryan walks in, giving him a careful smile. Ryan is holding his Beatles mug, the one Brendon bought him when they went to Liverpool that one time. Ryan had refused to pay the six quid for it, but Brendon wanted Ryan to get a souvenir of some kind. Something to remember him by.
“I’m sorry I can’t do Halloween this year,” Ryan says quietly. Steam is rising from the mug, Ryan’s thumb snugly in front of Paul McCartney’s face on the porcelain.
“It’s not a big deal,” Brendon shrugs.
Ryan sighs and looks around the room. “The first seminar group is handin in their essays the day before, and I really want to have those essays marked as soon as possible. Show the department how efficient I can be...”
“I get that,” Brendon lies.
Ryan pauses and looks at Brendon’s still slumped shoulders. His heart aches at the sight. He has to make this up to Brendon. “How about I come to that LGBT party next month?”
Brendon blinks. Ryan hates the LGBT parties, says it’s nothing but overly feminine gay guys wanting their ringpieces to be fucked until they bleed, butch lesbians with tattoos and army haircuts wanting to hit on the pretty bisexual girls who hang out with the transgendered ones to make themselves seem more interesting. And while that is a fair depiction of the typical LGBT crowd, Brendon is secretary of the society because he believes firmly that everyone deserves the same rights, no matter who they want to love. He is doing it for himself, for Ryan, for Jon, guys like them, and hell, he even does it for the butch lesbians. He does it for humanity.
“Really? You’d come?” Brendon asks. He’d love for Ryan to come along. He suddenly feels desperate to have Ryan be there because, fuck, it’d mean so much to him.
“Yeah. I’ll put it in me calendar. Sure it’ll be craic.”
Brendon forces himself not to smile too wide. “Okay.”
Ryan returns the smile and doesn’t feel quite so shitty anymore. He takes a sip from the mug and stands idly, letting his eyes fixate on Brendon’s David Bowie poster. “Righto, then,” he murmurs.
Jon walks through the open door, shirtless and hair sticking out everywhere. He’s just woken up and isn’t quite sure what day it is.
“Who’s up fir a pint?” he asks, and Ryan instantly checks his wristwatch. It’s only three o’clock.
“I am!” Brendon offers, getting up. Brendon is smiling now, and Ryan thinks that he put it there, that smile.
“Grand. If we hussle, ah bet we could git free burritos frae The Nest oan the way!”
“Excellent! Invite Spencer, too,” Brendon says, and Jon saunters back out of the room. Ryan stands where he is. Why is no one inviting him to go? Fine, he’d say no, but it’d be polite to bleeding ask. No one is even asking anymore.
Brendon pulls his shirt off, wanting to wear something a bit more inviting (just in case he meets some politically aware vegetarian hottie), and when he turns around to tell Ryan more about the LGBT party, Ryan’s already gone.
Pete Wentz has Polish, Slovakian, English and French blood in him. Spencer keeps saying that Pete should call himself European and be done with it, but Pete right out refuses. He says there is no such thing as “European” with forty-seven countries and over two hundred languages, and Spencer has seen enough of the world to know Pete’s right. Pete’s like a mongrel and acts like one, too. Maybe that’s why Spencer pretty much adores the man, not counting the times he wants to cut off Pete’s breathing with his own hands.
“Never been here before,” Pete observes as they sit around a table in The Nest.
“Never used to come mahself, but Jon works here, so I end up hanging aroond,” Spencer explains. “They play good music.” Sonic Youth is coming through the speakers, Kim Gordon’s vocals claiming some space in the world. Spencer already recognises Jon’s co-workers too – Tom is working behind the bar. He’s an American guy from Chicago with an accent that cuts through the air the second he opens his mouth. A bottle is a ‘bodle’, D’s where T’s should be. Tom’s lived on this side of the Atlantic for a few years now, but Jon still laments that, though Tom is a fantastic guy, he persistently thinks someone is ordering crisps when they say they want chips. “He asks, ‘What flavour?’ Potatoes don’t come in flavours!” Jon ranted one night.
Spencer met Pete through the Slavic Society in first year. Pete’s already graduated, but they still hang out a lot. Pete visited him in Moscow and stayed with him for a few weeks, getting drunk on vodka with all of Spencer’s Russian friends. And now Spencer is in rainy England that he has nothing against, really, except for all the English people in it.
“What do ew think of mah beard?” Spencer asks, giving Pete a quick glance.
“Very rugged. Very manly. When I met you, you looked like a lesbian, but now, Spence? You look like a man,” Pete says, and Spencer suddenly remembers why he sometimes wants to kill Pete.
“Ha bloody ha,” he retorts, his shoulders tense. He lets his fingers scratch his chin, feeling the beard prickling his fingertips.
“Nah, in all seriousness. It suits you. Why do you ask?”
“Haley doesn’t like it. She wants me to shaave.”
“Women,” Pete says like it’s the end of discussion. Spencer says nothing. He can’t fix something if he doesn’t know what the problem is. If he shaved, would Haley suddenly be happy? Because she’s not. He’s trying and trying, but she’s not happy, and he is slowly starting not to care about that. And that breaks him because he adores her.
He used to, anyway.
Spencer swallows and takes a long sip of his pint. He feels like shit these days. He doesn’t like not liking himself.
“Don’t take it on the chin, kid,” Pete says, and Spencer should have known Pete isn’t the person to go to about his relationship problems, but who else does he have? His old friends have graduated and left, and his new friends are still too new.
“Spencer, awright, lad?” comes Jon’s voice, and Spencer looks up to see Brendon and Jon. He didn’t know Jon would be working, and Jon must be telepathic because he says, “We’re just passin through. On our way tae town, a good ol’ Wednesday afternoon pub crawl.”
“Lush,” he says in agreement before making the necessary introductions. Brendon and Jon join their company, and Jon says he can get everyone some free fajitas if they want some. Pete is instantly convinced of Jon Walker’s awesomeness. Jon goes over to the bar to order them the food, and Brendon keeps his eyes on Jon with a focused expression. “What?” Spencer asks, feeling like he’s missing something.
“Watching for educational purposes,” Brendon informs them, paying attention to the way Jon is shamelessly flirting with Tom. Body language. Brendon needs to learn that, to be suave and seductive, lure the relationship type boys, not just the horny ones.
Jon leans over the counter to whisper something in Tom’s ear. Tom chuckles low in his throat, and they hear Tom ask, “Oh yeah?”
“Is that Jon’s boyfriend?” Pete asks.
“Nuh uh, more like an occasional fuck buddy,” Brendon informs them. A few times, a sex-haired Tom has wandered out of Jon’s bedroom in the morning, and once, Brendon woke up in the middle of the night to the loud moans of “Fuck, harder, harder,” and Brendon might have stayed up, jerking off to the sound of Tom and Jon fucking, but he is not going to tell that to anyone because he doesn’t need any creepy loser points. “And Jon is a bit of a flirt,” Brendon amends as an afterthought.
Jon turns to them and shouts, “Fajitas comin up!” He makes no attempt to leave the bar, seems now more interested in playing rounds of suggestive innuendos with Tom than their company. Pete excuses himself to go to the loo, and Spencer asks Brendon a worried, “What do ew think of mah beard?”
Brendon blinks. “I like it.”
“Do ew think I should trim it? Or maybe shaave the chin, keep a moustache? Or –”
“No, no. No moustache, you’re no Tom Selleck.”
Spencer has to admit Brendon’s got a point. He looks over to Tom and Jon. “Jon told me he doesn’t believe in relaationships, but look at that.”
Brendon shakes his head. “Jon doesn’t believe in relationships at all. Tom’s just a guy he’s having fun with.”
Jon’s golden advice – have fun. Well, Spencer just doesn’t think life can be seen as a merry stroll on a hillside. They only have eighty or so years, so shouldn’t they make that count? Shouldn’t they be grateful and not just shrug and go with the flow?
“I bet ew’ve all got some wild stoories I’ve no idea of,” Spencer prompts, now curious. While he practices monogamy, what is the average (gay) student experience? Spencer’s never done the drunken fucks thing; he’s been a loyal, loving boyfriend. He’s never complained. Before. Brendon only gives him a modest shrug. “Aw, go on,” he offers. He wants to hear one of Brendon’s stories.
Brendon stares at the table with a slightly crooked smile. “Um...” He brushes hair behind his ear. “I have no stories. I’ve never slept with anyone.”
Spencer pauses and stares. “What?”
“Never slept with anyone,” Brendon says and shrugs like it’s no biggie. Spencer doesn’t get it. Brendon is a really attractive young guy, who is also smart and funny and extremely social, and Spencer figured that the absence of a boyfriend was an indication of Brendon wanting something more casual – like a Friday night fuck that is a Saturday morning’s regret. But Brendon’s a... a....
“But – I mean, what about your, uh...” Spencer begins to object.
“Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know how to pleasure myself,” Brendon says pointedly, and holy shit. Did Soldier Boy pop Brendon’s cherry? Brendon’s cheeks are a bit flushed. “For god’s sake, Spencer, stop staring at me like I’m a freak of nature.”
Spencer instantly looks away. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just surprised here. Ew’ve dated peeople too, I just assumed...”
“Yeah,” Brendon admits. He is maybe a bit surprised too. He never slept with Patrick, even though they dated for a good four months. They spent so much time making out, and there were nervous handjobs and a few awkward blowjobs, but it just never really progressed anywhere. Maybe that’s why Patrick broke up with him, he’s not sure. But it’s no big loss because Patrick wasn’t Brendon’s ideal. Patrick said that he never even votes in elections, and sometimes, Brendon can’t figure out what the hell he was thinking. Still. He and Patrick had feelings for each other, and he can’t just forget that.
You can wipe the blood off the sheets, but you can’t get rid of the stains.
“Ew’re a handsome guy. Just surprised,” Spencer shrugs. ‘Handsome’ sounds more politically correct than ‘ravishingly hot’, but Spencer is sure that would come out wrong.
“I could’ve,” Brendon rushes to say. “Plenty of opportunities when I could’ve. But I just want it to mean something, just...”
Want it to be special. To be love. Spencer gets that. Jon defies love, Brendon seeks it, and it is not at all compatible, yet the two get along like a house on fire.
Jon finally comes back with his and Brendon’s drinks, setting them on the table and grinning just a bit too much. Brendon lifts an eyebrow, and Jon shrugs with fake modesty. “Goin tae Tom’s tonight.”
“Ah. Is the American stud good in the sack?”
“Aw aye. Wouldnae bother wit him if he wasnae,” Jon says and realises that, at that moment, he sounds both cheap as well as an asshole. It’s not like that – he likes Tom, who is a good fuck and enjoys sex. Well, Jon enjoys sex too. It’s just a good match in that sense, but not anything more than that.
“Do you think Spencer should shave?” Brendon asks conversationally, and Jon turns to Spencer, grabs his chin and moves Spencer’s head from side to side. Spencer chuckles low in his throat and smiles at him.
Jon wants to say, “Doesnae matter as long as ye keep smilin like the fuckin sun,” but he is very efficiently working through his man crush on Spencer, so he says, “Not sure. Whut is the desired effect of sed shavin? Lookin younger? A twenty-somethin crisis, Spencer James Smith?”
Spencer pushes Jon away slightly and laughs. “Just trying to please the girlfriend.”
Brendon and Jon exchange glances and simultaneously say, “Women.”
Spencer just shakes his head. Why does everyone keep saying that?
Brendon is all for equality between the sexes, but he thinks no one should claim that women and men are the same. Even on a basic level, it’s different hormones at work affecting the human brain in different ways.
Pete and Spencer end up joining Brendon and Jon on their pub crawl, getting ridiculously pissed in the pub at the centre of town that serves one pound shots. Jon goes to the bar, hands the bartender a tenner and says, “Ten shots of vodka, please.” He shares them with Spencer, who is ridiculously skint. Spencer says that he’ll pay back, but Jon isn’t bothered. Spencer seems a bit down; maybe it’s the beard vs. girlfriend thing. Maybe it’s Spencer missing Moscow. Jon isn’t sure.
Pete and Brendon end up talking politics as Jon and Spencer discuss their favourite metal bands. The talking is constantly getting louder and less coherent. At one point, Spencer pulls his ringing phone out, stares at the screen unseeingly. “Oh, it’s Hales,” he says eventually and doesn’t sound happy. “She would disapprove of me being this drunk. She hates it when I’m drunk. I knows that.” He frowns at his own words.
“Ah’ll show ye a trick,” Jon offers, takes the mobile and cancels the incoming call. He grins and passes the phone back to Spencer, who grins at him widely.
“Spasiba.”
“Well, ye were lookin at yir phone like a fuckin time bomb,” Jon says, and because he is drunk enough, he adds, “Hey, Spence. Anythin tae make ye smile, ken? Anythin.”
“Ew’re a really good mate,” Spencer says, and they hug and pat each other’s backs. Jon thinks that Spencer smells really nice, but loads of guys smell nice. Jon is relatively sure that the majority of him just really likes Spencer as a human-being, and only a wee bit of him is still picturing Spencer naked. It’s an improvement.
When Tom calls Jon that he has finished work and is now free (for them to go to Tom’s and shag), Jon gives his company hasty goodbyes. He isn’t sure if Spencer looks disappointed or if he simply wishes Spencer did.
When Brendon and Spencer get home at three in the morning, Spencer rubs Brendon’s back as Brendon vomits beer and vodka mixed with what once was a veggie fajita. Brendon wonders if they’re waking up Ryan, and Spencer wonders what Haley would say to him if she only saw him now.
To Wish Impossible Things
Ryan spends a half an hour choosing a tie, in the end going with a dark green one. It has been ages since he last went out, and he just doesn’t remember how to do it anymore. Brendon is one of the members responsible for organising the LGBT party that is being held at one of the student unions, and as Jon went with Brendon to help get things ready, Ryan said he’d just meet them there. It’s an honest party with no other motives than sex and alcohol, though Ryan is only focusing on the latter.
He can’t remember the last time he got drunk. God, he can’t even remember the last time he got laid. Ryan closes his eyes and focuses on straightening the tie. Sex is overrated. Sex is for animals, and Ryan is an intellectual human-being who is above all of that.
He used to be a bit of a slut. Just a little. Back when he was sixteen and was sure that putting on skinny jeans, too tight t-shirts and showing off his hipbones would be a one-way ticket to happiness and attention. Well, he got attention, and he got laid alright, and for a while, he thought that getting laid meant he was an interesting person. One day, he realised that he didn’t even like himself.
Ryan likes himself now. Or, well... at least he’s not a slut anymore. It’s not about the sex.
“Not about the sex,” Ryan says firmly as he grabs his wallet. The condom that he keeps in one of the pockets is closing in on its expiry date, probably having lost all of its hope by now. Ryan slips the wallet to his back pocket and grabs his jacket. He doesn’t really want to go, but he promised Brendon.
Spencer walks into the flat just as Ryan is heading out. “How’s the craic?” Ryan asks distractedly, feeling his pockets to make sure he has his wallet, keys, phone. Spencer lifts his gaze to Ryan, and Ryan stops. Spencer looks shaken up and pale. Spencer looks devastated.
“We broke up.”
“What?”
“Just... Just now. We...” Spencer swallows. “We decided to split up.”
Oh shit.
“Are ye... Are ye sure yez didn’t just fight, or...” Ryan trails off, having no idea what to say. What can he say to that?
“No, we- we definitely broke up,” Spencer says, and it comes out choked. Spencer looks lost by the door, like even he has no idea what the hell has just happened.
Jon and Brendon both hang out with Spencer a great deal; they probably know a lot more about Haley and Spencer – Ryan wasn’t even aware the two were having problems, if they were. Ryan’s busy, always busy, constantly busy. “Um...” he begins. “Do ye... want to talk about it?”
It was different with Patrick and Brendon because Ryan knew all about that relationship and had wanted them to break up since day one. He had been waiting to enclose Brendon in his loving embrace and make all the memories of that idiot Patrick vanish into thin air, and he is pretty sure he succeeded in that. But Spencer? He’s known the guy for a few months, and Spencer’s been with Haley (was with Haley, he corrects) for a couple of years at least. Ryan is out of his league.
“I’m fine,” Spencer says, but it sounds like ‘It hurts so fucking much, I have no idea what to do’.
“Right,” Ryan mutters as Spencer heads for the couch and slumps down on it. Spencer buries his face in his hands, and Ryan looks at the front door longingly. If he just sneaks out and lets Spencer wallow on his own...
“Why are we breaking up? I mean, I fucking love her. This makes no sense, this –” Spencer pauses as the words pour out like an avalanche, filled with anguish.
Ryan gives in. He says, “Look, uh... I’ll make us some tea.” Tea always helps.
Spencer whispers a tired, “Thanks.”
When Ryan is waiting for the kettle to bring the water to boil, he texts Brendon a quick S n his mot split, he’s upset so i’m keepin him company. sorry 2 cancel. u guys have fun, i’ve got this.
Spencer seems to be holding up a bit better when Ryan goes back with two mugs of Earl Grey. Spencer stares into the distance, and Ryan doesn’t ask any questions. In the end, Spencer talks about Moscow, and Ryan talks about his research. Spencer’s usually lively eyes are dead. He excuses himself rather quickly, thanking Ryan again and going to bed. Well... that wasn’t very productive.
Ryan could still go to the party, but he only goes to bed instead. He jerks off in a practiced manner, just something to help him sleep.
He doesn’t hear Jon and Brendon coming back in the wee hours of the morning.
Spencer is fine. Really, he is fine. Shocked, yes. Well, he is shocked. He and Haley, they were supposed to get married and have kids and dogs and each other and happiness. All that shite. They were supposed to do all that, but Spencer has known it was coming. He knew it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Haley needed to say it first, because then he didn’t initiate it, let anyone down. He wouldn’t be the bad guy. She only had to say, “This isn’t working out.” And if she said it, it wouldn’t be Spencer’s fault; he wouldn’t be the asshole. Well, she said it, and he agreed. And she cried and he cried, and then they hugged and he went home, and... now they’re not together anymore.
What the fuck happened? It wasn’t supposed to go like that.
They met at a party. Haley had just started uni, Spencer instead already had one year on him. They were both a bit drunk and instantly ended up in the sack. On the morning after Spencer asked if she would like to do something some time, she said she would, and that was that. He fell madly in love with her, and because he felt so damn sure about it, they decided to still be together despite Spencer going to Moscow for a year. It was hard and he missed her, and they spent hours on Skype with the line crackling and breaking, Spencer banging and cursing at his laptop in Russian. Awkward phone sex, long emails, sending each other silly things in the mail, Haley visiting during the Christmas holidays. Spencer stayed the summer too though he wasn’t supposed to, and Haley was upset about it, but they talked it through. And when Spencer came back, she was beaming like the sun, and she was still just as stunning, and they went to Haley’s and spent the first fifteen hours taking turns between making love and sleeping.
Fifteen hours to cover up that they weren’t the same anymore.
Brendon bakes Spencer cupcakes. “I’m fine,” Spencer says as he pokes the one in his hand, sucking the frosting off his finger. “Peeople break up. It happens.” He tries to shrug, but he doesn’t have the energy.
Brendon nods and shows he is listening. It’s been a few days, and Spencer looks worse by the day. Spencer is acting like nothing happened, though he is obviously falling apart.
“I mean, I can’t believe it,” Spencer cuts in. “I can’t believe that it haappened. I’m fine, though. Just great. Lush.”
“Have another cupcake,” Brendon offers, and Spencer complies.
Jon ended up popping pills in the LGBT party on top of drinking enough to make his liver beg for mercy, and he has been trying to get back on top of things since. When he went for his lab practical the morning after, he had still been fucked out of his mind. Jon is therefore a bit late on doing his share for the benefit of Spencer Smith’s shattered heart. Spencer is antisocial and acts like he has died, and really. Spencer is only walking proof to Jon’s theory of relationships being fabrications. If Spencer and Haley had just made a deal to have fun for however long it lasts, then no one would be moping around right now.
“Spence, mate, this has got tae stop,” Jon says firmly when he stomps into Spencer’s room. Spencer is lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Robert Smith is wailing through the speakers, and Jon doesn’t want to listen to that bipolar fucker. Maybe Spencer’s related? Would definitely explain this wallowing in misery thing. “Spence, it’s Friday night. Ye ken whut that means? Yir first Friday as a single man. We’re goin out n getting fuckin drunk, that’s whut we’re doin.”
“Nyet spasiba.”
Jon stares. “Was ah askin? Naw. So git the fuck up, ye’ve got ten minutes.”
Jon walks out of the room, and Spencer only sighs and stares at the ceiling some more. He doesn’t want to socialise or talk to anyone. He wants to be alone.
That’s not true. Not alone, he... he misses Haley. It’s so stupid. They break up, and suddenly, he’s supposed to just stop caring about her. That’s so stupid. He wants to talk to her about things. It’s been days of no contact at all, and he hasn’t done that in years. From the day they met, they had some contact every damn day. Every day for over two years, and now, there’s this big void Spencer has no idea how to fill. God, it fucking aches.
He should call her. Just to make sure she’s okay, that’s she’s doing alright. What if she’s waiting for him to call her?
Spencer takes in a calming breath and reaches for his phone. She’s still on his speed dial. What’s the harm in calling? Really?
Jon and Brendon are waiting for Spencer in the living room, not wanting to pressure Spencer too much. Jon checks his phone to see that it has definitely been ten minutes now. “I don’t think he’s coming,” Brendon says, smiling sadly.
“Aye. It’s probably tae soon,” Jon admits.
Just then, Spencer walks out of his room. He’s changed his clothes to a pair of black jeans, a yellow t-shirt with a black waistcoat he’s left open.
“Right, let’s go,” Spencer says, an angry undertone to his words. Brendon and Jon exchange surprised looks, but Jon just shrugs.
“I mean, what the actual fuck?” Spencer snaps at them both. He finishes the rest of his drink and bangs the glass on the table. “That Marilyn girl’s a cunt,” he hisses angrily, voice loud to beat the music of the club they’re at. “A fucking cunt! I wants to talk to Hales, but she fucking tells me I can’t! ‘Ew broke her heart, Spencer. She doesn’t want to talk to ew’,” he repeats, anger making him curl his hands into fists. “It’s none of her fucking business! Fuck!”
Brendon, for his own amusement, is counting swear words. Spencer’s doing alright – thirty-seven since Brendon started counting five minutes ago.
“Ah agree. Haley’s friend should fuck off,” Jon nods. He’s as drunk as Spencer is. Brendon hasn’t had as much since he knows someone has to make sure they get home.
“I can’t believe she didn’t want to talk to us,” Spencer says in complete disbelief. Two years, and this is it? This is the glorious end? And he broke her heart? Well, that was news to him! What about his heart? What about the things Haley did?
That’s the thing, though. She never did anything. And Spencer is pretty sure he didn’t do anything either. Maybe that’s the problem. “Women!” he snaps angrily, and Jon and Brendon hum loudly in agreement.
If she no longer cares, then he won’t either. Fuck it. He is moving on. He’s like Kelly fucking Clarkson – he is so moving on. “Here goes,” he says angrily, and as he gets up and heads over to a group of easy looking girls, he feels like he is taking control of his life. He’s going to fucking show Haley.
Brendon and Jon are slightly stunned when, approximately six minutes later, Spencer is successfully making out with one of the girls.
Brendon scratches his cheek slightly. “Not wasting time, is he?”
“Nope,” Jon confirms. Spencer is beyond drunk, but so is everyone else. It’s what they do in clubs like those. Brendon feels embarrassed for both Spencer and Haley because a week ago Spencer wouldn’t have done that. It’s amazing how little it takes to destroy a long-term relationship and forget about the good times.
Brendon feels pointless now that Spencer has found a way to deal.
“Did ye tell Ryan aboot the party?” Jon asks, his eyes a bit glassy.
“Huh?”
“LGBT party. Aboot Patrick.”
“No,” Brendon says and shakes his head. “Nothing to tell.”
Jon just shrugs and goes to get them more drinks. Spencer saunters over, clutching the hand of a blonde girl he’s known for... twenty minutes? Brendon’s not sure. She looks nothing like Haley, and Brendon figures that’s the point.
“I’m off. I’ll see ews tomorrow,” Spencer says with a grin, and oh. Well.
“Sure,” Brendon says.
Haley and Spencer seemed happy. They were cute together. Brendon watches Spencer leave the club with the girl, and it makes him feel cheated.
So much for eternal love.
Part Three
