Title: Sweat the Battle Before the Battle Sweats You
Author: Marianna [insunshine]
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Spencer, Brendon, Ryan, Jon, Haley [Spencer/Mouse, past!Spencer/Haley].
Word Count: 3102
Summary: Ryan says: "Brendon's in love with you, you know," and Spencer spits his coffee out everywhere.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Spencer Smith, Brendon Urie, Ryan Ross or Jon Walker. I don't like to think about it.
Author Notes: Oh god. This fic. This fic hates me, and I hate it, and we sort of have that love/hate thing going on where some of my favorite lines that I've ever written are in here, but also, like. I think it sucks. So, really, it's up to you to decide. Because I can't. Major, major, COULD NOT HAVE BEEN FINISHED thanks go to: provetheworst, kueble, fallingfortruth, disarm_d, the_staci and xthebackseatx. God, this fic is a mess, but if ANY part of it is worthwhile, it is all due to these ladies and all of the hand holding they did. Thanks, guys. God, I love my friends. Also! Written in part for the 9.16.07 we_are_cities prompt.



zero.

Spencer doesn't think about it.

If Brendon's smiles are a little softer when they're angled towards him, if Brendon hugs him harder and laces their fingers together more tightly, if it's more than it is with anyone else -- Spencer doesn't think about it.

It's easier not to.



one.


Ryan says:

"Brendon's in love with you, you know," and Spencer spits his coffee out everywhere.

They're in Ryan's kitchen, newly remodeled, with shiny chrome fixtures everywhere. Ryan loves it, loves how stark it feels, loves the steel and the strength.

Spencer feels like it's closing in on him, like everything is, and he can't breathe, even as he's straightening himself out, even as he's taking another sip.

"Could you pass me the creamer?" It's a cop out. It's such a cop out, and Spencer, god, out of everyone, Spencer knows that it's a fucking cop out, but it's not like he can talk about this right now. It's not like he can talk about this with Ryan of all people.

"Not talking about isn't going to make it go away. I mean, logically speaking, Spence, it hasn't gone away for years. Maybe I should have said still." Ryan mutters sagely, and Spencer looks up because he's so startled. It's not that he's surprised -- Ryan has hidden layers and depths, Spencer doesn't doubt it, but a wise advice-giver he is not. Something tightens in Spencer's stomach.

"Maybe I don't want it to go away," Spencer hisses, and he regrets his word choice before the sounds have even passed his lips. He didn't -- it doesn't even matter if he meant the words like they came out, it doesn't. He shouldn't have said them, and Ryan shouldn't have heard them, because now he'll never let this go, and Spencer is going to be stuck with him for the next four and a half months.

He really doesn't want this to be an issue to deal with during the new tour.

"I didn't -- "

"Uh uh, Spence, you can't take it back now." Ryan's smiling in earnest, pushing his hair back behind his ears where it's gotten long, and grinning, wide and bright and happy. Spencer has known Ryan for just twenty years, now and that look still takes some getting used to.

"I really don't want to talk about this," Spencer mutters tightly, and he's got to look away because Ryan is just beaming, shiny and bright like the fucking sun and Spencer just.

It's not something he generally let's himself think about, end of story.

--

Ryan ends up refusing to share his creamer until Spencer quote, unquote fesses up on his big gay crush on Brendon, oh my god, and Spencer refuses to talk about it. It's just not anyone's business but his own, and maybe Brendon's, but since Brendon is never going to know this conversation took place, just his own, so. So he ends up leaving, coffee lukewarm on Ryan's clean-to-the-point-of-insanity kitchen table.

He walks, even though he drove, even though he doesn't really have anywhere to go, and although this is Las Vegas, the air is crisp, and he likes the way it feels as it whips around his shoulders.

His phone rings twice, and the first ring is Ryan's tone so he doesn't bother to answer. This isn't a fight -- they haven't actually fought in years, this is barely a blip on the radar screen as far as Ryan's concerned, and Spencer knows what's he's going to say, anyway. You forgot your coffee and your car. Please don't tell me that you're walking. Call me back, Spencer Smith.

Spencer will. He knows he will. He just.

The Brendon thing is. Something, maybe?

The thing is, Brendon is just --

Calling him right now, apparently.

Spencer doesn't really appreciate the irony and debates not answering, although he knows Brendon will just keep dialing and dialing, until either Spencer gets the message or someone else calls him, and Spencer really isn't looking forward to another message on his answering machine that he'll have to fight his fingers not to save.

"Yeah?"

"Spencer Smith!" Brendon's voice is cheerful and as happy as it always is. Spencer does not, under any circumstances close his eyes and picture him. He does not. He is walking home. He is on the street. There are cars. Closing his eyes would be kind of ridiculous, not to mention extremely unsafe.

"Uh. Hey. Hey, Brendon."

"Ryan says you stormed out." Spencer can see Brendon bouncing. In his head he can see him, clear as day, sitting on one of the plush cushions layered over the wicker chairs in his kitchen. He can't even be mad. He can even get some righteous indignation raised, even though he's kind of entitled. He can't even.

He has to stop moving, because his eyes are closing -- involuntarily, and it would be really dumb to walk into on coming traffic with his phone plastered to his ear and his eyes closed, like a dumbass.

Spencer, apparently, is the biggest dumbass on the planet, because he leans against the concrete wall lining someone's yard and keeps his eyes closed, letting Brendon's voice sweep over him.

This doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't.



two.

They'd kissed exactly once.

Brendon was drunk. Of course he was, Spencer wouldn't have allowed it any other way. Spencer isn't as much of a control freak as people think he is, he isn't, but like.

He just. Wouldn't have allowed it any other way.

--

"Spencer, Spencer, James! Spencer James Smith the FIFTH!" Brendon's giggling. His eyes are bright, he's a handsy drunk, and it's Spencer's turn, third in rotation always in the early days and even though Brendon's adorable -- and Spencer can admit that, he can, because it's true, he's also a mess, and it's late.

Spencer, while not a bitch, and certainly not a control freak and not a whole slew of fucking things, likes his sleep. He likes his sleep when he can get it, and. And.

And he's not paying attention, obviously, walking backwards, trying to keep Brendon straight but apparently not taking enough care, because Brendon trips over something, probably nothing -- Brendon could trip over fucking air if he was drunk enough, and his hands tumble onto Spencer's shoulders, digging into his skin through the thin material of his sleepshirt.

"Spencer Smith," He whispers, and the moon is shifting into the room softly, barely twisting in through the spaces of the window blinds, so Spencer can see his face, but barely. His eyes are huge. "Spencer Smith." And then he leans forward and up on his tip toes and presses their lips together.

Spencer, in a probably-not-so-shocking-at-this-point, turn of events, kisses him back.

Spencer can admit it to himself -- later, not right away, he couldn't even look at Brendon right afterwards, right when they'd pulled apart, and Brendon's eyes had stayed closed, and his lips had stayed pursed. Spencer could barely breathe at the sight of him.

Later, though, later, when Brendon isn't so close, when he's inches and feet and bunk curtains and an entire kit away, Spencer can admit it.



three.

They've never never talked about it. It's been seven years, and they've never talked about it.

Spencer knows it's kind of insane, OK? He doesn't need to have it reiterated. Plus, it's not like. He's not like, a girl or anything, he doesn't think about it as like, The Kiss or something stupid like that. He doesn't, except for how he sometimes has to, because they've only ever had one.

And it's fine, it's OK, except for how they don't ever talk about it, and it's been so long that the statute of limitations of fucking bringing things up has passed.

If he was supposed to -- if they were supposed to, Spencer would have found it in himself to say something. He didn't. And he and Brendon are fine. More than fine.

It's fine.

--

They're sharing a room tonight, for the last two hotel stays of the tour, actually, and it's driving Spencer a little crazy inside, because Brendon is fine. Brendon is the one who's supposedly in love with him, and he's sleeping easily on the next bed over, snoring like everything is fine.

Everything is fine. It is. It's fine, except for how it's not.

--

"Are you gonna keep staring at me?" Spencer has been staring at Brendon's back for the past forty-five minutes. Brendon's eyes are closed, and the covers are pulled up to his chin, and he looks snug, and comfortable and all of five years old instead of almost twenty-six, and something twists in Spencer's stomach.

"'m not staring at you," Spencer mumbles, turning over on his side, even though he was staring. He was. And he has been. And this never gets easier.



four.

They settle into a pattern. It's just easier, when they're home, for Spencer to crash at Brendon's house. It's not like Spencer doesn't have a house. Oh, he has a house. He has The House, the dream house, the one he'd picked, and bought and built up with Haley. He has it. It's still there.

Haley isn't though, and the house stands empty, too full of half finished dreams and memories.

The thing about Brendon, though, is that he isn't like Spencer's parents. Brendon doesn't look at him like a lab rat, doesn't still treat him like he's both a rockstar and a six year old all wrapped into one. Doesn't stare at him, and wring his hands and ask if Spencer got into any trouble on tour, either, which is always a plus.

Brendon's just Brendon, and Ryan has a place too, he does, and it's nice and Spencer knows he's always welcome, but. But when the dust clears, and everything's settled, Spencer stays with Brendon.

It's just what they do.

Ryan just smirks when he hears, muttering something about true love prevailing over all.

Spencer calls bullshit.

--

"It's weird, dude. You've gotta admit, it's a little weird."

"You stay with us. When you're here, you stay with us."

"I don't have a house in Las Vegas, Spencer. It's different."

"Do you want one?"

--

"Hey Spence, I'm thinking we do Mexican for dinner, like, nachos, and tacos, and hey I know how to make emp -- "

Spencer looks at the ground and tries, begs for it to swallow him whole.

"Uh. Hey, Haley. Hi."

"Brendon!" She rushes around the island to hug him, and Spencer closes his eyes, keeping the thoughts away. He doesn't know why he called her. Doesn't know how it is that he managed to convince her to get on an airplane to come and see him all in one day, didn't know that the look on Brendon's face would hurt him so much. "Gosh, hi. How long has it been?"

She's sparkling, and happy and beautiful.

Brendon's paled considerably. Spencer still thinks he looks better.

"Uh. Too long. Way too long. It's good to see you. Spence, I'm uh. I left stuff. In the car. Groceries, so. Uh." He ducks out before Spencer can say anything, and Haley's smiling fondly when she turns back to look at him.

"He looks good!" Spencer grumbles something, and then purposefully doesn't look when Brendon pushes back into the kitchen. "Do you need help with those?" Haley's sweet, and she's smiling softly, and she's got her hand hooked over Spencer's shoulder, just splaying her fingers over his back.

Spencer feels like he's suffocating.

"Uh. No. I'm fine. Actually I, uh. I'm just gonna leave them here. There's nothing that'll spoil, and plus, having groceries in paper bags makes me feel more organized. It takes away that one pesky step, and you're good to go." Haley keeps smiling, but one of her brows is quirked, and she giggles breathily. "Anyway, I have. I forgot. I have a thing. I'm having dinner with one of my brothers, and I just," He shrugs, self deprecatingly. "Forgot. You know how it is."

Haley smiles again, and tilts her head against Spencer's shoulder. Her hand is still there, anchoring him down, keeping him there, and for a second, Spencer's vision blurs.

He hadn't expected this.

--

Brendon won't talk to him in the morning, which is pretty par for the course, considering Spencer generally doesn't do much talking without at least three cups of black coffee down his throat and a danish or two.

When Spencer sits at the table now, Brendon won't look at him. He's not even pretending to do something else, just staring down at his cup, his own folded square of newspaper. Spencer knows he isn't reading though, knows because Brendon's lips move when he reads.

They're pinched now; tight and close together.

Spencer knows the feeling, his stomach is in knots.

"Are we going to do this now?" He doesn't even realize that he's the one speaking until Brendon is blinking up at him.

Fuck.

"I wasn't doing anything, Spencer." Even his voice is sad, low and hurt, and god. Spencer has to close his eyes, can't look at his face. Can't.

"You're mad at me." His voice is a whine, and Spencer is glad that his eyes are closed, glad that he can't see Brendon's face, glad that this isn't another thing on the long list between them.

Brendon sighs, and Spencer can feel it.

He doesn't know when it got this hard, sitting so close together.

"I'm not mad at you, Spence." Spencer's eyes fly open, because what? Seriously now, what?

"You aren't." Brendon shakes his head, but his eyes are still staring down at the table, boring a hole through it.

Spencer just misses his smile.

"I just. I'm sorry, OK?"

Brendon's lips quirk, and it's not a smile, it isn't even close, but it's something, and the evil thing that lives coiled tight around Spencer's throat starts to loosen a little.

"OK." He's nodding, and Spencer knows it doesn't mean anything, Spencer knows it doesn't count for very much at all, but it's something. It's a start.

Brendon starts to get up, half bent above his seat and gathering together his clutter, and the look on his face is focused, and not serene, exactly, but not as tense, and he just. Spencer really, really misses his smile.

He says as much.

"What?"

Color floods his cheeks, staining them from the outside in, and everything inside his chest feels jumbled, awkward and clumsy.

"You shouldn't ever not be smiling."

Brendon's face falls, and Spencer can't figure out what he did wrong, can't figure out what the problem is. Brendon's hands are clenching and unclenching on the sheet of newsprint, and his eyes are trained on the table's place settings.

"I have to -- " He gestures over his shoulder, and Spencer nods, because he should go too. Haley goes back to the airport today, goes home -- where she belongs, maybe, and now there are more questions left unanswered and a whole new set of hurt, guileless eyes. "Why did you bring her out here?"

Spencer blinks.

"Why did you bring her here?" He clears his throat, and the words are soft, but they dig into Spencer's skin, lodging themselves there.

"I." There aren't any answers, not real ones; not ones Spencer knows how to say. "I don't know."

Brendon nods, and it's good enough, sort of.

It's enough, anyway.



five.

They settle into a routine again, even though they probably shouldn't.

Even though it isn't healthy for either of them.

Spencer goes to bed every night vowing to leave in the morning, to make a plan to, to give Brendon a head's up at least. Something.

He never does.

--

"Brendon is still in love with you," Ryan mutters one morning over expensive coffee and cheese danishes.

Spencer chokes on air.

"He is not."

Ryan rolls his eyes.

"If I'm right will you give me a pony?"

Spencer'd had a feeling that leaving his car at Brendon's would be a smart idea, so he walked coming; walking his way back can't be any worse. It starts to rain on the way back, a light drizzle that dances across his shoulders and makes his feet hitting the pavement sound all that much louder. It helps, because the entire way back, he can't hear Ryan's laughter ringing in his ears.

He counts it as a plus.

--

"Did you walk from Ryan's? Again?" Brendon is cooking something -- the house smells delicious, warm and homey, and after he steps out of his shoes -- god, they're probably ruined and shrugs off his soaking wet hoodie, he slinks into the kitchen, mouth watering.

The table isn't set or anything. That would be lame. There aren't candles or flowers or coasters.

Brendon is spooning spaghetti into a bowl, and even though he grins when he sees Spencer, his eyes are still reserved.

Spencer doesn't blame him.

"Yeah, I did. Had a feeling he'd piss me off." He smirks a little bit, but Brendon's face remains impassive. "This smells great, Bren." Brendon nods, washing his hands in the sink , his back to Spencer, and it's just.

"Thanks."

Brendon settles down across from him, pushing the ceramic bowl towards Spencer.

"C'mon, this'll warm you up. You look soaked all the way through." Their fingers brush as Brendon hands him the container of sauce, and it's like there are electric currents zooming up and down his arms.

God.

"So Ryan says you're in love with me." Brendon blinks. And then he blinks again.

A third time for good measure, and Spencer's heart is beating so fast he can practically feel it, slamming against his ribs.

"Um."

"I just." Spencer doesn't do this. Spencer doesn't talk about his feelings or prod people about theirs, Spencer doesn't get emotionally involved, especially if ... especially if it'll fuck with his band, and oh god, his band. The band.

He feels like he's going to throw up, and the room is spinning because he's so dizzy.

"If you aren't, or if you don't, or if you were, but you aren't anymore. I just. I need to know, Brendon." He never talks this much. He says as much, hoping for something, a quirk to Brendon's lips, a smile, something, but the mask on Brendon's face is frozen.

"I don't." Spencer's stomach clenches. "I don't know what you want me to say to that, Spence."

Spencer doesn't know what makes him do it, he's an idiot, maybe, probably, yes. But.

He kisses Brendon.

--

Brendon kisses back.