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Spencer moved across the country for his job and was down on a place to stay. Lucky for him, his best friend had moved there a few years back and he practically begged Brendon to let him crash there until he could get his own place. He didn’t really need to beg, Brendon said yes after the first time but Spencer kept asking, kept needing reassurance that it was okay.
“What about your boyfriend?” He’d asked Brendon one night on the phone, trying to figure out how that would work.
“Please, you won’t even know he’s there, super quiet,” Brendon had said.
Spencer didn’t hear Dallon talk much but the two of them were very loud when it came to behind closed doors.
What Spencer was shocked about was how the two of them lived.
He came to their place first and found them in their boxers on the ratty sofa, eating off of frisbees and out of pans. Spencer thought it was some elaborate joke at first, maybe to make him feel better about his temporary homelessness but when it went on for a week and then another week, he realized that they actually lived like that. He couldn’t imagine how that was possible. They both had paying jobs, obviously, since they rented a small home together. He thought maybe their family was helping them out since after all, they were all college dropouts with minimum wage jobs. Save for Spencer, he was just trying to establish his new life without much pre-planning.
“This is ridiculous,” he said, walking into the makeshift living room that was basically empty and void of any personal attachment. Brendon and Dallon looked at him like he was nuts, trying to figure out what they might have done.
“Huh?” Brendon asked, bringing his face down to the pan instead of using a utensil (Spencer assumed it was because they didn’t have any).
“How do you guys live like this? I’m making you a list, go buy some actual house stuff,” he said and the two just shrugged.
That was how they ended up in Bed, Bath, and Beyond with a hefty list of things to buy. They stared at the list, wrinkling their nose at some of the items.
“A blender? What does he think, we’re gonna actually make something healthy?” Dallon muttered, rolling his eyes. They started down the aisles, looking up at the walls that have things and gadgets hanging from them.
They’d gotten as far as a set of silverware in their cart before Dallon stopped in the middle of the aisle, barely noticing when Brendon accidentally ran the cart into him.
“Babe,” Dallon said, eyes wide as he pointed at a centerpiece of As Seen On TV items. They weren’t anything useful for the two of them. They didn’t need a mirror that lit up because neither of them had an interest in makeup. It would sit on their counter in the bathroom and never get touched. Yet it still ended up in the cart, along with every other product on the shelves.
They didn’t stop until the cart was full, topped off with two water guns that promised more blast for their buck. They were in a checkout line, waiting to pay. Brendon wanted all of the quirky items, wanted them for shits and giggles, because one day it might be useful, but he also knew that they lived like pigs most of the time. They didn’t own a single plate and that had to be the first Don’t in a book on Living On Your Own 101.
“We should actually get stuff for our home,” Brendon said with a sigh, looking down at their own shopping cart and the person’s in front of theirs. One was filled with items that probably would only work right once and the other had towels and silverware, plates and cups. Useful items that every household needed. Dallon just pouted at the suggestion, between that and looking a little stunned that Brendon of all people would suggest the mature solution.
“What?” Dallon asked incredulously. Brendon shrugged, pulling the list of items that Spencer had given them. Not a single thing was checked off. Besides a question mark by the blender because maybe they had gotten something similar. They weren’t sure the difference.
They were quiet for a moment, not moving forward when the line did.
“I don’t want to be a boring adult,” Dallon whispered, frowning as Brendon took the cart and pulled them out of line, heading back to the stand to return stuff. He could hear the disappointment in Dallon’s voice, felt it in his chest. “I liked how we were.”
It killed Brendon to hear Dallon say that. He wanted to keep living like homeless slobs under a roof, wanted to just live their lives but he knew that they’d be more comfortable, that they’d actually have a home instead of what at times felt like a play pen.
There was a certain rage that came with it. Something about how angry he was with Spencer for suggesting they change, like buying plates might change their relationship. His rage was silly. Him and Dallon wouldn’t leave each other over something as minor as some silverware but Dallon had a point. They were happy, why change? But with that rage was a sensible understanding. They were adults. They needed to act like it at times. They needed to actually eat off of plates with forks rather than hands and licking their fingers. His own mother refused to visit their place because she was appalled the first time.
“I swear to God, I love you but sometimes you’re dumb,” Brendon said, the rage seeping into his voice as he pushed the cart away. Dallon stumbled after him, confused and stuttering over what. He walked up to Brendon who was picking out plates in an aisle, frowning, thinking.
“What?” Dallon asked again, his voice shaking with the confusion and sudden sadness because he was worried that he went too far, acted too childish.
“If you think that because we buy some plates and forks that I’m not gonna also buy that squirt gun and wake you up in your sleep with it then you’re dumb as hell,” he said, turning around to face Dallon. The taller man looked confused and then angry and finally relieved. He pulled Brendon into a hug, burying his face into Brendon’s hair. The tension left both of their bodies and they did what Spencer asked.
None of their plates or bowls or glasses matched. Dallon made sure of it. He wanted to keep some semblance of their messed up household and he absolutely refused to get the matching blue bowls to go with the matching blue plates. Brendon didn’t mind. Colorful was fine with him.
They checked out and took everything home, leaving it in the car for a moment. They knew Spencer would be there waiting to see if they’d actually been adults or if he’d have to do it himself. They made a pit stop at a gas station, filling the water guns, grinning and giggling as they planned their attack on the unsuspecting (or maybe all too expecting) Spencer.
When they walked in the front door, they weren’t shocked to find Spencer there waiting for them. The quirk in his eyebrow showed them that they were right. His faith in them being adults was slim to none. Maybe for good reason.
“Did you get what I ask-” Spencer started, cutting off mid sentence when he was suddenly being sprayed with water, Brendon and Dallon yelling at the top of their lungs as they attacked. When they stopped, Spencer didn’t even look mad, just disappointed. Not in the two of them, in himself. He knew that it was going to be a lost cause. All he had to do was take one look around the place and he knew that what he asked would never happen.
“I wish I could say I was surprised,” he said, sighing and tugging his drenched shirt off.
They did bring in the rest of the bags, water guns tucked under their elbows because Spencer would confiscate if he got the chance. Spencer was annoyed with their choices of kitchenware, asked how they could live like that, but didn’t dwell too much because at least now he could eat off of a plate.
But the water guns were there to stay. Brendon made sure of that. They made a deal to leave Spencer out of it but Brendon and Dallon? Any and all times were a possibility.
Specifically when Dallon was sleeping.
Brendon admired him for a moment. His boy face down on their bed, drool at the corner of his mouth. His hair stuck up from tossing and turning through the night, clad only in boxers and fuzzy socks that went up to his knees. Brendon loved how peaceful he looked, wished he could curl up next to Dallon and sleep away the day with him. But in his hands was a water gun full of water and his finger on the trigger just waiting for the best time. He raised the gun and pointed it at Dallon, a constant stream of water.
Dallon woke up with a start, water in his eyes temporarily blinding him. He tried to yell at Brendon to stop but that didn’t work out well for him.
“Your gun is in the bathroom, prepare for war,” Brendon said, running from the room, cackling as he did. Dallon could hear the kitchen sink flip on as Brendon refilled.
“You better have filled mine!” Dallon yelled, trying to get out of bed, tripping in the sheets and landing on the floor.
His gun was not filled.
Their battle was epic, the two of them in nothing but boxers and socks, sliding on the linoleum floors as they darted around corners, soaking each other from head to toe until they were a mess on the floor of puddles and giggles.
Spencer came home to find them shivering on the floor, still laughing. He shook his head and deemed it a lost cause.
“I’m moving out.”