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It’s the typeface that makes Spencer do a double take. Not many band notices use comic sans-it doesn’t exactly scream rock star.

Panic!

Are looking for a drummer for gigging and music making
Must have own kit
Previous applicants can apply

Except Graham

Call Ryan on 555 78631099

Spencer's running late for his economics class, but Bob's been giving him shit all summer about needing to get back into the swing of things after The Interrobangs broke up. Plus, drumming’s always more fun if you have a band to jam with, so he rips off one of the numbers at the bottom of the paper and slides into the lecture hall ten minutes late.

At the back of his mind he wonders just what Graham did.

He calls Ryan between his last class and his shift at work.

"You have your own kit?" is the first thing Ryan asks.

"Um," Spencer says, tucking his phone under his ear as he tugs his fingerless gloves on. "Mostly?" The high hat is actually Bob's but he has like a million of them, and won't miss one. Spencer hopes so, anyway.

"Cool," Ryan says. "We're kind of doing like, an open audition on Sunday? In the practice space out on Delano drive."

"Cool," Spencer says, “I'll see you there, I guess."

He hasn’t heard of Panic! He means to ask Bob but the guy's disappeared god knows where, so on Sunday he just breaks the kit down, loads it into the back of car for the short drive over to Delano.

When he gets there he finds.....chaos. It's the only word for it, really. There’s a couple of guitars leaning against their amps, a keyboard and about three quarters of a kit pushed way back in the corner. A small straggle of guys (and one girl) sit on the floor, leaning against the wall, and given the girl’s 'drummers do it with rhythm' patch on her backpack, he guesses they are also there to audition.

"Any of you Ryan?" he asks the room in general.

"Guy with the ruffles," the guy in a grey newsboy cap says, jerking his head. He's tapping his sticks idly against his thigh.

Spencer follows the head jerk and sees a tall spindly boy in, yes, ruffles, having some sort of in depth conversation with another, shorter guy with dark hair, and another guy with his hip hitched onto a battered table, who appears to be wearing flip-flops.

"How long you been waiting?" Spencer asked. Hat-guy just rolls his eyes in answer.

"Hey!!" Spencer calls, and then strides over. Seriously if they can’t organize a dammed audition he's not even sure he wants to play with them.

Then he gets a better look at the guy Ryan is talking to and maybe changes his mind.

"Hey," he repeats, tearing his eyes away from that brilliant smile. "We're all kind of waiting, you know?"

Ryan turns his head and glances over his shoulder, eyebrows lifting slightly like he’s surprised to see the people sitting along the wall. “Right,” he says flatly. “Yeah, we’re just.” His fingers dance over the neck of his guitar.

“Sorry,” says the other guy, the one with the smile that’s making Spencer’s knees watery. “Yeah, we’re getting there. Ryan’s just a little...” He trails off and shrugs, smiling again. “He’s a little Ryan.”

Spencer nods, like that makes any kind of sense. “I’m Spencer.”

“Brendon,” he says, holding out a hand. “This is Jon.”

“Spencer,” Spencer says again, and thinks about jabbing himself in the eye with his sticks. It’s just nerves, he tells himself. He hasn’t played in front of anyone except Bob in ages.

Brendon's deep in conversation with guy in the hat-Patrick, Spencer remembers-and he’s waving his arms and looking very excited. Spencer’s kind of sure they are just going to ask him to be their drummer, nevermind the rest of the auditions. Whatever. Spencer’s totally taking his hi hat back if that is the case. There’s the sound of the door swinging heavily open and a guy - short, tattooed, with a purple streak through his bangs- pushes past Spencer and flings himself on Patrick, who staggers slightly but automatically steadies him like it’s something he does all the time.

“I have to ask what your intentions are toward my Patrick,” he says.

Patrick sighs, “Pete,” but doesn’t shove him away, like Spencer would have.

Or maybe not. Guy’s pretty, if seemingly insane.

“We.....need a drummer,” Ryan said, looking confused. “And he’s good. so,”

“He’s not just a drummer,” Pete says, stubbornly. “He’s my muse. And he’s already IN a band.”

“For the last time,” Patrick says, rubbing his forehead under the cap “Me, you and your ego does not make a band”

“It’s a start,” Pete says, unrepentant.

“What if I don’t want to sing? You think of that? What if I just want to play the drums?” Patrick says.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Pete still hasn’t let him go.

“Hey,” Ryan says. “If this is going to cause a problem, we’ll find someone else.”

“Yeah,” Jon pipe up. “Stealing another band’s drummer. Not on. Not even Graham would do that.”

Graham again, Spencer thinks.

Pete is whispering something into Patrick’s ear that must be both dirty and convincing because he pinks up slightly and says “Good luck finding someone guys,” before he’s being dragged out of the space.

It’s kind of par for the course for these auditions, really.

“Hey,” Ryan’s standing in front of him, looking slightly awkward. “You ready?”

“Yep.” Spencer stands and stretches, legs cramped from sitting on the floor. “The same song as everyone else, right?”

“Oh, you heard it?”

“I’ve been sitting here for the past two hours, dude,” Spencer reminds him. If he never hears Journey again it will be too soon.

“I’m bored of that one.” Brendon bounces up. “Let new guy pick something.”

“Spencer,” Spencer reminds him.

“Let Spencer pick something.” Brendon repeats.

Spencer settles himself behind the kit and thinks.

“Black Dog?” he suggests.

“Nice.” Brendon grins back at him and Spencer feels a pull to his gut. It’s nothing compare to what he feels when the first few lines of the song ring out in Brendon’s clear voice, but he pulls himself together enough to come in with the drum part, and then they’re off, and just as always, there’s not a feeling like it. He finishes off with a clash of cymbals and lays the sticks down on the snare as the chords slowly fade.

“Oh,” Brendon says, without even looking at the other two. “We’re keeping you.” He launches into the chorus of Baba O’Reilly, and when Spencer picks up the beat, Brendon throws a grin over his shoulder, and just like that, Spencer has a band.

It takes Spencer approximately 72 hours to understand why the auditions were such an enormous clusterfuck. The guys in the band are great, but Brendon has the attention span of a two year old jacked up on M&Ms and Ryan seems to exist in a world that happens almost entirely inside his own head. The second time Ryan calls him up to bitch him out for missing a practice that only Ryan knows about, Spencer demands that they all print out the course schedules, which he uses to work up a practice schedule that he tapes up in their rehearsal space and types into everyone’s phones

Brendon beams at him and says, “Spencer Smith, where have you been all my life?”

Spencer wonders the same thing.

“So hey, what’s the deal with Graham?” Spencer asks one day after practice. Ryan is laying his guitar carefully in the case, and has his back to Spencer, but he can see his shoulders stiffen slightly. His face is hard to read, but he gives more away than he thinks.

“We don’t talk about Graham,” he says, standing up and pushing his hair out of his face.

“I know,” Spencer says, “That’s why I’m asking. I don’t want to do whatever he did.”

“You won’t,” Ryan says. “Or you better not. We don’t need another Graham.” He pinches his lips tight together as Brendon comes bouncing over.

“You talking about Graham?” Brendon asks, and his normal smile falters slightly, and Spencer thinks oh.

“No,” Ryan says, and pats him on the arm “Come on, Spencer’s buying us all burgers.”

“I am?” Spencer says, put out.

“Newest person buys, them’s the rules,” Jon says, tugging his hoodie on.

Brendon starts chattering on about how Casey’s on the far side of campus has the best fries ever, and Ryan just gives Spencer a very easy-to-read look that says drop it, so Spencer does.

He thinks he has an idea of what Graham did, anyway. Or, rather, who.

Its the only explanation, really. Ryan’s fierce protectiveness of Brendon, the way Jon always changes the subject. Graham must have fucked Brendon over, and they kicked him out of the band. Spencer figures it must have been pretty bad for them all to even refuse to talk about it. Relationships between band members are never a good idea, Spencer knows, and as he walks quickly to catch up with the other three he promises himself that he’s not going to make the same mistake. He’s seen too many bands go to hell because of stuff like this. He already likes the band, likes the guys, and he’s not going to put that at risk.

Brendon doesn’t make that easy, though. He’s gorgeous and talented and has apparently no concept of personal space. And suddenly, he’s everywhere. Spencer doesn’t know how he missed him before. He’s not in any of the same classes as Brendon, but he keeps bumping into him at the library, in the line for the laundromat, sitting out on campus despite the chill in the air, or playing pool at the Student Union. Brendon calls him over then with wildly waving arms and Spencer squishes himself into the booth.

“This is Spencer, everyone. Everyone, this is Spencer.”

Spencer smiles at the two guys and the girl crowded round the small table.

“Spencer’s playing with us now. Drums,” Brendon says. He’s pressed right up against Spencer all down his left side and he smells of the outdoors and the wind, and a little bit like the cheese fries in the middle of the table.

“Oh, he’s the new Graham? Again?” The girl asks.

“No, Greta. He’s Spencer and so he’s far more awesome than Graham.” Brendon gestures with a fry.

“I keep hearing bad things about this guy,” Spencer says. ”What did he do?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Brendon says, and slips his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and squeezes. “You’re so much better than Graham even knows how to be.”

“Really?” The boy sitting next to Greta- who, seriously, looks about 12, Spencer doesn’t know how he even got into the bar- raises his eyebrows

“if you’d join us you could see for yourself. He’s amazing.” Brendon still hasn’t let go, and he rests his head on Spencer’s shoulder. His hair tickles Spencer’s nose.

“You don’t need me,” the kid says. “There’s three guitars already.”

“Sometime we need a mandolin,” Brendon says. “You know what Ryan’s like.”

“What did you mean, again?” Spencer asks, ignoring, as best he can, the way Brendon wriggles around to get closer. “Have there been many Grahams?”

“Panic get through drummers like other people get through underwear,” the second guy says and yelps when Brendon kicks him under the table.

“Kind of serves you right, Dallon,” Greta says, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Four drummers,” Brendon says. “In three months. If that’s how long you take between underwear changes I don’t want to know, dude.”

“Still...” Dallon says, and raises his eyebrows.

“They weren’t right,” Brendon says, and he looks a bit uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Spencer says, and he shakes Brendon’s shoulder til he looks at him “I kind of like you guys, I’m not going any where.”

“See!” Brendon says, and he snuggles in closer and presses his lips quickly to Spencer’s cheek. “We were just waiting for Spencer to come along.”

Spencer feels his nails bite into his palm with the effort of not reaching out, and reminds himself that he really really likes the band, and that he’s not going to risk it. Not even for Brendon.

“I really hate winter,” Ryan grouches as he kicks the door to the practice space closed on the flurry of stinging sleet. “Why does it need to exist?”

“It’s not that bad,” Jon says mildly. He looks up from tuning his bass. “It’s not even snowing properly.”

Spencer has to agree with Ryan though. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the damp and cold here, and for a fleeting moment he regrets ever coming this far north for school. He jams his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and debates whether it’s possible to drum in his gloves, even though he knows he’ll warm up soon enough when they’re playing.

Ryan is busy unwinding his long scarf and tugging off his matching knitted cap and complaining all about the cold, and so he doesn’t notice the door opening again behind him until Brendon forces it open and knocks Ryan on his ass in the puddle of icy slush by the door.

The resulting fight ends up with Ryan threatening Brendon with a spare drumstick and Brendon screeching, “Spence, Spencer save me” and climbing onto his back like a monkey.

He’s lighter then Spencer thought. Not that he’s spent a lot of time thinking about things like that.

Spencer hefts him higher into a proper piggy back and tries to ignore the feel of Brendon’s thighs squeezing him. He is not entirely successful.

“Don’t put me down!” Brendon says, kicking his legs. Ryan shakes the drumstick threateningly at him. He is kind of soaked, Spencer thinks, his skinny jeans dark with water and the hem of his jacket deep in mud.

“Gonna be hard to play if I don’t,” Spencer says, but he takes a few gallopy steps around the room, like he used to do with his sisters when they were small.

“Ugh,” Ryan says “It’s fucking freezing and I can’t stand in this anyway. I’m going home to get some dry clothes on and try to remember what feeling warm feels like.”

“Come to my place,” Jon offers. “Band pizza and movie night. You can stop into your dorm on the way.”

Ryan doesn’t take much convincing, and neither does Spencer, because Jon, despite looking like he exists entirely on munchies-appropriate food, knows all the places to get the best pizza in existence. He says its his birthright as a Chicago boy. Whatever the reason, it’s great.

“I’m going to have to put you down and put my coat on,” Spencer says, “unless you want me to freeze on the way to Jon’s.”

Brendon slithers to the floor and hands Spencer his coat.

“A Spencer-popsicle would not be good. Although, hey, would that mean I get to lick you?” Brendon waggles his eyebrows and Spencer ducks his head so he doesn’t say something stupid like, “ you don’t need that excuse”

They’re trudging across campus, huddled together as much as possible. It’s not like any of them generate much heat, and the wind is so stiff it blows through their clothes like a knife. Brendon loops one arm through Spencer’s and one through Ryan’s and Jon walks as close as possible to Ryan on the other side, sandwiching him in.

“Seriously,” Ryan complains. “Why did I ever leave the desert?”

“Don’t say that!” Brendon says, and he squeezes Spencer’s arm “You’d never have met us all if you stayed in Vegas. Well. Jon and Spencer, anyway.”

“Just Jon, actually,” Spencer says, looking over the top of Brendon’s head. “Since I’m from Vegas too.”

“I’m feeling pretty left out here,” Jon says.

“We still love you!” Brendon says, and disentangles himself to hug Jon as they walk along. Spencer tucks his chin down into his scarf and tells himself it’s stupid to feel jealous, because it’s not like he’s going to do anything about Brendon anyway.

They pick pizzas up and all pile onto Jon's ancient, saggy green sofa. Jon apparently owns an endless supply of films about genetically engineered monsters and by the time they reach the one about giant snakes with brain implants, Brendon is sprawled out with his head in Spencer's lap and his feet in Ryan's, Jon sitting on the floor and passing his cigarette up to Ryan so he can take drags. Brendon nudges his nose into Spencer's stomach.

"Spence, " he says.

"I told you, I'm not hoarding the pizza. It's all gone," Spencer watches the screen where the chick with the terrible snake tattoo is taking a sponge bath for no reason he can easily work out. Brendon nudges him again.

"Hair," is all he says.

"I'm sure you're part cat," Jon puts in, sounding amused.

"That's why you love me," Brendon says, not moving. "Come on Spencer. Please? I'm sleepy."

Spencer slowly lifts one hand and tentatively pushes Brendon's hair off his forehead, rubbing his fingers over his scalp and running his hand through Brendon's dark hair. Brendon makes a satisfied sound and snuggles back down. Spencer's aware he's probably crossing some kind of line, but Brendon seems content and the other two aren't saying anything. Ryan's looking at him like he just passed some kind of test.

"So," Spencer says when the silence has stretched out long enough to be awkward. "You and Brendon are both from Vegas too?"

"We grew up together, kind of," Ryan says. "We weren't at the same high school but yeah, we knew each other."

"Wish you had been at my school," Brendon's voice is small, a bit sad. Ryan curls his hand round Brendon's ankle. Spencer can't quite figure them out.

"I do too," Ryan says, "but we're here now. That's what counts."

Brendon shuffles and snuffles around a bit, but Spencer carries on stroking his hair. It's kind of meditative, and Brendon's hair is soft and curls a little around his fingers. Halfway through the big speech about snake hunting, Spencer realises that Brendon's asleep. He lets his hand fall away to rest on the back of Brendon's neck.

"His parents kicked him out when he was 17," Ryan says, out of nowhere.

"What?"

"They told him it was the music, or them. Don’t think the gay thing helped either, but I don’t think he realised that about himself then anyway."

Ryan's not looking at him, he's looking straight ahead at the TV. Jon is quiet, and Spencer has the weird feeling that this is more important than it might seem.

"That's," he begins, but Ryan goes on over the top of him.

"I met him in this music shop, back in Vegas. Before they kicked him out. We started playing together and I knew. I knew that together we'd get out of there."

Spencer nods, still not sure where this is going.

"We weren't at the same school. I guess- I didn't know how bad things were for a while. He's good at hiding stuff, when he needs to be. And I was here a year before he was, so he was, by himself a lot. His family still don't speak to him. I don't think anyone from back home does. He doesn't have anyone."

"But us," Spencer cut in. He can't think too much about Brendon, beautiful, funny, kind, talented Brendon, being kicked out and only having Ryan to fall back on. He kind of wants to go give Brendon's parents a piece of his mind. It does explain Ryan's weird protectiveness though. "But us," he says again. "Right?"

"Right." Jon reaches up and pats his leg, and Ryan nudges his knee against Spencer's on the couch, and Spencer feels that, whatever the test was, he passed.

It gets ridiculously cold over the next few weeks, but Spencer has so much work that he doesn't really go outside much anyway, except to band practice. He's holed up in his room, in two hoodies and his fingerless gloves, trying to write something for his economics paper, when Bob shoulders his way in through the door, bringing in a whirl of cold air and the smell of snow. He pulls his beanie off and rubs a hand through his hair.

Spencer smiles up at him, because Bob is awesome and he's missed him.

"Hey," he says, "when did you get back?"

"About 4am," Bob says. He sits on Spencer's roommate’s bed and stretches out, and Spencer can almost hear his spine clicking back into place. It's not that Bob is super tall or anything, but sleeping in a van can't be comfortable, and it's what Bob's been doing for the past month. "I could sleep for a week."

"Not there you can't," Spencer says. "Good tour?"

Bob lasted approximately four weeks at School before he decided that it wasn't for him. Spencer agrees. No one who can drum or mix like that needs to be wasting his time with economic assignments or finals.

"It is now it's over. Bob studies the ceiling. "Next time you're coming with so I can concentrate on the sound."

"Don't think my band would like that too much." Spencer bites his lip on the smile that wants to break out when he says it.

Bob swings his legs off the bed so he can thump Spencer on the shoulder.

"About time!" he says, "Who?"

"Panic!" Spencer says. Bob will know who they are. Bob knows pretty much everyone in their little scene. Sure enough, he's nodding and saying

"Ryan and Brendon's band, yeah? I helped them find Jon when their bassist quit to go back home."

"Yeah," Spencer nods. Then, "they seems to lose people a lot, if Jon's their second bassist. Apparently they get through a lot of drummers too. Just what did Graham do?"

The smile falls from Bob's face.

"You don't need to worry about Graham." he said, grimly. "He's out of the picture for good."

Bob, Spencer thinks, can be kind of scary sometimes.

"Oh hey," he says, remembering, " I borrowed your hi hat."

"Fucker, " Bob says, lobbing a balled up sock at him, "I'm away for a month and you're stealing my stuff."

"Whatever," Spencer says, typing out a few words. "You have like a million of them."

Bob doesn't answer, and when Spencer looks over, he's fallen asleep. Spencer gets up and covers him over with his afghan, and goes back to his Keynesian theory.

Spencer doesn’t really want to bring up the Christmas thing. From what Ryan’s told him and what Brendon hasn’t told him, he figures Brendon won’t be home for the holidays. In the end, Jon does it for him.

“Hey,” he says as they break between songs for Ryan to change a snapped string “We have a couple extra places at mine, if you guys want to come over? Mom’s already planning the biggest dessert table in Chicago.”

“Pie?” Brendon asks.

“You know it,” Jon smiles.

“It’ll be weird,” Brendon looks over at Spencer. “Spencer’ll be missing.”

Spencer wants to go home. He does. He hasn’t seen his family for months, and he loves Christmas. But he also kind of wants to see Brendon on Christmas morning.

“I’ll come back for New Year,” he promises. “You guys always spend Christmas up here?”

Ryan nods, twiddling the tuning peg. Brendon takes it out of his hands and tunes it for him- he’s quicker at it, Spencer has learned, though Ryan is perfectly capable. “We normally spend the day at Brendon’s, I have to be out of the dorms by Christmas Eve. Last year we tried to make turkey.”

“Tried,” said Brendon “What did we have for Christmas dinner last year, Ryan?”

“Peanut butter sandwiches.” Ryan looks rueful. “But we did have ice cream for dessert.”

They both crack up, Brendon still laughing as he hands back the guitar.

“You better call us, as you’re abandoning us,” he says, leaning his chin on Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer leans back into him, feeling the tickle of his hair.

“Promise,” he says. “Promise.”

“Spencerrrrr,” Brendon wheedles down the phone. “Come over? I’m bored.”

“I have to pack,” Spencer tucks the phone in between his shoulder and chin as he tries to figure out just how much laundry he can take home to do for free. “I’m flying back day after tomorrow.”

He’d not been sure, looking at the snow, but Bob and Jon had just shrugged and said it was normal, O’Hare would be open, not to worry. He was still trying to not think too much about Ryan and Brendon up here by themselves at Christmas.

“Exactly,” Brendon says. “Which is why you have to come over. How will I cope without my Spencer-time until New Years, huh? Come on, I’m making cookies. Christmas cookies, Spencer Smith.”

Spencer sighs and decides to just pack everything. His roommate’s been making noises about wanting the room for when his girlfriend comes over, and Spencer REALLY doesn’t want a repeat of the time he’d walked in on them.

“You better save me a cookie,” he says, and hunts for his coat.

Brendon’s apartment is covered in cut out tissue paper snowflakes and multicolored garlands. They’d all sat and cut out star after star, the band, Ian, Dallon, Jon’s friend Tom, and Greta, who, Spencer was amused to discover, made Ryan actually blush and stuck them up around the apartment.

“Spencer!” Brendon hugs him tight as soon as he opens the door, and brushes the snow off the collar of his coat. “Happy four days before Christmas.”

“Not that you’re excited, or anything,” Spencer says, and he leans in, just a bit. Brendon smells of vanilla, and he has a streak of something sticky on one cheek. Spencer manfully does not lick it off.

“Christmas,” Brendon says, like that means anything. “Even though you are leaving us.”

“My mum would have something to say if I didn’t.” Spencer says without thinking, and then feels like the biggest shit in the world when he sees Brendon’s face fall for a second before he smiles again. “Come on,” Spencer says, to cover his slip “You promised cookies.”

They make sugar cookies, and Rice Krispie treats with red and green sprinkles, and snickerdoodles with cinnamon sugar. The kitchen is tiny and they bump into each other a lot and by the time everything is cool and divided into different bags, they are both covered in powdered sugar and sticky strands of melted marshmallow. Spencer loves every minute of it.

Brendon’s sitting on the floor, writing labels for the bags with silver pen. He draws stars on Dallon’s label and ties it round the bag of snickerdoodles. “I’ll miss you,” he says, curling the ribbon with the edge of the scissors.

“Me too,” Spencer says. He drops his hand off the edge of the sofa and rubs the back of his neck “I’ll be back for New Years though. You’ll be here with Ryan and Jon. Won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Brendon leans back into his hand and tilts his head up to look at Spencer upside down. He has powdered sugar in his hair.

“That is a lie, Spencer,” Brendon says. “I always notice.”

Ian’s already gone home, but Dallon comes back from his shift at Target around 9pm with boxes of Indian take out and they share huge naans and Brendon defends Spencer’s honour when Dallon tries to steal the last of the squares of halwa and, just for a moment, Spencer doesn’t want to go home at all. He wants to stay right here, with Brendon squashed tight next to him on the sofa and the newspaper snowflakes on the windows and the smell of cardamon and vanilla mingling in the air. Brendon shuffles round so his head is in Spencer’s lap and Spencer automatically pets his hair. He’s well- trained, he thinks.

“Hey,” Dallon asks once the take out containers are in an empty pile on the table. “You guys playing soon? I want to see if Spencer here’s as good as you say he is.”

Spencer is too full to give that the comeback it deserves, but Brendon flicks Dallon on the ear.

“He totally is,” he says, “and I think we are? I saw Bob the other day and he said he thinks he knows someplace, he’ll keep a look out for us.”

“You know Bob?” Spencer asks. He rubs the back of Brendon’s neck and Brendon flexes his toes against the couch cushions.

“Everyone knows Bob. There are bands on the moon that know Bob,” Brendon says. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “I met him my first year up here. We jam together. He’s the one that kept pushing me to find a new band, after my old one folded.”

“Guess that’s another thing we owe him for then.” Brendon rolls onto his back to smile up at Spencer, and Spencer smiles back down.

They watch Die Hard, which, Spencer argues, is the best Christmas movie, period, and Spencer falls asleep on the sofa, and doesn’t wake til the next morning. Brendon is still curled around him despite the fact that he has a perfectly good bedroom.

Spencer cracks his eyes open to see Dallon staring at him.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, because Dallon looks this mixture of pissed and concerned “I’m not Graham, I promise.”

“Huh,” is all Dallon says, and he eats a snickerdoodle in what Spencer thinks is a completely obnoxious way before heading into the kitchen to put the coffee on. Brendon snuffles and shifts around some on the couch and although Spencer wants to just slip out from under him and not think about how easy it would be to wake up like this every day, how tempting it is to say ‘fuck the band’ and just kiss him, he doesn’t. Instead he shakes Brendon until he wakes up and blinks gummy eyes at him.

“Ow,” Brendon says. “My back.”

“Your fault,” Spencer says. “You have a bedroom.”

“You were comfy,” Brendon says. “And I have to store up my Spencer-hugs.”

Oh god, this isn’t fair Spencer thinks, looking at Brendon’s messed up hair and the lines on his face from, Spencer realises, the cord of his own hoodie.

“What did you do without me, huh?” he asks instead, trying for a joke. Suddenly he just has to get out of here. The break can’t come soon enough.

“I don’t really know,” Brendon says. “I don’t like to think about that. It’s like I was waiting for you. The band was. I mean.”

Brendon is blushing and Spencer mumbles something about having to pack and rushes out of the room, out of the apartment, and lets the cold winter air cool his hot cheeks.

There’s a massive snowstorm on New Years Eve, one even O’Hare can’t cope with, and Spencer ends up spending a couple extra days at home. He fields a pretty constant stream of texts from Brendon, and Ryan and Jon, and one email from Bob that just says

Got you a gig. Ryan has the details. You own me, Smith

Well, Spencer thinks, that explains the excited texts.

He’s lugging his case, full of clean clothes and a giant tupperware of leftover Christmas candy, through arrivals when he hears someone calling his name.

“Spencer! Spencer!” and Brendon is sprinting toward him, scarf flying out behind him, and he flings both arms round him and buries his nose in Spencer’s neck. Spencer drops his case and hugs him back. Ryan and Jon are hurrying up behind him, and they pile on too, a flurry of scarves and hats and elbows and hugs, and Spencer’s pretty sure Brendon kisses his neck at some point, and fleeting wet pressure.

His band. His band Spencer thinks. How could he even think about risking this?

The snowstorm that almost left him stuck in Vegas seems to set the scene for the rest of January, bitterly cold with huge snow drifts. It started out being novel, fun even, but soon Spencer is just cursing the cold, and the wet, and the way all his shoes are getting ruined from the combination of snow and salt and grit.

They have their gig at the end of the month, and so they’re squeezing in more practice whenever they can. Spencer’s trying not to feel nervous. He can’t help but remember that the rest of the guys have played together before, that Brendon, for all that he is dorky and awkward off stage, is pretty much electric when he’s onstage, and that Ryan’s deadpan somehow works as stage presence, and he really doesn’t want to let them down. Suddenly it’s him asking for extra practice, and staying later, even though the practice space is cold, barely heated.

“We’ll be fine,” Ryan says. “This isnt’ the first time we’ve done this, Spence.”

“It’s the first time you’ve done it with me,” Spencer replies “Come on, let’s do that one again, I screwed up in the bridge.”

“You didn’t,” Jon says. “It was fine.”

“Better than,” Brendon says “We are going to be amazing. Come on, I’m cold, let’s call it a night.”

“You’re always cold,” Spencer says, but Jon and Ryan are already putting their instruments away, and he knows he’s lost the argument.

“I’m really really cold,” Brendon says, and comes round to the side of the kit when Spencer stands. “See?”

And before he can move, Brendon worms his hands under Spencer’s shirts and puts them flat on his belly. They are cold, but Spencer can’t really focus on that. Brendon. Touching his bare skin.

“How are you so warm?” Brendon says, making no effort to move his hands.

“Layers,” Spencer chokes out.

“Come on!” Jon shouts. “Brendon, what did we say about touching under clothes?”

“Spencer doesn’t mind,” Brendon says, but he pulls his hands out from under Spencer’s shirt and goes to put his guitar away.

Spencer lets out a shaky breath. Graham, Graham, Graham. he chants over and over again.

Spencer makes it to a day before the gig before he really freaks out. Bob is less than no help. He laughs at him for five minutes straight when he calls him, and tells him not to worry, the bar is a dive but they don’t throw things much. Spencer swears at him and gives him the finger over the phone.

He feels twitchy, anxious and he keeps picking stuff up and putting it down.

“Go for a walk or something,” Tim says, after Spencer’s rearranged his books on his desk for the third time “You’re giving me a headache.”

Spencer flips him off, but he’s going nuts pacing around, so he zips up his coat and heads out with the vague plan of dropping into the convenience store to buy snacks for the flight home.

That soon changes when he sees Brendon slipping and sliding toward him, his coat plastered with compacted snow.

“What happened to you?” he asks as Brendon slips to a stop.

“Snowball fight!” Brendon says. “I lost.”

“I can see,” Spencer says, brushing at the bits of snow. “How long have you been out here?”

“Couple hours,” Brendon says. “We stopped ‘cause it started to get dark.”

Brendon’s lips are nearly blue with the cold.

“Come on,” Spencer says, “I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

“You are a god among men,” Brendon says, and he hugs Spencer. Spencer’s ready for it, but the shock of Brendon’s cold nose in his neck still makes him jump. Brendon’s hands are cold on the back of his neck. He’s lost his gloves again and Spencer has half a mind to buy him some of those mittens on a string.

Brendon doesn’t seem in any hurry to let go, so Spencer steers them over to the cafe down the street, the walk made awkward by the packed ice underfoot and Brendon’s dead weight clinging to him. Inside, the cafe is warm and steamy from all the wet coats drying out, but Brendon doesn’t let go until he’s forced to to sit down, the only places left the tall stools at the counter.

“What can I- hey Brendon!”

“Hey,” Brendon smiles at the guy behind the counter, who has reddish hair down to his shoulders and black-framed glasses like Brendon’s own. “Hey Andy, um, this is Spencer.”

Spencer has no idea why Brendon feels the need to introduce him, but he nods “hello” and orders two hot chocolate, one with caramel and whipped cream and marshmallows, and one favoritewithout, and elbows Brendon hard when he attempts to pay his share.

“Spencer’s playing with us now,” Brendon says as Andy hands over Spencer’s change. “We have a gig tomorrow.”

“That’s really good,” Andy says, and turns away to make their drinks.

“Andy used to play with us. He was, one of our drummers,” Brendon says, though Spencer could kind of guess that already. “It...didn’t work out.”

Brendon looks sad, tracing a pattern on the wood of the countertop, and Spencer thinks shit, did he? Like Graham? but he’s saved from blurting it out or yelling at Andy for being a dick by the two cups of hot chocolate being set down in front of them. Brendon’s has what looks like half a bag of marshmallows on, the whipped cream spilling down the side.

“You’re my favourite Andrew Hurley,” Brendon announces. Then he corrects himself “Well, no, Spencer is my favourite, but you are definitely my favourite person who makes me hot chocolate.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Andy says, and Brendon beams at him, beams at Spencer, wide and brilliant and happy, and laps up the cream and knocks his foot against Spencer’s ankle, and god. Spencer’s so far gone for him it isn’t even funny.

"Hi everyone!" The bar is so tiny they barely need the mics, but Brendon leans into it anyway, smiling out at the crowd. "We've got someone we want you to meet. Say hello, Spencer."

Spencer waves a drumstick at the audience, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with Bob,who's leaning against the back wall and grinning.

"Spencer is our new drummer and he's awesome. Show him some love guys, ok?" Brendon actually turns around and blows a kiss at Spencer, and Spencer grins back at him, the nerves changing the to fizz of performance adrenaline, and nods, and taps out the beginning of the first number.

It might be a tiny club, and they might be the warm up rather than the top act, but from the second Brendon opens his mouth they are on. Brendon sings and struts around the stage and he and Ryan share a mic and lean into each other and rub against each other in a way that has Spencer wondering if he'd been reading things wrong all this time and there is more to them then just best friend and bandmates. But then Brendon does the same to Jon and, halfway through the last number, picks his way back to Spencer and kisses the top of his head and grabs Spencer's spare sticks and does a little fill on the snare, guitar forgotten at his back, before ruffling his hair and licking his ear, what the fuck, and leaping back out to the front of the stage to belt out the last line of the song.

It's noise and heat and colour and the unmistakable, unrepeatable high of a great performance, and it's that which has Spencer leaning up against the wall in the back room, trying to catch his breath and wiping his sweaty hair off his forehead. Brendon comes bouncing up.

"Dude!" he shouts, loud and happy. He's red and sweaty and beautiful and Spencer thinks if he can't have everything, he can at least have this: Brendon on a performance high and in love with the world. "You were amazing!"

"We all were." Spencer smiles at him

"No, but you. you," Brendon says, and suddenly he's pressed close, sweaty shirt Suresticking to him, and his has hand on Spencer's jaw and he's kissing him, kissing him so slow and sweet and deep, nothing at all like the whirlwind Spencer had imagined his kisses would be like. And Spencer just tilts his head down and kisses him back, because it's Brendon, and he played a hell of a show in a shitty basement club, and he makes cookies shaped like hedgehogs when Spencer is sad, and he's spent months telling anyone who'll listen how amazing Spencer is, and he's dorky and beautiful and tastes like pineapple juice and Red Bull and Spencer loves the band, but he has wanted Brendon from the moment he saw him and-

There's a thump, someone dropping a guitar case, and Spencer jerks his mouth away from where he was sucking on Brendon's neck (and how did that happen?) to see Ryan looking at them, Jon coming up behind him.

"Little help guys?" is all that Jon says. Ryan doesn't say anything, just fixes Spencer with a look, and all Spencer can think of is shit, this must be how it happened with Graham. Exactly this, and although Ryan likes him, he loves the band, and shit, his first show is going to be his last if he doesn't cut this shit out.

"Sure," Spencer says, forcing himself to step away from Brendon, "C'mon Brendon, let's help these two weaklings with the amps."

"Weaklings?" Jon says, mock outraged, but he doesn't complain when Spencer picks up the bass amp he'd set down. "We did good," he said, as they carry the stuff out to the car. "You did good."

"About, that," Spencer waves a hand in a way he hopes conveys 'I was making out with our singer until you guys interrupted' "I-"

"Hey, none of my business," Jon says, "but you might want to talk to Ryan,"

That's the last thing Spencer wants to do, and although Brendon is making pleading eyes at him he makes a hasty excuse about an early lecture, and escapes back to his dorm, his lips still tingling from the kiss, still feeling the phantom pressure of Brendon's hands on his hips.

It’s even harder now. Now that Spencer knows the little noise Brendon makes when someone nips his neck. Now that he’s given up and jerked off to the memory of it. But he keeps reminding himself that he’s not going to be that guy. Not Graham, not Yoko fucking Ono. He can be Brendon’s friend, and Brendon’s bandmate, and that has to be enough.

Because, there’s no way that the other guys are going to let him be more. Ryan texts him We need to talk and Spencer just turns his phone off and pulls the covers back over his head. He’s giving himself a day to pine, and then everything will be fine.

It has to be. Because the alternative is no Brendon at all, and Spencer can’t even think about that.

Ryan has some kind of weird exam, and Brendon has essays, and Spencer is actually grateful that he has a shit ton of post Christmas reading, because it means he has a legitimate excuse to persuade them to cancel band practice for a week, so he can get this thing under control. Brendon texts him and emails him, and he tries not to reply, but Brendon hasn’t done anything wrong and he can’t stand the thought of making him unhappy. He compromises with sending short replies, complaining about the workload, and his room mate’s new found love of General Hospital and tries to just pretend the whole kiss never happened.

Jon calls him, the week after the show, and all but orders him to come to his place for movie night.

“You kind of disappeared on us, dude,” he says, his easy voice still sounding a bit disappointed.

“I had work, my reading list is insane,” Spencer says, feeling awkward at the untruth. “I’ll come over if i can.”

“No if. Come over or we’ll come kidnap you,” Jon says. He pauses, and Spencer can hear the clatter of cups in the background and knows that Jon’s at work. “About Brendon-”

“It’s fine,” Spencer says, quickly. “I’m not going to fuck up the band Jon. You don’t need to worry. It was just, you know. Performance high.”

“I didn’t say anything about fucking up the band,” Jon says, “But you need to talk to Ryan.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer says again. “I’ll see you later, ok?”

Spencer brings M&Ms for movie night, and S’mores goldfish crackers, because Brendon likes the little marshmallow fish. He’s one foot inside the apartment when Brendon comes running out of the kitchen and hugs him

“SPENCE!” he shouts, like it’s been years, rather than a week, since he saw him. “You’re here!”

His face is so close. So close and Brendon seems to realise it the same time he does, and he’s leaning forward, and Spencer can’t do this. He can’t. He pulls gently away and puts the candy down on the table.

“I’m here,” he says, and tries to ignore the way the smile drops fleetingly from Brendon’s face.

Spencer waits, fussing around in the kitchen and taking his time choosing a soda so that by the time the movie starts the other three are already sitting down. Spencer’s normal place on the sofa is empty and Brendon looks at him expectantly, but Spencer chooses the old lumpy armchair and curls up in it. He watches the movie and tries to ignore Brendon’s disappointed look, and he can feel Ryan’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

Halfway through the last pizza, Ryan says,

“So, we have another gig next week, at the Student Union. Will that be a problem, Spencer?”

His voice is brittle and cold as ice.

“Why would it be a problem?” Spencer says “We were great. I thought we were great?”

“You were amazing!” Brendon cuts in and glares at Ryan. “What’s the matter with you Ryan?”

“Well Spence disappeared for a week after the last one,” Ryan says “I thought I’d check that he was still committed to the band. We don’t have the best luck with drummers.”

“Dude,” Jon begins, and Brendon digs at Ryan with his heel, but Spencer looks straight at Ryan and says,

“You don’t have to worry. I’m as committed as you are.”

Ryan narrows his eyes, but then the mutated octopus appears on screen and Brendon starts outlining his theory about the evilness of all octopusses, and Jon jumps in to counter it, and Spencer leans back in the chair and lets out a breath, and tells himself it’s better this way.

Ryan and Brendon are deep in conversation when Spencer arrives at the practice space the next day. Brendon looks up and says “Hi,” a little hesitantly, and Spencer feels like the worst person in the world.

“Hey guys,” he says, and goes to sit behind the kit where he’s harder to get at, and knows he’s a huge coward.

The practice is off, Spencer and Jon can’t seem to stick to the beat, and Ryan keeps trying to rush and push the songs, and Brendon’s voice cracks on the high notes. He’s contained, small and curled in on himself, instead of bouncing around. Spencer grits his teeth and hits the drums and tells himself it will get better, it will.

“This isn’t working,” says Jon, after an hour. Ryan looks like he’s about to say something, but Jon carries on. “We’ll practice tomorrow. We still have time.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Spencer says. Brendon makes an abortive move, going for their normal goodbye hug, but then drops his arms and hugs himself instead. Spencer rushes past him and jams his ear buds in his ears so he doesn’t hear anyone try and get him to come back.

The next day, it’s like someone’s replaced Brendon with a pod person. He smiles, and sings, and he and Ryan spend minutes between songs heads bent, talking to each other. But the energy, the feeling that together, they are all part of something bigger, it just isn’t there. It feels like they’re practicing in separate rooms. Brendon stays with his back firmly toward Spencer and apart from saying hello at the beginning of practice, he doesn’t look at him once, Ryan taking all his attention whenever they break or pause.

By the end of the week, they can at least keep a beat together, Spencer isn’t missing his cues, but that’s the only thing that is working. Brendon smiles at him, says hey, and how are you, and do you want to add anything to the set list, but the smile is all on the surface. It doesn’t meet his eyes. Spencer doesn’t reach out to him, and Brendon seems to have stopped trying.

Spencer has his ear buds in and is chewing on the end of his pencil. His last essay was a total rush job and he wants this one to be better, even though it’s the last thing on his mind at the moment. Everyone he knows is going to be at this gig tomorrow, and Bob’s bringing his guys from the tour, and all of Brendon’s housemates are going to be there, and everyone is going to see them suck because even though Spencer’s doing the right thing, the non-Graham thing, they still can’t seem to play well together. Brendon’s small and closed in and hasn’t texted him in three days and Spencer feels awful every time he looks at him, but he doesn’t know how to fix it.

A pair of balled up socks bounce off his head, and he pulls his earbuds out to yell at his roommate.

“Visitor,” Tim says. “One of your band guys.”

For one fleeting moment Spencer hopes it’s Brendon, but then he looks up, and it’s Ryan.

Ryan should not be intimidating. He is tall but skinny as a beanpole. He has about five layers of clothing on, fingerless gloves, a thick scarf and a ridiculous woollen hat and what might actually be legwarmers on over his skinny jeans. He even has a scatter of small stars drawn at the corner of his eye.

Despite that, from the look Ryan is giving him, Spencer feels like Ryan is seconds away from cutting his heart out with a spoon.

Ryan cocks an eyebrow “We need to talk about Graham.”

“I-” Spencer says.

“Not here,” Ryan says, “Come on.”

Spencer grabs his keys and wallet and his parka and follows Ryan down the stairs and out to his beat up green car. Ryan doesn’t seem to want to talk and Spencer has no idea how to start, so they drive in silence until they are off campus and pulling into the parking lot of the bar that Ryan likes. Normally, Spencer would be teasing him, because this is the bar Greta works at, and Ryan’s ragingly obvious crush will never not be hilarious, but he feels like if he says anything it will be too much, so he stays quiet all the way through Ryan buying two beers, and flirting with Greta, and Greta brushing him off. Ryan sits the bottles down on the table, and Spencer just holds onto his, just to have something to do with his hands.

Ryan takes a sip, and then looks at Spencer as he lowers the bottle.

“So, Graham,” he says.

Spencer forces his palm down onto his thigh to stop the nervous jiggle. “Yes?” he says. The music in the bar is loud, and Spencer hopes its enough to cover the shake in his voice.

“Seriously,” Ryan says, “don’t pull a fucking Graham. You’re an awesome drummer, and Brendon thinks you hung the fucking moon. We need our drummer. Don’t flake out on us.”

Spencer spins the beer bottle between his palms and takes a deep breath.

“I’m not going to,” he says. “I’m not. I know what you saw. I know relationships between band members are bad news. I’m trying. I can be Brendon’s friend, you just need to give me some time, I’m not going to fuck him over like Graham did.” He’s aware he’s babbling now, and he takes a pull of his beer so he doesn’t say anything else.

Ryan looks at him. And then, he’s laughing. Not just the giggle he normally does, but full on, head thrown back laughing. Spencer flails a bit and knocks his beer over, and goes up to get a dishrag from Greta, and the way through mopping it up Ryan is still laughing.

“That’s what you think?” he says, eventually “You think Graham fucked Brendon?”

Spencer feels like he’s missing some kind of vital information, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“Yes?” He says, for lack of anything else. “I mean, it was pretty clear. The way you all spoke about about him. I know when I’m being warned off, ok?”

“Graham’s straight,” Ryan says, “ God, I can’t believe you thought-”

“What then?” Spencer says, losing patience.

“He couldn’t cope with Brendon.” Ryan says simply. “All of us, me, Jon, Dallon, Ian, Greta. We love Brendon, just as he is.”

Spencer smiles. “Me too.” he says, without even really thinking about it. Of course he does. Of course.

“We met Graham up here,” Ryan says, but he smiles at the confession. “And, he really is a good drummer. We worked well, but you know Brendon. Personal space is for other people.He’s loud and he never really stands still. Graham hated that. Hated pretty much everything about Brendon, really.”

Ryan’s lips are thin, and Spencer knows that was a deal breaker.

“In the end, he just snapped. We all had this huge argument and he said he didn’t want to play with a hyperactive kid and threw his sticks at Brendon. One hit him in the eye.” Ryan is completely deadpan. More even so than usual, but, Spencer thinks, this must be the deadpan he gets when he’s really, really angry. He knows how he feels.

“He still live around here?” Spencer asks. He has no idea what he’ll do if he does find Graham, but jesus, he wants to do something.

Ryan smiles “You don’t need to worry. Bob found out. No band in three counties will touch Graham. And it’s an odd thing. But everywhere he tries to play, the sound tech suddenly can’t work with him.”

Spencer grins. Bob really is awesome.

“So you see,” Ryan says, “If you’re going to upset my singer, we really do have a problem. I like you, Spencer. But you’ve been a shit to Brendon, and I can’t have that. He’s kind of stupid for you, you know?”

“He is?” Spencer says, still trying get his head round the fact that Ryan is apparently, in his weird way, giving his blessing.

“Yes!” Greta shouts from over by the bar. “He is.”

“No eavsedropping,” Ryan shouts back. “I was being intimidating.”

“So, you don’t think I’ll break up the band?” Spencer tries to get the conversation back on track.

“Only if you keep ignoring him. We have to play tomorrow, and I’d like us to not suck, you know?” Ryan says.

“You have to take me to Brendon’s NOW,” Spencer says, suddenly unable to stand it any longer.

“Dude, you haven’t finished your beer,” Ryan says, nodding to the barely-drunk bottle.

“The hell with my beer,” Spencer says “Come on, please.”

“I’m finishing mine before we go,” Ryan says, and drinks it so excruciatingly slowly that Spencer knows he’s being punished.

“Come on, come on,” Spencer says, and he’s already up and halfway out of the door by the time Ryan puts the empty bottle down, waves, a bit shyly, at Greta and finally, finally saunters out to the parking lot and unlocks the car.

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Spencer says as Ryan crawls along. “You drove faster on the way here.”

“Have you seen the snow, dude?” Ryan says, switching the wipers on. “Any faster and we’ll be off the road and you’ll never get to Brendon’s.”

Spencer doesn’t argue with him after that. He thinks about texting Brendon that he’s coming over, but he doesn’t want to risk Brendon telling him ‘no’.

Eventually Ryan pulls up in front of Brendon’s building and Spencer has the door open before the engine has even stopped.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Spencer says over his shoulder, his feet slipping on the slush on the sidewalk

“Seriously, don’t fuck up my band!” Ryan yells after him. Spencer gives him the finger behind his back and keeps on running, in through the door that’s never closed and up two flights of stairs, panting and hot inside his parka, and hammers on the door to Brendon’s apartment.

Brendon opens the door, and he has that face that Spencer’s got used to seeing this past week, kind of resigned and sad. He looks so small inside his hoodie, the ends of the strings chewed and his hands tucked up inside the sleeves.

“Spencer,” he starts, and Spencer hauls him forward by the front of his hoodie and just hugs him, and Brendon tucks his face into Spencer’s neck like the past two weeks haven’t happened.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says. He’d meant to make a reasoned speech but it just comes pouring out “I thought that Graham fucked you and fucked you over and that was why no one would talk about him and I didn’t want to do that and break up the band or whatever but god Brendon, you have to know how gone I am for you, you have to, and Ryan says you like me to, which I kind of guessed with the whole making out thing and-”

“You thought I fucked Graham?” Brendon looks outraged and amused and fond all at once.

“No one would talk about him!” Spencer says “It was a reasonable thing to think!”

Brendon looks like he’s about to say something but Spencer has had enough waiting and enough thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this, so he fits his mouth over Brendon’s and kisses him. It’s just as sweet as before, but it shades to urgent when Spencer nips at Brendon’s bottom lip and shifts to get his thigh between Brendon’s leg and suddenly he’s being pressed firmly up against the wall and Brendon kissing the fuck out of him while he scrabbles with the fastenings of his coat and Spencer has both hands on the ass he’s spent a crazy amount of time staring at from behind the kit and tries to snatch breath in between kisses, unwilling to take his mouth away from Brendon’s long enough to breathe.

“i should be angry,” Brendon’s murmuring in between kisses. “I can’t believe you thought that,”

“Sorry,” Spencer says again, and moves his mouth down to Brendon’s neck, looking for that little moan again. He can hear applause and it takes him longer than it should have to realise it wasn’t in his own head.

“Hey.” He coaxes Brendon’s head up. “We’ve got an audience.”

Brendon looks around to where Ian and Dallon are standing in the doorway to the living room, slow-clapping sarcastically.

“Oh, yeah,” Brendon says, with the twist of a smile. “I forgot they were home.”

Spencer can’t help it. Maybe it’s the relief that he hasn’t fucked this up, or the tingle of arousal flowing though him, but he starts laughing, giggling, and suddenly he can’t stop. He buries his face in Brendon’s shoulder and laughs and laughs and laughs.

“Spence? Spencer? Thanks guys, now you’ve broken him,” Brendon is saying.

“Not broken,” Spencer manages to get out in between giggles “Promise.”

“Well good,” Brendon says, and he steps back only far enough to curl his hand round Spencer’s wrist.

“But,” Spencer says, and he weaves his fingers through Brendon’s, feeling the callouses, “Maybe we could do this somewhere that doesn’t include the peanut gallery?”

“Unfair!” Ian calls out “That is unfair!”

“We should definitely do that,” Brendon says, and he tugs on their joined hands and leads them down the corridor to his room.

,

The sound of the crowd is still echoing in Spencer’s ears as he runs off stage and grabs Brendon. He’s flushed and still vibrating with energy, and vaguely Spencer thinks if they were a bigger band, they’d be doing an encore right about now, because they were amazing.

“Oh god,” he says, not really knowing what he wants to say, just that he has to touch Brendon now, that his hands have been itching with it all through the set. “God,” and he just kisses him, pushing him against the wall and breathing in the smell of sweat and clinging cigarette smoke.

“Umph,” is all Brendon says before he’s kissing back, dragging up his damp shirt to get his palms on his back. Spencer presses his mouth to the hickey he left last night, sets his teeth to it and Brendon bucks his hips up, and isn’t that a nice discovery?

“Guys,” Ryan sounds frustrated “Come on. This better not be a habit. Make out later, come and help move our shit.”

“I can’t help it,” Brendon sounds so happy and Spencer loves that he’s the cause of that. “Spencer’s irresistible.”

“You could always replace me,” Spencer jokes “I here Graham’s not playing with anyone.

“Don’t even joke,” Brendon says, rubbing his nose against his cheek “You’re irreplaceable. Graham who?”

“Who indeed?” Spencer says, and kisses him again before untangling himself to help pack up, slightly hindered by Brendon’s need to have some part of his body in contact with him at all times.

Graham never did this? He didn’t know what he was missing.