Work Text:
It's the way the fabric grabs the delicious, too-smooth-and-rounded-to-be-male, too-jutting-and-bony-to-be-female curves and angles of Spencer's body that makes Ryan pick the white hoodie when his friend asks him what he should wear today.
"I can't believe it's still white," Spencer says as he takes it from Ryan, giving it a quick look over before tugging it on and pulling the hood up. It's been raining steadily for a week and no matter where they drive, the clouds seem to follow. "I wear it enough, you'd think it'd be stained or something."
Ryan watches Spencer shrug and then duck out of the bus, heading inside for soundcheck.
On nights where they get to hang out after a show, Ryan can't take his eyes off the way the white hoodie seems to soak up all the blue and red and green of the fluorescent lights still flickering over the vacated venue. There's a song in there somewhere and sometimes the words start coming to him and his fingers itch for a pen before he's interrupted. Almost always by Brendon.
"You guys comin' in? The rain's starting to pick up again and Jon fixed the XBox."
Ryan looks up, damp hair stuck to his forehead and before he has a chance to answer, Spencer brushes past him, giving a soft smile that tells of their long friendship. Communication without words comes more naturally to them than it ever has which is good because with all the interviews and signings taking up their days and performances and sleep taking up their nights, Ryan doesn't get to talk to Spencer very much these days.
Spencer stops in the doorway, one hand in his back pocket, and Ryan takes note of the way his hip juts out, like he's strutting on a runway somewhere in Paris and not just standing on a bus that is in need of a major cleaning.
"I was gonna wear that tonight, man. Do you mind?"
Ryan looks down at himself, the way the white hoodie that seems to fit Spencer so perfectly is just too baggy on him to look right. It's like he fell into a dryer and shrunk while no one was looking and now his clothes don't fit. Except it's not his hoodie. It's Spencer's.
"Here. I was just cold." Ryan unzips the jacket and then leans forward, struggling to get the stubborn fabric to release that of his t-shirt so he can give Spencer back what he swiped. It's not like they don't steal each other's clothing, especially when they get down to the nitty-gritty and have to stop at Wal-Mart so they can buy clean underwear, but he feels kind of sheepish. He actually went looking for the hoodie and didn't think that Spencer would have a desire to wear it tonight.
"I can get you one of Bren's if you want. I think he still has that horrendous Pussycat Dolls one around here somewhere if white's your thing," Spencer jokes. Ryan shakes his head.
Once Ryan gets the jacket off he hands it over to Spencer who pulls it on, zips it up and then tugs it down into place. "Smells like you," he says with that same soft smile, that one that warms Ryan from nose to toes and makes him forget that they don't ever have time to just hang out anymore. "I'll see you later, yeah?"
Ryan nods and watches as Spencer's narrow hips navigate the hall where the bunks are, guitars and boxes sticking out into the walkway. He sighs and pulls his knees up to his chest, grabbing his notebook to try and get some writing done.
It isn't until nearly three months later that Ryan (kind of) sees Spencer in the white hoodie again.
"I thought you lost that," he comments as he slides blindly into the bottom bunk in the dark of the bus. Really, it doesn't even qualify as a bunk. It's like sleeping in a coffin and every other night one of the other guys rotates out with him and he gets to sleep on the fold out sofa. Everyone else only gets to sleep on it once a week but no one complains because they know how claustrophobic Ryan can get.
Spencer's big grin and floppy hair appear upside-down in the space between their bunks, the moonlight coming in through the heavy curtains just enough to allow Ryan to see. If Brendon or Jon were awake it would be dangerous for Spencer to be blocking the walkway with his head like he is, but everyone else on the bus is already asleep.
"I thought I did, too. Turns out it was just on Patrick's bus."
Spencer lets his arms flop down over the edge of his bunk as well and Ryan thinks he looks like one of those Garfield things with the suction cups on his paws that you stick to your car window. Only less orange and with more hair. And a less-creepy grin.
"You look sad," the upside-down Spencer comments and Ryan shrugs as he slips under his blanket, curling on his side so he can talk with Spencer.
"I'm not," he says. "I just miss stuff, yanno?"
"Like what?"
"Lots of things. Like... my mom's garlic bread."
"Oh god," Spencer groans. "Don't talk about your mom's garlic bread, Ry. You're gonna make me want to eat a bunch of it and I'll turn back into a blimp."
Ryan gives his best friend an exasperated look. "You were never a blimp. I swear, Spence, sometimes you're worse than a girl."
"Shut it." Spencer's head and arms disappear for a moment and then there's a flurry of movement that would be nearly invisible in the dark if it weren't for the brightness of the white hoodie Spencer is still wearing. Suddenly Ryan is pressed up against the wall of the bus and he can feel Spencer tugging at the blanket as he gets comfortable.
"Now it really feels like a coffin," Ryan comments, taking a breath and telling himself not to panic (! at the coffin -- hey now, it wouldn't be Panic! fic without this joke).
"I miss things too."
Ryan is caught off-guard by the comment because it isn't so much the words at it is the way Spencer's entire body seems to relax, melting warm against his own.
Ryan doesn't need to ask Spencer what he misses. He doesn't need the words. It's what they do best.
Communication without talking.
When Spencer rolls over, Ryan doesn't hesitate to press up against him and slip an arm around his waist. It's not that he's never entertained the thought of kissing Spencer, of being kissed by Spencer, but that's not what this is about.
This is about reconnecting and remembering that it's okay to need someone when you're a teenager on tour for the first time with your three best friends and everything around you seems to be set on super-hyper-speed. Everything around them is changing but this here, this need to connect with someone, is as steady as the passing of time.