Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ryan stares down at the tests on the bathroom counter, biting at a hangnail on his thumb as his leg bounces up and down. The porcelain of the toilet lid is cold through his thin pajama pants, and he tastes blood, after a second, but he doesn't stop. He knows he needs to actually take the damn things, but he’s fucking nervous. 

It’s not like he doesn't… it’s not like they don’t want kids, he knows that, and it’s about time, all things considered, but still. They didn’t plan this, and Ryan would like to have planned it. Shit, he was fine ending up being the one carrying, too, but he’d like to have at least talked about it. He’d like to have consented to being knocked up, thanks. 

Still, though. Still. Spencer has been hinting, and he’s been hinting, and they’ve both been dancing around the word soon long enough that he thinks he’ll probably be able to come around pretty quickly if that becomes now . 

He doesn’t really know if he wants these to be positive or negative, actually, now that he thinks about it. 

Fuck it, he thinks, uncapping all the tests as he stands up. Fuck it, he has to get this shit out of the way. He dips the ends of all three tests in the cup he pissed in one by one, puts the caps back on, and stares. The liquid moves way faster than he was expecting up to the results window. He supposes that’s the whole point of the “rapid results,” option. The horizontal control starts showing up bright blue right away, and his heart is hammering in his chest. Fuck, this is fast, maybe he should have gotten some that take longer, ones that give him longer to think, but no, actually, the tension is excruciating enough as it is. More waiting wouldn’t help. He cracks all the knuckles in his left hand, then his right, and then the liquid reaches the middle of the test, the vertical line that tests for HCG, and it shows up blue. Bright fucking blue. Ten seconds later, the other ones look the same. Matching plus signs. He’s pregnant. 

He looks at himself in the mirror, tries to blow some hair out of his own face, but only succeeds in making it flop down over his left eye with more force. He runs his hands through his hair, instead, knowing it’s not helping him look more put together, but not really caring. His shirt is falling off of his shoulder a little, too big, and his pants are sitting low on his hips, even though the drawstring is pulled about as tight as he can get it. That’s probably good, he thinks, because these might keep fitting him, in that case. He moves a hand under his shirt, taking in his own wide-eyed expression in the mirror as he tentatively spreads his palm out flat between his hip bones. Jesus. Alright. 

He grabs the tests quickly, just barely remembering to dump out the damn piss cup and toss it out before he leaves the bathroom. He’s pretty damn sure Spencer is going to be excited, because he’s been hinting just a bit harder than Ryan, frankly, and with increasing frequency. Ryan is ready to march to the living room and just shove the test in his face, but when he opens the door Spencer is already there, waiting. At first he’s confused, because he didn’t tell him what he was doing, so he shouldn't be expecting an announcement, but then his ringing phone is being shoved into his hands, and he hits the answer button numbly. He doesn't even look at the caller ID, but Spencer looks worried as he holds the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” 

“ Mr. Ross? ” 

Ross-Smith, thanks , he thinks, but he doesn’t have the energy to be that particular right now, so he says “yes?” 

“We’re very sorry, but we’re calling to inform you that your father-” 

Ryan doesn’t really hear the rest of the conversation over the rushing in his ears, just picking vague snippets of information, but he knows he’s responding to this woman, somehow. He stares past Spencer's shoulder, at a painting of some birds that they got as a wedding present, and he knows she’s telling him things, details, that he should maybe remember, but he just can’t bring himself to think about anything right now. 

Eventually, the line goes dead, and he shoves his phone in his front pocket numbly. He knows he’s still holding the tests, but Spencer doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. He blinks at him, and Spencer raises his eyebrows questioningly, looking worried. 

Ryan says “what kind of fucked up reincarnation shit is this?” with a hollow sort of laugh, backing away slowly. His head feels too light and his body feels too heavy, and he’s unsteady on his feet, because, god, what the fuck is he even supposed to do now. 

Spencer looks confused, now, and really worried, and Ryan swallows hard before forcing out the words “my dad is dead,” as he shoves the tests into Spencer’s hands. He’s not going to be able to say the other thing out loud, not at this point. Words are fucking hard, and he’s freaking out, and he just… he has no fucking idea what to do. 

He doesn’t look at Spencer’s face as he finds out, doesn’t think he can handle the way he knows Spencer is going to want to coddle him. He doesn’t need coddled, he needs- 

He doesn't know what he needs, actually, not in general, but he thinks he needs to get out of here. 

Spencer doesn’t follow him as he puts his shoes on, grabbing his keys from the hook by the door. He can hear him call out “Ryan, wait-” just before the door slams shut, but he doesn’t stop, and Spencer doesn’t follow soon enough to catch up to him before he’s already halfway down their street. He stays under the speed limit, though. He’s very very careful to stay under the speed limit, and come to a complete stop at every sign, because… fuck, he’s got to, hasn’t he? He needs to be more careful now. 

He finds himself at that park by Spencer's childhood home, the one where they used to play with Hotwheels, and smoke weed as teenagers, and lay in the grass as the sun came up after staying up all night. The swings are rusted now, and all the playground equipment makes strange noises, and at two PM on a friday anyone else who might be here is definitely in school, so there’s nobody around to give him weird looks as he walks to one of the picnic tables, sitting down cross-legged on to of the table. 

He stares out at the horizon, feeling the wind blow his hair into his eyes, and tries, in-vein, to keep his hair out of his face by brushing it back. It’s a beautiful day, sunny, but smelling like rain, like it always does in late spring, and he can’t tell if that feels fitting or incongruous. 

His dad is dead. He’s going to be a dad. He doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. 

It’s not like he would have let his dad around his kid anyway, really. He knows how his dad is with children… was with children, and he knows firsthand that it’s not good for kids to be around that. 

Still, though. Still. He’ll never get to meet his grandchild, and Ryan seriously can’t even fucking tell if that makes him feel sad or relieved. 

Fuck, is he a terrible person if he feels relieved? It’s not like he didn’t care about his dad, but they also weren’t close , and he didn’t even… he didn’t really say goodbye. He didn’t think his dad wanted him to, but he can’t help but feel like he maybe should have tried harder. 

His dad might not even be happy to learn he was pregnant, but he still wishes he knew, for some reason. Actually, maybe he would be happy, Ryan really has no idea. He’ll never know, either. He wishes he found out a week ago, and called his dad, for some godforsaken reason, just so he’d know he died a grandfather. 

What the fuck does he even do now? He needs to plan a funeral, because nobody else is going to do it. The lady on the phone said something about a will, and he assumes he probably got the house. He doesn't really want the house, but there might still be some baby stuff in the attic, and that would be helpful. 

He lays down flat on top of the table, watching one fluffy cloud move slowly across the bright blue sky. 

What he needs to do, the only thing he knows how to fucking do, actually, is take care of people. His whole childhood was defined by it. He took care of himself, rolled his dad over to sleep on his side when he fell asleep drunk on the couch. Made himself dinner so his dad wouldn’t get mad at him for asking him to do it. He needs to take care of someone. 

With sudden, world-shifting clarity, he realizes that he’s hungry, and he needs to take care of his baby. 

Five minutes later, for reasons he, himself, doesn’t really stop to process before he gets there, he finds himself outside Spencer’s moms house. He doesn’t really want to go home, yet, because he can’t feel normal there, but he still wants something familiar. 

He knocks on the door, and, as he shoves his hands into his pockets, realizes a little too late that he’s still wearing his pajamas. Ginger clearly realizes that, too, because her eyebrows shoot up as she sees him. In his defense, he was about to change into something resembling ‘functional adult clothes’ before he started putting things together with his recent bouts of nausea and new insatiable hunger for peaches, and then he thought he’d change after he took the test, and then… Well, then shit hit the fan. 

“Ryan, hi,” she says, already reaching out to him. “Come in, honey. Are you alright? Did you and Spencer have a fight?” 

He shakes his head as he steps inside. It wouldn't be the first time he came here after they had a bad argument, which says a lot about how deeply entwined they are, that even when he’s mad at Spencer he still feels like he can come to his mom for comfort. This isn’t that, though. 

“No, um. I’m okay,” he starts, automatically deflecting. “Just-” he doesn't really want to tell her, yet, because holy shit he wants to feel normal for a second. He doesn’t think that’s going to last very long though, because she doesn’t look at all convinced when he says “I was in the area.” 

She leads him to the couch, pushes a tiny bowl of individually wrapped chocolates towards him on the coffee table (left over from Easter, no doubt,) and asks “what’s wrong, Ryan?” 

Ryan grabs a chocolate from the bowl, happy to have something to do with his hands, and says “my dad died,” feeling resigned to this conversation happening over and over again for the foreseeable future. He supposes, actually, that that’s just as well, because it’s not like there’s much else he can think to talk about. 

Well, besides the other thing. The other thing that he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell a lot of people about until you’re way farther into it than he is. 

(How far along is he, anyway? Their last condom broke that one time in early december… and then- yeah definitely then. So, almost two months. Shit, that’s crazy.) 

“Oh, honey.” Ginger moves across the couch, hugging him tightly, and he sighs, letting her feel like she’s comforting him. He hopes this makes her feel better, because he already feels bad enough for imposing on her day with something like this. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he assures her, squeezing back briefly before he pulls away. “We knew it was coming, you know?” 

“That doesn’t make it any easier, though,” she says sympathetically, rubbing his arm. He nods, not sure how he’s supposed to act, here. She seems like she doesn’t know either as she looks at him, conflicted and concerned, before saying. “Hang on, let me get you some of the cookies I made last night.” 

She stands up quickly, and he grins despite himself, despite the situation, because that’s actually kind of perfect. This is the kind of shit grandmas do, right? And she’s going to be such a good grandma. He’s still grinning when she comes back, actually, and she gives him another worried look, probably thinking he’s in shock, or something. He’s not, or at least, he doesn’t think he is. No, things are definitely sinking in. It’s just that he’s got two completely opposite life changes happening at exactly the same moment, so he thinks it’s to be expected that his reactions to life in general are going to be pretty damn erratic. 

He smiles at her as she sets the plate down in front of him, and she looks even more concerned and curious as she sits down next to him. 

He says “you’re going to be a really good grandmother,” and she laughs lightly, furrowing her eyebrows even more. She is, too. This is peak wonderful grandma behavior. He’s really fucking glad his kid is going to have her. 

“Well, thank you, I suppose, but I’m not sure what that’s got to do with anything.” 

“I’m pregnant,” he says simply, ripping the bandaid off. He supposes if she’s going to know part of the situation, she’s got to know the whole thing, and the grandparents are usually the first people you tell, right? He smiles a little sardonically at her shocked expression, and says “it’s been a weird day.” 

“God, I bet,” she laughs, still shocked, as she leans over to hug him again. “Did you just find out?” 

“Yeah, on both counts.” 

“Oh, wow.” She rubs his arm again as she hugs him from the side, and he lets her hold him. “God, I’m so sorry… and congratulations,” she laughs gently, squeezing him a little harder. 

“Thanks,” he chuckles, pulling away gently. Her eyes are shining a little, and Ryan feels kind of bad about that, but then she shoves the plate of cookies into his lap, and says “eat. There’s more if you want it.” 

He does as he’s told, but he also thinks he’s going to need something more substantial soon. He’ll think about that a bit later. 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asks, just like she used to when he would come over here looking dejected and hurt as a kid. “I’m making spaghetti.” 

“Yeah,” he says, happy for any excuse to stay out of his own house for a little longer. “That would be great, thank you.” 

“I’ll see if Spencer wants to come, too. Does he know where you are?” she asks, suddenly concerned again. 

“Uh, I don’t think so,” he tells her, guilty. Shit, he’s probably worried sick. 

“I’ll call him,” she says immediately, standing as she pulls her phone out. He nods, grateful to have someone else do at least one of these tense conversations for him. The next couple weeks are going to be full of constant uncomfortable and tense conversations, anyway. 

He can hear snippets of the conversation from the kitchen, bits of “yeah, he’s alright,” and “no no, it’s okay,” but he tries not to listen, because it makes a knot of guilt tighten in his stomach. He should have stayed for Spencer, really, running off was kind of a shitty thing to do, but he really, really didn’t know what else to do.

Ryan answers the door when Spencer bursts through it about fifteen minutes later, and he basically tackles Ryan into the house, holding on tightly. 

“You scared the shit out of me, Ryan, don’t fucking do that again.” 

“I know, I’m sorry. I won’t.” He wraps his arms around Spencer’s shoulders, petting through his hair to calm him down. This is familiar. This, he can do. He can comfort Spencer, and that’s not scary or uncomfortable, that’s fine. He says “it’s okay,” as he rubs his back, and Spencer manages a laugh. 

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say to you?” he asks, pulling back to meet his eyes. 

“Yeah, maybe, but you’re freaked out, and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, no. It’s fine, I’m not mad, I forgive you, it’s just… Jesus Christ, Ryan, you’re-” Spencer swallows, moves one of the hands on his back around to his hip, just a bit further forward towards his stomach than where he might usually settle his hands, and Ryan nods. 

“Yeah, I am.” 

Spencer pulls him in again, sighs into his shoulder, and says “I love you so much,” shortly followed by “sorry this is all so fucked up.” 

“I mean, it’s us. What did you expect?” he jokes, and Spencer manages a wet laugh. He doesn’t let go, though, breathing deeply into Ryan’s neck as he fists his hands in the back of his shirt, like he’s desperately trying to keep him there. Ryan lets him hold on. 

“I know the whole situation is less than ideal, but God, I’m so happy,” Spencer mutters into his shoulder. He sounds close to tears again, and Ryan’s breathing picks up as the arm around his lower back tightens. “I’m so fucking happy.” 

“Me too,” Ryan admits, feeling choked up. 

“Yeah?” Spencer asks, pulling back to look at him. 

“Yeah.” Ryan smiles. It’s weak, but sincere, and Spencer returns it. “I really want this.” 

“Good,” Spencer says, kissing him once before burying his face back in his shoulder. “Me too.” 

Ryan closes his eyes, sighing, and runs his fingers through Spencer’s hair a little while he waits for him to decide he’s ready to let go. He doesn’t mind, really, and he knows Spencer needs this right now. He definitely freaked him out earlier, and he should know better than this by now, so he’s more than willing to comfort him about it afterwards. 

When they do pull away, he finds Spencer's mom looking at them from across the room. He doesn’t know how long she’s been there, but she’s smiling somehow sadly, and his stomach kind of drops as he realizes all the eyes in the room are on him, pitying. Right, nobody’s willing to ignore the elephant in the room, apparently. He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. 

“I’m, uh, gonna go to the bathroom,” he says, already moving in that direction. 

Spencer holds onto his hand for just a second though, holding him back, and says “Ryan?” His gaze looks open, sincere, and Ryan feels utterly trapped by it. “I’m here, okay? Whenever you want me.” 

Ryan swallows, wills his voice not to shake as he says “I know,” and squeezes his hand once before letting go. 

In the bathroom, he lets the taps run, feels the way the tears are ripped from him, his breath coming fast and hiccuping, but he tries to be quiet about it. He doesn’t want anyone checking on him, isn’t ready for the vulnerability of anyone seeing him cry. He’s not good at crying, because he hasn't done it in years, so he’s sure it must look strange and clumsy. He needs to get this out now, though, he thinks, or it’ll slip out unexpectedly, and that would be even worse, so he lets the shock and pain and fear wash over him and pour out, because there’s not much else to do at this point. 

He hates crying. Crying is a big red sign on your back that says “I can be hurt,” and he’s spent the majority of his life attempting to build up the illusion that he can’t be hurt. No matter what life threw at him, he could not be hurt. 

He’s hurt, though. He’s scared, too, and he needs a second to drop the facade, as comforting as it is, because he’s tired, and probably fucking hormonal, actually. Shit, this sucks. 

He lets the taps run, and he sinks to the floor, and he buries his face in his T-shirt as he waits for it to stop. 

----------

Spencer’s twin sisters get home a little after three, and Ryan is glad for the distraction from the heavy atmosphere that’s fallen over the three of them in the living room. They’ve put a movie on, just whatever’s playing on cable, which ended up being Bladerunner. (Seems like it’s always fucking Bladerunner. Why do they show that movie so much on cable?) Spencer is kind of half on top of Ryan on the couch, which is a lot more “cuddling” than they’d normally be doing around his mom, but it seems like Spencer kind of needs this. 

That might be a little weird, in the grand scheme of things, but it’s the way Ryan feels comfortable conceptualizing it: comforting Spencer. 

He’s fucking with his hair while Spencer clings to his waist, pressing his nose to his neck, when the kids burst through the door, startling all three of them. Both girls shout “Ryan!” in unison as soon as they enter the living room, in that purely excited way that only sixteen year old girls can greet people, and basically jump on him, shoving Spencer out of the way. 

“And what am I, furniture?” Spencer laughs, watching as his sisters attack his husband. 

Ryan grins at him, and says “I’m the favorite, Spence, sorry.” 

“Yeah, he’s more fun, you’re boring. Plus, he has actually helpful insights about makeup, and I’m going out later, so he’s useful,” Jackie explains, her arms still firmly looped around Ryan’s neck as she leans over the couch to hug him. 

“I think that’s code for I’m gayer,” Ryan jokes, feeling a knot loosen in his chest when Spencer grins back. 

“Where are you going, honey?” Ginger asks from across the room. 

“Just some party, it’s going to be pretty laid back,” she shrugs. 

“She’s just excited cause Anthony’s going to be there,” Crystal says, teasingly, and Jackie stands up to glare at her. 

“Oooohhhh do you have a crush?” Spencer grins, teasing her like the annoying older brother he is. 

Ryan just tilts his head back to look up at her over the back of the couch, and says “wear red, guys like that, and it'll bring out your eyes.” He doesn’t actually know if red makes her eyes specifically look more or less noticeable, but he does know it looks good on Spencer, and they have the same eyes, more or less, so it’s a well educated guess.

“That’s why he’s the favorite,” Jackie says, flicking Spencer in the forehead as she passes him to sit on the other couch. “What are you guys doing here, anyway?” 

“We’re just over for dinner,” Ryan explains, taking the guesswork out of what to say for Spencer and his mom. He’ll tell the girls about… the rest of it, but not yet. Ryan puts his arm over the back of the couch again, looking at Spencer with raised eyebrows. He shuffles over immediately, like he was just waiting for an invitation to touch again, and Ryan drops his arm back to his shoulders. 

Spencer is pretty freaked out still, which Ryan supposes is fair, because he pulled a pretty damn worrying disappearing act earlier, so he thinks he has the license to be clingy. Telling Spencer his dad just died, revealing that he’s carrying his child, and immediately dropping off the face of the earth for an hour was kind of an asshole thing to do. Spencer’s allowed to be clingy and concerned after that. 

Spencer reaches up to lace their fingers together, pulls on his hand until he can press his lips to the tattoo on his wrist, and Ryan pulls him a little closer. 

Dinner is sort of weird and tense, but Ryan and Ginger do their best to deflect from the strange atmosphere by focusing on asking Jackie and Crystal about school. Spencer keeps adding food to Ryan’s plate, not being discrete about it at fucking all, but Ryan genuinely doesn’t mind. He’s right, anyway, kid needs food, and it’s their job to feed them. Ryan can do this part, the ‘taking care of someone else,’ thing. It calms him down, makes him feel more grounded, and useful, even if the thought that he’s actually pregnant is still kind of new and weird to him. 

“You two can stay the night, if you want?” Ginger offers as they’re cleaning the table, after the girls have gone to their rooms. 

Spencer defers to Ryan immediately, raising his eyebrows, and Ryan kind of shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to go home, truth be told, not yet, because home makes everything too… real. That's why he left this morning. As soon as he goes back to his normal house, and his normal life, he’s going to have to deal with the fact that his dad is dead and he’s having a baby, but for now, in Ginger's house, he can just sort of… focus on deflecting certain conversations and ignoring things that make him uncomfortable, which he vastly prefers. 

“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” he asks, feeling bad for intruding. 

“No, none at all, honey. You can stay as long as you need.” 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re always welcome here, you know?” She smiles at them, bright and sincere, like she can’t help it, and adds “all three of you.” 

Ryan returns her look, because he can’t help it, either, and repeats “thanks.” 

“Of course.” She sets down the plate she’s holding so that she can cross the room and hug both of them, pulling them closer to each other by the arms so she can get them both at once. She adds “I’ll be happy to babysit, as well, or just take them for a few hours so the two of you can sleep.” 

“We’ll be holding you to that,” Ryan threatens, laughing weakly. His throat feels kind of tight suddenly. 

“I’m not worried, Spencer was an easy baby,” she comments, pulling back to pat them both on the cheeks before she goes back to stacking dishes in the sink. 

“I was?” Spencer laughs disbelievingly. “Don’t you always complain that I was born at, like, ten pounds? And twins run in the family, too, so you might be agreeing to more than you bargained for here.” 

Oh, jesus fuck, ten pounds? Twins? It better not be fucking twins. Maybe Ryan is the one agreeing to more than he bargained for. Holy mother of god, he is going to die. He looks over at Spencer, his eyes wide and accusatory, but also fucking terrified, because he is built like a goddamn spring sapling, and this kid (or kids? Oh god,) is going to break him . 

“Shit, sorry,” Spencer laughs weakly as he meets his eyes. “That’s probably not the most comforting thing for me to say.” 

“No, it’s not,” Ryan says flatly. “If you knocked me up with ten pound twins I will actually murder you, I hope you know that.” 

“Yea, that’s fair,” he says, rubbing his arm in an attempt to be soothing. He looks equal parts apologetic and like he’s trying not to laugh, and Ryan would glare harder if he wasn’t still busy looking freaked out. Fucking asshole. Asshole, with genetics that apparently produce massive fucking twins… Jesus Christ. 

“Oh, honey,” Ginger laughs, looking sympathetic, but clearly also trying not to laugh hysterically at Ryan’s expression. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I lived.” 

“I’m gonna, uh, go lay down,” he says instead of responding, not sure how else to get out of this conversation, because he’s one hundred percent sure he doesn't want to discuss any more details of this with Spencer’s mom, thanks . They let him go without a fight. Thank fuck, because Ginger sometimes likes to share way more information than he’s prepared for. He thinks he can hear her calling Spencer a dumbass under her breath, which he does just barely manage to smile at as he hastily exits the room. 

When Spencer joins him about a minute later, Ryan is laying down on his side, looking through the texts he’s missed. There’s ten missed calls from Spencer, which he almost apologizes for when he walks in, but then Spencer says “you know, twins usually have lower birth weights, so it won’t be ten pounds and twins,” and suddenly Ryan feels absolved of all guilt. 

Ryan groans as he shuts off his phone, pressing his face into the pillows, and flips him off without looking. 

He feels the bed dip next to him, and then hands rubbing his back, and Spencer says “I’m sorry.” He sounds so genuinely guilty that Ryan almost laughs as he rolls over, finding him looking down with wide apologetic eyes. 

“It’s fine, baby. It’s not your fault you have horrifying genetics.” 

“Hey, last time I checked you liked my genetics,” Spencer returns, grinning playfully, and Ryan can feel the knot in his stomach loosen just a little. 

“Yeah, well.” Ryan pulls him down so they’re lying face to face, and says “maybe I’m a dumbass.” Spencer laughs, and Ryan winds his arms around his waist, pulling them closer together until he can slot his head under Spencer's chin. 

“You’re not,” Spencer assures him, bringing a hand up to card through his hair. He might normally agree with him, amp up the teasing, but it seems like he’s a stuck in the mindset that Ryan is fragile right now… which might not be untrue, exactly, but the reminder is unsettling. 

“No, I am.” He sighs, trying to focus on the feeling of Spencer breathing against him, and mutters “I’m sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have left like that.” 

“It’s fine, I get it.” He presses his face into his hair, breathing deeply, for a second. “I’m sorry I freaked out about it. It’s a lot to process, I know you needed space.” 

“No, really, it’s fine. I’m carrying your child, you’re allowed to be concerned about my whereabouts. And I should have been, I don’t know, there for you, I guess, when you found out. I should have let you hold me.” 

Spencer sighs, presses a hand to Ryan’s lower back, pushing them flush together so that his stomach is pressed completely between them, and Ryan’s guts twist pleasantly, something like butterflies. 

Spencer says “I’m holding you now,” in that low voice he uses sometimes when he can tell Ryan is freaking out, and it works, like it always does, to settle him. Then he adds “you know that’s not the only reason I was worried,” in a whisper, and Ryan just shakes his head, pressing his lips together tightly. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he insists, his tone warning, but his voice weak, and Spencer sighs again. 

“Okay.” 

----------

Jackie enlists Ryan to help her get ready for whatever party she’s going to, and Ryan is more than happy for the excuse to talk to someone who isn’t half convinced he’s about to have a complete breakdown. (He’s not, for the record. He’s going to handle all of this with his chin up and his voice calm, like always. Because he can handle this; he’s handled worse.) 

“We had to do this punnett square activity in biology today, and it was so awkward- should I do black shoes or white with this?” 

“Black,” Ryan answers immediately from his seat on her bed. He shifts a little uncomfortably. He kind of needs to pee… fucking again. Kids on his bladder, he thinks, with a private little smirk. 

Jackie holds up both pairs in the mirror, appraising, and then nods, tossing the white pair to the side. “Anyway,” she continues, moving to sit down at her vanity to finish her makeup. “We had to do this activity, and they made us all pair up and see what traits our kids would have, I got paired up with this really creepy guy, so I kept telling him I hated all the traits our theoretical kids were getting, and he kept getting more and more dejected about it. It was so uncomfortable, but at least I think he knows he doesn't have a chance.” 

“Cause you like that Anthony guy, right?” 

Jackie smiles at him in the mirror briefly, before going back to her eyeshadow, and says “maybe.” After a second she turns her gaze to him again, tilting her head, and asks “what color are your parents' eyes?” 

“Uh, my moms are blue, I think, and my dads are-” were his brain corrects, and he clears his throat. “My dad’s are brown.” 

“Heterozygous, then,” she comments. Ryan nods like he agrees, because he spent the entirety of high school biology shoving earbuds up his sleeves so he could listen to Smashing Pumpkins, so he’s really not one to argue with whatever the fuck that means. “So you and Spence have a fifty-fifty chance of having kids with brown or blue eyes.” 

His heart stops for a second, thinking she somehow figured it out, but she says it so casually, without even looking away from what she’s doing, that he realizes she’s just applying what she learned in school with a frankly unnerving amount of relevance. Ryan should encourage her to say more about that, or something, because he thinks it's probably a good sign for her grade in that class, but also… 

A little kid with bright blue eyes, just like Spencer’s. Shit, if it’s a girl she’ll probably look a lot like Jackie and Crystal did as kids, and they were adorable, seriously, even Ryan, in all his teenage angst, could see that at the time. Maybe she’ll look just like Spence, and he’ll carry her on his hip while he makes dinner, and Ryan will teach her how to play guitar even though her hands are way too small to form the chords. Maybe she can just strum… oh god, or Spencer could teach her drums. That would be so sweet-

“Hello?” Jackie snaps her fingers in front of his face, and he blinks quickly, trying to school his expression into something a little less… dreamy, he guesses. “Earth to Ross-Smith,” she says, and Ryan tries not to smile even wider at the way she always uses both names. Jackie laughs at him as he shakes his head as if to clear it and asks “Jesus Christ, Ryan. Are you good?” 

“Yeah, just- distracted,” he says, trying to laugh it off. 

“Sure” she smirks, picking up a tube of mascara as she turns around. “Anyway, like I was saying-” 

----------

Ryan wakes up at two in the morning because he has to fucking piss again , which he seems to have gotten used to over the last week or so without noticing it, actually, and somewhere between the toilet and the sink he realizes that he is also absolutely starving. Honestly? This pregnancy shit is super goddamn annoying. 

He stares into the fridge listlessly, scratching at a spot right above the waistband of his pants as he yawns. They’re Spencer’s from high school, because there’s a limited selection of clothes at Ginger’s house, and they’re way too big around the hips even though he has the drawstring pulled tight. … Maybe he should take these back with them, because they might actually fit pretty well soon. He flattens his hand out over his stomach for just a second before reaching into the fridge, smiling a lopsided little smile as he grabs a container of strawberries… and some cool whip, sure. That sounds good. 

As he sets everything on the counter, pulling out a cutting board and knife, he yawns again. He’s exhausted, but definitely too hungry to sleep before eating. This kid’s already such a fucking pain in his ass, and, god, he loves them.  

He pauses, blinking down at his hands blankly as he catches that thought. He loves them. When the fuck did that happen? 

He’s kind of still processing that thought when the front door creaks open and slams unceremoniously, startling him out of it. He hears Jackie shushing someone, but he assumes she’s just reminding herself to be quiet as she falls against the wall, because he only hears one set of footsteps. 

She stumbles into the kitchen, and hastily attempts to school her expression into something that looks less sloppy-smiley-drunk as she notices him standing there in front of a container of strawberries and a tub of cool whip. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, smirking. It’s not like he didn’t stumble in this house drunk about a hundred times at her age. Kids will be kids, and all that. 

Jackie leans against the wall opposite him, smirking, clumsily crosses her arms, and counters with “are you pregnant?” 

He fucking knew she figured it out with the damn punnett squares. He looks down at the cutting board, carefully cutting the tops off of the strawberries and quartering them neatly. Some of his hair falls into his face and he asks “you want strawberries and cool whip?” 

“You’re avoiding the question,” she grins, pushing herself off the wall. He grabs two bowls from the cabinet. 

“So are you.” He says, glancing back over at her. “I won’t tell your mom,” he adds gently as he dumps half the cut strawberries into each of the two bowls. “Not like I didn’t do the same thing at your age.” 

“I won’t tell mom either,” she says conspiratorially, grinning as she accepts the bowl of strawberries and cool whip. He thinks, idly, as he hands her a spoon, that drunk food and pregnancy cravings are kind of weirdly similar. 

“She knows,” he says with a snort, guiding her to sit down at the kitchen table with a hand on her back. She’s drunk, and the only light they have to see by are the lights under the cabinets in the kitchen, so he doesn’t want her to fall. 

“She does?” Jackie asks as she flops down clumsily in one of the kitchen chairs. 

“Yeah,” Ryan laughs. He pulls both his legs up on the chair across from her, crossing them, and says “I told her right after Spence,” with a shrug, going for casual. She’s drunk, he supposes, so everything is casual to her right now. 

“I guess that makes sense. She did kinda raise you, didn’t she?” 

“Yeah.” He takes a bite as an excuse to swallow down the tight feeling in his throat. “She did.” 

“Are you excited?” she asks with a grin, tilting her head to the side drunkenly as she sways a little. Jesus, he’s glad she didn’t drive to that party. 

“Yeah,” he says, grinning back. He is. He’s really fucking excited. 

“You guys are gonna be good parents,” she kind of half mumbles, looking sleepy suddenly as she finishes devouring her bowl. “Seriously,” she adds around a mouthful. “You’re totally gonna be, like, cool parents, and you give good advice.” 

“Thank you, Jackie,” he says sincerely, smirking as she fails to notice the cool whip on her nose. 

“There’s something else, though,” she says as she pushes away her now empty bowl, squinting at him. “You guys are being weird, and it’s somber weird, not ‘yay I’m pregnant’ weird.” 

Ryan opens his mouth, considers telling her, but if there is a time and a place to announce your fathers death to your teenage sister-in-law, it is not this one. He settles on shaking his head, saying “not right now,” and finishing off his own food. He grabs both of their bowls, and she blinks up at him kind of blearily. He puts everything in the sink quickly before walking back to the kitchen table, hoisting her up. “Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around her. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

----------

The funeral is two weeks later, on February fifth. The day is cold, and damp, but the service itself is dry. Ryan is nine weeks pregnant. 

He sits on the far left of the front row, and some assorted aunts and uncles sit a few seats down. His mom sits on the opposite side, silently. 

Spencer is behind him, and Ryan can practically feel the way he’s dying to touch him. He always gets like that when Ryan is dealing with something. It’s a strange juxtaposition, because Ryan deals with stress by looking really calm, and Spencer deals with Ryan’s stress by getting really clingy, so from the outside it basically looks like Ryan is fine and Spencer is being weird. In reality, though, they’re both doing what they need to do to calm themselves down, and they’ve reached a sort of silent agreement about just letting each other handle their shit. Ryan will shut down, and Spencer won’t ask him to show more emotion, and in return Spencer will send him long looks and rub his back, and Ryan will subtly lean into it, won’t tell him to back off. 

It’s fucked up, Ryan thinks, how his whole life it seemed like the worst thing he could do was show any emotion, and now that he’s learned not to it’s suddenly unnerving. He’s not sure what the fuck anyone expected of him, really. If he had cried at a funeral as a kid his dad probably would have- 

He stares, unflinchingly, at the urn behind the priest. He hasn’t been listening for about ten minutes, but he’s saying something about the kingdom of heaven now. Ryan wonders if his blood alcohol level made him easier to cremate. He also wonders why his dad chose to be cremated, actually he never thought to ask. 

He probably should have spent more time with him, towards the end, but it’s not like either of them seemed to particularly enjoy his visits, and sometimes it felt a bit like torturing a dying old man. It made him uncomfortable how little that thought bothered him, when it was his dad. He doesn’t feel like a very good person sometimes. Maybe it’s genetic. 

He closes his eyes, sighs, and tries to refocus on whatever the fuck this priest is saying. 

Afterwords, when the massive reception hall somehow feels too small, and the smell of the fucking beer they’re serving for some goddamn reason is making him unreasonably nauseous, Ryan steps outside for a bit. He stays under the awning, because it’s raining in earnest, now. A rabbit runs across the carefully manicured lawn of the funeral home, moving quickly from bush to bush to stay out of the rain. He should go back in soon, take advantage of the catering, because he’s hungry, and he’s found that, recently, hungry turns into nauseous pretty damn quickly. He’s got a granola bar in his inside suit pocket, though, because he planned ahead for this. He’s good at planning ahead under pressure. 

Just as he’s about to take the granola bar out of his pocket, the door behind him opens, and he drops his hands back to his sides. planne

He turns around to see who it is, and his mom says a soft “hey,” as she raises a hand awkwardly. Ryan gives her a tight lipped smile, and nods politely. She sidles up beside him, leaning against the wall, herself, and sighs. They both stare out at the rain for a second, not facing each other, before his mom asks “do you want a cigarette?” 

“Can’t,” Ryan replies simply, careful to keep his voice neutral. It comes out exceptionally flat, just like he wanted it to. He knows it’s a gesture of goodwill, an offer to commiserate through self destruction, but he doesn’t do that kind of thing anymore. He can’t, he has to be a dad. 

It’s uncomfortable to realize you’re more grown up than your mom. 

“Oh, come on. One won’t hurt, and it’s been a rough day. Nobody would blame you.” 

“I’m pregnant,” he blurts out, his voice just as flat. “So, no, not even one.” He doesn’t know why he tells her, actually, because he was planning to wait till he was way further along than this, but he kind of… he just wants her to know. 

There’s a long pause in which Ryan stubbornly refuses to look anywhere but straight ahead, before she says “shit, was it planned?” 

Ryan does turn to her then, glares a little actually, and says “well, I’m married, so-” It figures, really, that that would be her reaction, not ‘congradulations’ or ‘wow, I’m going to be a grandmother!’ They both know she’ll only be a grandma in title, anyway. She’s never liked babies much, so he doubts she’ll have much interest in visiting once they’re born. 

It wasn’t planned, no, but it’s very, very wanted, and he doesn’t need a lecture from her about the dangers of keeping an unplanned pregnancy. That would definitely hurt more than he can handle right now. Besides, in a few months? A year? They would have started trying, anyway. 

“Marriage doesn’t mean you want a kid,” she says, patting her pockets now, and he tries not to let that sting too much. Yeah, he’s very fucking aware that she didn’t want to be a mom, but did it anyway. She has made it more than clear, with years and years of barely seeing her, that parenting was apparently the worst sacrifice she ever made.

“Well, I do want it. A lot, actually,” he says defensively as she manages to pull a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. “Which means if you’re going to smoke I’m going inside.” 

She rolls her eyes, and says “come on, a little second hand smoke isn’t going to do anything. All my friends smoked when I was pregnant with you, and you turned out fine.”

Ryan pauses in front of the door before turning back to her, seeing her search around for her lighter with a cigarette gripped between her teeth. He says “just because it didn’t kill me doesn’t mean I’m doing it to my own kid. I don’t want to do things ‘good enough,’ I want to do my best.” 

She scoffs, offended, and says “oh, cause you could do so much better, right? You think I wasn’t doing the best I could?” 

Ryan sets his jaw tight, turns back to the door, closes his eyes, and says an icy cold “I sincerely fucking hope not,” before walking back inside. 

He finds himself in the mens room instead of back inside the reception. He closes the stall door behind him quickly, leaning back against the wall with his hands over his face. Trying to breathe slowly around the lump in his throat. 

He pulls his hands back going for the damn granola bar, because now that he’s alone he supposes he might as well eat. He wipes under his eye with the sleeve of his suit jacket, sniffing conspicuously, as he pulls the packet out of the inside pocket. Fucking hormones, seriously. He manages to laugh at himself a little as he takes a bite, because now he feels pregnant, fucking crying in a bathroom stall as he sneaks in a mid-afternoon granola bar. Extremely knocked up behavior, this is. He eats in relative silence, trying not to be unsettled by the way he can hear himself chewing every bite in the echoing silence of the bathroom. 

He places a hand on his lower stomach as he crumples up the wrapper in his palm, feeling the subtle slope of his abdomen under his hand. It's not like he’s showing, or anything, but he’s not far from it with how thin he is. You definitely can’t tell under the suit, at least. 

They’re healthy, too, he thinks with a sigh. That thought has been a constant comfort for the last week since their appointment. They’re healthy. (And, the doctor assured him, with a very weird look, there is one baby, thank fuck. She also said they were measuring right on track, if just slightly on the bigger side, and he only shot Spencer a half-worried, half-murderous look for a second before she asked if they wanted to hear the heartbeat, and he forgot about pretty much everything else.) His kid is safe with him, here, and he’s going to keep them so fucking far away from the mess that’s waiting for him out there. That shit is all his problem, and he can deal with it, but it’s got nothing to do with his kid, and they’re not going to have to worry about any of it. 

Fuck, he has no idea when he started crying again. He sniffs hard, tilting his face up towards the ceiling to try to stop any more tears from coming as he wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket again. 

The door opens, and he clears his throat, hoping it’ll help his voice come out sounding steady. 

Spencer’s voice says “Ryan? Are you in here?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he replies. His voice sounds weird, shit. He clears his throat again. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, fine,” he says flatly as he opens the stall door. He holds up the granola bar wrapper to Spencer on the way to throw it out, not quite meeting his eyes, and says “had to eat.” He tosses the wrapper in the trash, and sees how red his eyes look in the mirror, goddamnit. Spencer gives him one of those worried looks again, and he turns the tap on cold, splashing his face with it a few times. When he looks up again his face is a lot less red. Better. Spencer doesn’t look any less worried, though. 

“Hey.” Spencer reaches out to touch his lower back, trying to be comforting, and Ryan fucking hates that it makes his spine stiffen. Hates it. He really would like to feel like he can let his husband comfort him right now, but he just fucking can’t . “Ryan, baby. It’s okay if you need a minute.” 

“I’m fine,” he repeats, his voice flat. “Hormones, you know? I just needed food.” He wipes his face with a paper towel, then attempts to walk out of the bathroom, but Spencer grabs him by the elbow to stop him. He stops, but doesn’t turn away from the door. 

“Ryan,” he starts, firmly, but gently. “You’re not fine. You don’t have to be fine.” 

“Yes, I do,” he says. He breathes in and out once, closes his eyes, and says “just don’t, please. I can’t right now.” Vulnerability is for people who aren’t scared, and Ryan is so, so fucking scared right now, so yes, he does have to be fine, because the second he goes back out there being fine is all he has. 

“Okay,” Spencer says, sliding his head down from his elbow to his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Okay.” Ryan looks over his shoulder, and finds Spencer already looking at him. Spencer leans forward to kiss him on the shoulder, brushing some lint off of his suit and says “whatever you need, alright? I’m here.” 

Ryan faces forward again, straightens his spine out, squares his shoulders, and focuses on making his gaze icy calm as he stares straight ahead. He also squeezes Spencer’s hand, though, and says “thank you,” before walking back out of the bathroom. 

He re-enters the reception feeling suitably detached again. He sees his mom at the open bar, and that’s probably not a great sign, but he didn’t expect anything less, really. Some woman comes up to him, offering her condolences, and he has no idea who the fuck she is, but he thanks her, anyway. 

Just as Janet, his favorite aunt, and the only one he actually bothers to keep in touch with outside of things like this, starts walking over to him, he feels a hand on the small of his back, and he knows instinctively that it’s Spencer, (because, well, who the fuck else would it be?) He leans into it a little, letting him know it’s okay, and Spencer's palm flattens out, possessive. Ryan fights the urge to smirk. 

“Hey, Ryan.” Janet greets him with a sad smile, squeezing his arm. “How are you holding up?” 

“I’m alright. One day at a time, you know?” He returns her smile politely, and she squeezes his arm one more time before dropping her hand. “You look really good, Ryan,” she adds, tilting her head. “Sorry if it’s an inappropriate time to say it, but you really do.” 

Ryan is in the middle of opening his mouth to thank her when his mom, smelling like beer, walks up behind him, claps him on the shoulder, and says “glowing, right?” Ryan’s stomach twists, his back stiffens again, and his aunt looks between the two of them, confused. “He’s knocked up,” she clarifies in an uncomfortably aggressive tone, only slurring her words a little. He glares after her subtly as she walks away again with another pat to his shoulder. 

“Oh, wow,” she laughs, looking between him and Spencer. “Congratulations, guys.” Ryan gives her a tight lipped smile, and Spencer grabs him by the hip, pulling him closer. 

“Thanks,” Ryan says politely. “We’re really excited.” 

“Weird timing,” she laughs awkwardly. 

“Yeah, really,” Ryan chuckles. “We’re not telling that many people yet, cause I’m only nine weeks, but I guess she’s, uh-” He looks after his mother, who is only swaying slightly on her feet, and tries not to glare as he settles on “excited.” 

“Uh, yeah. Clearly.” Janet clears her throat, and says “I’m happy for you guys, though, really.” She smiles at them and then reaches out to Ryan. He leans in, accepts the hug, and she says “congratulations, and my condolences.” 

“Thanks,” he laughs weakly, pulling back. “The timing really does leave something to be desired.” 

“Yeah, a bit, but things happen when they happen,” she shrugs. “You’d better take good care of him,” she adds, finally turning to Spencer. 

His arm tightens around Ryan’s back again, and he says “I do.” Ryan smiles, despite everything else, as he turns to look at him. 

“He does.” 

----------

It rains for the entirety of the burial, and Ryan really, really wishes he had had the foresight to bring a jacket. He and Spencer share an umbrella the whole time, and, frankly, Ryan kind of spaces out for most of it, because he can’t handle being mentally present anymore. He gets through it, though, and before he knows it he’s walking back towards the car. 

“Ryan, wait.” 

He turns around and sees his mom rushing towards him. He sighs, resigning himself to whatever this conversation is going to be. Spencer looks at him, concerned, and he says “just go to the car, I’ll be there in a second.” He looks like he wants to protest, but decides against it, nodding with his lips pressed tight. 

“What?” he asks as she approaches, trying not to sound too annoyed. He maybe should have grabbed the umbrella from Spencer, he thinks, feeling the rain already starting to soak his hair. 

“I just- I’m sorry, you know, about earlier.” Ryan blinks at her, not used to hearing that, and she continues with “I had a bit too much to drink, and… I guess I’m just jealous, you know? That you get to have the experience I wish I had had with becoming a parent.” 

“I don’t know, I kinda feel like giving your kids a better life than you had is sort of the whole point.” He doesn’t think he really could be jealous of his kid. It would make sense if he was, but he isn’t. He doesn’t have it in him to feel anything but relief at the thought that their life, their relationship with their parents, will be better than his. (At least, he hopes it will.) 

She smiles, a bit sadly, and says “yeah, I guess you’re right.” She looks down at her feet, and says “I wasn’t cut out for this, Ryan, you know that, and my best just wasn’t very good, but I think you are.” 

Ryan blinks hard, nodding, and manages to say “thanks.” 

“Do you have a pen and paper?” 

“Um.” Ryan pats his pockets, and produces a ballpoint pen, somehow, but no paper. He hands it over to her, and has no idea what to think as she pulls out that pack of cigarettes again, tearing off part of the box so she can write on it. 

“Here,” she says after a second, handing the items over to him. “It’s the address and passcode to a storage locker. I was going to sell most of it at some point down the line, or just give it away, but it’s got a lot of your baby stuff in it, so-” She smiles at him, in that weird motherly way she almost never does, and says “take whatever you want, I’m not using it.” 

“Thanks,” he says again, shoving the items in his suit jacket pocket. “I’ll, um, take a look.” 

She nods, and almost turns to walk away, before she adds, “Janet’s right, you know? You do look good. I looked like shit my first trimester,” she laughs lightly. “But it suits you, I think.”

Ryan’s throat feels tight as he says “thank you, mom,” and she just nods, smiling sadly, before walking away. 

Ryan is shivering pretty hard when he gets to the car, and he’s completely fucking soaked as he slides into the passenger side. Spencer starts pulling his coat off immediately, throwing it over his shoulders, and Ryan almost manages to laugh at it. He really is a ridiculously doting husband, actually. Ryan considers himself very lucky. 

“Are you okay? Do you need me to-” 

“Spencer,” Ryan intojects, smiling weakly. “I want to go home.” 

“Yeah, of course, yeah.” 

They sit in (mostly) comfortable silence for about fifteen minutes, before Ryan takes stock of the direction they’re heading. 

“Why are we going to your moms house?” 

“She said she was making chicken noodle soup,” Spencer shrugs, faux-casual, as he hits the turn signal. 

“I’m not sick,” Ryan replies sarcastically. 

“Not with a virus, no, but you kind of are sick , like, all the time,” Spencer counters, smirking as he glances over at him. Ryan smiles back. 

“Actually, fair enough.” 

After a moment, Spencer adds “it calms you down to hang out over there, and I didn’t think you’d want to be back at the house just yet.” 

Ryan just nods, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders. 

When they get there, Spencer’s mom ushers them in quickly. Ryan is aware that he must look a little pathetic, tired and soaking wet on her porch step with a jacket around his shoulders. He doesn’t let anyone fuss over him for long, though, because he actually is fucking freezing, so he makes some excuse about warming up and heads to the shower. 

Ryan knows the second he steps under the hot water that this is going to be one of those ‘dam breaking’ moments, he can just feel it. He stands under the showerhead, wishing he could wash off the way that being around his family makes him feel fucking dirty under his skin. He can’t tell if it’s because of the way they look at him like he’s an outsider, or because of the idea some of them have that he’s going to turn out just like them. They both feel like shit. 

He feels heavy, and without thinking about it he lowers himself to the ground. He brings one knee up to his chest as he leans to the side, letting the cool tile support his weight. If he lets the water hit his face he can kind of ignore the fact that he’s crying, and the noise drowns out any weird hitching breath noises he can’t suppress. 

Whatever. God, whatever. He resigns himself to it, letting his chest feel like it’s caving in as his shoulders shake. He might as well get this out of the way now, he supposes. Maybe he’ll look normal by the time he leaves the shower.

When he comes out of the bathroom, wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, (and looking normal, thank god) he finds Spencer still in his suit, on the couch, clearly waiting for him with wide eyes. He walks over to him, ruffles his hair, presses a kiss to the top of his head, and says “go change,” into his hair. 

Spencer doesn’t leave the room right away, though. First, he settles an arm on Ryans cheek, wraps the other one around his back, and kisses him hard . It catches Ryan off guard, at first, but then he cups the back of Spencer’s head, opening up for him to lick into his mouth, and it feels good. Better. He sighs into it, moving closer, and Spencer’s palm spreads out over his lower back, possessive again. He’s been doing that a lot, like he used to at the beginning of their relationship when he was all obsessed with staking a claim. Ryan is pretty sure ‘this is my husband, he’s having my baby,’ is just about the best claim you can make on a person, but whatever. Ryan’s always privately enjoyed it a little, truth be told, although it sounds a little too close to some girly cliche for him to say it out loud. He likes that he’s Spencer’s, though. He trusts him with that. 

Ginger clears her throat in the doorway to the kitchen, and they pull away, wiping their mouths. Ryan clears his throat awkwardly, but she just smirks at them. 

“You boys hungry?” 

“I am,” Ryan says, moving towards her, “Spence is gonna go change.” He says it with a look in Spencer’s direction that says ‘this is final,’ and Spencer leaves obediently to put on more comfortable clothes. If he wants to curl up together on the couch, (which Ryan knows he does,) he is not wearing a fucking suit. 

Ginger won’t even let him get his own food, which he’s kind of uncomfortable with, but he accepts it. He’s not sure if it’s some kicked puppy look he’s managed to cultivate over the years, or what, but it seems like the Smiths have always really liked taking care of him. He’s grateful for it, he really is, so as much as it makes him uneasy, he lets them do it. He’s kind of nauseous again, anyway, so he’s happy to accept soup and crackers. 

When Spencer comes back, wearing his bright orange middle school band T-shirt, he sits in the chair next to Ryan, looking conflicted. Ryan moves his chair over so they’re pressed together, side by side, and tosses his leg over Spencer’s. Spencer relaxes visibly, which is almost hilarious, because it’s objectively a weird gesture for him to be comforted by, but Ryan likes how his hands feel on the top of his thigh, and he smiles at him reassuringly as he eats another saltine. 

----------

“Why is Ryan sleeping on our couch?” Crystal asks from somewhere behind him. Ryan suppresses the urge to smirk. He’s not sleeping, anymore, at least, and hasn’t been for a while, but Spencer has been petting his hair while he uses his lap as a pillow, and Ryan doesn’t want to move or let him know he’s awake, because he’s being really fucking sweet and he kind of doesn’t want him to stop. 

“Because he’s pregnant, dumbass,” Jackie returns, and he has to try even harder not to laugh at that one. He hears Spencer snort above him. 

“Yeah, duh, I know that, but it doesn’t explain why he’s sleeping on our couch .” 

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, pushing himself up off of the couch to stretch a little. “And I’m sleeping on the couch because Spencer is too whipped to make me move to the bedroom when I fall asleep on him.” 

Spencer scoffs, and says “oh, yeah? Well your hair looks dumb,” in that faux teasing voice. He looks about two seconds from crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out. 

“And whose fault is that?” Ryan grins, reaching over to fuck up Spencer’s hair in retaliation. 

Spencer smirks, in that way that Ryan recognizes means trouble, and he doesn’t manage to move away quick enough before he’s being tackled to the couch with a less than dignified squeak. It’s way more gentle than Spencer used to do it, especially when they were younger and would reach that part of the night where they needed to re-establish who was better at wrestling, for some reason. 

(“Can you guys wait to do foreplay?” Brendon always asked, teasingly, as they struggled on the couch. 

“If you think this is foreplay you’re having some really weird sex,” Ryan would return, breathless, once he had Spencer in a headlock.) 

Just to fuck with him, Ryan says “careful, asshole, I’m pregnant” and scuffs him gently on the side of the head on the way to wrapping his arms around his neck. He’s grinning, though, which gives him away. 

“Awww… gross,” Jackie grins. “We’re going now. Are you guys staying over again?” 

“Dunno, probably,” Ryan shrugs, fucking with the hair at the nape of Spencer’s neck just to make him shiver. 

“Sweet, you make the best waffles,” she says as she leaves the room, dragging her sister with her. 

When he turns back to face Spencer he finds him already looking at him, all weird and open, and Ryan swallows. He thinks ‘Spence, I swear to god, just be normal for five minutes,’ but clearly god isn’t listening today, because Spencer strokes a hand down his side, and asks “are you okay?” 

Ryan, deflecting, rolls his eyes, and says “you didn’t toss me that hard, Spence, you’re not that strong.” He kind of is, actually, cause he’s a drummer, and he can toss Ryan’s skinny ass around like it’s nothing, which is very fucking hot to be honest, so Ryan goads him into doing it fairly frequently. He won’t now, though, because he’s all concerned, which means Ryan can tease all he wants and Spencer can do nothing, and that’s fun in its own way, too. 

Spencer doesn’t take the bait, fucker, because he can see through Ryan like his walls are made of glass. 

“Not like that,” he says, slightly impatient. “I mean really.” 

“I’m fine, Spence,” he says defensively. “Calm down.” 

“I am calm, I swear, I just want you to feel better.” He looks so sincere, and worried, and Ryan just fucking can’t with this anymore. 

“I feel fine,” he says quickly. 

“ Ryan- ” 

“Spencer, please -” he swallows, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s shoulder. “Can we not do this right now?” It’s a bit of a dirty trick, he knows, pleading like that, but he needs to feel normal right now, and it works. 

“Yeah, okay,” Spencer sighs, defeated, and Ryan feels a little bad about it. He wraps an arm around Ryan’s waist fully, pulling him closer, and adds “but we’re talking later,” in a mumble into his shoulder. 

Ryan presses his lips together, nods, and resigns himself in return. It’s a compromise, he supposes. That kind of sounds like having a healthy marriage. Weird. 

----------

“You can wake me up for that, you know?” Spencer says as Ryan gets back to their room. It’s kind of weird, sharing Spencer’s childhood bed again, but it’s also ridiculously comforting in its own way. He’s turned the light on, and now he’s pushing himself up to sit against the headboard, stretching languidly. 

“You worried about missing me eating a sleeve of oreos in your moms kitchen in the middle of the night?” he asks sarcastically as he sits down on the bed, folding his legs underneath himself. He’s wearing one of Spencer’s hoodies and a pair of basketball shorts. It’s his favorite thing to sleep in recently, because not wearing pants means he doesn’t get too hot, but the hoodie kind of swallows him up and covers him up with Spencer . He might be a little clingier than he likes to admit. 

“No, but I’d like to be there if you want me to be.” 

“Baby, the supportive husband bit is sweet, it really is, but I promise I can handle some things on my own.” 

“I know, but you don’t have to.” Ryan blinks at him, not sure how to respond to that, and Spencer seems to see an opportunity in the fact that he’s not deflecting right away, so he says “why won’t you just let me help you?” 

“Because I don’t need you to help me.” 

“Oh, come on.” Spencer sits up now, and Ryan’s shoulders tense, feeling defensive again. “Just because you can survive without help doesn’t mean you don’t need it.” Ryan keeps glaring, his hands in his lap and his shoulders hunched in, not interested in having this conversation. This is kind of a dirty trick, because Spencer knows his defenses are down in the middle of the night, has learned it over the course of decades of sleepovers, but Ryan will concede that it might be the only way to get him to talk. Spencer sighs, and says “I haven’t seen you cry, like, this whole time, and I’m fucking worried about you, Ryan. I mean, your dad just died, and you’re pregnant, so I think you’re kind of supposed to cry.”

Something about the word supposed makes Ryan bristle, and suddenly he’s ready to pick a fight. He says “oh, so you don’t think I’m doing this right? You want to try being knocked up instead if you think I’m so bad at it?” 

“Ryan,” Spencer says, firmly. “That’s not what I said.” 

“No but it’s what you meant!”

“No, Ryan, it’s not!” Spencer hisses, and he might be raising his voice if it wasn’t teh middle of the night. Maybe it’s good they’re doing this now, actually, because if Spencer raises his voice Ryan will shut down. (Spencer knows that, though, so maybe he wouldn’t do that anyway.) “Jesus Christ, come here,” Spencer whispers, shuffling closer, and Ryan feels small and scared enough that he really wants to run. He doesn’t, though. He knows he needs to stop doing that, so he shifts onto his knees before falling to the side, letting Spencer catch him and hold him around the waist while he presses his face to his shoulder. “That's not what I meant, okay?” Spencer mutters, rubbing his arm. “I think you’re doing really well, and I’m really proud of you, I just… I want you to feel safe enough to do that around me. I want to know what I can do.”

Ryan sighs into his neck, and mumbles “I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Spence, I just… I don’t like crying.”

“I know.”

“It scares me.” 

“I know.” Spencer moves a hand to his hair, comforting, and Ryan drops his shoulders. “I want to make you less scared.” 

“You do,” he assures him. “I promise you do, it’s just hard.” Spencer stays silent, and Ryan can tell he’s waiting for him to continue, so he sighs, and continues. “I’ve been easy my whole life, alright? Not just to sleep with, although that, too,” he laughs weakly, and Spencer squeezes his hip possessively. Yeah yeah, babe, yours . “I was easy to deal with, you know? I made myself dinner so my dad wouldn’t be mad for asking him to do it, and I took care of myself when my mom left so she wouldn’t feel too guilty to come back if she felt like it. And I know I haven’t always been that good at it, but I could always do it, and that’s safe, you know? Because it gives everyone an incentive not to leave, if they never have to see the hard stuff… like crying. My dad hated it when I cried.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Spencer says simply. “And if I’m being completely honest with you, baby, you’re not easy.” He chuckles a little, pulling Ryan closer, even as Ryan instinctively stiffens at that. “In fact, you’re being fucking difficult. And you know what? I fucking love you anyway.” 

Ryan’s breath hitches, and he thinks, maybe, maybe he’s ok with doing this now, but it’s late, and he’s tired, and he’s still fucking scared despite himself, so he swallows the lump down again, and nods. He does allow himself not to hide the waver in his voice, though, when he says “can we go back to sleep? I’m tired.” 

“Yeah, honey. Yeah.” He kisses the top of his head, takes a slow breath against his hair, and adds “whatever you want.” 

----------

Ryan wakes up first, nauseous, like usual, and, just like every morning, he sighs and hopes it’ll go away. On a whim, though, he rolls over closer to Spencer, pressing his forehead to the back of his shoulder with a groan. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks groggily, rolling over slightly to look at him over his shoulder. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he mumbles, sounding sorry for himself. 

“Aww, poor baby,” he says, rolling over entirely to lace his fingers through Ryan’s hair. “You want me to, uh-” he offers nonsensically, probably not sure how to phrase it. Ryan knows what he means, though.

He doesn’t really let Spencer do the whole ‘rubbing his back and holding his hair back,’ thing, but as he searches Spencer’s eyes, he finds himself saying “you don’t have to,” instead of his usual ‘no.’ 

“I know, but can I?” 

Ryan’s body informs him that he has put this off for about a minute too long, and he will now have to get to the bathroom pretty damn fast. He nods, though, as he pushes himself out of bed. 

Spencer doesn’t actually hold his hair back, because it’s not really long enough for that to be necessary, but he does rub his back as he throws up. Ryan thinks this has got to be gross, but Spencer doesn’t act like he cares at all, he just says comforting bullshit like “you’re okay,” and “there you go.” Ryan is equal parts unsettled and unsure why he didn’t let him do this sooner, because it actually does feel way less pathetic and lonely than doing this alone. 

Ryan spits in the toilet once, and flushes as he sits back on his heels, only panting slightly. 

“You done?” Spencer asks, brushing some hair back behind his ear. 

“Yeah,” he says weakly, his throat feeling like hell. Spencer buries a hand in his hair, kisses the top of his head, and Ryan closes his eyes, sighing. “Thanks,” he says quietly, focusing on the way Spencer’s hand feels in his hair. 

“Of course.” 

“Having fun in there?” Jackie asks from the doorway, crossing her arms as she leans against the doorframe. Ryan has no idea how long she’s been there, but he’s also not sure he cares very much. She’s fully dressed, which makes sense, he supposes, 

“Yeah, actually, I love this part,” Ryan says sarcastically. Reluctantly, he allows Spencer to pull him up. He can stand on his own, thanks, but whatever. 

“I’m never having kids,” she deadpans as Ryan reaches for the listerine. “That shit looks like it sucks.” 

“Just get your partner to carry,” Spencer shrugs, rubbing at Ryan’s lower back. “This is definitely the better end of the deal.” 

Ryan spits the mouthwash out in the sink, and flips Spencer off squarely. Spencer licks his finger, because he’s gross and annoying, and Ryan promptly flicks him on the forehead with it. 

“I cannot believe you two are going to be parents,” Jackie says as she pushes off of the doorway. She’s smiling as she leaves, though. 

“You want breakfast?” Spencer asks him, moving his hand from Ryan’s lower back around to his hip. 

“Yeah, I was just gonna make toast,” he shrugs. 

“You want me to do that?” Spencer moves behind him fully, now, shoving his hands into the front of Ryan’s hoodie as he hooks his chin over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at him in the mirror, and Ryan kind of blinks at him. Spencer’s challenging him at this point, and Ryan knows it. He’s pushing to see where Ryan will make him stop. Ryan is also curious to see where he’ll make Spencer stop, actually, so he nods. 

“Okay.” Spencer grins briefly before pressing his nose right behind Ryan’s ear. He flattens his palms out inside the pocket of the hoodie, right between his hip bones, and says “you want jam or honey or what?” 

“Does your mom still buy that raspberry kind?” 

“Probably.” 

“That,” he says simply. 

Spencer hums, moves his thumbs back and forth for a second, and says “you should wear more hoodies, they’re convenient.” 

“You are so cheesy,” Ryan says sarcastically. Spencer just grins, and because he is, seriously, an asshole , he ruins the moment by licking the back of Ryan’s neck. Ryan scoffs, smacks him on the shoulder, and says “fucking gross Spence,” as he shoves him away to wipe the back of his neck with his sleeve.

“Sorry, sugar, couldn’t resist,” Spencer returns with a raise of his eyebrows. He smacks his ass lightly as he leaves the room, for emphasis, or something, and Ryan jumps a little, but manages not to squeak or anything. 

“Dick,” he mutters, smirking anyway. 

----------

Two days before Valentine’s Day, (which is going to be super fucking awkward this year, he thinks,) Ryan is starting to really feel pregnant. He looks pregnant now, too, at least when he wears his usual, (admittedly, sometimes gratuitously tight,) T-shirts. Under a loose fitting shirt it kind of looks like he’s just sort of bloated. (Which isn’t exactly untrue, either. He’s slightly bloated and nauseous all the goddamn time. Clearly, he’s having a real fucking magical experience with this whole thing.) 

He’s noticed that all his cravings seem to be just the worst childhood comfort foods he can think of, (well, besides the damn fruit. Seriously, what is up with the fruit?) It’s a little funny, but also fucking embaressing, because why the fuck is he, as a married adult man with a kid on the way, making boxed mac n cheese with bacon at elevent pm? Whatever, at least it’s not pickles and ice cream. 

All his childhood comfort foods are things Spencer’s mom made for dinner, or, later, whatever he could buy from the gas station down the street with the money he had from wherever twelve year olds ever get twenty bucks. This means that, unfortunately, he also keeps making Spencer buy twinkies, which Spencer makes fun of him for constantly. (Spencer never complains when he gets flicked in the forehead for that. He knows he deserves it.) 

He wonders if this ever happened to his mom. He looks at his phone on the counter, biting his lip, as he waits for the water to boil. He could call her, and he sort of wants to, but he’s not really sure… he doesn’t know. He guesses he just wants his mom to tell him how to do this, but he knows she won’t. He knows if he calls her she’ll say something nice, and then something weird, and then she’ll start being all guilt-trippy, and that doesn’t actually sound great. He could call Ginger, maybe, but he’s spent enough time at her house recently that he doesn’t really have anything to ask her. (Well, other than ‘are you sure I’m not going to die if this kid is ten fucking pounds?’ but that would open up a whole area of discussion he’s one hundred percent sure he’d like to avoid, so he’s going to refrain.) 

He wants to call his dad, too, even if it’s just to fight with him. He wants to yell at him about his drinking, and get him to do that fucking thing he always hated where he refuses to acknowledge that, yes, his son is married to a man. Fuck it, he wants his dad to yell at him for getting pregnant, too. He wants to fucking fight about this. He wasn’t done goddamnit! He wasn’t fucking finished with that, and now what? It’s just over. That silent standoff they were having is just over , and he never got to yell half the things he wanted to yell, he never got to hear that he was fucking sorry , either. 

He wonders if his dad thought fondly of him, ever, before he went. He wonders if, in his final days, he ever managed to be proud of his son. 

He leans back against the counter, his vision is getting blurry, and something just kind of… clicks. His dad is gone, he’s fucking gone , six feet under, and Ryan is still sitting here in his own damn kitchen, in his own damn house, acting like he’s right around the corner about to yell at him to ‘quit that damn crying, boy, or I’ll give you something to cry about.’ He made good on that promise, at least. 

He’s tired of this shit, he really is. He’s fucking tired, and he’s got his best fucking friend in the next room over, his goddamn husband , literally telling him that he wants nothing more than to comfort him, but Ryan won’t let him. Why the hell won’t Ryan let him, again? Cause of some asshole who’s fucking dead , anyway. 

No, fuck this. He’s done. 

Ryan walks to the living room, and Spencer is watching the same movie they had on before Ryan decided he was hungry, and convinced Spencer that he can at least make one of his own meals so he doesn’t feel like he’s on goddamn bedrest. 

He drops himself next to him on the couch, with one leg folded up under him, his shoulders hunched over a little. Spencer’s already looking at him, his face all open and carefully concerned, and all Ryan manages to get out is a shaky “Spence,” before he’s just sobbing. He looks at his hands in his lap through the blur of his vision, and he just feels fucking small and pathetic, and he does still hate this a lot, but he’s tired of being so damn scared of it. 

“Oh, baby, come here.” Spencer reaches out to him, slowly, like you would a scared animal, and Ryan nods, giving him permission. Spencer sits up on his knees, shuffling over so he can grab Ryan around the shoulders and pull him to his chest. That’s fucking nice, it really is. That feels… fuck , it feels safe . He’s so fucking mad at himself that he’s been so weird about this. No, you know what? He’s mad at his fucking dad. He is. He’s allowed to be. 

He keeps crying, and Spencer pets through his hair for a while, his arms tight around him. It really does feel like a wall is broken then, which is dumb because he and Spencer shouldn’t even have those at this point, since they’ve seemingly been together in some capacity since the dawn of time. 

The wall was never there, though, if he’s being honest, or if it was it must have been made of glass, because Spencer saw through it the whole time, and Ryan knew it, too, he just liked to imagine the wall was there for comfort. Like a placebo. 

When he’s managed to go from sobbing to something closer to sniffling with occasional weird breathing, Spencer asks “do you want to talk about it?” into his hair. 

“No,” he says, sniffling. “But I’m tired of avoiding it.” 

“Okay,” Spencer says, hands still moving in his hair. “So what’s wrong?” 

Ryan sighs, and starts off with a blunt “I don’t think he loved me.” Spencer hugs him a little tighter, but he doesn’t interrupt. Ryan sniffs again. “Everyone keeps telling me ‘you know he loved you, right?’ and I always say ‘yes, of course,’ because it’s what I’m supposed to say, right? But I don’t. I don’t know that.” He finds himself raising his voice, because he is fucking mad , and he’s tired of acting like he isn’t, like he’s all gracious and forgiving. “I don’t think he loved me, and I hope he fucking didn’t! Because if he did it shouldn’t feel like this , and if he loved me like I love my fucking kid then it wouldn’t!” He wraps his arms around himself, around his stomach, like that’s going to help him protect them. He takes one more shaking breath, trying to steady himself a little, before adding “I know it’s a fucked up thing to say, because he’s gone, and everything, and you ‘shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,’ but it’s true, too. My dad is dead and he didn’t love me. And I just have to live with that, so I don’t want to pretend it’s not true.” Spencer keeps breathing into his hair, and Ryan keeps focusing on the feeling of his hands on him, the slow rise and fall of his chest. Ryan swallows again, and says “I’m tired of being scared, too. I’m tired of it hurting, because I can’t stop thinking… if it still hurts does that mean he wins?” 

“No, baby, no.” Spencer's voice comes out kind of choked up, too, but he clears his throat subtly. “If it hurts that means he hurt you.” 

“I want to fucking yell at him. I do. But I can’t ,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I can’t do fucking anything about it, Spence. I can’t fix anything here, so what do I even do?” 

Spencer sighs, and it kind of tickles as it moves Ryan’s hair. He rests his chin on top of his head, moving the hand in his hair down to twirl around the finer curls at the base of his skull. He does that when he’s thinking, or sometimes he pulls one of Ryan’s hands into his lap to mess with his fingers, like Ryan is his own personal fidget toy. (Ryan loves it, and it calms him down, too. He thinks Spencer knows it calms Ryan down just as much as him, but he never lets on that it’s for Ryan’s benefit, too.) 

Spencer says “what you do is you cry about it, and you wait for it to hurt less.” Ryan can feel him swallowing, and he can feel his pulse in his throat when he presses further against him. He adds “and maybe you let me hold you, too, when it’s like this. Because I want to, for as long as it takes, I don’t care. I’m patient.” 

“I’m not,” Ryan laughs weakly. 

“I know,” Spencer chuckles. “And I love you anyway.” 

“I love you, too.” Ryan sniffs again. His arms are still wrapped around himself protectively, he realizes. He can’t tell if he’s more angry or scared, and past a certain point he’s not even sure there’s a difference. He feels a bit like a wild animal, biting and snapping at people for getting close to his kid. He’s got to start learning to trust Spencer with that, he thinks, with keeping him safe, because this is getting exhausting. He swallows again, and adds “sorry, for the whole-” he gestures vaguely. “This was all kind of out of the blue.” 

“Nah, it was just a long time coming.” He pulls back just enough to kiss Ryan on the temple, and adds “also, shut the fuck up, don’t apologize. I have repeatedly asked to do this for you, so you don’t need to apologize.” Ryan laughs weakly, and Spencer gets a little quieter as he says “I love you. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you, but I do love you.” 

“That’s enough, I promise,” he tells him sincerely, breathing deeply against his collarbone to smell his cologne. He mentioned how good this one smells to him since he got pregnant one time, and now Spencer wears it every day. It’s sweet. The air feels way too heavy for his liking now, so Ryan pulls away to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his (Spencer’s) hoodie and says “I think my water’s boiling.” This was probably good for him in the long run, but he can’t do any more big emotional conversations tonight. He’s exhausted, and hungry, and the more crying he does the more those problems are going to be exacerbated. 

“You want me to get that?” 

“No, um-” Ryan sniffs again. “I like cooking sometimes. It’s like I’m taking care of our kid, I don’t know. It’s calming.” 

“That’s cute.” Spencer grins at him, smug, and Ryan attempts a glare. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

Spencer stands up first, and Ryan doesn’t protest when he’s pulled to his feet. Spencer plants a kiss on his cheek, with that shit eating grin that says he knows he’s about to be annoying, and says “you’re adorable.” 

“I hate you.” He doesn’t. And Spencer can absolutely see him blushing, but it’s important for both his sanity and the continuation of the bit that he doesn’t admit to enjoying any part of this. 

“You know the more you complain the more fun this is for me, right?” 

Ryan rolls his eyes, and walks to the kitchen. Spencer follows, like he expects. 

He makes two boxes of mac n cheese instead of one, because it feels weird to make just enough for him, and everyone knows that the second you hit about fifteen-ish years old the serving size for macaroni becomes ‘one box.’ Spencer ends up standing behind him again, his hands in his front hoodie pocket, (there’s a reason Ryan won’t stop wearing those around the house,) and Ryan stands in front of the stove, stirring the pot kind of lazily as it comes back to a boil. The bacon he made earlier is kind of cold, but it’s not like it matters that much when he’s just going to chop it up anyway. He tears one of the pieces in half, and feeds half of it to Spencer as he eats the other piece. He can feel him chewing against his shoulder, which should be more annoying than it is probably. 

“I really like the hoodies,” Spencer says after swallowing. He pulls Ryan back against him by the hip bones, for emphasis, as he kisses him on the neck just above the collar of the hoodie. 

“So you’ve mentioned,” he says flatly, although he’s very obviously smiling. When Spencer starts moving further up his neck, his nose pressing just behind his ear, Ryan adds “if you lick me again I’m going to smack you.” 

Spencer gasps, and says a mock-offended “don’t threaten me in front of our child!” 

Ryan rolls his eyes again, which he trusts that Spencer will sense, and says “they can’t hear anything yet, dipshit.” 

“Oh, so that means you get to threaten me?” he laughs. 

“Yup, and you can’t do shit about it cause I’m pregnant.”

Spencer grins his evil little smile into Ryan’s neck, and says “I can do this .” He licks directly up the side of Ryan’s neck, from the collar of his hoodie to just under his ear, and Ryan yelps as he pushes his head away. 

“Oh, you are so gonna get it,” he threatens. 

Spencer darts around the kitchen island, and Ryan follows after him, sliding just a little as he chases him. It’s a controlled slide, because his center of gravity isn’t off yet, but Spencer still adds “careful,” through his grin from the other side of the island. 

Ryan’s smile softens, and he walks over to him as he says “I know, I always am.” 

Spencer smiles back, his smile turning fonder, too, and that’s perfect, because it lulls him into a false sense of security. Spencer’s so caught up in their sappy little staring match, actually, that he doesn't notice Ryan spinning the kitchen towel just out of his view. Ryan grins again, mischievously, because Spencer’s not expecting it when Ryan snaps the towel at him, catching him right on the ass. The boys locker room taught him well in this field, clearly. 

“You fucking asshole,” Spencer laughs, surging forward to grab him around the waist. 

Ryan grins at him, triumphant, and says “hey, don’t curse in front of the kid.” 

Spencer snorts, buries his face in Ryan’s neck, and says “fuck off.”