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bandomstuffsit2010-12-29 03:27 pm
stuffitmod.livejournal.com) wrote in bandomstuffsit2010-12-29 03:27 pm
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Careless Trifle: Gift for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sunsetmog
Title: Careless Trifle
Author:allyndra
Pairing: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 3,200
Summary: Spencer doesn't have an obsession with the guy who sings karaoke every week. He just likes his voice. Honest.
Spencer glared as the third drunk guy in a row slammed into him on his way through the club. Thursdays, seriously. The college crowd seemed convinced that it was the most partying night of the week, and they exercised that conviction through epic amounts of drinking. Spencer was all for it when it led to good tips, but when it led to cleaning up puke or getting shoved around, he was pretty much over it.
Across the room Jake the bartender raised one hand in a circular wave. Spencer nodded and headed toward him, unconsciously moving to the low thumping beat of the music. He grabbed abandoned glasses and balled up napkins as he went, and had a full load of empties by the time he reached the bar.
“Trade me,” he said, sliding the tray of glasses and trash across the bar.
Jake grinned and passed him a full tray of shots in little plastic test tubes. They were a toxic green color that Spencer knew would do nothing to deter the customers. “Have fun,” Jake said mockingly. He thought being a bartender made him superior to all the servers. Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him.
Actually, Spencer didn’t mind this part much. For one thing, selling shots off the tray was easy and mindless, with no orders to remember and no complicated prices to calculate. For another, it got him out of the hip hop room, which was a blessing by this time of night, when the dancing was starting to look a suspiciously like upright sex.
But the main reason Spencer liked doing his rounds with the shot tray was sitting at a corner table in the karaoke room, bouncing his knee up and down so fast that his beer bottle was teetering dangerously. Spencer smiled. If Brendon was nervous, then Spencer hadn’t missed his song.
A night of surreptitiously spying on the signup sheet several months ago had informed Spencer that the guy’s name was Brendon, and that was really all he knew about him. Well that, and that Brendon was magic.
The first time he'd seen him, Spencer had been subbing in for Darcy, who usually worked the karaoke room. Spencer didn't sing, but he had good pitch and an excellent sense of rhythm, so most of the shift was like torture. Screechy, rowdy torture. Right after a trio of sorority girls who'd attempted three part harmony on Papa Don't Preach, an awkward guy with glasses and a truly bad haircut took the stage. If Spencer weren't friends with Ryan, he would have called this guy skinny, and if he weren't friends with Jon, he would have called him scruffy.
And then he started singing, and Spencer started calling him amazing.
His voice was big, even over the noise of the bar. Rich and deep, and it soared out on the high notes like Spencer hadn't really thought guys' voices could. He had a confidence and energy to him, too, like he was concentrating all of his usual fidgeting and bouncing and twitching, and channeling it out through his song. Spencer didn't take a single order or deliver a single drink until Brendon stopped singing.
That was almost six months ago. Brendon came in at least once a week since then, and Spencer caught his performance every time he could. On the rare weeks that Brendon missed, Spencer went into his days off feeling a little let down, like when he was a kid and recess got cancelled because of the weather. But tonight Brendon was here and he hadn't sung yet, and Spencer was maybe a little too excited about that.
Whatever, he could be lame if he wanted to be.
There was a woman on the stage crying her way through Jolene, so Spencer plastered a smile on his face and started making his way around the room with the shots. A truly disturbing number of people were willing to pay four dollars to drink an ounce of neon green liquor. Almost half of the little test tubes were gone by the time Brendon stepped onstage.
He beamed at the room like they were a legitimate audience and not a bunch of students who were once again celebrating the approach of Friday. The music started, and Spencer's shoulders tightened with anticipation. Brendon was going to sing Journey.
Spencer was firmly of the opinion that the general public should be banned from attempting to sing anything that had passed through Steve Perry's lips. Most people just didn't have the range. But Brendon threw his head back and went for it, and yeah. There was a reason Spencer looked forward to this every week.
Brendon finished with a tilt of his head and a crooked grin, and Spencer (as always) regretted having his hands too full to applaud. He settled for nodding at the stage encouragingly, which probably looked idiotic. The movement drew someone's attention, though, because a cluster of people suddenly spotted him and surged around to buy shots. In the flurry of money and green vials, Spencer lost track of Brendon. Which, he told himself, was totally fine. The only reason Spencer was interested in Brendon was his singing, anyway.
Honest.
When the test tube frenzy died Spencer was down to three shots, and he could probably sell those on the way back to the hip hop room. He hefted the tray and started for the door when he saw Brendon in the far corner, fenced in by a big guy in a tight t-shirt.
It's not like no one had ever tried to pick Brendon up before. Even with dorky glasses and bad hair, he was pretty good looking, and his voice definitely upped his attractiveness. Usually he just ducked away with a disarming grin and a shake of the head, but the guy talking to him now had him backed up against the wall. Brendon's fingers were plucking nervously at the hem of his shirt, and his smile was looking a little desperate around the edges.
It was none of Spencer's business. He was on the clock, he needed to get back to the hip hop room, and he'd never spoken to Brendon before in his life. And none of these very good reasons was enough to stop him from making his way toward the corner of the room.
"Brendon, there you are," he said as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the shouted rendition of Hey, Jude currently taking place onstage. Brendon and the guy cornering him both started. "Hey, I'm almost done with my shift, babe, do you want to come wait for me?"
The guy scowled at him, but Brendon's face brightened, confused but relieved. "Yeah, yes," he said, easing out from between the guy and the wall. "Um, bye then." The guy still looked pissed, but he was already moving on as they walked away.
He pressed up close behind Spencer as they walked, talking fast. "Thanks, dude. Like, I didn't want to cause a scene, because sometimes people who are only a little bit of a dick when they think they have a chance of getting laid turn into huge, epic douchebags when they find out you don't want them. But seriously, I was almost ready to risk it. He was wearing Axe body spray."
Spencer nodded seriously. "And an Ed Hardy shirt."
"I know," Brendon said. "At a reasonable distance it would have been hilarious, but up close and personal like that, it was really just … wrong."
It really was. Spencer didn't want to think too much about how wrong it was, and he really didn't want to examine how bothered he'd been in the half second between spotting the little t ête- à-t ête and realizing that Brendon wasn't into it.
"It was no problem," Spencer said. They were back by Brendon's table (so designated by the open notebook and half-empty beer bottle on it), and they stood by it silently for a moment. Spencer clutched at his tray, feeling suddenly stupid and out-of-place. Which was dumb, because he worked here. This was totally his place.
"I mean it, though." Brendon smiled at him, and it was a completely different smile than the one he wore when he was singing. "You're a knight in shining armor."
Spencer started to shrug, but the gesture was halted by Brendon's hand on his shoulder as he leaned up to kiss Spencer lightly on the mouth. "Um," Spencer said. Because he was so fucking witty.
"Just, you know. Thanks," Brendon said, settling back down on his heels.
"You're welcome." Spencer's mom would be so proud of his manners. All of Spencer's friends would mock him mercilessly because of his extreme and possibly fatal lameness, but he could comfort himself that at least he was pathetic in a polite way. "I, uh. I have to go back to work."
"Right." Brendon raised a hand to his temple in a little salute. "I'm sure you have lots of drinks to serve and more damsel-ly damsels to rescue.
Spencer smiled. "Probably just the first part," he said. "But I really do have to." His face felt hot, and he hoped the lights were low enough to hide it. "Have a good night."
And that was it. He walked away and he totally didn't pause in the doorway to look back at Brendon's table, even though he wanted to, and he sold his shots. It was fine. No big deal.
***
Apparently, it was a pretty big deal.
Spencer got called into the manager's office when he came in for his Friday shift. They had three main managers, and they were all pretty similar - thirty-something men with spray tans and too much product in their hair. The one on duty today was Dave, who added very shiny ties into that mix.
Dave waved Spencer into a chair and leaned against his desk instead of sitting down, himself. "So, Spencer," he said gravely. "Do you know why you're here?"
Spencer thought back over the previous week. He'd been ten minutes late for one shift, and he'd been five bucks short on another, but neither of those were an occasion for serious meetings with managers. "No, I really don't," Spencer said.
"We had a complaint about your behavior last night," Dave said. His mouth was drawn down like he was trying to frown, but his botoxed forehead wouldn't quite allow it. He paused then, looking at Spencer expectantly.
"I don't get it," Spencer said. "What behavior?"
"We've had a complaint," Dave said ponderously, "about your behavior last night with one of the guests. The report said that you were carrying on in an inappropriate manner."
"What does that even mean?" Spencer asked incredulously.
Dave raised an eyebrow as high as he could manage. "It means the public displays of affection are prohibited in the Employee Handbook, and you not only seem to have violated that rule, but to have upset patrons enough that they felt the need to complain."
"That's bullshit!" Spencer's mom would not be proud of his manners, but he was pretty sure she'd agree with the sentiment.
"So you deny that you engaged in public displays of affection last night in Club Spotlight?" 'Club Spotlight' was the official name of the karaoke room.
"Well, Brendon kissed me. Once." Dave was shaking his head disapprovingly, like Spencer was confirming his worst fears. "Seriously?"
"I assure you, we do take this very seriously." He picked up a sheaf of paper from the desk and held it out until Spencer took it. It was a printout of the Employee Handbook, open to Unacceptable behaviors, including but not limited to.
Public Displays of Affection was on the list, right between Engaging in arguments or altercations and Consuming Alcohol or Drugs. Spencer looked up from the list. "You know that Jake picks up a different girl every other night, right? And Marissa and Eladio make out in the cooler all the time."
"But I haven't received complaints about Jake or Marissa and Eladio," Dave said. "Now, I was hoping you would come in here with a respectful attitude and accept a reasonable reprimand, but that's just not happening."
"Well, no," Spencer said. "Because this is bullshit."
"And," Dave continued, speaking right over the top of him, "I think maybe this incident is a blessing in disguise, bringing your attitude problem to light before it got out of hand." Spencer blinked at him. "We're going to have to let you go, Spencer."
"For-" Spencer's hands tried to tighten into fists, but he was still holding the stupid fucking Employee Manual. "You're firing me because someone kissed me? Are you insane?"
Dave straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, looming at Spencer threateningly. "I'm firing you, young man, because you clearly have no respect for our rules and no respect for my authority. And that makes you unsuitable for this company."
Spencer clenched his jaw to keep from shouting 'Bullshit!' a few more times. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said, "Awesome. I don't want to work for a homophobic dickbag anyway." He stood up, and was pleased to see that he was actually a little taller than Dave. He'd have a hard time looming now. "Asshole," he added.
He was out the door, out of the club and halfway down the street before he started shaking so hard he had to sit down. He just kind of dropped onto the curb and put his head in his hands, breathing harshly through his nose.
Fuck Dave and the whole club. He didn't need that job anyway.
***
"That's bullshit," Ryan said, staring at Spencer. They were in the big armchairs by the window in Ryan's favorite coffee shop.
"That's what I said," Spencer told him.
"No, really. Bullshit . You should sue. Do you want to sue? I know lawyers."
"No, you don't." God, Spencer was so fucking tired all of a sudden.
Ryan waved a hand dismissively. "I know law students. It's the same thing."
"I don't want to sue," Spencer said. Well, he did. The idea of dragging the whole club to court and having them publically criticized was really appealing. He just didn't think it would accomplish anything. It was a right to work state, and he had apparently violated company policies and then been disrespectful to his superior. Even if the whole issue was the fact that Brendon was a guy, Spencer couldn't exactly prove that.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asked. Spencer was about to feel touched at this display of loyalty when he went on, "Because I have a hat that would look epic in a courtroom."
"Oh, my God, I hate you," Spencer said. "This burning feeling in my chest, that's what hate feels like."
"It's what indigestion feels like. I have Tums," Ryan said, rummaging in his pockets and coming up with two pens and a single red glove. "Or not. But really, this isn't cool."
"I know that," Spencer said. "But it's not cool in a way that's probably legal, and I just don't want to deal with it. I'll just find another job."
Ryan frowned at him. "If you say so."
"I say so," Spencer said firmly. "Now buy me a latte."
Ryan looked outraged. "Buy it yourself."
"I'm unemployed now. Ryan, I think I deserve a comforting latte. What kind of friend are you?"
Ryan harrumphed, but he hauled himself to his feet. "And awesome one," he muttered.
And since Spencer had walked into the coffee shop feeling murderous and he was now down to merely willing to maim, he had to agree.
***
Putting in job applications sucked. A lot. Spencer hated filling out all of the little blanks, and he hated describing his interests and accomplishments, and he hated wondering if each place he applied at was the sort of place that would fire a man for getting a peck on the cheek from another man.
The whole thing made him want to move back home and take up a life of mooching off his parents. Since his sisters had already taken over his room, though, he just kept putting in applications. Once he got called in for a disinterested interview with a title company, but on the whole, the response was underwhelming.
He hadn't even planned to apply at the diner near campus, but he spotted the Help Wanted sign while walking past on Thursday afternoon and thought he'd give it a shot. It was a little homey place with actual fucking gingham curtains and ancient Formica tabletops. It looked like the kind of place with a jukebox in the corner, so Spencer wasn't surprised to hear music when he opened the door.
He was, however, surprised to recognize the voice singing.
"Brendon?" He was standing behind the counter, where he'd been out of sight from outside, singing as he filled salt shakers.
Brendon's head shot up and the singing cut off. He froze for a second, and then he absolutely beamed. "Hey!" he said. "It's my favorite fake boyfriend!"
Spencer couldn't help flushing at that, but he said, "You might not want to say that too loud. I don't want you to get fired, too."
"You got fired?" Brendon asked, his face going pale and his eyes big. "Oh, my God, why?"
"Some jackass complained about our 'inappropriate PDA.'" Spencer made air quotes. "And I didn't suck up when they called me in to reprimand me."
"I'm so sorry," Brendon said. "I noticed that you weren't around, but I just thought maybe I- I mean, I thought you were busy. With stuff."
Spencer wrinkled his nose. "I'm busy with job hunting. Hopefully for a job where the bosses aren't assholes."
"Oh!" Brendon said excitedly. "My boss, Frank, he isn't an asshole! Well, he is, but the good kind." And then he thought about what he'd just said and flushed such a hot red that Spencer felt for him. "I mean, he's a good guy. You should apply for a job."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked. His heart was beating fast all of a sudden, and his own face was heating up. "You wouldn't mind seeing me here?"
"I could learn to live with it," Brendon told him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled wide. "I could put in a good word," he offered. "On one condition."
"What's that?" Spencer was totally strong, he wouldn't give into to any crazy demand. Except he absolutely would, because this was Brendon, and Spencer had had a crush on him since the first time he'd seen him open his mouth.
"Tell me your name, so he believes me when I say I know good things about you."
"Spencer. You can tell him lots of good things about Spencer Smith."
Brendon reached over the counter and grabbed Spencer's hand, squeezing it tightly just once. "I will," he promised. "I'll start with how you rescue damsels in distress, and then I'll move onto the way you serve drinks and refuse to put up with jerks. He'll love you."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked, almost dizzy with the sudden possibility of seeing Brendon for more than just one song. Of knowing Brendon as more than just a face and a voice.
"Yeah. I might even mention how good you look in tight jeans and a uniform polo." Brendon's eyes were bright and his hand was still touching Spencer's.
Spencer could learn to like Thursdays.
Author:
allyndraPairing: Brendon/Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word count: 3,200
Summary: Spencer doesn't have an obsession with the guy who sings karaoke every week. He just likes his voice. Honest.
Spencer glared as the third drunk guy in a row slammed into him on his way through the club. Thursdays, seriously. The college crowd seemed convinced that it was the most partying night of the week, and they exercised that conviction through epic amounts of drinking. Spencer was all for it when it led to good tips, but when it led to cleaning up puke or getting shoved around, he was pretty much over it.
Across the room Jake the bartender raised one hand in a circular wave. Spencer nodded and headed toward him, unconsciously moving to the low thumping beat of the music. He grabbed abandoned glasses and balled up napkins as he went, and had a full load of empties by the time he reached the bar.
“Trade me,” he said, sliding the tray of glasses and trash across the bar.
Jake grinned and passed him a full tray of shots in little plastic test tubes. They were a toxic green color that Spencer knew would do nothing to deter the customers. “Have fun,” Jake said mockingly. He thought being a bartender made him superior to all the servers. Spencer resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him.
Actually, Spencer didn’t mind this part much. For one thing, selling shots off the tray was easy and mindless, with no orders to remember and no complicated prices to calculate. For another, it got him out of the hip hop room, which was a blessing by this time of night, when the dancing was starting to look a suspiciously like upright sex.
But the main reason Spencer liked doing his rounds with the shot tray was sitting at a corner table in the karaoke room, bouncing his knee up and down so fast that his beer bottle was teetering dangerously. Spencer smiled. If Brendon was nervous, then Spencer hadn’t missed his song.
A night of surreptitiously spying on the signup sheet several months ago had informed Spencer that the guy’s name was Brendon, and that was really all he knew about him. Well that, and that Brendon was magic.
The first time he'd seen him, Spencer had been subbing in for Darcy, who usually worked the karaoke room. Spencer didn't sing, but he had good pitch and an excellent sense of rhythm, so most of the shift was like torture. Screechy, rowdy torture. Right after a trio of sorority girls who'd attempted three part harmony on Papa Don't Preach, an awkward guy with glasses and a truly bad haircut took the stage. If Spencer weren't friends with Ryan, he would have called this guy skinny, and if he weren't friends with Jon, he would have called him scruffy.
And then he started singing, and Spencer started calling him amazing.
His voice was big, even over the noise of the bar. Rich and deep, and it soared out on the high notes like Spencer hadn't really thought guys' voices could. He had a confidence and energy to him, too, like he was concentrating all of his usual fidgeting and bouncing and twitching, and channeling it out through his song. Spencer didn't take a single order or deliver a single drink until Brendon stopped singing.
That was almost six months ago. Brendon came in at least once a week since then, and Spencer caught his performance every time he could. On the rare weeks that Brendon missed, Spencer went into his days off feeling a little let down, like when he was a kid and recess got cancelled because of the weather. But tonight Brendon was here and he hadn't sung yet, and Spencer was maybe a little too excited about that.
Whatever, he could be lame if he wanted to be.
There was a woman on the stage crying her way through Jolene, so Spencer plastered a smile on his face and started making his way around the room with the shots. A truly disturbing number of people were willing to pay four dollars to drink an ounce of neon green liquor. Almost half of the little test tubes were gone by the time Brendon stepped onstage.
He beamed at the room like they were a legitimate audience and not a bunch of students who were once again celebrating the approach of Friday. The music started, and Spencer's shoulders tightened with anticipation. Brendon was going to sing Journey.
Spencer was firmly of the opinion that the general public should be banned from attempting to sing anything that had passed through Steve Perry's lips. Most people just didn't have the range. But Brendon threw his head back and went for it, and yeah. There was a reason Spencer looked forward to this every week.
Brendon finished with a tilt of his head and a crooked grin, and Spencer (as always) regretted having his hands too full to applaud. He settled for nodding at the stage encouragingly, which probably looked idiotic. The movement drew someone's attention, though, because a cluster of people suddenly spotted him and surged around to buy shots. In the flurry of money and green vials, Spencer lost track of Brendon. Which, he told himself, was totally fine. The only reason Spencer was interested in Brendon was his singing, anyway.
Honest.
When the test tube frenzy died Spencer was down to three shots, and he could probably sell those on the way back to the hip hop room. He hefted the tray and started for the door when he saw Brendon in the far corner, fenced in by a big guy in a tight t-shirt.
It's not like no one had ever tried to pick Brendon up before. Even with dorky glasses and bad hair, he was pretty good looking, and his voice definitely upped his attractiveness. Usually he just ducked away with a disarming grin and a shake of the head, but the guy talking to him now had him backed up against the wall. Brendon's fingers were plucking nervously at the hem of his shirt, and his smile was looking a little desperate around the edges.
It was none of Spencer's business. He was on the clock, he needed to get back to the hip hop room, and he'd never spoken to Brendon before in his life. And none of these very good reasons was enough to stop him from making his way toward the corner of the room.
"Brendon, there you are," he said as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the shouted rendition of Hey, Jude currently taking place onstage. Brendon and the guy cornering him both started. "Hey, I'm almost done with my shift, babe, do you want to come wait for me?"
The guy scowled at him, but Brendon's face brightened, confused but relieved. "Yeah, yes," he said, easing out from between the guy and the wall. "Um, bye then." The guy still looked pissed, but he was already moving on as they walked away.
He pressed up close behind Spencer as they walked, talking fast. "Thanks, dude. Like, I didn't want to cause a scene, because sometimes people who are only a little bit of a dick when they think they have a chance of getting laid turn into huge, epic douchebags when they find out you don't want them. But seriously, I was almost ready to risk it. He was wearing Axe body spray."
Spencer nodded seriously. "And an Ed Hardy shirt."
"I know," Brendon said. "At a reasonable distance it would have been hilarious, but up close and personal like that, it was really just … wrong."
It really was. Spencer didn't want to think too much about how wrong it was, and he really didn't want to examine how bothered he'd been in the half second between spotting the little t ête- à-t ête and realizing that Brendon wasn't into it.
"It was no problem," Spencer said. They were back by Brendon's table (so designated by the open notebook and half-empty beer bottle on it), and they stood by it silently for a moment. Spencer clutched at his tray, feeling suddenly stupid and out-of-place. Which was dumb, because he worked here. This was totally his place.
"I mean it, though." Brendon smiled at him, and it was a completely different smile than the one he wore when he was singing. "You're a knight in shining armor."
Spencer started to shrug, but the gesture was halted by Brendon's hand on his shoulder as he leaned up to kiss Spencer lightly on the mouth. "Um," Spencer said. Because he was so fucking witty.
"Just, you know. Thanks," Brendon said, settling back down on his heels.
"You're welcome." Spencer's mom would be so proud of his manners. All of Spencer's friends would mock him mercilessly because of his extreme and possibly fatal lameness, but he could comfort himself that at least he was pathetic in a polite way. "I, uh. I have to go back to work."
"Right." Brendon raised a hand to his temple in a little salute. "I'm sure you have lots of drinks to serve and more damsel-ly damsels to rescue.
Spencer smiled. "Probably just the first part," he said. "But I really do have to." His face felt hot, and he hoped the lights were low enough to hide it. "Have a good night."
And that was it. He walked away and he totally didn't pause in the doorway to look back at Brendon's table, even though he wanted to, and he sold his shots. It was fine. No big deal.
***
Apparently, it was a pretty big deal.
Spencer got called into the manager's office when he came in for his Friday shift. They had three main managers, and they were all pretty similar - thirty-something men with spray tans and too much product in their hair. The one on duty today was Dave, who added very shiny ties into that mix.
Dave waved Spencer into a chair and leaned against his desk instead of sitting down, himself. "So, Spencer," he said gravely. "Do you know why you're here?"
Spencer thought back over the previous week. He'd been ten minutes late for one shift, and he'd been five bucks short on another, but neither of those were an occasion for serious meetings with managers. "No, I really don't," Spencer said.
"We had a complaint about your behavior last night," Dave said. His mouth was drawn down like he was trying to frown, but his botoxed forehead wouldn't quite allow it. He paused then, looking at Spencer expectantly.
"I don't get it," Spencer said. "What behavior?"
"We've had a complaint," Dave said ponderously, "about your behavior last night with one of the guests. The report said that you were carrying on in an inappropriate manner."
"What does that even mean?" Spencer asked incredulously.
Dave raised an eyebrow as high as he could manage. "It means the public displays of affection are prohibited in the Employee Handbook, and you not only seem to have violated that rule, but to have upset patrons enough that they felt the need to complain."
"That's bullshit!" Spencer's mom would not be proud of his manners, but he was pretty sure she'd agree with the sentiment.
"So you deny that you engaged in public displays of affection last night in Club Spotlight?" 'Club Spotlight' was the official name of the karaoke room.
"Well, Brendon kissed me. Once." Dave was shaking his head disapprovingly, like Spencer was confirming his worst fears. "Seriously?"
"I assure you, we do take this very seriously." He picked up a sheaf of paper from the desk and held it out until Spencer took it. It was a printout of the Employee Handbook, open to Unacceptable behaviors, including but not limited to.
Public Displays of Affection was on the list, right between Engaging in arguments or altercations and Consuming Alcohol or Drugs. Spencer looked up from the list. "You know that Jake picks up a different girl every other night, right? And Marissa and Eladio make out in the cooler all the time."
"But I haven't received complaints about Jake or Marissa and Eladio," Dave said. "Now, I was hoping you would come in here with a respectful attitude and accept a reasonable reprimand, but that's just not happening."
"Well, no," Spencer said. "Because this is bullshit."
"And," Dave continued, speaking right over the top of him, "I think maybe this incident is a blessing in disguise, bringing your attitude problem to light before it got out of hand." Spencer blinked at him. "We're going to have to let you go, Spencer."
"For-" Spencer's hands tried to tighten into fists, but he was still holding the stupid fucking Employee Manual. "You're firing me because someone kissed me? Are you insane?"
Dave straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, looming at Spencer threateningly. "I'm firing you, young man, because you clearly have no respect for our rules and no respect for my authority. And that makes you unsuitable for this company."
Spencer clenched his jaw to keep from shouting 'Bullshit!' a few more times. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then said, "Awesome. I don't want to work for a homophobic dickbag anyway." He stood up, and was pleased to see that he was actually a little taller than Dave. He'd have a hard time looming now. "Asshole," he added.
He was out the door, out of the club and halfway down the street before he started shaking so hard he had to sit down. He just kind of dropped onto the curb and put his head in his hands, breathing harshly through his nose.
Fuck Dave and the whole club. He didn't need that job anyway.
***
"That's bullshit," Ryan said, staring at Spencer. They were in the big armchairs by the window in Ryan's favorite coffee shop.
"That's what I said," Spencer told him.
"No, really. Bullshit . You should sue. Do you want to sue? I know lawyers."
"No, you don't." God, Spencer was so fucking tired all of a sudden.
Ryan waved a hand dismissively. "I know law students. It's the same thing."
"I don't want to sue," Spencer said. Well, he did. The idea of dragging the whole club to court and having them publically criticized was really appealing. He just didn't think it would accomplish anything. It was a right to work state, and he had apparently violated company policies and then been disrespectful to his superior. Even if the whole issue was the fact that Brendon was a guy, Spencer couldn't exactly prove that.
"Are you sure?" Ryan asked. Spencer was about to feel touched at this display of loyalty when he went on, "Because I have a hat that would look epic in a courtroom."
"Oh, my God, I hate you," Spencer said. "This burning feeling in my chest, that's what hate feels like."
"It's what indigestion feels like. I have Tums," Ryan said, rummaging in his pockets and coming up with two pens and a single red glove. "Or not. But really, this isn't cool."
"I know that," Spencer said. "But it's not cool in a way that's probably legal, and I just don't want to deal with it. I'll just find another job."
Ryan frowned at him. "If you say so."
"I say so," Spencer said firmly. "Now buy me a latte."
Ryan looked outraged. "Buy it yourself."
"I'm unemployed now. Ryan, I think I deserve a comforting latte. What kind of friend are you?"
Ryan harrumphed, but he hauled himself to his feet. "And awesome one," he muttered.
And since Spencer had walked into the coffee shop feeling murderous and he was now down to merely willing to maim, he had to agree.
***
Putting in job applications sucked. A lot. Spencer hated filling out all of the little blanks, and he hated describing his interests and accomplishments, and he hated wondering if each place he applied at was the sort of place that would fire a man for getting a peck on the cheek from another man.
The whole thing made him want to move back home and take up a life of mooching off his parents. Since his sisters had already taken over his room, though, he just kept putting in applications. Once he got called in for a disinterested interview with a title company, but on the whole, the response was underwhelming.
He hadn't even planned to apply at the diner near campus, but he spotted the Help Wanted sign while walking past on Thursday afternoon and thought he'd give it a shot. It was a little homey place with actual fucking gingham curtains and ancient Formica tabletops. It looked like the kind of place with a jukebox in the corner, so Spencer wasn't surprised to hear music when he opened the door.
He was, however, surprised to recognize the voice singing.
"Brendon?" He was standing behind the counter, where he'd been out of sight from outside, singing as he filled salt shakers.
Brendon's head shot up and the singing cut off. He froze for a second, and then he absolutely beamed. "Hey!" he said. "It's my favorite fake boyfriend!"
Spencer couldn't help flushing at that, but he said, "You might not want to say that too loud. I don't want you to get fired, too."
"You got fired?" Brendon asked, his face going pale and his eyes big. "Oh, my God, why?"
"Some jackass complained about our 'inappropriate PDA.'" Spencer made air quotes. "And I didn't suck up when they called me in to reprimand me."
"I'm so sorry," Brendon said. "I noticed that you weren't around, but I just thought maybe I- I mean, I thought you were busy. With stuff."
Spencer wrinkled his nose. "I'm busy with job hunting. Hopefully for a job where the bosses aren't assholes."
"Oh!" Brendon said excitedly. "My boss, Frank, he isn't an asshole! Well, he is, but the good kind." And then he thought about what he'd just said and flushed such a hot red that Spencer felt for him. "I mean, he's a good guy. You should apply for a job."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked. His heart was beating fast all of a sudden, and his own face was heating up. "You wouldn't mind seeing me here?"
"I could learn to live with it," Brendon told him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled wide. "I could put in a good word," he offered. "On one condition."
"What's that?" Spencer was totally strong, he wouldn't give into to any crazy demand. Except he absolutely would, because this was Brendon, and Spencer had had a crush on him since the first time he'd seen him open his mouth.
"Tell me your name, so he believes me when I say I know good things about you."
"Spencer. You can tell him lots of good things about Spencer Smith."
Brendon reached over the counter and grabbed Spencer's hand, squeezing it tightly just once. "I will," he promised. "I'll start with how you rescue damsels in distress, and then I'll move onto the way you serve drinks and refuse to put up with jerks. He'll love you."
"Yeah?" Spencer asked, almost dizzy with the sudden possibility of seeing Brendon for more than just one song. Of knowing Brendon as more than just a face and a voice.
"Yeah. I might even mention how good you look in tight jeans and a uniform polo." Brendon's eyes were bright and his hand was still touching Spencer's.
Spencer could learn to like Thursdays.